#Nursing home automation
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Preventing Injuries with Real-Time Wearable Technology

Real-time wearable technology is transforming injury prevention and patient care, offering unprecedented insights into human movement and health risks. These intelligent devices, equipped with advanced sensors and AI, continuously track biomechanical signals to help healthcare professionals anticipate and prevent potential injuries. One critical application is addressing pressure injuries—a persistent challenge that impacts patient quality of life and hospital costs.
Traditional preventive measures like frequent patient turning are often inconsistently followed due to the physical demands on nursing staff. Wearable technology sensors now emerge as a game-changing solution, providing continuous monitoring and proactive intervention strategies that traditional methods cannot match.
Key Findings:
1. Real-Time Interventions: Wearable technology sensors offer real-time feedback to ensure patients are turned on schedule. These devices monitor patient movement and positioning, alerting nursing staff immediately if a patient hasn’t been repositioned or if the turn angle isn’t sufficient to relieve pressure. This real-time capability enables prompt corrective actions, directly preventing injuries.
2. Enhanced Compliance: With sensors in place, compliance with turning protocols skyrockets. Studies show increases from as low as 15% to over 80%, reducing the manual effort of tracking patient repositioning.
3. Fewer Injuries: Real-time monitoring has led to a reduction in hospital-acquired pressure injuries (HAPIs) by up to 70%. Patients are safeguarded against severe complications like deep tissue damage.
4. Economic Benefits: Hospitals benefit financially, saving an estimated $6,621 per patient by avoiding pressure injuries. This makes wearable sensors a cost-effective addition to patient care.
5. Improved Teamwork: Sensors encourage better communication and collaboration among nursing staff. They distribute the responsibility of turning patients more evenly, fostering teamwork.
Hospitals Leading the Way
Several hospitals have successfully implemented wearable sensor technology, demonstrating its effectiveness:
Stanford Health Care: A trial in two intensive care units showed a 73% reduction in HAPIs and improved adherence to turning protocols.
A Magnet Hospital in California: Turning compliance jumped from 67% to 95%, and sacrococcygeal HAPIs were reduced by 84.6%.
A Long-Term Acute Care Hospital in New Jersey: Achieved an 85% reduction in sacrococcygeal HAPIs with an average adherence to turning protocols of 87.3%.
A Medical Center in Pennsylvania: Over a year, this facility nearly doubled the national average for turn protocol adherence (90%) and reduced HAPIs by 67%.
These examples highlight how wearable sensors are revolutionizing care across various healthcare settings.
Challenges and Opportunities:
While wearable technology sensors excel in ensuring timely interventions, they don’t automatically improve the quality of turns (e.g., the precise angle needed to relieve pressure). Additionally, nursing teams need adequate training to fully leverage this technology and integrate it seamlessly into care routines.
Real-Time Innovations in Action:
The real-time intervention capability of these sensors is their standout feature. By promptly notifying caregivers, the sensors ensure no patient is left at risk for extended periods. Some devices even provide visual or auditory cues to further reinforce timely actions, making them a proactive tool in patient safety.
The Way Forward:
Wearable sensors are not a stand-alone solution but a vital component of a comprehensive prevention program. When paired with strategies like regular skin assessments and nutritional support, these devices can revolutionize how hospitals address pressure injuries.
Real-time fall prevention is a critical priority for hospitals and nursing homes. Discover how OK2StandUP is transforming patient safety and making a meaningful impact. Visit us at www.ok2standup.com to learn more.
#AI in healthcare#AI in nursing homes#Artificial intelligence benefits#AI for elder care#Aging population solutions#Smart nursing home technology#Healthcare innovation#AI-enhanced caregiving#Elder care technology#Nursing home efficiency#AI and patient safety#Medication management AI#Predicting fall risks#AI-driven wearables#Real-time health monitoring#Elderly care optimization#Smart caregiving tools#AI for senior living#Staff scheduling with AI#AI and healthcare costs#Nursing home automation#Aging demographics#Digital transformation in healthcare#Vital sign monitoring AI#Patient care technology#AI-powered healthcare solutions#Nursing home staffing challenges#AI healthcare innovation#Senior health monitoring#AI-assisted caregiving
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Discover how modern-day IT solutions are transforming nursing homes, allowing nurses to focus on care instead of chaos. From streamlined patient records to automated scheduling, enhance efficiency and patient care with cutting-edge technology.
#Nursing Home IT Solutions#Healthcare Technology#Patient Care Automation#Modern Nursing Tools#Digital Transformation in Healthcare#IT Solutions for Nurses#Healthcare IT solutions
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JJK SMAU LIST

Smaus
Calling them ugly (prank)
Mosquito problems
Video Games
Tramp stamp
Baby Pics
Insecurities
Drunk I miss you (y/n)
Drunk I miss you (them)
Sending them nudes
Buying you lingerie
You give them an edible
You ask them for help
Baby Pics pt.2
Baby Pics pt.3
Gym pics
Jealous girl
Thirst pic
Insecurities (them)
Finding your smut
You find their smut
They find your toy
Attitude
Telling them us?
They find your diary
Jealous guys
They cheat on you
It was just a dream 💀
You buy them a shirt
Walk at 1 am prank
Tinder
"It was so good last night" prank
Their name on your panties
You're the daddy
Baby Pics pt.4
Unknown number
Ass or tits
I'm outside your house
Child steals your phone
Child steals their phone
Automated Message
Baby Pics pt.5
Neighbors said to keep it down
Unexpected interruption
Child takes your phone pt.3
Video games pt.2
Caught dancing home alone
Oops wrong person nude prank
Congratulations on finals!
Break-in prank!
Right person, wrong time
Baby pics pt.6
Smash or pass pre relationship
Child steals your phone pt.4
Asking them for tit pics
Are they submissive and breedable?
Marriage talk
Hit in the balls
Hit in the tit
Fake hickey prank
Odd hobbies
Caught reading smut
Bows 🎀
Asking them to break up with you so you can listen to sad music
You left them a hickey
They react to you dancing
I know your secret
First sleepover
Our child wants what?
Baby pics pt.7
Massage
Who's a good boy?
Sleeping on the couch
You dye your hair prank
Let's adopt a pet.
Is that seat taken?
You lost our child?
Talking in your sleep
What happens after the break up? (They comfort you)
Beach day!
I'm Batman!
Duolingo
Just one kiss?
Tip-colored nails
Shark Week 🦈🩸
Study time!
Would you still love me as a worm?
Sexy nurse outfit
Did you eat without me?
Whipped cream?
Pumpkin Carving
Who ate all the candy?
JJK x-links
Part 1
Part 2
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#choso kamo#choso x reader#jujutsu kaisen choso#choso smut#choso kamo smut#jjk choso#kento nanami#jjk nanami#jjk fluff#nanami smut#nanami kento#nanami x reader#choso fluff#kamo choso#nanami fluff
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Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Six


author's note ⸺ Hello all!!! I wanna say again, thank you SO MUCH for all the support on this series!! I am blown away by your comments and support and DMs. I SERIOUSLY LOVE Y'ALL!!! ANYways here is chapter 6 pls lmk ur thoughts ilysm <3 pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, sexual themes mentioned, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.9k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

The rest of the evening unfolded gently, like the warm glide of a second drink—smoother, slower, and softer around the edges. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that didn’t need to be clever or loud to feel good.
There were no revelations, no confessions, just small, steady moments: Geto nursing his drink long after yours was gone, you reaching for the bowl of bar snacks just as he pushed it toward you, the unspoken agreement to linger a little while longer than either of you expected to.
When it was time to leave, he walked with you to the subway.
Not because it was on his way—it wasn’t—but because, as he shrugged with a faint smile, “You never know.”
He rode with you all the way to your stop, never getting off, never needing a reason. He stayed close, quiet but attentive, occasionally murmuring something about the people passing through—soft observations more than conversation.
It felt less like small talk and more like a way to keep you company and make sure you got home safe.
He really was kind…
The two of you drifted through the city’s flickering lights in the quiet of the subway car, the hum of the tracks beneath you a kind of peaceful backdrop to the steady beat of your thoughts.
You had the strangest feeling that time was moving a little slower than usual.
But that’s what these kinds of moments felt like, didn’t they?
Moments that felt effortless, where even the silence didn’t feel like an absence.
You weren’t sure when exactly…but at some point, you stopped thinking.
Your mind wandered, drawn to the way Geto’s features softened in the dim light of the subway, the glow casting shadows across his face, making him seem somehow even more present, more real.
You sat side by side, both of your hands resting between you on the seat, close but not touching.
At least, you thought they weren’t—until you felt it.
A brief, subtle contact, as if the universe had nudged you closer in that moment.
Geto’s fingers brushed lightly against yours, the touch so faint, so fleeting, that for a second, you questioned whether it had happened at all. It was almost as if he didn’t even notice, his hand remaining still, his focus elsewhere, his attention absorbed by the world outside the subway window.
But before you could really lose yourself in the thought, the sound of the automated voice broke through, crackling over the speakers like an old radio.
Your station.
You recognized it instantly, its familiar tone cutting through the fog of your thoughts.
You blinked, suddenly pulled back to reality, and stood up from your seat. Glancing down at Geto, you gave him a small smile.
“Well, this is me,” you said softly.
He didn’t move right away.
A look lingered in his eyes, like he hadn’t quite accepted that the night was over. The subway car hummed around you, the city lights flickering outside the windows, a faint reminder of the world outside.
His hand rested just beside where your fingers had just touched, barely an inch away, the space between you somehow feeling heavier now—although it was probably just all in your head.
The soft rush of the city, the low murmur of the train all seemed to seep into the quiet that settled in the air between you.
He finally spoke, his voice a touch softer than usual, “It was really nice catching up. Feels like it’s been longer than it has.”
You met his gaze and nodded, warmth beginning to bloom in your cheeks.
“Yeah, it was. I’ve missed it.” You paused, unsure how to keep the conversation from slipping into the usual goodbyes.
Then, as the train slowed, he added, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
The way he said it, like it wasn’t a question, like there was no doubt about it, made the air between you tighten just a little more.
You gave him a smile, a little slower this time. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”
The door slid open with a soft chime. You stepped out, the sound of your shoes against the platform unusually loud in the quiet night.
"Goodnight, Geto," you said, your voice steady despite the subtle undercurrent that ran through it.
He didn’t immediately respond, but his eyes stayed on you, watching as you moved, a flicker of something unspoken in his expression.
He didn’t follow, didn’t reach for you. He simply stood there, the door sliding shut between you, leaving the space between you both quiet, full of things unsaid.
As the train pulled away, you could almost feel the weight of his gaze lingering, still suspended in the space between you, even though he was gone. The stillness clung to the air, heavy, unbroken.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
You turned and made your way up the stairs, with the station mostly empty at this hour your footsteps echoed against the tiled walls.
Outside, the city had quieted.
The sharp edges of the day had worn down, leaving behind something gentler—cool air, the muted glow of streetlights, the distant hush of passing cars.
It was the kind of night that asked nothing of you.
You walked slowly, not in a rush to get home, the hush of the streets matching the quiet stillness that had settled inside you.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about the evening.
No grand turning point, no dramatic shift. And yet you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted anyway—something small, something soft. You felt lighter. Steady. As though something in you had been gently realigned without you even noticing.
Its warmth stayed with you all the way home.
Inside your apartment, you moved through the motions of your routine with easy familiarity.
Coat off, shoes by the door, bag dropped with a soft thud.
The apartment was quiet, but not in a way that made you feel alone more like the world had given you a little space to exhale.
You glanced at the clock: 10:13 p.m.
Funny—it hadn’t felt like nearly five hours. Somehow, the time had just… folded in on itself.
You made your way to the bathroom, peeled off the day layer by layer.
The water from the shower was already hot, fogging up the mirror and curling into the corners of the room like it was settling in for the night too. You stepped under the stream and let it wash over you, a steady, comforting heat that eased the faint chill from your walk home.
It was the kind of warmth that didn’t just touch your skin—it sank deeper, unwinding something knotted just beneath the surface.
You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, letting the water drum gently against your scalp, the steam rising around you like a shield.
You didn’t rush. There was no need.
Your thoughts wandered loosely, untethered—you hadn’t realized that you missed chatting with Geto until tonight.
It wasn’t just the conversation itself, but the way it felt—effortless, like playing a familiar melody you hadn’t heard in years, and still knowing every note. It had been a while since you’d let yourself settle into something like that, where the silence between words didn’t feel heavy, but comforting.
You inhaled deeply, the steam filling your lungs, and in that moment the world outside seemed to slip away. There was something about the rhythm of the water, the soft thrum of the pipes, that made everything else feel distant—like it was only you, here, and the quiet.
You thought of the way his eyes had lingered earlier, just a little longer than usual. But you didn’t dwell on it.
By the time you stepped out and towelled off, the tension from the week had left your shoulders entirely.
Later, dressed in a soft t-shirt and tucked beneath the cool weight of clean sheets, you sank into bed with the kind of ease that only comes when the night has given more than it’s taken.
You were tired, but not worn out—just full, in a quiet, settled way.
There was a peace to it. No buzzing thoughts, no spirals to chase. Just the soft afterglow of good company, of laughter that hadn’t needed to be loud, of silences that had felt like enough. A night that hadn’t demanded anything from you but your presence.
You reached over, turned off the light, and let the darkness fill the room.
For a while, you simply listened—to nothing, to everything.
And as your eyes adjusted to the shadows, a small, contented smile tugged at your lips, warm and weightless.
It had been a good night. And it made you happy to know you had another friend in the city.
And for once, that felt like more than enough.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
You woke just past ten.
Not late by most standards, but enough of a sleep-in to feel like a small luxury—especially on a weekend, when your body usually insisted on rising with the same weekday discipline. The light in your room was gentle, filtered through the blinds, casting pale strips across the floor.
For a moment, you didn’t move.
Just let yourself exist in that thin space between sleep and wakefulness, where the mind is soft and the world feels a little quieter.
Your limbs were warm beneath the sheets, heavy in the best way, like your body hadn’t quite let go of the calm from the night before.
Eventually, you stirred, stretching your limbs beneath the blankets before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor was cool beneath your feet, grounding you further into the day.
You padded softly into the kitchen, still wrapped in the gentle quiet of the morning.
It was the kind of morning that asked nothing of you. No urgency, no noise.
And then your phone buzzed—loud and insistent, rattling against the kitchen counter like it had something to prove.
You flinched at the sound, the stillness around you abruptly shattered.
Gojo. His name lit up your screen in bold, unmistakable letters, followed by a series of increasingly chaotic emojis in the preview of his missed messages.
You sighed, already bracing yourself as you picked up the phone. It buzzed again in your hand, this time with a video call request.
Because—of course—he couldn’t just text like a normal person.
The call connected with a sharp buzz, and Gojo’s face filled your screen—bright-eyed and messy-haired, already halfway through what looked like a green smoothie in a too-big mason jar.
“Well, well,” he said, grinning. “Look who finally woke up.”
You rolled your eyes, voice still gravelly from your sleep. “It’s barely past ten.”
“For you, that’s practically noon.”
You gave him one of your fakest smiles and walked over to the counter, propping your phone up against the fruit bowl so you could continue doing your morning routine whilst yapping.
He talked as you filled the kettle and flicked it on, his words folding easily into your usual weekend rhythm—something about his hot coworker who got a nosebleed during a fire drill, and how he, naturally, had been the only one equipped with both tissues and sarcastic commentary.
You laughed as you rinsed your mug and set it down. “How do these things always happen to you?”
“I attract chaos. It’s a gift.” He lifted his smoothie like a toast.
You moved around your kitchen, wiping down the counter absentmindedly, the familiar cadence of Gojo’s voice a steady backdrop to your morning.
It was easy like this—comfortable. This was what your weekends often looked like. A sleepy catch-up call—either with Gojo or one of your other friends from university.
You opened the cupboard and reached for the tin of loose-leaf tea. Just as you were spooning it into the strainer, Gojo’s voice dipped casually into something quieter as he changed the topic of conversation.
“Soooo, you ended up hanging out with Geto last night, huh?”
Your hand stilled, spoon hovering just above the tin.
The soft rattle of the kettle heating filled the silence that followed.
You glanced at your phone. Gojo hadn’t said it with any particular weight—just a statement, light on the surface, but with a thread you weren’t sure you wanted to pull yet.
You didn’t look up as you answered. “Yeah.”
The word was light, clipped. Not defensive, just... efficient. Like you didn’t feel the need to elaborate.
You put two spoonfuls of tea into your mug and stepped around the open dishwasher, nudging it shut with your hip.
Gojo didn’t say anything right away, and that was suspicious in itself. You could feel it—his silence had shape to it.
