#Analyze Radiation Level

[mariasont]

One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of —"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him — like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere, no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just, just, slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's — what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then, oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his —

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I — I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[elysiansparadise]

Astro Observations XII

🖤People with Mars-Vesta aspects like sexual exclusivity and are not the biggest fans of one-night stands. For them it is crucial to give themselves completely to a person who also gives themselves to them, to be with someone with whom they can have a deep connection beyond sex on the physical level, they long to be one with the other. They love to take their sweet time worshiping their partner's body, discovering it and finding those points that give them the most pleasure. 

🖤People with Sun making a biquintile or quintile Jupiter have the quality of easily bringing light to other people, they tend to be quite likable without trying and make positive and impactful impressions on other people. These natives radiate a good vibe without needing to brag about it, regardless of their personalities, people can find themselves very happy to have them by their side, likewise, they can notice that other people's mood improves after spending time with them.

🖤Having a Retrograde Ceres makes you have a tendency to procrastinate. This dwarf planet represents productivity and the willingness to create. Being retrograde can indicate that despite feeling inspired or motivated, you postpone doing something or that when you are about to do it you feel a block. This is also visible if Ceres makes a tense aspect to the Moon, Mars or Saturn.

🖤The loneliness experienced by those with Saturn in water signs or houses is something they feel very conflicted about. It is described as a bittersweet feeling between something that, although it causes us heaviness, gives us comfort to finally be able to have a moment of tranquility, in which we do not have our defenses up or put on a mask. They find comfort in the idea of ​​being safe from betrayal, pain and safe from those looks or prejudiced comments of another, yet it creates a deep void in them, making them wonder if the day will come when they can feel safe next to someone. A loneliness that, although heartbreaking and overwhelming on those cold and desolate nights, gives us peace of mind. One that we seem to look for but it is nothing more than a habit ingrained over the years.

🖤One of the placements that can reflect great intelligence in the chart is Saturn in the 9th house. Natives with this placement are people with very strong criteria, precisely their straight to the point attitude, their practical way of seeing things makes them not easily believe what others say and constantly question things or why they are that way. They are critical people, with premeditated thinking and highly analytical, they also have a touch of sarcasm and a slightly bitter yet charming humor in their own way.

🖤People with tense aspects between Moon/Venus - Jupiter are people who tend to give too much of themselves in their relationships, some of them even feel that they have to do things to deserve the love of others, going out of their way to help them, being there for them no matter what happens. This placement usually gives people who are too devoted, often falling into the dynamic of giving a lot without receiving the same in return. What is admirable about these people is that they want to make sure that the people they love always feel loved, the make sure their special ones never doubt their feelings.

🖤Having Virgo or Scorpio in the 5th house makes you a fairly selective person in terms of romance. Not only because they recognize your value, but because in the field of romance these natives are highly observant and critical, they see through your masks, they easily perceive if others are only adapting their personalities to something they like more and believe me, there is nothing they hate more than that. Likewise, when these people become interested in someone they are quite intense, they like to observe and analyze a lot about their person, they like to feel that they know them completely.

🖤Natives with Pluto-Chiron aspects have a strong loyalty to their loved ones and one of the things they are most clear about is that they want to be there with them, especially in the bad times. They learned to deal with things on their own, feeling very alone and suffocated in an ambush of ​​tense emotions as they went through their hardships and pain. Precisely because they know what it feels like, they want to do things differently with the people they love and provide them with strength and support in those darkest moments. They have the particularity of empowering, supporting and giving courage to the people they help.

🖤The aspects between Rising-Mars make the natives face life with strength, defensiveness and tenacity. They dislike appearing weak, giving any sign of weakness or doubt. They will always prefer to face things directly, without beating around the bush, hypocrisy or dishonesty. They are the kind of people who say: 'I'd rather tell you a truth that hurts than a lie.' Their identity is very strong and they do not feel the need to change to fit in with others.

🖤When the ruler of the 4th house is in the 9th, 11th or 12th house, two things in particular can happen, the first is that the person may end up living far from their homeland, city of origin or even country and the second is that they feel a disconnection either with your family or place of origin. This is because the 4th house tells us what we call home. Being in the 9th house, the person can find that feeling of home in complex, distant things or in another place. When it is in the 11th house tells us about finding family in friends or feeling an emotional disconnection with home. And in the 12th house it tells us about a detachment from home, by representing long distances, it could suggest living in a place far from your birthplace.

🖤People with Moon making a quincunx, opposition or square with Mercury may feel a block when wanting to talk about their emotions or personal things with some members of their family, often the mother specifically. They feel like they can't understand them or won't even make the effort to listen to them, so they refrain from opening up emotionally. It is likely that throughout their lives they have experienced not being able to find a middle ground with their mother or simply feeling very different from her.

🖤When we find the Part of Fortune in the 6th house, this is a great indicator of being able to make money through our hobbies or being able to start a successful business that is related to one of our talents, skills or interests. This is because with the derivative house system, the 6th house = the 2nd house of the 5th house. We can create something stable and profitable from our hobbies, being able to attract a lot of abundance. This can be magnified if we have: Jupiter or Venus making harmonious aspects with Part of Fortune. Part of Fortune in Taurus, Aquarius or Capricorn.

🖤Having the ruler of the 4th house in the 10th house makes the native have the feeling of having grown up before their time and of not having been able to fully enjoy their childhood or young ages. Many of them could have been children who learned to be aware of the problems that were happening around them in order to survive and/or help one of their parents. Some are even working from a young age.

🖤Part of Fortune in the 8th house tells us that your future spouse can be someone with a great economic position and not only that, but stand out for their good management of finances and have a talent or ability for business. They will be able to give you all the stability possible in the relationship and not only in the economic field, but also in love.

🖤When the 10th house ruler is very well aspected, natives can have a great relationship with their bosses or authority figures, seeing in them a figure they can trust and, sometimes even a friend. There can be a mutual admiration, a bond formed by the respect they have for each other and that feeling of being able to rely on them.

🖤People with Ceres in the 3rd house stand out for their creativity and for exemplifying the term 'idea machine'. They are people with a great imagination and ability to bring their ideas to life. They really like to nourish their minds, acquiring knowledge in the areas that interest them. They are open-minded people who love to talk and connect with people different from themselves. There is something about the way you speak that is comforting and very pleasant to others, from your voice to your way of addressing others.

🖤People with Chiron making a tense aspect with Midheaven may greatly doubt their abilities to go far or obtain what they want, often feeling that they progress more slowly than other people. Some of them fear being in the public eye for fear of being judged and prefer to do things behind the scenes. They likely felt judged by a parent or family member when they were very young, which could lead to the insecurities they carry as adults.

🖤Saturn-Midheaven aspects make the native a person with a great work ethic, someone who is clear about their ambitions and knows that they will do what is necessary to make them a reality. They give the impression of being very capable, strong-willed, persevering and experts in their field, becoming highly respected and admired by the people with whom they interact. There is a vibe of confidence and professionalism in them, often being intimidating to the people they interact with in the workplace.

🖤There is something incredibly magnetic about natives who have the ruler of the 8th house in the 8th house. Without intending it, they have the ability to easily attract the gaze of other people, to catch their attention and retain it for a long time, this thanks to their sex appeal, great attractiveness and the power they emanate in their aura. Many of them can stand out with more daring styles, clothes in cold tones or darker shades of any color. On the other hand, many of them can be seen attracting many people who may have a tendency to become obsessed with them or feel very intensely towards them.

Venus Return Chart notes...

🖤Just as we can find and interpret our Solar Return Chart or Lunar Return Chart, it is also possible to make our Venus return chart [You can check yours here]. This Return tells us about the way in which we will experience relationships throughout the period that the return chart lasts, how we will use our femenine energy and how we deal with financial matters. The following observations are focused purely on love.

🤍The Sun in this chart represents our focus on Venusian themes throughout that period. From how we focus our Venusian energy, our way of perceiving and experiencing romance during that period, or even how open we are to the idea of ​​having a relationship during those dates. By sign it tells us about the way in which we express that energy, while by house it tells us in which areas of our life we ​​can find someone and the areas in which we will mostly use our Venusian energy.

🩶In the 1st house: We can have a glow up. We will try to be more in touch with our feminine energy. We can put our self-love into practice more. We will take more care of our appearance. We can more easily attract the attention, love or interest of others. Our well-being and comfort are prioritized before wanting to please others.

🩶In the 2nd house: You will pamper yourself and you can use a lot of your money to buy small things that really make you happy. You will choose to implement self-love exercises into your routine, from phrases or small activities. You will fulfill your whims more. It is likely to be a period in which you receive many gifts or material reassurance. You may feel more aligned with your feminine energy.

🩶In the 12th house: You can dedicate a lot of time to expressing yourself through art or you can start practicing one. It will be a period in which you rethink what you really want from a relationship. It is an excellent period to manifest your ideal relationship or partner. You can choose to give yourself a break from romance or from pursuing it, taking a rather passive attitude about it.

🤍The Moon tells us about needs, both what we need to come into contact with our Venus energy during these months, to what we need in our relationships during the period of this Venus Return. 

🩶1st house: We need to focus on ourselves. Prioritize and satisfy our needs of all kinds. Be gentler with ourselves. Keep in mind what you really want both for yourself and in your relationships. You may need to feel protected, cared for, and treated gently or delicately in your relationships.

🖤 Aries Moon: You need decision, fast and safe things. You need to give yourself time and surround yourself with people with whom you feel you can truly be yourself. Loud and noticeable displays of affection, a relationship in which you do not feel hidden or hidden. You need to feel that your relationship is moving forward, the feeling that things are very static or routine can be the cause of conflicts between you and your partner.

🩶3rd house: We will need to feel that freedom to express love and our feelings on the surface, to make us feel that they really want to understand and understand how to love us better. We may need more constant communication than usual. There will be more need for verbal reassurance. We may want to open ourselves to forming friendships or relationships if we are introverted or single.

🖤Gemini Moon: We will need to be with people to connect with on an intellectual level, we may seek more of a mental connection than an emotional one. We'll want to focus on making memories, from experiencing new things together to having plans outside the home or out of the ordinary. There is a deep desire to know others completely and to feel that others show the same curiosity.

🩶6th house: There is a strong need to take care of and pamper your body, as well as to include things and activities that give you peace and tranquility in your routine. You need to feel your relationship progress little by little and feel the support of your partner. It is possible that during this time your relationship and/or vision of love takes on a more serious and focused long-term vision.

🖤Virgo Moon:You need to feel that your partner is really working and focusing on this relationship. It is time to establish boundaries and for both of you to make your limits clear, as well as to have serious conversations. You will feel the need to include your partner in your daily life and make plans together so that you are both comfortable and happy. You need subtle reassurance through your partner's actions or small details.

🤍Venus remains in the same sign since this is its return chart, however, we should pay close attention to the house position and aspects that it makes. It will tell us in more detail about our romantic life throughout that period, how we will experience it and the kind of people we will be with. Likewise, also in what areas of our life we ​​will mostly use our Venus energy.

🖤5th house: Not only will our love life be very active, but we will have a high degree of appeal throughout those months. We will attract many potential suitors and we will be more willing to romance. We can attract fun, entertaining and very passionate romances. There is a high probability of going on many dates and having many romantic plans if you have a romantic partner. We can meet a strong potential partner. We will feel more creative and for people with an artistic interest, they may feel that during this return they will create things that they consider truly beautiful as well as dedicate more time and attention to creating things that make them happy.

🖤7th house:For those who have a partner, their relationship can fill them with happiness, they will enjoy many meaningful moments with their partner and they will feel genuinely comfortable with them. While for singles there is a great chance of meeting someone with whom to have a formal relationship or someone who simply checks all the boxes. They will attract more balanced relationships in which they will feel that they do not give more than they receive and in which they feel truly loved and desired. Likewise, you will feel that it will be a period by which you will have already defined everything you truly want and value in a relationship and won't settle for less than that.

🖤8th house: You will attract intense, passionate romances that may be emotionally deeper than you ever experienced. You will feel like experiencing that kind of love that leaves you breathless, that changes you completely and in which you share an intimate and meaningful bond with the other person. You will have a high sex appeal and you will attract people who feel very intensely for you, that kind of connection in which both of you cannot sleep because you have each other in your thoughts, the one in which a single touch from the other is enough to feel that your skin bristles and craves for more.

═ Some observations ═

🩶I have seen in charts of people starting relationships: Venus conjunct the angles, specifically the DSC or MC. Pluto in the 5th or 7th house. A strongly placed 7th house ruler, either making lots of aspects, exalted or as one of the dominant planets in the chart.

🩶Tense aspects between Sun/Venus with Neptune can cause these existential crises regarding what we know about relationships and we can feel lost as to what we are looking for or want from a relationship.

🩶Having Vertex conjunct with Venus or the North Node tells us about the arrival of a person with whom the connection will be very strong, passionate and loving, something unforgettable for both of us. Regardless of whether you continue this relationship or not, you will leave a very special and deep mark on each other.

🩶Having the North node in the 9th house tells us about having a connection/relationship that will give us with great learning. Besides them, it will be something like we have never experienced, it can bring us not only lessons but also fun and a strong feeling of euphoria and content. It will be a relationship that will show us new sides of love and even of ourselves.

🩶Pluto in the 1st or 7th house may lead to having either a relationship with strong emotional intensity and desire, or a karmic relationship with someone to whom we can become quite attached.

As an aditional note, I truly recommend checking out this @a-d-nox 's post. I consider it to be a great post about this return chart.

[dragonsondragons]

Part 1 - That Look In Your Eye | You Should Probably Leave series

You make big, bad, Jack Abbot nervous in a way he really isn’t used to. He fumbles his first attempt to invite you to the party, so Dr. Ellis gives him a crash course in how to get the girl.

Word Count: 3.9k

Content: yearning!jack, medical social worker!reader, reader is Jack’s work crush, slow burn, Jack on his #healingjourney, awkward abbot, unspecified age gap, named reader because I dont like using y/n (named her Nel, short for Eleanor. And yes Nel will be friends with Mel)

Read the Prologue! / Masterlist / Taglist

Author's Note: Sorry this took me sooo long to get together! I have the next few parts mapped out well and and mostly written tbh but was struggling so hard with how to introduce their interaction and dynamic in this part. Also, I would highly highly recommend reading the prologue before this part. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

In the Pitt, Jack was seen as a very confident man. He knows exactly what he’s capable of and precisely how to execute it most efficiently. It's one thing unshaken in all his years practicing medicine. No matter how low he’s felt– in war zones, in the pitt– he always stays steady under fire. Words and procedures are tools. He uses them to achieve a goal: keep the patient alive. Be calm, cool, concise. 

It's something he learned in combat, that medics aren't just healers and fighters. They are a source of confidence for the whole platoon. They set the tone. A force multiplier. He was supposed to keep a level head and know what to do, no hesitating. If he stayed cool everyone else would follow suit. 

He had to to seem confident on the outside, but never let himself feel it too much on the inside. If you feel too confident, you start to forget that there is just one critical moment, one mistake, standing between your patient and death.

Jack couldn't help but feel that way now, like he was one mistake from ruining his chances with you. Deep breath. No ones going to die, he repeats in his head. It's one of the constant reminders he’s had to give himself when anxiety spikes. Another deep breath.

He was supposed to be a confident guy. Asking out the girl you liked shouldn’t be so hard. 

But there was a disconnect for him, between what was shown to the world– a self assured master of his craft– and what he felt on the inside. Analyzing every little mistake so that he can be better for next time. Never letting himself feel too secure, always striving for better. Battling between his desires and that loud voice inside, telling him to isolate. 

