#so yeah I get emotional take this keyboard away from me

[ratguy-nico]

BoblinWeek Day 3: Blush/Warm

People this is the only piece I, myself, on my own, made for the @boblinweek mostly cause I made way before and it wasn't mean to be for the event, but hey, it fits XD

I like how it looks... kinda, I think sparks make everything better, and I think I rely on them this time so you would not notice how simple and boring is the drawing in itself

In my defense it was supossed to just be for me to practice drawing Bob and Linda, but also very inspire from a song from a movie I dont like (and didn't like the song that much before either, but now is a Boblin song so I love it)

this is the version whith "background" but I personally prefer it without it

[ghettogirly]

Hi lovely can you one for Armando x reader. Armando , Mike, Marcus, doesn't know what the reader does for a living. She find out thing before they do , skilled in everything. ( Whatever you want her to be). The reader takes the spot of reggie. Armando call her instead of Marcus. They get scared for her but just wait until they find out.

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀��𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄:

��𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑!

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏.

-> synopsis: Where armando calls you to warn you that you have trouble coming you way and to go hide somewhere safe. Little do they know, you can do more than hide.

-> warnings: spoilers for bad boys ride or die, mentions of violence.

[🕷️] author’s note: thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy!

Your first encounter of Armando was when he was released to be the new member of AMMO to repay his debt to the state for his crimes. He walked in with his father, Mike, in an alluring manner. You was a helper for the team, however currently unemployed. Failing to find your place in society.

The mexican-born male wore a black co-ord , tight to his chest and flattering in all the right places. His hair slicked in gel, the sides of his head faded with a scar at the side of it.

You both grew quickly closer, spending each day with each other even with the stares of judgement people descended onto you.

“He has killed countless people.”

“He’s a criminal, they should lock him up and throw away the key.”

“Armando Aretas. The animal who should be put down.”

It did hurt you for a while, leading you to deny your feelings for him. Until one day, after a passionate night with him, you tried to briskly leave in the middle of the night.

“Where are you going?” The males voice croaked out, his voice deeper than usual due to the vocal cords enlargement throughout the night.

“I need to go home, i’ve spent too long being here.”

A scoff is heard.

“Yeah. No surprise there. Running out of excuses are you?”

“ Its not an excuse i just have something to do at..”

“Guárdalo, solo vete. Te han lavado el cerebro las opiniones de otros y no quiero escucharlo más. Ahórrame los detalles.” Venom dropped off the latino’s tongue as he dismissed you away. Sadness overcame you as no words came out of your mouth.

Days went by, Armando never spoke to you. Tension flushed by you guys whenever you was by each-other in a room. One day, you couldn’t handle it no more and you grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn and look at you.

“I’m sorry. You’re more than just an animal or a criminal. I know i don’t even deserve for you to forgive me but i need to get this off my chest. I am so sorry Armando.”

You feel his arms engulf you in a hug as tears roll down your cheeks, embarrassed at how easily influenced you were from everyone’s opinions. “no llores mi amor, I forgive you.”

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.

“Hey guys, we’ve got trouble.”

Armando’s shoes pounded down the wooden steps as he swiftly walked to Dorn’s computer, his nerves rising as he sees the blonde’s frantic typing on the keyboard below. “What’s wrong?”

The cameras on the computer pointing to every angle in your house, yet, 3 armed men slowly creep up to the front door. Ready to raid, they point their rifles towards the door. “Tenemos que tomarlos ahora!” One masked man, whisper shouts in spanish, their emotions covered but their body language is prevalent. He is tense.

Dorn shifted his position to turn to Armando, his brows furrowing, “Are these your people?”

He shook his head, “No.”

Time stood still before he realised the severity of the situation, rushing over to the phone he picks it up and rapidly taps your contact. “Mierda! Pick up the phone..”

A few seconds of beeps echoed around the room, the only thing filling the air of silence. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“We have no time. Take Uncle Marcus’s wife and go hide. Now.” His words dropped with warning as he kept it short and sweet.

Your eyes widen as you hear his stoic words. Quickly whipping your head to the side, you gather your godmother and hide in the closet. A loud bang blasts through the room as footsteps clatter along the floor, moving in a tactical fashion as they scan the house for people. Armando quickly runs to the cameras, looking at the masked men quickly run through the house, weapons pointed at every angle. “Fuck..”

A moment passes and you slowly slip past the closet door, gripping your fingertips on the cold, wooden pane, you slide by the counter and quickly exhale. “Lord, please protect me.”

The woman slowly slides her hand up the counter top, reaching for a knife before calculatedly turning left while peeking around. A second passes before you see an outline of a shadow descending down onto you. Slowly looking up, you see a gun pointed towards you. “Shit.”

With a quick whisk, you slice the knife through his leg, the man drops down and shouts in pain as you slit the masked man’s throat. Taking his gun, you push forward back into the living room where the rest of the men were. Angling yourself, you shoot the man in the corner before whipping the man in front of you with the rifle.

“Damn, that bitch can fight.”

Randomly another man whisks you around, taking you in a loose headlock. The sound of a gun goes off and the man falls back in anguish, brushing yourself off you turn around and shoot him in the head.

A quick moment goes by and by the end of it, all men are dead. The carpets and floorboards stained with a crimson red as you pant for air. You quickly run back to the closet, “it’s safe now. let’s go.” You say to Marcus’s wife, embracing her in a hug before you both hurry off.

Not before, you look up at the camera and smile. Blowing your pointer and middle fingers to represent a gun, before winking.

“You’re welcome.”

The male turns to the rest of the crew and grins, followed by a slow whistle.

“Seems like we know what she does after all.”

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“Guárdalo, solo vete. Te han lavado el cerebro las opiniones de otros y no quiero escucharlo más. Ahórrame los detalles.” - Keep it, just leave. You've been brainwashed by the opinions of others and I don't want to hear it anymore. Spare me the details.

“no llores mi amor” - Don’t cry my love.

“Tenemos que tomarlos ahora”: We have to take them now.

“Mierda!” - Fuck!

[darkwaveho]

Mini Burden

Summary: Natasha's act of gentle parenting goes out the window for the first time.

Warnings: mentions of spanking, verbal abuse? gaslighting, guilt tripping, toxic relationship, angst, unresolved trauma.

Part 2

series masterlist

You never thought your daughter would return from an outing with Natasha with tears streaming down her face and so distraught. she runs into the house searching for you screaming your name. it's clear in her voice that she's upset. it isn't out of the ordinary that she comes home crying or upset because she didn't get what she wanted at the store or something so small as not stopping for ice cream before having dinner.

when she finds you in the kitchen, she practically runs into you clinching your legs as she cries into your jeans. "What happened Ana?" you soothe her as much as you can to get the words to come out clearly. Natasha still hasn't said anything on the situation or what happened. she doesn't even seem bothered by how upset she is. "M-mama." She stutters her words, your means to calming her down do nothing, you will get down to the problem, but your priority right now is to calm her heartbeat and break the potential fever that was coming on. you pick her up in your arms and head upstairs, you glance at Natasha on your way out and her facial expression gives you nothing. she's showing no emotions behind her eyes. she doesn't whisper to you on your way-out bout telling you the details later like she normally does and that scares you. it takes you about an hour to calm Anastasia down, she fought you on giving her a bath, she picked at her dino nuggets barely eating them, something serious has happened. You put Anastasia under neath her blanket. "Ana, can you tell me what happened at the store with mama?" her eyes fill with tears again and you're quick to reassure her. "Hey, it's okay." you gently rub her cheek with your thumb. "I wanted a new toy, mama said no it I really wanted it, mama told me to put it back."

"And what did you do?" you wait for the rest of the story, you know ana isn't entirely innocent she played a part in whatever this situation is. you concern is the outcome of whatever Natasha did because of it. "I knocked the other toys on the floor, and mama told me to pick it up. I didn't want to." you sigh softly knowing that this type of behavior is not acceptable or tolerated. "Ana, you know that's not okay." she nods her head slightly, understanding that her actions were wrong. "Keep going."

"She did the count down, but I still didn't pick them up." Natasha patience was wearing down you're sure of it, especially when the countdown isn't working. "She yelled at me to pick them up and when I yelled back at her she-"

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

"I thought we agreed to never do that?" you burst into the room finally, Natasha thought you wouldn't even be sleeping in the same bed as her tonight. she looks up from her phone after typing away at the keyboard for a moment. she's not even surprised that ana told you what happened, but the worst part is she doesn't look remorseful.

"Yeah, well its clearly not working. She thinks she can do whatever she wants whenever she wants but we have to remember that we are the parent here y/n."

"There are other ways to discipline, we've been doing that already so what was so out of the ordinary today that you couldn't stick to it?"

"It was a few taps on the butt she'll be fine." Natasha waves that sentence off as if that means nothing to her. this is what you were afraid of when you two had talks about starting a family. unresolved issue within Natsha's past have kept you from wanting a child with her amongst other things but she put in the work to prove that she can be better, that she is better than her parents, you don't know what happened to that mentality today.

"She's not fine Natasha!" you raise your voice pointing at the door, the image of Anastasia bawling her eyes out as she ran into the house is frozen in your mind. "You popped our daughter because she's not old enough to fully control or express her emotions?"

"You should've saw the way she acted in that store, people stared at me!"

"So, she had a tantrum, she's fucking six-years old!"

"I am sick, sick of this gentle parenting bullshit! I have to walk around on eggshells about correcting my own daughter's actions." Natasha makes it point to throw her jacker across the room. it's fitting that she's having a tantrum of her own right now, but you bite your tongue.

"Did you have this same sentiment when you were in Ana's shoes?"

"What?"

"Were you this passionate about child discipline when you were the one receiving a back hand to the face? or a bruise to your skin, or a harsh and unforgivable word spit out at you with disgust?"

"That is not the same!"

"Isn't it though? it was nothing gentle about Alexei's parenting and even Melina didn't do her job right as a mother, she failed to protect you."

"That's great, it always comes back to this huh? I'm the thing."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm the thing in this house, I'm the thing in the relationship. I am the thing that's broken and will always remain broken. That part of me will never be fixed as much as I try to be what you want me to be for you and for our family." you open your mouth to speak, to stop her from breaking down her own progress even though she's done that the moment her hand came down against Anastasia. Natasha doesn't give you the chance to speak. "I chose to go against your script one time and now I am the winner of the worst mother in the world award. "Throwing my past back into my face to make me feel like shit about disciplining our daughter." you've had enough. you won't allow her to do this. you storm towards her fuming figure matching her anger. insinuating your words with a shove or pressing a finger into her chest the more upset it makes you.

"You seem to have forgot that she not just your daughter, she's our daughter and we agreed, mutually! We agreed to never place a hand on her, ever! you will not guilt trip me or gaslight me into thinking that what you did today is okay. Not this time, not when it comes to her!" In the past you were accustomed to taking Natasha back even when gaslighted, even when she was dead wrong, even when she knew she was wrong she still found a way to flip the script and make it about her being the victim. you don't want to hear her anymore, you're heard enough, you don't know who you're talking to right now. this was not your girlfriend; this was not the mother of your child. Natasha waits for you to say something else, she's looking for you to fight her, she'd argue with you all night long if you let her. You turn around quickly leaving out of the bedroom and slamming the door behind you. Natasha doesn't chase you; she doesn't scream after you, she lets you go. she lets you go to whatever room in this house you want to go to.

When Natasha wakes woken up to an empty bed, and a quiet house she knows you're not there, she knows her daughter isn't there. reflections of the argument hit her like a tidal wave. images of her daughter with tears streaming down her face and flinch of her body the moment Natasha tried to put her in the car seat correctly. it was too late; the damage had been done. even though her anger has simmered down to not even being a factor that would not be the case for you and Anastasia. You don't answer her calls, you don't answer her texts, you turn off Anastasia's location on her iPad as well as blocking Natasha's number. it would actually stop her from finding you, but you don't want her having immediate access to Anastasia, not right now. Natasha flops down into her office chair pouring another glass of alcohol, she's lost track of how many she's had, she doesn't care she'll take anything to numb her pain. Natasha drowns her thoughts in the glass of whiskey, drinking her problems away seem to be a better option right now than to constantly blow up your phone or to randomly pop up at your hotel room furthering the fear her daughter now has of her. She unlocks a drawer in her desk with shaky hands she retrieves a heavy file, and as she opens it a few photos fall onto the floor.

She doesn't pick those up, she spreads the Polaroid photos out across her desk. Each picture is of her through the years with a new bruise or injury. each photo holds a different story, a different reason for each bruise, black eye or broken bone. Those are photos you took of her, photos that she asked you to take, no matter how many times you denied. You did what she requested. She kept them. She kept the reminder of what she went through and here she is exhibiting the same behavior towards her daughter. Nastasha doesn't notice it immediately but the drop of fallen tears hitting her cherry wood desk makes her aware. She is crying. She hurt her daughter, not only emotionally but physically. Natasha feels sick to her stomach, she doesn't know how to make this up she doesn't even know if she should have the privilege of being a mom. Would her daughter hate her for the rest of her life? Would you leave and take Anastasia from her for good? and the bigger question is Can she be forgiven?