Still, you kept going. Wiped down the counter, flicked a crumb into your palm and tossed it in the sink. “We just caught up,” you added casually, voice over your shoulder. “It wasn’t a thing.”
You didn’t have to look at the screen to know he was smiling.
“Oh yeah?” He said, leaning into the space between you like he always did when he smelled something interesting. “That’s not what heee said about last night.”
You paused with the towel in your hand.
“…What?”
Gojo let out a loud laugh, delighted at your colour-drained face. “Relax. I’m kidding.”
But your heartbeat had already ticked upward, just for a second.
“I haven’t even talked to him since Wednesday,” he added, totally unbothered, eyes squinting with a grin. “You should’ve seen your face, though. Goddamn.”
You stared at the screen, lips parting like you had half a dozen things to say and none of them made it to the surface. Then you blinked once. Twice.
“…You’re so annoying,” you said finally, turning back to your tea like it owed you something. The strainer clinked a little harder than necessary against the side of the mug.
Gojo was still grinning. “Aw, come on. You make it too easy.”
“I hate you.”
“You’re deflecting.”
You exhaled through your nose, slow and pointed, and reached for the honey. “You’re insufferable.”
“You say that, but I know for a fact you miss me every day of your life.”
You squeezed the bottle in your hand a little too tightly. “You’re gonna miss your life if you ever do that again. What the hell is wrong with you?”
He just laughed again, head tipping back against the couch cushions wherever he was. “Okay, okay. Truce. Promise. No more fake-outs.”
You hummed, noncommittal.
The kettle clicked off with a soft pop. You poured the water slowly over the leaves, steam rising between you and the phone propped up on the counter.
“So, to answer your question,” you continued, carefully neutral, “yes—it was fine. Good, actually. It was nice to know there’s another friend in the city.”
Gojo raised a brow, tilting his head like a smug little parrot. “Mmm. Friend, huh?”
You gave him a look. “Yes, Gojo. Friend. Capital F.”
Gojo wiggled his brows. “You say friend like that means something it didn’t used to...”
“Oh my lord, do you ever shut up.” you said flatly, fake-scandalized, snatching up your phone. “You weren’t even there!”
But even as the words left your mouth, you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.
Gojo dissolved into laughter, head tipping back.
“You don’t know anything!” You added, brandishing the phone like a weapon.
“And yet,” he wheezed, “I know everything.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait—no, don’t—”
Click.
You held the phone in your hand for a second longer, staring at the dark screen, lips twitching upwards at that chaotic interaction.
Then you let out a small, exasperated laugh and went back to your tea.
‘Gojo always blows things out of proportion — this was just another example of that.’ You thought to yourself as you went to sit on your couch to start your lazy morning.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
The rest of the morning passed with a softness that settled into your bones like the warmth of your tea. You let yourself sink deeper into the couch, curling your legs beneath you as the quiet of the apartment embraced you.
The sound of the show you were catching up on drifted lazily in the background, the plot unfolding at its own pace.
You didn’t pay it too much attention, letting it wash over you in the same way the morning sun had slowly warmed the room.
Time seemed to slip away. Hours passed in a soft, steady rhythm—just enough to remind you that the world was still moving, but not enough to demand your attention.
There was no rush, no schedule to follow, just the steady pulse of your own thoughts and the low hum of everyday life.
A few errands nudged their way into your day—nothing major.
You picked up groceries, took a slow walk through the park, and checked a few emails. The air outside was crisp, the sun filtering through the branches of trees that were just beginning to show signs of spring.
It was a small reprieve from the buzz of the workweek, a brief moment to catch your breath.
But despite the ease of the day, there was a persistent thought that lingered, always hovering just beneath the surface.
You tried to push it away, tried to focus on the small details of your errands or the quiet hum of the city around you.
It didn’t work. No matter how many times you distracted yourself, it crept back in.
Why hadn’t Geto texted you?
He wasn’t obligated to keep in touch. The two of you were just barely friends, and last night hadn’t been anything special or unusual.
Just a casual catch-up. Nothing to read into.
But still, the thought wouldn’t leave no matter how far you tried to push it back.
Maybe this was just how things would go—occasional texts, brief exchanges, and that was it.
Once a month you’d get together to catch up, maybe, like a fleeting check-in between old friends. Which is totally fine, because that's all you were—friends.
Nothing more.
You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, walking down the street back towards your apartment with your gaze fixed ahead as you tried to fight the odd twist in your gut.
You couldn’t quite pin the feeling down, but the absence of a text—the silence between the moments you’d shared—felt different than you expected.
Something about it tugged at the edges of your thoughts, like the quiet undercurrent of a stream you couldn’t see, but knew was there.
You stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and tried to shake it off.
You almost reached for your phone to check—check what exactly?
You weren’t sure.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
It wasn’t until the following night that you heard from Geto again.
You were standing in the kitchen, folding a dish towel still warm from the dryer, when your phone buzzed on the countertop. The sound was unremarkable, the kind of everyday chime that usually meant a notification from some app you hadn’t opened in weeks.
But something about it made your hands still.
You glanced over, and there it was—his name lighting up your screen, steady and quiet like it had been waiting for you to notice.
Geto: Busy weekend. Sorry I ghosted.
Two short sentences. No emoji, no punctuation embellishments. Just that even, familiar tone you’d come to recognize—casual, but never careless.
You read it once, then again. The tightness you hadn’t fully acknowledged in your chest loosened, just a little.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
He didn’t owe you anything. He could ghost you if he wanted.
And yet the silence had curled around you over the last day like a thread you couldn’t untangle. Now, with just a handful of words, it unravelled.
You: All good. Hope it wasn’t anything too chaotic, lol.
You hit send, then set the phone down—face down—as if that would keep your thoughts from spiralling back into it. But your hands betrayed you, fingers tapping the edge of the counter, heart thudding in a rhythm you couldn’t quite ignore.
Outside, the city breathed in its own quiet way—the low murmur of traffic, the occasional bark of a dog several blocks away, the muted clatter of a neighbour’s life just beyond the thin walls of your apartment. Rain tapped at the windows in a slow, unhurried rhythm, like fingers drumming on glass, steady and soft enough to almost blend into the background.
Inside, time stretched.
Then—another buzz.
Geto: Just some work stuff. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
You smiled before you could stop yourself. It was faint, but real.
Another message came through a moment later.
Geto: Was gonna text last night. Didn’t want to overdo it.
You blinked at that.
Something shifted low in your chest—quiet and unnameable, quiet and unnameable, but warm, like the weight of a blanket pulled over you in the middle of the night by someone who thought you might get cold.
The words landed softly, but something about them lingered—like the faint trace of perfume in an elevator, or the ghost of a thought you’d almost forgotten.
‘Overdo it’... overdo what exactly?
It wasn’t the kind of thing someone said unless they thought about it a lot. Considered what the boundaries were. Wondered if they might cross one. Did you even have the kind of relationship where you had to set boundaries? You barely ever see him?
You let your fingers hover over the screen, unsure if you wanted to step into that space he’d opened—or if you were just imagining it.
You: Not sure I’d call one text ‘overdoing it’.
The typing indicator appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then returned.
You waited. The moment swelled.
Geto: Fair.
And then, barely a breath later:
Geto: You doing anything right now? If you don’t have any plans, do you want some company?
Your breathing simply stopped for a moment.
You never did anything on Sundays.
That was the rule—even if it wasn’t one you ever said aloud. Sundays were for soft clothes and quiet routines. For folding laundry and eating leftovers in front of the TV. For getting into bed before ten and letting the weight of the week ahead settle gently onto your shoulders. The kind of day you kept for yourself, tucked away like a pressed leaf between the pages of a worn book.
You hadn’t so much as considered going out tonight.
It wasn’t even a question. You’d already washed your hair, already lit the candle on your nightstand that always meant we’re winding down now. The world had been filed away under tomorrow.
But then—
You: Sure.
You stared at the message, at that one syllable blinking back at you from the screen, and felt something shift in your chest—quiet and irreversible, like the soft click of a door swinging shut behind you.
It wasn’t what you meant to say.
Or maybe it was. Maybe some part of you had been waiting for this—waiting for him—to reach through the static and routine of your carefully constructed quiet, and ask.
The typing bubble appeared again, this time almost immediately. No hesitation.
Geto: Okay. You good with me just coming to chill for a bit?
You looked around your apartment— The laundry was still folded in the basket. The half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table. The quiet hum of your Sunday night life, suddenly feeling like a stage you hadn’t meant to set.
You: Yeah sure! That's fine!!
He didn’t answer right away.
Why did you use so many exclamation marks…
The typing bubble blinked on, then off, and when it finally returned—
Geto: Great, I’ll be there in 30 :)
And just like that, your night cracked open.

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#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jujustu kaisen#geto suguru x reader#jjk geto#geto suguru#suguru geto#geto x reader#geto x reader angst#suguru geto x y/n#suguru geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#suguru geto x you#geto suguru x y/n#suguru x reader#suguru x y/n#suguru x you#jjk fic#jjk fic rec#jjk fic recs#jjk fanfiction#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#geto fic#suguru geto angst#friend of a friend#simplygojo
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pairings: rin itoshi x reader, very faint sae itoshi x reader cw: incest, reader is the eldest sister of both rin and sae, older woman/younger man, smut, breeding (with thought of pregnancy), nursing, oneesan→ sister, reader and rin both have abandonment issues, mentions of virginity loss (rin's).
read part two here !
you hadn’t even gotten to say hello when sae came back from spain.
not a word, not a glance, no flicker of recognition as he breezed through the house like some ghost you weren’t allowed to touch. and you remember what rin had told you once — the cruel look, the ice in his voice, how it wasn’t the same brother he used to know. how it wasn’t sae anymore. part of you wondered if rin imagined it, some self-inflicted wound he was too proud to admit to. but then you sent a text. simple, stupid. “are you home yet?” and the little sending bubble just… hung there, before it turned cold and gray. message not delivered. you tried calling. straight to voicemail. not even the curt, dismissive message you expected — just dead air, automated and indifferent.
and suddenly you didn’t have to imagine the eyes rin described. no. now you had two pairs. one glowing back at you from the screen, him scoring the winning goal you can distantly remember when his hair was a little too long and his teeth a little too crooked. and another pair right there, in your own backyard. not as cold. not to you, at least. no, rin’s eyes were different. sharp, stubborn. full of something else entirely — determination, desperation, whatever word you wanted to use to dress up obsession.
you watched him practice from the back door, leaning against the frame, letting the fading light bleed over you like some half-forgotten memory. the familiar thud of a ball smacking against the net punctuated the silence. then another. and another.
“rin,” you called out softly, not really expecting him to stop.
another sharp breath. another ball. another clean, perfect shot.
“rin,” you tried again, and his shoulders tensed this time, his jaw flexing like he was physically fighting the urge to look back at you.
sae had left ice in his wake. in his words, in the way the air felt in the house now. in the way your stomach twisted when the front door stayed closed for days. he left without letters. no late night phone calls. no text. just absence. and in that space, something else grew — this sick, codependent thing between you and rin. this thing you blamed sae for, though you never dared say it aloud. how rin became the only one you could depend on not to leave. and how that made you need him too much. how you let it happen.
you could still feel it sometimes — the ghost of his touch in the early hours, when the house was quiet and the ache in your chest sharpened. the press of his soft, pinked lips against your collarbone. the way his body would tremble over you, sweat-slick and desperate, the ache of his cock buried so deep inside you it left a dull throb well after daylight spilled in through the curtains. the way a white ring of arousal clung to the base of him, thick and sinful, when he pulled out only to push back in like he couldn’t stand even the smallest distance.
it was instinct now. a sick, learned habit neither of you knew how to stop. he’d mouth at your nipple, lips wet and hot, sucking until it ached while lazily rutting his hips forward, chasing friction. you remembered how his nails dragged down your ribs, how you could feel his pulse in his grip. the low, broken sounds he made, like it hurt to hold it in. you’d dig your nails into the broad of his back, feel the sweat slick under your fingertips, feel his hair cling to his damp skin.
and always ��� always — he made you promise. voice cracking, breath hitching, pupils blown wide. “promise you won’t leave me.” “promise you won’t change.” like if you said it enough times, it’d make the world stop shifting under his feet.
and when he came, it was thick and syrupy, so much it leaked out around him, choked-up and crying out “oneesan,” like it was a prayer, like it was salvation, like it was the last word he’d ever be able to say.
and all you could think — the only thing that cut through the haze — was he forgot the condom again. and you didn’t blame him. you never told him to put one on. you didn’t stop him. you took his virginity after all. let it happen the same way everything else between you did — slowly, quietly, like a secret you never intended to share.
and your mind would wander in those raw, empty moments after, the air thick and stifling. would the baby look like sae? would it have that same mouth, that same sharp, cold stare? or would it be all rin — those desperate, pleading eyes, that quiet, possessive streak no one else seemed to see but you.
rin kicked another ball into the net. didn’t look at you once. didn’t have to.
you stayed by the door anyway.
© your-decay. all rights reserved.
#decay writes ౨ৎ#blue lock#blue lock x reader#blue lock smut#bllk x reader#bllk smut#rin x reader#rin smut#rin itoshi x reader#rin itoshi smut#itoshi rin x reader#itoshi rin smut#rin x y/n#rin x you#rin itoshi x you#rin itoshi x y/n#itoshi rin x you#itoshi rin x y/n#blue lock x you#blue lock x y/n#bllk#bllk x y/n#bllk x you#bllk x reader smut#blue lock x reader smut#rin itoshi#itoshi rin#blue lock rin#bllk rin#bllk x female reader
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A Return of Care : Zayne x Reader

For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, and he’s just Zayne—your Zayne—who’s finally allowing himself to be cared for.
pairing : zayne x reader (no gender specific terms are used to describe the reader)
prompt : Zayne is, once again, working past his limits and finds himself sick. With a bit of coaxing he just might take care himself. (aka, zayne is sick but he says "nuh uh")
genre : sfw, fluff, slice of life, zayne please get some sleep, sick fic
word count : 2,976
a/n : oh wow did i finally return after months with another Zayne one shot? I sure did.

The soft chime of the hospital’s automated door echoes in the hallway as you step into the familiar space, your footsteps light against the polished floor. The box of macarons cradled in your arms smells sweet, a gift you picked up on your way over, a small token of appreciation for Zayne. You know how much he loves these, especially after a long day of seeing patients.
As you approach the reception desk, Yvonne, the staff nurse, looks up from her station with a warm smile. She recognizes you instantly—you’re practically a regular here, visiting Zayne for your routine check-ups or just to chat when he has a free moment.
“Hello, Yvonne,” you greet her, returning the smile. “I’m here for my 7:00 PM with Doctor Zayne.”
“Right on time, as usual,” she replies, tapping a few keys on her console. “I’ll page him to let him know you’re here.”
You nod, leaning against the counter as she sends the message. The familiar hum of the station’s systems thrums in the background, a constant reminder of the vastness of space just beyond the walls. You glance around, noting the quietness of the evening shift. The lobby is calm, most patients already seen and gone, leaving behind an air of peacefulness.
Yvonne looks up, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Strange… he’s not responding.”
You raise an eyebrow. Zayne is usually so prompt, always ready to greet you with his warm smile and steady presence. “Maybe he’s in with another patient?”
Yvonne shakes her head, her frown deepening. “His last appointment ended a while ago. But I’m sure he’s just caught up with some paperwork. You can go ahead and see him—he won’t mind.”
You hesitate for a moment, but the familiarity of your relationship with Zayne pushes the doubt aside. “Alright, thanks!”
She waves you off with a reassuring smile, and you make your way down the corridor, the path to Zayne’s office as familiar as your own home. The door to his office is slightly ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the dim hallway. You knock gently, waiting for the usual, cheerful “Come in!” that always follows. But today, there’s only silence.
Worry knots in your stomach as you push the door open wider. The first thing that hits you is the warmth—the room feels stuffier than usual, almost stifling. As you step inside, the source of your concern becomes all too clear.
Zayne is slumped in his office chair, head tipped back, eyes closed in what looks like a fitful sleep. His usually smooth brow is furrowed, lines of discomfort etched into his features. His skin has a slight sheen to it, and his usually neat appearance is disheveled. A small collection of cough drop wrappers is scattered across his desk, and the wastebasket beside it is filled with used tissues. The sight sends a jolt of worry through you.
“Doctor Zayne?” you call softly, moving closer. When he doesn’t stir, you reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Zayne?”
His eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment for him to focus on you. When he does, he tries to sit up straighter, “You’re here early,” he rasps, his voice rough and strained.
“I’m right on time, actually,” you reply, concern lacing your words as you take a glance at the clock on the wall beside him.