Because of that voice his social confidence was a lot more shakey than his work persona. For the most part he can fake it till he makes it or keep enough distance from people that it doesn't matter. But then there was you, slowly drawing him out of his shell. Bit by bit so that he barely saw it coming until it hit him like a truck. He should have seen it a long time ago. But he likes you and there's no denying it now. He's decided he's gonna try and do something about it, and that requires some guts and smooth talking he’s not sure if he's capable of.

He pulls into his parking space in the hospital garage, yearning for you hard. He worked himself up all the way here and now that it's at the forefront of his brain he can’t resist the urge to be near you. 

You’ve got the guts, he tells himself, willing it to be true. Just invite her to the party. Just be yourself? Is that who he wanted to show her? This fucked up guy who can barely work up the courage to ask her one simple phrase. There it goes again; his mind working against him.

He walked in through the ambulance bay, backpack slung over one shoulder. Immediately, he saw you. You were sitting at the hub checking the patient census that had just come into your inbox from the day shift and radiating something bright. Maybe it was just him who saw you as the sun.

Now or never. He walked towards the large central desk and slung his backpack under an inner counter. He leaned down on his elbows behind the computer you worked at, thrumming his fingers against the counter top. “Hey, You.” 

His familiar greeting made your stomach flip and you couldn't help but smile. It had been a few days since your shifts had aligned. “Good evening, Dr Abbot,” you hum to him, eyes tearing away from your screen to look up into his hazel eyes. 

Suddenly his pep talk to himself in the car flew out the window. With you sitting right before him, everything inside his mind was gone. You sure didn't mind gazing into Jack’s eyes, in fact you enjoyed it, but the silence was dragging on so you broke it. 

“Missed you at lunch yesterday. I had to eat with Shen and he would not shut up about a big high pressure weather system moving in or something.” There was a pressure system building in Jack's chest. He wanted to respond but was caught up inside his mind. Missed you at lunch, echoed in his mind. She missed me? More pressure flared. 

“Everything okay, Jack?” you asked, head tilting as you looked at him so caringly. 

“Huh?”

“Seems like you’re somewhere else right now. And that look in your eyes, there’s something you’re not telling me.” She could always read him like a book. 

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Got a lot on my mind right now.” He was going to continue to deflect, as usual. But she was already onto him. This was his chance. Might as well just come out with it. “Actually I uh was wondering of yo–” Your pager screamed out through the ED and you looked down at it on your waistband. He deflated. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, dayshift always has them on the highest volume.” You read the message coming in and started gathering stuff from the desk around you. “I have to get going to see this patient before discharge. What was it you were wondering though?”  

“Uh… I, um. I was just gonna ask if you, um. Brought your lunch today?”  Fuck. He lost all his steam when that pager went off.

“You know I always do.” You were standing up from the swivel chair now. “Same time as usual? Just page me if you're not gonna be able to make it?” He gives you one of his awkward thumbs up with both hands and says “See you up there,” as you turn to go see the patient. You smile back over your shoulder at him.

He leaned down and put his head between his hands on the counter top while chastising himself for his failed attempt at asking you out. 

He hadn’t registered Dr. Ellis off to the other side of the hub during this whole interaction, having been so focused on whatever it is between him and you that draws him in. A laugh burst out that snapped him out of his pity party. “What the hell was that, Abbot?” said Ellis, thoroughly amused at seeing a guy like Dr. Abbot who is so typically composure and competence fumble. “You can do a REBOA in your sleep but can’t flirt with a woman?”

He lifted his head slightly and glared. “Who said I was flirting?”

“Well, you certainly weren’t successfully flirting. But it would take a fool not to see that you like her.” He laid his head back down and groaned at that. Despite his current embarrassment, Jack liked working with Dr. Ellis more than most other people. He appreciated her no nonsense approach and deft skills. And the fact that she's not afraid of him. She will tell it to him like it is. He knew that interaction was bad, but if Ellis was confirming… then it was really terrible. 

“I don't know, I just… panicked.” How can he stay so calm when someone’s bleeding to death but couldn't do this one thing when faced with you. 

“Did you bring your lunch?!” she echoed him. “That was really what you came up with? What were you really trying to ask her?” He hesitated. But Ellis seemed to already know so much about this whole situation. Guess he wasn’t as close to the chest with his crush as he thought. Maybe he should let her give him some advice. 

“I’m having a party at my place soon, and I was trying to ask her to come,” he admitted.

Ellis raised one eyebrow. “You're having a party?” She never thought she would hear that come out of his mouth. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I'm having a party for everyone from work, you’re invited. That's not the point. Point is I had my chance and I chickened out.”

“Yeah, you did. You have absolutely no game, old timer.” 

“I have game, just… not in that particular instance. I'm out of practice,” he tries to defend himself.  

“Clearly. But I can help you with that.”

“She totally can,” Dr. Santos interjected. Santos had been trying out a rotation on the night shift and had just finished up with a patient in curtain 3 nearby. Always the eavesdropper, she tuned in to the conversation between Abbot and Ellis as she had approached the hub. “Dr. Ellis has got mad game, trust me.” Ellis rolls her eyes at the overzealous intern. “Wait–we’re talking about you getting nervous around Nel right?” 

“Wha-No. I don't get nervous around Nel.” Both women scoff at him. Jack’s eyes widen and turns to Ellis for a sidebar. “How do you both know about this? I don't want to make this a thing. If she's not into me I don't want her to be uncomfortable at work.” He can't be careless about this, needs to do it right. 

“Abbot, be so serious,” she deadpans. “She’s totally into you.”

“You don't know that,” Jack huffs. How do they know if you're into him? He barely let himself know he was into you until therapy earlier today. Santos and Ellis share a look. Santos butts in again, “Dude, it's so obvious. Her eyes literally twinkle when you're in the same room.”

“Don't dude me right now, Santos,” Jack snaps. Do they? Twinkle for him? He hopes so. But he doesn't want to get his hopes up. God, this whole thing is putting him so on edge. 

Ellis sees how uncomfortable Jack’s getting and jumps in. “The grownups are talking here, Dr. Santos. Guy over in North 12 needs his bowel dismipacted, go.” As she reluctantly leaves to go handle the literal shit that's been assigned to her, Ellis tunes back into the conversation with Jack.  

“She's right though, it's obvious you're both smitten. You’ve just gotta shoot your shot, man.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself at the thought. “What are you planning to say?” 

He hesitates. Drums his thumbs against the counter top again. “How about I'm having a party. You can come, if you want.”

“God, this is why I date women. You're useless.” 

“You said you would help!”

“Look–that's way too passive. Sounds like you don't care if she comes or not. Women like when you're sincere and confident. Usually that's your forte, but I guess not when you’re nervous about your crush. Try to tune in to that Abbot, ya know, direct and to the point.”

If I say what I actually mean, Jack thinks, it will be ‘I think you're smart and caring and beautiful, and I like spending time with you at work. And more than anything, I’d like to see you outside of this hell hole…preferably…all the time.’ He’s staring off into the abyss now.

“Oh my god, you're so in your head. Just be normal, be yourself! Say Hey, I'm having a party. I would really like it if you came.”  

“Got it, yeah. Be normal.” 

She huffs at his nervousness. “If you don't grow a spine and ask her out, I will,” Ellis jests, giving him a little incentive. 

“C'mon, give me a chance here.”

“She's hot, kind. Seems like a really great person. So you better snatch her up before someone else does.”

—

It was just before 1am when your stomach started to grumble, queuing you that it was almost your normal “lunch” time. You finished up your case note you were working on, grabbed your food from the breakroom fridge, and headed up to the roof. 

Lunch with Jack was always a highlight of your shift. No matter how shitty a patient had treated you or how many problems you had encountered that day, sitting with him for just a few minutes always made it feel like you were free of the hospital. Returning to your shift after those moments with him, the fluorescent lights turned softer and long hospital hallways less suffocating. 

It happened by accident really, the two of you becoming lunch buddies. You brought your lunch box up to the roof to get some air while you took a break. He was already up there, leaning up against the railing staring out at the city beyond the hospital. He wasn't expecting a visitor, didn’t encounter many others up there, but suddenly there was you. An angel of the night.  

When you pushed open the door of the stairwell to see him staring out at the skyline, you remember thinking that this man looked like a beacon high up above the rest of the city, standing steady and sending out a signal. Looking out over the whole city and asking who’s there? Free in the dark of night to admit that he was seeking connection. 

From the very first moment, you read him eerily well. And you approached. Because you were seeking the same thing. 

You struck up a conversation with him and offered him half of your sandwich. Kept doing so until he started bringing his own food too, usually whatever had the quickest doordash delivery time. He made you laugh with his dry and dark humor. Shared silence with you when you were both too tired to speak, or listened to you ramble about the book you were reading or some movie you had watched. Sometimes he had questions.  ____

“Have you ever heard of the Four Agreements?” he asked one night. You picked through some of the Chinese food he had ordered from the 24 hour place down the street, while he took a bite out of the apple you had packed. You chuckle a little at his question. 

“Why are you laughing at me?” he asks.

“Sorry– it's just. As someone who works in a mental health bubble, the Four Agreements is like… the bible of self help. And it's a little cliche.”

“You’re calling Linda cliche?”

“Who’s Linda?"

“My therapist. She recommended it."

“Look at you, doing therapy.”

He gave you a little shrug. “Thanks. So I shouldn’t read it? If it's cliche."

“No, no, It could still be useful. Give it a try.”  ____

He also surprised you with these bursts of intense vulnerability, sparsed out between his usually more gruff or sarcastic responses. 

Whenever he was about to reveal something to you, you could almost see it coming. He would always position himself next to you, leaning over on the railing and facing out over Pittsburg like he was that first night you found him up here. He wouldn’t look in your eyes like he usually did. Would just stand next to you there and focus on some point, far out on the horizon. He’d be quiet for a while, and you would just wait, just being there with him. 

____

“That guy we both saw today, the boarder in North 7?” 

“Yeah?” you encouraged him to continue. 

“I know him. Well not him, really, but his brother. We served together. He lost his brother the same day I lost my leg.” He pulled up the hem of his scrub pants a bit to reveal a glimpse of his prosthetic.

“Oh…Jack. I’m so sorry. That must bring up a lot of old memories.”

“It was a long time ago. Can’t change it now.” He wants to pull away from the exposure he felt at saying this to you. But you draw out something in him. Sharing with you is easier sometimes, and he doesn't know why. It's because he’s falling in love with you and hasn't let himself admit it yet.

“Doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt.” You’re always trying to encourage him to feel.

“Yeah... still hurts like hell. Hurts more because I hadn’t thought about Eddie in months, maybe years. I forgot about him.” 

You turn your head to face him, frowning. He maintains his gaze on some faraway spot. “You can’t blame yourself for that. If you remembered them all every second of every day you would drive yourself crazy.” 

He took a shaky breath in and just nodded. That was as much opening up he could take for the moment. “I gotta go back down there, check on the patients,” he says, letting the voice telling him to run win, for now.

You pause for a beat, trying to replicate his own incessant gaze that would always get you break and look up at him. The trick doesn’t work on its own master. He continues to put that distance between you and stares out at the city beyond the roof, then down at his feet. 

“Okay. But just be careful with yourself, Jack. And if you ever want to talk more, I’m here.” You jutted your hip out to bump his, trying to coax him out of his unease, show him that it was okay to open up to you. He stood fully up from the railing, giving you a double thumbs up. That was becoming his signature move with you when he didn't quite know what to say. He kept doing it because it always made you smile.  ____

Sometimes his appearances on the roof were just as scattered as his ability to show vulnerability. After times where he opened up you might not see him for days. He would go brood and throw himself into the work to get his mind off the memories, or off of you, when the way you were making him feel scared him a little too much. He would chastise himself for letting his feelings slip out like that. Would convince himself that you didn't want to hear anything about it, no matter how supportive and kind you were whenever he did share. 

Deep down he longed for connection, even though he actively pushed everyone away. 

Once you found him on that roof, finally someone was pushing back. You would come and find him if he didn't show up on the roof, or send him a message as you were heading up, pestering him to come join you if you could. 

And the way you responded to him showing how he felt, admitting what ate at him inside, it started to show him that it was okay to reveal himself. It didn’t make it any less uncomfortable, but still he kept coming back to have lunch with you. 

Tonight would be just like any of those other nights, he told himself as he hiked up the stairs to the roof entry. Just be normal. 

You were already up there waiting for him when he came through the stairwell door. The light midsummer night breeze blew your hair around your face and he sensed something heavy on your mind. Brooding on the roof was usually his forte.

As he approaches you barely register his presence. He places a hand on your shoulder, which makes you jump and turn to him. “You good?” he asks gently.

“Yeah–fine.” You shake your head and give him a little smile but he sees it's not the kind that you usually flash, the kind that's earnest. He doesn’t push.

“Well, if you weren’t good I would offer some crab rangoons as a pick me up.” He lifts his takeout bag up. “But if you’re fine then you don’t need em.” 

“Gimme that,” you snatch the bag from him and dig out the rangoons. 

“That’s what I thought.” the corner of his mouth twitches into an almost-there smirk. 

You two dig into the combo of takeout and packed food spread out before you. All of his nervousness from earlier in the day had dissipated. Up here, in the dark, just the two of you, he was calm. As calm as Jack Abbot could be these days. He lets himself think about being with you like this in the daytime. Somewhere else, like having a picnic in a park where you would admire the spring flowers and he would admire you with the same reverence. 

He had to ask his question, because failing would mean missing that chance. 

“You’re looking at me like that again.” you said.

“Like what?” he keeps his gaze locked on yours like if he blinked you would disappear. 

“I don’t know. I just recognize that look in your eye.” It's the look I get when I admire you, he thinks.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking if you go first.” You let out a huff of a breath. “Fine. I just… I guess I’m tired– getting really tired of all the roadblocks in my work. People always need more than I’m able to give them. Shelters are always full or the patient doesn’t meet some eligibility requirement and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“You’re doing everything you can with what you have, that’s more than most people. You rock it in there everyday,” Jack responds. 

“I know that, in theory. It’s just been harder and harder to believe it lately.”

“Well, I’ll keep reminding you.” 

“Okay, your turn.”

He scratched the back of his neck, then forced himself to look at you head on. “Uh, I’m going to have everyone from work over at my place for a barbeque. But I wanted to, uh, make sure that you would be there, with me. And…maybe it will help you decompress from work and everything.” It was as un-awkward as he could possibly make it. 

You found his subtle bashfulness cute. It was endearing to bring the steady Jack Abbot to jumbling his words. “I would love to come.” The biggest smile you've ever seen on him spreads across Jack’s face. 

“When’s the next Saturday you’re off?” he asks.

“Two weeks from now.”

“Then that's our party then.” 

You giggle. “Our party, huh?”

“Well you’re the guest of honor, I decided.” 

“Oh, how gracious of you.”

The banter slows, both of you feeling the tension of crossing a new line that you can't go back over. It's quiet for another beat, then Jack speaks again, quietly.

“Ellis is gonna be proud of me for this one.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me I had no game, earlier at the beginning of shift. I meant to ask you then but got too nervous. So she gave me some pointers.”

That made you blush. You had liked Jack Abbot for a while, but did not want to risk your friendship on making the first move. You didn’t want him to think that your support of him was conditional on him reciprocating feelings. You could see him deeply struggling and cared about him, just wanting to be there for him. So even though you had butterflies tingling in your stomach more and more after each encounter, you tried to keep the relationship as professional as possible. After this– him asking you to come to his party like that, admitting it made him nervous to do so. It finally showed you that you could want more with Jack. That he wanted it too. 

It emboldened you, and you reached out to lace your fingers with his. “I like you the way you are Jack. It's okay to be nervous, but please just keep being you.” 

He squeezed your hand and nodded his head. “I think I can do that sweetheart.”

