#crest syndrome

[disabledsysboxes]

A CREST syndrome box for anon

[zenspa-hypamama-me]

[torrentialgoat-fr]

Random dragon headshots

[nubs-mbee]

If my rheumatologist actually diagnoses me with something I think in celebration I will buy a shower chair.

[randomnameless]

Thoughts on Supreme Leader stans who use Linhardt as proof Supreme Leader will make concessions for the disabled? Even if you believe Linhardt is canonically neurodivergent it's still in a very tropey, savant way that doesn't hold him back. He's also the rich, connected, personal friend of the emperor (a rich person getting special treatment? well I never) and his support tells me nothing about what would happen to Joe, the blacksmith's son, who was paralyzed in a horse riding accident.

...

The same stans who complained about that dude saying "Dimitri shouldn't have babies else his babies will be mentally ill just like him" being banished for no reason from a subredshit?

I don't believe Lin is, and even if he were, Supreme Leader makes concessions for him because he is useful and talented - which might totally not be related to the fact he is the heir of a prestigious family so has "time and opportunities" to cultivate his interests and become "useful" to her regarding his crest researches, as opposed to Mary the fisher living in Enbarr's slums.

Joe would be fed to Waldo and Baldis, or even turned into one of them (but if Joe was turned in a demonic beast, would the demonic beast also be paralysed?).

[randomnameless]

I guess Fodlan, as it's written, would imply that the "sudden illnesses" hitting Maurice's scions would be Agarthans doing Agarthan things, because per Nopes, they're the root of everything wrong (tm) in this verse.

Even if Houses suggested, with the rando who insults Marianne in her paralogue, that normal people, aka Bob and Carol, would also be ones to hunt Maurice's descendants believing them to be cursed (a throwback to the Loptyr blooded people and the witch hunts from Jugdral?).

However, Catherine in her support with Linhardt mentions something similar to Momo's ramblings, Catherine says she feels the relic "eating away" her soul, Maurice blames his urges on his "nabatean blood" and in the notes believed to have been written by him, there's a mention of a body falling to "ashes" and "evil", would the "evil" here mean the Nabatean/Relic "eating away" at the wielder's soul? 10k years of lore are 10k years of lore so we will never know the end of this story, but I don't think Momo or the Nabatean he "borrowed power" from are special in this situation, it's possible Catherine after overusing her sword could become a sentient black beast, much like Claude and his gang after, just like Maurice, bathing in the blood of a saint (in Nopes).

But as you noted, there's a link between Thales, Supreme Leader and the Crest of the Beast.

Is it only metaphorical, as in Supreme Leader is doubly called a beast, first by Dimitri (more explicit in the JP version of Tru Piss) and, in a way, by Thales who gave her a "beast" themed weapon, which is actually a mockery of a relic, since Aymr is fake one (it needs Agarthium to be repaired!) - sure it'd be part of the all those clues taking inspiration from buddhism telling the player that Supreme Leader's path is the wrong one that completely flew over the localised versions (granted I wonder how you could accurately localise the "beast path" in a game without adressing the entire context!) for a Doylist reason...

Or it's maybe Thales who realised how Momo still managed to keep his sanity after transforming unlike other random crest beasts (but Maurice is specifically noted to have been the only one who transformed with his relic!) so he thought "why not" and designed Hegemongard to work around a similar crest stone?

It'd be the cheapest explanation, but come on, we're talking about the same devs who gave Marianne the power to speak to animals... when Linhardt and Hapi's support chain mention that this power was originally Timotheos'... Was the DLC retconning Marianne's existence 8 months after the release of the base game, or what?

--

As for Luca not having a crest, maybe he shared his crest with another Nabatean (maybe he was another water dragon but Indech was more well-known around?) so every "water dragon sign" became "Crest of Indech" instead of being "Crest of Luca".

The identity of the Saint said to have been slained by Maurice, Nopes implies Momo killed them during the battle of Gronder (in 46? 45 years before Tailtean?) but concerning the number of saints, well, the FE16 artbook has this thing :

The first coffin on the left mentions... 16 saints???

(the one below mentions 4 "holy warriors", I guess they're the 4 Saints aka Cichol'n'co).

Was Luca one of the "16 saints"? Was he a shifter, who were the other 15 ? Gajus, Marcelle and Iris and the other named golems, were all saints Nabateans or some of them were hybrids or even humans with crests? Was Flayn's mom one of those 16 saints?

Everything's fair game since we won't have confirmation about this stuff (but we sure needed umbrellas or Fraud's real name revealed in an interview bcs who gaf about lore from the game, especially when it concerns nabateans?)

That all those accidents are just them going after anyone who may have actual Nabatean heritage.

That's maybe me cooking nonsense with the Nuvelles being Nabateans hybrids, but that'd fit with their "need" to hide who they are, aka Noa's scions from the Empire itself, if they think the Empire is compromised by Agarthans.

Or, if we want to hc a Fodlan where "everything wrong" doesn't have a single cause, I hc'd that humans would be worried about hybrid nabateans existing, since their existence would threaten/ruin the classicist system they tried to base their countries on (especially Adrestia) : if Rhea's perfectly happy living on her rock, who's to say a Nabatean hybrid, even if it's not one who has a crest of Seiros, wouldn't be a threat to the Emperor who's supposed to rule over Fodlan because of the covenant of the red blood and white sword + claiming to be Seiros and Willy's descendants?

(then Faerghus happens, and they're even more pissed because instead of sitting on her rock doing nothing but preaching nonsense, Rhea now meddles in "human affairs" to prevent further escalation especially since Loog defeated/killed the Emperor instead of supporting Adrestia's right to continue their blood games with northern barbarians)

We know at some point Emperors became paranoiac about Nabateans "sekritly controlling humanity", but I guess, due to their resentment towards Rhea after Faerghus + Agarthans telling them stuff + maybe the entire hybrid!Lycaon fallout that is only kept secret to the masses, I could see them participate and/or hunt everyone who has a chance to be Nabatean!blooded, and not just with a "crest".

@randomnameless

Something caught my eye with Maurice the other day. According to Hopes, in the document titled Crestological Mysteries,

“Whenever it became known that someone possessed this detestable Crest, they would suddenly fall ill or meet their end in an untimely accident. Inevitably, the Crest became an unspoken curse...“

“Suddenly fall ill” or untimely accident at this point makes me curious about the involvement of TWSITD. If someone is exposed to have this Crest, TWSITD step in to remove them from the gene pool, like out of all the Crests they want this one to die out. Not helping matters is that they used the Crest Stone of Maurice when making Aymr, and Thales chucks it at Edelgard when he captures her in Azure Gleam.

At this point, I’m willing to bet that Edelgard’s Hegemon Husk form is the result not just of bringing out the full power of her two Crests, but also the Agarthans using it to transform her (And then Thales using their techniques to control Edelgard like a typical Crest Beast). Something about that Crest in particular, one that gives Marianne the ability to communicate with animals, turns even people with Crests into Crest Beasts but still allows them to retain their minds (though Edelgard seems off after her transformation, likely due to her Crests not matching). Maybe what happened to Maurice isn’t because he overused his Relic, but simply because of the specific Crest he had?

Also, it mentions Maurice killing a “holy warrior.” So, a Saint. Thinking he was the one who killed Saint Luca, considering we know the other Saints and Apostles survived. But the strange thing is, there is no Crest associated with Luca and he was implied to be a shapeshifter.

“...As another example, though much said about him is likely fiction, we have Saint Luca and his many offspring. The man loved love, and had great affection for the many children he brought into the world. However, appearances can be deceiving. Was he truly the comely saint? If we consider that perhaps he was simply using some sort of power to change his appearance, then...”

What happened here? If he had many offspring, you’d think his Crest would be a little more common, and this is based on how they were seen by the people of the Empire. Luca was having children with humans. And then there’s Maurice and his sons being said to have sown his wild oats, which is why his Crest just pops up from time to time...

Sothis refers to Flayn as “The Kind One,” but it comes off as she assumes Flayn is another Nabatean in a body she doesn’t recognize. It’s implied Sothis confused Flayn for her mother, The Kind One that Sothis created. We also know there are at least two Crest Stones of Maurice, while there are two Relics associated with the Crest of Lamine (the Rafail Gem and the Ichor Scroll) and the Crest of Charon (Thunderbrand and Suttungr's Mystery). Think the best explanation for this is that Blutgang was made out of one of Luca’s childre with another Nabatean, then Luca fought Maurice during the War of Heroes and died. The Saint that had many children died to a weapon made out of one of his.

The Crest of Luca becomes known as the Crest of the Beast.

“...The Crest of the Beast was inherited by the wild oats sown by Maurice and his sons. They lived on in the shadows of various clans and families, and in particular lords who bore a grudge towards the Empire.”

But at the same time, people who are known to have the Crest end up dying due to the Agarthans. Maybe the answer to why they target the Crest isn’t because of the Crest, but because it could also come from Luca himself. That all those accidents are just them going after anyone who may have actual Nabatean heritage.

[nnight-dances]

BABYDOLL

PAIRING: choi seungcheol x afab!reader

GENRE: fluff, angst, suggestive (nothing explicit)

TROPES: gym trainer!cheol, office worker!reader, you have INFJ syndrome until you start thirsting for cheol, mutual pining and perversion, wonwoo and lisa besties to lover side plot

LISTEN TO: babydoll by dominic fike

NOTE: unfortunately yes this is based on a brainrot ive been harboring for a real man but since cheol > all other men so here is my way of coping with it! i hope u like it and lmk what u think <3

You liked to think of yourself as a sane person. If anything, you had always had a reputation of having a good head on your shoulders, as the eldest daughter and the ideal student in class. You lived a life of discipline even out of college, waking up early to clean your apartment before you headed out to work and coming back late to a fridge full of meal-prepped tupperwares. 

You're sane. So why is it that you can't bring yourself to behave like it around him?

For some context, you had decided your daily 15-minute walk to your apartment from the subway wasn't cutting it anymore. More than anything, you feel like you needed something more intense for the sake of your stiff body. You'd come home feeling creaky as floorboards and without a concrete plan to keep you in shape, you would end up doing some lousy stretching before hitting the sack.

But today that was going to change. You had enrolled as a member in the nearby gym, a solid place from the looks of it. It was your first time in a gym this fancy, equipped with the best of any machine you could imagine but also an ambient changing room where you looked forward to showering in.

You had come in fully prepared, clad in a workout set that was your favorite shade of green. When you'd pulled it out of your closet after all this time, you felt like the inanimate fabric might actually be thanking you for remembering its existence. You had an adequately sized water bottle that you had set to the side when you'd started your cardio for the day, waiting for the personal trainer the lady at the reception had told you would come meet you in 15.

At exactly the 15 minute mark on your treadmill, you'd felt a presence next to you and to your surprise, it was a man wearing the black shirt everyone working in the gym wore with a little crest on the chest. But this man was particularly… built. You didn't like to be indecent about another person when he had yet to introduce himself but the man before you was right out of your dreams– his shoulders wide, that his shirt did little to hide, and his buff arms that he politely crossed waiting for you to notice him.

You pop the earbud in your left ear out, rushing to turn the treadmill off as you turn to greet him. "Oh, I'm sorry– I didn't see you there– Wait, how did this thing stop–"

"Let me get that for you," the man – the dangerously attractive man – leaned over to press a red button that you should've spotted sooner than you did. The treadmill comes to a stop gradually and you try to think of the different ways you could vanish into thin air.

But then the trainer smiles at your panic-sriken experession revealing his dimples and you think you might faint before you'd had a chance to exercise. "Hi, I'm Seungcheol," he holds out his hand to you when you manage to step off the machine in one piece. "But you can call me Cheol." He points to the name-tag on his shirt– another detail you had missed when you were far too busy being a pervert over the general amazing-ness of his build. The name-tag says cheol in lowercase with a few hand-drawn cherries next to it. 

"I'm Y/N," you say quietly, shaking his hand. "Sorry about that, by the way. I promise I'm not usually such a klutz. It's just my first time here so I'm kinda nervous."

Cheol simply blinks at you, "Nothing wrong with being a klutz. That's why I'm here. And as for being nervous…" He looks around at the rows of people on treadmills and various other cardio machines and shrugs. "You'll get a hang of it. Just follow me."

You don't have time to stand around gaping at Cheol's words so you do as he says, especially because you would rather die than have him think you're clumsy. But despite your effort to look put-together, you find your control slipping on the first machine he brings you to. It looks like it should be simple enough, a seat with handles for back-rows. Yet, when you sit on it, you can't seem to find the right position to start and when you do, it all feels wrong.

Then, Cheol comes up behind, a hand on your lower back pushing your spine up straight. His voice is gentle in your ear and you meet his eye in the mirror in front of you. "Hold still for me. Throw your shoulders back and focus on pulling with your back." 

You do as he says and he gives you a nod of approval. "Remember to breathe," he says, his fingers now on your shoulders, pulling them back to keep them in the right posture. When you're done with the first set, you feel like you've forgotten how to breathe.

"You must be an office-worker," Cheol comments as he lets you take a minute to breathe. 

"You say that like it's a bad thing," you frown.

"It's not the best thing for a person's spine. Makes for a stiff spine and whatnot."

You grimace when his words seem to describe you. "You're right. I can't sit with my spine straight for the life of me. Those back-rows almost sucked the life out of me."

"Then I hope you're ready for two more sets," Cheol chuckles, politely grabbing your precious water bottle out of your hands. "Two more sets," you repeat after him, praying that he actually meant no more sets and said the wrong thing. But he stares at you in the mirror, arms crossed, waiting for you to take your position.

By the time, you're done for the day, you think you might have seen God, with the way Cheol pushes you through the workout, throwing sets of shoulder presses and plank holds at you. He must hate you, you think, wiping the sweat off your neck with a hand towel as you watch him write something down on a notepad you only just noticed. You've been really out of it today, huh?

Still, Cheol's disdain for you aside, you couldn't help but marvel at him. His body was so lithe, lifting weights off the floor for you without a huff and demonstrating the exercises you had to do while narrating the movements like it was nothing. What's more, he had this amazing air of authority about him, not letting you give up on an exercise just because you felt like you couldn't do it. If the last set got physically impossible for you, he'd give you a hand but he didn't let you do anything half-earnestly. In short, he's really fucking cool.

You come to your senses when Cheol says, "All right, that's all for today. Thanks for the hard work." You nod, "Thanks, Cheol." You don't have it in you to say anything about the workout, mainly because you're embarrased at how weak you are so you simply smile an awkward smile and leave the room. 

God knows you were the worst version of yourself in there, the complete opposite of the composed woman you were on the outside. It was mortifying, honestly, to be that helpless and in front of a man you were attracted – that might have been your greatest nightmare realized into reality. 

Which is why you find yourself at the gym a day later, taking a deep breath before greeting the lady. "Hey, I'm here for my PT session," you start and then clearing your throat, you add, "With trainer Cheol?"

The lady looks surprised when she sees you for a split second but then she grins. "Of course, miss L/N. You're just on time." She types rapidly for another second before nodding at you, "Okay, you can start your 15 minutes of cardio and the trainer will meet you there."

You thank her before heading in, finding it a little strange that she looked surprised to see you but shrugging it off when you're welcomed by the lavender-scented changing room. You note to yourself to start buying more scented candles for your house as you place your bag and hoodie in a locker, taking just your bottle out. 

You're a minute from finishing your cardio for the day when you hear your name being called. You turn to find Cheol staring at you with an indecipherable glint in his eyes. His arms are crossed, almost like a signature pose on a game character, muscles glistening under the bright gym lights. You stop the treadmill successfully this time as you wave at him, "Hey!"

"...You're back?"

You frown when you hear the question in his voice, "Yeah? Is that not what I'm supposed to do?"

"I mean…"

"I didn't come in yesterday because I woke up feeling like someone beat me up," you add with a pointed look, "But I think you'll forgive me if your customer retention is that low."

Cheol blinks with a smile gradually consuming his expression. "It's not that– I just didn't expect you to come back because you looked mad when you left last time. And well, office-workers are usually inconsistent so I definitely didn't think I'd see you twice in the same week…"

You cross your arms to match his pose, "I wasn't mad, I was a breath away from dropping dead."

"Right, that makes sense," Cheol agrees proudly and you shake your head, "And you must have a grudge against office-workers."

"I don't. All my friends are office-workers. I've just watched the job suck out all the life out of them so I'm not a fan."

"I think you may have defined the word grudge just now," you point out with a poorly disguised laugh.

Cheol pauses before looking you up and down with a cocked brow. "Someone's in a feisty mood today. I like that, it means you're ready for leg day."

You were not ready for leg day. You used to think that your legs would be strong enough since you'd done your share of squatting and running in your lifetime but faced with Cheol's insane workout set-up, you should've seen this coming. It starts off fine– a normal cycle of squats and lunges. But then he adds weights to the equation, increasing it after each set. Then, he takes you to the machines and makes sure you do each rep right. You have a hard time even walking over to the bench where he wants you to hip thrusts. 

For a moment, Cheol's eyes betray softness. "You good? We can stop here if you want."

But for all your groaning and heaving, you weren't quite ready to give up yet, the adrenaline doing wonders to your head. "I can stop when I'm dead. Just tell me what to do next."

Cheol perks up at your challenge, "Okay, soldier, calm your horses. We'll do some hip thrusts now but let's start slow."

"You don't have to take it easy on me," you add, taking the barbell from his hands. He smiles, "Don't worry about that, I'm just getting started." You swallow the viscerality of the reaction that rises at his words and force yourself to get into the right position. Cheol must know what he's doing, towering over you with that nefarious smirk, monitoring your movements strictly while instructing you how exactly to maintain your form. 