Zayne rubs a hand over his face as he clears his throat. “Yes well, please take a seat. Let's get started with your check-up”. He says, swiveling his office chair to drag a stool beside his desk before gesturing for you to sit.
Before you can protest, he’s already reaching for your chart, fumbling slightly as he tries to pull it out of the stack on his desk. You can see the strain in his movements, the way his hands tremble slightly as he flips through the papers. He’s clearly pushing himself, trying to go through the motions despite his obvious illness.
“Zayne–” you say, your voice soft but firm. Despite being a few feet away from you Zayne carries on as though he didn’t hear you. He pulls out his stethoscope, clearly intent on examining you despite his condition. “Let me just—”
“Zayne, stop.” you plead, gently pushing the stethoscope back down. “You’re always telling me to rest, to take care of myself, but you’re obviously not doing the same. I know you want to work but you’re in no shape to help others right now. Don’t be a hypocrite, Zayne. Please, let me take you home so you can get some rest.”
He hesitates before looking directly at you for the first time this evening, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the strength to argue but there’s a crack in his resolve, a momentary flicker of vulnerability and the weariness in his eyes makes your heart ache.
But then he shakes his head, grasping for excuses. “You must have rode your motorbike here. You cannot bring me home on that.”
“I walked,” you counter, undeterred. “And I even stopped to get macarons on the way.”
His eyes shift toward the box of macarons sitting on his desk, a brief flicker of interest breaking through his exhaustion. Zayne’s sweet tooth is one of the things you’ve always found endearing about him, and you can tell that the mention of his favorite treat has caught his attention.
You smile gently, teasing him just a little. “I was going to give them to you, but I don’t think you should have sugar given your current state.”
His stoic demeanor falters, a slight crack appearing in his resolve. It’s as if the macarons are the final straw, the deciding factor in this small battle of wills. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders sag and his eyes drop back to the desk tells you he’s given in.
He lets out a weary sigh and murmurs, “Just don’t drive my car the way you drive that bike.”
Your heart lifts with relief, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “No promises,” you let out a soft chuckle, glad to see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
As soon as the apartment door closes behind you, Zayne seems to deflate, all the energy he had left draining away. He heads straight for the sofa, plopping down with a heavy sigh, his head resting against the back cushions. His eyes are half-closed, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
“You know,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips, “your driving isn’t nearly as reckless as you like to pretend it is.”
You chuckle softly, sitting beside him on the sofa. “Only because I had precious cargo this time.”
He gives a small, appreciative hum, but it quickly dissolves into another cough. You watch him with concern as the fit passes, then reach out to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. His skin is still warm, but the tension in his body seems to have eased a little now that he’s home.
“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” you suggest, your voice gentle. “I’ll make you something warm to drink. Take a shower and we then can eat those macarons together when you’re feeling up to it.”
Zayne opens one eye, peering at you with a look that’s both amused and resigned. “Only if you promise not to hoard them all for yourself.”
You laugh, the sound light and comforting in the quiet of the apartment. “Deal.”
As you rise to head to the kitchen, you glance back at him, knowing that you’ll do everything in your power to make sure he gets better—because, after all, Zayne is worth every bit of care and more.
The space is sleek and modern, with smooth countertops and neatly arranged appliances, but as you stand there, a realization hits you—you have no idea where anything is.
Your eyes scan the cabinets, trying to guess where Zayne might keep the tea. You hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle of a cupboard, unsure if it holds cups, plates, or something entirely unrelated. A small sigh escapes your lips as you inwardly curse your lack of foresight. How hard could it be to find a simple teapot in here?
Just as you’re about to open the wrong cabinet, you hear Zayne’s voice call out from the living room. “Top left, above the stove. Teapot’s in there. Tea’s in the drawer below.”
You freeze for a moment, slightly startled that he’d known exactly what you needed without even seeing you. It’s like he can read your mind—or maybe for some reason he’s just that familiar with how people fumble around in unfamiliar kitchens.
“Thanks!” you call back, relief flooding through you as you follow his instructions.
Sure enough, you find the teapot exactly where he said it would be, and the tea nestled in a drawer below. You set some water to boil, then rummage around for a mug, the task becoming easier now that you know where to look. As the water heats up, you glance back toward the living room, half-expecting Zayne to have dozed off again, but the faint sound of his cough reminds you that he’s still awake, though probably exhausted.
When the tea is ready, you carefully carry the steaming mug back to the living room. Zayne’s eyes open as you approach, a tired but grateful smile tugging at his lips. You hand him the mug, and he takes it with a murmured “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Dr. Zayne,” you reply with a mock-serious tone, sitting down beside him on the sofa. “Though I should let you know, I’m your attending physician now. I’ve learned from the very best as an intern, after all.”
Zayne arches an eyebrow at, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Oh? And what does this new ‘attending physician’ believe is the diagnosis?”
You adopt a serious expression, holding out your hand as if it were a clipboard. “Let’s see…” you say, pretending to write on your palm. “The diagnosis is… one very stubborn doctor who refuses to rest when he’s sick.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a sip of the tea. “I see. And what do you prescribe, Doctor?”
“I prescribe– a warm shower, cozy pajamas, and a strict order of rest. No exceptions.” you say firmly, finishing your fake note.
Zayne’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he looks at you over the rim of the mug. “Sounds like a pretty detailed prescription. Are you sure it’s not too advanced for me?”
“Well,” you say, tapping your chin thoughtfully, “it’s a tough regimen, but I think you’ll manage. And if you don’t follow it, I might have to put you on an even stricter bedrest.”
Zayne chuckles again, the sound warm despite his rough voice. “You’re really getting into character, aren’t you?”
“Only because I had an excellent mentor,” you tease, giving him a playful nudge. “But seriously, Zayne– no more pushing yourself.”
For a moment, the teasing air between you fades, replaced by something softer, more earnest. Zayne looks at you, and though he doesn’t say anything, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. He knows you’re right, and even though he’s always been the one to take care of you, he’s beginning to let himself lean on you now.
There’s a vulnerability in his posture that tugs at your heartstrings, and without thinking, you reach out and gently place your hand on his forehead. His skin is warm beneath your touch, confirming what you already knew—he’s running a low fever.
Your hand drifts from his forehead to his cheek, your thumb brushing softly against his skin. “Zayne,” you murmur, your voice filled with concern, “I don’t like that you let yourself get like this”
Zayne’s eyes remain closed, but he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your hand in a gesture that’s both tender and weary. He lets out a low, affirming hum, a sound that’s as much a comfort to you as it is to him. For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, and he’s just Zayne—your Zayne—who’s finally allowing himself to be cared for.
After a moment, he reaches up and takes your hand from his cheek, holding it gently as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes remain focused on your hand as he speaks, his voice soft but resolute.
“Alright Doctor, I’ll follow your orders.” he says, his tone carrying the weight of sincerity. “I promise.”
You smile at his words, knowing he means them, but also knowing that it might take some gentle reminders to make sure he follows through. “Good,” you whisper, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all I ask.”
“Now, go take that shower. I’ll make sure everything’s ready for you when you’re done.” Zayne nods, setting the mug down on the coffee table before rising from the sofa. As he heads toward the bathroom, you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth in your chest. It’s a role reversal, but one that feels right. Zayne has always been there for you, and now, it’s your turn to return the favor, even if it means coaxing him into taking care of himself with a bit of playful banter.
As the sound of the shower starts up, you settle back on the sofa, feeling content in the knowledge that Zayne is finally letting himself rest—and that you’re the one making sure he does.
After opening the window to let some fresh air into the apartment, you stand there for a moment, debating whether you should stay and make sure Zayne gets to bed. The idea of leaving him alone doesn’t sit well with you, but something tells you that he’ll be alright. He’s taken care of you so many times before—maybe it’s time to trust that he can do the same for himself.
Your gaze drifts to the box of macarons on the coffee table. A small smile tugs at your lips as you pick up the box, thinking about how something so simple could bring him a moment of joy even when he’s feeling so run down. You can’t resist leaving a little surprise for him, so you carefully take out one macaron and place it on the kitchen counter where he’ll easily find it when he emerges from his shower.
With the rest of the macarons in hand, you head toward the door, glancing back at the closed bathroom door one last time. The sound of running water is still steady as you slip out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind you. Your steps are light as you make your way down the hallway and you can’t help but wonder if Zayne has felt this way each time he’s cared for you—leaving quietly after making sure you were settled in, with a warm heart and a lingering sense of connection.
The cool night air greets you as you step outside, and you breathe in deeply, feeling refreshed and content. The box of macarons in your hand is a small reminder of the connection you share with Zayne, and the thought of him finding the one you left behind brings a smile to your face.
The next morning, you wake to the sound of your alarm buzzing beside your bed. You groan softly, rolling over in your sheets as you burrow deeper into their warmth, reluctant to leave the comfort they offer. You’d been so exhausted when you got home that you fell asleep almost immediately, and now, the weight of that sleep is still heavy on you.
For a moment, you lie there, savoring the last remnants of drowsiness before you start your day. It’s your morning ritual—waking slowly, checking your notifications, and letting the world come into focus at your own pace.
You reach for your phone, swiping it off the nightstand and bringing it close as you scroll through the usual morning updates. Emails, a few messages, and then one that makes you pause. It’s from Zayne, sent last night after you’d already gone to bed.
With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, you open the message, feeling a small flutter in your chest as you wonder what he might have said.
The message from Zayne opens with a photo of the single macaron you left on his kitchen counter. Beneath the image is a teasing caption: “Is this how I’m rewarded for following doctor's orders?"
You can’t help but laugh softly as you read his message, imagining the expression that must have accompanied the text. You quickly type out a reply, your fingers moving swiftly over the screen.
“You know, most doctors give their patients one sticker on the way out for being good sports. What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t give you a reward?", a smirk playing on your lips as you hit send.
It doesn’t take long for his response to come through. "Touché. When can I schedule my next routine checkup? Maybe I can earn some more."
You grin at the thought, leaning back against your pillow, you type your reply.
"I’ll have to check my schedule, I’m suuuuuuuper busy Doctor."
With that, you set your phone aside and stretch, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you. Zayne’s message, as playful as it was, reassures you that he’s okay—and that he’s starting his recovery with a bit of lightheartedness, thanks to you.
It’s a good start to the day, and as you finally roll out of bed, you can’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction knowing that, this time, you were the one who got to take care of him
{pls dont repost i beg}

#zayne love and deepspace#love and deep space#love and deepspace#lads imagine#lads fanfic#zayne x mc#dr zayne#doctor zayne#zayne x reader#lads zayne#lads fluff#lads mc#sickfic
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Two
Cheeky fic reblog because the Tracy boys and Kayo love their 'birds . . . but maybe their birds love them back.
Read on AO3 here Original post here
The sudden opening of my overhead hatch by remote access wakes me from my slumber. He’s coming. My pilot. There must be a situation. If it were anything else the hatch would have been opened manually, and if it were any other pilot it would be the lower hatch, not the one above my cockpit. He swings down from the end of his chute, his boots hit the checker plate of my cockpit floor and he reaches up to close the hatch. There is an automated close control, so he doesn’t have to do it by hand, but it is quicker and much more satisfying when he does. The solid thunk as it shuts both feels and sounds more secure, more reassuring than the slow, quiet, automatic closure. And it signals the unofficial beginning of our next adventure together. He smiles every time he pulls the hatch closed – there is a certain excitement in the urgency of a launch. Someone needs us, and we have to fly.
My pilot is unique. No one else treats me the way he does, or understands me like he does. He knows me better than any other human, more intimately than even the creator himself. The creator is the one responsible for my original design and build, but I suspect my pilot may have had a little input. He has certainly had a creative hand in upgrades and repairs, and prefers to do as much hands on maintenance work as he can, often working alongside the creator and his robotic assistant when he can’t complete the work on his own. The creator may well know every nut and bolt and wiring loom, every function and capability to the letter of the specifications, but my pilot knows I am more than a marvellous piece of engineering.
He knows me in the air – how I will respond to any weather conditions, any sudden changes, and every little twitch of my controls. My pilot knows my limits in practice, not just on paper and by the numbers. He will push me when it’s needed and knows when I have given all I can. We have nursed each other home battle-scarred and wounded on many an occasion. He will apologise whenever my abilities are stretched beyond capacity, whenever there is damage, and every time he needs to pull me apart for repairs. I don’t need the apologies. He takes care of me, and I will do my best to take care of him.
My pilot feels affection for me. He shows it in so many little ways, like the absent minded way he’ll trail his hand along the surface of my hull as he passes, or contentedly hum along with the rumble of my engines. It’s evident in the way he speaks to me. Barely audible whispers of greeting, or thanks for a job well done. Impassioned pleas to give just a little more in desperate times, often followed by relieved words of thanks accompanied by a loving rub of my dash, or forehead resting against a bulkhead with a relieved sigh once the crisis is over. He speaks to me in words of encouragement and praise. He believes in me and relies on me, and in return I will give him everything he asks of me. For him I will push my limits to do what he needs me to do, to get us all home safe.
He calls me beautiful. I know that I am not, but it is good to hear him say it. Strong and dependable I may be, but not beautiful – except perhaps in his eyes. I am not sleek and shiny like my sister ‘birds One and Three. Nor am I built for speed like them, but I am proud of my capabilities. Still one of the fastest machines in the air despite my grand size and considerable weight, I am versatile and able to carry just about any cargo imaginable. Sometimes I wish I could be faster, but I know that some things are more important. Without me it would be impossible to get specialised heavy equipment to where it is needed, my medical bay is the best equipped and largest in International Rescue’s fleet, and I am capable of carrying a large number of people to safety. If I were to fail in my duties it would make the job of my pilot and his colleagues immeasurably difficult. So, I must not fail.
He sings to me. When he’s working on repairs or maintenance, when he’s tidying the cockpit or restocking the medical supplies, or sometimes, when we’re flying alone. His voice resonates through my systems and reflects off my surfaces and harmonises with my own sounds. I like when he sings. He seems to do it when he’s happy, comfortable – content. None of the others ever sing to me. The Co-pilot – the one who belongs to Four – he sings sometimes, but it’s not the same. He seems to sing as a distraction, to change the prevailing mood in the cockpit, or just for his own entertainment. His singing is loud and raucous, but not necessarily bad.
Others have flown me when my pilot has been unable to. It is never the same. The Commander, One’s pilot, is always trying to rush me, wanting me to be something I am not. He is impatient with me and grumbles that I am not fast enough. He gets frustrated if I do not respond immediately to the slightest adjustment of my controls, and yet he will often take an extra fraction of a second to find the switch or lever he needs because he is used to flying a different ‘bird. I understand his sense of urgency, but flying for him is sometimes hard work, as though he is fighting me instead of working with me.
The Co-pilot, Four’s pilot is better. Four and I are like the closest of sisters in many ways. We are often called to work together as I am able to carry her to locations she cannot reach fast enough alone. As a result her pilot and mine work together often, and he gets to see first hand how my pilot handles my controls. When he is required to take over piloting duties he emulates what he has seen my pilot do, right down to voicing encouraging words when needed. He is a good pilot, but he lacks a little confidence in himself, as though he is afraid of doing something wrong and causing damage to another’s ‘bird. He means well and he is trying to connect with me on some level, but it is not the same as the partnership I have with my pilot.
The little one, Three’s pilot is somewhere in between those two. He has that nervousness about him, the fear of making a mistake flying a ‘bird that’s not his, and he seems to have a desire to prove himself so he’ll try and do things his way instead of feeling and listening to what I need. At the same time he is inclined to want to rush and expect me to respond more like One or Three instead of doing things my way, but he seems more comfortable adjusting his piloting style than the Commander is.
The other – the Voice from the stars – only really flies me remotely. I have no tangible connection with him. Remote piloting is clinical, calculated, precise and impersonal. He does not communicate directly with me through voice or touch, only electronics. He relies on numbers and sensor readings rather than human senses like my pilot does. I know it is necessary at times for this intangible Voice to take control this way, but it is a lonely way to fly.
My pilot’s strong hands are gentle, nimble and sure in their movements across my controls as he completes pre-flight procedures. The module we need for the job has been selected, loaded and secured into place – part of me, but not. The modules, the pods, the machines and equipment I carry are perhaps like accessories or clothing for a human – it is possible to fly without them, but they are still a part of my complete work-ready attire.
The hangar door is opening and we are rolling. My pilot gently caresses a hand across my dash and quietly utters “Here we go, girl.” The launch pad tilts and the countdown begins. I am a Thunderbird, and my engines rumble into a roar. I bring the thunder, and with my pilot, together we ride the lightning.
“Thunderbird Two is go!”
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Zayne: The flowers are in full bloom today
Short Story
Li Shen/Zayne (Love and Deepspace) X Ringo (OC)

The last thing I could remember was the blinding lights the Wanderer emitted before it disintegrated... Ringo thought as she pressed the keys of her grand piano.