[equalseleventhirds]

"I don't understand how I'm losing," Reigen said, his hands flying over his keyboard. It was so late now—too late, maybe—if only he'd used the same technique as with the Player Killer from the beginning, he might have stood a chance, but he hadn't seriously thought he'd lose—

"Shishou," Mob said, "why is this so important? You already have second place from Twitter."

Reigen laughed, not at all nervously, and splayed a hand across his forehead. "You don't understand, Mob. The publicity from something like this, even a rematch, would do wonders for Spirits and Such. This is about business."

(He would never admit to his pride being on the line.)

"And anyway, who is this guy? A radio host? I've been on TV, you know."

Mob carefully did not bring up what had actually happened when Reigen made his television debut.

Ritsu had no such qualms. "When they exposed you as a fraud? That was publicity too, right?"

"Hey—!"

Serizawa leaned over Reigen's shoulder to see the computer screen, careful not to spill the tea he placed on the desk. "Oh, Cecil from Welcome to Night Vale? It's been a while since I listened to that, maybe I should catch up."

Reigen stared at him. "You? What? Serizawa?"

"Ah... yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Back when I was... well, when I didn't leave my room much, the podcast was popular. I guess it gave a sense of... community? Feeling less alone, even when you are." He shrugged. "Plus, hearing another gay man in a show like that was comforting."

"He's gay? Canonically?" Why can't I be gay canonically?

"Sure, he got married in episode 100. It was very emotional."

"I nearly died in our chapter 100—"

-- -- -- -- --

Well, listeners, there's still a few hours left on the poll, but I'm now leading at 56%! I must say, I did not expect this, especially after Twitter users so clearly forgot—or perhaps never knew—about my Tumblr Sexyman Origins.

But, that's neither here nor there. I certainly am grateful, if a bit bemused, about all of this, but let us not forget that this is all a friendly competition. Unlike the annual War On Christmas—and let us all take a moment to remember our fallen allies against that terrible holiday foe—this is a battle of kindness. Love, even. The love we feel for Tumblr, for our favorite sexy men, for pressing a button on a meaningless internet poll. The love we feel, listeners, for each other.

And in the spirit of that love and friendliness, I figured I'd get to know my opponent a little better! A bit of googling, which of course you know means searching via every search engine but Google, what with the Town Council imposing the Google Search Tax and getting all Night Vale IP addresses shadowbanned, has led me to... oh my, listeners. I do not know who made this, but Reigen Arataka has the single most beautiful professional web page I have ever encountered. It's... words do not do it justice. I am tearing up. This... I could not make anything better myself.

A-hem. Listeners, now that I've wiped away the tears such beauty inspired in me, I can now see that Reigen's website advertises his business, one Spirits and Such Consulting. Well! We may be rivals in this moment, but I am overjoyed to learn that Reigen runs such an innovative and important business! I am nearly ashamed that, while my opponent works to make the world a better place, I, a mere community radio host, am winning the sexyman contest.

Nevertheless, we must respect the polls. Not respecting polls could get us in hot water with the Town Council, or with the demigods of numbers who lurk in the sharp edges of percentages. So since I can't hand my victory over to him, I think I'll do what I can as a community radio host, and promote Reigen Arataka's important business!

So if you're a spirit in need of counseling, a ghost in need of therapy, or an eldritch beast in need of a shoulder to cry on, head on over to Seasoning City and pay our good friend Reigen a visit! I'm sure he'll be pleased as anything to see you.

[writingforstraykids]

I owe you a kiss

Pairing: Minho x Chan x fem!reader / Minchan x fem!reader

Word Count: 4344

Summary: As the upcoming comeback gets closer, Chan starts isolating himself from you and Minho, getting overwhelmed. He can't quite deal with feeling so much and nothing at all at the same time and takes it out on the two of you. Minho and you try to help your husband out.

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, argument, chan feels numbish, fear of flying, domestic married life, emotional hurt/comfort, angsty!chan, soft!min

A/N: I don't know where that came from, but enjoy me fabricating 4k of angst and domestic bullshit in like half an hour😭🥹

PART TWO

My mind is complicated Find it hard to rearrange it But I'll have to find a way somehow Overreacting lately Find it hard to say I'm sorry Still - Niall Horan

You gently knock at the doorframe to your bedroom to avoid startling your husband and step inside. “You have everything you need, darling?”

Minho's currently packing his suitcase for his trip lasting a week. He looks up, gently blowing his hair from his eyes. “I think so, yes,” he flashes you a warm smile. After checking everything once more, he nods and throws the suitcase closed. "Where's our Channie love?" he asks, pulling the zipper closed and fidgeting with the lock. 

"Working," Chan gives back from next door. 

"Of course you are," he says more to himself, making you giggle. Over the past few days, Chan grew very quiet, burying himself in work and avoiding you for most of the time. It happened sometimes before a busy schedule, and Minho had learned to deal with the fact that Chan needed this to recharge. Minho, Chan and you had been dating for four years before tying the knot five years ago. He knows the two of you inside out by now after almost a decade. Minho strolls into Chan's working area and rests his hands on his shoulders. "Hey, there." 

"Hey," Chan gives back, not looking up from his screen and staying seated at his desk. 

"You're hungry? I can order something," he tells him, gently running his hand through his hair. 

"Stop that," Chan grumbles and tilts his head away from him. 

"Okay, sorry," Minho nods calmly and pulls his hands back. For a moment, the sound of Chan's fingers hitting the keyboard is all that can be heard. "So?" he asks, his patience starting to wear thin. 

"I'll keep working," he shakes his head. 

"Chan," Minho says firmly. "I'm leaving after that, and it would be nice to have lunch with my wife and my husband." 

"Fucks sake, you're annoying," Chan sighs and waves him off. "I'll be there in a moment." 

"Thank you," Minho rolls his eyes and makes his way downstairs. "Someone's in a mood," he grumbles as he leans against the kitchen island beside you. 

“Don’t take it to heart, you know he gets sometimes,” you say soothingly, rubbing his shoulder. “What are we getting?”

“Whatever you want, honey,” he winks at you and lets you scroll through the options. “I don’t get him. It’s still a month until the album drops, and we have pretty much everything sorted out. Sure, I have to come up with two more dances, but that’s my issue, isn’t it?” he asks.

“You know Chan makes everything his responsibility,” you tell him and hand him back his phone. “He’ll calm down again; I’ll see what I can do.”

Minho sighs softly and orders the food, still seeming a little pissed off. Usually, Chan knows how much Minho needs a stable environment before a flight. He's scared of flying enough as it is, but especially when he's caught up in his thoughts. So it confuses you a little that he doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that today.

You call out for him twice as your food arrives until Chan finally joins you downstairs. 

Chan's staring into the distance, pushing his food around on his plate and staying quiet as Minho and you keep on talking. 

"Tastes good?" Minho asks after a while and gently nudges Chan beneath the table. 

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugs and ignores the frown Minho gives him. 

"How's work going, Channie?" you try your luck. 

"Great," he simply says, shoving some food into his mouth, clearly signaling he doesn't want to talk right now. 

"Good," Minho nods and sighs softly. "I'm a little nervous." 

"Why?" he gives back, almost a little routined.

"I hate flying, as you know," he groans frustratedly. 

"You did fine before," Chan shrugs and takes a sip from his drink. "It's just a flight." 

"Yeah, that's the point, isn't it?" Minho asks, starting to get a little irritated. 

"Don't be a baby, you'll manage," he says, and Minho stares at him, unable to come up with a proper answer. 

"Thanks, very helpful," he presses out, gripping his glass tighter as his hand starts to shake. He has no time for a mental breakdown right now. 

“Channie,” you sigh softly, deciding to step in. The last thing you want is Minho to leave like that.

Looking up, Chan sees the confusion and anxiety clouding Minho's eyes. "Sorry, Min, you're not a baby," he says, not very convincingly, but it seems to be better than nothing to Minho. 

Minho glances at his watch and clears his throat. "I'll go and grab my stuff," he announces. 

Chan rolls his eyes once he's gone and braces his head on his hand, staring out of the window. He wonders how the hell he'll be able to finish everything he has to do in so little time.

“Channie, angel?” you ask gently, and he hums in response. “At least try and be nice? He’s gone for a week after.” 

“You two are fucking exhausting,” he groans, and you raise your eyebrows, ready to answer as Minho comes back downstairs. 

You get up to collect the trash and decide to continue this talk later.

"I'll see you in a week then," Minho says gently, and Chan hums, agreeing. "You'll be okay?" 

"Sure," he nods and stares into the distance. 

Minho takes his hand and tries to meet his eyes. "Love?" he asks, and Chan very slowly turns to him. "You know you can call if you get overwhelmed or need help with anything." 

"Mhm," he hums and pulls his hand from his hold. 

"Okay," he chews on his lower lip for a moment. "Well, I'll be leaving then."

"Okay," he nods. 

"Can I at least get a kiss?" Minho asks quietly, and his heart sinks as Chan frowns. 

"No," he simply says. 

"No?" Minho echoes quietly, subconsciously taking a step back. 

"Don't feel like it," he shrugs and glances at his watch. 

"You don't feel like…wow, okay," he nods, trying to swallow down the sudden sickness spreading through him. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks timidly. Maybe this wasn't just Chan pulling back, but he had done something to upset him. 

“No, you didn’t, Min,” you say firmly, staring at him irritated.

Chan turns to look at him properly for the first time today. Minho's heart sinks at the carelessness in them. "Right now, you're keeping me from working. I have stuff to do, mate."

"Mate?" Minho presses out, taking a few steps back. "Alright, I'll see you in a week, bestie. Seriously, fuck you," he snaps and grabs his keys. 

"Minho, come on," Chan groans, rolling his eyes at him. "Stop overreacting." 

Minho fidgets with his wedding ring before slamming it on the table. "Know what that is?" 

"You're being serious right now?" Chan raises his eyebrows at him mockingly. 

"That stupid little thing means we're husbands, idiot. I've been by your side for nine years now; I think you can start using appropriate terms, Chan hyung." Minho says firmly, and for a moment, he considers leaving the ring here. But then he remembers he has a public image to maintain, and showing up without one of his wedding rings would raise questions. Also, deep down, it feels wrong already to only wear yours. 

"You're being ridiculous," Chan says and gets up, pushing past him. 

"No, I'm hurt. There's a difference, Chan," he tells him, grabbing his suitcase. "But fine, I'll leave like that. I'll see you in a week then." 

"Fucking great," Chan nods, walking upstairs and not looking back. 

Minho watches him, stunned, before finally leaving the house and slamming the door closed. 

You stand still for a moment, trying to process what has just happened. "You had one job, Chan! Be nice!" you shout upstairs. 

"Fuck you too!" he shouts back and slams his door closed. 

"You two are fucking ridiculous sometimes," you curse and search for your keys. 

Minho gets into his car and stays there for a few minutes, trying to calm down. Secretly, he hoped Chan would join him and make things right before leaving. But he doesn't. The door to his car opens, and you lean down to look at him, raising your eyebrows in amusement. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he groans and gets out quickly.

You giggle softly as he rushes over to you and pulls you into a tight hug. “Well, goodbye then, darling,” you tease him lovingly.

“I’m sorry, he pissed me off,” he groans, stifling his laughter in your shoulder.

“I know he did,” you laugh and soothingly pat his back. “Give him time to sulk; he’ll start missing you in two days top. He always does.”

“You’ll be okay?” Minho asks, pulling back and looking at you caringly. 

“I’ll be fine. It’s Channie,” you giggle, and Minho snorts. “Deep down, he just needs a cuddle and acts tough so we won’t notice how stressed he is.”

“You handle this way better than I do, even though I’ve known him longer,” he laughs, rolling his eyes at himself.

“I just have a little more patience for his bullshit,” you giggle and check your phone. “You should leave before you miss your flight.”

“Ugh, fine,” he groans. 

“You’ll do great, my darling,” you assure him. “Call me when you land?”

“You know I will,” he promises, lovingly kissing you goodbye. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Minnie darling,” you smile.

-

Minho has been gone for four days when he gets a call. To his surprise, it's Chan's number popping up on his screen only minutes before a fashion event. Minho searches for a quiet corner and takes the call. "Hey, I don't have much time. What's up?" he asks calmly and frowns at the silence that follows. "Chan?" 

"Something's wrong," he says quietly. 

"What do you mean?" he asks confused. 

"I don't…I don't feel good," he says monotonously. "Something's off." 

Minho swallows softly. "Where are you?" 

"Home," Chan tells him.  

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks.

“Left,” he answers quietly.

“What do you mean she left?” he frowns, nervously scanning the crowd around himself.

“Told her to leave me alone. She took that to heart,” he explains. “She’s with her best friend.”