With your eyes fixed on him, you can't help but feel your mind wander, far beyond your control. You can't blame yourself– this angle is sinful. He looks so delectable with his arms crossed across his chest as usual and legs steadily placed close to yours on the ground in case he had to help you out. You wonder what he's like under the trackpants he sports, about his thighs and what they'd feel like under your palm. You wonder what he'd sound like–

You slip mid-rep with your grip on the barbell going loose and you yelp out as the weight bounces dangerously. Cheol's arm flash before you sight, swiftly grabbing the barbell before it hit your shin, throwing it aside with a loud clank. A few people working out near you give you concerned glances but all you can do is heave out a breathe at the sight of Cheol crouched so close to you.

He hauls you with one brawny arm behind your back, holding you close to his face so he could inspect you. "Are you okay?" he asks you gravely, eyes scanning your torso and then going down your legs.

You must be truly sick because even in this situation, you're thrilled. Absolutely thrilled. Because you're so close to Cheol you can feel his breath against your hot neck and you finally have an excuse to paw against his chest, and feel the sinewy warmth under his shirt. 

"I'm fine," you muster, mouth unbelievably dry and Cheol takes the wideness of your gaze to be fear. He rests your body back against the bench and you mourn the loss of his touch silently. But then he presses the back of his hand against your cheek and then pats your head. 

"You're fine," he repeats your words but with more conviction, a reassurance. "You scared the shit out of me." You breathe out a chuckle, "Sorry. You'd get into trouble if I got injured under your watch right?"

Cheol stares at you. "That's what you're worried about? Not that you almost lost a leg and a half just now?"

You look away with a flushed face. "No, I was never worried about that. I knew you'd catch it before anything happened."

"You should be more worried, then," he responds with a shake of his head, "I'm not perfect. I won't make it every single time."

"Sorry," you sigh, "I'll be more careful." You're quick to give in, especially because you could not stand the reason behind this mess. 

You leave after that with Cheol firmly refusing to go on, with something about not taking more chances. You sense something akin to disappointment in his words and feel a pit in your stomach as you head home. You'd started to bond with him finally, with your determination to show up, but this felt like it put you back to square one. Cheol, as reliable as he was, seemed reluctant to open up to you and where he'd finally started to warm up to you, your slip-up today probably reminded you that you were a customer who he needed to train.

Your sleep is fitful that night because you can't stop thinking about your accident. Can't stop thinking what might have happened if you didn't mess up. And then you picture Cheol and his watchful gaze over you the whole time you're there. God, you feel crazy. 

–

"What's crazy is that I got a whole box of them for 20 bucks on sale!" Lisa exclaims. You nod at her anecdote about scoring extremely cheap protein powder that slightly concerned you about the quality of the product your co-worker was consuming. Lisa had caught you that afternoon in the lunch room, awkwardly stretching out your legs. When she grilled you about it, you'd revealed your recent gym membership and the consequent soreness.

"I've heard drinking lemon coffee before workouts is really helpful," she adds with an excited grin. Lisa, as it turns out, was a huge gym rat. "And oh, don't ever go to the gym if you haven't slept at least a good 8 hours."

"What?" 

"Yeah, lack of sleep combined with exertion is a nightmare for your body."

You tap your nail on the table nervously, worried that would mean you couldn't go to the gym today. Just then, Wonwoo enters the break room with a knowing chuckle. "What bullshit is Lisa feeding you this time, Y/N?"

"Hey!" Lisa protests, "I'm just sharing my years of advice with her since she just started the gym." Your glares at Lisa go unnoticed as she goes ahead and reveals your newest hobby to the man.

You groan, "You make it sound like such a big deal. It's not, I'm just finding ways to keep myself occupied."

"You must be getting old," Wonwoo says as he slides into a chair next to you. "But if I know anything about the gym, it's that it'll keep you young. Especially with the guys that you'll see there."

You stare at Wonwoo, "What the fuck is wrong with you guys? I can't have one normal conversation around here." The man simply elbows you with a chesire grin, "Oh, come on, Y/N. You're always so proper and put-together, it makes me think you're not even living your life."

You go silent, ears redenning at his words. "Wonwoo, that's a little rude," Lisa accuses him, "Y/N's the coolest member of our team, how could disrespect–"

"I'm not, I just mean that you've achieved most of your goals now," he shrugs, "But you probably have a side that you always keep in check. Maybe you should let go a little?"

– 

For all your attempts at ignoring Wonwoo's unsolicited advice, you end up thinking about it the whole day. And the next, when you make your way back to the gym. You're a little reluctant to, given you were still embarrassed about your incident last time. But stupid Wonwoo and his way with words. 

You found yourself overthinking your outfit for the day, ending up wearing a baby blue sports bra with a strappy back and black sweatpants. You had to admit that it was quite flattering on your figure, with your back tattoo on display, one that said babydoll in a cursive font, a reference to one of your favorite songs and just generally, a cheeky nudge to whoever was reading in the direction of your preferences. 

Today, you spot Cheol across the cardio room but with another client, a tall blonde woman who was jogging leisurely at a speed that would have you gasping for breath. She looked like she was in great shape, a flat stomach revealed by her cropped bra and an ass for days that her shorts accentuated. Cheol looked so different than when he was with you, eyes smiling as he continuously hyped the girl up, a proud beam on his face. You don't think you'd even seen all his teeth on display before. 

You force yourself to take a treadmill where you can't see him, turning the music on your earbuds all the way up to get your head straight. But every song you listen to reminds you of him. You ignore it anyway, increasing the speed on your treadmill when you catch a glimpse of him escorting the lady out. He really looked like he was enjoying himself, laughing loudly at something she says in a soft voice. She was in a league of her own. Heck, so was Cheol.

The reminder is unpleasant and you have a hard time putting on a smile when Cheol comes to stand at your side with an expectant grin. But in comparison to before, this grin seems dull and his eyes look like they're calculating something, not delighted. You had a feeling this was going to be another difficult session for you.

"That's a nice outfit," he comments when you turn around to him, covered in sweat from your jealousy-driven run. You don't respond to his compliment, feeling like it was empty and honestly, losing your will to please him after what you'd witnessed. You get off the treadmill with a sigh and roll your shoulders back, "What am I doing today?"

Cheol hesitates for a split second at your curtness but moves on quickly, guiding you to the dumbbells. "Arms and back for the lady today," he announces grandly, handing you two dumbbells labelled 10 lbs. You raise your brows at him, wondering if his decision had anything to do with your exceptionally bare back. Reigning in your curiosity, you do as he says.

The first few sets of various basic exercises go by well, so much so that you catch Cheol mumbling a good job in your ear when you pass him the dumbbells. The compliment goes straight to your head – and well, elsewhere – but you control your thoughts, not when you were finally feeling like yourself and not like a perverted idiot lusting over your hot hym trainer.

But then you're at the back-row machine and you lose your drive, glancing uneasily at Cheol. He simply gestures for you to get started. "You know the drill" are his brief words of explanation. 

The first set goes by okay with you struggling to finish the last rep but by the time you're in the middle of the second set, you feel a numbing strain in your back, making it a Herculean task to even tug at the handles. You spot Cheol walking over behind you and the pads of his fingers press into your back, somehow landing exactly where the fabric of your bra left you exposed.

Your eyes jump to his in the mirror, the contact sending a wave of heat to all kinds of places and feeling incredibly inappropriate for some reason. Cheol's eyes remain unyielding when you meet them though, his grip extending to your shoulder to pull them back. "Come on," his words splay out like breath on your neck, "Keep going."

You manage the last few reps with his help, groaning in pain when he finally lets you go. He pulls away as soon as you're done, sqaushing any hopes that you had of him sharing the vibe that you had felt. He even takes a large step away to give you air before the next round. You pout as you closely observe him in the mirror, wondering why he was so cold to you. He had seemed warmer a few days ago when you'd shown up to contradict his expectation, maybe even warmer than he had been with that lady earlier. So how come he's back to being distant now?

"Something on your mind?" Cheol asks, coming to your side, "You've been glaring at me for the past minute."

"Nothing."

"Really? You've been weird this whole time you know," he presses. "It's my duty to make sure you're satisfied as my client. So if I'm doing anything wrong…"

You sigh at his words. Satisfied, huh? If Cheol had even the slightest hint to your thoughts every time you were close to him– God, he'd probably drop you as a client altogether. "I'm fine," you say quietly, looking down at your hands instead of at him. You were doing so well at keeping it together and you didn't want to lose your progress to some whim. "Just tired from work."

"Have you been sleeping okay?"

"As okay as I can."

"Have you considered asking for a day off?"

You scoff, "I'm not on my death bed. A few hours of lost sleep won't kill me."

"It will in the long run," Cheol retorts, lips set in a thin line, "And that's the second time you've talked about dying before giving up with me."

You're starting to wish he would stop with his questions. "I'm not suicidal, Cheol," you start, "And I'm not losing sleep because of work anyway."

"Oh, really? What is then? A guy?"

You scowl at his words, "I'd rather not talk about this anymore. It's not funny."

"Didn't say it was," he mumbles but returns to his stance behind you. You feel his palm on your back again, "Let's go for the last set, then."

You pull hard, getting in a few good reps before your back muscles start to give up again. Cheol's in action, forcing your muscles to stay engaged as you continue pulling him. "Breathe for me, doll, you're doing so well. Just five more reps." Forget the fact that you'd done your required 20 reps of the back rows, when you hear Cheol's praise you feel your energy spike up, somehow pulling off 5 more reps. 

He lets go with a chuckle, "I knew you had it in you." You slump over, dropping your head in your hands, reeling. Did you hear him right? Doll? Your stomach turns with butterflies, the thought of him using your tattoo exactly in the way you'd intended – fuck, you think you could give the man the best head of his life right now if he let you.

But instead you pretend to be wiped out as you stand up without making any eye contact with him, crouching over your water bottle and taking a few sips. You realized that Cheol was being himself with you, now that you think about it, his sarcastic jabs and his cynical questioning. He was worried about you but didn't want to burden you with it. But to think that you'd managed to get him to praise you despite his aloofness, it made you want to do unthinkable things.

"All right, let's do some shoulder presses next," Cheol says, deciding you'd had enough of a break. You silently nod, following him to the bench. Surprisingly enough, you make it through the rest of the workout without a hitch, even earning yourself an approving hoot from Cheol along the way.

"You're on fire today, aren't you?" he beams and you want to imprint the sight in your mind. "Come on, I'll have do some good stretching today so you won't wake up feeling like someone beat you up again."

You chuckle at the reference to your earlier comment and gladly follow him to the mats where he guides you through some stretches. Then he perches himself in front of you, holding out his hands. "Give me your hands."

You look at him questioningly and he simply waits. Slowly, you put your hands in his, noticing the way his wrap around yours completely. He's big compared to you, easily pulling you toward him while keeping his feet planted above your knees so you could stretch your spine out. You let out a moan at the feeling in your spine, "That feels good."

His hand wrap around your wrist next, resting them on his shoulders– and you swear to God, he's got to be doing this to you on purpose. All you can think about is his skin under your palms, the hard shoulders that you didn't imagine you'd be touching. He continues to mess with you; his hands are on your shins, massaging their way up your legs– your calves, your knees, your thighs. 

You pull away with abruptly and his hands dance back down your legs. Cheol's looking up at you with hooded eyes, as if he can read every thought that's running through your head. "Good?" he asks and the vague nature of the question does nothing to help your situation.

You clear your throat, "Yes. Am I done for the day?" 

Cheol makes you suffer through some more stretches, ones where he finds an excuse to get his hands on you– an arm stretch with him pulling you from one side or a back stretch where he crossed your arms down firmly. Your head was all but spinning when you're finally done.

"Okay, you're done. Thanks for the session," he exclaims and as you turn to leave, he stops you with a hand on your elbow. "Oh and– Listen, I don't know what's on your mind but don't worry so much. You're doing great, at least in the gym. Sleep well tonight, doll."

– 

The only explanation for Cheol's behavior was that he hated you. Because why else would he enjoy torturing you like this? You had never thought you showing up mad to a session would lead to him doing all that– calling you doll of all things. You had all sorts of thoughts in your head right now and none of them you could voice out loud without embarrassing yourself. 

That night, you do sleep well, a little too well even. You have sweet dreams after all, dreaming of Cheol in your bed, climbing up your relaxed figure while his hands trailed up your legs, not stopping at your thighs. They make it all the way and the sound that leaves you is undignified but Cheol meets your mouth like he predicted your reaction. His touch burns you and his tongue leaves you feeling like you were starving. You sweat in his arms, his words sending you over the edge in no time.

You wake up the next morning to a mess in your panties, the sight leaving you truly dumbfounded. If you had thought you had come close to regaining your sanity in the last few days, you might just have lost any such hope. You rush to shower, making it cold on purpose so you could cleanse any dirty thoughts away with the remains of last night.

But Cheol's hold on you is strong, even when he isn't forcing you to go through the last few reps of an exercise. You enter the office in a daze that day, going about your daily tasks without a real thought behind your eyes. 

It's only when you overhear a conversation in the break room that you come to your senses.

"I'm thinking of changing my hair," Kazuha tells Katie with a thoughtful hum, "But I don't know what to do." You gaze at the younger girls in front of you. Kazuha had long hair the shade of mocha and Katie sported a short blonde bob that bounced when she peeked over her friend's shoulder to look at her phone.

"Oh, you know what you would suit? Blonde streaks!"

"Really?" Kazuha sounds dubious, "I don't know. I'm more of a dark hair girl."

"I know, that's why I said streaks, stupid," Katie pulls out her phone and scrolls through something that looks like an album of hair pictures. "Something like this– Just your bangs, or the ends of your hair."

Intrigued by the conversation, you approach the pair. "Hey, guys," you let yourself known and the two nod quickly when they see you.

"Oh, hi, Y/N!"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I… I had a question."

Katie looks excited, leaning forward with a sneaky grin. "Sure! What is it? Are you seeing someone?"

"What? No, that's not it," you protest, uneasily playing with your mug. "Um, actually, I was… this is a completely hypothetical question, okay?" The two nod eagerly. "If I was to know a guy who was a gym rat of sorts… What kinds of things would you say might interest him?"

"Interest him?" Kazuha says, "Aren't gym rats only into other gym rats?"

"Yeah, I think so, too," Katie echoes, "When you live for the gym, you'd only want a partner who understands the lifestyle. But I did have this friend…"

She trails off and you prod, "A friend?"

"Well, she had a crush on this guy at her gym so she tried to get his number and he–" she cuts herself off with a light laugh, "He said she was too plain. God, he was an asshole. My friend had the latest hairstyle and everything. She cried over him for a week. I told her not to spend so much money on the membership if she was just going there for a guy…"

You nod, "Right… That sounds awful." Eventually, Kazuha and Katie go back to discussing something on their phones and you excuse yourself. 

–

You don't go to the gym for the rest of that week, mainly because you're afraid to see Cheol, still not over the wet dream you'd had of him. Thankfully, there hadn't been any more but just the one occurence had you feeling like you'd committed a crime so you stayed away to keep your conscience clean. 

A week later, you finally force yourself out of your guilty spiral and head to the gym. At the reception, you pause before heading in for cardio. "Hey, Seol," you call out and she looks up from the computer. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"No, please, ask away."

"Is… Does Cheol have a lot of clients?"

Seol looks amused at your question and takes her time riling you up before saying, "Yes, ma'am. He's one of the top trainers in our gym. Sometimes, we have clients asking to switch over to be trained by him because they see him training other people."

"Ah, I see," you say, keeping your tone as flat as possible, "And can I ask how I ended up with him?"

"Oh, well, it was just good timing," Seol says with a polite smile, "He had a client leave after she got promoted at work so you joining worked perfectly."

You nod at her response, thanking her as you head in. So it was just luck. 

You don't know what you had expected– Of course, Cheol was popular. You weren't the only one with eyes around here and looks aside, he was genuinely great at his job. You didn't take that for granted but it didn't help the pit in your stomach, when you realized you were just a replacement client on his roster. 

Great. You've been in the gym for less than 10 minutes and the crazies have already started. 

To make things even worse, you see Cheol next to another woman yet again. This time she's short, a petite figure with long wavy hair and you almost laugh out loud at the situation. Someone must be playing a sick joke on you because how else was every single one of his clients so much prettier than you? 

You have to restrain your thoughts before they dig you any deeper in a hole of self-depreciation so you pick out a treadmill away from them. 

"Evening, doll," Cheol pipes up next to you, voice cheery as he pats your arm. You contain yourself as you stop your jog and get off. "Do you have to call me that?" you throw, giving him your best icy stare.

He simply grins, "What? Doll? But it's a cute name."

"I already have a name," you cut in, "And someone might get the wrong idea if they heard you."

Cheol regards you with a glint in his eye. What you would do to hear his thoughts. "There's nothing to get wrong," he finally says, "So don't worry."

If anything, his words are a harsh slap of reality. It brings you back to earth effectively so maybe you ought to thank him for it. You make it through that workout without an indecent though– well, okay, there might have been a few but nothing that was enough to put you in a life-threatening position. In fact, you make it through a whole week's worth of sessions with those words.

It's Friday when it all goes down the drain– your hard work at regaining normality with Cheol and your sanity. You're done for the day and in the middle of packing up, when you see Cheol being approached by a woman. Looking up, you realize it's the tall blonde from a few weeks ago. She speaks quickly and quietly but you hear the words drinks on me tonight. 

Your stomach churns and you look away without thinking, hoping to run away before you had to hear any more. But Cheol's voice is clear when he responds, "Sorry, I can't. I'm busy tonight."

You hate the way you're relieved at his rejection, the lack of any remorse in his tone and the way he quickly turns back to you. The blonde woman looks dejected and blinks at his back a few times before leaving. 