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (5)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, PINING, references to nonconsensual situations (very brief, nothing graphic, and not Az)

a/n: Hope this clears some stuff up ;) More to come and especially more Az to come. Thank you forever for reading and sharing your thoughts! This is getting me through the semester <3

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 4☼ Part 6 ♡

Series Masterlist

~~

Azriel walked you to your room. 

He knew exactly where to go, which corners to turn and which to pass, which was very convenient as you still found yourself struggling with the task. The House of Wind, as everyone so lovingly called it, was practically a maze for someone with no memory of its twists and turns. But Azriel had absolutely no trouble getting you to your room. 

Once you got to your room, however, he appeared to have many troubles. 

“You can come in,” you prompted, looking over your shoulder to find the shadowsinger with his shoes at the threshold. “I promise I just cleaned it. Or, at least I’m pretty sure I cleaned it. It’s hard to know where to put things when I only just started…” 

Your voice trailed off. Upon further inspection of the man standing just outside your door, you found that he didn’t simply look hesitant to enter. He had his hands pressed to the doorframe, his head slightly leaned into the room, and his eyes were slowly trailing along your belongings. The expression on his face read as forlorn, but his body read as tense. 

He had been here before, obviously. Of course this would be hard for him. You probably had everything in the wrong place and he had just told you about the difficult time he was having—how close the two of you had been before you lost everything. 

“Um,” you began, pressing your lips together tightly when his gaze flickered to you. “Maybe you could… or would you mind maybe telling me where my bags are? If you know. Mor gave me a surface-level tour, but she didn’t seem to know everything.” 

Azriel looked down to the ground beneath your feet. He blinked back up to meet your eyes. “Of course,” he replied, with so much practiced restraint in his tone you weren’t sure how he gritted out the words. 

When he stepped in the room, it felt as if something shifted. He walked between tables and furniture and he fit like a puzzle, his wings never brushing anything, his eyes never casting down to analyze his body in the space. He looked like he belonged—he looked like he completed the space. 

Something finally felt right. 

Nothing felt right… but this did. 

Azriel pushed open the closet doors, rifling through a cabinet you had only glanced at before. After a few silent moments, he walked out with bags in hand. His shadows hadn’t followed him. They drifted towards the bed instead, burrowing into the blankets and pillows until the plush surface became dark. 

Azriel zeroed in on them as he placed the bags by your feet, staring off at his shadows as you brought your attention back to him. This close, you were able to catch his scent—the cedar and night-kissed air you’d recognized many times in recent days. But it had been so faint before, like he had been gone for weeks and the scent still lingered, or he had been in the room but only for a brief time. Nothing like now, with his chest only inches from your face. 

“They seem to like my bed,” you laughed, just a small, breathy sound. An attempt to diffuse some of the untouched tension in the room. 

The side of Azriel’s mouth curled up. You watched it rise, silently relishing in the heat of his body as it radiated into the space between you. “I can see that.” 

He wasn’t a man of very many words—that’s something Mor had thankfully shared with you—but you wanted to fight against that. You wanted to hear the soft, low rumble of his voice. You wanted his laugh to spark in the air, to feel his words against your skin as you had just a few moments earlier. Azriel told you he didn’t hate you, that he was close to you, and suddenly the space between you felt impossible. 

You just wanted to hear his voice. 

“Have I changed things much?” you asked, heart thudding when he brought his gaze down to you. “I don’t know how much time you used to spend in here… or currently spend in here, I suppose—it’s only been a few days—but I’ve moved a few things. If you could tell.” 

Azriel took in a long breath. “Actually, you—” he shook his head with an expression you could only decipher as baffled “—you put everything back. Cassian and Feyre, they moved a few things around when you were being brought home. Things that might have… well, we just didn’t want you to be overwhelmed.” 

Overwhelmed. 

“We should have known that was a ridiculous idea. You’re too brilliant, even without the context.” 

Warmth flooded you; one compliment from Azriel and it was as if nothing mattered. You didn’t need your memories, you only needed this.

Azriel’s cheeks colored as if he felt the rush of emotions himself, his eyes bright. 

No, that wasn’t right—you needed your memories. You needed to remember each and every time he had looked like this. 

“Probably didn’t help that there were a bunch of empty spaces everywhere. If you leave nails on the wall it becomes quite obvious that something belongs there,” you quipped, a small smirk playing at your features. 

Azriel laughed. Not a full laugh, but one that you had no idea you were missing before. “I will be sure to pass on the message.” 

“Good. Cassian has many messages coming from me, it seems. Conflicting ones as well.” 

“Right, of course. I will convey to him that you missed his presence earlier, but also that he is awful at hiding things from an amnesiac.” 

“Perfect, thank you, Azriel.” 

He gazed upon you, eyes flickering to every corner of your face. 

They rested on your lips and then your eyes, trailing up until his hand followed to move the strand of hair that had wisped across your forehead. He brushed it away with delicate fingers, not a touch of hesitancy in them. Like it was natural for him, normal. 

And maybe it was. 

“I don’t know what to pack,” you whispered, trying to keep some of the lightness in the room. “Can you help? I haven’t a clue where most of my things are and you appear to be much more knowledgeable.” 

Azriel drew his hand back, his eyes closing for a few long moments. 

You wished you could delve into his mind the way Rhysand could—that you could understand some of the pain written in the tight clench of his eyelids. 

“Of course I’ll help you.” 

It began with him gathering things from the connected washroom. He entered the tiled room and opened drawers without fault or mistake, collecting perfumes you had been gravitating towards and zipping up products you hadn’t even found yet. He packed your brushes and jewelry as if he’d done this all before, as if your request for help wasn’t really a request, but an expectation. 

“Have we traveled together before?” you found yourself asking as you followed behind the shadowsinger, a bag hanging from his arm. 

Azriel smiled, turning to you with a glint in his eye. “A few times.” 

You were very close friends, then. 

Azriel led you back to the closet where he pulled a few articles of clothing from the hangers, holding each out for you to approve before he neatly folded them. You denied nothing, rather surprised by his taste and sense for whatever the weather was like in Day. 

He moved further into the closet, half of which was sparsely filled. Maybe you filtered out your clothes with the seasons. 

Or maybe something was missing. 

Azriel paused.

You watched his scarred fingers brush over the purple dress you had worn on the first day you spoke to him after waking up. He rubbed the material against the pad of his thumb once, and then twice, before closing the closet doors and taking an abrupt step back. You stepped with him. 

The shadowsinger said nothing.

“All done?” you asked. “Anything else I would need at Day?” 

His shoulders rose and fell. Some of his shadows returned to make revolutions around his body.

“Azriel?” 

“I—I’m sorry. Give me a moment.”

The shadowsinger stalked over to the bed, went to sit, but then seemed to think against it and began pacing instead. You tucked your fingers into your palm as you watched him, trying to hide the discomfort you felt as his clear unease. 

Had you done something wrong? 

Maybe you were being too familiar. This friendship between you was new and comfortable and exciting, but that was for you. 

For Azriel, there was a gap, an immense amount of pain and missing connection. 

He didn’t hate you, and that was… wonderful news, but this was also uncharted territory. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have asked for his help—shouldn’t have invited him in. 

“Azriel, I—” 

“I need to explain this to you,” Azriel began, running a hand through disheveled locks. “I need you to understand why this is so hard. I don’t want you to assume this is your fault or that this is anything other than what it is.”

You nodded, but he didn’t look up to see your confirmation. 

Azriel sighed and his wings flared slightly, returning back to his body in a quivering motion. 

“I am terrified, y/n.” 

This time, Azriel did look up to catch your gaze. 

“I am terrified because this has happened before. It’s like I’m reliving it. Like you’re reliving it but you just don’t remember.” 

Your fists unfurled as your brows met a point. “No one’s told me—“ 

“I know,” he breathed out, defeat the most prominent emotion on his beautiful face. “Last time this happened, the more we told you about the past—about certain aspects of your life—the more it hurt you, y/n. You’d… you’d scream until your lungs gave out every time we tried to share something new. It was like that for weeks.” 

The Illyrian forfeited his internal battle with the bed, dropping down into a seat on the foot of it. Unsure of your place within your own room, you simply followed him, standing in front of his bent knees, eyes prompting him to continue. 

He watched you as you moved. 

“Has anyone told you what you do for this court? Your job?” 

You shook your head. 

Azriel continued. “You work as an emissary between courts and continents, but that’s more of a cover—a more comprehensible title for those outside of our circle. It’s hard to explain, but that power Rhys mentioned? It’s—it’s as if you have this intuition. For everything. You look at things, at people, and you just… know them. You look past lies and you pick up on things that are seemingly impossible to catch.” 

Your head shook as Azriel fumbled over each of his words, confusion swirling in your gut. “That doesn't make any sense. Mor said that Rhys found me working at some boatyard by the Sidra. She said I used to help build vessels—there’s no way I have a power like that.” 

“You do,” Azriel affirmed. “Rhys only went to find you because he heard of a girl building boats from memory. You took one look at him and knew what he wanted. Rhys said he barely had to offer you the job.” 

It was a struggle not to grind your teeth together in frustration. 

You used to know everything. 

And now you knew nothing. 

Your head began to hurt, or maybe you were just noticing that it had never stopped hurting.

“You said—” you started, tone heavy with vexation. Your eyes couldn’t find a solid place to land “—you said this has happened before. What does that have to do with these powers?” 

Sensing the rise in your mood, Azriel seemed to even his own out. A balance between the two of you. You became agitated, he became calm. But you could tell he was struggling.

“Around 270 years ago, after you’d been working for the court for a few decades, Rhys sent you to Day. It was routine. You were going to gather information for a High Lord’s summit meant to take place there, but really, Rhys wanted you to scope out the area. To get insight on any plans, any secret dealings. You were meant to be gone for a few days at the most.” 

Azriel’s fists clenched atop his knees. His face remained impassive.

“You were gone for six months. Gone. No one could reach you, Helion had assumed you went home already. It was right after you and I… became friends, so I was worried for you. More than the others, but no one was without worry. We found you eventually, but you—”

Something choked. Azriel choked. His head hung down and you replayed the last few of his words in your mind—the way they tightened and then tapered off. 

This was too much. 

Conveying comfort in the only way you knew how—in the way this family tended to love—you stepped between Azriel’s legs and brought a hand to his cheek, raising his face until his glassy eyes came into view. 

“You don’t have to talk about this,” you whispered. “If it’s too hard, we can stop.” 

Azriel’s jaw quivered. His next words seemed to tumble from his mouth without warning. 

“Fuck, I miss you.” 

It was simple instinct that led to your reply. “I’m right here.” 

Something stirred within you, tugging lightly. Your heart, you deduced, beating so fast it was playing tricks on you. The shadowsinger in your hands twisted slightly, just barely so that the corner of his mouth touched your palm. Your heart tugged again.

“You didn’t remember anything, like now,” Azriel revealed, speaking just as you were about to pull away. You stopped yourself, feeling as if your touch was an encouragement to speak. “It was worse though, you were in so much pain. Any time you tried to remember anything, or even just tried to learn, it was like you were being pierced through the skull. You—you screamed so much.

“But it didn’t take us very long to figure it out. My spies in Day found the culprit and it was easy to capture him. He was weak. Strong powers, but weak in every other sense of the word. It was another Daemati—like Rhys. He became infatuated with you during your time in Day. He knocked you out, found a way to use your powers against you, to make them hurt.” 

Azriel shuddered. His mouth got closer to your hand like he was leaning into it. 

“It took a few weeks to get him to fix it. But those months, y/n—the time you were gone. You don’t remember them. I can only imagine what you went through. And when we brought you home you hurt so badly. So that's why… why us going back there is hard. Because this is all so similar and if it’s happening again I can’t…” 

“Azriel,” you softly called, sure that this was the most amount of speaking the shadowsinger had done in a while. Sure that he needed a break. A respite. “It’s not the same, is it? You know that. My head hurts, but not like that. I don’t struggle to be reminded of the past. I learn new things. There is no evil villain waiting to take me away.” 

“Y/n—” 

“It’s not the same. I might not have access to these all-encompassing powers you speak of, but I can tell you that much. I’m sorry for what you went through before—that you had to watch a member of your family go through that then and then now… but it’s different. It’s different and I’ll be okay.” 

His pond water eyes stared back at you as you attempted a reassuring smile. You felt his knees press against your thighs where you stood between them, and the pressure spurred you on. You ran your thumb along the high point of his cheek, relishing in the flutter of his lashes, gravitating towards him to relish in that closeness as well. This moment felt like yours, and something was telling you it was yours. That no one else could have this with him. 

But you didn’t have your powers, your fae abilities, so maybe that feeling was nothing but hope.

Your thudding heart lulled you into a long breath. 

“Maybe, if it would put you at ease, you could stay with me while we’re in Day? At my side, I mean. You could whisper everyone’s names into my ear so I don’t look like a fool and make sure I don’t get lost—” 

“Yes,” Azriel replied, sure and resolute with no traces of the impending tears that had made his hazel eyes a pretty pool just moments before. “I won’t leave your side once. I promise.” 

His devotion made you pause, surprise evident in the rapid blinking of your eyes. You wanted to protest, to tell him he didn’t need to promise something so taxing, but determination had set in his brow, and Azriel—your friend—wanted this. Needed this. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you, Azriel. For telling me all of this even though it was hard. For being here for me even though I know that’s hard, too. You’re a wonderful friend. I can’t wait to continue to find that out. I promise to be just as wonderful.” 

“You are already the most wonderful thing in my life.” 

Part 6 ♡

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

The lack of new Welcome Home fanfiction to read is what motivated me create this.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

What Wally, Frank and Barnaby's hugs are like

Wally Darling

★ Wally’s hugs are... unique to say the least. He’s meticulous about them, analyzing you carefully, trying to figure out the perfect angle to wrap his arms around you. After figuring out how to approach the situation, Wally asks for permission to give you a hug.

★ His hugs are soft and quiet. He leans in and tilts his head before nuzzling into you. It’s not overly tight, just snug enough to make you feel secure. Considering his height, he might ask for a stool to be on your level. His plush body radiates warmth.

★ Sometimes Wally lets out a hum while holding you tight. Not on purpose, mind you, it just slips out. And he has a habit of lingering for a few moments, making the embrace last a bit longer than expected.

Frank Frankly

★ Frank’s hugs are awkward, but still sweet. You can tell he’s trying hard, but these kinds of things don't come natural to him. Normally he wouldn't touch you, not unless you ask. Frank just isn't a touchy person (unlike his friend, Julie)

★ If you've had a very bad day and ask him for a hug, he freezes for a moment. Not used to being someone’s go-to for comfort. To be honest, Frank is a bit nervous. Unsure of what to say or do to help.

★ The arms wrapped around you feel a little stiff, and yes, it's a bit awkward. But at the same time undeniably comfortable. He doesn’t say anything. But afterward he might say something like “I hope that helped.” In an attempt to comfort you.

Barnaby

★ Barnaby's hugs are the best, he doesn't hesitate to enter your personal space for cuddles. But be warned, he smells slightly of aged smoke. A result of his pipe. He won't be quitting anytime soon, after all, you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

★ The moment he spots you, it's all over. Barnaby shouts something like “Get over here, pal!” Before pulling you into a bear hug. Leaving you with no opportunity to protest. Barnaby might sweep you off your feet and spin you around. The world blurring for a moment.

★ When you have a bad day there's nothing like Barnaby's hugs to lift your spirit. It's a great pick-me-up when you feel down. Remember how he sometimes forgets his size and acts like a small dog? Well, that translates to him attempting to fit in your lap.