She'd been blind for around five years, following the unfortunate event during her days when she worked as a Hunter. Since then, she focused on honing her musical career as a ghost writer and singer.
The keys emitted a wonderful and unfamiliar melody which enveloped her little home.
That sounds nice...
"ALARM ALARM! TIME FOR YOUR DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT TWO HOURS FROM NOW! ALARM ALARM! TIME FOR YOUR DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT TWO HOURS FROM NOW!"
Her automated alarm yelled.
"Yes, yes. You can keep quiet now." She stood up and carefully navigated her room. The automated alarm snoozed after hearing her instructions.
She changed her clothes, a long dress and a jacket then grabbed her white cane then went her way to Akso Hospital.
Well, today is the day I won't get lost! She grinned then made a mind map of the hospital.
DING! The elevator rang and she walked towards it and passed by the elevator.
Okay, so that's the elevator and behind it should be her clinic… I should turn left here…
She thought as she navigated the ground floor of the hospital with her walking stick. She touched the walls and felt a strip of cold metal. She touched the cold metal and tried to figure out the words written.
Damn, fuck this. they should put braille into these things.
She took a deep breath and sat on one of the chairs outside the clinic. A sound of soft, relaxing music crept out of the doctor's door, she hummed to its tune.
I didn't know Dr. Sonya likes to listen to my music hehe
Almost an hour has passed but she still wasn't called into the doctor's office. A calm and stern voice was suddenly heard from the inside of the clinic and it seemed like he's talking to someone.
oh no… oh no… it's a man's voice… I'M AT THE WRONG CLINIC!!
Ringo's heart suddenly beat fast. For the nth time, she lost her way.
She shed a tear of frustration. hnghh… I really should've just asked the nurse… I'm so stupid…
She straightened up her white cane but the sudden opening of the door beside her made her frozen in place.
oh no no no. he's gonna ask me if i'm a patient!! what do I say?? its so embarrassing!!
The clacking of the doctor's heels were heard and suddenly stopped. Ringo decided to stay still as she took a deep breath.
"Are you a patient of mine?" He asked as he held a clipboard while he browsed the list of patients for today.
"oh.. uhm… sorry… I think I'm in the wrong clinic ahah.. haha.." Ringo nervously replied as she stood up. She was shaking in nervousness.
Zayne noticed her white cane and her shut eyes. … a blind patient.. with no guardian around… he thought.
"Well then, I should be on my way." She forced a smile.
He looked at the girl who turned around and tried to find her way. He cleared his throat and asked her. "Who's your doctor? I can walk you there, if you need help."
Ringo, who was already tearing up, looked back at him. She sniffed and said "Yes please…" Zayne was surprised at the sight of a grown woman crying like a lost child. He smiled and approached her.
Wait.. how do blind people walk with someone…? Do I need to hold her hand? Zayne tilted his head and thought.
"Uhm.. Doctor.. May I hold your arm?" She meekly asked as she sniffed and calmed herself.
"Sure." He offered his arm -- she grabbed the air twice until her hand finally touched his arm.
"You haven't told me who your doctor is." Zayne asked.
"Oh!" She got flustered. "It's Dr. Sonya…"
Zayne stopped walking. "Then, we are walking in a different direction. Her clinic is 4 offices away from mine."
They changed direction then Zayne led her way. Her hand clutched his sleeve as she walked close to him.
"You don't have a guardian with you?" He finally asked.
She shook her head. "I don't need one. I'm capable even though I'm blind."
"I see..." Zayne uttered.
"I can't," She laughed. Zayne just stared at her, not knowing how to react to her joke. "Hahaha, sorry. I joke a lot about me being blind. Feel free to laugh if you find it funny." She giggled.
"You're not hurt at all?" He genuinely asked.
"No. If anything, it heightened my other senses which filled my lack of sight." She honestly replied.
They reached the clinic and Zayne assisted her inside.
"Oh, doctor, Zayne! It's rare to see you here." Doctor Sonya said.
"I was just assisting your patient as she didn't know where to go earlier."
Ringo gasped. " You were not supposed to tell I was lost! That was embarrassing..." She pouted.
Zayne chuckled. "Sorry. I was just being honest."
"You two seemed to get along after that walk." Doctor Sonya smiled.
Zayne looked at Ringo. "Anyway, doctor Sonya, I'll leave her in your care now."
"Thank you, doctor Zayne." Ringo sweetly said and then he left the office.
The doctor ran some tests which yielded positive results. Doctor Sonya wrote on her prescription pads some meds she’ll be needing and some supplements.
“Are you sure you don’t want to undergo eye transplant?” The doctor asked and Ringo shook her head.
“I’m sure there are others who need it better than I do.” She smiled. The doctor thought that RIngo was kind enough to give way for others even though she’s a top priority when it comes to transplant due to her former profession.
After her check up, she went to the pharmacy and bought her medicine and supplements then went her way home.
But along the way, she decided to stay still at a bench nearby the hospital and listen to the noise around her. It’s not everyday that she gets to be in the busy streets of Linkon. She hummed a tune which melted perfectly with the noise around her.
She opened her phone and decided to record the tune she’s humming; maybe to use it as a reference for her new song submission.
Meanwhile, Zayne rested his back against the backrest of his office chair. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples after he finished his reports for the day. He packed up his things and decided to go home for tonight.
He drove his car out of the basement parking and passed by near the entrance of the hospital and his peripheral caught a blind woman sitting still on one of the benches near the fountain.
Was that…?
He turned around then passed by the empty driveway of the hospital. Zayne had his car at the side of the driveway then approached Ringo.
Oh… I hadn't gotten her name earlier…
“Are you still lost?” Zayne asked. Ringo smiled.
“Doctor… Hi!” She happily greeted him and shook her head. “I was just listening to my surroundings. I thought it was still too early to go home.”
Early?
Zayne tilted his head. “Do you know what time it is?” He asked.
“Uhm… around five PM?” She smiled childishly.
“... It’s already nine PM.” Zayne replied.
“OH!!!” Ringo urgently stood up. “I’ve been here for more than three hours!! I didn’t notice!” Her cheeks became flustered. She clutched her white cane. “Anyway, thank you for telling me the time, doctor. I should head home!”
“I didn’t get your name.” Zayne uttered.
“Oh! How careless of me… I’m Ringo.” She smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Ringo.” He replied. “I think you already know my name from earlier.
“Yes, doctor Zayne.” She nodded.
“I’ll just drive you to your place. You might get lost again.” He offered.
“Oh… I can’t do that.. I’ve bothered you too much already.”
“It’s alri–”
Grumble! Grumble!
Ringo’s stomach growled. She had forgotten to eat dinner as she was preoccupied with composing a tune earlier.
“AH!” Her cheeks turned red.
Zayne gave out a soft chuckle. “How about we grab dinner first then I’ll drop you off at your place?”
They settled at a restaurant nearby and they were given their menus. Ringo ran her fingers through the hard cardboard and felt its smooth surface.
They really should have braille on these things… This is why I don’t like going out. I have to communicate for every single little thing.
Zayne scanned the menu and decided his order. He looked at Ringo who’s expression looked disappointed.
Oh… She can’t read… She was so talkative and her expressions were as if she could actually see… I’ve forgotten about her disability.
The waitress approached their table and started getting their orders.
“Are you ready to order?” The waitress asked.
“Do you want me to read you the menu, Ringo?” Zayne asked and she shook her head.
“We'll take a lot of time if you do that, doctor.” She smiled then asked the waitress “You see, I'm visually impaired and can't read the menu–”
“Oh! My apologies, ma'am! I didn't notice because you were walking as if you could see!” The waitress signaled for her co-worker to get the menu that had braille imprinted then she handed it to Ringo.
“... A menu with braille??” Ringo exclaimed as her fingers ran through the words and patterns protruded from the menu.
“Yes, government initiatives.” The waitress nodded and smiled. “Then, just let me know if you are ready to order.”
Ringo's face lit up. She smiled as if she received her first ever Christmas present. “This is wonderful!” She said as she read the menu.
Zayne observed her in silence; not wanting to disturb her happy moment.
It looks like a big deal for her… I should look more into the accessibility of everyday things to persons with disabilities when I get the time.
“They have choco fudge sundae too… hmmm should I get some sweets, doctor?”
“Sure, if you feel like it. Their parfaits are good as well.” Zayne suggested.
“You're a sweet tooth.” She giggled. “We should eat here again!”
We?... I guess I don't mind.
They then ordered their food and ate. Afterwhich, Zayne drove her home.
“But we're the same age and you're like one of the bigshots in the hospital!” Ringo exclaimed.
“I wouldn't call it a bigshot… I just like what I'm doing.” Zayne replied.
“Yes but you're so efficient in your work too! I can't! There are times I get into a month-long slump!”
“Slump? Are you an artist?” Zayne asked.
“I write songs.” She answered. “I like writing, too but I'm not very efficient at it.”
“Art and something research-based like my outputs are very different things. If that's your pace as an artist, I don't think it's inefficient. Songs need a lot of heart and care.”
“You're very kind, doctor…” She uttered softly.
Right… That's why I lock myself up in my home it's because I'm tired of comparing myself with others…
They finally arrived at Ringo's place and Zayne opened the door for her. He held her hand to support her as she stood up.
“Thank you,” She smiled. “I had fun today, doctor.”
“Likewise.” He replied. The cold breeze brushed against her cheeks that made her shudder.
“Oh, before I go.” Ringo held her hand up. “I don't know what you look like… may I touch your face?”
“Oh, uhm. Sure.” Zayne bent down a little and guided her hands to his face.
Her light and soft hands examined his face from his cheeks, eyelids, nose, eyebrows, and lips.
“Say, doctor… What kind of hair color do you have?” She asked while touching his face.
“Black.”
“And your eyes?” She asked while her thumb gently touched his eyelids and eyelashes.
“Emerald.” Zayne replied and she retrieved her hands. He slowly opened his eyes and saw that she had her eyes open. Her irises were already almost white but he could make out that her original eye colors were gray. She closed her eyes and smiled.
“You're very beautiful, doctor.” She effortlessly said. Zayne's eyes widened.
I don't know how to respond to that… She's beautiful too. I don't know if she knows.
Zayne thought. “Thank you. You’re beautiful too.” He replied.
Ringo's face got all flustered and she started stuttering. Her heart beat fast, a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time.
“A-a-anyway! I should enter my house now. It's already late!” She placed her finger in the automated lock and the gate opened. “Take care on your way, doctor. Drive safe.”
“Yes, thank you.” Zayne replied. After she entered her home, he went back to his car then drove home.
…I forgot to get her contact…
Weeks later, Ringo finished the songs she'd been making. She laid down on her bed then dozed off.
After a few hours, her trusty alarm reminded her of her near empty fridge.
“MISS RINGO! THIS IS A WARNING THAT YOU WILL STARVE TOMORROW IF YOU DON'T FILL UP YOUR FRIDGE! MISS RINGO! THIS IS A WARNING THAT–”
“Yes yes, I'm awake.” She replied then the alarm kept quiet.
Well, it's been awhile since I went out… The last time I was out I was with…
Ringo's cheeks flushed at the thought of Zayne.
I wonder how he's doing?... I probably won't be able to cross paths with him.
She stood up then went to buy groceries. At the market, she tried to be independent and made her way aisle from aisle.
I should buy veggies and fruits too… but what color of grape is this? Oh, this grape is quite hard. I think it's crisp but will have juicy insides.
She smiled as she gently ran her fingers against a bundle of grapes.
“Ma'am, please don't touch our grapes like that. I noticed that you’ve been touching every fruit in this section.” One employee said thinking that she's touching it in an unusual manner.
“Oh… Sorry…” Ringo apologized then let go of the fruit. She tilted her head down and felt embarrassed.
“She can't help touching it if she can't see.” A deep familiar voice said. Ringo still felt embarrassed she stretched her white cane and just walked away going to the counter.
The employee suddenly noticed that she couldn't see so he tried to apologize but Ringo didn't turn her back. She started tearing up and sniffed.
That was embarrassing… I wanna go home.
“Ringo.” the familiar voice said.
That voice and scent… Zayne??
“Doctor…” she uttered.
“Come, I'll help you buy things you need.” He gently grabbed her shopping basket but she held on to it.
“... No… it was already embarrassing that they think I'm doing something weird…” She said. Zayne noticed that there's a bit of dried tears on her cheek.
“Don't worry about them.” Zayne retrieved her basket and offered his arm. He retracted her white cane and grabbed her hand and led it to his arm. “So, which fruits did you want to buy?”
“The one I was holding earlier.” She said. Her gloomy mood still did not improve and Zayne could definitely understand.
He grabbed the grapes and placed them in her basket. “Anything else?”
“Some sliced deli meat and bread too… and that's it.” She answered.
“Okay, then we'll get that.”
After, he then walked with her to the counter.
“Sorry for making you run errands with me, doctor… It must've taken so much time.” She apologized.
“You didn't make me do anything, Ringo. It was me who wanted to do this for you.” He said while placing her items on the counter. “Are you sure these are all you need?”
“Yes… I can't cook complicated dishes so I usually just eat sandwiches, soup, some fruits and one-pot dishes. I don't buy many items because I usually forget if there's too much.”
“Understandable.” Zayne replied as Ringo tapped her phone for payment.
“Well, thank you for assisting me today, doctor. You've been a great help” She forced a smile.
“If you want, we could schedule our groceries together so you don't run into something like that again.” Zayne offered.
Ringo's face lit up. She always hated doing groceries but if someone was to help her in doing so, she would find it fun.
“Really??” She smiled widely.
There it is.
Zayne felt relieved that she finally smiled.
“Yes. I do my groceries twice a month so I think we could start with that.” He replied as they walked to the parking lot. “I'll drive you home.”
“Huh? No it's okay. I can commute” Ringo didn't want to bother him. She feels that he's busy and that he has better things to do than to assist her.
“I don't mind, Ringo. I finished my shift earlier and I'm free the rest of the day, if that's what you're worried about.” Zayne loaded her groceries in the trunk and opened the passenger seat.
“Oh. Okay.” She held out her hand and Zayne guided her. She sat at the passenger seat and noticed a faint music playing.
Oh? Wait… right… the first time I met him… he was listening to the songs I made…
She smiled to herself. Zayne sat beside her and started driving. “You seem happy.” He noted.
“Do you like this music, doctor?” She asked while swaying her head to the tune.
Oh, they altered my submission a bit but it still sounds good.
“Yes. I have a playlist of songs with the same genre.” He replied as the song softly played.
“You have good taste.” She nodded.
They arrived at Ringo’s place and Zayne opened the passenger seat and helped her out.
“Ringo!” An old woman called her. She was holding a tray of biscuits and bread. “Oh my, who is this young man?” She asked while looking up to Zayne.
“Auntie, this is Zayne. He’s my friend.” Ringo introduced. “Zayne, this is my neighbor auntie Ellen.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Zayne politely said.
“Oh! Same here.” Ellen nodded. “Ringo, I was just calling you because I have some leftover biscuits to give you. Here.”
Suddenly, a gentle gust of wind was felt by them.
… that was an evol….
Zayne thought and noticed that Ringo didn’t need her cane to walk her way to Ellen.
I see. So that’s how she managed to walk sometimes without her cane to the point that people around thought she could see.
Ringo gently retrieved the tray from Ellen “Oh wow these smell good!!! Thank you!”
The old woman chuckled. “Well, I won’t disturb you and your friend any longer, hehe” Ellen then returned to her house and left the two.
The two entered the house and Zayne noticed that there were various musical instruments in the living room. Her living room did not have a television but it had a grand piano in the middle and recording devices beside it. There are other electronic mixers and a laptop at the corner.
He placed her groceries on her marble kitchen table.
“Thank you doctor! You should try auntie’s biscuits. They’re so good.” Ringo smiled and handed him a milk biscuit.
“Thank you.” Zayne said then ate the biscuit. “It tastes better than those canned ones.”
“It does!” Ringo placed her groceries in her pantry. “Oh doctor, as a sign of thanks, should I play something for you?”
“I was curious about your work, I was just about to ask you about the piano in your living room.”
A gust of wind suddenly entered the room and Ringo made her way to her piano.
“... Was that your evol just now?” Zayne asked as he sat on the couch.
“Yes, I use my wind evol sometimes to tell me how my environment looks like.” She honestly answered the pressed a key. “You like my songs, doctor. That makes me very happy.”
Your songs…?
She played a tune that was familiar to him. She started singing, albeit the tune was a little different that what he knew from the streaming platforms, he knew that it was a song called Bound by Time
I love you
Even if we are from different times
When fate had other plans
Than bringing us together,
Still, I'd love you as if we are together
Do you think we see the same sky?