"Wow," you comment when she's gone, "That was cold."

"You think so?" he asks as if it wasn't clear as day. "I was just making myself clear."

"So you have a no-client dating policy?"

"Nah, not really," Cheol shrugs as he rolls up the mat you had used a few minutes ago. "Plus, she's not even my client anymore."

"Oh," you breathe and then feel a sudden burst of courage run through your veins. "So if I was to ask you out…"

Cheol tilts his head, lips lilting, "What about you asking me out?"

Asshole, of course he's making you spell it out for him. You bite back a smile, "Nothing. Just a thought." With that, you leave him hanging, exiting the gym as if you hadn't proposed to take him out on a date without any real conclusion. 

It was complicated, you explain to yourself later. For one, you didn't even think he was into you like that. Sure, he could be touchy and flirty around you when he wanted you, and yeah, maybe he didn't call you anything other than doll, but in real terms, those actions had no meaning behind them. They were just that. 

And you didn't enjoy putting yourself out like that– asking someone else out. It had always been the other way around, the guys asking you out after days of you charming them. And where you'd always been anything but yourself with Cheol, you weren't ready to let go of your reputation just yet. 

– 

Maintaining your reputation takes on a questionable turn that weekend when you pass a hair salon on your way home from shopping for some much-needed home supplies. You stop because the sign outside catches your eye. In flashy bubble letters, it reads GYU'S SALON: come by if you want to rediscover your wild side. You find yourself smiling, hand on the door before you have a second to debate it. 

Someone at the counter welcomes you and asks you to wait for a moment while they grab a stylist. You take a seat on the couch and look inside the salon. It's not too packed but there's a few customers, most of them women. You see that most of them are young and the observation comforts you. In particular, you notice a girl taking selfies with her new styled hair– a short layered look with blue ends. It looked cool but too bright for you to pull off. 

A kind-looking lady with hair the color of plum approaches you. "Hello, are you here for a hair styling session?" 

You stand up, "Ah, yeah, I am. Sorry, I don't have an appointment."

"That's fine, I'm free now," she says with a smile, "You must've seen the sign." You don't how she knows but you simply smile back at her. She nods, "Okay, come with me." 

The lady's named April, you find out, and she's the funniest person you've met in a while. She's also an expert in hair, it seems, because she can tell the last time you cut your hair was neary two years ago and even points out that you wash your hair every other day. Eventually, you tell her you want to do something different with your hair but nothing too crazy.

"Define crazy."

"Well, this is my first time dying my hair. But I don't want anything too light and please don't cut my hair too short."

"Gosh, you sure have a lot of demands." Then after a moment of running her hands through your hair, playing with its strands, she comes to a decision. "All right, missy, I have something in mind for you."

Two hours later,  you have red hair but not too red. It was the exact shade of wine under the salon lights but when you stepped out of the salon, it was more a dark brown. You'd thanked and tipped April generously for her work because she had come through on her word. In the mirror back at home, you admired your hair. April had trimmed off the ends but made sure your hair retained its length. You didn't regret your decision when you had a whole night to overthink it, thrilled whenever you caught sight of your head in a reflective surface. April might have been God's sweet gift to you. 

– 

That week you're showered in compliments at work with a coworker stopping at your desk every time they realized it was you sitting there typing away in red hair. You'd been somewhat worried that the change wasn't drastic enough for many to notice but you're proven wrong. Kazuha is the first one you run into that day, meeting her in the elevator and it takes her a glance to notice the new hair.

"Y/N? Your hair is so pretty!" she's spinning you around so she can get a better look, "Oh my God, where'd you get it done? It's amazing."  You thank her and vaguely describe the salon you'd found by chance. 

Later that evening, you walk unusually slow to the gym, taking your time to dwell on the response you might get from Cheol. You're close to the entrance when you see a familiar figure a few feet away. Before you can confirm your suspicion, you also spot an unmissable head of blonde hair.

It's her again. You feel your heart lurch in your chest as you unwittingly stop in your tracks. She's talking to Cheol, her back to you. If it wasn't for the expression on Cheol's face being a clear one of panic, you might have walked your way without a worry (other than the ones that would've spurred out of jealousy). You aproach them cautiously, wanting to get a better understanding of the situation before interfering.

"...is just mean. You led me on! You told me I was–"

"I'm sorry, Haein, if you feel that way but that's just part of my job," Cheol's voice is strained with suppressed emotions and you speed up, "I need you to stop cornering me–"

"Cheol!" you call out loudly, causing both of them to turn towards you. The blonde, Haein apparently, looks annoyed to find you there and you quietly walk over to Cheol's side. He's quiet when you poke him with your elbow. "What're you doing out here? You're gonna be late to my session!"

"Excuse me, miss, but I was in the middle of–"

"I'm sorry but I pay this guy an unbelievable amount of money to train me," you say in your most obsequious voice, "and I work really hard for the money I make. So unless you're about to pay me more than I pay him just to talk to him, why don't we call it a day here?"

When Haein storms off with a few unintelligible curses your way, you let out a laugh of disbelief. Cheol releases a chuckle from beside you, sighing in relief. "That was–" he starts, "Thanks, Y/N. You saved my ass."

"No worries," you reply, "but I wasn't entirely kidding about what I said. You start showing up late to our sessions and I'll start cutting the paycheck."

"You realize that's not how it works, right? You have to pay the same amount of–"

"I don't care how it works, Cheol," you interrupt him.

"For what it's worth," you hear him say as the two you finally enter the gym through its glass doors. "You were pretty cool back there. I felt so safe and protected with you throwing so many big words at her."

You turn to him with a frown, "Big words? I just talked really fast so she couldn't afford to call my bluff."

Cheol laughs at your confession, "It worked. She looked spooked when she finally ran off."

"So she's been bothering you even after you rejected her?"

"Yeah, looks like she thought we had a thing," he mumbles, "but all I did was my job and there's no nicer way to put it."

You grimace, waving at Seol who perks up at the sight of you arriving with Cheol. "That's tough. You should do something about it. I won't always be around to save the day, you know?"

"You're right," Cheol teases, "I need to become independent."

You pause in front of the changing room, "Okay, I'll go put my things away–"

Cheol breaks you off when he takes a step too close to you, voice dropping to a whisper. "Your hair's cute, doll. I'm a lucky man to have a pretty girl like you worry about me."

And then, he's gone with a flash of his smirk. As if he hadn't just left your veins blazing with the rush his words had caused. You drop to your knees inside the changing room, legs weaker than a day of working them out under Cheol's supervision. There's just no way he isn't messing with you on purpose, right?

But then you recall his words from earlier– all I did was my job and there's no nicer way to put it – and you're not so sure anymore. On the one hand, it was objectively not part of his job to call you doll or to have his hands wander your body or to constantly pester you with questions when you seemed out of it or to call you pretty. But at the same time, you couldn't say it was just him being nice to you, making sure you didn't feel unseen. 

Your worries find an answer later that day when you're leaving the changing room after another training session. Cheol intercepts you with a look that you've never seen before– uncertainty.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Yeah, sure, what's up?" you let him pull you aside to a more secluded area behind the reception.

"I know you're too humble to take it seriously but I really do owe you one for earlier," Cheol rubs the back of his neck, a boyish grin on his face, "If you hadn't sepped in, I might have had to agree to go out with her."

"Cheol," you sigh, "I just did that because you looked uncomfortable. You don't have to thank–"

"Thanking you isn't enough," he stresses, "I want to repay you."

You cross your arms, the phrasing of his request piquing your curiosity. "And how exactly do you want to repay me?"

"Let me take you out for dinner."

You hate the way your eyes betray surprise at his words, his pleased smile only doing wonders to the adrenaline rush that slapped you. "What?"

"I know a good place near here but it'll be packed today," Cheol pulls out his phone out of his pants, "But if I make a reservation, we'll be able to get in this week."

"I…"

"Is that a yes?" his eyes are focused on yours, waiting for an answer.

"Sure, but is it okay for us to…?" you find yourself unable to complete your question. "Why wouldn't it be?" Cheol tilts his head, "We're both adults and it's consensual."

"I guess you're right," you admit. Cheol places his phone in front of you, "Your number, doll."

– 

If you had thought you were insane a few weeks ago, now you were convinced that you were. Ever since you'd exchanged numbers with Cheol, all you could do was stare at his contact. You'd gone simple, just saving him as Cheol, not before you considered adding a cherry emoji next to his name. It was too much, you decided, settling for the plain name instead.

"Whose murder is she planning this time?" 

Wonwoo's question brings you out of your daze and you glare at him. "Yours if you don't shut the fuck up."

"Woah," Wonwoo holds up his hands in surrender, glancing at Lisa, "You sure she isn't up to something?"

"She's got a date tonight," Lisa reveals without a hint of hestitation in her voice. You kick the girl under the table, "Lisa! You're just gonna sell me out like that?"

"Sorry, Y/N, but I have a 100% honesty policy with Woo," she sighs, looking at Wonwoo dreamily. Right, you had almost forgotten. After months of pining for each other, the two had finally confessed to each other, becoming the office's newest couple. It was very sweet and also very inconvenient when you wanted to confide in your best friend.

"Remind me to get a new and single best friend," you murmur to yourself. Wonwoo drags a chair across from you, "So who's the lucky guy?"

"There is no guy. Just a funeral. For you."

"You're so funny today, Y/N," Wonwoo has the audacity to laugh, "Is it someone from your gym? No wonder you've been looking leaner these days. A little extra motivation to hit the gym can go a long way."

"I don't know why I bother hiding things anymore," you cave, "and for the record, it's not because of any guy that I'm getting fitter."

You find yourself doubting your own words that night when you're sitting across from the man, keeling over in laughter at something he said about the menu in this place. It's a unique restaurant with moody lighting and square tables for two scattered across the wooden floors. Most of the tables were already filled with couples, peering over a menu together and sharing a glass of wine. 

It's unnervingly romantic, you realize as you sit, tucking the tail of your dress under you. Cheol's eyes never leave you, weighing your reactions to the place. "It's so quiet here," you whisper, still surveying your surroundings, feeling hot under his undivided attention. You hadn't been prepared to be this close. Sure, you had been closer to him in the gym but this was your first time with him in a place outside of the gym, where you couldn't pretend your feelings for him were part of an alter ego you'd made up. 

Cheol is real right now, his knees brushing against your bares ones under the table. He looks different tonight, clad in a nice navy shirt whose buttons were unsuprisingly strained against his chest. It was unfair how attractive he looked in a plain outfit. 

"You like wine?" 

You look at him with a start and nod quickly, "Yeah, I do."

"And what about me?" Cheol sneaks the question in, teeth baring as he grins at your panicked expression. "I'm just kidding. Sorry, I can't help it. You're cute when you're embarrassed."

"And you're just as much of an asshole when you're not in the gym."

He shrug, defined collarbone peeking out at you at the movement. "I'm always myself," he tells you. 

The night progresses slowly with Cheol taking his time getting to know you, raining you in question after question about your life– when did you start working? Did you have siblings? Why did you move to the city so young? How many exes did you have? What was your favorite kind of coffee?

"You have a dog?" you exclaim when he shows you a photo of a white Maltese with a doting smile on his face. You hit his arm across the table, "Why wasn't that the first thing you told me?"

Cheol laughs with his head thrown back, "Really? That's what gets you? My dog? I'd take you to meet her but she's living with my brother because I got too busy."

"She's so cute, Cheol! I didn't think you of all people would have a dog."

"What do you mean, me of all people?"

You pause before thinking over your words. "You seem… distant. I thought you would like living alone so nobody bothers you."

Cheol sighs at your words, "What have I done for you to have such an impression of me?"

"I don't know, something about the way you're always cynical? Or your general condescending tone? Or that one time when you told me you hated your friends for being office-workers?"

"Okay, so you clearly like exaggerating things," he protests, "I love my friends, I just wish they lived more. And I'm not cynical, just…"

"Realistic?" you finish his sentence, "Trust me, that's what I tell people, too. But it's all a lie."

"You have a lot to say for someone who actually lives all by herself," Cheol accuses you with a sip of his wine, eyes narrowing, "And I feel like you're way colder than I am. It took me a week to get you to start calling me by my name and not just wait for me to look at you when you needed something."

You groan, "Can you not bring that up? I'm still embarrassed about that."

"Cute," he chirps, "But seriously, you're kinda scary when you're in your head. I get the chills when I imagine what you must be like at work."

"You imagine what I'm like at work?" you tease him, leaning back in your chair. 

"You're the one who's telling me you're not like this at work," he points out, "Whatever that means."

"It means I'm cool as a cucumber," you finally say, "I'm a little scary but only to people who deserve it. But I'm mostly just cool. Or at least I was."

Cheol waits for you to go on and you scrape at your empty plate with a fork, missing the pasta you had just devoured just so you could distract yourself. "I was cool before I… met you, I guess."

"Really?" Cheol does nothing to hide the glad grin that breaks out on his face, "What did I do?"

"Pushed me to my limit," you roll your eyes, "You forced me out of my comfort zone."

"So in other words, I bring out your wild side?"

You flush at his choice of words, "Well, I don't know if I'd say that but… maybe."

–

Your date with Cheol is a dream; he pays for the meal, walks you out with a hand on your waist. He even kisses you goodnight, a kiss that's on your mind for the longest time. His lips are beyond your dreams, plump and demanding on yours. It's too bad neither of you make another move because the night ends at a kiss. 

You can't wait to see him again, but as it turns out the following week means hell for you at work. You're absolutely swamped in your new assignments, with it being the middle of the month. There's increased visits from superiors and your boss insists you attend every meeting, a gesture that promised you that a promotion was in sight. 

It's that hope that keeps you going. You pull a few all-nighters to draft various proposals now that you're your boss' direct right-hand, working earnestly to improve the stellar performance that you were finally getting recognition for. It's on Friday evening that your boss finally notices the bags under your eyes, scolding you for pushing yourself hard. She rushes you out of the office, ordering you to take the day off or she'd force you to. 

You reluctantly do as she says, feeling hollow when you step outside in the fresh air. Your eyes feel heavy and you can't say you feel like doing much. Then, you remember Cheol's touch on your skin and with rejuvenated enthusiasm, you take your phone out. 

You consider texting him but then settle on calling him since he'd be too busy to check his messages. But as it turns out, he's too busy to pick up too. After some thinking, you decide you'd pay him a visit in the gym anyway, ignoring the lightheaded feeling that threatened to consume you. 

Seol greets you at the counter, "Y/N! We missed you this week! Are you okay?"

You sigh, "Yeah, sorry. Work stuff. Is Cheol in?" She nods, much to your relief. "Yeah, he's just finishing up with a client. He should be free for a session in 10."

You thank her as you head in. You knew it wasn't the best idea to work out in this state, but all you could suddenly think about was how Cheol might've taken your absence for the week to be your response to the date. And you hated the thought of that, so you rush to the changing room. 

You're 5 minutes into walking on the treadmill when Cheol's familiar presence makes itself known. "Y/N?"

"Cheol, hey," you say, slowing down, "Sorry I wasn't in this whole week, I've been really busy with work."

"That's fine, I figured it'd be something like that." You're surprised he takes it so well, even offering you a small smile. Then, he notices the way you look, eyebags and all. "Hey, doll, are you okay? You look tired."

"Oh, I'm fine, just a little out of it."

"Okay, why don't you take a rest?" He stops the machine before you have a say, his arm firmly pulling you off. His hand then comes to rest against your cheek and you smile against his touch. "You're warm, doll. I don't think you should be working out today."

"But–"

"I don't want to hear it," he's pulling you out of the cardio room without hearing you out. "Come with me. Is there a friend you can call to pick you up?"

"Um, sure, but I can just go home on my own–"

"Just do as I say if you want to live to see another day– And I swear to god, if you make another joke about death, I'll hurt you myself."

"Ooh," you coo at him as he enters the elevator with you, hitting the 5th floor. "Threatening me now? Is that how you treat a pretty girl?"

Cheol's breath is shaky when he lets out a sigh, averting his gaze. "What about when the pretty girl ghosts me for a whole week?"

"I told you, Cheol, I was busy–"

"I know, I know. I'm just teasing. I was just scared I did something wrong for a second." He doesn't let you say anything when the elevator opens, continuing, "Anyway, you can rest in my office while your friend comes to get you."

"You have an office?"

Cheol laughs at your shocked question, "Yeah, that's what I get for bringing in the most clients here. Anyway, go in and take a seat. I'll get you something to drink." You walk into his office, bewildered by the room. He had a nicer desk than you did and little polaroids decorated the board next to his window. It was a cozier place than you would expected to find in a gym. You sit in a chair, giggling at a photo of Kkuma on the wall, wearing a bow the same shade of pink as her tongue. 

"So adorable," you say under your breath.

"I know I am," Cheol startles you, coming up next you with a bottle of water. 

You elbow him away, starting to feel unusually hot out of the blue. "Sorry, I know it's kinda hot," he apologizes, "I asked them to turn the air up but it takes a while for it to actually work." 

You don't say anything, focused on getting your vision to stop losing focus and the man takes a seat across from, concern painting his face when he catches your dazed look. "Hey, look at me. Take a deep breath for me. What's wrong?"

"Hot," you mumble, pressing a hand against your sweaty forehead. It felt like the short five minute walk was catching up to you all at once, your heart starting to hammer wildly in your chest. You press against it in pain. 

"Doll," Cheol's voice mellows out, his hand taking yours in his. "Drink some water for me." You do as he says, but the water is lukewarm, doing nothing to help. You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat. 

"Okay, that's not going to work," he lets out. And then, his hands are your waist, grabbing the fabric of your shirt, "Y/N, I'm going to take your top off, 'kay?"