[majinael]

"i need a friends to lovers kaiser x reader fic with a deep focus on his trauma and his toxic coping mechanisms and he's slowly doing better thanks to the reader, healthy love with the reader heals him, and he learns what it is to be loved :((

i don't want smut i want DEEP EMOTIONAL INTIMACY !!!!!!

i swear people don't get his character like i do, my baby needs LOVE"

from @krys4h

here we go for a part 1 :3

★michael kaiser x she/her pronouns reader (can be interpreted as GN)

★3,6k words

★songs associated : one & two

I had known Michael Kaiser since the day I was assigned as the team’s nurse. In my line of work, I’d learned to connect with every player on a professional yet friendly level—it was part of treating them with care. Most of them warmed up to me quickly, eager to share stories or jokes during their treatment sessions. But Kaiser? He was something else entirely.

Rarely injured, he was almost like a ghost in my office. When I did see him, it was brief, and he would insist he didn’t need anything. His arrogance would radiate even in those fleeting moments, accompanied by a dismissive smirk that said, I’m untouchable.

During my breaks, I often watched the team train from the sidelines or walked through the gym and facilities. It was fascinating to observe them push their limits, but truthfully, I was never particularly drawn to football. It felt more like a job perk than a passion.

The first real conversation I had with Kaiser wasn’t in my office or the gym but on the field during an unplanned encounter. After sitting at my desk for hours, buried in work, I needed a breather. Wandering aimlessly, I found myself by the field. It was supposed to be empty, yet there he was, surrounded by several soccer balls lying on the damp grass.

I stopped, my curiosity piqued as I watched him shoot a goal with such precision and power that it left me speechless. The ball sliced through the air like it was destined for the net, hitting its mark flawlessly.

“Impressive,” I murmured aloud, my voice breaking the silence.

Kaiser turned, his signature cocky smile already plastered on his face as his gaze landed on me. “Of course it is,” he replied smoothly, his ego inflating visibly. But before he could bask in my compliment, I raised an eyebrow and added, “But can you actually pull that off in a real match?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and almost condescending. “I wouldn’t train something useless,” he retorted, brushing off the challenge. But then, to my surprise, he launched into an explanation of the technique. “The Kaiser Impact Magnus,” he called it, and as he spoke, his words were laced with passion and precision.

I was captivated. His knowledge and ability to articulate something so complex left me staring, wide-eyed.

“That’s... wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “You’re really smart. I’ve never seen or heard anything like it. Would you mind if I watched you play? I promise I won’t be a bother.”

He smirked, tilting his head arrogantly. “Of course, you’d want to watch. Sit still, pretty.”

For the next hour, I sat on the barrier of the field, watching him train. His movements were mesmerizing—the way his blue-tipped hair framed his sharp features, the rise and fall of his chest as he pushed himself relentlessly, the calculation in his eyes as he analyzed every play. It wasn’t just skill; it was artistry.

I couldn’t help but stare, completely unaware of the stray ball ricocheting off the goalpost and hurtling toward me until it struck me square in the face.

Pain exploded across my nose as I fell back onto the wet grass. My vision blurred, and as I tried to gather my bearings, I heard footsteps approaching.

Kaiser loomed over me, his expression torn between amusement and mild concern. “Could’ve dodged that, y’know,” he said, a faint chuckle escaping. “Really, I can’t tell if you’re lucky or unlucky. The ball usually doesn’t even come this way.”

Blinking up at him with an innocent, dazed expression, I felt a sharp sting of both pain and embarrassment. My nose throbbed relentlessly, blood trickling down onto my shirt, while specks of wet dirt clung stubbornly to my cheek. He crouched slightly, pulling a tissue from his bag nearby, and for a fleeting moment, I noticed something unusual in his eyes—an almost imperceptible softness that seemed out of place.

What was he seeing? Whatever it was, it must have stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. I remembered an interview where he mentioned his fascination with faces of despair, but I doubted that was what I wore now. No, this wasn’t despair—it was vulnerability, raw and unguarded,I looked just like a defenseless kid and it lingered between us like a secret neither of us knew how to acknowledge.

“Don’t look at me like it was intentional,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Here. Wipe that off. You look horrible.”

Taking the tissue, I stood unsteadily, trying to laugh off my humiliation. “At least I’m fully awake now,” I joked, though my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

My optimism seemed to amuse him. He smirked, returning to his training, but as droplets of rain began to fall from the sky, I lingered.

“It’s raining,” I called out, expecting him to follow me inside. When he didn’t respond, I hesitated. “Michael? Are you not coming inside? You’ll get sick. Training can wait.”

He shrugged without looking at me, the raindrops glistening in his hair. “Worry about yourself. I’m fine.”

Something about his nonchalance struck a nerve. If I were as talented, as admired, as incredible as him, wouldn’t I take better care of myself? Yet, there he was, drenched in rain, pushing himself as though he had something to prove.

I watched him for a moment longer before turning away, a strange ache settling in my chest. Back in my office, I tried to focus on work, but the sight of him—so brilliant, yet so reckless—stayed with me. It wasn’t the first time I noticed how different he was from the others, but now, for some reason, I couldn’t shake the thought.

And for the first time, I wondered what it was that drove Michael Kaiser to treat himself like he was anything less than extraordinary.

The next morning, I made my way to the cafeteria at around 9 a.m., craving a much-needed coffee. While chatting casually with the bartender, I heard familiar footsteps behind me. Turning around with my coffee in hand, I spotted Kaiser lounging on one of the couches, his attention fixed on the TV replaying football matches.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I approached him. His usual cocky posture remained intact, but something about his red-tinted nose caught my attention. Without hesitation, I plopped down beside him.

“Red nose... Is someone sick?” I teased lightly, trying to catch his attention.

His infamous grin spread across his face, almost as if it were second nature. “Mind your business,” he quipped, barely sparing me a glance.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Well actually, I’m the nurse. This is my business.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. He turned to me, his grin softening into something that resembled amusement. “Fair,” he conceded, “but I’m not sick. Some idiot just threw a ball at me.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because that happened to me recently too.”

His gaze narrowed, a playful glint lighting up his striking blue eyes. “Are you calling me an idiot?” he asked, leaning slightly toward me, his tone light but teasing.

The sheer audacity of the situation made me burst into laughter, while I was taking a sip—resulting in the coffee exploding spectacularly all over my white shirt and on my face.

For a moment, silence hung between us before Kaiser’s eyes widened in disbelief. Then came his reaction: “You look insanely stupid right now,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching.

“I know,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning as I avoided his stare, mortified by my rather unusual clumsiness.

His laugh was instant and unrestrained, echoing in the nearly empty cafeteria. But it wasn’t his usual mocking chuckle; no, this laugh seemed genuine. His shoulders shaking as his eyes grew watery. It was... different. And somehow, the sound pulled me in.

Caught up in the absurdity of the situation and the rare warmth of his laughter, I found myself laughing too—though not at the coffee-stained mess I’d become, but as an answer to his laugh. Seeing Michael Kaiser, of all people, like this was oddly disarming.

“I should probably clean this up,” I said awkwardly after a moment, standing up to leave.

His gaze lingered on me as I walked away. I could feel it like a weight on my back, even as I disappeared into the hallway.

Left alone, Kaiser’s attention shifted to his reflection in the darkened TV screen. For a fleeting second, he caught sight of himself wearing an unguarded, genuine smile. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“She’s an idiot,” he though.

He shook his head, refocusing on the replay, but the corners of his mouth twitched again, the thought of witnessing another one of my shenanigans lingering in his mind far longer than he cared to admit.

As the day unfolded, I buried myself in paperwork for two and a half hours before rushing to the field. He was still there.

This would become a habit—an unspoken agreement. Neither of us addressed it, but it was clear.

When I approached, his trademark smirk appeared. "Are you stalking me, or are you missing me already?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I chuckled in response, leaning casually against the barrier. Before I could come up with a clever retort, he shot a ball directly at me. I barely dodged it this time.

"Good reflexes," he said with a slow clap, clearly entertained.

"Are you trying to kill me?" I shot back, sarcasm masking the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. My heart raced, but I kept my composure.

The ball rolled to a stop behind me. I picked it up and shot it back at him with, let’s say… slightly less precision. The ball missed him completely and soared into the goal instead.

His expression was a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "Lucky shot," he muttered.

I grinned triumphantly. "Skill only."

He scoffed. "Tch." And with that, he turned his back to me, resuming his drills, pretending I no longer existed.

I stood closer than usual now, watching him. "Don’t you have a water bottle?" I asked.

"Some idiot stole mine today," he grumbled. "When I find out who it is—"

I couldn’t help but laugh softly. If I were the culprit, I’d want to stay far, far away from Michael Kaiser.

Time passed, and at some point, he noticed me on the other side of the field, awkwardly mimicking his movements.

"That’s not how it’s done," he called out, exasperation lacing his tone.

He placed a ball on the ground, letting it roll for a moment before striking it with flawless precision. "Like that."

"You make it look easy," I said, walking closer to the goal. "Maybe I should try from here."

I attempted his move, but as the ball ricocheted off the goalpost and left the field I looked up at him.

"You’re terrible at this," he said, barely hiding his amusement.

"Good thing I’m not a footballer," I shot back. "But I can’t say you’re a good teacher."

His eyebrow arched. "It’s not difficult, you idiot."

"Not for the great Michael Kaiser," I teased with a chuckle.

He rolled his eyes but, to my surprise, set up another ball. This time, he explained each step while executing the move.

"That wasn’t so bad was it?" I asked proudly, succeeding after his clearer explanation.

He ignored me, returning to his training with a quiet huff.

I leaned against the goalpost, watching him intently. "I wish someone had taught me how to play football too. It looks so fun when you do it."

"Too?" he asked, his tone sharp. "I learned how to play alone."

I blinked, surprised. "No way. Your parents must’ve been amazing athletes then."

That’s when everything froze. He stopped mid-step, and for a moment, even the soft drizzle seemed to halt.

A lump formed in my throat. Had I said something wrong?

Without turning to me, he replied bitterly, "No, they're not."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, driving an invisible wedge between us. I felt like I’d crossed a line I didn’t even know existed.

Instinct told me to leave, so I did—quietly, without another word.

I spent the night overthinking it all, replaying the scene in my mind. For days, I didn’t see even a shadow of him. He hadn’t left his usual spots; our timings just seemed to miss each other.

And it left me wondering: What the hell just happened?

That was until I was called onto the field during a training match. Noel Noa scolded me lightly for not being there as I usually was, but the weight of my guilt over the situation with Kaiser left me too drained to respond.

A player had injured himself, and “as usual”, he refused to seek my help. I had a small idea of who it might be.

Fate had an odd sense of humor, I thought, bringing us together in the most inconvenient ways.

As I approached him, he sat on the grass, glaring down at it as though it had personally offended him. His posture screamed irritation, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Hello, Michael,” I greeted, keeping my voice even.

No answer. Just a sharp glare in my direction, like a dagger aimed straight at my chest. I swallowed hard.

“Let me take care of you,” I offered.

“I told him I didn’t need your medical attention. What part of that does he not understand?” His tone was biting, his disdain palpable.

I sighed softly and crouched in front of him. “Michael.”

His eyes widened slightly at the sound of his name before flicking away from mine.

“Please,” I continued, my voice gentler. “At least let me take a look.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, as if granting me a favor, and muttered, “I don’t need your help.”

“But I need your well-being,” I countered, my voice cracking faintly.

“No, you don’t,” he shot back, his tone quieter this time. “I’ll be fine.”

I tilted my head, offering him a patient smile. “I doubt Noel will let you play unless you let me take a look.”

That argument seemed to hit its mark. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from his pocket. It was smeared with sticky, drying blood. Someone must have stepped on it with their cleats. My stomach churned imagining the pain it must have been.

I sat down beside him and took his injured hand gently in mine, studying the wound. “This might sting a little,” I warned as I began cleaning the blood away with alcohol and tissues.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, focused on my task.

When I glanced up, I noticed his expression had softened. It wasn’t the usual arrogance or anger I’d come to associate with him—it was something different, quieter, almost vulnerable.

I continued cleaning the wound, careful and deliberate, as though I were handling something fragile. When I finished, I held his hand for a moment longer than necessary, expecting him to snatch it back. But he didn’t.

There was something profoundly strange about his demeanor. He sat there, a paradox of composure and vulnerability, his posture steady yet his eyes betraying a depth of confusion I’d never seen before. His gaze held an unnameable expression, something I couldn’t quite decipher, as if the moment we’d just shared was far more intimate than either of us had anticipated. The silence between us was heavy, not with tension, but with the weight of something unspoken, something fragile.

“Hey, Michael?” I asked softly. His head turned toward me, but he said nothing.

“Are you okay?” I added with a bright smile.

Still silence.

I stood up and rummaged through my bag. “Here,” I said, holding out a water bottle. “When Noel told me what happened, I knew it was you. I remembered you said someone stole yours last week.”

His gaze flicked between the bottle and me, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse.

So much gentleness and care all of a sudden was probably more than he could comprehend but he gently took it and looked up at me all in silence.

“I’ll tell Noel you’re good to go. If you need your bandages changed or anything else, my office is always open,” I said, standing.

As I walked away, I felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, as though I’d just witnessed something rare and fleeting—a glimpse of the real Michael Kaiser, the one hidden beneath the sharp edges and icy walls.

When I returned to Noel and reported that Kaiser was ready, he called him back to the field with a simple gesture. I sat on the sidelines, watching Michael play with an attentiveness I hadn’t felt before.

To me, he wasn’t just Michael Kaiser, the arrogant genius striker. He was someone I could call a friend. A friend I was proud to have, even if he could never know.

hiiii! I am trying so so hard to keep him in character xo, I hope you like this first part, the second part is here ;) don't hesitate to give me feedback love y'all

[gardens-light]

I've seen the Tamaran Reader asks, and now I keep thinking about a human reader who has the same abilities as Raven from Teen Titans. How would the TF One bots react to a Reader who is the offspring of Trigon? (Ravens Dad)

I've had a lot of fun writing the Tamaran headcanons, exploring how the TF One bots would react to someone with alien abilities and a powerful lineage. But adding in the dark magic and demonic heritage of Trigon? That takes things to a whole new level! "I can already imagine the mix of awe, fear, and curiosity they’d have—especially with how controlled (or not) the Reader is over their powers. Hope you enjoy these headcanons!

Transformers One x GN Demonic Reader Headcanons

Sentinel Prime

Sentinel first encounters you when his Cybertronian communications detected an anomaly within their very own planet, a strange ship crash-landing outside Iacon's borders.

Gathering his elite guards, expecting some kind of rouge invader within the old wreckage, which was cloaked in some kind of mystical energy- something that Cybertronian technology struggled to analyze.

But instead, he finds you- a hooded, quiet figure meditating within the ruins of your vessel. Barely reacting to the Prime's approach, only your glowing eyes flickering up at him. (A gaze that secretly unsettles him)

How your power radiates from your very presence, an unnatural, eerie force that Sentinel clearly didn't trust. His authoricating voice sent demands at you, his suspicion raising as you remained quiet. Only simply answering, "I am not your enemy."

Sentinel would be deeply conflicted about his attraction to you.

He obviously values logic, strength, and Cybertronian supremacy, and you're none of those things—an outsider, a being of magic, something he cannot categorize or control.

He’d deny his feelings at first, trying to keep his interactions purely diplomatic. But something about you intrigues him—your silent confidence, your ability to read his emotions before he even speaks.

The relationship would be tension-filled—arguments disguised as 'debates,' standing too close, eyes lingering too long. Eventually, his obsession wins out, and he gives in to the forbidden attraction.

He doesn’t fully understand your powers, and that frustrates him.

Despite himself, he enjoys the way you keep him on edge—how you challenge him, see past his arrogance, and forcing him to question himself.

The first time you use your dark energy, Sentinel instinctively raises his shield, bracing for impact. If you levitated debris, he’d bark, “What kind of sorcery is this?!” He would also try to rationalize your abilities as a form of science. (But deep down, it unsettles him.) His tactical mind would see the advantage of such abilities, though he’d never admit it.