I hope we do. (Let's see the same stars)
Did you sleep well tonight?
I'll sing you a lullaby (La la la)
If not, I just hope that you know that I exist.
I love you
Even when our universe never crossed
When our worlds walked
On parallel lines,
Still, I'd love you as if we are together
Zayne hummed and mouthed the familiar lyrics as she sang happily. He never really analyzed the lyrics but he liked its tune.
I didn't realize that the lyrics are kind of painful to read.
“Still, I'd love you as if we are together… la la la” She finally closed.
She stood up and Zayne clapped as if giving her a standing ovation. She grinned and giggled while bowing.
“Thank you, thank you.” She happily said.
“Was that the original version of the song?” Zayne asked and she nodded.
“Yup. Well, the current version is not so bad either. I'd say both are good versions.” She sat beside him.
“Yes, but I like your singing voice better.” He complimented and she got flustered.
“Oh,” She fidgeted with her hands. “Thank you.”
“Do you have songs that you actually sing or all of the songs you make are sung by others?” He curiously asked.
“Well, I do have a few songs of my own but I never really uploaded them. Bound by time was my favorite of it all.” She replied.
“Did you get heartbroken by any chance while you were writing it?” He asked. She sighed and shook her head.
“I was listening to this audiobook about two people who never met but were compatible to be together… something like that, then I made the song.” She replied.
“You love music.” He said and looked at her. She was unmoving and he thought that if she had her sight, she would look at her instruments at that time.
“I do! I like listening to musicals and Operas too. Hehe, I could make out the storyline even without actually seeing them.” Her face lit up as she shared about her interests.
Days later, Zayne got very busy due to the increase of wanderer attacks and his workload almost doubled. After doing an emergency operation, he sat on his office chair and played different music from his playlist.
That’s funny… Most of the songs I listen to were actually written by her but sung by different people and bands…
Back home, Ringo recorded the songs Zayne liked and had it in its original version.
“Save.” She uttered.
“FILE NAME?” The automated program asked her.
“Bound by Time original”
“Saved.”
She recorded another one again. Her voice sounded beautiful as her slender fingers pressed the keys.
“Save,” She instructed.
“File name?”
“Ice Prince original.”
“Saved.”
“Compile all in one folder.” She instructed.
“Compiled ten songs from recording today in one folder– Complete. File name?”
“To Doctor Zayne.”
As Zayne listened to the music, a notification popped and he opened the email addressed to him.
Ringo… these are…
He played the music she sent him and he sighed.
Her singing voice is wonderful… I should bring her something later.
After he finished his report, he drove to the pastry shop and bought various sweets and pastries. While he was paying, he saw a poster of an upcoming opera set next week entitled: Miss Dinosaur and the fossils.
Miss Dinosaur and the fossils…? That sounds weird…
He looked up the reviews for the opera and found that it had almost five star ratings and the reviews were positive.
Oh, I think she’ll like it. Maybe I should ask Ringo to watch? Hear? …. I’ll just ask her if she wants to go here.
Zayne then drove to her home; he was greeted by a hovering spherical robot. It’s robotic voice asked: “Who are you?”
“Zayne” He replied. It paused for a while as if looking into its files.
“Doctor Zayne from Akso Medical Hospital. Come in. I am Mozi number eight. You can call me Mozi and I am Miss Ringo's assistant.” The hovering robot turned its back and Zayne followed it.
I see. So this robot helps her in her everyday tasks.
The robot suddenly turned on its alarm
“MISS RINGO YOU HAVE A VISITOR! MISS RINGO YOU HAVE A VISITOR!”
“Who?” Her voice came from her room.
“Doctor Zayne” The robot answered.
“Doctor? Are you just saying his name because of the email I sent earlier? What if that person you let in is a robber? Should I kill you then?” Ringo asked.
“Uhm…” Mozi's volume lowered down and resembled a whisper. “You are the doctor Zayne and not a thief, aren't you?”
“Yes.” Zayne answered and a sudden gust of wind was felt as Ringo opened her door.
“Mozi, how many times do I have to tell you to be careful of who you let in this house?” Ringo said as her eyebrows furrowed.
That scent…
“No no Miss Ringo don't shut me down” Mozi hid behind Zayne.
“Ringo, don't worry. It's me” Zayne approached her.
“But… What are you doing here, doctor?” She asked.
“I just bought you some pastries. Today was a very busy day but when I listened to your music, I calmed down. Thank you.” Zayne replied and he gently held her hand and handed her a bag of pastries.
“I’m glad that I helped you today, doctor and thank you! I appreciate this.” She grinned. “And you!” She frowned at Mozi. “I told you to call me first before letting anybody in!”
“S-sorry…” Mozi’s pixelated eyes showed tears.
“Don’t be too hard on Mozi. He’s a good butler.” Zayne petted the hovering robot that showed happy eyes.
“S-see! Miss Ringo! Doctor Zayne praised me!” Mozi’s robotic voice showed its enthusiasm, if it had any. She sighed.
“Okay fine. Just don’t do that again and call me first, okay?” She pouted.
“Yes. I will input that command into my system now.” Mozi replied then hovered to its bed.
“Aren’t those robot assistants expensive?” Zayne asked.
“Yup. But, that was a gift from the hunter’s association when I retired due to my disability gained through service.” She replied. “Mozi’s maintenance is also shouldered by them.”
“You’re a former hunter?” Zayne asked and she nodded.
“That makes sense. You have complete control over your evol.” He replied.
“Yes, but it tires me out to use my evol continuously so I reserve my energy, that’s why I still need to use my white cane even though I can see through my wind manipulation.” She walked towards the counter and placed the pastries on top.
“Ringo… I saw a poster earlier, are you familiar with the show Miss Dinosaur and the fossils?” He brought up. Her face lit up and she grinned.
“OH! YES! WHY? ARE THEY TOURING IN LINKON??” She unconsciously hovered and approached Zayne. “Oh! Oh! I should buy tickets if they’re here!”
Zayne’s eyes widened. He thought that she looked like a mermaid swimming in the air.
“I was actually going to watch it, if you want, we could watch it together.” He offered.
Ringo slowly descended and smiled. “I would love to watch it with you, Zayne.” She replied.
Zayne’s heart thumped. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Alright, I’ll get the tickets but I’ll have to fix my schedule first, is that okay?” He asked and she nodded.
The next week, Zayne fetched her after his working hours and found that she was waiting on her front porch. She was sitting on a wooden bench and was wearing a navy blue sleeveless dress that hung until below her knees. She tied her long hair into a low bun and Zayne noticed that she wore light makeup.
She's so beautiful...
He took a deep breath and approached her. “Are you ready?” Zayne asked as he gently held her hand.
“Yes, I’m so excited!” She stood up. “Is it okay if I leave my cane?”
“Of course.” Zayne answered. Hearing his voice made her smile. “I don’t mind even if you hold onto me the whole night.”
“Haha, then I’ll do just that.” Ringo smiled at him.
They arrived at the theaters and were led to their seats. Shortly, the show started, as it went on, Ringo mouthed the songs that were sung, she swayed her head along with the songs, and she smiled so widely–her heart was full.
While she was happy, the story was different and tragic. It was about an immortal woman who’s been waiting for her love but it turned out that her love was long dead. She unearthed his remains and preserved them in her home.
“Are you not cold?” Zayne whispered as he noticed her hands shaking.
“A bit, but it’s manageable.” She replied and clasped her hands together. He removed his coat and hung it over her shoulders. “Oh! Thank you!” She replied.
After the show, Ringo held onto his arm and gleefully talked about the play they watched.
“... and when she sang that song, it was so sad! I couldn’t imagine myself in that place.” She continued. Zayne stared at her, seemingly hypnotized by her. He observed her expressions, the way her lips moved, the way her voice changed depending on the character she’s been talking about, and the way she gestured.
“The title sounds silly but it made sense with the story.” He replied.
“Right?? She’s a dinosaur like she’s so old and all the fossils are the remains…” She added.
Just like that, Zayne’s life became a little bit cheerful. It became a routine for him to visit her when he gets the free time, to remind her of their grocery day, to tell her about the recent news, to cook for her, and to walk to the park. All of these, he enjoyed doing with her.
“Zayne, could you tell me about the flowers?” She asked as they walked in the park.
“Well, it’s spring time so everything is colorful.” He replied. “The leaves of the trees are healthy too.”
“That’s great! I’m sure they look pretty!” She cheerfully replied.
Should I ask her now?
A gust of familiar wind enveloped them and Ringo listened to the crisp sound of the leaves.
“Ringo.” Zayne took a deep breath.
“Hm? What is it?” She asked.
“Will you spend the rest of your life with me?” He asked as he pulled out a ring from his pocket. Ringo gasped and couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“But… Zayne… are you sure?” She asked.
I… I think you deserve better than me… someone who’s not disabled…
“I don’t think I’ll be asking this if I wasn’t sure.” Zayne said as he gently touched her hand.
“But…” Ringo held back her tears. “But… Zayne…”
He smiled. “If you’re still doubting yourself, don’t. I enjoy taking care of you, talking to you, and doing everything with you. I love you as you are.”
She cried tears of joy as Zayne carefully placed a ring on her ring finger. “I love you, too.” She replied in between sobs. “Thank you for loving me.”
Zayne looked at her and let out a little chuckle as he remembered the first time he met her. She was crying the same way when she got lost in the hospital.
“Is.. Is it okay if I rely on you more starting today?” She asked while Zayne wiped her tears.
“Yes. I like it when you rely on me, Ringo.” He softly said as he gently kissed her lips.
--------
Ringo continued making music while Zayne became busier with his work, medical missions, and research. But still, they made time to continue their routine. Zayne noticed that Ringo’s favorite activity they did was walking to the park.
“Your favorite thing has always been walking to the park.” Zayne said as they ate their dinner.
“I can’t help it! I still remember that day when you proposed! Ahhh it was so romantic!! Let’s walk again tomorrow!” She wiggled as she ate her food.
Zayne smiled at her and thought that her jolly nature kept him sane from his stress at work. Eventually, they were blessed with two beautiful children, the first one was a girl and the second one was a boy. They both grew up in a loving home Zayne and Ringo built, and as they grew older, their children finally made their own families and left their home.
Several years passed and Zayne sat on the bench as he reminisced her voice asking him "Sweetheart, are the flowers blooming today? It's quite warm! I hope they do!"
Despite his forgetful nature as he grew old, he couldn't forget her face each time she looked up to ask him the same question almost everyday. Her eyes, that never met his, devoid of light but still exude a sense of wonder, her childish grin that never changed ever since they first met, her red hair that she struggled on fixing so he had to do her braids, and her voice that sounded like angels singing whenever he hears her.
His blurry eyes looked at her gravestone covered with snow and he smiled. "Yes, my love. The flowers are in full bloom today." His wrinkled hand held a flower-shaped snow he made using his evol. The cold wind brushed against his face as he finally breathed his last.
#love and deepspace#fanfic#lads fanfic#lads zayne#lads#fanfiction#fanfics#zayne love and deepspace#li shen
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College Classes for Yanderes and the Reason!
Ever wondered what skills a Yandere might need to truly care for their Darling while keeping them under absolute control? Whether you're a Yandere in training or just curious about how some of these intense personalities manage to weave their devotion and obsession into real-life skills, here's the rundown on the college classes that could make you the ultimate protector (or controller) of your Darling. These aren't just any classes- these are the practical skills you need to master the delicate art of love, obsession, and devotion.
1. Medical Science (Doctor or Nurse Program)
Why? Every Yandere needs to ensure their Darling is in peak physical condition, right? Whether it's tending to minor injuries, ensuring constant health surveillance, or subtly administering sedatives, a Yandere with medical knowledge can provide the care their Darling "needs" while keeping them dependent on their expertise.
Classes to Take: Anatomy & Physiology, Emergency Medicine, Pharmacology, Mental Health and Psychiatry.
2. Private Investigation and Surveillance Techniques
Why? You can't love what you can't keep track of, can you? A Yandere who knows how to investigate, track, and surveil will always know where their Darling is, what they’re doing, and who they’re doing it with. Perfect for ensuring no one—no one—threatens their perfect relationship.
Classes to Take: Surveillance Techniques, Criminal Investigation, Digital Security, Behavioral Profiling.
3. Criminal Justice & Personal Security
Why? Protection is at the core of a Yandere's job. You need to protect your Darling from threats—both real and imagined. And let's face it, a Yandere who's good with security can easily lock down any potential escape routes, set up surveillance cameras, and make sure their Darling’s environment is as safe (and controlled) as possible.
Classes to Take: Personal Security, Risk Management, Crisis Intervention, Firearms Training (optional but... effective).
4. Culinary Arts & Dietetics
Why? A Yandere knows that food is not just for nourishment—it's for control. Whether it's preparing meals laced with aphrodisiacs to increase the bond or sedatives to keep the Darling docile, culinary skills are a must-have. And nothing says "I love you" like a perfectly crafted dinner that keeps your Darling right where you want them.
Classes to Take: Nutrition, Advanced Cooking Techniques, Food Safety, Food Chemistry, Meal Planning.
5. Psychology (Therapist or Psychiatrist Program)
Why? To understand your Darling’s mind is to control it. Psychology classes will teach you how to read and manipulate emotions, break down resistance, and keep your Darling dependent on you for emotional stability. Plus, with psychiatric knowledge, you'll know just how to manage meltdowns, moods, and delicate situations.
Classes to Take: Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Behavioral Science, Abnormal Psychology, Psychopathology.
6. Electrical Engineering (Or just Electrical Technician)
Why? Want to keep your Darling locked in both physically and emotionally? Knowing how to set up cameras, monitoring systems, and even electric fences (if you’re feeling extra) will ensure you always know where your Darling is. Bonus points for making sure no one can ever interrupt your time together.
Classes to Take: Circuit Design, Home Automation, Surveillance Systems, Electrical Safety.
7. Engineering (Mechanical or Civil)
Why? For the Yandere who likes to design their Darling’s world literally. This isn’t just about making your Darling’s environment comfortable—it's about making it escape-proof. Whether it's building secure rooms, automated systems, or setting up barriers to keep your Darling from running away, an engineering degree gives you the tools to create your own perfect world.
Classes to Take: Structural Engineering, Robotics, Systems Design, Automated Systems.
8. Art (or Interior Design)
Why? A Yandere doesn’t just control the body; they control the mind. And what better way to keep the Darling in the right mood than to craft an environment that feels simultaneously safe and inescapable? The right design can manipulate emotions, create a sense of security while subtly reinforcing control. It's all about aesthetics... and power.
Classes to Take: Interior Design, Visual Arts, Architecture, Color Theory.
9. Surgeon (Trauma or Cosmetic Surgery)
Why? Want to make sure your Darling never forgets who they belong to? A Yandere with surgical skills can leave permanent marks, whether it’s through tattoos, cosmetic alterations, or more extreme procedures that make the Darling more physically reliant on them. These skills also come in handy when it’s time for “repairs” following an altercation or “accident.”
Classes to Take: Surgery (Plastic or General), Trauma Medicine, Aesthetic Surgery, Post-Op Care.
10. Therapeutic Massage & Physical Therapy
Why? Sometimes, you just need to show your Darling that you can heal their body and mind. A Yandere with physical therapy knowledge can not only care for physical injuries but also manipulate the Darling’s body into a state of dependence. Plus, there's something incredibly possessive about touching every inch of their body while “helping.”
Classes to Take: Massage Therapy, Body Mechanics, Rehabilitation Techniques, Neuromuscular Therapy.
#yandere#irl yandere#obslove#yanblr#male darling#female yandere#yandere x you#yanderecore#yancore#darling x yandere
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d&d robot wizard named Intellibeam Laserstation
(page 1555-1572)
It’s feeling so Act 2 up in here because we are seeing a couple of kids try to figure out Sburb mechanics while being equal parts competent and silly.
But first, a revelation that Jack Noir has ‘a policy of handing out a REGISWORD and a HITLIST to just about everyone who enters your office’ (p.1555). This is in my homestuck jokes hall of fame because it’s a sudden punch of absurdity that adds to the plot and characterization, instead of detracting from them. I think the jokes that don’t hit for me tend to be when a character uses a phrase format or SBAHJ reference that feels out of character for them to say, or when a joke replaces what could be a character moment (for example, p.444). This joke contributes to Jack’s amorality and clear-headedness while inciting disproportionate violence, and preserves PM’s character arc, since it’s significant if she’s the only recipient of this hitlist who actually carries it out.
It sucks that the Queen keeps Jack locked behind a desk watching other people when he has this much flair and style. He should be on the stage. Also I cannot imagine the damage PM would inflict upon Jack if she saw him open that package that isn’t addressed to him. That’s a MAIL CRIME and I for one am not even curious what’s inside until the package reaches its ADDRESSED recipient.