Even in your queasy state, you manage to jump at his touch on your bare stomach. "Cheol, I…"

"Trust me, doll," he leans down to meet your eyes. "It'll help." With an obedient hum, you let Cheol take control, him peeling the layer of fabric off your skin. You feel much better almost instantly, the warm air hitting your bare skin. You sigh out as you rest your head in your hands.

"Thanks," you breathe, "I feel like shit."

"That's okay." You look up at him when you catch the hitch in his voice. Through the fuzziness in your vision, you see Cheol avoiding your gaze. You reach for his bicep in your confusion, "Cheol."

He turns to you, eyes wavering as they trail down your neck. You feel heat shoot to your neck at his gaze and he coughs awkwardly. "Sorry," his voice is hoarse, "I'm not looking."

"You can," you state boldly, turning to him. You were wearing an old bra, a plain black thing that had kept you company for decades now, the lace in the back unravelling with wear. But the way Cheol looked at you right now, you could've been wearing the fanciest lingerie in season. 

"Y/N," he warns you. 

You're feeling better by the moment, vision clearing as your body tempertaure returns to normal. But instead of overheating, you find yourself losing focus for a different reason. You shift closer to Cheol, "If you're embarrassed, do something about it."

Your words stun him, his eyes wide as he stares back to make sure you were the one saying them. But all he finds is unbridled lust in your gaze, hand clawing at his knee, begging him to do something, anything that could help your state.

In a flash, Cheol's shirt is off and you drink in the sight before you hungrily. The sight you'd only ever imagined and dreamed about is finally yours to enjoy and you're going to make every moment worth it. When Cheol hears the desperate mewl you let out, he's pulling you close, hands encompassing your waist. You're on his lap before you know, knees hitting the valley of his pelvis. 

"Fuck, you're hotter than I imagined," you groan out, hands roaming his bare back. He bites back an undignified sound at your comment, "Doll, you're making this really hard for me."

You feel his body burning up under yours and you're not sure which one of you is out of breath, but you're panting into his mouth the next thing you know. "This is crazy," he mumbles into you and you can't help but chuckle. "I know," you shoot, thumbs on his cheeks, tracing the skin around his lips. "But I think I went crazy the day I set my eyes on you."

Your shameless admission has Cheol groaning into your skin, his lips attaching to your neck. You feel him bury his face in your hair, inhaling deeply before he finds your face again. "You don't know the kinds of thoughts I've had about you," he laughs, eyes hooded, "I can't even think about you without losing it."

You're about to reveal a part of your suffering when your phone starts ringing. When you see Wonwoo's name on the screen, you jump up with a curse. "Shit, it's Wonwoo."

"Who?"

"He's here to pick you up."

"Why?"

You glare at Cheol, "Because you asked me to ask a friend."

"Right," he says slowly, running a hand through his hair. Even now, all you can think is about the way his stomach contracts with the sharpness of his breath. God, you want him so bad. 

"I'm gonna ask him to come up here but we should probably get dressed–"

"I don't want to."

You stare at Cheol with a dumbfounded expression. "Cheol, we have to." After much convincing, you manage to get Cheol's shirt back on, just in time for the knock that comes on his door. 

"Wonwoo?" you open the door and smile at your friend. Wonwoo looks worried, not returning your greeting. "Y/N, what the fuck is wrong with you? You didn't get the day off so you could come here and–"

Wonwoo's reprimand is cut short when he catches sight of the other man in the room, mouth hanging open. "Oh, this is–" you turn to introduce Cheol but he's already at your side, holding his hand out for Wonwoo. "Seungcheol," his voice has dropped a magical two octaves, eyes cold. 

"I'm Wonwoo, Y/N's friend," Wonwoo says back, shaking his hand uneasily. "Anyway, let's get you out of here–" Wonwoo's hand is on yours to guide you out when Cheol's breaking between you, sticking his arm out in front of you with a frown.

"Cheol, what're you–"

"Sorry, you don't have to bother. I'll take her home."

You gape at his declaration, attempting to shake some sense into him with a harsh Cheol under your breath. But he remains unyielding, staring at Wonwoo to back off. Your friend looks puzzled and you sigh, "Wonwoo, I'll come with–"

But Wonwoo's taking a step back, a playful glint in his eye, "Oh, wait, I just remembered I have a thing to pick up for the boss before I go home. Sorry, Y/N, you'll be fine, right?" He doesn't even bother waiting to hear you confirm your safety before he's rushing down the stairs, not even bothering with the elevator. 

When he's gone, you stare at Cheol's back. "What the fuck was that?"

He turns to you, "We're not done here."

"Really? That's your excuse? I can't believe you made me call Wonwoo all the way out here–"

"That was before you got me all worked up, doll," he snaps, "And to top it all off, you expected me to watch you get escorted out of here by another man? I'm a nice guy but I can't just let him get his hands all over you."

You can't help the laugh that leaves you, "Cheol, are you jealous right now? Wonwoo's a friend and he's–" Before you can tell him that Wonwoo's already dating Lisa, Cheol's lips are on you, shutting you up for good. He pulls away when you're too weak to say anything back. "I'll drive you home, doll, so stop worrying. I'll apologize to your friend if I have to, but let me take care of you tonight."

Cheol's true to his word, watching your every move as he walks you to his car. You wonder for a second if he came from money, to be able to afford such a nice car on a gym trainer's salary and then, lose your train of thought when he leans forward to strap your seatbelt in. Catching the flush on your cheeks, he chuckles softly, "You're too nervous, doll. I'm not going to kill you and bury your body so why don't you relax for me?" 

He turns on the music, soft jazz hitting your ears and easing your nerves. You quietly ask, "Are we going to your place?"

"Since I don't know where you live," he says, "My place it is."

Cheol's a good driver, not to your surprise, with you falling asleep in the passenger seat on the drive to his home. He stirs you awake 20 minutes later, smiling, "We're here."

Your suspicions about Cheol's wealth are confirmed when you set foot in his place, convinced he was sitting on a crazy inheritance to afford the huge apartment where he lived. "My parents divorced when I was young," he explains when he understands your inquisitory looks, "And my mom felt bad about leaving my life so this is her way of saying sorry. Showering me with luxury. It's burdening but I love her too much to say no at this point." 

"Plus," he adds, coming to cup your hand in his, "I get to impress girls with it."

You laugh at his comment, pushing him away, "I'm sure you've have lots of girls over."

"You're the only one that matters," he insists, "At least the only sick one I've brought home just so I can nurse back to health."

He sits you down on his couch, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I'll make you something to eat, okay? Food's the best medicine."

– 

In the following weeks, you come to fall even harder for Cheol because outside the gym, he's a man full of love. He meets you after work every day, leading you to his car so you don't have to take the subway, not paying any mind to your protests. He even holds your hand the whole drive back to either of your places, more often his than yours, because he likes to cook you dinner in his kitchen before he makes love to you in his bed.

It's dizzying, being this in love with a man you've lusted after for so long. The sex is mind-blowing, somehow even better than your dreams. You explore his body every second that you can, lips finding their place on his when you're not busy talking. You kiss his back tattoo and tell how much you love it, tracing the lines of the olive tree until you could draw it in your sleep. He shivers under your touch, his tongue on your own tattoo every time you leave your back exposed around him.

"I tried so hard to keep my hands off you the first time you showed up in that backless bra," he admits one evening, circling your tattoo. "Seeing your tattoo made me feel crazy. I could barely think straight that whole day. All I wanted was to feel every inch of your body."

You bury your head in the pillows beneath you, "I knew it! You did that shit on purpose!" 

"Of course I did," his large hands roll you off your stomach and onto your back so you're making eye contact with him. "You think I call every pretty client of mine doll? You think I feel all of them up and down?"

"I hoped you didn't," you sigh into his mouth when it inevitably descends on yours. 

"You must think I'm a slut if you doubted it for a second," he laughs. You shrug, "You were too hot to not be one."

It's too late to take your words back when Cheol sits up with a pout, "Wow… That's what I get for being into you? You know what–"

"I'm kidding! Cheol, stop, don't go! I was kidding! Hey, come back!"

–

[hotshotsxyz]

buck, eddie & the great comet of 2024

(buddie) (1.1k words) for and inspired by @moonlightperseus who said, and i quote, "do you think he would break down crying in bucks arms out in the middle of nowhere under the stars". yes. yes i do.

There’s something to be said for wallowing, Eddie thinks. It’s hard to make any new mistakes, for one, and it’s far less labor-intensive than any of the alternatives. So yeah, maybe he’s wallowing a little bit, but it’s not like he needs to be saved from himself.

He says as much to Buck, who immediately rolls his eyes.

“I’m not saving you, I’m kidnapping you,” he says.

“Maybe I don’t want to be kidnapped,” Eddie replies. He settles further into the couch to make his point.

Buck frowns. “I don’t think the kidnap-ee really gets a say in it,” he says. “Anyway, you’re not going to make me go alone, are you?”

 “To what?” Eddie asks. “You haven’t even told me where we’re going.”

 Buck’s eyes light up like he’s won something. Eddie replays the last few seconds of conversation in his head and groans.

“Come on, do you trust me?” He asks, and it’s not even really a question. Or, if it is, Buck knows the answer just as well as he does.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs. “I’m picking the music, though.”

Buck grins. “Deal.”

Just to fuck with him, Eddie starts their drive with the most depressing song in his library.

Buck snorts as soon as he recognizes it. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“I’m being kidnapped,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I can be mopey.”

“Yeah, but… Trading Yesterday mopey?”

His nose wrinkles and Eddie can’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah, Trading Yesterday, Amber Run— sure you don’t just want to leave me to my misery?”

“Nah, I always want you around,” Buck says, a little too soft, a little too sincere to be anything but the truth.

Eddie’s breath catches in his chest. “Okay,” he says. He tries to ignore how raw it feels as it leaves his tongue.

“Just add some Death Cab for Cutie for me,” Buck teases.

Eddie huffs something close to a laugh and adds Transatlanticism to the queue.

By the time Buck turns onto Angel Crest Highway, Eddie’s given up on trying to work out where they’re going.

“You know, I thought you were joking about the kidnapping,” he says.

“Oh no, I take my kidnapping very seriously,” Buck says, glancing over.

Eddie laughs, and then his stomach growls. “Any chance your plot includes snacks?” He asks.

The corner of Buck’s mouth quirks up. “What kind of kidnapper do you take me for?”

“The kind that’s trying to Stockholm Syndrome me, clearly,” Eddie drawls.

“Is it working?” Buck asks. His eyes are alight with mirth, and not for the first time Eddie finds himself a little distracted by them.

He hums an affirmative. “You’ve got me right where you want me.”

“Alright,” Buck says. “We’re here.”

Here is, seemingly, a random scenic overlook. In the distance, the sun is slowly sinking below the horizon.

“And we’re… watching the sunset?” Eddie guesses.

“Nope,” Buck says. He pauses and tilts his head to the side. “Well actually, yeah, I guess we are. But not just the sunset!”

“So…” Eddie prompts.

Buck rubs at the back of his head. “It’s, uh— do you remember that comet I told you about a few months ago?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and he does. It’d been while they were on shift, a slow one if Eddie remembers correctly. Buck had excitedly shown him a NASA article and said that he was putting it in his calendar for—

For Chris.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes.

“Is— is that okay?” Buck asks.

Eddie closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Yeah,” he says, a little rough. “I just wish…”

“Me too.”

A familiar wave of guilt crashes through Eddie’s chest. It’s just one more thing on a long list of things Chris is missing out on because of him.

“I’m still glad we’re here,” Buck says, taking Eddie’s wrist in his hand.

Eddie feels a little nauseous when he realizes he is too.

Buck packed them an entire dinner to eat while they wait for the comet to become visible on the horizon. If Chris was here, Buck probably would’ve brought a few camp chairs for them to use, but as it is they sit on the floor of the Jeep’s cargo space, legs dangling past the rear bumper. It’s a little chilly in the mountains; Eddie appreciates the long line of warmth that is Buck’s body pressed against his, shoulder to knee.

In hushed tones, Buck tells Eddie everything he knows about Tsuchinshan-ATLAS, which is, apparently, the comet’s name. He describes its origin in the Oort Cloud, and how it survived a seemingly deadly trip around the sun.

“It won’t be back for another eight hundred centuries,” Buck says breathlessly.

Eddie loves him like this. He loves the curiosity that emanates from him in waves, and the way he seems to have absorbed every little fun fact he’s ever read. He loves the way Buck glows when he shares his knowledge with anyone lucky enough to be in his orbit. He loves—

He loves Buck.

And that’s—

It’s—

Oh.

Of course he does.

The comet makes its appearance forty-five minutes after the last rays of the sun dissipate into inky blue.

“There,” Buck says, pulling Eddie toward the guardrail and pointing at a tiny streak of light in the sky.

All at once, Eddie is desperately sad. He’s here and Buck’s here but Chris isn’t, and it’s not supposed to be like that. It’s supposed to be the three of them together. It’s supposed to be Buck and Chris bouncing fun facts off each other, and Eddie watching fondly as the two people he loves most in this world revel in the joy of sharing a new experience. It’s supposed to be their family, their whole family.

Buck turns to him, like he’s somehow sensed the sudden shift in Eddie’s mood. He offers him a small, sad smile.

“I, uh, I reminded Chris about the comet this morning,” he says quietly.

Eddie takes a shaky breath.

“He should be seeing it too, right about now,” Buck continues. “I know it’s not… but—but we’re looking at the same sky.”

An overwhelming mix of sadness-gratitude-guilt-joy-sorrow-love hits Eddie square in the chest. “You…” he whispers.

Buck bites his lip. “I just… I thought you’d want to know,” he says.

Out of nowhere, a sob bursts from Eddie’s chest. In an instant, Buck’s arms are around him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I can’t fix it.”

Eddie tucks his face into Buck’s neck, and for the first time since the night Christopher left, he lets himself cry.

Buck holds him until the comet is far beyond the horizon.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Read Me to Sleep, Let Me Drift Away

Kidnapper!König is a monster but I love him. I love how evil he is, I love how intelligent he is, I love I love I love. He's perfect. I adore him. Now, about this fic, I've read both Jane Eyre and Wide Sargasso Sea. If you've ever read Jane Eyre, read Wide Sargasso Sea with caution. It completely changes the novel.

Anyways, have fun with Kidnapper!König!

Tws: kidnapping, toxic relationships, stockholm syndrome

Wordcount: 1.6k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Read Me to Sleep, Let Me Drift Away

You’d never seen König so frantic before. Your calm, collected and menacing… fiance (?) was hurriedly puttering around the house, moving ornaments aside to dust under them before hurrying back to pick up the vacuum and go over the room again. If his anxiety weren’t so infectious, you might have thought the scene to be rather amusing.

“König, you already vacuumed this room three times,” you nervously whispered.

“But what if there’s still some left?” he muttered under his breath as he went over the persian carpet once more, “it needs to be clean.”

“Isn’t it clean enough?” you asked as you shifted from side to side, over and over as you watched him fret over nothing.

König turned off the vacuum and cracked his back with a good stretch, “It won’t ever be clean enough. Not for Mama…”

“Is your mom really going to be that upset?” you stepped aside to let him crouch down and dust the outlets.

König paused, considered your words for a moment, then turned back to cleaning and said, “She won’t. But I don’t want to be the messiest one of us. I want to at least be as good as Klara.”

“Klara?”

“My youngest sister,” König explained, “Friedrich is the eldest, than Stephen and Lisa. I was the fourth born, and Klara was the last.”

“Sounds like a full house,” you mused.

König laughed as he walked out to the kitchen, “It was! It was always busy. Stephen used to like doing ‘science experiments’ and Friedrich got into a heavy metal band. Mama used to say she’d go deaf before she hit menopause.”

“What did your dad think about it?” you leaned against the doorway.

König glanced at you briefly, “Papa’s opinions didn’t matter very much.”

You watched him silently. He wiped down the polished rosewood table again and again, ignoring the heavy questions that hung heavy on the tip of your tongue.

“So,” you grunted as you pushed off the doorway to step to König’s side, “are they coming soon?”

“Tomorrow,” König grunted as he worked a stubborn spot, “I’m cleaning today so I won’t have to do much tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to help?” you asked as you glanced over to the spotless kitchen.

König shook his head, “No, I can do this. You just relax. There’s some good books in the living room.”

You nodded and padded away. You walked through the sprawling manor before you managed to find the living room. The entire room was wallpapered in bookshelves, each one nearly scraping the top of the tall ceilings. You walked to the nearest shelf and looked at the ancient tomes. Books of old, some with spines cracked like white crested waves and others with leather bindings that had been peeled off through the ages. When you pulled some out as carefully as you could, you’d find their covers in different language.s You saw some in German, of course, but others were in Spanish, French, Italian too. You came across a couple that looked like they were written in latin. Some had strange writings in sitting curiously on the pages that looked like Cyrilic, others looking like kangi or hanzi, you couldn’t tell. You wondered if König could actually read all these books. By the plentiful appearances of bookmarks and dog ears, maybe he could. You might have suspected they were for show had you not seen the notes in German in the margins. They all had the same handwriting, all matching your König’s carefully crafted calligraphy.

You managed to find a book in English that you could take over to the window bench to curl up into the bohemian pillows and blankets. You managed to find a lightswitch overhead to provide a warm light to read by, a stark contrast to the cool, drizzly weather outside. You liked the rain sometimes, but you noted that your energy was always a bit low when it came by. You hated to admit it, but you’d missed the sun.