Minho exhales relieved, knowing you are safe with your friend. "Channie, what's wrong?" he asks patiently. "You can't just push us away. We love you, and saying yes five years ago means you're stuck with us," he chuckles, waving off his assistant tapping her watch.  

"I know," Chan says and chews on his lower lip, unable to put it into words. "Remember when I had that episode of feeling worthless and overwhelmed back when we were trainees?" 

"Mhm, of course I do," he nods, swallowing hard as he thinks of Chan's emotional state back then. Nothing had worried him that much in a long time. "Is that what's going on?" 

"No…I feel..kinda numb," Chan admits and curses himself. "I feel so much and nothing at all. I feel like crying, but I can't, I can't focus on anything, I feel like everything I do is pointless and…Minnie, can you come back home?" he asks, his voice whispering. "It's starting to scare me whenever I have a clear moment." Minho rubs his face tiredly, and Chan takes his silence the wrong way. "I know you have shit to do…I just thought..I need you, please?" 

"Give me an hour to sort this out," Minho says, and Chan exhales in relief. "I want you to grab a blanket, make yourself some tea, and put on your favorite series. Get comfortable on the sofa downstairs. You think you can do that for me?" 

"Okay," Chan nods. 

"I'll let you know when I'm on the plane," he says, sighing softly. "Channie love?" 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly. 

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, his grip around his phone tightening. 

"I owe you a kiss," he answers, and Minho smiles sadly. 

"Damn right you do," he nods and is about to end the call. 

"Minho, baby?" Chan asks, almost a little timid. 

"Yes, dear?" he asks patiently. 

"Have a safe flight. You can do this, and I'll be there once you're back," he says, and Minho blinks back tears, gripping his phone tightly. 

"Thank you," he whispers. So he hasn't forgotten. 

-

You frown softly as Minho’s name pops up on your screen. Shouldn’t he be at some fancy fashion event right now? “Min?” you take the call confused. 

“Hey, honey,” he says sweetly. “You have a minute?”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod agreeing, and smile at your friend thankfully, who hands you a cup of tea. 

“Chan called,” he says and sighs at the silence following. “What happened?”

“Well, what did he tell you?” you ask stubbornly.

“Stop playing games, baby girl,” he warns you. “I should’ve been on some red carpet five minutes ago. So, what happened?”

You roll your eyes and subconsciously play with the two small rings decorating your ring finger: one for Chan and one for Minho. “I made the mistake of thinking I’d get a hug and kiss goodnight from my husband,” you tell him quietly, and he can tell you’re hurt. “He told me to leave him alone, so I did.”

“Fucking hell, Chan,” he breaths out and throws his head back in frustration. “I promised him to come home early, but I need some time to figure this out.”

“Oh, please, Min, it’s only three days,” you protest. That’s not what you had intended at all. “We can manage that, and we’ll talk once you’re back.”

“Well, he can’t,” he shakes his head.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“He called me to ask if I can come back because he’s not doing alright. He said something about feeling numb and like failing,” Minho explains, following his assistant, who had given up by now, to his car.

“Shit, Min, I didn’t know. I thought he was stressed and taking it out on us,” you say apologizingly. 

“Relax, I didn’t know either,” he sighs, getting into his car. “Listen, I’ll be back home in a few hours. You think you can go back home in the meantime?” he asks gently. “I know you’re hurt and-.”

“No, it’s alright. Of course, I’ll go back home,” you say, already getting up and gathering your things. “You have a key to get in?”

“I think so, yes,” he nods.

“Alright, I’ll see you later then. I’ll go check on Channie,” you promise, and Minho exhales, relieved. You quickly explain everything to your friend before driving home a little faster than you should. Closing the door, you kick off your shoes and rush into the living room. 

Chan looks up at you, confused, eyes widening at the sight of you. “Y/N?” he asks stunned.

“I’m so sorry, Channie angel,” you apologize and sit down next to him on the sofa. “I didn’t realize you were struggling that much. I thought you were stressed or something.”

“Min told you?” he asks, chuckling as you nod. “Typical, can’t keep a secret.”

“He’s worried,” you scold him gently and take Chan’s hand. “I’m worried.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you,” he admits. “I don’t like worrying you. I just gave up hiding from Min because he witnesses most of it during work anyway.”

“Fair point,” you hum softly and hesitantly rest your head on his shoulder. This time, he lets you. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “I’m not myself at the moment. Min has helped me out before when we were still trainees, I trust him with this.”

“Okay then,” you nod, smiling as he wraps his arm around you. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you,” he says gently.

-

When Minho gets home a few hours later, he feels drained, pushing his suitcase into a corner and kicking off his shoes. He's still wearing the makeup and outfit for tonight's event, having wasted no time with changing. He tiredly runs his hand through his hair and stares at it for a moment, still shaking as the adrenaline and fear of the flight slowly wear off. His eyes fall upon the wedding rings on his finger. His heart steadies, remembering why he's there as he looks at Chan’s. 

A pair of hands slip into his, taking his smaller ones and gently squeezing them. Minho looks up and meets the eyes he fell in love with all those years ago. Chan moves their hands up to his face, planting a tiny kiss on each of his knuckles. "Breathe," he tells him quietly, and Minho exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding in. 

Minho can't stop himself and pulls him into a tight hug. He buries his face in his shoulder, stomach sinking as Chan stiffens for a moment in his hold. He pulls back, unable to meet his eyes. "Sorry, I should know better, you're not feeling up for this right -." 

Chan cuts him off by pulling him in and shaking his head. "Sorry, I'm a little slow at the moment." 

"That's okay," Minho assures him and gently rubs his back. 

"I can't do anything right at the moment," Chan says quietly, gripping the back of Minho's suit jacket tightly. 

Minho soothingly runs his hand through his hair. "Sometimes it's enough if the only thing you did today was breathe." 

"If you think so," Chan mumbles into the fabric as he buries his nose in his shoulder. 

"I know so," he tells him, resting his head against Chan's. 

“You told Y/N,” he speaks up after a moment. 

“Of course I did. She’s our wife, Channie love,” he giggles softly. “She should know, it’d worry her more not knowing what’s going on.”

He hums gently and tightens his hold on him. "I don't know what to do," Chan admits quietly. "I never felt so empty and isolated." 

"I know that's probably hard to believe right now, but I promise you'll always find me in these three places: In front of you to cheer you on, behind you to have your back, and beside you, so you're never alone," he starts out gently. "I'll find a way to make you feel full again…fuck, that came out wrong," Minho groans, and for the first time in almost two weeks, Chan laughs. 

"Idiot," he giggles and pulls back, meeting his eyes. He reaches out for him, hesitantly brushing back a strand of hair, fingertips tracing the features of his face. Once he reaches his lips, Minho plants a gentle kiss against his fingertips. Chan looks up, and he can't quite pinpoint the look in his husband's eyes. "I messed up that event for you, didn't I?" 

"It doesn't matter," he assures him. "You're more important." 

"You're mad?" he asks, squinting his eyes at him a little. 

"Do I look mad?" he asks gently. 

Chan frowns a little. "No…you look pretty." 

A soft smile covers his lips and travels to his eyes. "That's very sweet." 

"It's weird because I can tell what you're feeling, but…I have no clue how to grasp what I'm feeling," Chan admits, tears brimming his eyes. "I'm messed up, aren't I?" 

"You're struggling," he reminds him kindly. "We can work this out. We did that before." 

"Promise?" Chan asks, searching his eyes observantly. 

"I promise," he says, holding Chan's hand wearing the wedding rings. "I told you I'd be there, no matter what," he tells him, and Chan nods firmly, holding on to the truth of those words. "I need to get rid of the makeup and…whatever the hell that is," he says, looking down at himself. They've put him in some suit and casual clothes arrangement with way too many straps in a different fabric to his taste. 

"I'll help," Chan says, and Minho nods thankfully. 

“Channie?” you ask quietly. Minho turns in Chan’s hold and smiles softly, seeing you. You’re wearing one of his sweaters, and your hair messily falls around your face. You tiredly rub your face and squint at them before the realization hits you. “Oh, Minnie, you’re back,” you beam.

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, grabbing your hand and pulling you into their hug. He plants a tiny kiss on top of your head and giggles as you pout at Chan. 

“Got cold without you,” you tell him. 

“Sorry, baby,” he chuckles and rubs your back. "I had to check on Minho." 

"You're doing okay?" you ask him gently. 

"I'm glad to be on solid ground again," he snorts and lovingly brushes back your hair. "Let's go upstairs. Channie's helping me, and then we can all go to bed." 

"Sounds great," you nod and tiredly rub your eyes. "Channie?" you ask sweetly, making grabby hands at him. Chan snorts and rolls his eyes before lifting you up to carry you upstairs. You smirk at Minho as he follows the two of you. "Doesn't he look handsome?"

"Already told him so," Chan comments.

"You look like a prince, darling. So cute with that glitter around your eyes," you compliment him, and Minho blushes. 

"You're too kind, as always, my beautiful wife," he smiles shyly, and your heart swoons at his last words. 

"Careful," Chan says as he lowers you on the bed. He makes sure you're comfortable and tugs you in already, leaning down and planting a light, almost hesitant kiss on your forehead. "Thank you for coming home," he tells you quietly enough for only you to hear as Minho throws his bag in a corner of the room. "I feel more safe when you're here." 

"Always," you promise. Chan makes his way over to Minho, helping him with his outfit's many buttons and straps. He also removes his shirt and grabs a new one from the closet. "If I weren't so tired, I'd enjoy the show a little more enthusiastically."

Minho's ears burn up red, and he quickly slips into the shirt. "If you weren't so tired, I'd make sure you put that pretty mouth to use for something other than talking shit." 

Your jaw drops, and Minho smirks succeeding. "Fucks sake, you guys, I thought we'd be getting some sleep," Chan protests, making you both laugh. "Okay, sit down," he tells Minho and gets comfortable on the edge of the desk. He plants his feet on Minho's chair, left and right of his thighs. Chan places one hand beneath Minho's chin as he starts wiping away all the makeup, cursing softly to himself about all the glitter around his eyes. "As if you'd need any of this shit," he groans, and Minho giggles softly. 

"You know how it is," he shrugs and closes his eyes for him as Chan gently removes the last remains of his eyeshadow. His eyes flutter back open as Chan takes off the small diamond earring for him. "Thank you, love," he says softly, reaching for him. 

Chan slides off the desk and right into his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. You smile gently, watching them, knowing their goodbye hasn't been that great. He sighs softly and brushes his nose against Minho's. "It's good you're back." 

"Yeah?" Minho asks with a shy smile. 

"Mhm," he hums, sinking deeper into his eyes. "Feels safe." 

"I love you," Minho says, rubbing his lower back soothingly. 

"I know," he nods and presses their foreheads together. "And I know I feel the same way about you…even now." 

"That's good," he says, squeezing his hips. "Don't force it, we have time." 

"Being with you feels..good," Chan tells him and subconsciously presses himself closer. It reminds you a little of what he said to you before you fell asleep on the sofa. At least he seems to be able to feel comfort as well. 

Minho very gently reaches up, cupping his face and caressing his cheeks. "How does that feel?" 

"Warm," Chan says, covering his hands with his own. 

"You like that?" he asks, trying to figure out how to start tackling the issue at hand slowly. 

"Yeah," he nods, a small smile covering his face. 

Minho thinks for a moment before he knows what to try next. After all, his husband was a sucker for compliments he couldn't take for shit. If that wouldn't make him feel something, he doesn't know what would. "You're so beautiful, you know, Channie love. Such a handsome husband with those sweet eyes and bright smile," he says, noticing a slight blush creeping up his face. "Don't get me started on those soft curls. Or the way my hands fit perfectly into yours." Chan shifts on his lap, eyes widening a little as he takes it all in. "Have I ever told you how much I love you being so cuddly?" 

"Minho," he protests gently. 

"Yes, beautiful?" he asks curiously. 

"He's right, Channie angel…but he forgot about your cute laugh and caring sweetness," you chime in. “Or the way your strong arms wrap around me, the way you let me rest on your chest when I’m tired, and how cute you get when you soothe me to sleep.”

"Stop," Chan groans softly. "Now I feel all warm and fuzzy inside," he says, hiding his face in his shoulder as Minho chuckles. "Don't laugh."

Minho smiles and plants a tender kiss on top of his hair. "See? You're still able to feel good things as well." 

"I'm not fucked, in that case?" he asks so innocently it makes you and Minho crack up. 

"It's a good start, don't you think?" he asks, giggling. 

"I guess so," he chuckles and sighs softly as Minho runs his hand through his hair. "Keep doing that?" 

"Let's get to bed, I won't let go of you tonight," he promises. 

"What about me, Minnie?" you pout softly. 

"I'm in the middle in this case," he snorts, and Chan and you seem happy with that. He smiles as the both of you cuddle up to his sides, heads resting on his chest. Minho soothingly plays with Chan's hair, smiling as you take Chan's hand and intertwine them on his stomach. 