Dave and Jade are a fun combination of Sburb players, because Dave has no concerns with playing the game ‘correctly’ and is willing to go with whatever makes things easier, while Jade has the inventor’s curiosity and wants to exploit hacks and glitches to advance as fast as possible. And Dave may have made fun of Jade for her ‘goofy modusses’ (p.382) but he is definitely benefiting from them now. Jade doesn’t play many games (p.442, 1400) but has spent her whole life engaging with Skaian technology, which is essentially ‘tech that functions on video game logic’ [sidenote: this definition made me decide that the sylladex is also 100% Skaian tech] so I think this helps her intuit how Sburb works.
The ability to alchemize the alchemiter feels right and correct. Alchemiter upgrades and add-ons allow for more complexity in the mechanics without needing more machines than would be practical to work with, just like how Sburb’s Atheneum (p.620) can store previously carved totems so that it’s not necessary to retain the physical objects. It seems like if enough machines are combined into one, the physical steps (moving around, handling and carving cruxite and cards) will be eliminated and the whole process will be automated. On a story level, it allows for power scaling as an upgrade can be anything, and there’s less concern for the time and space that a task takes – small developments like this and the suggestion of transportalizers between planets (p.1531) are still expanding the scope of the story.
I think a portable alchemiter would be a great next step. Gotta have a punch card for a little backpack and then Dave can carry this around while exploring his planet and he won’t end up like John, in a land of copper giclopses far away from weapon upgrades.
But what I love about Sburb is that it doesn’t care if an update is helpful. It lets the players make bad and nonsensical decisions and incorporates them into its logic. It’s open world and if you want a blender or a GameBro bust on your alchemiter then you can. It’s the difference between a game that makes an error sound if your strength is too low to equip the Ultra Greatsword and a game that lets you equip it and then just be a shitty fighter.
Dave struggling for space on page 1563 made me wonder about the smallest space needed to play Sburb. Its name suggests a full house, but a large room, like a well kept studio apartment, might have room. But a dorm room or houseboat or RV or nursing home or hospital simply would not work without modifications, and the idea of playing Sburb in unconventional living spaces is really interesting to me. Maybe if I write fanfiction it will be about that since it seems outside the scope of the comic at this point.
There’s no WAY we find out what the intellibeam laserstation does any time soon – this reveal is definitely getting saved, which leaves room for speculation! ‘Intelli’ comes from intelligence or intelligible, ‘beam’ and ‘laser’ both suggest a highly precise and advanced ray of light, and ‘station’ is a designated place for an activity (or a regular stopping point, and now I am imagining a train station for lasers). So, this is intelligent light, light that can shape and direct itself according to what it’s needed for? Or it’s light that can itself be used as a resource or material, a place for creating light or building with it? Light is a theoretically infinite resource, so could tie into Skaia’s ‘unlimited creative potential’ (p.422). It could even be involved in creating constructs – things with an intelligence of their own – giving lategame players the ability to alchemize their own light kingdom agents to combat the dark.
#homestuck#reaction#SHORT POST !! for once#i was away from my current city for two months and in that time my favorite local pizza place has started making Butter Paneer Pizza#which is garlic butter base (no red sauce) paneer jalapenos fresh cilantro crispy onions mango chutney and cheese#it might be the best thing ive ever eaten but im FLAT broke and cant afford takeout ever again#but huge shout out to the genius behind this recipe all the same#chrono
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About You - yearning!winter x fem!reader
4. December 22nd.
chapters || previous || next



December 22nd was just another day in the relentless rhythm of the ER. Dr. Minjeong Kim barely glanced at the clock as she moved through the chaos, her mind laser-focused on the next patient. The automated doors slid open, and EMTs rushed in, wheeling two patients on gurneys.
“Dr. Kim!” one of the EMTs called. “Car accident, head-on collision. Both patients mid-30s, restrained passengers. One with blunt abdominal trauma and probable pelvic fracture, the other with suspected spinal injury.”
Minjeong nodded sharply, already assessing the scene. “Room three for the abdominal trauma,” she ordered the first team of EMTs and nurses, “and I want ultrasound and trauma labs ready stat. Page ortho for the pelvic fracture once we confirm. Room five for the spinal injury. Stabilize the neck, and I need imaging done ASAP.”
Her voice cut through the noise, calm and commanding. She grabbed a pair of gloves from the dispenser, snapping them on as she moved toward the first patient.
“Vitals?” she asked the nurse who followed the gurney.
“BP’s dropping, 88/60. Tachy at 125,” the nurse responded.
“Okay, likely internal bleeding,” Minjeong muttered, her eyes scanning the patient. She directed her team quickly. “Two large-bore IVs, fluids wide open. Type and cross-match four units. Prep for FAST exam now.”
The ultrasound machine was wheeled in, and Minjeong guided the probe over the patient’s abdomen. Her brow furrowed at the dark fluid pooling on the screen. “Free fluid in the peritoneum. Call the OR, we’re going up once this patient is stable.”
She stepped back just long enough to check on the second patient, now being stabilized in room five.
“What do we have?” she asked the nurse, glancing at the monitors.
“SpO2 is stable, GCS 14, but she’s complaining of numbness in her legs,” the nurse reported.
Minjeong nodded. “Keep that cervical collar in place. I want CT imaging done immediately. Let’s rule out a spinal cord injury.”
Once both patients were in the capable hands of her team, she scrubbed out and leaned against the wall for a brief moment to catch her breath.
The cafeteria was quiet by comparison, the hum of conversation a welcome relief from the beeping monitors and hurried voices of the ER. Minjeong sat by the large window with a bowl of soup and a sandwich she barely tasted. Her gaze drifted to the snowfall outside, the flakes falling softly against the backdrop of the hospital’s concrete walls.
Her mind wandered as the cold scene outside stirred an unwelcome memory.
She had been a nervous 19-year-old, fresh into medical school and still adjusting to the overwhelming world of lectures and labs. With a tray of food in her hands, she stood in the cafeteria, scanning the room for a place to sit. Every table seemed full.
“Hey, rookie!” A voice called out, warm and playful. Minjeong turned to see Y/N Kang waving her over.
Y/N sat at a table with a group of friends, her bright smile and effortless charisma lighting up the space. Minjeong hesitated for a moment before walking over, her heart thudding in her chest.
Y/N scooted over to make room, patting the seat beside her. “You’re Minjeong, right? The new kid on the block?”
Minjeong managed a shy smile. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Well, welcome to the jungle. These are my friends: Julie, Mark, and Lia. We’re your unofficial tour guides, whether you like it or not,” Y/N said with a wink.
Minjeong couldn’t help but smile, the tension in her shoulders easing as Y/N and her friends made her feel at home in an intimidating new world.
The memory faded, and Minjeong snorted softly, though the sound carried no humor. She shook her head, picking at her sandwich. The warmth of those moments, the easy camaraderie and laughter, felt like a distant dream now.
She took another bite, chewing slowly. Her gaze remained fixed on the snow outside, the icy flakes dancing in the wind. The good-bitter memories clung to her like frost, refusing to melt away.
Minjeong set her sandwich down, her appetite fading, but she forced herself to finish. Food was fuel, and she still had hours left in her shift. With one last glance at the snow, she stood, dumped her tray, and walked out of the cafeteria, back into the chaos of the ER.
Evening settled over the ER, but the bustling rhythm didn’t let up. Dr. Minjeong Kim sat at her desk, fingers flying over the keyboard as she entered patient information into the system. Medications, treatment plans, imaging schedules, and pending operations—all meticulously logged. The warm glow of the overhead lights made the Christmas tree in the corner shimmer, its ornaments catching the light.
The festive décor around her contrasted with the exhaustion pulling at her shoulders. A small Christmas pin sat neatly above the right pocket of her lab coat, a quiet nod to the season. Beside her computer, a container filled with candy canes tempted passing staff, a small token of cheer in an otherwise somber space.
Minjeong reached for one, unwrapping it absentmindedly as she finished her notes. She glanced at the tree, its lights twinkling softly, before sighing and turning back to the screen.
Time skipped forward to Minjeong in one of the treatment rooms, carefully suturing a jagged wound on a woman’s leg. The patient flinched slightly, but Minjeong’s voice was calm, almost soothing.
“You’re doing great,” she said, her tone reassuring. Her hands moved with precision, the needle weaving through the torn edges of skin with a finesse that spoke of years of practice. “A few more, and you’ll be good as new.”
The nurse beside her handed her another suture, and Minjeong continued, her focus unbroken until the final knot was tied and the wound was neatly closed.
“There,” Minjeong said, stepping back and pulling off her gloves. “You’ll need to keep it clean and follow up for dressing changes, but it’s looking good.”
The woman gave a weak smile, her thanks barely audible before her wife rushed in, concern etched on her face.
“Are you okay?” the woman’s wife asked, her voice trembling as she enveloped her in a tight hug.
“I’m fine,” the patient murmured, leaning into the embrace.
Minjeong paused, watching the tender moment with a flicker of longing in her hazel eyes. The warmth between them was palpable, a quiet intimacy she hadn’t felt in years. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to swallow the feeling.
She stood, brushing off the moment with professionalism, and gave the couple a polite smile. “A nurse will be by soon with aftercare instructions.” Signaling the nurse to take over, Minjeong excused herself. She walked down the hall, the echo of her footsteps filling the quiet space, her mind drifting back to another time.
Flashback: Medical School Lab
Minjeong sat at a lab station, the exam table before her lined with equipment. Y/N Kang leaned over her shoulder, her expression equal parts amused and serious.
“Alright, Minjeong,” Y/N teased, tapping the clipboard in her hand. “You’re never going to survive this practical if you don’t stop hesitating.”
“I’m not hesitating,” Minjeong shot back, though her voice betrayed her nerves. She carefully examined the anatomy model in front of her, her fingers brushing over the simulated veins.
Y/N smirked. “Sure, you’re not. You’re just… taking an extended moment to question every decision you’re about to make.”
Minjeong shot her a glare, but there was no heat in it. “Some of us like to be thorough.”
“Thorough is good,” Y/N said, stepping closer and pointing to the model. “But confidence is better. Come on, Dr. Kim, show me how you’d draw blood from this.”
Minjeong straightened, took a steadying breath, and positioned the needle. Y/n watched her closely, her expression softening as Minjeong’s hands moved with growing certainty.
“There,” Minjeong said, stepping back.
“Not bad,” Y/N said with a grin. “You didn’t stab the fake patient. I’d call that a win.”
Minjeong rolled her eyes, but a small smile crept onto her face.
They worked for hours, reviewing techniques and quizzing each other on procedures. Between sessions, they’d exchange light jokes, their laughter echoing through the quiet lab.
“You know,” Y/N said at one point, leaning against the table, “you’re going to be a hell of a doctor someday.”
Minjeong blinked, surprised. “You think so?” she blinked again.
Y/N nodded, her smile warm. “Yeah. You’ve got that mix of brains and heart. Patients will trust you. That’s rare.”
Minjeong’s cheeks flushed, and she turned back to the equipment, hiding her smile.
.
.
.
“Do you think I have forgotten about you?”
#aespa imagines#aespa x reader#aespa fanfic#gxg#winter x you#winter aespa#winter x fem reader#winter x reader#aespa winter#kim minjeong x you#kim minjeong x reader#about you winter#spotify#aespa#aespa kpop#kpop x y/n#kpop angst
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The canvas of time
Don't you ever stop to think
We’re just a speck
On the canvas of time
A page in the history book
The fall of the Roman Empire
Is only a couple pages
In our history books
Yet
Generations lived through it
Witnessed the fall
And could do nothing
It makes sense
Why people sometimes call
America
The next Roman Empire
We are slipping
Our hold here not steady
Slowly crumbling
Breaking under the weight
Of selfish
Uncaring
Greedy
Men
Who think
They have a right to
A woman’s body
Who think that
There is no such thing as
Being born in the wrong body
But there is
I was born in the wrong body
About 9% of us were
Now it may seem like a small number
But remember
Some haven’t come out yet
Some haven’t realized it yet
Some can’t find the correct label
So there are more out there
And to get a true grasp—
That's 738 million people out there
Who identify as part of the LGBTQ+ community
That’s over twice
The population of the United States
I hear
Racist and stereotypical jokes
Sexist jokes
Homophobic and transphobic jokes
And many more
In my school halls
Yet we have done nothing to stop this
Our pleas and cries
Go unheard as
We let someone
Who hates diversity and equal rights for all—
Not just men and women
But those of the LGBTQ+ community—
Lead
The only threat to
An authoritarian government
Is education
So he plans to cut their budgets
And he’s targeting even more places—
Hospitals, homes, and hopes
Slashing thirty percent from
Health and Human Services
Like it’s nothing but a line
On a balance sheet
Not the last line of defense
For a child’s first meal
For a mother’s medicine
For a town’s only clinic
He aims for Head Start—
No more early learning
For the kids whose backpacks
Are already too heavy
With hunger and fear
No more warmth
In winter nights—
LIHEAP gone
Furnaces silenced
While billionaires burn
Fuel for fun
He guts the mental health funds
Tears pages from the
Teen Pregnancy Prevention playbook
Cuts the lifeline
To rural hospitals
Where help is hours away
Abroad, he shutters embassies
Silences diplomats
And closes doors
On climate, on gender,
On human rights
Nearly half of all aid gone
Like those lives were footnotes
Not people
Not real
He swings the axe
At Education
Erases oversight
Turns schools into silos
Of ignorance
And calls it freedom
Public Broadcasting—cut
He turns off the lights
At PBS,
Snuffs out
The soft voices
That taught us empathy
And critical thought
The libraries?
Eliminated.
The museums?
Shut.
History itself
Torn from the shelves
Like it’s dangerous
To remember
What came before
The protectors of the people—
The CFPB—
Strangled quietly
No one watches
The money anymore
And worst—
He rewrites the rules
Of who counts
As a public servant
Reinstates Schedule F
Turns jobs into
Political puppets
Loyal only
To him
He builds
A new department
DOGE, they call it—
A joke
Until it isn’t
Until 75%
Of the workforce
Vanishes
Led by tech kings
And opportunists
Who dream
Of automation
Not humanity
And still—
We are only
A speck
On the canvas of time
But even a speck
Can burn
Can scream
Can rage
And maybe
We still can
Fight back
Because fire spreads
And the fire in our throats
Becomes chants
Becomes marches
Becomes strikes
And art
And song
And fists raised
In every broken street
From Detroit to Dakar
From Atlanta to Accra
We rose.
The people rose.
Not with guns—
But with books
And banners
And ballots
And barricades built
From protest signs
And the bones of old lies
They tried
To erase us
Tried to silence
Our history
Our queerness
Our color
Our cries
But we are loud.
We are legend.
We are not going quietly.
Teachers held class
On sidewalks
With chalk and defiance
Kids learned their rights
Before they learned algebra
They carried copies of the Constitution
Like sacred texts
Whispered amendments
Like spells
Mothers turned
Food banks
Into battlegrounds
Gardens into resistance
Nurses refused
To let their patients die quietly
Stood in front of shuttered clinics
Held the line
With latex gloves
And tear-streaked masks
Then
Came the flags.
Not just ours.
But blue ones
And red ones
And yellow stars
From nations who remembered
What fascism looks like
When it crawls in through the cracks
Of democracy
The United Nations
Saw the smoke
Heard the stories
Heard us
And not him
They sent peacekeepers
Doctors
Water
Witnesses
Because we needed the world
And the world
Did not forget us
Treaties were signed
Behind the tyrant’s back
Coalitions born
In the ashes of embargoes
And the youth—
Our youth—
Created new maps
With no borders
Only bridges
Hackers took down
His walls of lies
Leaked his scripts
Exposed the machinery
Of hate
Artists repainted
Government buildings
With truth
And glitter
Poets weaponized language
And dancers stomped on silence
Until it cracked open
The dogs of war
Couldn’t hold
Against the heartbeat
Of humanity
Pounding
In perfect rhythm
And somewhere
In the ruins of DC
A child planted
A sunflower
In the bullet-scarred soil
And named it
Hope
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𝑴𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒍'𝒔
𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 4: 𝓟𝓾𝓵𝓼𝓮
Summary: Why is it so much fun to tease a chronically stoic snowman?
a/n: Welcome to the story, Zayne! I'm not going to lie, Zayne has my whole heart-- his chapters are probably going to be the easiest (or hardest) for me to write, but I promise-- I'll be putting twice as much effort into the other boys, so I hope you guys can never tell the difference. Or at least that you notice it less and less.