Lately, König had been lax about putting you in the basement. He’d only just let you have free reign of the home the other day, actually. You hoped it was because he was in a merciful mood, but knowing König everything was carefully crafted. It always was, wasn’t it? He always had plans, always carefully crafting his web to keep his puppets strung along to his desires. You were just another doll in his hands, carved from wood to his shape of perfection. You only hoped he saw to it that a smile was drawn on your face by the end.

You tucked a stray bookmark into the bindings of your book and looked out the window. You’d never actually seen the front of the house. You had seen the back, seen his sprawling gardens and his great shed on the back corner of the property, hidden behind some straggly pines like some perching cat. You’d asked to see it once, but König had refused you flatly. He said it was best to stay in the gardens, stay where it was comfortable and safe. What would you want with an old workshed, anyways? You had glanced over his shoulder at the dilapidated building. A part of you wondered if you stared long enough into the dark windows, would you see something staring back? You looked away as soon as the thought crossed your mind.

Sitting on the window bench, it was perfectly comfortable and warm inside. König kept the fireplace running now that autumn had crept over the land. You watched the yellow and orange leaves flutter in the light wind outside before flowing away in the wind. In the distance, a great red maple tree curled over one side of the driveway, hiding the rest of the route from view. You wondered how long it was, how far back it stretched. If you followed it, how long would it take until you found some other traveller? How long until you found another home? Something told you that anyone you came across out here would have different intentions than König. You suspected far, far worse.

You put the bok in your lap and sighed. It had been so long since you’d lived your old life. A part of you wondered if your parents ever called after you. Your friends certainly didn’t notice your absences. In fact, the person who cared most was probably your boss, furious that you’d up and left without a word. You could imagine her snapping and snarling into your voicemail only to slam down the phone and wonder what had happened to their faithful employee. You knew that despite how cruel and heartless your boss could seem, they approved of you and valued you in your position. You wondered if they ever hoped you were alright, wherever you went.

You heard heavy footsteps before you saw König turning around the doorway. He clucked his tongue as he swaggered over to your side.

“I told you to go to the living room, not the library,” König hummed.

“This isn’t the living room?” you asked.

“No,” König shook his head, “the living room is on the other side of the hall.”

“The one with the fireplace?” you asked.

König nodded and put a hand on your shoulder. He peered down at your lap and nodded approvingly, “I didn’t take you for much of a reader.”

“Well, there’s not much else to do,” you explained as you turned the cover from his sight.

“Why did you choose this book?” he asked as he plucked it from your reluctant fingers.

“I heard it’s a good sequel,” you said nervously.

König fluttered through the paperback pages with an amused chuff, “Not an official sequel. Charlotte Bronte was dead for over a hundred years before Jean Rhys published this.”

You watched him smile as he flicked through the book.

“I didn’t know it was that long,” you admitted.

“It’s an interesting book, this one,” König mused, “you got a decent ways in. What are your thoughts about the moths?”

“The moths?” you asked.

“The moths and the flame,” König repeated, “it’s a symbol that repeats throughout the novel.”

You rubbed your forefinger and thumb together over the hem of your sleeve, “I liked it. Two lovers fated to be, but by being together it ends in mutual destruction.”

“Is it mutual?” König raised an eyebrow behind his hood, “Mr. Rochester goes on to live a good life with Jane Eyre, doesn’t he?”

“I…” you thinned your lips to a line, “he did, didn’t he.”

“I’dHe was harmed, no doubt, but do you really think that Mr. Rochester was as ruined as his late wife? I’d argue otherwise,” König flicked the book shut, “fire is a prominent symbol in and of itself. Fitting considering her end, isn’t it?”

You shivered, “I try not to think about that too much.”

“But you must, my dear,” König crooned, “the end is what makes the novel a tragedy, don’t you think?”

You turned to look up into König’s eyes. He stared back, unwavering in his declarations towards you. He tilted his head to the side, glanced at the book one final time, the tossed it back into your lap.

“It’s a beautiful book,” he said as he turned to leave the room, “I think you’ll like it.”

“Do you?” you asked as he turned to leave.

He looked back at you. His eyes crinkled mirthfully briefly, “I think you will.”

When König left, you put the book to your side and shivered. You didn’t think you would be finishing this one.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[suzukiblu]

do you have any kryptonians hcs that you think would be fun to see incorporated in more fics out there? like cultural stuff & biology

Ones I've seen before and really like:

Kryptonians purr

Kryptonians are built physically harder/denser/heavier than humans and don't have much "give" in their bodies

Kryptonians can tell that humans aren't the same thing as them, but humans can't QUITE tell that Kryptonians aren't the same thing as them; there is just the tiiiiiniest bit of uncanny valley there when they aren't deliberately trying to pass for humans, though

Kryptonians immediately just "recognize" other Kryptonians as being Kryptonian ( though maybe this one is at least IMPLIED in canon, though I've never been totally clear on that one--but like, a stronger version of it, if that makes sense?? )

Ones I've been slooowly forming myself for personal use:

Kryptonians have different voices and different hearing, in the sense that a Kryptonian has more tones/nuance in their voice and can HEAR more tones/nuance in a voice, and a lot of other species' voices sound flat or toneless to them because they lack those additional tones

"chiming" as a way for children to get their parent/caretaker's attention; basically a specific musical little sound that they make

Kryptonians typically only being physically expressive or emotive with close family members/friends, and vocal communication frequently being more emotive/descriptive for them than physical is

Kryptonians come in just sliiiightly brighter colors than humans do--eyes, hair, skin, etc

it takes a long time and extended time together to "learn" someone's heartbeat

food is generally served on specific complementing dishware, in terms of color/shape/specific meal

most clothes involve multiple layers, mainly a fitted undersuit that covers as much skin as possible, and then an overrobe or two that hide(s) the shape of their bodies as much as possible; specific cuts of drapery are a big thing in their fashion

wearing house crests is a Big Deal all the time and involves certain rites of passage/ages/etc

diet being fairly simple and minimalistic; they have rice but not really bread, eat more fish than red meat, and cuisine tends to concentrate on very subtle and natural flavors; there's not typically a lot of different things on their plate and they don’t generally use chemical preservatives in daily life

to a Kryptonian it'd be a LOT more normal that Kon and Match got made in test tubes than it'd be that Jon and Chris got made via natural births, and there would absolutely be a "is cloning worse or is just leaving your kid's DNA up to chance worse??" kind of argument going on there, culturally speaking

( also I could go on for a fucking MINUTE how Jon being a successful and healthy hybrid who is also apparently fertile enough to have at least one descendent alive and well in the thirty-first century is an insane and weird thing that makes very little sense that I DESPERATELY wish came up in more of the fics/canon that I see involving or mentioning him; seriously, Kryptonian DNA is so complicated that Bizarro syndrome is a regular thing in clones produced from it even by people who SPECIALIZE in cloning, but the kid who just got whatever random genes won the random race is the one who came out perfectly stable and healthy and has ZERO health issues/concerns? like, EVER?? hOW, canon. HOW. )

I will actually live and die on the hill of "Lex is more genetically compatible with Kryptonian DNA than Lois is" because fuck a) biological determinism and b) loving couples DO frequently have to deal with genetic incompatibility and that's just much more interesting to me narratively, and also I love the weird little not-quite-tragedy of that concept, both in how Lex refuses to be an ally to someone he actually is so naturally “compatible” with and in how Lois would have genetic compatibility issues with someone she loved so much and was loved BY so much

ONE DAY I will write the fic where Jon is actually NOT a healthy hybrid and has a ton of health issues from birth and can't even use any Kryptonian powers without having a freaking asthma attack or HEART attack, resigns himself to it just being an unavoidable Kryptonian-human hybrid thing and that he'll never live up to his dad or grow up to be "Superman"--and then one day an oblivious newborn bb clone Kon shows up out of the blue in perfect health with EXTRA superpowers and very publicly declaring that HE'S gonna be Superman someday, and everyone in the Kent family has to just deal with that and how they all feel about it. ONE DAY.

[zenspa-hypamama-me]

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

Read this if you wanna learn about guinea pigs!!

here is a long post on guinea pig breeds. it is intended to educate any guinea lovers or guinea interested people. these are all the breeds i know of but if there are more let me know and i will include them! I will be separating the images by breed but if there is a satin variant i will include that with the original breed (such as: american and american satin). guinea pig breeds are differentiated mostly by their coat type and color, but i am focusing on coat type here to hopefully cut down on the size of this post a bit plus it is the more important feature usually

Also satin syndrome makes the guinea pigs shiny. it does come with potential health issues but here i am just focusing on the outside appearance of the pigs!

[ID: Image 1: Shiny, brown, short haired guinea pig. The background is brownish and blurry.

Image 2: profile view short haired orange and white guinea pig. the background is white.

end ID]

this is an american guinea pig! it is fully short haired with all its hair going back towards its hind end. they can come in many patterns and colors! The left is an american satin guinea pig. the short haired guinea pigs show the shinyness very well.

[ID: image 1: Fuzzy, shiny, orange guinea pig with fur in rosettes/cowlicks. Background is blue.

image 2: Guinea pig with the same fur texture but not shiny. it is brown, light brown, and cream. Background is beige.

end ID]

This is an abyssinian satin guinea pig and an abyssinian guinea pig. their most distinctive feature is their rosettes/cowlicks! they basically always look like they were just towel dried after a bath.

[ID: image 1: long haired, shiny, blonde guinea pig with its hair in front of its face. it is on a teal blanket and in front of a white wall.

image 2: long haired brown guinea pig with the same fur texture but not shiny. the background is white.

end ID]

This is a peruvian satin and a peruvian guinea pig! they have long hair that parts down the middle and have bangs on top of their head that grow forward and out unless they are cut. they can be given endless fun haircuts! some are even triangle shaped

[ID: image 1: shiny, Orange and white, long haired guinea pig with no parting in its hair. it is on a blue blanket.

image 2: not shiny blonde guinea pig with shorter hair but the same texture. it is on a wooden table with grass in the background.

end ID]

These are silkie satin and silkie guinea pigs. They have long, smooth, flat hair and unlike peruvians they have no part down the middle. these pigs are also known as shelties. sometimes they look like wigs!

[ID: White, black, brown, and orange guinea pig with long fur and no part down the middle. It has short fur on top of its head that sticks out slightly. the background is white.

end ID]

Coronet pigs are similar to silkie pigs but they have a rosette on top of their head! this makes it look like they have a flat head or they just got a bad haircut but it's fully natural for the breed! basically the mullets of guinea pigs

[ID: Brown and white guinea pig with the fur on the top of its head creating a circle shaped indent. it is being pet on the chin and standing on black fabric.

end ID]

This is an english crested guinea pig! They're known for the indent on their head, known as a crest. They can come in many colors and are great starter breeds because of their short fur. also you can put a grape or blueberry on the crest!

[ID: Gold guinea pig with white fur on top of its head. it is standing on a blue blanket

end ID]

This is a white crested guinea pig, also known as an american crested! they have the same indent as the english crested pigs but different coloring. these pigs are solid colored except for the crest which is white

[ID: image 1: fuzzy brown and white guinea pig with very short and slightly shiny hair that sticks straight up. it is standing on blue fabric.

image 2: fuzzy brown and white guinea pig with very short hair sticking straight up. it is standing on a small salmon colored mat.

end ID]

These are teddy satin and teddy guinea pigs. They're known for their short, soft hair that sticks straight up. They both look and feel like teddy bears and are essentially stuffed animals in guinea pig format.

[ID: Brown, fuzzy guinea pig with short hair that sticks up and slightly back. The background is white.

end ID]

This is a rex guinea pig! they are very similar to teddy guinea pigs but their hair is coarser and it tends to go backwards a bit instead of sticking up. however it can be hard to tell the two breeds apart without feeling their hair because they are very similar!

[ID: Brown and white long haired guinea pig with lettice in front of its face. it's hair is wavy.

This is a texel guinea pig and yes its hair naturally grows like that! they have long, smooth, wavy hair that grows down and slightly backwards. Just like silkies they are essentially the wigs of the guinea pig world!

[ID: Adult blonde and white guinea pig with coarse, long, wavy hair. under its chin is a baby guinea pig the same colors and short wavy hair. the background is white

end ID]

These are alpaca guinea pigs! they are similar to texel pigs because they are both curly breeds, but they are a bit different. alpaca pigs typically have denser fur and their babies are known for being ultra cute!

[ID: Brown and orange guinea pig with medium length hair that sticks up all over the place. the background is light blue.

end ID]

This is a sheba/sheba mini yak guinea pig! it is a mix between a peruvian and abyssinian guinea pig and is known for it's medium length, bedhead-like hair. its hair doesnt grow as fast as a Peruvians and it breaks off more easily so its wonderful for owners who want a longer haired pig without as much work.

[ID: White guinea pig with very long, luscious, and slightly wavy fur. the fur on its face is short. the background is white.

end ID]

This is my favorite breed, the lunkarya/lunk guinea pig! it is a mutation of peruvian guinea pig, but there can be lunkarya silkie and lunkarya coronet pigs too. they're known for their long, slightly wavy hair that can't be smoothed out, unlike their straight haired counterparts.

[ID: Fully bald guinea pig with mostly pale pink skin and some dark brown skin. the background is white.

end ID]

This is a baldwin guinea pig! it is the only fully hairless guinea pig breed so its pretty easy to spot. they are born with full coats of hair and lose them within a few weeks (but oftentimes less time). they were a result of a recessive genetic mutation that causes complete hair loss.

[ID: Mostly hairless guinea pig with short, fuzzy orange hair on its nose, ears, and feet. its skin is black and it has peach fuzz throughout its body. it is standing on blue and white plaid fabric and the background is white.

end ID]

this is a skinny pig! unlike the baldwin pig, these pigs have a bit of hair. they have the most amount of hair around their face and legs, but there is a bit of peach-fuzz-like hair throughout their entire body. they are born with their mostly-hairless coats!

[ID: Partially hairless white guinea pig with a brown nose. it has sparse, fuzzy hairs throighout its body. it has slightly more hair near the front of its body and its face. the background is fuzzy red fabric.

end ID]

This is a werewolf guinea pig, which is a distinct variation of skinny pigs! While skinny pigs are mostly bald with peach fuzz hairs, werewolf pigs have quite a bit more hair but still not full coats. theyre basically half hairless piggies!

[ID: White and slightly brown guinea pig with long, dense, slightly wavy hair and shorter fuzzy hair on its face. it is standing on a brick wall with a garden in the background.

end ID]

This is a minipli guinea pig! it is a mix of lunkarya and alpaca piga that only started being bred fairly recently. it has the thick hair of the lunk and the coarser hair of the alpaca. however since its hair is more brittle it won't reach lunk lengths.

[ID: Orange and slightly white guinea pig that is fully shorthaired except for a mohawk-like ridge running down its back. it is standing in the grass and the background is a metal fence.

end ID]

This is a ridgeback guinea pig! It is a variant of the abyssinian guinea pig known for its mohawk. this fashionable piggie has this mohawk because of the two rosettes on each side of its back that cause the hair to stick straight up.

[ID: Brown, orange and slightly white guinea pig with medium length, smooth, wavy hair and short fuzzy hair on its face. the background is white.

end ID]

This is a merino guinea pig and also our last pig of the list (unless i need to update it)! The merino is a mix of the texel and coronet breeds and it has distinct features of both. this pig has the wavy, smooth coat of the texel and the same forehead rosette as the coronet!

i hope you all enjoyed these pigs!! let me know if there's any i missed. wheek wheek!!

[butterfly-stitches]

BLUE MONDAYS.

[ Mature ]

AO3

Masterlist

Pairings: Russell Adler x Bell, Russell Adler x Reader Russell Adler & Bell, Russell Adler & Lawrence Sims, Bell & Lawrence Sims, Russell Adler & Helen A. Park

Warnings: Brainwashing 🧠 Psychological Torture 🧠 Torture 🧠 Mind Manipulation 🧠 Medical Experimentation 🧠 False Memories 🧠 Flashbacks 🧠 Loss of Identity 🧠 Prisoner of War 🧠 Medical Torture 🧠 Medical Inaccuracies 🧠 Military Inaccuracies 🧠 Vietnam War 🧠 Propaganda 🧠 Pining 🧠 Crush at First Sight 🧠 Unresolved Romantic Tension 🧠 Unresolved Sexual Tension 🧠 Older Man/Younger Woman 🧠 Developing Friendships 🧠 Possibly Unrequited Love 🧠 Stockholm Syndrome 🧠 Denial of Feelings 🧠 Pre-Canon 🧠 POV Second Person > Other Additional Tags to Be Added <

-----------------------------------

Chapter 2: rewind the clock.

Words: 7,535 Summary: In which you are tried …

We’ve known each other for years. Fought together, bled together. Been through the hell of Vietnam together.

Together.

Together…

=========================================

— Script 01 —

=========================================

You remembered when you first met him. All those years ago.

You were fresh off the huey; jet-lagged, motion sick and completely exhausted. The majority of your morning had been spent by long, draining hours of travel. With nothing to do but to sit still in your heli seat and mindlessly stare out beyond to leagues and leagues of endless jungle. You had grown restless during it; uncomfortable and fidgety. It was not in your nature to be so inactive and stationary for so long, although it was only for now.

Even so, it was grueling for you. Zoochosis for a captive animal, idle hands for a person with calloused palms. Your tailbone ached, your muscles stiffened. The earmuffs of the aviation headset were starting to make your ears hurt. The sound of static in your eardrums echoed in your head. But it was the only thing that blocked out the chopping winds and sounds of the rotor blades from the open cabin. Hours of constant travel that felt stagnant, stuck in a never ending loop. Trapped in a limbo of an all-encompassing jungle. A glue trap for vermin such as you. And it was all beginning to drive you mad. 