PART TWO

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[1d1195]

Toothpaste III

Read Toothpaste here | ~2.6k words

From me: Been way longer than it was supposed to since I last chatted about these two.

Warnings: a couple sweet fluffy puns and pining.

Summary: Harry realizes there's a bit of nepotism in hiring her to work for him while she finds a new job. But Harry would call it flat out favoritism. Also, he really likes the way she says Dr. Styles when she answers the phone.

“Good morning, Dr. Styles office.”

Harry was used to hearing his name said by women all the time. He worked with all women—they all reminded him of his mum which is why he hired them. Unfortunately, he found that many of the newly graduated dental hygienists were there for him...and not the job. He started his practice fresh out of school. Wanting to make good on his degree (and start pecking away at the loan debt from dental school) and help those with toothaches as soon as humanly possible. He was kind to each of them, but he wasn’t oblivious to the flirting that attempted to reel him in during the interview process. They would make small remarks about how they saw themselves fitting right in at his practice—and life. They batted their eyelashes and smiled just a hair too hard.

Now, he was no better than those he turned down in favor of the woman flitting about his office and eyeing the same sweet girl on desk duty. Hiring her because she was pretty, funny, intelligent.

And very much unemployed thanks to him.

Not even dinner first?

It rang in his head. The promise to take her to dinner still only remained just that: a promise. He had given her space as she was excited about the time to herself for the first time in two years. But then when she called again about a month after, claiming she was getting bored and antsy, Harry had to hire her. There had been paperwork to get hired. Training in what her tasks would be as she made the desk her home-away-from-home.

It seemed wrong to hire her and desperately want to go on a date with her, so he separated the two. Let her get her feet under her and whatnot. So, he never got to find out if ‘open’ would be the last of their flirting.

Unfortunately, Harry was ready to let all of his sanity fly out the window. The way Styles sounded in her mouth was a sin and a virtue. Completely and totally the cause for him struggling to maintain a semblance of control over his emotions.

“I know we say drooling is good thing in this office, Dr. Styles, but that’s a bit much,” Mary chided as she walked past him in the small hallway between rooms. Harry cleared his throat. Once more thankful for the mask covering the majority of his face to hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. She was none the wiser, fiddling with a pen as she listened intently. The little headset on her head while she scribbled on a notepad.

“Let me check and I’ll call you right back, yeah? If not, I’ll find someone to recommend,” her voice was so soothing, oozing with kindness and understanding that Harry didn’t know was necessary for someone scheduling appointments for him, but it was the moment he heard her voice. There was an exchange of goodbyes and then she clicked the headset off. “Dr. Styles,” she sang analyzing her notes while clicking and tapping away at her keyboard.

Now Harry had to pretend like he wasn’t just waiting for her to call for his attention. He turned immediately into a patient room where Helen was tending to a teen boy. Helen glanced up; her eyes danced with a smile unseen by her own mask as she continued to pick at the buildup between her patient’s teeth. “Toby isn’t due for an exam, Dr. Styles,” Helen teased.

He glared at her briefly and turned to call out of the room. “Jus’ a second, love.”

“Did you hear that, Toby?” Helen whispered. “Dr. Styles is a bit smitten with his secretary. He’s trying to act casual.”

Toby smiled around the instruments in his mouth and peered back toward where Harry stood. “She pre-ee,” he murmured.

“She is pretty,” Helen agreed. “But he’s pretending like he isn’t in love with her.” Toby chuckled around the tool once more and Harry glared at him.

“There’s a joke ‘bout me being a sadistic dentist, Toby. Make sure y’floss before y’next exam,” he warned lowly. “Helen,” he nodded.

“Dr. Styles,” she nodded in response, the smile never leaving her eyes.

*

She was scribbling on the calendar in front of her inputting as many random national dates as possible. It started shortly after her arrival. The other women in the office usually multitasked their dental duties as well as the front desk. They were excited to have her. As motherly as they were, they knew immediately why Dr. Styles hired the pretty girl and were hopeful the otherwise quiet, shy man would open himself up for her and let love in rather than spend all his waking hours thinking about his practice.

The day of her follow up appointment, she informed him it was National Chocolate Ice Cream Day and she wanted to be sure she would be allowed to celebrate.

“National what?” He chuckled.

It was the kind of thing that made life a little more enjoyable, she explained. After he hired her to be secretary, it was a whirlwind filling the calendar with as many silly days to recognize as possible. Many days had multiple things to be celebrated, so she chose carefully. National Dimples Day was a must—given that Harry had pretty dimples hiding behind his mask. It was followed by National Pina Colada Day, and she told him it was one of her favorite summer drinks.

“Did y’need something?” His voice was warm. Like always. The way it made her feel safe when she was scared that first time she met him, worried a root canal was in her very immediate future. “What’s that say?”

“National Retainer Day!” She nearly cheered. She looked up at him with a bright smile and he couldn’t help but fall harder for her. Each topic of the day was curated with someone in mind. Even the other ladies in the office got their moment to celebrate something they loved as she would randomly call out factoids about the coming month. “Anyone like rosé?” She had called.

“Who doesn’t?!” Melissa shouted back. Of course, the entire time she worked was spent mainly doing tasks, waiting in between calls and tasks to continue filling in the calendar with her funny days of recognition.

Harry was still chuckling about Retainer Day. “Something y’needed t’ask from y’phone call?” He repeated gently to jog her memory.

“Oh yes,” she dropped her pen midway through writing National “Ba” and he felt a little bad for interrupting her thought. Also, he desperately wanted to know the end of the word, and what they would be celebrating in a few weeks. She opened a different window back up and held her notebook poised professionally in front of her. “It’s a little boy,” she explained. “His teeth sound a lot like mine, so I’m probably being too nice,” she frowned. “I know you’re not a pediatric dentist, but the mom sounded exhausted so I told her I would ask and if not recommend someone you know personally from dental school who would take care of him.”

The kindness in her heart was way too sweet. No wonder she was filled with cavities.

“S’fine, set it up, I’ll look.”

“Like today?”

“S’it that serious?” Harry asked curiously.

“Mom sounds exhausted.”

“Like she’s going t’pull her son’s teeth out at a hardware store?”

“Exactly,” her smile was so beautiful. Harry knew smiles.

“S’this m’next patient?” He asked pointing at the tablet waiting beside her. She handed it to him and watched him read.

The way Harry leaned against the counter surrounding her desk put his forearms on full display making her stomach flip. Due to the mask, she couldn’t see his mouth—which was probably for the best. If she saw his lips, his nice teeth, perfect smile, or that dimple in his left cheek she would do something crazy, like kiss him in the middle of his waiting room. Even though no one was there in the waiting room, it seemed like a precedent she couldn’t let happen. Especially when her coworkers were down the hall with patients as well.

His eyes were so focused on the tablet, he didn’t even notice she was staring at him. His concentration was adorable. It was obvious Harry cared about all his patients. He was so intelligent (obviously) and just overall lovely.

“Are we ever going to go on our date?” She whispered quietly so not even Mary, Helen, or Melissa could hear.

Harry nearly dropped the tablet. His mask saved him once more by hiding his surprise. “Oh...um...” It spooked him that she was so confident and easy going about their flirting. It was only a few moments of flirtation and yet, it was enough to make him flustered. Tongue-tied. His brain misfired, no words could get out of his mouth.

Which was not great for her.

“I’m sorry,” she looked away and her hair fell in front of her face so he couldn’t see her embarrassment. “That was rude, I was...” she shook her head. “Forget I said it.”

Her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest, and she thought she might die of mortification. How could she say that in the middle of the workday? That was so inappropriate. Maybe more inappropriate since he was a hand deep in her mouth and she asked to open for him. At least then she was a patient and could leave. Instead, he was going to have to go be a hand deep in someone else’s mouth thinking about how she cornered him and flirted with him when she shouldn’t have.

Her stupid mouth was going to get her fired again. She finished the word “Bagel” on her calendar and looked for the information to call that poor mother back. She dialed the phone number and listened on her headset at the other end rang.

A note was dropped on her desk, a prescription paper from Harry’s notepad. Fluttered and settled directly in front of her as the phone continued ringing. She turned to see Harry’s retreating figure before she picked it up and read it.

Tomorrow? Tooth-irty is too early. How about six?

*

The bell to her apartment rang at quarter to six. She was doing some finishing touches to her hair and makeup, and it seemed they would remain unfinished. She wasn’t mad that he was early because it was making her anxious to wait for so long (hence the extra primping). “Just a second!” She called scrambling to put the last bobby pin in place and swiped mascara over her lashes quickly.

She hurried to the door and pulled it out of the way. Harry held three red roses in his hand. “Sorry m’early. I was... nervous and excited.”

“Nervous?” She questioned.

He nodded but didn’t say anything else. Harry wasn’t a man of many words. He was quiet overall. But when he did speak, every word was warm, important. Nerves must not have been important. “Those are beautiful,” she reached out to touch the mini bouquet. The petals were like velvet, and she imagined that he paid a pretty penny for just three little roses.

“S’not too much?” He asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “They’re perfect.”

He released a relieved sigh and smiled. “Good.”

*

At dinner, Harry pulled her chair out and his knee bumped hers beneath the table. She tried to memorize every detail of the moment. It was a feeling that started all the way in her toes and worked up to the roots of her hair. This was a big day. A big moment.

Three months ago, she was in a different world. Now she was at a new job, a new apartment, and on a date with her unbelievably handsome dentist and boss. It was unreal and perfect and something that didn’t happen every day. Something that had never happened to her.

So, she was memorizing every little detail so that when she thought about it for the rest of her life she could talk about the wrinkle near the corner of his mouth when he smiled. How his eyebrow quirked up when he read something he liked on the menu. The way his fingers wrapped around the stem of his wine glass like he was a connoisseur. Was he? She wanted to ask.

“S’it alright?” He asked quietly.

In all her memorizing, she forgot how quiet she must have gotten. Even a man as few words as Harry, it was probably unnerving to sit in silence while sipping at wine, listening to the quiet jazz quartet in the corner of the space while the girl across from him nibbled at the bread on her plate and stared at him for what must have been an embarrassing number of minutes. “Yes,” she said quickly, her knee bumping against his and the table causing the glasses to wiggle. He smiled. That gorgeous, beautiful smile that should have been on pamphlets and billboards for his practice. “Sorry,” she cleared her throat.

She wondered if he would ask her back to his place. Was it too much to do that? Maybe they could just hang out. Her entire work week was spent with Harry and yet she just wanted more time with him. Like something had changed in her that this was...this was something more. More than a toothache. More than toothpaste.

“Are you alright, love? You’re awfully quiet...”

“Can I say something...insane? You obviously don’t mind my ranting thus far between my intake form and my appointments. But this one might... really make you regret asking me out... I don’t know... I just think I have spent a lot of my young adulthood being unhappy. I watched rom-coms and read romance novels and envisioned this all-encompassing love that would put Nicholas Sparks to shame. Then I started my job fresh out of college and I hadn’t thought about love in three years? Four years. Four years of not thinking about love, reading about love, watching love and it was my favorite thing in the world...and then I got a toothache and wanted to yank it out myself and you were just there. You don’t say a lot but you... you helped me quit a job I wasn’t happy in, a job I wasn’t in love with a job that was killing me from the inside out,” she took a breath and Harry was stoically watching her. “I am trying to focus on everything that is happening. For the last three months I’ve been trying to figure all of this out and remember every little detail about you. The way that your knee feels next to mine and how your ring clinks on your wine glass and how I have imagined falling in love so many times in my life and I never thought it would happen in a dentist office—arguably, my least favorite place in the world.”

Speechless. Completely totally speechless.

Harry held his hand up for the waiter. “Could we get our food t’go?” He asked.

Part of her hoped the ground would open up and swallow her. The anxiety and mortification she felt was so intense her voice was dead in her throat. All emotion stopped existing. Part of her thought she did combust as he asked to leave. “Is everything alright?” The waiter asked.

“Yes,” Harry nodded assuredly. “S’jus’... I’ve got a bit of a toothache,” he explained and glanced at her finally. The left dimple making itself visible. The relief swam through her. “Need t’head home t’take care of it. S’that okay, love?” He asked quietly.

She nodded. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “It’s that sweet tooth of yours.”

“Well, y’know me, love,” he winked and handed his credit card to the waiter. “I crave sweet things.”

--

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[tater-tots-thoughts]

Summary: You and Tom made a bet over who would be the first to break and touch or kiss the other, but when you have a panic attack mid-day, Tom is more than willing to be a loser just to help you.