Cross-posted on AO3 and Quotev
Word Count: 3.1k
Master List
Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

Aurora was listening to her phone ring in her ear as she rode the elevator up to the right floor. She was relieved to see the doors slide open just as the line connects.
“Hello, you’ve reached Dr. Li’s office--”
“Hey, Yvonne,” Aurora sighs loudly into the receiver, eyeing the analog clock on the wall and grimacing. 6:28-- she was just barely going to make it. “It’s me-- Just coming out of the elevator. Dr. Li hasn’t gone home, has he?”
“Don’t worry,” Nurse Yvonne soothes through the line, amusement lining her tone. “All checkups are in the system, which sends out the notifications. Dr. Li can’t forget them.”
Aurora sighs, her stomach relaxing in her relief.
“Right,” She breathes, then chuckles to herself. “Besides, even if he’s not working, he practically lives in his office.” She mutters with a shake of her head.
After disappearing a decade ago, Zayne has only been back in her life for six months, and he’s already proven how much of a workaholic he is. Not that she sees him often. In fact, aside from being her new primary care physician-- because of course a one-of-a-kind heart condition needs a one-of-a-kind cardiologist-- the last time she remembered seeing him was when they ran into each other three months ago at that new restaurant.
“Or maybe I was never teasing you in the first place.” He’d said then, and she still flushes in embarrassment-- talk about a misunderstanding. How was she supposed to know those snowballs he’d left at her door (without even a note!) were actually--
“You’ve known Dr. Li for a while, right?” Yvonne’s friendly voice cuts through Aurora’s thoughts, bringing her back to the present. “I’ll transfer your call over so you can get started.”
Crap.
“No, don’t--” But the Hospitals automated script was already playing in her ear, leaving her dreading the moment the phone would reconnect. Maybe she could just hang up and--
“Good job,” She heard the still unfamiliar timbre of Dr. Li in her ear. “You were ten seconds away from being a no-show.”
Shit, was she really?
“I fought hard to book the last appointment today-- wait!”
“Don’t worry, you still have five seconds left.”
“Do you need to be so precise?!” Aurora gasps plaintively, even as she starts moving her feet in the direction of his office.
“Three,” He says in her ear, and she breaks into a run. “Two,” he continues as her hand clasps the door handle and she pushes it open.
“Congratulations,” He says sarcastically, his voice echoing through her phone. He taps a button on his keyboard, and she sees her own phone disconnect from the call. “You weren’t late. Is this impeccable timing a new Evol ability of yours?”
Aurora finally looks up, her gaze locking with the hazel green eyes of Dr. Zayne Li framed by silver wire glasses. Though his words suggest humor, his tone is completely detached and his sharp features remain stoic as ever as he observes her from his desk, black hair falling over his forehead.
“I can’t believe you’re just sitting there and counting down,” Aurora frowns irritably, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “What are you, a ticking time bomb?” By the time she turns back to his desk, his eyes are already focussed back on his computer screen, typing away on his keyboard. She eyed him over once more-- he looked okay, all things considered. No new scars, his complexion was still slightly tanned, no signs of exhaustion surprisingly.
“Aren’t I supposed to be examining you, Miss Fabel?” Zayne says flatly, though he doesn’t even pause or look up at her. Aurora bites the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting in an equally dry manner.
“Yvonne said you returned to Linkon at five o’clock this morning,” Aurora says instead, approaching the desk in three steady strides. “And were back to work by seven.” She reaches into her shoulder bag and retrieves a folder with Akso hospital's logo on it, setting it down on the desk.
“She tells you everything.” It’s not a question, nor an accusation-- he doesn’t seem to be concerned about that fact.
“You told her it was a vacation,” Aurora continues, taking a seat across from him. “But you were actually in the Arctic to work on a secret project, right?”
Zayne’s eyes snap to her as the word ‘Arctic’ crosses her lips, his graceful fingers pausing in their keystrokes for a moment. This was the only sign of his surprise, and she had to fight to keep the triumphant grin off her face. It wasn’t every day that she managed to get a reaction out of Dr. Li, and she had sensed something was strange after Yvonne explained why she had to move her evaluation back.
Zayne wasn’t the kind of person to take time off so suddenly, especially not for leisure. A little digging around and a few favors later revealed his paper-trail, and the rest-- okay, the rest was pure conjecture and dramatic teasing to lighten the mood. It’s not like she was trying to stalk him. She was just curious and, frankly, bored out of her mind, being stuck at her desk for the last two weeks.
He only paused for a heartbeat, then he was back to typing on his keyboard, as indifferent as ever.
“Patients shouldn’t be so nosy.”
She pressed her lips together in an attempt to stifle her smug smile. She wanted to feel sorry, truly, but was unable to muster the willpower.
Zayne gives a decisive click on his mouse, finishing whatever task he was working on, and finally turning his full attention onto her.
“Report.” Was his succinct demand, and she knew the conversation was over.
With a deep breath, she turns the folder around and pushes it closer to him. Silently, he opens it up, and while his sharp eyes scan the page, she fidgets with her fingers in her lap.
She always hates this part. Sitting there, waiting for the professional to cast judgment on whether or not she can be trusted to do her job effectively. She knew it was silly-- the numbers were sound, the results spoke for themselves. Despite her condition, her body was operating at a good, healthy capacity, with no signs of distress. She didn’t even need to take suppressants regularly like other’s with her condition-- only in high-stress situations. She knew, on paper, she was perfectly fine.
But still, her traitorous heart pounded inside her chest, every beat a question, a reminder, a threat. And if one doctor thought something was just a bit off, that this or that was just too risky, that’s it. Career ruined, dreams crushed, fears realized--
She always hates this part.
“Any changes recently?” Zayne asks, his eyes still scanning the records, and she breathes in, trying to keep her tone neutral.
“No,” She says and has to bite back a grimace-- that did not sound convincing at all. Zayne must have thought the same thing, because his eyes flick up to hers, a brow arched in quizzical scrutiny.
“No?” He questions, and she curses herself, biting her lip in an effort to brace herself.
“With the Association preparing for the new recruits, the workload has been a bit heavier, and I pulled a few all-nighters,” She sighs, trying to make it sound at least somewhat reasonable while waiting for the inevitable doctor-patient lecture.
Zayne calmly closes the folder in his hands and turns back to his computer to make a note as he speaks.
“Ignoring medical advice like it’s nothing,” He summarizes bluntly in that way that just screams ‘I’m disappointed in you’. “I suppose you’re just here to go through the motions.”
She winces at his retort, his words hitting a bit too close to the mark for her comfort.
A few short keystrokes later, he glances her way once more, then pushes back fully from the desk, rolling his chair to the side. He looks at her one more time as he stops in front of a stool.
“Sit over here, please.” She watches as he unhooks his stethoscope from around his neck, then she makes a questioning noise in her throat. He levels her with an unreadable expression and nods in the direction of the stool. “I need to listen.”
“Oh,” She says, feeling a bit awkward. “Right…”
Obediently, she stands from her chair, pulling the sweater she had donned after work off her shoulders and folding it carefully on the desk. Then she sits on the stool directly in front of Zayne.
There is no hesitation as he places the stethoscope against the left side of her chest, his hands radiating a cold aura while she tries desperately not to stare too intently at his face.
She doesn’t do very well, and his usual quiet stoicism only makes her more nervous, while he listens to her heart.
“This isn’t the first day I’ve had Protocore fragments in my heart, you know,” She starts telling him, needing something other than the deafening silence and the roar of her pulse in her ears. “Even Dr. Dean said I was perfectly fine. And it’s been over a decade.” Was she babbling now? She was babbling, heaven help her. “If anything bad--”
Zayne, to his credit, only gives her a gentle shush, and she immediately snaps her lips shut. With the way she felt her heart jump into her throat, her heart rate was not going to be normal. How was this going downhill so fast?
“Don’t talk. But you should still breathe.” Zayne looks up at her face then, and she thinks there might be a small curve at the corner of his lips, a rare warmth of amusement in his eye.
Aurora hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath until he said something, and she released it immediately, feeling some of the tension in her ease as she did. Zayne takes his eyes away again, back to listening with all the professionalism of his field.
She reminds herself to breathe steadily as the moment drags on. Zayne passes the stethoscope to the center of her chest, mindful of the rigid scar hidden under the buttons of her shirt, and even now she can’t help but watch his expression for any change. It feels like he pauses there for a few moments longer than before, and Aurora fights to keep herself from asking if anything was wrong. His expression wasn’t giving anything away, and it was honestly making her more nervous than Dr. Dean’s expressive brows and thoughtful hums had.
“A fast resting heart rate,” Zayne observes, shifting the stethoscope back to the left. “What riled you up this time?”
Aurora swallows a sudden lump in her throat.
“It’s nothing…” She says. He raises his eyes, and she doesn’t need a change in his icy countenance to know he’s calling her bluff, so she sighs. She should be honest-- he IS her doctor. Aren’t you supposed to be honest with your doctors?
“Fine-- I’m nervous, okay?” She can’t help the defensive edge in her tone and has to turn her head away to keep her resolve from cracking. “I always get like this when I have to see a doctor…” She admits this with a bit more care, trying to convey that it wasn’t anything personal.
She feels a puff of cold air flutter her curls before Zayne pulls back, removing his stethoscope.
“Understandable-- your condition is unique.” He rolls away from her once more, returning to his computer to take down more notes. Aurora tries to be patient-- really, she does-- but she only lasts a few seconds before she gives in to her nerves.
“So?” She prompts him meekly.
“Heart arrhythmia, premature ventricular contractions,” He lists without looking at her, blunt and entirely unsympathetic. “Heart murmurs…”
“R-really?” She knew what those terms meant-- she’d been to enough cardiologists in her life to understand the vocabulary. It wasn’t anything damning and could be explained by her emotional state, she knew, but clustered together like this might make Zayne hold off on her active-duty clearance for a follow-up. Another two weeks trapped at her desk. No, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but she was already so restless--
Zayne shoots her a look over his shoulder.
“Despite being aware of the risks,” He says, turning to face her fully. “You still became a Hunter.”
It’s not a question-- well, actually it is. It’s an attempt on his part to understand, she knows. From his point of view-- a talented doctor that had seen scans of the fragments clustered around her heart, listened to the warning sounds in her chest, and seen the scars that marred her skin-- what she was doing was stupid and outright reckless. No one in their right mind would willfully tempt fate the way she was.
“You can lecture me all you want,” She tells him, looking down at the file still resting on his desk. “But you know why I’m doing this.”
She still dreams of that day. The tight grip on her arm, bony shoulders digging into her ribs, the growling and screeching sounds of incomprehensible monsters, the sudden and unrelenting pain that speared through her chest-- it was a day she would never forget, even if she forgot everything else, and a feeling she never wanted to experience again. No one else should ever have to go through what she and her sisters had.
The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a blade. She doesn’t look back at Zayne-- doesn’t trust herself to remain calm if the expression on his face is as cutting as she thinks it will be. She chooses to burn holes into the folder with her records using her gaze instead, waiting for the moment the gavel falls on her head.
“I wasn’t going to lecture you,” Zayne says finally, and she hears him start tapping at the computer again. “Linkon has been the safest it’s ever been under the watchful eye of our skilled Hunter, Aurora.”
Aurora feels her body jerk and she looks up to the doctor in surprise. His face is as impassive as ever, but… was he trying to be nice to her? Or was that how he really felt?
“I wouldn’t say that,” She tries to deflect the praise awkwardly, unsure what to make of the shift in their conversation. No matter his intentions, he had just given her a compliment, and a compliment from Zayne was a rare occurrence. She didn’t know how to take such a moment, so she defaulted to her usual coping method; humorous redirection.
“But you never know; One day, our skilled Dr. Li may find himself in trouble,” trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled low in her belly, Aurora playfully circles the desk to lean over it into his field of view. “And the Hunter who saves him might just be me.”
Zayne shoots her the flattest expression of the day, and she can’t suppress the grin that splits her face in response. Getting under his skin was always a worthy endeavor and besides, it would be a sweet triumph if her prediction turned out to be true. She never claimed humility was one of her virtues.
“If you wish to hold something over me,” He begins with a shake of his head, his hand reaching into his pocket. “Then I suggest you be careful while out in the field.” He reaches across the desk and places a candy wrapped in a minty green foil on top of her file. “I’d prefer not to see you airlifted to the hospital via helicopter.”
Aurora whips her head back up to look him in the eye-- he’s definitely smiling now. It’s faint, less perceptible than the Mona Lisa, but the warmth of it is unmistakable.
“Do you mean…” She starts, hardly daring to let herself feel relief until she hears him speak the words.
“I’ve just sent the relevant paper-work to your supervisor,” He tells her. “You should be cleared for active duty by tomorrow morning.”
She isn’t sure where she finds the will to keep herself from leaping for joy right there in Zayne’s office, but she does. The smile on her face is still wide enough to hurt, though, so her joy isn’t exactly hidden by any stretch of the imagination.
“Thank you, thank you, Zayne-- Dr. Li!” She barely manages to correct herself, too excited to worry about the formalities. Zayne shakes his head gently.
“Zayne is fine,” He tells her. “It’s getting late-- you should go home. I imagine your sisters are looking to celebrate their new assignments.”
Aurora blinks in surprise. She wasn’t aware that Zayne knew about their graduation from the Academy. Seeing the expression on her face, he raises an eyebrow at her.
“You aren’t the only one keeping tabs, you know.” Aurora has to laugh at his comment. Thinking about it, she shouldn’t be surprised. Zayne was always meticulous about details, even when they were kids.
“I’ll let them know you said congrats,” She says as she rises from her chair, picking up the candy as she did and making sure to grab her sweater.
Just as she’s about to open the door to the hall, she stops, turning back to him.
“Zayne,” She calls out, and waits until he lifts his head to look at her. “You should head home too-- get some rest. Even you have to be exhausted having spent most of the night on a plane only to jump right back into work.”
“I’m fine,” He says immediately, so fast she’s sure it’s an automatic response. “But,” He continues, more thoughtfully. “Your concern is noted.”
Aurora smiles at him, feeling the familiar urge to tease the overly serious man rise in her chest once more.
“Have a good night, Dr. Zayne.”
She slips out of his office without looking back and is walking down the hall, giggling quietly. She’s not sure what his reaction to the new moniker is, but she is sure it’s rankled him just a little. It was a silly term, and one she intended to use until it thoroughly annoyed him, and then once more for good measure. He had told her she could call him Zayne, after all, and the man could stand to be a little more expressive.
Once in the elevator, on the way down to the lobby, Aurora unwraps the candy, and pops it in her mouth, the minty flavor of the treat tasting just a little sweeter than usual.

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On February 10, employees at the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) received an email asking them to list every contract at the bureau and note whether or not it was “critical” to the agency, as well as whether it contained any DEI components. This email was signed by Scott Langmack, who identified himself as a senior adviser to the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). Langmack, according to his LinkedIn, already has another job: He’s the chief operating officer of Kukun, a property technology company that is, according to its website, “on a long-term mission to aggregate the hardest to find data.”
As is the case with other DOGE operatives—Tom Krause, for example, is performing the duties of the fiscal assistant secretary at the Treasury while holding down a day job as a software CEO at a company with millions in contracts with the Treasury—this could potentially create a conflict of interest, especially given a specific aspect of his role: According to sources and government documents reviewed by WIRED, Langmack has application-level access to some of the most critical and sensitive systems inside HUD, one of which contains records mapping billions of dollars in expenditures.
Another DOGE operative WIRED has identified is Michael Mirski, who works for TCC Management, a Michigan-based company that owns and operates mobile home parks across the US, and graduated from the Wharton School in 2014. (In a story he wrote for the school’s website, he asserted that the most important thing he learned there was to “Develop the infrastructure to collect data.”) According to the documents, he has write privileges on—meaning he can input overall changes to—a system that controls who has access to HUD systems.
Between them, records reviewed by WIRED show, the DOGE operatives have access to five different HUD systems. According to a HUD source with direct knowledge, this gives the DOGE operatives access to vast troves of data. These range from the individual identities of every single federal public housing voucher holder in the US, along with their financial information, to information on the hospitals, nursing homes, multifamily housing, and senior living facilities that HUD helps finance, as well as data on everything from homelessness rates to environmental and health hazards to federally insured mortgages.
Put together, experts and HUD sources say, all of this could give someone with access unique insight into the US real estate market.
Kukun did not respond to requests for comment about whether Langmack is drawing a salary while working at HUD or how long he will be with the department. A woman who answered the phone at TCC Management headquarters in Michigan but did not identify herself said Mirksi was "on leave until July." In response to a request for comment about Langmack’s access to systems, HUD spokesperson Kasey Lovett said, “DOGE and HUD are working as a team; to insinuate anything else is false. To further illustrate this unified mission, the secretary established a HUD DOGE taskforce.” In response to specific questions about Mirski’s access to systems and background and qualifications, she said, “We have not—and will not—comment on individual personnel. We are focused on serving the American people and working as one team.”