There came a sudden drop in your gut, a rising crest of nausea. Then all at once, the irrational feeling of claustrophobia. As the urgency to escape from the cramped feeling of your helicopter coursed throughout your body. Bile was in the back of your throat, a burning pain behind your eyes. You stood up, gripping the handrails tightly as you swayed on the edge from shooting up from your seat so quickly. Heels just on the precipice of the open cabin’s fuselage. Winds howling all around you, whipped against your face as you stared out. The panoramic blur of jungle greenery was starting to pull you in like a gravity wellspring, a riptide. Maw open to swallow you whole. 

A traitorous thought, a nipping need. From a desperation that entailed recklessness. Muscles primed to take the plunge and jump out. Alarm bells drowning out all logical thinking, overwhelmed instead by the fight-or-flight instinct. To run, to escape. Escape? Escape from what? 

You didn't know.

(Oh, but you do. Don’t you? Deep down where the wounds are still fresh. Nothing forgets the feel of teeth and claws.) 

There came a crackling of voices in your headset between the pilots and air control. It was incomprehensible in your current state, too stuck in your own headspace to fully grasp what was said. But you knew what it meant, you were close to your destination. Closer still to being out of the air and off the helicopter. Your eyes shut as you leaned your head to the side against your forearm, and took lungfuls of air. A process to breath out the feelings that beset you. To calm the turbulence in your head and ease away the tension in your limbs. You opened your eyes. And there, you saw it. Right as it bloomed on the horizon in the far distance. A single splotch of civilization among all the wilderness. One you recognized from your dossier. Your reassignment, your new place of conduct.

Camp Haskins. 

A base built on top of an excavated and flattened peninsula. Jungle and hilltops in the distance. A boundless murky lake surrounded it all. With wide winding rivers slithering through the expanse of overgrown verdure. Sunbeams streamed through the plies of clouds across a clear blue sky, reflecting off the water surface in an sparkling array like that of a shining prism. Hypnotizing, entrancing.

(But you could see past the surface level beauty, can’t you? Look closely, to where all the ugliness and madness lies just beneath the skin. To the false ideology that poisons the land. The hearts and the minds.)

Like ants, the shapes of soldiers and personnel were all but small dots beneath the view from your huey hovering above. You were eventually forced to sit as it started to slowly descend downwards to a stretch of land serving as a makeshift airstrip. From your view above there were other helicopters sat aside on dirt spots lined with sandbags and grass patches. Their rotor blades spun idly like weathervanes, disturbed by the sudden dusty squalls generated by the wing blades of your own.

As your steel bird landed amid the rest of the flock, without a moment of delay, your boots met the ground. Legs shaky like a fawn’s, duffle bag over your shoulder. Hot dust swirled around you, the harsh glare of the sun was in your eyes. And you squinted, shielding your face with your forearm from it all. But all you felt was relief. Eased by the feel of solid ground underneath your feet. From the cloudiness, a marshaller ducked underneath the helicopter blades. The aviation helmet and clouds of dust obscured his features. Voice muffled by the hum of the chopper blades but you understood his gestures. 

He led you toward the outskirts where a Lieutenant awaited your arrival. Silent and stoic in the shadow of one of the roosting helicopters. You were greeted with nothing more than a curt nod and a firm handshake. No formal introductions or debriefs given. But his face said it all. Apathetic and haggard, thin mouth pressed tight. You were taken aback by the abrupt unfriendliness. You weren’t expecting any enthusiastic reception, or even a warm welcome by any means, but it seemed your arrival wasn’t as big of a deal as described to you. Mannerisms and rectitude… just civil things chipped away and lost to the jungle. He walked off ahead of you, away from the airfield and towards the entrance of the base. And you followed wordlessly. 

But as you both reached the threshold of the base entrance, your steps began to slow until you eventually stopped in place. Wiping away sweat that already began to coat your skin. Your eyes went to the flagpole at the foot of the entrance gate, right along the barbed wire fencing. And up to where the sounds of whipping fabric snapped in the breeze. Above you, the star spangled banner soared. Something in you stirred at the sight of it, staring up at the domestic colors of red-white-and-blue. Of the stars and stripes in the air. You were attentive to it as it waved at you. Saluting to the soldier inside and out. Seeing those colors fly above was more of a welcome than anything, something sickly familiar. 

But the longer you stared at it, the more something began to brew within you. An itch in the recesses of your mind as you tried to remember. A jolt shot down your spinal cord and your skin crawled. Something about it felt off.

(Don’t you see it? Look closely. To the false ideology that poisons the land. The hearts and the minds.) 

Seeing those colors fly above you… 

Was as sickly familiar just as it was sickly foreign to you. 

The American flag distorted like a glitch, hemorrhaged before your very eyes. The red stripes bled. Poured out like cuts on the skin, staining the fabric darker. Until it was red, red, red. Soaked in sin, bathed in bloodshed. With only the taste of iron and rot to overload your senses. Of lies being force fed to you. Slowly, by the spoonful; easily masticated, easily digestible. 

Sluicing rivulets of burning scarlet trickled down onto the dirt below, pouring out before your feet like flood waters. But before the spillage could wash over your boots, you stepped back. As disembodied, high-pitched screams came from all around you in all directions, from everywhere all at once. Pressure expanded in your head, a ringing hummed in your ears. And all you could do was look around aimlessly as your surroundings began to fade away. As if the world around you had been sepia-stained all along. Saturated and grainy like living through a photograph. Snapshots hung in darkrooms, pictures pinned onto cork boards. 

There came another itch in the recesses of your mind, a jolt down your spinal cord once more. As an omnipresence settled in your head. With it came a cacophony that surged forward. A thousand voices that spoke with the power of one, loud and sharp in your ringing ears. Someone called to you, words unintelligible. Muffled as if spoken underwater. Until it grew louder and clearer. 

The voice called out again. And you blinked. 

Slowly, heavily. As if you just remembered you could.

You turned towards the voice. Craned your head towards the entrance of the base where the Lieutenant stood. Visibly confused and on the border of being concerned. Your eyes flicked back up to the flag, only to see that it was as it was before. Red-white-and-blue, American colors blowing in the wind. Your tongue swiped across your chapped lips and a coppery taste seeped into your mouth. You lifted your hand up, pulling it back to see blood smeared on your fingertips. A nosebleed, small and just beginning to congeal. You wiped away the trickle of blood with the inside of your sleeve. Gave one last look at the stars and stripes above before falling back in line. 

Following right after the Lieutenant. Who only remained quiet as he led you through Camp Haskins. Stealing occasional glances over his shoulder at you. You brushed off his looks however, taking in the new sights and sounds of your new workplace. The FOB was bigger than what you anticipated. Uncounting for the expansive area of its grounds and perimeter that was more like a campground than just a resting campsite. Made of wooden pallet walls, metal sheets, stacked sandbags, barbed wire, and chain link fencing. Built from the ground up, Camp Haskins was a foothold in the predacious jungles of Vietnam. A paradise in the hellscape. A somewhere in the middle of nowhere. 

And here, in such a place, you stuck out like a gangrened limb. 

Eyes were on you, curious and watchful. Whispering to each other. Peeking out from the surrounding rows of field tents and makeshift pallet sheds. Sheltering away from the sweltering heat of the afternoon sun. Listening to cheery vinyls in the background to dilute the silent suffering that simmered over the campsite. But how could they not stare? You were fresh meat among the butchered bunch, just another body for the grinder. Just another cog for the machine. But you weren’t just some starry-eyed recruit straight out of bootcamp. Just as young, yes. But far more seasoned. Having had your fair share of field and combat experience. As well as a honed skill set based in subterfuge, intel gathering, linguistics, encryption and decryption — more specifically, cryptanalysis and cryptography. 

Your experience and expertise were why you were here. And why you were reassigned to this place. 

(A new change of scenery, a new set of challenges. A sacrificial lamb in a slaughterhouse. You belonged here rightfully, did you not?)

Even so, there was an efflux of uneasiness -- an acetic mix of both nerves and nausea. Lingering after effects from your journey here. But you remained composed. Unreactive to the looks and stares from the other soldiers. Quiet as a field mouse while you followed behind the Lieutenant on a plank path between the field tents. Head down, eyes averted. Focused instead to the sounds of your footsteps on the boards. 

The wooden footpathing eventually cut past a gun range. Targets, crates, barrels, wood paneling and sandbags set up at different distances and positions. Behind cover and out in the open. A group of men watched from the sidelines underneath the shade of the camouflage net hanging over the shooting booths. Because of the rising temperature, some were shirtless. Others were still in their jungle fatigues with their collars opened wide and sleeves pulled up as far up as they could go. Instructors and quartermasters lingered nearby, observing the attempts and watching for progress.  

From what you could gather it was a shooting exercise or rather a friendly competition. Soldiers cheered on as one of the participants standing behind the firing line quickly took shots at the targets. Missing more than a few, before his aim steadied a bit. But he wasn’t quick enough as a stopwatch rang out, signaling the end of his attempt. You slowed your stride and took a moment to watch. Analyzing and surveying. Your eyes focused on the next participant that stepped forward. A stocky man with a buzzcut, wearing a stained wife beater. A rifle hung over his shoulder casually, as if it was an accessory more than a necessity. He audibly scoffed at the time set by his fellow competitor, a cocky grin on his face. A deliberate display that caught the attention of the shooting instructors.

“What? Think you can do better, Miller?” One of them said.

The man’s grin only widened in response. “More than better, sir.” 

Some of the men behind him laughed. More in agreement than doubt. Laughing with him rather than at him. From the crowd, you watched another soldier stride forward, clapping Miller on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. Then threw an arm around his neck, tugging him close like one would a younger brother.

“Gotta watch out for this one, Staff Sergeant. Fought off a whole ambush of those Vietnamese bastards down in the ridge. And all by himself.”

“Heard Miller did it all with just one mag left.” Another piped in, miming an assault rifle in his hands and taking aim at invisible enemies. “One shot, one kill.”

“Got them damn Vietnamese runnin’ at the sight of ‘im.”

The instructor only rolled his eyes, arms across his chest. “Didn’t know you had cheerleaders, Private.”

“Yeah. The best damn cheer team in ’Nam, sir. Just need some short skirts and pom-poms then it’ll feel just like home.”

Miller winked and the other men burst out in laughter much to the Staff Sergeant’s clear annoyance. By the way his lips flatten into a scowl.

“This ain’t high school football, son.” He said, stepping closer. Glaring down at the still smug Private inches from his face. “Just get your ass to the shooting stall. We’ll see just how good you are at killin’, Team Captain.”

Miller stood up straighter in a salute, a small smirk rising in the corner of his mouth. 

“Yessir.” 

But you didn’t get the chance to see the Private’s attempt at the marksman challenge. Having to hurry past the firing range instead. Just to catch up in time before he disappeared in the bustle. Only the echo of rapid gunshots and sounds of cheering were heard behind you. You were led further into the base’s center to a cluster of temper tents and pop-up canopies. It was busier this time of day. Personnel went in and out of the field tents carrying manila folders and field reports. Squads of soldiers prepared themselves for the field, packing up their ammunition and filling up their water canteens for the day. 

While other soldiers sat underneath tarpaulin awnings that sufficed as an open-air mess hall of sorts. Full of endless chatter and laughing, and the scratching sounds of cutlery on metal platters. Scraping their plates clean, not leaving any morsel or crumb. From it came the smell of hot chow wafting in the air: chicken, pork chops, vegetables, rice, and boiled legumes. Being seared on flat top grills, served from their pots and pans onto wood tables. Even though you haven’t eaten since the early morning of your departure, the pungent smells of lunch only intensified the queasiness you felt. Your nausea hadn't diminished nor had your nerves. Even now as you were led to one of the canopy tents ahead. 

Beyond the green tarp flap, a small gathering lingered inside. Surrounding a circular table, discussing quietly between themselves. But only to go dead silent as the Lieutenant approached the mouth of the tent with you in tow. From what you could tell they were all higher officers if their insignia patches and uniforms were anything to go by. But between them all, standing at the head of the table, the base commander eyed you both intensely. Stalwart, serious. Stiff postured. With sheared hair the color of polished gunmetal.

The Lieutenant was the first to proceed. Stepped forward and saluted the whole tent full of higher-ups with a polite ‘sir’. Standing so perfectly at attention it was like he was back in formation. With a simple gesture of dismissal, the gathering dispersed. Filing out of the tent like a row of waddling ducks. Walking past you as if you weren’t even there. 

“Lieutenant Weiss,” The base commander nodded.

An acknowledgement more than a greeting. But his eyes were quick to land back on you. Standing a few feet behind the other soldier. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll take it from here. You are dismissed.” He said, without turning his attention away from you.

Lieutenant Weiss moved aside, giving you one final glance before shouldering past you. You straightened your spine, conceding the superior’s seniority with a salute of your own. The base commander rounded the table and walked forward just as your arm fell to your side. He let the silence linger a bit longer between you two. Only made you shift your weight on your heels. But eventually he spoke, narrowing his gaze at you. 

Disappointedly, you came to realize. 

“So you’re the person I’ve been waiting all day for.” 

The base commander looked you up and down for a moment, sizing you up. Processing your presence. Underwhelmed by first impressions. 

“Hm, you’re not what I expected. Hell, you don't even seem to fit the damn bill. The way they hold you up as some sort of mastermind prodigy I expected well… more.” 

He let his words settle. You knew he awaited a reply. To bite back and dissuade any doubts given about yourself or your skillset. You thought you would. At least disagree with him. But nothing rose, nothing conjured up. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say they sent me the wrong person for the job. But if there’s anything I learned over the years it's that taking someone at face value will only be a disservice in the long run.”

The commander sighed out more wearily than was intended as his composure fell. But he was swift to stiffen his shoulders again and correct his posture. “I’m sure I don't need to give you the rundown of things. You know what needs to be done and what is required of you. You’ll be working closely with Russell Adler.”

Something in you stirred, writhing. 

The details of your debrief were foggy. But the name seemed awfully distinct. Too familiar. Like an old wound, there came a phantom pain. Skin prickled and cold sweat gathered down your spine. Empty traces of memories came and went. Too convoluted and obscure; too fleeting to fully grasp. Washed away like silt in a rushing stream.

“Adler?” You repeated. Whisper-like from your sudden breathlessness. Such a name carried weight. But on your tongue, it felt like an imprecation. 

“Correct, you’ll be assigned to his team and will take direct orders from him from now on.” He eyed you, “Is that a problem?”

You paused, taken aback by the question. Licking your dry lips, you shook your head. “Of course not, sir.”

“Good. The man's a damn bastard. He’s got a particular way of doing things but he’ll bring out that potential in you I’m sure.”

From the way he paused again, the commander intended to elaborate more. But the sound of revving engines and heavy wheels crunching on dirt gravel behind the tent cut through the conversation.

“Speak of the Devil.” The commander said, chuffing out a dry laugh. You turned your attention back to him as he walked forward. Stopping in the entry of the tent and then turned to you. 

“Let's hope you exceed expectations.” 

With that, the base commander stepped outside of the tent. And a second later, you did the same. Followed behind him closer than you did Lieutenant Weiss as he walked between the rows of tents and onto a dirt road directly behind them. A convoy of vehicles were parked on the sidelines along the fencing. Offloading platoons that jumped off from the backs of them. Tired, sweaty, and dirty. Returning back from the field. 

The commander stopped walking and you stood beside him as he scanned the soldiers across the way. 

“Adler!” He barked out toward a group of soldiers hopping out from one of the vehicles in the back of the convoy. In that loud, stern military tone that made the other soldiers stop and grow stiff. 

From the drove of soldiers, a silhouette emerged in the afternoon sun. And you faltered. Stunned suddenly by a concentrated sun glare. You shielded your face. Crushed your eyelids together, flinching away from the brightness. While the sound of heavy boots on the gravelled road stalked forward, getting closer and closer. 

Until the footsteps came to a stop in front of you both.

In the glare of the sun stood an imposing figure. Tall and broad-shouldered. Framed entirely by an angelic glow that seemed to suffuse into your surroundings. Blinding, nauseatingly bright. It was hard to look up. Like the onset of an eclipse, it hurt to stare too long. 

“Colonel.” Greeted a velvety voice; sonorous and smooth like silk. 

And your stomach twists. A dread, unprofound.

(Nothing forgets the feel of teeth and claws.)

His large shadow fell over you, blocking out the sun. Still you struggled to see. Your eyesight bleached white. You blinked over and over, slowly opening your eyes. Squinting hard as everything started to take shape around you. Subsequently, gradually, the figure grew clearer. Stinging, watery eyes yet you braved a look. A single glance. 

And all at once the world seemed to fall away, time itself slowed. Face-to-face with the man himself. 

Russell Adler.

Dressed in olive green fatigues that reeked of the jungle. Sweat, gunpowder, mud and rancid water. Overtaken now by the stench of a lit cigarette balanced between his lips. The residual smoke caught in your sinuses, filling your lungs like a house fire. Instinctively, your eyes went straight to his. Only to meet the mirrored lenses of sunglasses perched on a strong Roman nose. Eyes hidden, though it didn’t shield you away from the intensity of his gaze. Or the asphyxiating feeling it churned deep inside your fickle, feeble ribs. To a rabbit heart that thumped wildly against its bone cage. Overcome with instinctual fear.

“Adler,” The base commander nodded, hands clasped behind his back. “Brought you something.”

Smoke fell from the man’s parted lips. 

“Hm, better smokes?” 

“A new member of your team.” The commander corrected. “I trust you’ll be accommodating.”

Adler took a puff of his half-smoked cigarette. Your reflection stared back at you in his dark lenses. A shiver shot down your spine like an ice spike, hair raised at your nape. As the corner of his lips rose into a small smile. 