Your relationship would be a constant push and pull—Sentinel struggling to maintain control, while you remain unshaken by his authority.

Starscream

Starscream finds you unconscious, drifting in space just outside of Cybertron's orbit, after escaping from an attack from your homeworld.

Initially, at first glance he thinks you're some lost, pathetic organic. Tempted to leave you to your fate- but it was something about the energy radiating from you made him hesitate. Bringing you to his hideout to the far outskirts of Iacon, among the rest of the High Guard that Sentinel Prime labeled as 'traitors'. Starscream studies you, couldn't help but be fascinated by the dark aura surrounding you.

When you waken, you immediately use your abilities to retrain him. Forcing the Seeker onto his knees, bounding his arms behind his back. Your calm voice only giving him one warning, "don't try anything."

Starscream simply laughs off your warning, gazing at you with his usual unbothered and cocky bravado. But secretly... he's shaken- not just by your power, but by how calm and composed you are, despite the situation.

Starscream adores the mystery that surrounds you.

He’s constantly trying to pry information out of you, wanting to know what you are, how your powers work, and what you fear.

At first, he sees you as a tool, someone with immense power he can manipulate to his advantage.

But over time, he becomes genuinely attached, fascinated by your calm, no-nonsense attitude—so different from his own dramatic nature.

The first time you'd levitates objects, his wings snap back in shock If you created portals or shields, he’d reel back in awe. Unlike Sentinel, Starscream wouldn’t fear your powers—he would be excited by them. “Such raw potential… if I had such power, I would have ruled Cybertron long ago…”

He would constantly test your limits, baiting you into displays of strength, trying to see if there’s a weakness.

He secretly tries to impress you, despite you already stating that you're never phased by his boasting. That infuriates him… and makes him more obsessed.

He’d be clingy in secret, never admitting how much he craves your presence.

Whenever you touch him gently, even just brushing his wing, Starscream's processor can't help but short-circuit a little. Causing a low purr to escape from his engine, (which certainly wasn't him enjoying your touch or anything.)

The relationship would be volatile yet deeply magnetic—filled with sarcastic banter, stolen moments, and Starscream’s desperate need to continuously prove himself to you.

B-127

While exploring Cybertron's wastelands, (you can't expect this mech to never secretly adventure to the surface, after experiencing it.) his scanners starts detecting an unknown energy signature, heading deeper into the ruins of Cybertron's forgotten past. Bee's optics widen, as he sees you simply levitating in deep meditation.

Of course, Bee couldn't contain his excitement and curiosity. Immediately rapidly asking a million questions, despite you answering with short and simple explanations. Bee somehow found comfort in your gentle, yet monotone voice.

He’d be adorably persistent, trying his best to make you open up about your powers, how they work and where you've came from. The first time you lift something with telekinesis, he gasps dramatically. “That. Was. Awesome! Do it again!” Bee wouldn't be scared at all—mainly excited and curious. He’d probably ask too many questions—“How does it work? Do you get tired? Can you lift me?”

Your friendship would be built on patience—you teaching him about meditative practices, while he taught you about Cybertronian culture. (At least his personal favourites of Cybertronian culture.)

Bee would always try to make you laugh, even when you insists you doesn’t need humor. But when you do actually laugh at one of his jokes, he freezes, then immediately melts into a happy mess.

The first time you touch his faceplates out of affection, his systems heat so hard that his optics flicker.

Your soft and intimate moments would be him offering you small trinkets, showing you his favorite spots on Cybertron, and playing music or singing something for you whenever you seemed stressed.

Your first kiss would be awkward but sweet—B-127 wouldn't quite understand of what to do, but would certainly be eager to try again and again.

Orion Pax

Peering through the many shelves within The Achieves, Orion spots you searching for information on civilizations. At first, he assumed you were just another scholar, but as he slowly approaches his optics widen once realizating you wasn't Cybertronian. Of course he's startled yet... intrigued.

Orion gives you a warm smile once your gazes met. "Are you... looking for something in particular? If so, I'm happy to help if you require some assistance. I'm Orion Pax, by the way."

You return his smile, hugging a book. And before you knew it, the pair of you spent hours discussing the intersection of history and mysticism.

You enjoyed Orion's thoughtful nature, while he couldn't help but be fascinated by your ancient knowledge and cryptic insights.

Orion would fall for your intellect before developing an emotional bond—drawn to your wisdom and unshakable presence. And when you use your abilities in front of him for the first time he's both awed and analytical.

*Your abilities... they defy all known science." Yet instead of fear, Orion would see the moment as a potential for knowledge and coexistence.

Romance would be a gentle and deeply emotional bond, built on trust and shared knowledge.

Orion would write to you as often as he could—letters filled with poetry and reflections on your conversations.

You'd both take care of the slow-burn relationship, you both may be hesitant to act on on your feelings until one quiet moment changes everything—a brush of hands, a long gaze, an unspoken understanding. The first time you touch his spark casing, Orion couldn't help from but shudder—not from fear, but from the overwhelming depth of your connection.

D16

You were originally a prisoner, Sentinel Prime accused you of being a threat against Cybertron and it's people (since you saw through his lies and refused to bow to his whim), and that your unknown powers was 'proof' of the dangers you could bring. D16 first lays optics on you as he tries to fix one of Orion's messes.

For a moment, D16 just sees you as another victim of oppression and decides to free you, expecting you to join his cause of freeing Iacon from Sentinel's rule.

"Unlike you, I am not a 'wanna-be' solider. My goal is to merely survive till I escape this strange planet." You coldly spoke, giving him a brief thankful gaze before leaving.

He can't help but frustrated- you're clearly a powerful being, someone who possesses the strength crush anyone with a wave of your hand, and yet you remaned... neutral? This would cause D16 to constantly challenge you, trying to understand you.

The first time you use your abilities, D16 watches intently, analyzing everything you can do in major detail. He wouldn't be scared nor see you as a tool, but someone who's quiet strength and wisdom should be greatly respected.

He would be intensely protective, claiming he doesn’t care, but always secretly ensuring your safety.

The arguments would be deep, philosophical debates about war, peace, and fate.

When you touch his faceplates softly, he tenses—unused to such gentle affection. A passionate, almost dangerous romance would ensure, a connection of raw and electric, built on mutual respect and challenges. D16 would never say "I love you", but you'd see his actions scream it—standing in front of you in battle, ensuring you never feel trapped.

[yesimwriting]

Known

A/n i see this as taking place a little after  this , but they're both separate drabbles that can be read on their own :)

Summary: Late night drinking turns into reminiscing between friends. Or, in which you realize that you've always felt safe around Logan.

Warnings/info: age-gap (both characters are of consenting age!!), casual drinking, unnoticed pining, technopath!reader

----

The colors and voices radiating from the TV screen are easier to feel than experience, the electric current buzzing against your skin.

You move to sit up a little straighter, hands pressing into plush cushioning as you adjust. There's a distance to the way you're feeling, as if some odd lightness has managed to wedge itself between you and the world around you.

You lean forward, reaching for the bottle abandoned on the coffee table in front of you. Your fingers press into the glass as you move back into place, the side of your thumb tapping against the neck of the second beer you've finished tonight. A third might be nice, but the darkness around you makes the door feel too far to even think about getting to the kitchen.

There is a bottle of whisky only an arm's length away...it'd be easy to--

"No." The word is flat in its finality.

A soft laugh gives you away immediately. You press a palm against your lips as if that'll take the sound back. Sometimes Logan reads you so well you have to wonder if he has secret psychic abilities he hasn't told anyone about. "I didn't say anything."

He turns his head, lips pressing together in what feels like an attempt to dismiss the amusement behind his eyes. "Didn't have to." Logan's attention shifts back to the glass in his hand. "You're not drinking it."

You shift, turning to better analyze him. There's a stiffness to him that doesn't suit the amount of alcohol in his system. Maybe he's overcompensating for something, like his level of commitment to the stance he's taking. "Okay," the response is warm, cheery.

Logan lets out a breath as he leans forward, angling himself so close his forehead nearly touches yours. He watches you with an openness that's more dizzying than the alcohol in your system. "I mean it."

His proximity is so disorientating you nearly forget that you're meant to respond and not just stare at him.

"Fine," a genuine concession. Nothing else comes to mind, and you can't bring yourself to look away from him. The overwhelming desire to look at him is far from rare, but you're usually better at suppressing it.

You set one of your hands against the space between the two of you. "I'm gonna go get another beer."

He sighs, as if something about the statement has deeply drained him. "You're not."

Your lips part in a mock gasp. "Are you cutting me off?"

The joke seems to ease him, the corner of his mouth pulling itself upwards. "You're drunk."

Please--who gets drunk off of two beers? You narrow your eyes, not sure if you're more offended by the assumption or his hypocrisy. "Am not."

He has the audacity to smile fully. "Then let's keep it that way." The side of his hand moves to rest against the back of your palm. He's--Logan's always so warm. "Don't need to make putting you to bed any harder, princess."

An uneasy warmth begins to crawl its way up your neck. "Y'know you've had twice as much to drink as me, and you're still going."

You press your lips together in an attempt to hide the fact that you're arguing for the sake of it more than out of a desire for more alcohol.

There's a beat of silence as Logan tilts his chin downwards, making the distance between the two of you feel even smaller than it really is. "And when you're my age, you'll get a third beer."

You let yourself openly frown. "You're no fun."

He sighs, attention shifting back to his glass. "Don't pout."

"I'm not," it's a little more directly dishonest than you'd usually be, but the mood seems easy enough for you to get away with it. "I'm just...talking."

Logan watches you for a moment, doubt etched into his expression. "Sure, kid."

You roll your eyes as you shift away, arm stretching forward to place the bottle back on the coffee table. When you lean back, body pressing into the couch, a strangely poignant wave of drowsiness hits you.

The show you had been forcing Logan to watch has been replaced by something bright and loud. The sitcom had been familiar in that slightly off way, the theme song and characters like something out of a recurring childhood dream.

Before your thoughts can snag on the blurriness of your past, you lift a hand. You let your mind give into the draw of the electric current, the two melding until all you have to do to change the channel is flick your wrist. You flick through a few of them before settling on a show you're much more familiar with.

"You're a regular universal remote."

Despite yourself, you smile. The more you've worked on using your powers, the better you've gotten at motor control. Before, sometimes so much as touching something plugged into the wall was enough to make you lose control. "Much cooler than being the person that blew up the toaster."

He laughs once at the memory, the sound low but warm. "Or electrocuting me."

You glare. "I never electrocuted you." It's the truth. Your first few days here had been hectic, the stability you were being offered seemed too good to be true; every instinct in your body begged you to get out before it was too late. But you hadn't hurt anyone.

"But you thought about it." You don't have decent response. When you met Logan, you were running on nothing but adrenaline. "It's okay, I didn't make the best impression."

When the two of you first met, Logan had been...gruff, and maybe defensive in a warranted way, but you can't remember ever not liking him. Maybe that's why you felt more comfortable around him than anyone else, Logan never spoke to you in a way that felt like a facade.

But he doesn't need to know that, so you just shrug. "We're good now, though."

The show cuts to commercial break, an ad for detergent filling the screen. You let yourself relax further into the couch, your head moving to rest against Logan's arm.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "We're good."

You're aware of your blinking, of the weight of your eyelids and the focus needed to pull them back into place. Logan's presence makes it easier to accept the sluggishness and the vulnerability that comes with it. This isn't the first time he's made you feel okay about something like this.

"Logan?" He hums once in acknowledgement. You let out a quiet breath, the words briefly tangling in the back of your throat. "I'm glad you were the one that found me when I was like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and then his hand squeezes yours. "Me, too."

His voice is so quiet it almost feels like an extension of the electricity floating through the air, another thing that's easier to feel than to know. Your eyes fall shut, and you're comfortable enough to let them stay that way.

----

Taglist: @whyausername99

[princessleechan]

special treatment (m) - chapter 15 Written Chapter

Chapter list

🖊️Chapter tags: MDNI, MENTIONS OF HARRASMENT, STALKING OF A MINOR, INSECURITY, ANXIETY, TRAUMA, DARKER THEMES, mentions of drinking, office au, secretary au, misunderstandings, virgin!mingyu, one sided rivalry, grump x sunshine, grump!reader, shy sunshine!mingyu, an inside to Mingyu and his friendships, a small makeover, a tragic backstory, (w.c. 1.9k)

🖊️Tag list: @tomodachiii @humankimbap @aaniag @odevote118 @minwonwoozi @ateez-atiny380 @chisskaa @ninigyuuu @sarcasticsweetlara @bemybabiibish @blaycke @lirtha97 @kwanisms @nebulousbookshelf @gyubakeries @btsdomination @gyuguys @okiedokrie-main @jrinbb @lexyraeworld @armycarat2612 @cherrylita @jhornytrash @alyssa19123456 @chanichanvhan @minhosprettywife @jeon1w @perfectiondazesworld @skittlez-area512 @bmo-bri @blvked19 @leechansprincess @livixcore @jihoonsbbygirl @darlingz99

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

From the vanity where you freshen up your makeup, you gestured over to Mingyu’s all-black attire buttoned all the way up to his collar and thoroughly tucked in his pants that were pulled up too high. You wanted to choose your words carefully, maintaining an air of amicable camaraderie, but the displeased look was quick to betray you.

He felt nervously at his collar, unsure of his evening attire suddenly. “Yes, why? What’s wrong with it?”

“You…look like you’re attending a funeral.” You responded honestly, realizing sugarcoating did no one any good, especially at a networking event with plenty of influential faces and names.

“I wanted to blend in.”

“All black can be chic and cool, but, this is…not so much, let me just,” you strode toward him, pulling and smoothing your hand over the lapels of his suit jacket before unfurling the buttons that were begging to be set free.

He gulped, losing his footing as he felt your presence get closer, your body heat radiate hotter. “What are you—“

“Just trust the process.”

His panic only worsened as your hands reached for his belt–no, right above it, untucking his dress shirt and letting it lay relaxed on his body. Then you reached over for his collar, fingers brushing against his accelerating pulse and pebbling the skin hidden under his sleeves as you unlatched the buttons that had him by his throat. Button by button, you slowly exposed more skin, leaving a teasing sliver of his clavicle, and topping him off by propping and pressing the collar down for an effortless style. “Looks good, but it’s missing something.”

You headed for your luggage, procuring some accessories that would suit him as much as they did you, if not better. Bringing them to eye level, you analyzed which would best suit him as he peered from the side curiously. “These might do it.”

You held the chains against his neck, sorting through your selection before deciding on two simple ones with small emblems. “Bend down or something so I can reach.”

Your model obliged, lowering to your level and letting you display your jewelry on his neck, slightly beguiled by your interest in dressing him and making a show of it. “Not Swarovski or Gucci, but it should be fine. Take a look, what do you think?”

You brought him toward the mirror, letting his reflection bounce back off to him and for a second you see the way his eyes light up like they once had before. Like he radiated light, pure joy. Yet, it all disappeared in a matter of seconds, his smile of satisfaction turned into one bittersweet. “It’s…too nice.”

“Too nice?”

He fiddled with the necklace, playing with the charm before giving an apologetic look at you through the reflection. “I was hoping not to draw any attention tonight.”

“Kinda hard not to being you,” you pointed out.

He turned to face you, an apparent hurt expression on his face. “I feel like a zoo animal when people look at me. And they’re always looking.”

You shrugged, “Because you’re rich? Good looking? Everything you touch turns into gold? Kind of hard not to be intrigued.”

“It’s not that simple. Not for me.”

You rolled your eyes, not in the mood to be caught up in the theatrics of the upper class or what riddles he might have for you. “Okay, then explain it to me,” you challenged.