The property technology, or proptech, market covers a wide range of companies offering products and services meant to, for example, automate tenant-landlord interactions, or expedite the home purchasing process. Kukun focuses on helping homeowners and real estate investors assess the return on investment they’d get from renovating their properties and on predictive analytics that model where property values will rise in the future.
Doing this kind of estimation requires the use of what’s called an automated valuation model (AVM), a machine-learning model that predicts the prices or rents of certain properties. In April 2024, Kukun was one of eight companies selected to receive support from REACH, an accelerator run by the venture capital arm of the National Association of Realtors (NAR). Last year NAR agreed to a settlement with Missouri homebuyers, who alleged that realtor fees and certain listing requirements were anticompetitive.
“If you can better predict than others how a certain neighborhood will develop, you can invest in that market,” says Fabian Braesemann, a researcher at the Oxford Internet Institute. Doing so requires data, access to which can make any machine-learning model more accurate and more monetizable. This is the crux of the potential conflict of interest: While it is unclear how Langmack and Mirski are using or interpreting it in their roles at HUD, what is clear is that they have access to a wide range of sensitive data.
According to employees at HUD who spoke to WIRED on the condition of anonymity, there is currently a six-person DOGE team operating within the department. Four members are HUD employees whose tenures predate the current administration and have been assigned to the group; the others are Mirski and Langmack. The records reviewed by WIRED show that Mirski has been given read and write access to three different HUD systems, as well as read-only access to two more, while Langmack has been given read and write access to two of HUD’s core systems.
A positive, from one source’s perspective, is the fact that the DOGE operatives have been given application-level access to the systems, rather than direct access to the databases themselves. In theory, this means that they can only interact with the data through user interfaces, rather than having direct access to the server, which could allow them to execute queries directly on the database or make unrestricted or irreparable changes. However, this source still sees dangers inherent in granting this level of access.
“There are probably a dozen-plus ways that [application-level] read/write access to WASS or LOCCS could be translated into the entire databases being exfiltrated,” they said. There is no specific reason to think that DOGE operatives have inappropriately moved data—but even the possibility cuts against standard security protocols that HUD sources say are typically in place.
LOCCS, or Line of Credit Control System, is the first system to which both DOGE operatives within HUD, according to the records reviewed by WIRED, have both read and write access. Essentially HUD’s banking system, LOCCS “handles disbursement and cash management for the majority of HUD grant programs,” according to a user guide. Billions of dollars flow through the system every year, funding everything from public housing to disaster relief—such as rebuilding from the recent LA wildfires—to food security programs and rent payments.
The current balance in the LOCCS system, according to a record reviewed by WIRED, is over $100 billion—money Congress has approved for HUD projects but which has yet to be drawn down. Much of this money has been earmarked to cover disaster assistance and community development work, a source at the agency says.
Normally, those who have access to LOCCS require additional processing and approvals to access the system, and most only have “read” access, department employees say.
“Read/write is used for executing contracts and grants on the LOCCS side,” says one person. “It normally has strict banking procedures around doing anything with funds. For instance, you usually need at least two people to approve any decisions—same as you would with bank tellers in a physical bank.”
The second system to which documents indicate both DOGE operatives at HUD have both read and write access is the HUD Central Accounting and Program System (HUDCAPS), an “integrated management system for Section 8 programs under the jurisdiction of the Office of Public and Indian Housing,” according to HUD. (Section 8 is a federal program administered through local housing agencies that provides rental assistance, in the form of vouchers, to millions of lower-income families.) This system was a precursor to LOCCS and is currently being phased out, but it is still being used to process the payment of housing vouchers and contains huge amounts of personal information.
There are currently 2.3 million families in receipt of housing vouchers in the US, according to HUD’s own data, but the HUDCAPS database contains information on significantly more individuals because historical data is retained, says a source familiar with the system. People applying for HUD programs like housing vouchers have to submit sensitive personal information, including medical records and personal narratives.
“People entrust these stories to HUD,” the source says. “It’s not data in these systems, it’s operational trust.”
WASS, or the Web Access Security Subsystem, is the third system to which DOGE has both read and write access, though only Mirski has access to this system according to documents reviewed by WIRED. It’s used to grant permissions to other HUD systems. “Most of the functionality in WASS consists of looking up information stored in various tables to tell the security subsystem who you are, where you can go, and what you can do when you get there,” a user manual says.
“WASS is an application for provisioning rights to most if not all other HUD systems,” says a HUD source familiar with the systems who is shocked by Mirski’s level of access, because normally HUD employees don’t have read access, let alone write access. “WASS is the system for setting permissions for all of the other systems.”
In addition to these three systems, documents show that Mirski has read-only access to two others. One, the Integrated Disbursement and Information System (IDIS), is a nationwide database that tracks all HUD programs underway across the country. (“IDIS has confidential data about hidden locations of domestic violence shelters,” a HUD source says, “so even read access in there is horrible.”) The other is the Financial Assessment of Public Housing (FASS-PH), a database designed to “measure the financial condition of public housing agencies and assess their ability to provide safe and decent housing,” according to HUD’s website.
All of this is significant because, in addition to the potential for privacy violations, knowing what is in the records, or even having access to them, presents a serious potential conflict of interest.
“There are often bids to contract any development projects,” says Erin McElroy, an assistant professor at the University of Washington. “I can imagine having insider information definitely benefiting the private market, or those who will move back into the private market,” she alleges.
HUD has an oversight role in the mobile home space, the area on which TCC Management, which appears to have recently wiped its website, focuses. "It’s been a growing area of HUD’s work and focus over the past few decades," says one source there; this includes setting building standards, inspecting factories, and taking in complaints. This presents another potential conflict of interest.
Braesemann says it’s not just the insider access to information and data that could be a potential problem, but that people coming from the private sector may not understand the point of HUD programs. Something like Section 8 housing, he notes, could be perceived as not working in alignment with market forces—“Because there might be higher real estate value, these people should be displaced and go somewhere else”—even though its purpose is specifically to buffer against the market.
Like other government agencies, HUD is facing mass purges of its workforce. NPR has reported that 84 percent of the staff of the Office of Community Planning and Development, which supports homeless people, faces termination, while the president of a union representing HUD workers has estimated that up to half the workforce could be cut The chapter on housing policy in Project 2025—the right-wing playbook to remake the federal government that the Trump administration appears to be following—outlines plans to massively scale back HUD programs like public housing, housing assistance vouchers, and first-time home buyer assistance.
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Successful! Llewyn Davis AU headcanons


Llewyn Davis x gn! reader
Genre: fluff, slight angst
Summary: what if Llewyn became a famous musician?
Warnings: mention of murder
Word count: 1088
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It was just another slightly drunken, shitty night at the gaslight for Llewyn. Nearly empty bucket, scattered clapping that died out after a second. Except it wasn't. He didn't know it was the night that would change his life.
You were sitting in the audience. You weren't a regular at the gaslight, not at all, but tonight you were just craving a strong drink and company. The other bars in the neighborhood were too loud and bright for you that night, so you settled on the dim, depressing, "folk song playing" place.
You clapped politely for everyone, not listening, as you nursed your bitter drink and bitter mood. Until something caught your attention. A handsome (albeit a bit shabby) man with the voice of an angel, who you likened in your mind to a wet cat.
You didn't listen to the words he said. Not that you didn't try, but his voice awoke something within you. As a songwriter on a slump, you jumped the chance and started scribbling on a napkin from the table. Just whatever came to mind. Nothing would come of it anyway, but it's good for your writer's block.
When he left the stage, you downed the rest of your drink and hurried towards him. You slowed before he saw you, trying to maintain your cool.
"Davis, right?" You asked.
"Yeah," he answered and you extended your arm to him while introducing yourself. He shook it tentatively.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
Llewyn thought about it. He automated to say no, but reconsidered. He had nothing better to do, could definitely use that drink, and you looked pretty damn good. So he accepted.
After some conversation (he didn't remember anyone being that nice to him for a long time), you asked him what were his plans for the night. He told you that he was staying with a couple of friends, those Jim and Jean couple, and they happened to pass by.
Jim was nudged by Jean towards Llewyn and awkwardly told him that actually, he couldn't stay on their couch tonight. Jean made some plans. You could see Llewyn's face fall, and when Jim left he just stared downwards quietly, in embarrassment.
"Correction: I'm not staying with them tonight." He mumbled.
You took a deep breath. "You could stay with me, if you'd like. My boyfriend-" you cleared your throat, "Ex boyfriend, just moved out and took all his shit from the study with him. So I got an empty guest room." (Why were you doing this? He's a stranger for fuck's sake!)
He looked at you, surprised. A quick mental calculation showed he had no one else to turn to that night. What's the worst that could happen? You'd kill him? He'd been thinking of joining Mike anyway. So he accepted.
Suffice to say, you didn't murder him. A while has passed, and Llewyn has become your roommate, practically. Yeah, he couldn't help much with the rent, but he did make that up by cleaning a lot, which sometimes is even better.
(Also, it was the 60s, rent wasn't that fucking high. It was about less than half of what it is today.) ANYWAY
One day, while dusting around, Llewyn found a notebook of yours. He didn't mean to peek, it just fell open or something. It was your poetry and songwriting notebook. By the time you came back home he had composed 3 of the songs there and was flooding you with questions about the chorus of a fourth.
You never thought to show it to him, you were just writing to your drawer! They weren't even good, or complete! You wanted to snatch it away from his hands and tell him to forget about it, but you've never seen him so happy. So alive.
He begged you to let him take your songs to his agent. How could you say no to him? Especially to those puppy eyes.
His agent was glad to hear Llewyn has partnered up again. He heard him out, and set him up with some producer. Finally, Llewyn Davis seemed like a good enough investment. And that's how it started.
From then on, Llewyn's career blossomed. He recorded an album (didn't sell away the rights this time) and the money started flowing. He preformed in front of larger and larger audiences, and you were always at his side.
He often felt like he didn't deserve any of that. He was told, so many times, that he was absolute crap and he started to believe it. But you were there to remind him. He deserved the world. Little did you know the only thing he truly wanted to deserve was you.
You inspired each other, creating more music and flowing with good energy. It took him a while, but when he finally found the courage, finally deemed himself worthy, he took a risk.
He asked you out.
When you started laughing at him, Llewyn's heart dropped. He's fucked his life over, again, in the worst way possible. You're going to leave and everything will go down the drain.
"Of course!!!" You said. "I'd love to go out with you, I thought you'd never ask! But oh my god your face..." you giggled. He sighed in relief, clutching his chest. You came closed and hugged him. He held you very tightly, smiling at your laughter.
That night you shared your first (and long awaited) kiss. A few months later you put out an album very different than both your writing so far. It was passionate, sensual, romantic and warm. One of the songs from it became the hit of the decade, and was played at countless weddings. You thought it was a beautiful way to immortalise your love.
And your love was immortalised alright! With two rings, nonetheless. Your wedding was covered by every newspaper in the country. Llewyn didn't like the attention all that much, though.
His solution? Another, more quiet and private wedding. This one ended up being your real anniversary.
Ever since Llewyn started earning a reasonable income, he insisted on paying for everything. Doesn't matter that you both earned a significant amount from the music, and that you joined bank accounts. He wanted to thank you for all that time you took care of him. So no, lunch is on him. Finally being able to provide for you made him really happy and proud (not that you needed any help).
You were one of the only "celebrity couples" who were genuinely happy together. You truly, deeply, loved each other, and when things would become too much you would take a vacation. Just the two of you. As it always was.
Llewyn made it in life, that was all agreed upon. Yeah, he became a famous musician, but the only thing he cared about - was you.
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No pressure tags:
@eyelessfaces @alwritey-aphrodite @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @romanarose @spider-starry
I hope you like it, everybody❤️
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The Black Market
Space is big. I mean... really big. Like even bigger than a really big rock.
And boring.
But sometimes you get an encounter...
Boring is the worst part.
You can go into space and there's all sorts of cool stuff like the microgravity, the amazing view... and after a while it's just dark and the computer goes 'Boop' every quarter time unit, and this amazing experience collapses into the same space as e.g., being in a nursing home until someone tells you that you've arrived, and you can go look at cool stuff again.
Hence Interstellar Cruise Liners.
Space travel is still not cheap - even a run up and down a space elevator needs paying for, so you want to take as much cargo and paying passengers as possible.
With automated shipyards, you can just pour money and resources into building a truly huge passenger module, stack it on top of some cargo modules and clamp on as many drive units and crew modules as you need.
Load everyone in, let them ooh and ahhh at the view for a day then spin up a gateway and fire the whole thing into superluminal space and drop it out around any world you have a beacon for.
The really great thing is even if you lose the beacon in transit, you are a beacon. Just drop out and wait. Anything goes wrong, the home office can send a rescue ship after you.
In the meantime, there's the ship's amenities: The lush mossy jungle deck, the galactic beach, the games rooms, the dining groves, the on-board university - Even the theatre for live and recorded entertainment.
Still passengers like to have an experience, and so the Sunward Sail out of Ggxcha with seven hundred passengers dropped out of Superluminal space, the bow wave of exotic particles heating the backstop up to a glowing red.
The Sunward Sail dropped into a lazy orbit around an ancient planet, orbited by a big station trailing glittering wreckage - Obviously something dramatic had gone down here.
The lights were on though - So not a derelict station - and the docking was smooth, so the first set of tourists stepped onto the station, onto the Market deck.
So much to see! So much to do!
Madam Shi-shi's bakery run by a happy Tsin selling classic Tsin pastries, and exotic purple rolls with various filling and other goods.
The Top n' Charmed Quarks Bar with the scarred Atrix obviously a veteran of some war or calamity, serving exotic and colourful drinks:
"Dare you try the Human Menu?" she suggests, pulling it out. "Watch out, the Temple of Shir-li is banned in twelve systems..."
They even have a chance wheel!
Then there's Honest Gar's Genuine Human Antiquities, the wares spilling out from the shop in a riot of colours and patinas, where one can buy a genuine antique reproduction Victorian Empire TV, or a genuine Human Made Brown's Kitchen Imp that can tell you how to make a thousand and five human style recipes with a little sheet glass projection hologram of a human in glasses and red horns. So quaint!
And if you get to the end of the market, or one of the traders tips you off, you can find...
The Black Market
There's someone there, a weathered old... unless they were young... spacer, in a patched and scuffed EVA undersuit with 43 on the chest, who'll spin you unbelievable tales for a couple of creds dropped into the old cracked space helmet he keeps on the table next to him and if you ask, he'll let you in -
The back rooms are dark, rowdy, and full of the coolest stuff. There are lots of humans here, and there's an Atrix little guy, with a set of goggles, riding low on the belly of this Atrix Mech.
If you're lucky you can see one of the humans with some grudge square off agianst the little guy. He's surrounded by switches and levers, with a little pair of waldos.
The mech lurches to life, an angry display on its faceplace, growling in a rattling synthetic voice:
Combat mode! Engaged! Polaron Claws. Charging.
It's claws glowing white hot as it swings into motion, and the Human pulls a little cobbled together blaster out and takes a pot shot. The Mech lurches and sparks, warning lights flashing ominously...
Reactor. Overheat. Reactor. Overheat. Emergency. Venting.
The stricken mecha whirls, the little guy screaming in rage and flipping clunky archaic controls... And then when everything seems to be about to go wrong, the mech begins to spray clouds of vapour from it's vents and the alerts wind down, while the scurrilous human takes the opportunity to flee.
It's very dramatic.
And after that you can buy a souvenir arm patch of Cat Fantastic's Mecha with glow in the dark Polaron claws, before it's time to head back - Don't forget to pick up a packed lunch from Madame Shi-Shi's!
--
"Ugh." said Dave, "I don't mind the tourist run but it ruins my appetite" she muttered.
"You shouldn't snack on your own stock." says Big Ma, touching up Gondy's makeup.
Phalanges, helmet off, chin up and enjoying the cool air blower form the converted life support rig that they'd modded into the mecha grunts noncommittally.
"How are we doing boss?" Raxy asks, potting up souvenir Tsin fungus with Atrix moss and human basil.
O'Patel flashes an OK hand sign. "We are... hitting the funding goals. One more shift - This time it's for the bonus pay." he says with satisfaction and Big Ma looks around, checking everyone's ready as someone helps Cat Fantastic back into his cockpit basket and Gondy makes sure there's enough grenadine left.
"OK people... Showtime!"
#station stories#dave the human#phalanges mittens#cat fantastic#humans being weird little guys#atrix#tsin#humans are space orcs
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