Warnings: Panic attacks, swearing

Stupid idea, you think bitterly as you take your aggression out on your keyboard, typing a furious response to your coworker as a pounding headache behind your eyes nearly brings you to tears from staring at the screen for too long. Today you and Tom had the terrible idea of seeing who could last longer without touching the other, and quite honestly, you were prepared to deal with Tom’s gloating and smirk just about now. You wished for nothing more than his comfort as you struggled with your uncooperative superiors and boss. Today, there had been a huge website crash, and you were struggling to help get it up and running again before you lost major sales and shipments. You sighed as you sent your last email, confirming that you’d spoken to a big client and cleared up the issue, assuring them everything would be up and running shortly.

Sighing again, you stood up to stretch. This was the most stressed you’d felt in weeks, and Tom could sense it too. Sitting back down, you refocused and worked for several more hours before you heard Tom knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called hoarsely.

He walked in with a steaming cup of tea in hand and a small smile. He set it next to your computer.

“Milk and honey, just how you like it.”

You smiled at him, appreciating his small thoughtful gesture, though just looking at him made you feel like your emotions were about to boil over any second.

“Ready to give in yet, love?” he teased, smiling at you. He had no idea of your situation at work since you barely had time to even use the bathroom. He’d assumed locking yourself in your study would be a more effective way of refraining from him. Though now he could sense your mood—obviously stressed and exhausted. His smile faltered.

“Everything okay?” he asked slowly, concern in his eyes, hands clasped before him.

You shook your head, feeling the awful sting and knot in your throat as tears began to brim in your eyes.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, hurrying over to your side, the bet now long forgotten as he fell to his knees by your chair and wrapped his arms around you.

You could barely breathe, let alone explain everything that had happened. All the anxiety, dread, and anger seemed to be controlling your body as it constricted your lungs. The world spun around you, but not in the slight swaying way it does when you’re a little dizzy—it was in a way that made you feel sick if you opened your eyes. You had no idea how long you sat there. The only thing you were trying to feel and focus on was Tom’s voice and his hands cradling your back and head as he rocked you gently.

When you opened your eyes again, the world wasn’t spinning. You were on the floor now, awkwardly but not uncomfortably cradled into Tom’s chest. He was still talking, coaxing and calming you from your attack, his hand stroking your hair comfortingly. After five or so minutes, you could feel your breath falling back to normal, though Tom held you as tightly as ever. You pulled away to wipe tears from under your eyes.

“Sorry,” you choked out.

“Hey, what did I say about that?” Tom said firmly. “Don’t apologize for things that make you upset. I mean, what even happened? Was it me? If it was me, I didn’t mean it, I swear. I am so sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, no, not you. Definitely not you. Just… work. The website crashed, and everything kind of went to hell.”

“Oh, hon,” he sympathized, pulling you close to place a kiss on your head.

You were now lying in bed. With the help of your team, the website was back up and running. All that needed to happen now was shipping to get the information, but that wasn’t your department, and so none of your concern.

“You lose, by the way,” you said, smiling teasingly.

“Mm?”

“You touched me first.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” Tom said nonchalantly. “I won’t hold you to the fifty bucks, though, ‘cause I guess you did kind of need my help.”

He chuckled along with you and poked you in the side. You giggled and pushed his hand away.

“I’d lose for you any day.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “You’re so corny.”

[paisleypens]

too cool pt. 2 | spencer agnew x f!reader

the hair i’m crying.