“I’ll be sure to find good use for ’em, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He looked between you both. “I expect results.” You felt the commander’s ironclad stare on you as the finality left his mouth. Aimed at you deliberately. 

Adler grumbled a low prusten, cigarette burning between his fingers. 

With that, the commander stepped away. Within seconds of leaving, he was already pulled into other business. Guided away towards the field tents and lost into the crowd. Leaving you alone with Adler. You shuffled on the balls of your feet. As a tense silence befell you both. A beat came and went, then he moved. A body shift that made your head immediately shoot up, body tensed, startled by the movement. 

Adler tilted his head to the side. Motioning for you to follow as he sauntered off. You watched him go, unable to move yourself. Feet rooted to the ground, limbs made of lead. When he noticed that you weren’t behind him, Adler stopped and turned. Eyebrows knitted together in a questioning look. 

“You coming or what, kid?” He asked.

You stared at him for a moment. Sun beating down on you, exposed to it now with the absence of his shadow. You took an uneven breath. Despite yourself, despite your gut feeling, you stepped forward and followed him. 

(How easily you are led astray, alongside a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Your fate is sealed. You walk with death now.) 

The crowd between the tents parted into two, leaving a clear and undisturbed path for Adler as he strode on through. You trailed behind Adler, lingering with enough interspace put between you and him to not lose track of him while also remaining at a safe distance. Eyes were on you both, curious and watchful. Whispering to each other. Peeking out from the surrounding tents and makeshift pallet sheds. Sheltered away from the high noon sun. Vinyls played cherry sweet songs in the background to omit the unabating melancholy and despair of Camp Haskins. But how could they not stare? 

Like you, Adler wasn’t exempt from the attention of other soldiers. But unlike you, the looks and whispers given were derived more from admiration and camaraderie. You saw the way they looked at him. How they reacted to him and greeted him. With nods and smiles, waves and whistles; such simple recognitions to him. But to you, it spoke volumes. Adler was a man that was well-respected, well-received. And not to be taken lightly. 

Adler slowed at open tents ahead. Stopping just before the mouth of one of the open tents, peering over his shoulder to make sure you were still behind him. Boisterous laughter and talking echoed from inside making you uneasy. Reluctantly you followed Adler inside. A group of men were strewn around the interior. Sat on cots, wood boxes and ammo boxes. Leaned on tables and against stacked crates. Half-quart beer cans and whiskey bottles gathered on a table top in the center where a card game was currently taking place. 

Poker, you realized.

“Adler! Just the man we’ve been waiting on! Nice of you to finally join us. Was worried you got caught up in some more bullshit.” 

Adler only hummed, cigarette idle in his hand. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you did much waiting.” Adler gestured to the empty cans and bottles, then took a slow drag of his cigarette. “I see you got the party goin’ without me, Sims.”

“Yeah, well. Better to get it started than to sit around, twiddling our thumbs and waiting on you. S’like I said, I thought you —”

The man, Sims, went quiet when he finally noticed you. As did the rest of the tent. An uncomfortable moment passed before the man let out a laugh. 

“So I was right. You did get caught up in some bullshit.”

Adler’s gaze narrowed, blowing out a rush of smoke. “Always the brazen type, Sims.”

The man, Sims, only shrugged with a wide smile, folding his hand. The action made the other players stop their staring and resume the game. “So… this the ‘new one’ then?”

“Something like that. Gonna be working with us from now on.” Adler declared. Spoke more to everybody in the tent than to just Sims.

“Goin’ to show ’em around. Try not to lose all your chips while I’m gone, Sims.”

“Got no faith in me, Doc. Just one good hand and I’ll win it all. You’ll see.”

But Adler wasn’t convinced. 

He led you back out of the tent, crushing the finished cigarette with the twisting of his boot heel. Still you kept distance between you both, trailing a few paces behind. 

“Welcome to Camp Haskins. Our little oasis in the middle of this godforsaken shitstorm.” 

Adler introduced so casually that you couldn't take any other way but derisive, acrid. Nonetheless, he showed you the basic layout of the base. Pointed out what everything was and where everything was located, various facilities and all. But you barely categorized a lot of them. Occupied instead by him, by his presence. Watching, ever observant. The nature of espionage was instinctual to you. At this distance, at arm’s length, you couldn’t help but take in the sight of the man in front of you, despite yourself. Caution thrown to the wind. But you were simple in some regards; no one was immune to charisma. So you looked and stared, just like the other soldiers did. 

Adler was the embodiment of an all American man. Clean-shaven, square-jawed, and… ruggedly handsome — despite the obstruction of his shades. His disheveled helmet hair was brushed to the side in a semblance of a groomed hairstyle. The color of it was burnished by the sun until it burned like an aureole, a crown of light. 

(But you could see past the surface level beauty, can’t you? Look closely, to where all the ugliness and madness lies just beneath the skin.)

But the glory and gore of war was already skin deep. Into the trenches of a weathered face where camouflage paint was slashed across hardened features, smudged now by sweat and grime. It was nothing less of a battle-hardened, war worn soldier. There was beauty, there was madness in him. You saw it as Adler led you to your sleeping quarters, a tent shared with other soldiers. Even now as he bid you a farewell so you could get adjusted, unpack and get some rest for what tomorrow would bring. You laid in your hard army cot, your duffle bag untouched in the corner. Overwhelmed with a wave of exhaustion like you had stayed up for days. 

You closed your eyes and dreamed of death.

◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼

It was getting hard to breathe.

No matter how much you wiped away the sweat streams and matted strands from your face. Took gulps from your canteen or pulled up your sleeves. The suffocation remained. 

You were only a couple kilometers into the jungle and already you felt its bite. Cascades of sweat were already sheening on your skin, gathered on your brow. And already your uniform started to feel like a second skin, clinging to you from all the clamminess. You thought yourself prepared mentally and physically. But your debrief or specified training didn’t fully prepare you for this sort of misery. Of an inescapable and persistent humidity that didn’t take long to sink its teeth in you. A sweltering heat insulated by the density of all the trees. Canopies that were heavily intertwined in growth like tapestry; their branches woven together so tightly that they were indistinguishable from each other.

You weren’t the only one affected. So were the rest of Adler’s team. 

From their footslogging, they were as miserable as you were. But they endured and continued, without a complaint or slowing down. So you did the same and kept on walking further into an endless jungle without an end in sight. But it wasn’t just for nothing that was for certain. You remembered earlier. Hours before. When Adler had arrived at your tent to fetch you in the morning. Seemingly surprised that you were wide awake and already dressed. 

“You’re up early. Thought’d you be out cold.” Adler had commented while he walked you to the open-aired mess hall. “Hope you got decent sleep, we’ve got a job to do.”

You had sat at the same table as Adler’s team albeit at the far end of the table bench. Spacing still kept, at arm's length to everyone. No one had commented on the distance you put between everyone, especially him. But you didn't eat breakfast. That feeling in your gut had stayed and so had the nausea. You weren’t keeping up with the conversations. Only bits and pieces: how Sims lost all his chips last night then again by no other than Adler, how the eggs and ham tasted like rubber, or even how hot it always quickly gets. Mindless chatter to pass the time. 

“Hutch and his boys got ambushed down by the ridge while out on yesterday’s patrol.” Adler had told everyone after breakfast. “That piece of land’s a prime piece of real estate. Too valuable to give up. Got orders to zap ’em. So gear up. We leave within the hour.”

You had followed steps behind Sims and some other members towards a provisional tent to stock up on ammunition. 

“Heard Hutch got hit during the entire thing.” Sims had said. 

“Yeah and got his ass saved by a single stripe Private.” One of the members had added, but you couldn’t make out which one. 

“Think it's enough to send him back home?”

Another member had shook his head. “Nah, it's a through and through. They’ll have him back in the field within the month I reckon.”

You all had met Adler within the hour, on the dot. He was dressed in jungle fatigues, ammo, grenades and the rest of his gear strapped to his utility vest. M16 cradled in his hands, a boonie hat on his head. Tiger stripes across his face and arms. Without delay, all of you had gone to the airfield and hopped on a helicopter. A short ride later, you had been dropped off miles away from the destination. You and Adler’s team would have to trek the rest of the way there. 

The assignment had seemed simple enough then. Go to the ridge, eliminate the enemy, and make it back just in time for dinner. But nothing was ever so simple in the hellscape of the Vietnam jungle you would soon come to realize. Adler took point, Sims at his right, and you at the back. Covering the team’s flank. But together you all moved as one through the underbrush. Carefully and silently, slow and steady. Wary for any booby traps and trip mines even this far out in the jungle. But you were all close to the ridge. 

Still, the heat was getting to you. More than you thought possible. In the silence of the jungle, you heard it. Beneath the ambiance, in the background of you and the team’s trampling through the undergrowth. Voices in the trees. Smudges of shadow just beyond the treeline where the eye could barely see. Watching, waiting. For the perfect opportunity. Then beeps, a loud beeping. Like a ticking clock, a heartbeat. Your own? No, you recognized the sound. Of a hospital room, medical machines monitored in tandem. Then something softer. Wind chimes, the gentle ringing from a belfry in the far, far distance. 

You wiped the sweat from your brow. Head pounding. . You placed a hand against a tree, but you didn't feel the rough texture, instead it felt papery and painted underneath your fingers. Like paper mache. And the undergrowth brushed against your arms, was nothing but fabric and plastic. You blinked. The jungle changed before your eyes, dissolving like an illusion. And all you saw was white. White walls, white flooring. A hallway. The sterile scent of peroxide and bleach. Shadows behind windows, peering through. Watching, waiting. You walked faster, panic and confusion fueled your steps. But the hallway grew longer, endless. You weren’t allowed to leave just yet.  

Until you collided with something, someone. 

“What the hell? — ” A harsh mumble through gritted teeth.

You looked up, wide-eyed. Shades filled your vision, as well as a downturned scowl. As your surroundings settled back in place.

“Get your head out of the clouds, kid.”

He grabbed you, hand pressed down on your shoulder, and pulled you down into a crouch. Only then did you notice that the whole team was crouched as well, hiding behind the boughs and piles of dead leaves and vines. And all staring at you. 

“Since the new one’s so eager, could send ’em in as a distraction, Doc.” Sims, who was leaning against a tree trunk across from you, whispered. “Get them all focused on a single person.”

Adler seemed to consider it, his scowl turning into a thoughtful press of his lips. He turned towards you, making you flinch. 

“I want you to get up there.” Adler pointed out a mound between the trees not too far from where you were all at. “You’ll get a better view of where those VietCong are hiding. Pick a target and on my say, take ’em out. That should flush them all out. Think you can manage?” 

You swallowed. “Yessir.”

Adler nodded at you, sending you off. 

Quietly and carefully, you snuck your way through the trees. Your rifle clutched tight in your hands, your helmet feeling heavier on your head.  

The trees seemed to lean in closer and closer, closing in all around you. Squeezed and pressed around you like a tight fist, suffocating you. 

White noise in your ears, static that clears into a voice. 

“You in position?”

“Almost, sir.” You replied.

You bellied yourself towards the top of the mound, settling into a spot. You stared down your scope, but all you saw was green. “I’m in position.”

“See anything?” Adler asked.

“Nothing.”

“Stay focused. Won’t be long until they walk right into your sights.”

You shifted on your elbows, nestling yourself in the dirt and ferns. “Copy.”

But Adler was right. It wasn’t long before you noticed some movement  below you. Figures emerged from between the trees, stalking out like big cats. You couldn’t gauge how many there were but from what you can tell, it was a group of them. Outnumbered Adler’s team — even with you included . 

“See ’em?” 

You blinked at Adler’s words over the radio. “Yessir, see a group of them walking towards you.”

“Good. Have a target picked out?”

You hovered your scope over one of them, walking just outside of the formation. 

“I do.”

“Take the shot.”

With an intake of breath, you steadied your rifle scope. Finger hovered over the trigger, as your crosshairs align with the target’s head. Slowly, you released your breath and took the shot. The sound of it echoed throughout the trees, a finality that left a ringing in your ears. Watching as the soldier’s body slumped to the ground in the scope. Immediately, a firefight broke out as Adler and his team started their surprise assault. But it was a blur to you. Bullets flew around you, the flash of muzzles in the foliage. Yelled Vietnamese in one ear, team comms buzzed in the other. Screams of dying soldiers collapsing to the ground. With your advantage on the mound, you tried your best to take out as many enemies as you could. When they tried to reposition when Adler and his team advanced forward, gaining ground. 

You moved down the top of the mound, taking cover as you were reloading your rifle. Hands shaky with adrenaline as you tried to insert a fresh mag. Something moved below you, just in the corner of your eye. The flash of a rifle in a stray sunstream, aiming right at you. You ducked as the rifle was unloaded towards your direction. Sweat poured down your face, stinging your eyes. Your rifle clicked, the hammer pulled back, reloaded. You heard running footsteps and yells behind your position. Coming straight for you. You heard them close in on you. From what you could garner, there’s a few of them. You laid still, finger ghosting over the trigger as the footsteps crunching against the dried leaves grow closer. As they crested over the top, without hesitation, you unloaded your mag into them. Taking out two of them, injuring another, before a fourth rushed forward. Body collided with body, as the enemy grappled with you. Your rifle pinned against your chest, the bayonet blade of his rifle sunk into the dirt beside your waist. 

He tried to keep you still on the ground, an opportunity for his injured teammate to force himself up and aim his rifle at you. You pushed your hips up, boots on the ground, as you bucked the enemy soldier off of you. Just enough to lift up your rifle and shoot the injured soldier before he could get his shot off on you. As instant as your shot, your rifle was kicked out of your hands. You recoiled back, a punch colliding with your jaw as the soldier climbed on top of you again. Grappled with you again, as you tried to reach for your knife. Using all your strength to push, you shifted your weight, bucking him off. The momentum of the maneuver pulled you with him as he fell backwards and tumbling down the mound into the jungle ground below. 

Body met the ground, dirt and twigs scraping against your skin. Your head throbbed, mouth filling with blood from a bitten tongue. You groaned, pulling yourself up. Your enemy was doing the same across from you. Your knife laid in the middle between you both. You lunged forward, grabbing your knife just as he rushed for you. You’re on your back again, hand clasped around your knife handle. It was a battle of might as you tried to push your knife into the soldier’s chest while he pushed against your arms, trying to twist the knife around and aim it towards you. Gritted teeth sneered above you, saliva falling from jowls. You felt your wrist bent, arms strained as your enemy used his weight to his advantage. Used it as leverage to pin your arms to your side, making the knife all that much closer to your chest. 

A split decision as you loosened your grip, letting the knife fall from your hand and onto the ground. A foolish decision, sure. Letting go of your only advantage. But it was enough to make your enemy falter, stupefied by it. You mustered all your strength, a last ditch effort as you kneed his abdomen. Pushing up, flipping you both over. You hit him once. Then twice, then more and more until you felt his nose shatter beneath your fists. Teeth cracked and  pieces rattled inside his mouth. 

You grabbed a rock by his head, your knees pinning his arms down, as you brought it down. Over and over. Feeling how easily the stone cracked through bone. Until his head was caved in. All mush, skull shards, and mangled blood vessels. Like fish chum in an angler’s bucket. 

You let the bloodied rock drop from your hand, right next to the crime scene. You moved away, falling backwards against a fallen log and trying to catch your breath. Your mouth flooded with blood, the overflow trickled out of the corner of your mouth. Staining your shirt. All you could do was sit there, even as the sounds of exchanged gunfire ended and the jungle went silent. You didnt how long you sat there against the rotten log. Long enough that the radio was nothing but white noise in your ears, the voices disembodied. 

Soon you heard more footsteps in the distance. Approaching you from the side. You instantly went tense as a figure broke through the treeline in the corner of your eye. You took a breath. In your bleary vision was Adler. He stalked forward in a slow manner, gun raised. He eyed your kill on the ground, still twitching and bleeding. Brain matter splattered all along the ground just like a prion infected deer. Your eyes followed him, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Danger still blared in your head. You watched as he stopped and looked down to your knife by his boot. He reached down and picked it up, brushing off the dirt on the blade. You could already tell he connected the dots on what happened. 

As he eyed your unbloodied blade and the bloodied rock next to the dead VietCong.

He stood over you now. His rifle lowered to his side. He flipped the knife, catching it as it turned in the air. The blade in his gloved hand and the handle offered out to you. You grabbed your knife, putting it back in its sheath on your side. He extended an arm out to you, an offer of a hand up. You reached out, accepting his helping hand. Let him pull you back on your feet as he steadied you. His hand went to your shoulder, the weight grounding you. There was a knowing look on his face as it softened, just slightly. Something akin to a confessor that knew the nature of sins to a sinner. 

Adler gave you a smile. Sardonic and sharp yet genuine. Proud.

“Welcome to Vietnam, kid.” 

You let out a strangled breath, feeling something in your chest ache and stir, coiling around your heart like barbed wire until every heartbeat stung. The roots of guerilla warfare, much like jungle rot, burgeoned underneath his sun-kissed skin. And now it sprouted underneath yours.  

(Hand-in-hand with the Devil. Look him in the eye and see how he looks like a long-lost friend.)

But for that single moment, the world around you seemed to disappear. Where only he, and that smile, remained.

----------------------------------

A/N:

Critique welcomed as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ).

[lamamasjamas]

Love at First Sight (2/9)

A/n: Had to redo some of this and the first part because I want the story to be cohesive and neater. Most likely going to happen with all of the other works too.

Warnings: Dark!Din, Dub-con Smut, breeding/ pregnancy kink, pregnancy stuff, Stockholm Syndrome, kidnapping, I love making Din super lovesick and sweet lolz, Dark Fic!!!!