He sat on the bed, forearms resting on his thighs as a sullen look took over his features. “I’ve been treated a certain way my whole life, and sure maybe it was nice at first. People complimented me. I felt good about how I looked. I even got nice gifts for a while. I felt special. But it wasn’t until I met people that ruined it for me that I….” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair and mussing it, the unwanted memories haunting him like a ghost latched on his back, following him in the form of shadows and paranoia in its wake.

“When you have money, people use you, that goes without saying. I’m not stupid, I don’t go around throwing my money like any other kid with a trust fund…but because I look a certain way I get treated like property as if I didn’t have rights to my privacy, bodily autonomy, my own home,” he gulped running through the images, visibly reliving every painful second of his life.

Guilt tore you up from the inside, stabbing and twisting in your chest as if you were on the end of Mingyu's childhood trauma knife. Regret and apologies burned the tip of your tongue. “Mingyu, you don't have to—“

“—I’m objectified no matter where I am as if I wasn’t a human just like everyone else. My name attached to everything that had everything to do with my family didn’t make it any easier. It…was violating. I felt trapped. I was never alone because of these followers—these stalkers, but I felt the loneliest I’ve ever been in my entire life.

“I was thirteen years old and I had so many eyes tracking my every move like I was a criminal on the run. So I acted like one and took everything with me. I erased my entire life, moved away from my immediate family, and gave myself a new life. I was homeschooled under the care of my grandfather, then my uncle, until college where I was just another face. Large enough to scare people off, but normal enough that could blend into the crowd and weave through without any issues. My name is also just common enough to get by, but still, a thorn to my side because every time I’d hear it on the street, I-I flinch thinking someone recognized me. Like they found out about me. Or remembered me as a kid. That this Kim Mingyu was the one they were looking for and I’m back to running away all over again.”

You expelled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and you bowed your head. Meeting his eyes now after all that’s happened, all that you’ve done, and the way you’ve been treating him, you were no different. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head reassuringly, trying to muster up a smile as he tried fixing his hair, peeking at the mirror. “It’s not your fault, anxiety is weird, it festers from little tiny nerves before it becomes a big monster and swallows you up from the inside out. I don’t recommend having it.”

“It gets that way for me too,” You reassured, sitting on the bed with a modest space between you both.

“You? You get anxious?”

You nodded, answering back earnestly. “There are just times when things get too far. People test our limits and we…break.”

Mingyu felt validated. Like he waited all his life to hear something like that and he didn’t realize it until now. We break. We were only flesh and bones, of course, we did.

In the midst of his clarity, you snapped your fingers, reaching a eureka of your own. “I think I have an idea that might just help. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You reached around the exact article of clothing you were looking for out of your suitcase and took it with you to the bathroom to change into, leaving Mingyu patiently waiting with his thoughts. Staring at his reflection, he played with the chains that hung off his neck, a smile growing at how they complimented the rest of his attire, noticing that they completed his look. 

He liked how he looked in the mirror. He liked it more knowing you curated this look for him. Warmth bloomed in his chest, your satisfied face coming to mind when you brought him up to the mirror, smiling at him as if he was something to be proud of. Like you were proud of him. The sensation suddenly tightened as if it was clutching onto the rare image before it inevitably disappeared into the depths of his mind.

“Okay!” You exclaimed through the thickness of the bathroom door, bursting out soon after to showcase a new cocktail dress with its tags freshly ripped off and discarded in the bathroom’s wastebasket. “So the attention won't all be on you.”

The ruched black piece tastefully covered your assets but hugged your frame to accentuate the curves and lines, cutting off at your knees and exposing your legs while its backside cascaded a train, following behind you elegantly wherever you walked. The lone witness to the scene felt the room spinning, suddenly parched as a breath was clogged down his throat and he barely managed to push it out to allow himself to speak. Suddenly that sensation wasn’t just tightening, it throbbed, along with another untold part of him. “T-that’ll do it.”

You broke out in a genuine smile, playfully rolling your eyes before strolling over towards him, your footsteps in rhythm to the steadily growing heart rate in the man’s chest. You put out your hand, a single piece of thick chain long enough to wrap around your neck like a collar. “Help me with this necklace please.”

“O-okay.”

Your back turned towards him, patiently waiting as you faced the opposite side of the room. With the necklace in hand, his eyes trailed on the curve of your neck as you pushed your hair aside to reveal the skin vulnerable underneath. Stepping closer, he looped the accessory around your neck, swallowing a lump in his throat as his eyes attempted to train on the necklace and only the necklace. But before he latched it in place, a scent wafted into his nose, beckoning him to the crook of your neck. 

Grasping onto hooks of the necklace—despite it having been secured—he stayed, your alluring scent of musk and saccharine perfume fogged his thoughts and left him stationary, fixed as if time stood still. All he could think of at that moment was you, that delectable fragrance, and the supple skin that it stained, only leaving him with the imagination of how sweet it would taste on his tongue.

However, as soon as the necklace fell in place, you started pulling away before the moment could carry on longer than it should’ve and Mingyu found himself snapping out of your spell. He pulled away from you, standing at a healthy and appropriate distance for two work colleagues, as you faced him, feeling at the newly acquired decoration adorned on your neck.

“Thank you. Looks like we’re all ready to go down then.”

He coughed, nodding, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles of his outfit. “It seems we are.”

You hooked your arm, resting your hand on your hip, and nodded it in his direction. Mingyu’s shifty gaze dissolved into one of amusement, raising a brow at your quiet demand. You gave him an entitled look as if his response should’ve been obvious. “Well? Escort me.”

He chuckled, the tension on his shoulders slowly melting away at the lightness in your cadence. “We’re going together?”

“Seems natural, especially now that we’re matching.”

Mingyu splayed a soft smile. He reached for your hand, extending it towards him as he walked over toward you, and wrapped your hand around his bicep, bringing you in close enclosure. You peered up at him, and for once Mingyu didn't look like a nervous wreck. Instead you stared back at a man confident enough to walk into the world with his new eyes, eyes that saw you as if you were the only other person to exist. The only person who could instill that confidence in him.

“Not every day I get to teach you something.”

You scoffed, a corner of your mouth perking up in a grin. “Don’t get used to it.”

[torialefay]

🌕 Moon in Libra ♎️

bangchan as your boyfriend series!!! (pt. 4)

(based on astrology)

✨bangchan x reader (f); fluff & sad chan :(

✨word count: ~3.5k

✨4th part in a series!!! together, let’s take a look into chan’s natal chart to see what type of boyfriend he would be!

✨i will give a synopsis of what each chart placement means throughout the series (for all my non-astrology friends out there <3) and how that would affect channie in a relationship. head to my masterlist to check out the rest of the series <3

✨ author’s notes:

(1) i am doing brief (just bullet points/highlights) astrological compatibility readings if anyone wants one! if you’re interested, message me your birth date, time, and location OR lmk your placements. i’m gonna limit the reading to include you x 1 skz member only! just specify who you’d like.

(2) the aspects in this reading are based solely on my opinions and interpretations! nothing about a person is set in stone simply because of astrology. please don’t use anything i say as canon :)

(3) there is mention of another fandom in a not so great light. this is purely fictional and no offense was meant by including them. it’s simply for the storyline.

✨warnings: none

✨tldr: chan just wants to be loved.

Moon in Libra:

The Moon represents the deepest parts of yourself, the parts you are usually not even cognizant of. It is the basic energy that resides within you and what you radiate in the most still of situations. Your moon sign usually controls you in ways you aren’t aware of and draws you to certain people that you cannot explain.

• Moon in Libra has a deep NEED for love and beauty in their lives. This can be seen in the deepest parts of them. They are able to see the beauty in every person, and usually can see each person as who they really are instead of the mask they are showing the world. Because of this, he prefers to get to know people well before pursuing them in a relationship.

• Moon in Libra also highlyyyy values balance and peace in their lives. If they suspect that you are bringing drama into their lives in any way, they will most likely (very kindly) cut you out of their life. They will feel bad about it, but they need to protect their peace in order to feel comfortable in the world.

• Because of Libra’s tendency to be people pleasers, they truly seek external validation… they can take criticism very harshly. They do not like the drama and do not want to be involved in a scandal of any kind. It can, in fact, crush them, but they are too self sacrificing to say anything. They just want to make sure that people are pleased with them and they will do whatever they must do to get that.

Chan’s Moon in Libra is also in the 6th house (the house of work, routines, and health)

• Because of this, the balance in his life likely plays a largeeee role in how he performs during the day in work, in carrying out his plans for the day, and in how healthy he is staying.

• His Venus (beauty, love, and sensuality) and Mars (aggression and resolution) are also in the 6th house, meaning that if any aspect of his romance, emotions, or conflict are out of whack, so is he. He simply cannot get his work done or perform well. He is too in his head. That makes him push even harder.

*Important tidbits I learned from analyzing Chan’s natal chart!!! If you take ANYTHING away from this series, please let it be this:*

• Chan has a Libra placement for his Moon (emotions), Sun (personality), and Mercury (communication). This makes him a SUPER LIBRA. He basically identifies with it on another level.

• Here’s the problem: Libras are totally giving of themselves. Completely. They quite literally turn into whoever you want them to be. Because of that, they can really struggle with self image, not only in terms of wanting to be seen in a good light, but most importantly from the perspective of not even knowing themselves.

• Since they don’t have any one SET personality that they present to everyone, they don’t know who they are. Not fully. They may have some idea. They may know that they love people and that they think they are good people, but when it comes down to it, they feel lost.

• So what happens when you have this Libra energy in Sun, Moon, and Mercury? You feel hollow.

• It is very likely that at the end of the day, when all is said and done, Chan feels like the shell of a person. He works so hard for everyone around him, but who is he without that? If he were on his own, and if he didn’t live to please others, who would he be? Nobody. There would be no person underneath the mask. And that scares the fuck out of him.

• He NEEDS to be needed. It isn’t that he likes the attention, but he needs it to survive. Because without it, he is nothing.

—————————————————————

Focusing in now on only the Libra Sun (personality) and Libra Moon (emotions) for Chan:

• As I’ve previously discussed a million times, Libra suns need to be liked. They need harmony and balance, and they feel this through blending fully with others.

• Libra MOONS on the other hand, have a deeper desire. They don’t necessarily want to be loved on what they do, but for who they are and the way they think. Libra moons truly believe that they ARE good people who want to help. Because of this, their harmony and balance instead comes from KNOWING they are good, so they shouldn’t care what other people think of them.

• This manifests in Chan as having this war within himself of caring so much about how other people see him vs. knowing that he shouldn’t give a fuck.

• But at the end of the day, he does give a fuck. And that kills him too.

• So now, not only does he feel hollow on the inside, but he also KNOWS that he cares too deeply about shit that doesn’t even matter. But he can’t. help. it.

• He lives by the mantra “Just enjoy”, because it is something he so badly wants to be able to do.

• He likely manifests this in severe anxiety and not being able to sleep because of it. Throwing himself into work, because who is he if not the producer that his fans know and love? Laughing as much as he can to attempt to fill up the void inside of him.

• He only knows himself in relation to others. The worst thing he could ever experience is being on his own.

• This is likely why he struggled so bad in his trainee days. When everyone else got cut and he was the only one left.

• I’ve heard him explain before that it was a very dark time in his life, and that Stray Kids coming into his life is the only reason he is alive today.

• He is not over-exaggerating. Stray Kids literally gives him life. Without them, he feels like he is nothing.

• He simply cannot exist without them.

—————————————————————————

The last thing that I will add:

• Chan wants SO BADLY to learn how to not give a fuck. He NEEDS someone who can teach him that.

• He NEEDS someone who can show him how to find himself. He NEEEDS someone who will see the parts of him that he cannot see.

• If he can find someone to do this, this person will be his soulmate, I promise you.

As your boyfriend:

• “Hey there, pretty girl.” “You look so beautiful today.” “How did I get to lucky?” Chan tells you these things every day, leaning in to peck your forehead. Words of affirmation are his love language, so he would make sure you got them constantly.

• If you’ve had a long week at work/school, Chan is taking you somewhere beautiful on the weekend. Somewhere that the two of you can enjoy the beauty and the calmness together. Aka, he’s definitely taking you to a giant botanical garden, just to walk around and look at the flowers together. Walking hand in hand, he’d make sure to take breaks occasionally to get a candid photo of how pretty you look with the flowers in the background. You’d wonder off to a tiny side path, taking you to a small fairy garden with lights and a small bench. You would sit, just admiring the lights. Even though you weren’t supposed to, Chan would pick a flower off of the ground next to him and trim it down to just the right length. He’d place it in your hair, resting in the crook of your ear. He’d giggle at how cute you looked. Just like a little garden fairy.

• Chan would adore being your center of attention. He says he doesn’t, but it absolutely makes his heart melt to know that you were thinking about him. Whether it’s a painting, a song, a poem, a muse in any form, his inner self can’t help but to feel so seen.

• He loves it when you obsess over him. No, like actually he loves it. Again, he says he doesn’t, but the way it makes him feel is like none other. The fact that you think that highly of him to pour your entire self into him fills him up with love to the very brim. And he would absolutely be the same with you.

• He LOVES when you ask for his help or his advice. If you ever include the phrase, “I just wanted to know your thoughts because I really value your opinion”, then boom, he’s in love. Feeling needed gives him purpose in life.

• He would adore when you would dress up for him. No occasion, just to look pretty for him. Even though he thinks you’re always beautiful, the fact that you put in extra effort just for him to have something pretty to look at would really make him feel loved. Bonus points if you tried a style or a new item that he talked about really liking.

• If he had a hard day at work and came home to a home-cooked meal and a warm bath waiting on him, he would probably get so excited he wouldn’t even make it to the bathtub, being too busy hugging you.

• Chan is absolutely the type to avoid drama, and especially avoid you having to get involved in any drama at all costs.

• But your boyfriend was no novice to how cruel the online communities could be towards him.

• The week’s newest scandal: that he was saying nasty things about ATEEZ behind their back.

• And damn, did he get a lot of flack.

• What was the proof you may ask?… A tweet. A fucking tweet some random account (that was created 7 hours ago) sent out saying that she had been behind him and heard him saying awful things while on the phone with a friend. As “proof”, she posted the back of a man’s body who had on a black beanie, black hoodie, and black sweatpants.

• You had to give it to her, that was the iconic Channie outfit.

• But what she failed to realize: your man is literally 171 cm… no way in hell is he towering over everyone else like in the picture she posted.

• STAY knew that, but you know how the internet goes. One bad word, and the world is trying to cancel you.

• Well that “you” is now Channie. There’s been an all out fan war between STAY and ATINY to the point that it is now trending worldwide. ATINY trying to trend “#bangchanisoverparty” and damn, it was kinda working.

• When you both saw, you talked to Chan about it. He assured you that he was fine and it was nothing to worry about. He knew who he was and that’s all that mattered. If things got out of hand, JYP would make an official statement saying that it was not him in the photo and they would investigate into the account that posted about it.

• You were so proud of your boyfriend for how much he had overcome to be able to feel that way. You knew he struggled with a lot, and although you were helping him, you were so happy knowing that he was okay.

• Well, until you woke up in the middle of the night to hearing Channie crying softly, lying in the spot next to you.

• You listened quietly, pretending to still be asleep, so you could check on your boyfriend while still allowing him to have his own space.

• Your heart almost shattered as you heard him start to actually sob, reaching his hand up to his mouth in order to stop any sound from coming out.

• Even in his most desperate hour, he didn’t want to wake you. He didn’t want you to know.

• So you just laid there, eyes darting off to focus on the moon, while your back was turned away from him. Listening. Just listening.

• After a couple of minutes, you heard the sobs start to resolve, and deep breaths in began. Good, he was finally starting to feel better.