thank you for the love on the last one!! here’s part 1

i was so busy recently but i love this story so let me know what you think! new part soon trust

~~~

In the days that followed their impromptu trip to the park, Spencer panicked over his feelings for Y/N. He hadn’t felt this close to anyone in a non platonic way in a while. After endless hours of thinking about her and their excursion, Spencer realized something haunting. No way was he cool enough for someone like her. Yes they could nerd out together, but why would she want to be with someone like that? He concluded that Y/N would never choose him as the ideal guy for her.

The next few days passed in a blur of meetings, rehearsals, and editing sessions. Spencer and Y/N maintained their easy rapport, but the unspoken tension simmered beneath the surface, growing more palpable with each passing interaction.

It was during a casual lunch break that the topic of relationships surfaced. They sat at a small table, sandwiches forgotten as they engaged in a lighthearted debate about romantic comedies.

"I've never been a fan of those over-the-top love stories," Spencer commented, taking a sip of his Kickstart.

Y/N raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, really? You’re too cool for a good slow-burn romance?"

Spencer chuckled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Well, I suppose there's something nice about the anticipation, the build-up between two people. But maybe I'm just not cool enough to get it."

Their eyes met briefly, a shared misunderstanding of their words passing between them before they both looked away, the moment lingering in the air like an unspoken confession.

As the days passed, their dance of denial continued. They buried their feelings beneath layers of professional camaraderie, exchanging playful banter and supportive gestures while tiptoeing around the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them.

It was a delicate balance, a silent agreement to keep their emotions in check for the sake of their work and friendship. But with each passing day, the longing glances and fleeting touches spoke volumes, unspoken desires waiting to be acknowledged.

As the days turned into weeks and the unspoken tension between Spencer and Y/N continued to simmer, Spencer found himself grappling with a realization he couldn't ignore—he was falling for her.

It was an unusually quiet Tuesday afternoon in the office, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by a serene calm. Spencer sat at his desk, fingers tapping absently on the keyboard as he tried to focus. But his mind kept drifting, thoughts consumed by Y/N and the unspoken emotions that had taken root in his heart.

He replayed moments in his mind—the shared laughter, the stolen glances, the way her eyes lit up when they discussed their favorite games. Each memory was like a whispered confession, a testament to the depth of his feelings. Spencer leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He knew he couldn't continue denying his feelings, couldn't keep pretending that his heart didn't ache every time Y/N walked away.

“Hey, you good man? You’re looking pretty… gone right now.” Spencer's friend and closest working relationship, Shayne Topp, asked him.

“Yeah… yeah uh what’s up?” Spencer coughed out.

“Well I was going to ask what your dinner plans are but… do you want to talk?” Shayne asked, his eyebrows sewing together in worry.

“No it’s dumb I don’t- I don’t even know what i’d say.” Spencer answered, slumping down in his chair farther.

“Shoot.”

“Well… I really like someone. I- I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t work, I can barely sleep when I could just stay up thinking about her.” Spencer admitted.

“Damn, to be honest I never thought I would see this day. What’s stopping you from getting her?” Shayne questioned, laughing at his school yard confession.

“I don’t man have you seen me?”

“Uh yeah you’re the ideal man.”

“Very funny. But no I'm serious she’s- let’s just say she is way too cool for me. Very far out of my league.”

“Dude have you seen my relationship? If you like her that much it’s dumb to torture yourself like this.”

“Yeah but, we're friends. What if I screw it up?”

“But what if you don’t?”

[carpsurprise]

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ the bachelors + receiving the wilted bouquet... !

→ harvey … immediately feels tears brimming his eyelids. the bouquet had come out of the blue, and seemingly nothing had felt off or uncertain in their relationship. running up to the counter, he pulls out the message accompanying the poor flowers. with tears falling upon the farmer’s handwriting, harvey looks out the clinic window. he rereads the note a thousand times through tears, fearing he was not reading it right. unable to come to terms with such a sudden leave, harvey refuses to believe the wonderful bond they had did not deserve an in-person conversation— brushed off as if he were nothing.

→ elliott … cries out at the first glance of death’s flowers. he pleads, babbles, unable to articulate himself in this state of fear. his greatest power— his skill with words— has properly evaded him, abandoning him as the farmer was moments from doing so as well. unable to change the farmer’s mind, elliott sits upon his chair with numbed limbs. had his language left behind the farmer? packed its bags and left him speechless, unable to utter a don’t leave me to myself! in between cries?

→ shane …has no large, grandiose reaction– almost as if the farmer has handed him some insignificant object, like something they had picked up off of the ground. with a heavy inward breath, shane avoids the farmer’s gaze. yeah, yeah. i get it. he looks rather disgruntled, but not enough for the situation at hand. i knew it was bound to happen. swallowing his disappoint with himself, shane waves off the farmer. in some sad way, he always knew he was destined for lonesome. 

→ sebastian … looks up from his computer screen. it takes him a few moments to register what is unfolding before him, unable to switch his brain from numbers and code to a teary eyed farmer and decayed flowers. his fingers, still seated on his keyboard, become shaky. you– oh. he nods solemnly, and with a big sigh, places his head into his hands. despite his buried head, the farmer sees a robotic nod of his head. they open their mouth in an attempt to explain themselves, yet sebastian makes no response. his face remains hidden behind his palms, unmoving and silent.

→ alex … stares at the farmer in disbelief. hot blood rushes to his head, where he abruptly puffs himself up to fight his insecurity. he pushes the wilted flowers out of his vision. don’t give me that! just throw it away. he huffs. i don’t need that. i get the message. his jaw clenches and unclenches. where the farmer was expecting an emotional exchange, alex seems to have reverted back to his old self– where was all of that healing he mastered? the farmer tries to speak, but is narrowly interrupted by alex. just go. i don’t want you here.

→ sam … is immediately thrown into a fit of anxiety. there's lots of stuttering and rapid blinking. a sharp pain lingers in his chest, pulsating with each heightened heart beat. oh, what did i do wrong? i’m sorry. what– what happened? can i fix it? i’m sorry, what did i do wrong? total disbelief shackles him to the ground. all at once, he feels as if he is spinning, echoes of his mother and father fighting ringing inside of his skull. nausea builds up in the pit of his stomach. what did i do?

[mamas-filly]

The Vet Visit

"So poor thing was just loose on the street?"

"Yeah! She was really friendly so I thought she had to have an owner.

"Well, she doesn't have a chip or a collar, so if you're that fond of her, you can just take her home."

A hand reaches through the bars to pet your head, as you're shivering without the clothes this woman found you in.

"What do you think, girl? Are you coming home with me?"

The person in a white coat across from your captor speaks before you can say anything, the two of them continuing to talk above you

"We'll need to give it the required shots and give her a microchip, of course, plus any other... 'procedures' you might be looking for"

"Oh, I'm not looking to get her spayed right now, but Im glad she's being chipped, I would hate to have her get out and never see her again!"

"Of course, ma'am. If you'll just return to the lobby, we can set up payment and a follow-up appointment."

You finally see her face as she leans down to peer through the bars of the oversized crate you've been in, petting your head again as she coos into your ear

"I know its scary girl, but the Vet's going to take very good care of you okay?"

The cage opens, and you scramble out, starting to try and say something before she's too far, but as you open your mouth you feel a sharp pinch on your hips and the desperate pleas only come out as an enthusiastic "Bark!"

Stunned in surprise, you find yourself easily wrestled down by the strong, confident hands of the vet as they hold you still for the next shot, and the next.

"Good girl... good girl, you just got excited when your owner left, huh?"

Your mind swims in light fluffy emotions, as the doctors hand strokes you, no longer holding you down, though you can't really recall why you were trying to leave in thd first place. The vet calmly looks at your teeth, your breasts, and you even feel a cold glove drift and assess your loins, but all with medical efficiency.

"Your owner is one lucky lady, in perfect health, and very well behaved. It's hard to imagine you were a stray"

The vet muses to himself as you feel the harshest pinch of all today, right behind your ear. But your attention is soon swallowed by the biscuits the vet pulls from his pockets, which you greedily eat from his palm.

Once he's out of treats (and you checked, your face shoved into his pockets as he laughed at your antics), the vet puts a collar and leash on you (earning another good girl for standing so still for him) as he leads you to the lobby.

A receptionist clicks away on the keyboard before turning his head to your new owner.

"All we need now is the name Ma'am"

"Goodness, I only wish I could ask her myself." Your owner chuckles to herself at the thought. "Daisy, she looks like shed be a Daisy"

It's just then that you get led into the lobby by the veterinarian, and you can't help but tug against your leash when you see your owner, you love her, you love your owner(a thought that feels heavy with how universal it is).

Seeing your excitement your owner smiles

"I think the names a hit. Come on, Daisy, let's go home!"

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Polyship Week 2024, Day Four: Let’s Dance (Severance AU)

We've reached Day Four of Valicer Polyship Week 2024, inspired by @polyshipweek, and our prompt today is "Let's Dance!" Because, while I don't talk about it as much as I used to, I am still a huge fan of my various ships dancing together. :D And I knew exactly what AU I wanted to pair the prompt with -- my new Valicer Severance AU! Otherwise known as "I Owe My Soul To The Company Store" after that one music video I reblogged. Severance the TV show has a rather iconic scene of the Innies getting a "Music/Dance Experience" in episode 7 (you can watch it here if you are so inclined -- warning, it takes a turn for the violent near the end, as one of the main characters is on edge after learning something interesting about his Outie's life the night before), so I figured this prompt would be the perfect opportunity to do my take on what an MDE would look like for my Innie trio. :) Hope you enjoy!

--

DeeedledeeedleeDIIING!

Smiler jerked their hands away from their keyboard, blinking. Across from them, Victor jumped, looking around. “W-what was that?”

“Sounded like it came from Smiler’s computer,” Alice said, getting up and peering over the partition separating their desks. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Smiler insisted, eyeing their set-up suspiciously. “I just sorted another set of numbers, and then that happened.”

“Well, you must have done something different.” Alice leaned on the partition, smirking. “Did the numbers make you feel a prohibited emotion? Ennui, perhaps?”

Smiler stuck out their tongue at her. “You know this entire job is one big study in ennui,” they said, studying their screen to see if there was anything new and exciting. There were the usual bins at the bottom, waiting to be filled with pointless bullshit; there was the giant field of numbers in the middle, a sea of remorselessly ridiculous digits; there was the name of the file at the top, the never-to-be-explained “Hill Valley;” there was the progress bar next to that – “Oh! I made 75%!”

“You – wait, really?” Victor said, getting up and coming over for a look.

“Yeah, look.” Smiler pointed at the bar. “Didn’t even realize...so I guess that was a ‘good job’ noise.”

“Huh – congratulations, then,” Alice said, looking slightly impressed despite herself. “First time any of us have managed that with a file – Wheatley!” she called over to their supervisor. “Smiler got 75% on Hill Valley!”

“They what?” Wheatley came zooming over on his rail to see, stopping just over Victor’s shoulder and making him duck out of the way. “Oh, look at that! That’s fantastic!” he declared, flexing his outer plates. “That means you, Smiler A., get an MDE!”

“MDE?” Smiler repeated, brow crinkled.

“Music/Dance experience! A five-minute dance party – DJed by yours truly,” Wheatley added, spinning on his rail. “Let me get the cart – just a moment!”

He zipped off, humming to himself. Smiler watched him go, then looked back at Victor and Alice. “I – I gotta admit, I’d kind of forgotten that was a thing,” they said, brushing their bangs out of their face.

“So had I,” Victor said, going back to his own desk. “Hang on, there must be something on it in the handbook…” He pulled it out of his drawer and flipped through it. “Here we are – yes, it’s the tier just below 100% completion and Cake Day. I’m not surprised we forgot, though – like Alice said, none of us have ever gotten that far on a file before.”

“They must have forgotten to expire yours before you hit the magic number,” Alice said, smiling. “Well, good to know that we can get rewards other than those stupid erasers and finger traps. Just don’t get your hopes up about the cake.”

“I won’t, trust me,” Smiler said, crossing their heart with a finger. “Besides, with our luck? I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave us a giant wad of tuna fish in the shape of a cake instead.”

Victor pulled a face. “If they did that, I’d burn this fucking place to the ground.”

“Can we get that in writing?” Alice asked, leaning on her hand.

Before Smiler could point out that there was no way any of them were getting access to matches anytime soon, Wheatley returned, followed by a little motorized cart that skidded to a stop beside Smiler’s desk, bearing a trio of cheap party hats in Aperture-approved orange and blue and a couple of speakers. “Here we are! Wouldn’t let me connect to it at first, but I had a few words with it,” he said brightly. “All right, so – just pick your genre of music and your accessory, and we’ll be off!”

“Accessory?” Smiler repeated – then jerked back as a drawer on the cart popped out practically into their lap, bearing a maraca, a pair of castanets, a party horn, a set of bells on a stick, and a single sad glowstick. “Oh. Uh – so – I just – pick something?”

“Yup! Grab your item, then you can choose your music,” Wheatley said, rolling his optic down toward a laminated list of musical genres lying atop the cart. “And then it’s party time! Wooo!”

Smiler snorted. “You’re happier about this than I am,” they noted, looking through their “accessory” options.

“Well, it does mean that I’ve been doing a great job as your supervisor,” Wheatley said, in a tone that said that if he had a nose, he’d be putting it in the air. “And besides, this isn’t like when you guys made those race cars out of office supplies, or went wandering off and petted those baby goats, or had your little make-out picnic in the kitchen. This is an Official Aperture Science Macrodata Refinement Incentive! Miss Glados can’t say a word about us taking five minutes to boogie!”

A grin slowly spread over Smiler’s face. “...that’s a good point.” Sure, corporate-mandated fun was probably far from the best fun they could have down here, but it was definitely the safest. And Smiler really enjoyed the idea of Miss Glados steaming over seeing them happy, but being unable to do anything about it. They picked up the glowstick and gave it a little shake, watching it light up a pleasant banana yellow (not that they ever remembered seeing a banana, but they were reasonably sure that was right). “This feels me.”

“It does,” Alice agreed, coming around to look at the list of music as the drawer retracted as violently as it had extended. “As for your music choices...you’ve your pick of Defiant Jazz, Bawdy Funk, Playful Punk, Wistful Pipes, Effusive Ska, Bouncy Swing–

“That one,” Smiler cut in with a nod, getting up. “This is supposed to be a party, isn’t it? Let’s have the happiest music we’ve got.”

“Sounds good to me! Now, everybody, this is in Smiler’s honor, but you should all feel free to get up and dance!” Wheatley announced, as if he was talking to a giant crowd instead of just three people. “Let’s get this party started!”

Right on cue, the lights dimmed, then started cycling through a rainbow of different colors as out of the cart’s speakers came the most upbeat, high-tempo music Smiler had ever heard. Not that they actually recalled ever hearing any music before, but that just made this tune all the more exhilarating, sending a thrill straight through their bones. Their feet seemed to move of their own accord, catching the beat and sending them spinning across the floor. Laughing, Smiler let their body take control, shaking their glowstick to the rhythm of the horns. Good to know some part of me knows how to dance! Would have been embarrassing otherwise!

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Wheatley cheered, bobbing to the beat as best he could while Smiler soft-shoed about. “Come on, Victor, Alice! Not a party with just two people!”

Victor smiled awkwardly and began very tentatively to sway on the spot, raising his arms slightly. Alice, by contrast, immediately threw herself into the music, waving her hands in the air and doing some very interesting hops and skips around their cubicles. “What is that?” Smiler laughed, boogieing over her way.

“No bloody clue, but it feels right!” Alice responded with a big grin, grabbing their hands and swinging them around before flinging them away. She promptly bounced over to Victor, grabbing his hands in turn. “Come on – we know you can do better than that!”

“I don’t,” Victor said, though he did let Alice pull him forward, closer to the cart.

“Well, we wouldn’t actually know if you messed up,” Smiler pointed out encouragingly, making their way over and bumping their shoulder against Victor’s side before fluttering their eyelashes up at him. “Please?”

Victor snorted. “You’re very silly,” he noted, picking up the rhythm more as he moved from side to side. “Both of you.”