Love at First Sight Masterlist

He’s been conditioning you. He revels in the way your thighs clench together whenever his hands wander over your body.

At first, he let you isolate yourself, keeping yourself in the bunk as he piloted the ship, letting you take the cot every night. He didn't even try to interact with you, keeping himself busy with the child, his bounties and credit collection.

He would allow you outside of the ship, trusting you to be completely alone with Grogu. He was surprised by how you never once triggered the tracker embedded on your bracelet. He didn't know you knew that he had modified a cattle tracker into a shiny golden pendant.

You'd woken up with it your first morning in the Razor Crest. The soft hum of it was hard to locate at first. You lacked the tools to deactivate them.

He had plans. He wanted to find a home planet. Soon. Preferably somewhere adequate to raise his children. The holopad he conspicuously left out in the hull while he was out one evening was full of data files on hundreds of mid-rim planets.

Most of the planets he landed on were among those in the holos. They were safe, quiet, and isolated. Once you had found the pad, he checked which images you would stare at the longest, which descriptions you would read with rapt attention.

He would watch as you would glance outside of the ship. You clearly had a preference. Your eyes would glimmer in regions with cooler temperatures, lots of trees, deciduous and changing with the seasons.

As the fifth month of your Razor Crest residency arrived, he lost his patience. He thought finding a planet would come easier. Some were perfect but the people were too hostile. Some the opposite.

He was tired of the lack of communication. The dead silence whenever he was around.

He would start to get you used to his presence; the way he could make you feel. If only you would give him leverage.

You would often hear him pleasuring himself, murmuring about how you looked so beautiful carrying his child. How you would look so pretty all cock-dumb and fucked out over his bed sheets in a real home.

You would try to sleep after, but you couldn’t help but think of the way wetness dampened your underwear and how a part of you thinks back on how he pleased you back in your home. Before you realized his plan to take you.

You would usually stare half awake at the panels above you. Shifting uncomfortably against the small bunk that only seemed to get smaller as your bump grew.

He broke the silence one day while he was making portions, he stated how he had enough credits to buy an isolated unit near farmlands. A sleeping Grogu was taken out of your arms and placed in his metal bassinet. With a press of a button it was closed shut, leaving you alone with 'Din'.

You'd spoken directly to him a couple of times since your taking. His name was revealed to you the day you had woken up. Despite your anger, the fear, and the desperation to be free, you often caught yourself thinking of his name fondly.

Who would have known a bounty hunter to have such a simple name.

You blinked up at him in confusion. He sighs wistfully. As he sat down on the blankets and pillows he set up on the floor as a makeshift common area in the Crest, he reaches for your hand.

You let him pull you up against him. He’s strong enough so that he could position you any way he wants without your assistance. He pulls his helmet off with a hiss and motions for you to pick up your plate of food.

“We’ll be home in no time,” he soothes. You look back at him in confusion and he just smiles and caresses your cheek. His hands skim over your tunic and stop on the swell of your belly, lightly tracing it up and down with the tips of his fingers.

He cups the underside of the bump, his nose pressing against the side of your neck.

The defeat was present since the beginning. You never fought back, barely argued. Things couldn't have gotten much worse than life in your village, barely able to make it through a work shift without passing out from dehydration or starvation.

Chills run down your spine and goosebumps start to rise. He holds you against his chest for a couple of minutes, urging you to continue eating. Breathing in the scent of your hair and lightly caressing your belly.

Then his hands move further down and caresses over your mound, you shiver. A shot of pleasure goes up your spine. He continues to ‘accidentally’ rub against you in between his praises of how well of a mother you’ve been. Especially to Grogu, whenever he was gone.

You were throbbing by the time you were done with the portions, mumbling that you were full. That prompted him to ask you to feed him spoonfuls in return. He didn’t want to put anything to waste. It felt very intimate, especially with the way he loudly chewed next to your ear and groaned as if he was eating gourmet cuisine, almost mimicking the sounds he made when he last had you in your bedroom back in your home planet.

The baby cried, you were grateful for the respite, especially as he was starting to graze over your inner thighs. You excuse yourself to the restroom and curse yourself. It was the hormones, it had to be. You wouldn’t be this affected by his gentle touches otherwise.

He’s been doing the same technique afterwards for a little over a month. Grazing over your ass as he walked by. 'Accidentally' cupping your breasts and lightly squeezing as he mewled over your bump. Having you sit over his erection whenever you ate 'together'.

You hate the way your body now responds to a simple touch on the shoulder and jumps to imagining him thrusting into you against the side of the hull.

It got worse when you were finally 'home'. He was able to find a small house in a planet you didn’t know the name of. He didn’t allow you to even step outside the door. He said it was too dangerous.

You questioned him, considering you were a long way from other people. He never answered. Instead, he would hold you close to him and reassure you that it was safer for you and the baby.

Grogu was off to school, taken by his father almost every day. How come he wasn’t fussing constantly over him?

The one positive from being stuck ‘home’ was that he was barely there. You rarely had moments where he would make you want to rip his armor off and feel his skin on yours like months before.

He would often go to earn credits working odd jobs. He'd leave you with the promise that soon, if you complied instead of ignoring all of his advances at becoming a family, you too would accompany him out one day.

He didn’t like the idea of keeping you as if you were a nanny to his children. Just a doll he could stare at and fondle.

But because you were currently pregnant and you didn’t reciprocate his kisses and touches, he thought it was best to keep you where you were. You had enough time alone to think about ways to escape, but with your growing condition the thought was dissipating quickly. You felt tired, nauseous, heavy. Your feet were swollen and even thinking of the months to come made you dread even thinking of being alone. In some sick way the bastard has debilitated you in this form.

That didn’t stop him from praising you though. He likes to watch as you started to waddle around, chasing after his son, now yours, and play with him. Pride is all he feels when he sees the kid patting your stomach in question and you softly explain to him how there was a tiny person growing inside.

“The villagers have been asking for you,” he says one night, as you pull your hair away from your face in front of a mirror he bought you on his recent trip to the markets.

You hum absentmindedly, looking at anywhere but the reflection as he steps closer behind, wrapping his arms around you. “Is that so?” you question sarcastically. He ignores your tone.

“Mm.” He slumps over you, putting his head on top of yours. His eyes lower to your stomach and his brows furrow.

Skimming past your second trimester you outgrew all of your old clothes including those of the man behind you. His stare made you fidget. You feel embarrassed as you try to tug the tunic as far down as it can go. A sliver of your skin still peaks through.

You feel tears well and blur your vision and you try to look away from his now worried eyes. Your hands move to cover your face, but he stops them quickly, asking you what was wrong.

“My clothes don’t fit,” you whine. You think of how stupid you must sound. The way you could be thinking of many other worse things that he’s done to you, for example kidnapping you, and you think to complain about this.

“I’m so big. I'm just so...,” you sigh weakly. His grip tightens on your hands reassuringly and he plopped a kiss to the side of your head.

He’s always liked his women with some meat on their bones. He liked the thought that your body was changing because of him. Seeing you now, insinuate that you're not the most beautiful creation the maker has ever made, made his eyes twitch in irritation. Not at you, of course, but the way women are viewed.

In his culture women are respected as if they were goddesses. They are the foundations of their kind. Seeing you now look at yourself in disdain made him feel like a failure. He failed to take care of you as a spouse should.

All because he never touched you properly, fully and with his full intentions. He's teased you for months, never going farther than a few raunchy touches.

He kisses up your neck and you freeze. His hands wander downward, under your pants and underwear. His hand was so large that you could see it straining the seams of your pajamas.

“You’re beautiful,” he says as he flicks his wrist to palm over your mound, grinding it against you. You gasp as he continues, watching over you through the mirror as you twitch and lean your back further into his chest.

You sigh shakily as he inserts a thick finger inside of you. Then another as your eyes close shut tightly. The sound of your slick cunt resounds around the small room, your hand makes its way behind his head, pushing his mount against your neck and shoulder.

He brings you to climax easily. Your legs threaten to collapse but he catches you.

The rest of the night he praised your body, your caring personality. Often mentioning how you would be such a caring mother to your next child and children.

You were barely awake and on the verge of passing out. You felt as if you’ve exerted yourself trying to keep up with his burning touches. You don’t think you’ve ever been cared for as much as you have been with him.

“Tomorrow we’re going into town to get tunics.”

He presses himself against your back maneuvering a pillow under your body which lays on its side.

He finally presses a kiss to your lips as he pushes a strand of hair from your face. He smiles as he sees you respond back weakly, your eyes closed and lips slack in a light pucker.

[kingcunny]

f&b dragon appearance headcanons/inspo part 1/4

arrax

animal inspo: glasswing butterfly, large bee-fly (bombylius major), mimosa pearl (leuciris fimbriaria), hummingbird clearwing moth, nuptial scorpionfly canon colors: 'pearlescent white with yellow flame, golden eyes and a golden chest' headcanon subtype: feathered dragon headcanon/description: arrax is feathered, but in the way moths or butterflies are, little 'feathered' scales. small, compact, fuzzy insectoid body, thin legs, large almost butterfly wings. transparent/lucent iridescent sections of wings, trimmed in gold. not really built for speed or fighting. a very showy dragon. almost delicate. img credits: glasswing, beefly, mimosa pearl, clearwing, scorpionfly

v balerion, cannibal, caraxes, dreamfyre, grey ghost under the cut v

balerion

'animal' inspo: black dragon kalameet, unworn - no one will be remembered, black tree monitor, gravelord nito, black cats canon colors: '...scales and wings were black. His fire was black, sometimes with swirls of red.' headcanon colors: vanta black, dark red canon description: 'The dragon bore a huge jagged rent down his left side, almost nine feet long, and fresh blood still dripped from the wound, hot and smoking.' headcanon subtype: scaled + furred headcanon/description: balerion is a silhouette. you cant see him directly, just the void of the space he occupies and his glowing red eyes. but if you could see him, hes actually very lanky and spindly. the void looks bigger than he actually is. furred on his chest, along his underbelly and the 'arm' of his wings, scaled everywhere else. his skin is very saggy/wrinkly like you see on some reptiles. tattered wings. long, deep scar along his left side that he got with aerea in the ruins of valyria. the scales never grew back properly. actually sometimes you can see him but only when the light hits him *just* right, and then he 'rusts' like black cats do in the sun. img credits: dark souls, ayam cemani, unworn - no one will be remembered, 'rusted' black cat, black cat at night, black tree monitor

cannibal

'animal' inspo: bull kelp, leafy seadragon, manus father of the abyss, binturong canon colors: 'The Cannibal was black as coal, with menacing green eyes.' headcanon subtype: furred headcanon/description: cannibal is furred but not in the way, say, an otter is. her fur is not hydrophobic. shes more fluffy and furry and since she lives around the ocean that means her fur is constantly waterlogged. she also doesnt really groom herself so her fur is all matted together. she smells like mildew and makes a wet slapping sound when she lands. probably has algae growing in her fur. more of a sturdier and stockier build. img credits: dark souls, kelp, leafy seadragon, binturong

caraxes

animal inspo: red salamander, sphynx cat, olm, hagfish, bichir canon colors: red headcanon subtype: scaleless headcanon/description: caraxes is unusually long and lanky. he has a sort of dragon equivalent to marfan syndrome. double set of wings. dorsal fin(s) that runs along his spine and tail. undecided if hes slimy, has a mucous coating that protects his skin or if hes dry. img credits: red salamander, hagfish, olm, sphynx cat, bichir

dreamfyre

'animal' inspo: seath the scalelss canon colors: 'Her coloration was primarily pale blue, with silver markings. She had silver crests and pale blue wings.' headcanon colors: white. iridescent blue headcanon subtype: scaleless + feathered headcanon/description: im ignoring everything in canon. dreamfyre is seath the scaleless. thats all. img credits: dark souls, dark souls concept art

grey ghost

animal inspo: chain catshark, zebra shark pup, manta ray, chameleon whiptail catfish canon colors: '... pale grey-white, the color of morning mist.' headcanon colors: grey, white, brown, black headcanon subtype: scaled headcanon/description: grey ghost is very ‘fishy’. lean, streamlined body, large manta ray-type wings. whiskers like a catfish. striped on top to mimic shadows on the ground/water, white on the bottom. stealth type hunter. img credits: manta ray, chain catshark, chameleon whiptail, zebra shark pup

[does-truth-matter]

The CDC has quietly changed who should AVOID the MMR vaccine.

https://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/vpd/mmr/public/index.html

They now state that ANYONE that “Has a parent, brother or sister with a history of immune system problems” should AVOID THE MMR VACCINE!

What exactly is an 'immune system problem?" Every autoimmune disorder.

* Achalasia

* Addison’s disease

* Adult Still's disease

* Agammaglobulinemia

* Alopecia areata

* Amyloidosis

* Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrigs)

* Ankylosing spondylitis

* Anti-GBM/Anti-TBM nephritis

* Antiphospholipid syndrome

* Autoimmune angioedema

* Autoimmune dysautonomia

* Autoimmune encephalomyelitis

* Autoimmune hepatitis

* Autoimmune inner ear disease (AIED)

* Autoimmune myocarditis

* Autoimmune oophoritis

* Autoimmune orchitis

* Autoimmune pancreatitis

* Autoimmune retinopathy

* Autoimmune urticaria

* Axonal & neuronal neuropathy (AMAN)

* Baló disease

* Behcet’s disease

* Benign mucosal pemphigoid

* Bullous pemphigoid

* Castleman disease (CD)

* Celiac disease

* Chagas disease

* Chronic inflammatory demyelinating polyneuropathy (CIDP)

* Chronic recurrent multifocal osteomyelitis (CRMO)

* Churg-Strauss Syndrome (CSS) or Eosinophilic Granulomatosis (EGPA)

* Cicatricial pemphigoid

* Cogan’s syndrome

* Cold agglutinin disease

* Congenital heart block

* Coxsackie myocarditis

* CREST syndrome

* Crohn’s disease

* Dermatitis herpetiformis

* Dermatomyositis

* Devic’s disease (neuromyelitis optica)

* Discoid lupus

* Dressler’s syndrome

* Endometriosis

* Eosinophilic esophagitis (EoE)

* Eosinophilic fasciitis

* Erythema nodosum

* Essential mixed cryoglobulinemia

* Evans syndrome

* Fibromyalgia

* Fibrosing alveolitis

* Giant cell arteritis (temporal arteritis)

* Giant cell myocarditis

* Glomerulonephritis

* Goodpasture’s syndrome

* Granulomatosis with Polyangiitis

* Graves’ disease

* Guillain-Barre syndrome

* Hashimoto’s thyroiditis

* Hemolytic anemia

* Henoch-Schonlein purpura (HSP)

* Herpes gestationis or pemphigoid gestationis (PG)

* Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS) (Acne Inversa)

* Hypogammalglobulinemia

* IgA Nephropathy

* IgG4-related sclerosing disease

* Immune thrombocytopenic purpura (ITP)

* Inclusion body myositis (IBM)

* Interstitial cystitis (IC)

* Juvenile arthritis

* Juvenile diabetes (Type 1 diabetes)

* Juvenile myositis (JM)

* Kawasaki disease

* Lambert-Eaton syndrome

* Leukocytoclastic vasculitis

* Lichen planus

* Lichen sclerosus

* Ligneous conjunctivitis

* Linear IgA disease (LAD)

* Lupus

* Lyme disease chronic

* Meniere’s disease

* Microscopic polyangiitis (MPA)

* Mixed connective tissue disease (MCTD)

* Mooren’s ulcer

* Mucha-Habermann disease

* Multifocal Motor Neuropathy (MMN) or MMNCB

* Multiple sclerosis

* Myasthenia gravis

* Myositis

* Narcolepsy

* Neonatal Lupus

* Neuromyelitis optica

* Neutropenia

* Ocular cicatricial pemphigoid

* Optic neuritis

* Palindromic rheumatism (PR)

* PANDAS

* Parkinson's disease

* Paraneoplastic cerebellar degeneration (PCD)

* Paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria (PNH)

* Parry Romberg syndrome

* Pars planitis (peripheral uveitis)

* Parsonage-Turner syndrome

* Pemphigus

* Peripheral neuropathy

* Perivenous encephalomyelitis

* Pernicious anemia (PA)

* POEMS syndrome

* Polyarteritis nodosa

* Polyglandular syndromes type I, II, III

* Polymyalgia rheumatica

* Polymyositis

* Postmyocardial infarction syndrome

* Postpericardiotomy syndrome

* Primary biliary cirrhosis

* Primary sclerosing cholangitis

* Progesterone dermatitis

* Psoriasis

* Psoriatic arthritis

* Pure red cell aplasia (PRCA)

* Pyoderma gangrenosum

* Raynaud’s phenomenon

* Reactive Arthritis

* Reflex sympathetic dystrophy

* Relapsing polychondritis

* Restless legs syndrome (RLS)

* Retroperitoneal fibrosis

* Rheumatic fever

* Rheumatoid arthritis

* Sarcoidosis

* Schmidt syndrome

* Scleritis

* Scleroderma

* Sjögren’s syndrome

* Sperm & testicular autoimmunity

* Stiff person syndrome (SPS)

* Subacute bacterial endocarditis (SBE)

* Susac’s syndrome

* Sympathetic ophthalmia (SO)

* Takayasu’s arteritis

* Temporal arteritis/Giant cell arteritis

* Thrombocytopenic purpura (TTP)

* Tolosa-Hunt syndrome (THS)

* Transverse myelitis

* Type 1 diabetes

* Ulcerative colitis (UC)

* Undifferentiated connective tissue disease (UCTD)

* Uveitis

* Vasculitis

* Vitiligo

* Vogt-Koyanagi-Harada Disease

Wonder how many doctors are paying attention?

~shared from Jodi Wilson