• You heard the bed sheets rustle a bit as he made the tiniest, slowest movements to reach for his phone on the nightstand.

• You knew that’s what he had to have been reaching for, as you saw a quick, bright flash of light coming in from behind you. You relaxed into the mattress as you heard him typing in his passcode, hopefully to play some light, soothing music to fall asleep to. You didn’t hear anything for the next couple of minutes.

• Content that Chan had successfully cried himself to sleep, you rolled to your other side to curl your body into his. You wanted to feel the warmth of his back pressed up against your chest. To rest your hand at the nape of his neck and hold on for as long as you could.

• To your surprise, your roll over did land you on top of Channie, but a very much awake and very much still on his phone Channie.

• He looked just as startled to see you, dropping his phone down onto his chest. His eyes were red and puffy. The rest of his face followed suit. You hated to see him cry, but you had to admit that he looked like an adorable little fluffball like this, especially with the curly hair all fluffed out from “tossing and turning” you guessed.

• ���What are you doing up?” you whispered, playing dumb. You relaxed your hand on top of his chest and heaved your face down into him. You lifted your eyes up to look at his. So beautiful in the silver moon’s light.

• “I thought I heard my phone go off,” he lied.

• “Oh yeah? Who would be calling in the middle of the night?”

• “Minho. He probably went out for a few drinks, I don’t know. I didn’t answer it and was gonna text.” Damn, this boy was gonna do everything in his power to not admit to you that he was just crying.

• “Okay baby, let me know what he says,” you nuzzled into him, ready to watch this shit show of a lie go down.

• You watched as he quickly snatched up his phone, bringing it to rest right in front of his face. Not before you saw what he had actually been doing though.

• He’d been on twitter reading through comments. “#bangchanisoverparty” was pasted into the search bar at the top.

• You felt your heart shrivel up. Why does he do this to himself? Why does he care so much about what other people think about him?

• You sat and stared off, not sure if you should mention anything. You didn’t want to make things worse. But then again, what kind of girlfriend lets her boyfriend lay there and cry himself to death?

• “There,” Chan said, turning his phone off and laying it back on the bedside table. “I texted to see what he needs. Hopefully he replies back soon so I don’t fall back asleep and miss it.” This man is one good ass liar. Kinda scary now that you think about it, but whatever, that’s besides the point.

• “You’re a good friend Channie,” you scooted up to make sure your face was resting into the side of his neck. One arm extended around him to cover him in a light hug, and you just held him there for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, your eyelids got heavy again and you fluttered them closed.

• No more than 10 seconds later, they shot back open. You had felt a singular drop of water hit your face. A tear. He couldn’t lie now.

• You raised up to be above Chan, one hand still over his torso, and the other propping you up on your elbow. There were a few stray tears covering each cheek.

• The one hand moved up his body and slowly wiped at the tears on one side, making his perfect complexion visible once again. You kissed over the area with a touch as gentle as a feather.

• “What’s wrong baby?” you whispered while your head was just over top of his own.

• “Nothing baby, please go back to sleep,” he choked out, letting a light sniffle escape him.

• “I’m not going back to sleep until you talk to me.”

• “Please, y/n. Please just go back to sleep.”

• “No. Talk to me. Why were you on twitter?”

• He looked mortified. He didn’t answer. He just laid there, looking off to the side with an expression on his face like he could start crying again at any moment.

• You relaxed off of your elbow and sunk back into him again. You tangled your hand into his hair and started playing with it. Rolling it around in between your fingers. You started combing your hand through it in tiny strokes. You were learning to relax into the silence.

• You let the whole weight of your hand rest onto his scalp, running down it and to the nape of his neck. You repeated this a few times, hoping that he would get some light tingles over his body and start to perk up.

• You slowly moved your hand to caress the top of his ear, running a finger along the outer rim. Your touch was so slight that he couldn’t tell if he was imagining it, but it did soothe him. He thought about how reminiscent it was of what he would always do- touch his ears to calm himself. You knew this too of course. That’s why you were doing it.

• Chan knew why you were doing it too. You knew him better than he knew himself.

• You continued to stroke along his ear, adding more fingers and more pressure until you were massaging his ear lobe. Pressing your fingers into the skin of the area right behind where his ear met his skull. You massaged a low place here, rubbing small circles with just enough pressure.

• You slowly continued to drag your hand down to his neck, working again now in light strokes to feel all up and down the side and front. So smooth, you thought.

• You followed suit with your lips, pulling them to the area just between his ear and jaw. You planted a slow, low kiss to his most sensitive area.

• You felt the familiar sensation of wetness again. The taste of salt. Of course it had been another tear resting there for you to find and take away. You wished you could take away all the pain.

• You finally moved your hand all the way down to find his. You gave it a small squeeze, and then brought it up to relax over your own situated on his chest right over his heart. You sat in silence, feeling the strong beat inside. Just enjoying the warmth of his body underneath you.

• “You are so perfect,” you kissed his arm, admiring how hard his bicep was.

• All of a sudden, his stillness turned into a sob again. He tried to break his hand away from yours so he could cover up his eyes and the rest of his face.

• “No baby, you let me keep this hand,” you whispered. “It’s okay to cry, but at the end of it, I need you to know how loved you are. How so many people would kill just to see a smile on your face. How you can make a person’s day better just by being in it. How every time I look at you, I think that there must be a god, because how could there be something as perfect as you without a creator to make it?”

• You heard his tears stifle. He let out a weak smile. Your heart reciprocated the gesture.

• “There’s my beautiful boy,” you kissed his temple.

• “Now tell me baby,” you leaned back up to rest your forehead just on top of his, noses almost touching. “Do you think a life so full of love like that is worth crying over?”

• His tiny smile turned into a big one, leaving his bashful dimples on display. He took a moment and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

• He let out a small giggle. “No,” he looked into your eyes.

• “Good answer,” you leaned your face in the tiniest bit to touch a kiss on top of each eyelid. Satisfied, you resigned to your position of curling up next to him, head positioned to fit perfectly to his neck, two hands holding both of his own.

• “I love you,” he murmured.

• “I love you too Channie. And I wasn’t lying, you really are perfect. The last person left to convince is yourself.”

Moon in Libra.

[szlez]

Stay - destiel fanfic by ani_ona and me with my fanart Feverish

Written for https://sicktember.tumblr.com prompt. Dean & Cas

Stay

It was Sam, who noticed first. Knowing every muscle of his brother's face and years of studying every one of his tiniest expressions helped, but at the end of the day it was due to that unexplainable connection between the two of them. The strange force that made his time at Stanford less enjoyable and more sleepless. So now he just knows that something is wrong with his brother. And when Dean orders his beloved chili fries and doesn't suck in every last bit in a matter of minutes, Sam and Cas exchange worried looks.

Their case is solved, dinner finished, and they are in for a 9-hour drive home. Another cue that something is not just as it should be is when Dean decides to let Sam drive after an hour and doesn't take a shotgun seat but joins Castiel in the back instead. When Sam glances in the rear mirror, he sees his brother's head resting on the angel's shoulder and the intense stare of the blue eyes.

Dean doesn't wake up the whole ride home. Cas somehow manages to arrange him into a more lying position, with his head on the angel's lap. Sam would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't focused on keeping his eyes open and on the road.

They reach the bunker at dawn, and Dean lets Castiel maneuver him out of the car and down the stairs.

“Get him to his room,” Sam says, his voice hoarse from not using and tiredness. “And I’ll bring some supplies.” Cas just nods and adjusts his grip around Dean's waist. He is taking off the hunter's shoes, when Sam comes in with water and some pills.

“Looks like he is going down with something…” Cas murmurs, letting the back of his palm touch Dean's cheek. He frowns and crouches beside the bed to lightly press his lips to Dean's forehead. “Definitely. His fever is high.” He whispers, now real concern lacing his voice.

The gesture looks a lot like a kiss. Dean would undoubtedly freak out if he was awake. But now Sam is too tired to analyze it further.

“Make sure he drinks a lot. And takes these once he is conscious enough.” he points to the meds. “Want me to stay with you?”

“No, Sam, I got this, you drove the whole night, go get some sleep.”

Sam nods and leaves, though he feels strange. He's never left his brother's side during an illness. Even as a child, he used to cling to his brother when any of them was unwell. Perhaps it had something to do with losing the only source of safety and care. Now Dean has his angel, Sam tells himself, lowering his pounding head onto the pillow. He is out in a few minutes.

In the meantime, Castiel frees Dean of most of his clothing, careful with every movement, expecting the hunter to shove him away and yell. But he doesn't react more than with a quiet sigh, and feeling his skin radiating unnatural heat makes Castiel worry even more. He tries to wake Dean up, but only succeeds in making him swallow some pills without choking. When the fever is still high, regardless of the meds, Castiel's anxiety reaches a dangerous level bordering panic. What if he is doing something wrong? Or not doing enough? He stares at the pale face of his friend, thinking. Dean would know what to do. He always does. Dean dealt with countless of Sam's childhood illnesses, even more wounds requiring various types of stitches, his father's drunken fits and hangovers. But now it's Dean who needs help, and Cas feels uncertain and incompetent. Afraid that he could make things worse. What is he supposed to do? Should he go get Sam?

Dean stirs in his sleep, and Castiel's train of thoughts is interrupted. He focuses on his friend, whose brow frowns, and his whole body tenses under the covers. Hands grip the sheets tightly and suddenly he opens his eyes wide, staring terrified and unseeing through the ceiling, breathing shallow, quick breaths. What is he seeing, Cas can only guess, but he is afraid he can guess correctly.

“Hey… Easy…” Cas reaches for Dean's hand and feels fingers clutching his wrist like a lifeline. “Whatever you see, it's not real. You are safe here, with me. It's just a dream. It's not real.” Cas whispers over and over again until Dean rests his head on the pillow and falls asleep, not letting go of his angel’s hand.

So until he loosens his grip, Castiel has no other option but to sit down on the floor by the bed and try to make himself comfortable. He feels Dean’s quick pulse under his fingertips and watches an unhealthy blush coloring hunter's cheeks. After what feels like hours the idea pops into Cas’ mind, and he makes a quick run to the sink with a handful of handkerchiefs. As soon as the wet cloth touches hot skin, Dean shudders violently and makes a little sound close to whimper. Cas's heart tightens. He puts his hand on Dean's cheek to calm him down, and the hunter leans into the touch as if trying to find some relief. The angel sits on the bed and cradles Dean's head, wanting to absorb the heat, illness, and pain.

“You are going to be ok, I'll take care of you.” He whispers to the unconscious man and feels Dean's chaotic fear and suffering flooding him, leaving him breathless. He has to do something, anything, to help, and fast. The echo of Dean's headache pounding in his own skull.

Dean is drifting in and out of consciousness, never lucid enough to hold a real conversation, just searching the space with glassy eyes that close with relief once he makes sure Castiel is with him.

“You are not alone,” Castiel tells him, knowing very well that Dean won't remember anything. “You won't be anymore.”

Hours go by and Castiel fills his time with wiping Dean's face, trying to get some water into him, changing cold compresses, and constantly checking the temperature. With zero improvement so far. Why is nothing working?

Finally, Cas knows he can't delay it anymore and a decision has to be made now. It's been hours and they haven't made any progress. Dean is exhausted and completely out of it from pain and fever, and Cas can't look at his dry lips and glistering, unseeing eyes any longer. It's time to take serious steps.

Dean is heavy. The dead weight of his nearly unconscious body is hard to carry. But not for the angel, who lifts him with ease, just like all these years before when they were leaving Hell. Castiel carefully lowers his trembling burden into the tube, and Dean immediately curls into a tight ball, shivering uncontrollably. Cas starts the lukewarm water and strokes Dean’s chest and back,

“Easy… try to relax” he murmurs, enfolding the hunter's arms. “This is going to help, you will feel better soon, just relax.” And finally, Dean does. Once the tube is filled, he straightens his legs and seems to be drifting off again. He slides a little and would go under if it weren't for Castiel’s grip.

“I’ve got you,” the angel sighs softly. “Don't worry, just relax and rest” he whispers, gently rubbing his chest and stomach in a slow circular motion.

This could be so much fun in different circumstances, Castiel thinks to himself, taking in his lover’s slim, muscular figure under the clear surface… What is he thinking about?!, he scolds himself immediately. It's definitely not a good time for such things. He has to admit to himself that he appreciates the sight before his eyes, though. 

Returning to the bedroom is surprisingly difficult because Dean, now somewhat conscious and wrapped tightly in the biggest towel the bunker can offer, insists on going on his own. This proves to be not the best idea when after a few steps his legs fail to support him, and he is forced to accept Castiel's outstretched arm reluctantly. 

The angel doesn't speak much now when Dean is able to comprehend what is being said to him. Helping Dean change into fresh clothes, and passing him pills and a glass of water, Cas carefully observes his patient, not daring to think that the worst is over now. Once Dean dozes off again, his fever rises a few degrees but only to break after a few hours, leaving the hunter drenched in sweat, weak and tired but finally fully awake and aware of his surroundings.

Seeing Dean putting on his T-shirt without help convinces Cas that his job is finished. He stands up slowly, mutters some “I’d be going” and turns to leave. That's when his hand is gripped one more time this night.

Cas catches Dean’s gaze lucid at last and though the man doesn’t utter a sound, the angel can hear one word, clear as a bell: Stay.

[paradiseinternet]

I Hate Tony Stark: Chapter Three

pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader

word count: 3.1k

triggers: foul language, childhood trauma, poverty, anger (although reasonably justified).

author's note: another chapter in the bag :)

also posted on ->

Chapter Three: My Darling, You Are Glowing

For a birthday, this one has turned to shit and has officially claimed spot number two. Quite remarkable considering second place was originally rewarded to the birthday you realized your family couldn’t afford nice things. There isn’t necessarily a tier for these types of birthdays, but considering how your life has been going, you’re making one up on the way.

As a recap, you are currently standing in front of the reception desk inside a questionable 2-star motel. Your room is on the highest level, that being the ninth floor, and there is no elevator. Tony Stark, your deadbeat of a soulmate, decided to rush down to the lobby to obtain a business card with an address on it—while still being in your pajamas. This leaves you with a rather limited set of options for when your soulmate (a genius) will most likely arrive in his high-tech, attention-drawing Iron Man suit.

Run out of the building and try to hide in an alleyway or find a crowd to blend into.

Run up the stairs to gather your backpack then run away.

Ask the receptionist if she’s a snitch, then hide behind her desk.

Do nothing.

The first option, although the most appealing, isn’t the smartest. With you being a lady in a nightgown running into the night, there will be no doubt some predator waiting to attack. Additionally, without so much as your flip phone and keys, you stand no chance of getting back into your apartment while also sacrificing your most expensive possession (the phone).

Looking at the second option makes it seem plausible, until you’re reminded that you have never run a marathon, much less bolted up nine flights of stairs. Even if you managed to get to your room in time, the great genius most likely noted your motel room number and will be bee-lining it your way.

Although the third option wouldn’t be your first choice, considering how the others are lining up, it seems to be a worthy consideration. There is a lot of room for error, and you run the chance that she is a snitch. Afterall, when facing the boy-billionaire, it’s hard for any woman to say no. Even if she isn’t a snitch, doesn’t the suit have some form of heat-radiation-detection-thingy? It would be rather naïve to not have all the military gadgets installed to resemble a Mission Impossible movie. Now that you think about it, it’s going to be remarkably difficult to hide from someone who has a toolbelt that rivals Inspector Gadget.

Which leaves you with the final option. You are not doing the final option.

This is as much analyzing you can do because you are wasting precious time!

Without further consideration, you turn around inside the lobby in hopes of finding something to cover yourself with. In the corner you spot a raincoat that doesn’t fit the evening’s weather but is better than nothing. On top of the coat rack you took the raincoat from, there was a bucket hat. Perfect! Quickly putting everything on, you begin to make your way outside.