“That’s why you love us,” Alice said, twirling herself into his arms before gazing up at him adoringly.

Victor smiled down at her, then over at Smiler, freeing a hand to beckon them over. “Yes. Yes it is.”

Smiler followed his finger, their heart going all warm and runny at the deep fondness in Victor’s eyes, and the cheeky little grin on Alice’s face. Not for the first time (or the second, or the third, or the fiftieth), they found themselves wishing they could leave this stupid fucking office and actually go outside. Go live an actual life somewhere together, where there were windows and seasons and as few numbers as possible. Where they got eat things other than tuna fish sandwiches and do things other than sit at computers all damn day. Where they could be together without constantly worrying about cameras and Miss Glados and the Break Room. Where they could dance for more than five minutes to whatever music they liked.

But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, if ever. Not with everything they were owned by fucking Aperture and its goons. But they still had these five minutes, and Smiler was determined to make the most of them. They slid under Victor’s arm and snuggled up to him, slipping their free arm around Alice. She pulled them in close, and together they bobbed to the music, just enjoying each other’s company and the break from the endless sorting. One day, Smiler quietly vowed, glancing at their partners. One day, we’re getting out of here, whatever it takes. And when we do, the first thing I’m doing is dancing with both of you for real.

[in-death-we-fall]

Scar Tissue

Scar the Martyr marks Joey Jordison’s first new music since the death of his Slipknot songwriting partner, Paul Gray. It’s helped heal his wounds and got him excited for the future…

Words: Paul Travers Photo: Paul Harries (drive link)

Joey Jordison and Paul Gray were in many ways the beating, bloody heart right at the centre of Slipknot. They were both in there from the start. They named the band. They were also the core writing team. Joey once said that when he was writing, he’d always just know where a Paul idea would fit just right. When the bassist died in May 2010, Joey lost an important piece of his musical puzzle.

Some of Slipknot’s scars have healed, through their live shows, including an incredible headline slot at this year’s Download. But now, Joey is finally flexing his creative muscles again, with Scar The Martyr. It’s not the new Slipknot album, but their self-titled debut is the first new music the drummer has written since the death of his best friend and songwriting partner. For Joey, though, Paul Gray’s influence still permeates everything he does.

“It’s always going to be difficult,” he sighs. “It will never not be hard to write without him, because he was my partner and my best friend. But there’s a huge part of Paul in me. I know what he’s thinking, I know when he’s upset, I know when he’s happy; I can read his emotions. This might sound weird to people, but I still talk to paul. He still talks to me and it’s spooky. He might not be here in the flesh, but he’s still here in the spirit. When I get stuck I go, ‘What would you do now?’ and he tells me. He helps me when I get stuck.”

That songwriting partnership might still survive in an ethereal fashion, but Scar The Martyr is a very different beast to Slipknot. The album is dense and dark, taking in post-punk atmospherics and tempering its noise-flecked industrial clatter with vibrant melodies and surging synths.

“Do I think it will surprise people?” Joey muses. “Perhaps not so much as other things I’ve done. When I put out the Murderdolls record (2002’s Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls), that was a completely left-field move from what I was known for. But for the record I do think that Slipknot fans will totally dig this album.”

That is good. Because the seeds for Scar The Martyr were sown when Joey began the painful process of trying to pick up writing for Slipknot’s long-awaited fifth album.

“I went into the studio and wrote a load of songs for Slipknot. A load of songs,” he says. “I wrote about 30 songs and the stems of another 20, so that’s 50 songs. But when I realised Slipknot wasn’t going to be happening for a while I stayed in the studio and started this.”

Hang on, 50 Slipknot songs? How come this isn’t going on the new record, then?

“The timing just wasn’t right,” admits Joey. “We have to all be on the same page at the same time, but I still have those songs ready for the new Slipknot album. Once we get together we’ll tear them to pieces and see what works.”

So you’re saying the album’s written?

“We might use one song or we might use all of ‘em. I don’t know what the fuck we’ll do.”

Okay. So did Scar The Martyr allow you to make an album without the pressure that the new Slipknot record would?

“There is less pressure,” says Joey. “There are no expectations, so yeah, it’s a lot easier. But I’m not sitting in there just jacking off. This band is now a part of me, just like Slipknot is.”

With the music written, Joey assembled an impressive bunch of ex-men, with Jed Simon (ex-Strapping Young Lad) and Kris Norris (ex-Darkest Hour) on guitars, and Chris Vrenna (ex-Nine Inch Nails) on keyboards. Joey handled drums and bass himself and recruited a largely unknown vocalist, Henry Derek.

“I did want a vocalist that no-one would know,” Joey explains. “Someone put me in touch with Henry and I sent him four songs. When he returned them, I was blown away – he was totally who I was looking for.”

Henry was given free reign on the lyrics. As a consequence, Joey isn’t willing to discuss the themes on the album. The drummer does, however, reveal that much of the turmoil and anguish of the past three years has been channelled into this new project.

“It’s different from anything I’ve ever done and I think you can tell the emotion in the music,” he nods. “I was in a really different place when I was writing this stuff. It’s not just anger, although there is some in there. There’s reflection, beauty – all kinds of different moods.”

And how is Joey Jordison feeling right now?

“I’m ecstatic,” he beams. “I’m really excited. Whatever happens in the long-term isn’t the focus right now, but we’re going to be around for a while.”

That’s good news in one respect, but where it leaves Slipknot’s immediate future is still unclear.

“I can’t tell you an exact timeline,” Joey shrugs. “Stone Sour’s still out [on tour] and I’ve got this record, but [Slipknot] are still playing shows to keep in touch with our fans. It’s just a matter of waiting until it feels right for Slipknot to get back in there.”

What do you think it’ll be like when that happens?

“Whenever it is, it’s gonna be the perfect time, because we’ve never had this much material, ever,” enthuses the drummer. “I just got three song ideas the other day from Corey [Taylor], and they’re fucking awesome. Corey’s primarily been a lyricist in the band, and it’s cool to see someone who doesn’t normally write the music getting so excited about making Slipknot’s next record.”

So Slipknot is still for the future. But for now, Joey has Scar The Martyr to immerse himself in. You get the feeling that somewhere out there, his songwriting partner and best friend would approve.

Scar The Martyr’s self-titled album is out on September 30 via Roadrunner

We’ve seen it live!

Joey unveiled his new band in New York on August 10. We got the first look! Review: Hardeep Phull Live photo: Shaun Regan

It only takes a few songs of Scar The Martyr’s first headline show to realise that Joey Jordison is not trying to create Slipknot Mk II. Instead, the band are attempting to carve out a sound that has more in common with industrial pioneers like Ministry and Killing Joke through songs such as Never Forgive Never Forget.

Although the broader scope and ambition is impressive, it’s the traditionally heavier songs that Scar The Martyr perform more confidently. With it’s (sic) siren-like opening riff and relentless pace, the first single Blood Host is already a crowd-pleaser, if only because it’s the only song anyone has heard to date, while the crushingly heavy finale of Last Night On Earth is where the band give a tantalising glimpse of how good they could turn out to be.

So, with Slipknot still on hold, this is Joey’s main bag for a bit. Us maggots can wait a little longer, as Scar The Martyr are a brilliant distraction.

[stars4ni]

skz + when your anxious

maknae line + gn reader! ☁️

warnings: anxiety, crying, kisses, stress, cuddling, thunderstorm, panic attack.

genre: fluff + comfort

notes: sorry this took so fucking long, i legit forgot and also i have no motivation. im so so so sorry my loves. enjoy & reblogs would be appreciated!

hyung line

han: you walk into your shared bedroom and lay on the bed. resting your head on jisungs chest, closing your eyes. “hey sweetie, you okay?” you looked up at him. “not really ji, feeling anxious” he ran his fingers through your hair. jisung also has anxiety frequently so he knows how to calm you down. “how come my pretty hm?” you grab onto his waist, snuggling into his chest. “i don’t know i just am” he continues to play with your hair. “i understand, i feel that way sometimes too” you look up at him and smile. “you made me feel a little better, but I still feel awful” He kisses your forehead. “It’s okay love, you don’t have to feel okay. it’s okay to feel this way, and don’t worry it will pass eventually” “will it?” he laughs. “Yes I’m sure of it my love” he kisses your lips. “how about we take a nap hm? that always helps when I’m anxious” “okay sung that sounds good” he pulls the covers over your body. he then wraps his arms around you. “sleep well baby” he kisses you on the cheek. you doze off to sleep as jisung admires your face peacefully sleeping in his arms.

felix: you open the door to your apartment, setting down your things and then sitting on the couch. you were so stressed from work, your boss just kept giving you work even though you couldn’t get any of it done by the deadlines. even if you worked 24/7 you would never get it done. but still agreed to do the work because you didn’t want to seem as a “bad worker”. you just laid on the couch, tears forming at your eyes. you laid there for a couple minutes slightly crying, until you were full on crying. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, you hated feeling anxious. you just kept crying, you couldn’t stop. you quickly stopped crying (or at least tried to) when you heard the front door of your apartment opening. you quickly sat up and wiped your tears away. your boyfriend felix sat next to you, “hi beautiful! i missed you” he said as he hugged your waist. “missed you too…” your voice was soft, sounding like you’ve been crying. “babe…you alright?” he said as he grabbed your face to look at you. “aw bub were you crying?” he said with a pout. “yeah” you said looking away. “why? what’s wrong” he grabbed your hand. “it’s just work” you said starting it cry harder. “hey, hey it’s okay” he said as he put your head onto his chest petting your head. “it’s okay” he kept saying. “it’s okay love, breathe”.

seungmin: “hey weirdo” your boyfriend seungmin said to you as you walked into the kitchen. “hey” you said not even looking at him, or showing any emotion. you just quickly opened the refrigerator and got a energy drink. you walked out of the kitchen back to your room, as you sat in your desk chair you heard min walking in. “min…im really busy” you said typing in your keyboard. “yeah i can see, could you please take a break? it’s been hours. im worried you are going to get body aches” he looked at you concerned. “no babe i’ve got to finish this…” your eyes were glued to the screen. you opened the can and took a sip of the energy drink. “baby how many of those have you had?” min says walking to you. “normal amount… seriously min, i’ve got to get this done go away” he could tell how anxious you were. all he wanted to do was shut your laptop, pick you up, cuddle, and fall asleep. but of course you have been working like a maniac (haha) and not taking any breaks. “fine i’ll go away, just take a break soon” “uh huh…now go away” you said not even looking at him. min left the room and you started to get annoyed with your work. it was due in 30 minutes and you had only gotten half of it done. you were so confused what you were even writing, everything made no sense. you didn’t even think the lack of sleep & nutrition was making you not able to function. you realized that you were not going to be able to finish, you were so annoyed with yourself. you just excepted how you were gonna fail. all you wanted was minnie cuddles, so that’s what you did. you walked out your room to find seungmin on the couch. you sat on his lap facing him, “did baby finally realize they should take a break?” you sighed. you knew he was right. you laid your head on his shoulder. “be quiet i just need cuddles please” “of course my lovely” he said as he then kissed your forehead.

jeongin: you sat up in your bed as you heard a loud noise outside your window, you looked at your phone and saw it was 2 am. it was a thunderstorm, you hated thunderstorms, they always scared you ever since you were little. you were wishing your boyfriend was next to you but he was at his dorm. you so badly just wanted to bury your face into his chest and have him stroke your hair. he always was the best boyfriend when he comforted you when you were scared or anxious. he knew you hated thunderstorms. you looked over at your phone to see a notification from “innie the loml” it read “baby your handsome boyfriend is here outside, please open the door it’s raining really hard 😭” you smiled. you jumped up and ran to the door. you saw him smiling at you. he walked in drying his shoes on the mat and taking them off. “baby… why are you so perfect?” you said hugging him. you didn’t even care if you got wet from his soggy clothes. you were so happy he was here. he kissed your forehead. you went to your bedroom as he followed behind you. he changed into dry clothes as he then crawled into your bed. he wrapped around you as you sunk into each others warmth. the thunder got louder and louder, the rain was so heavy. you hated the loud sounds of storms. you hid your head into his chest. “aw baby it’s okay” he started to run his fingers through your hair, as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. “it’s okay love, im right here” “shhh, it’s alright my love” “fall asleep with me” “you are safe with me sweetie”.

[longlivefeedback]

Commenting 101

Lesson 2: Describe the Indescribable

How are we all doing after the first week of finding our catchphrases?

Ok! So here's step 2 to help you comment more:

Describe the indescribable

Expressing yourself if hard. Many of you indicated in the notes on the original poll that you felt overwhelmed after reading and eventually just walked away without saying anything in a comment in the fic. As a writer, I get it. Writing is hard. Expressing the chaos of thoughts and emotions in your head is hard. If you want a tip on how to handle this and how to communicate even a little bit to the human being who wrote that thing you just read and who caused all those feels, do this:

Accept that you can't describe everything.

Pick one thing to describe.

Use words if necessary.

If you use your catchphrase at the beginning or end of the comment, you got the start of a real nice comment ;)

1. Accept that you can't describe everything

Just sit with your emotions for a while. Let your thoughts be chaotic. Take a breath. It's ok to feel and think a lot of things. And much as the author would love to know all your thoughts and feelings, they understand that it's hard to write it all down on a blank space. (Trust me, they went through the exact same thing to get that fic you just read out into the world and posted.)

So what do? If you cannot pick apart and describe those thoughts and emotions, it's ok to tell the author so! You can write things like:

"I'm sorry, I have so many thoughts and emotions about this story I don't even know where to begin! Just know that I loved your fic!"

"There's so much I want to say but I can't word properly right now this was amazing!"

"Putting a placeholder here for when I have the energy to comment properly!"

For the last one, you can come back and edit your comment as long as no one has replied to it yet. If they have and you can't, just explain in the thread or write a new comment! :)

2. Pick one thing to describe

So much to say, so little time and energy. Remember our first lesson? Something is better than nothing. So. Pick the first thing you remember. Pick the last thing that set you off. Pick the thing that you've been hung up on since the middle of the chapter.

Talk about it. Try:

"There's so much about this fic, but I want to mention this one thing..."

"Person A doing that thing made me cry!"

"I loved the moment when A and B kissed!"

"That part where that thing happened made me laugh aloud!"

"I'm just a mess of emotions at the end of this fic I can't even"

Check out @dawnfelagund's 101 Comment Starters for more examples.

The LLF Comment Builder was also designed to help users learn to comment using instructional scaffolding, as well as to remove other barriers to leaving feedback such as dysexecutive syndrome, anxiety, mobility issues that make typing long reviews difficult (particularly on mobile), language fluency, and mobile commenting functionality in general. Check it out to see if it helps for when you just aren’t sure what to say.

The key is to pick one thing, and know that that is perfectly okay. Don't let not being able to say everything paralyze you and prevent you from saying anything.

3. Use words if necessary

A picture is worth a thousand words they say...😏 So go wild.

Use emojis, add gifs, and (my personal favourite) the keyboard smash.

"This fic was just asldkfjas;dlkfjsdofwekl 😭🙏💗💞💖❤️‍🔥💕"

Enough said, yeah? :)

Remember:

When in doubt, comment your catchphrase.

Saying something is enough, and it is better than saying nothing.

If you really can't word, just spam hearts 💕💗💕💗💕💞💖❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

See you next week!

Lessons masterpost.

[artknifeandglue]

as shattered stars shine: DVD Commentary (6/12)

Brand new part, Harry’s half of the story!

Fun fact: this was meant to be two equal parts with an equal number of chapters, but then it got way longer than expected (and really, I don’t know why I’m surprised considering the expected length of this was originally 5k and I crossed that in not-a-lot-of-time) and so the chapter numbers don’t quite line up. So much for symmetry.

Eighteen days before the Perseids and one day after the former Lancelot dies, Harry sits in a dingy pub with a pint of beer and watches the slightly drunk men by the bar. Some of them are far too loud, booming voices echoing off the walls of the pub as other patrons give them dirty looks, and some have spilled beer on their shirts and jeans and the floor of the pub, but it isn’t them that catch his attention. Instead, he sits in quiet observation of a man with green eyes who sits perched on a bar stool, beer in hand, gesturing animatedly with his free hand, watching, assessing.

We open with a flashback chapter because I’m particularly fond of heaping emotional baggage on my characters. Kidding, but only partially so – just as true love isn’t the only reason Eggsy sells his soul to bring Harry back, Harry was always going to pull Eggsy back from the dead, and so he needs more reasons. We see in canon that Harry does appear still affected by Lee’s death, so I wanted to set up and explore that a little more.

Green Eyes shoots him a thumbs-up from the floor. “Nah, I’m okay, don’t worry.” He accepts the hand Harry offers him and stands, dabbing at his trainers with the tissues that his friends press into his hands. “Sorry about your beer. Can I get you another one?”

Harry blinks. “You don’t have to, really, it’s not—”

Either the man doesn’t hear Harry's words or deliberately ignores them, because he turns to the bartender and hollers across the already-crowded bar, “Oi, Paul! Another drink for my friend here!”

“You really don’t need to,” Harry begins, but Green Eyes waves away all his protests.

“Let me buy you just the one drink, yeah? It’s a great day for a beer.” He claps Harry’s shoulder genially and gestures at the men still gathered by the bar. “Join us if you like! If you don’t mind the noise, at least.” He leaves for the bathroom and Harry returns to his table, absorbed in his own thoughts about the young man he’s just met but doesn’t know.

Lee Unwin, just as much of a Kingsman as any of the Round Table. Also a nice guy and well-liked! Have to make his death an absolutely horrifying waste somehow.

“Sure.” Merlin pulls his chair closer to the table and reaches for his keyboard. “You need it for a mission?”

“Not exactly.” In the weighty silence that follows, Harry levels his gaze on the drinking bird, watching as the glass bird lowers its head into the petri dish in front of it and then bobs back up while Merlin pieces together the puzzle and understands why Harry has come to him.

“You do know,” Merlin says slowly, apprehensive and disbelieving, “that Arthur won’t like it?”

The bird dips its beak into the dish again. “That is rather the point of the whole exercise,” Harry answers. Because there is a debate to settle on principle, but also because there is endless satisfaction to be found in watching that arrogant smirk slide off Chester King’s face, and the perfect man for the job is currently somewhere around London, just a few days from a fourteen-month deployment that will take him away from Harry’s one chance to settle a score with the newly promoted bigot that sits at the head of the round table.

Establishing Lee’s role in the story: Harry doesn’t know him personally yet, so Lee at this point is only a pawn in a game larger than him. Harry does grow to like and respect him as a fellow human because Lee is truly good (something that shows up in Eggsy as we know him!), but therein lies the tragedy of his death. Lee throws himself on a grenade to save Harry, and the world loses a good man.

“If you shock yourself with that thing, I’m going to send the footage to Merlin. He’ll never let you live it down.” The source of the interruption continues staring intently at the book in his hand, and Harry rolls his eyes. The façade of calm is quite pointless — neither of them are in any state to concentrate today, nor are the other agents faring any better when the fate of their candidates and several thousand dollars’ worth of bets hang in the balance.

“I wasn’t aware of your burning passion for horticulture. Planning a career change?” Luke doesn’t answer, but he shuts the book with a loud snap and drops it onto the seat of his armchair as he stands. Harry moves a step to his right as Luke approaches the window and looks out at the lawn, at the sky, at the vast expanse of nothing outside. The wind gently shakes the leaves of the trees below, and a bird flaps its wings on the short journey from one

end of the manor to the other before it disappears into the maze of green. “They’re late,” Luke mutters. “What the hell is the holdup?”

“It’s only five past eleven,” Harry points out. “They’d have just finished boarding the plane.”

The frown on Luke’s face deepens. “You don’t suppose anything will have happened?”

“Like what? James trips on a step and concusses himself on the floor?” Harry claps Luke on the shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Luke. Stop fretting.”

The words have no effect whatsoever, but then again the fear of having one’s younger brother dashed across the Kingsman lawn will do that to a person. “He’d better have the sense to check his parachute,” Luke mumbles.

Completely original character because I wanted Harry to have someone to fret over the candidates with, and so James Spencer gets an older brother.

And so they wait.

They run out of tea while waiting, and Harry pulls an unopened bottle of Bowmore scotch out of the liquor cabinet by his desk and pours out a generous measure into a glass that he presses into Luke’s hands. He pours his own drink, caps the bottle, and turns back to the window to find Luke downing half his glass in a single mouthful, a deep crease in his brow. In the distance, engines roar, first imperceptibly and then drawing closer.

They wait.

Professional alcoholism, the Kingsman pastime.

Too slowly. “Oh God,” Harry breathes, watching in dawning horror as the other man plunges feet-first into the collapsing canopy, and then the material seems to fold up around him and swallow him whole. Luke swears under his breath, and then the man is struggling to land, feet and arms caught in the billowing fabric as he careens blindly past his fellow candidate. Harry leans forward, hoping desperately for this man to make it even as he drifts past the centre of the target and towards the other end, because this is so close—

Then, unexpectedly, the other candidate lunges forward, manages to grab hold of something resembling a pair of legs, and bodily hurls himself to the ground, pulling them both downwards onto the target. It doesn’t quite work at first, momentum carrying them both forward, and he ends up being dragged along the grass almost to the other end of the target before they come to a complete stop almost diametrically opposite his own landing point. The lump of canopy struggles and thrashes for a while, and then a helmeted head pops up from the gray fabric shortly before a whole person emerges, kicking his legs free of the parachute. Ahead of them by a hair’s breadth is the large white arc of spray paint on grass, the outer circle of the Kingsman logo looming barely centimetres away.

“He made it,” Harry breathes, full of wonder. “He actually made it.”

Lee Unwin the honourable gentleman! Not pictured here: my desperate attempts to figure out how this might work with the size of the target on the field.

The evening after the train-tracks test, an unexpected insurgency fouls up the neat ending of Harry’s last mission. And, as he tells Merlin, it is an excellent opportunity for the candidates to learn a little something on the job. When else might they get the opportunity? So he uses the twenty-four hours to bring Lee and James both out on an impromptu field mission, inviting them along to witness an interrogation. The two candidates trade jabs and jibes and granola bars the entire plane ride, and Lee snaps an unflattering picture of James fast asleep in his seat, mouth open mid-snore.

Afghanistan in summer is bright and blinding, impossibly sunny and sweltering in ways that England never is. Lee and James joke about suntans as they shadow Harry into dark corners and remote villages and a car chase at one point. The mission goes smoothly, brilliantly with the two capable aides Harry’s found himself with, and all too soon Harry has on his hands a captive insurgent nearly a week ahead of schedule. “Do you think,” James remarks to Lee as he tugs his balaclava over his head, “that waitress back in the hotel bar will go out with me if I ask nicely?”

Lee rolls his eyes. “Do you ever talk about anything that isn’t women or cars?”

“Whisky,” James points out. “Which you should know, since you talk about it just as much as I do.” Lee chucks the mask in his hands at James’ face, and whatever little Harry can hear of the conversation disappears in mild swearing from James and the ensuing laughter.

The world loses a good man, and James loses a friend. The list of things Harry must live with only grows longer.

Then instead of two candidates, there is one Lancelot and one dead body slumped over the grenade that he never noticed. The air is thick with the bitter stench of burned flesh and acrid snap of explosives, so thick he can taste the blood at the back of his throat and feel it clinging to his skin. Buried somewhere in the nausea that hits him is the realisation that, if he had had the chance to take it, Lee would have passed the dog test with flying colours. And yet, now—

Traumatic moment that will continue to haunt him for years to come. It’s a surprise tool that will help us later.

They cremate Lee Unwin’s body that night, at the peak of the Geminids. As the stars rain down overhead, tumbling into abyssal night and disappearing, Harry thinks of the young Marine from the pub, green eyes and sharp mind and good heart, and feels the guilt settle into his soul, lingering, calcifying.

Forgive me, he thinks. Please forgive me.

In the house of a heartbroken widow, Harry holds out a medal to a young boy who has done nothing to earn the new burdens Harry lays on his shoulders, and wonders if he can ever be forgiven.

Seventeen years later, he waits outside Holborn Police Station until a young man with Lee Unwin’s eyes walks past him. Eggsy is rough around the edges and bitter in ways that Lee never was, but in many more ways he is almost exactly like Lee, especially in that fierce loyalty that Harry has done nothing to earn. And later, amidst the sounds of fists on flesh and panicked screaming, Harry listens to the boy shielding him with everything he has, and impulse rather than thought moves him to threaten a stranger he’s never met in his life. When Eggsy Unwin shows up at the tailor shop, Harry takes one look at the boy, only slightly worse for wear but painfully, painfully loyal, and sees a chance for atonement.

Of sorts.

That night, as it has for seventeen years, an old nightmare returns. A young man full of promise dies, only just barely out of reach, and lies unmoving on the floor. Green eyes stare at the roof, unseeing. Harry spends the rest of the night staring at the ceiling of his bedroom through his glasses, waiting for three o’ clock to pass him by. At half past three, a notification pops up on the left of the display. Nine candidates in the running for Lancelot, currently undifferentiated in rank.

The selection process has begun.

The end of the Lee Unwin flashback is a mission statement of sorts, or a summary of what Lee’s death does to Harry: a good man, one of the best people Kingsman could have had, is dead because of Harry’s choices (bringing Lee and James along and not checking the hostage), and now Harry must live with that knowledge. He wouldn’t be new to the business of being a spy, but the Lee Unwin affair must weigh heavy on his shoulders, heavy enough that he would go out of his way to give Eggsy a second chance and mentor him as he does. Importantly, he also never truly lets go – we’ve got Lee appearing in a later chapter, but even if Harry can forgive himself, he can’t forget what’s happened, and then Eggsy dies and history repeats itself as another good man is gone too soon while Harry is helpless to stop it. Until he isn’t, because this time Mephistopheles has an offer for him.

[vthewriter1121]

Beyond the stars

Chapter 1

Red with love (Juno x Fem reader)

(Disclaimer this was written before she came out)

Space, somewhere vast and limitless, held a planet that gleamed red under the distant sun. Its gravity was lighter than Earth's, allowing for miles of undulating red rock and a solitary space station anchored to its surface.

In the bustling main office of the space unit at the home office, I found myself staring at the screen, lost in memories. Juno, my childhood best friend, was aboard the in Mars mission. The last time I saw her was at our high school graduation, a day etched vividly in my mind with the scent of flowers and the warmth of spring.

The memory swept me back to that sunny day. Students buzzed around, their excitement palpable. Amidst it all, Juno's voice and her touch stood out. Her purple hair cascaded around her shoulders, and even in her graduation gown, she exuded a charm that was unique.

"(Y/N)! Pay attention!" Juno's voice broke through my reverie as she grasped my hand. I turned to her, unable to suppress a smile. "Juno, you look so adorable in your gown. Did you curl your hair just for today? Who are you trying to impress? " I teased gently, brushing my thumb over her hand. She blushed, waving off my comment with a playful flick of her hand.

"Only for you, silly. You're my one and only," she replied, her gaze soft yet intense. My heart skipped a beat, a slight blush warming my cheeks.

"Are you ready to close this chapter of our lives?" Juno whispered, leaning into my shoulder.

"Yeah... these years flew by, didn't they?" I murmured, feeling a pang of nostalgia for the years we had spent together.

"Yeah," Juno sighed softly, resting against me.

The memory dissolved as I returned to the present, sitting at my desk in the space unit's office. I refocused on my work, typing away at my keyboard, organizing missions and spacecraft deployments for the communications department. My gaze drifted to a framed photo on my desk—Juno and I at our graduation, captured by her mother's camera.

Next to the photo lay a letter from Juno's mother, handed to me the day after graduation. I remembered the mix of emotions I felt as I read it, knowing it was the last communication before Juno's departure for Mars. Suddenly my mind gets pulled into another memory.

A sudden noise jolted me from my thoughts. I glanced at my phone—it was 10 AM. Breaking news flashed across the screen: "Teen Astronaut Sent to Mars." I ignored it, my focus drawn to unread texts from Juno, received in the early hours of the morning.

3:20 AM

Juno:

"I'm so sorry for not telling you, but I got accepted for the Mars mission!! It's my dream, and I leave in 2 hours. Remember when we played pretend astronauts? Now it's real..."

3:25 AM

Juno:

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. If you had asked me to stay, I might have... You can yell at me when I'm back. I promise I'll come back. I couldn't forget about my favorite girl <3"

4:30 AM

Juno:

"They just took my official pictures. It feels surreal. I wish you were here. I just want to hear your voice again. I'm nervous, even scared... I'm just telling myself to breathe. Just like how you taught me to do."

4:50 AM

Juno:

"Blasting off soon. They're giving me final preparations. I brought a picture of my mom, auntie, you, and me. You're with me in space, too now! Haha! But my mom has something for you. She'll be home tomorrow..."

5:00 AM

Juno:

"Blast off... See you... take care of yourself (Y/N). I love you <3"

The realization hit that i'm sitting in my office chair, that the memory slowly blurred. Tears blurred my vision as I sat in my office chair, clutching the letter from Juno. Her words echoed in my mind, each sentence a testament to our shared moments and her unwavering affection. The page have not withered one bit even after five years.

"Dear (Y/N),

Years I spent with you... every single one I have in my mind. Every smile, every laugh, you have consumed every single memory. Through the sun, moon, rain, and snow. I can’t seem to get enough. It makes me sweat, 'cause you're always in my head. It turns me red with love.

So when I come home, please call my name, and I will always love you. Tomorrow is more than yesterday. I love you, I need you, and so promise me you'll never let this go."

Juno's heartfelt words cut through the pain, reminding me of her enduring presence in my life, even as she journeyed across the vast expanse of space. Her love and longing were palpable in every line, and I felt the weight of our unspoken feelings.

I wiped away tears, my heart heavy with regret for not responding sooner, for not telling her how much she meant to me before she embarked on her mission. The memories flooded back—our shared dreams of exploration, our laughter echoing through the halls of our school, and the comfort of her presence in moments of doubt.

With trembling hands, I reached for the framed photo of us at graduation, captured in a moment of pure happiness. Juno's smile was infectious, her eyes filled with determination and hope . How could I have let her slip away without telling her everything I felt?

I slowly closed my eyes as another memory rushed to my mind. Outside, the world rushed by in a blur as I raced towards Juno's house, my thoughts consumed by memories of our shared adventures .The streets seemed quieter than usual, as if holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Arriving at Juno's doorstep, I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the doorbell. What would I say to her mom?.Seconds stretched into eternity until the door swung open, revealing Juno's mother, her eyes red-rimmed from tears. Without a word, she pulled me into a tight embrace, her silent understanding bridging the gap between us.

"I'm sorry," I managed to choke out, the weight of my unspoken feelings heavy in the air.

"She left something for you," Juno's mother whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Leading me inside, she placed a small package in my hands, its weight a tangible reminder of Juno's absence.

Alone in her room, I unwrapped the package with trembling fingers, revealing a carefully folded letter and a photograph of us together, taken during graduation. I flipped the photograph , and The familiar handwriting on the back photo brought tears to my eyes once more.

"(Y/N),

If you're reading this, I hope you know how much you mean to me. Every moment spent by your side has been a gift, and I carry your laughter with me, even among the stars. Promise me you'll keep dreaming,

I'll be back, I promise. Until then, remember that I love you more than words can say. You've always been my guiding star, and I'll carry you with me, always.

With all my love ,Juno

In that moment, surrounded by memories and the tangible proof of Juno's love, I realized that our bond transcended time and space. Though separated by vast distances, our hearts remained intertwined, connected by a love that defied the boundaries of the cosmos.

With renewed determination, I clutched Juno's letter to my chest, vowing to cherish our memories and to wait for the day when she would return. Until then, I would carry her love with me, a beacon of hope in the endless expanse of the universe.

A voice booms over the intercom, jolting me out of the memory quickly

“J has touched down. I repeat, J from the Mars mission has touched down”

"J? J/ I thought no , wait … It’s Juno?!"

Back from the dead and Juno is play testing. Anyway might write a part two for one of my fics soon