The receptionist behind you yelled something in which you shouted back, “I’ll bring these back! I promise!”

Stepping outside into the mildly brisk New York night, you felt confident in your abilities to blend in with the night people. Sure, you don’t have shoes on which is a bit of a red flag in your disguise, but hopefully the night will mask your socks.

‘I got this. I got this. I got this,’ you repeated to yourself as you depressingly realized there were no people around.

One of the things you learn in horror movies is to never look behind you, and since you wished to take no chances, you maintained that fact of fiction. Another thing is to never go into the darkness, but since you were wearing fuzzy socks instead of shoes, the darkness would be a better bet.

You tried to stay out of the line-light of the streetlights, but this part of town seemed to be nicely lit to your dismay.

Correction, insanely lit. The area around you was constantly brightened up and it seemed that the more you walked down the sidewalk, the brighter the light got. There was no in-between darkness like how streetlights were typically separated.

Looking up in confusion, you gasped in bafflement.

It was at this moment you heard something like a putter become silenced as the sound of heavy metal dropping temporarily replaced it. This noise seemed to be coming from where you had just left—in front of the motel’s main entrance. He has arrived.

This new piece of information got swept under the rug as you continued to gaze up at the sky. The streetlight-less sky. As in, there is no light above you to light your path. In fact, as you tilted your head to look in front of you, there wasn’t a single streetlight on this side of the sidewalk.

Your face is contorted to one of amazement and terror as you slowly let your head fall down to your body. There, from under the thick raincoat, you could see a light shining from the bottom of the coat. Reaching for the clasp that you had used to close the coat previously, you then noticed that your hand was glowing. Not letting that stop you, you undid the clothing you stole only for a beam of light to escape from every corner that you opened.

You are, for lack of better terms, a fully lit Christmas tree. Every inch of your skin is glowing, and it was so strong that it was emitting through your nightgown creating a bright silhouette of your body underneath.

Squeaking in embarrassment, you tied the raincoat back up to try and shield away possible onlookers and save your dignity.

This is when the noise from before was taken out from under the rug and presented to you on a silver platter.

Whipping your head back up from gazing at the lighthouse that is now you, you twisted your body to stare at the reason for the clanking metal from before. There, a few yards away, was the Iron Man. From breaks in the suit you could see glimpses of a light shining through. The light that was no doubt emitting from your soulmate.

‘Oh god,’ you thought in bewilderment. This is the person you were destined to be with, the one you have cast away because of what his genius mind has done. The man you hate.

There the two of you are, separated only by a few steps in the night. You stand like a deer in headlights except you aren’t the deer but instead the headlight. He wasn’t doing anything, just looking at you from inside his dented-up mask.

‘Can I outrun this?’ The answer was no but that didn’t stop you.

You don’t know what it would be like to run in a marathon, but this might be a casting call. You went from headlights to car really quick as you ran as fast as you could down the street. Granted, you knew that outrunning him is impossible considering his clear advantage, and it also doesn’t help that you’re a thousand glowsticks taped together. But when the very man you have been running away from since the age of 16 is now behind you, any idea is worth taking a chance on than possibly encountering that wild Pokémon.

As could be expected, you didn’t make it very far. Deciding to chance a look behind you, and saw nothing there, you turned back around only to run full force into a wall. Except this wall is metal. And alive. And 100% not what you want to be dealing with on your birthday.

Falling on your butt from the sheer force that was the Iron Man, you couldn’t help but yelp as your tailbone seemed to get the worst hit. That’s going to hurt later.

So there you are, laying down on the cold New York sidewalk in a stolen hat and raincoat with nothing but your nightgown and fuzzy socks to keep you warm. Your heart was beating considerably faster, but whether that was from the run or the soulmate being in proximity, you were unsure.

He took a few steps back then released himself from his metal body, stepping out onto the brightly lit sidewalk. His face was a little banged up and wetsuit-type clothing in possession of some minor rips, but he was no doubt glowing as bright as a star. It seemed to be that by proximity, the shine that the two of you emitted was growing ever stronger as the distance was being closed.

Reaching his hand out, he gestured for you to take it as a means of being helped up off the dirty ground. Then, something twisted and snaped inside your heart. Your brain no longer clouded by adrenaline but of an equally powerful drug—rage.

“Hey--,” he began but was cut short as you slapped his hand away, perhaps with a little more force then necessary.

You watched as his face went from shock to confusion, like the mere thought of anyone touching him in a way that wasn’t gentle, was taboo. At the same time, the glow started to fade away, as if the skin contact was enough to flick a light switch into the off position. Within a few seconds of stunned silence, the only light remaining was of a distance streetlamp and the faint glow of the metal handicap within his chest.

Quickly getting up from the ground by yourself then taking a step back, you stood as tall as you could while in the presence of such a highly regarded individual. You hate him, for good reason, but he is still a man with power, lots of power.

Even after straightening your spine you can’t help but note he is a whole head taller than you, very contrary to what you believed from watching the TV. Additionally, the screen didn’t do justice to his good looks, up close he looked even more spectacular . . . wait, what?

He chuckled, “Okay, you’re probably confused. I get it, lot to take in.”

Whatever he was referring to, most likely the slap of his hand, you couldn’t care less. He was talking to you, the person you have been avoiding religiously, and you are saying nothing.

“Wow,” he continued. “You . . . you’re really here.”

What is there to say? At least a million and two things. You could start by introducing yourself, but that would defeat the point of remaining anonymous.

Tony released a breathless chuckle, his voice soft but charged with excitement, “I just can’t believe it. It’s—this is it! We’ve finally met.”

How do you explain to someone who thinks they’ve done nothing wrong that everything is wrong? That your life has been a rollercoaster of emotions and bad deals because of him? Anger boiled in your chest, but something was suppressing an outburst. You couldn’t pin your finger on the emotion, but it was strong.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” You came back to reality as he asked you a question, staring at you expectingly.

His eyes looked . . . hopeful. Like a child has just been shown a bucket full of candy and the only thing that could damper their mood is to take the candy away.

You’re going to take the candy away.

Your tongue swept across your dry lips, readying your first words to this increasingly intimidating man. Perhaps the reason he was becoming intimidating was because you never actually planned for an accidental meeting. There was the thought that you would yell at him, scream, curse, give him an earful. Yet here you are, a thousand things to say but no words to say them. He is intimidating because you are in the presence of the great Tony Stark, and your mind has already built in a program explaining to you that he is nothing else but a celebrity on a screen. You and he have nothing in common—except you do. You two have a very big something in common.

“Forget . . . ,” you started, struggling to make words connect. “Forget that you saw me.”

This was for the best. If he really is your soulmate, he’d respect your wishes. Afterall, what are soulmates for if not servants to each other? Besides, this really is for the best. He’s oblivious to the pain he’s caused and is ignorant of the full story. As far as he’s probably concerned, this is the best day of his life. The first day of a long life spent with someone else, forever not alone.

His eyebrows knit together as he makes an interesting face that mimics a comical expression of confusion.

“I don’t follow. What’re you talking about?” He asks. “How am I supposed to forget something so captivating?”

The compliment goes over your head, too focused on managing this situation and tilting it into your desired path.

“This meeting shouldn’t be happening,” you struggle to maintain a steady heartbeat as your head began to drift down.

“I completely agree,” he replied.

Your head whips back up, shocked by his response. Did he understand? Is this some form of soulmate ability you’re unfamiliar with? Maybe this birthday is starting to brighten up.

A smirk is perched on his lips as he continued, “Dinner then? I didn’t mean for all this to happen while you were in your pajamas, so let’s start out fresh where we’re both prepared.”

The hope dies quickly as now you need to clarify what you meant.

“I was thinking about a steakhouse. You like steak? There’s this place that holds a constant reservation for me so--,” he was starting to talk again but you interrupted him.

“I don’t want to go out for dinner,” you tried to clarify.

He paused as his eyes showed something like a processor going through his brain.

“Yeah, good point. It’s a bit formal to start out with. Besides, probably best to avoid the crowds after the show I made,” he chuckled while pointing in the direction of the expo. “PR is going to have a field day. However, I do have to warn you, I make an impression everywhere I go.”

Towards the end of his statement he then made a motion to himself as if saying ‘I am Tony Stark, after all’.

The overinflated ego oozing out of this man was almost intoxicating, making it hard for you to breath. Not to forget that everything that was could out of your mouth was going over his head.

You tried to reinstate your point, “I don’t want to go out with you.”

This sent him into a moment of more analyzing, trying to decipher the latest bit of words you sputtered out. Everything you’ve said so far made sense to you, but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him.

“Okay . . . I can work with that,” he paused. “So, what do you want to do?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” you replied bluntly.

A few seconds passed by while both of you stood at an impasse. You’d like nothing more than to go back to your motel room and pretend none of this ever happened, but if you do this right, you’ll never have to worry about your relationship with Tony Stark ever again.

“Now why would you want something like that?” He asks suspiciously, slightly tilting his head to the right in curiosity.

Well? What’s your response? Sure, you have a reason (a damn good one at that), but is he worth reliving that terrible experience? Honesty is most likely the best response, but he just isn’t worth your time.

“Once upon a time I asked for this—a connection. But now, I don’t need it,” you sighed in frustration. “And frankly, I don’t want it.”

This took him back, not expecting someone to reject him. Him. Tony Stark. Surely rejection isn’t an often-had drink that he has.

“I’m not following,” he said, you could hear his voice raise in equally matched frustrations. “We’re meant to be together. That’s literally the whole idea of a soul—sorry, were you not educated on this topic?”

Your face changed into one that looked to be light anger, for this man who doesn’t know a thing about you, is questioning your knowledge.

“Yes, yes, I do know what soulmates are along with their premise. I don’t want one,” you solidify the statement with a subtle nod on your part, mentally confirming to yourself that this is what you wanted.

He seemed to almost scoff, “What? Fate has put us together; this is something you don’t just throw away. It’s something you accept, what everyone accepts.”

This bull is not going down without a fight, so it’s time to put your game face on. You tried to do this civilly, but if you need to play a little dirty, so be it. He should be familiar with the premise, considering his previous line of work resulted in the death of so many. The primary executioner of your father needs to know exactly how much you don’t need him.

“Yeah, just like how I accepted--,” you bit your tongue, the thought of your parents passing still stinging your heart. You almost slipped, almost admitting to him his own sins. Instead you say with a little wetness in your eyes, “I don’t owe you anything, nor an explanation. You’re just a problem I don’t need. Soulmates are your reality, Stark, not mine.”

The band aid has been ripped; you’ve given him your thoughts. And based on his silence, you’ve managed to say the right things. It only took a few moments after your statement, however, before he spoke again.

“Please rethink thi--,” he began softly, only to be cut off once more.

“I don’t need--,” here it is, the salt into the exposed wound. Time to cut the head off the snake. The venom was practically dripping down your chin as you finished your sentence, “--some overinflated ego telling me what my life is supposed to be like. This is my future, mine.”

In that moment, you felt something in your heart strain. It didn’t hurt, but it certainly couldn’t be ignored. And then, for a split second, you thought maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

No going back now.

[grappleghosts]

AEW Feels Like a 90's Sitcom (And Why That's A Good Thing)

There's been something bugging me about "All Elite Wrestling" lately.

For weeks now, there's been a certain nostalgia to the twice-a-week program that I just haven't been able to place.

It's a living, breathing anecdote to good old 90's nostalgia.

The Ensemble Cast & Formula:

Sitcoms rely on a diverse cast of characters to strike a balance and keep people coming back every week. Amidst the brand's high-octane matches and fiery promos, its structure and storytelling truly revive what I loved about 90's television.

Each member of its expansive roster have such distinct personalities that at times, I wish we'd see more of. Nonetheless, AEW captures a close - if not the exact formula of "alternative media."

A hallmark of 90’s sitcoms was their ability to tell self-contained stories while also weaving in larger arcs. The 'All Elite' employ a similar approach. They tie in broader narratives with an oddly .. complex 'comedy gold' that we look forward to every week.

The Roster & Their Sitcom Counterparts:

It's easy to see how AEW's larger than life stars are worthy of their own "90's intro parody". Think as if "Too Many Cooks" & "Full House" had their own twisted and dysfunctional reboot.

As much as I'd love to analyze the entire roster, I'm not that insane.

1.) Maxwell Jacob Friedman (MJF) & Frasier Crane.

Frasier Crane and MJF are performers who thrive on attention and validation. Undoubtedly, two sides to the exact same coin.

(Years on TV: 1993-2004)

Similar Traits:

A taste for theatrics: While Frasier Crane's life is filled with his own dramatic blunders - MJF shamelessly brings the drama with him wherever he goes.

Overconfidence: Both men radiate a bold self-assurance. They each have a knack for flaunting their intellectual prowess. Utilizing more than a touch of arrogance along the way.

Self Absorption: MJF's famous line, "I am better than you in every single way, and you know it," is self explanatory. Frasier's ego is rooted in culture, but they both take pride in setting impossible standards.

At the end of the day;

Frasier Crane and MJF are showmen who crave the spotlight. They wield their sharp humor, charm, and over-sized egos in fancy suits.

2.) Harley Cameron & Kimmy Gibbler

(Years on TV/Pre-reboot: 1987-1995)

Main. Character. Energy.

I know that they're seen as 'secondary characters', BUT they are far from it. Both of their antics are pivotal for comedic relief but beautifully displays their strengths.

Similar Traits:

Unapologetically Quirky: Whilst they may seem unconventional or out-of-place, without their humor the main plot would be much more dull.

Confident: This is the cornerstone of why I believe this comparison fits. They are unshakably self-assured. Never failing to speak their minds and express themselves in oddball ways. While unconventional, there's never a staleness and always a level of unpredictability.

Thrive Under The Spotlight: Often inserting themselves into conversations or situations, Harley and Kimmy immediately take center stage. No matter how brief it may seem.

These two gals are important to the equation.

They bring a natural enhancement- like salt to sweet, to the dynamics of those they’re on screen with.

3.) The Learning Tree (Jericho, Bill & Keith) & The Simpson's bully squad (Jimbo, Dolph & Kearney.)

Same energy:

Hierarchy, plain and simple.

Both of these trios are notorious shit starters and troublemakers.

Similar Traits:

Unconventional Leadership: Let's be honest, in their own ways both Jericho and Jimbo pull the strings in their own ways. With an aura of cartoonish coolness and love of immaturity? The shoe indeed fits. Jericho’s mentorship of Big Bill and Bryan Keith? Strangely mirrors Jimbo’s informal guidance of Dolph and Kearney. AEW is by all means their proverbial 'playground'.

The Enforcer: Big Bill and Kearney take their places on the field solely as 'the muscle' here. They both step in to reinforce the groups utter intimidation and sheer dominance. Not a thought goes on behind their eyes though, honestly.

The Rising Star: Bryan Keith and Dolph are both the mostly silent yet hungry types in their respective groups. Under their mentorships, they have the most to prove but show equal promise. These two bring a well rounded energy needed to complete their units. The groups arguably wouldn't be the same without them.

The dynamics are eerily striking once you put them under a microscope.

Well, that was a journey. Huh?

I could honestly make this idea an entire series. It was difficult enough to narrow down the list to cover.

I'd definitely want to hear YOUR thoughts on these comparisons.

[arasinchahonghong]

Caught Red-Handed (or Should We Say, Heart-Handed) //H.J

Pairings : idol Shua x idol y/n

Genre -Drama, fluff?

! Warnings! - I see none....

Abstract- when joshua and Y/n are caught dating.....

The murmur of the crowd was a familiar hum to Joshua, a comforting backdrop to the dazzling chaos of the 2025 Seoul Music Awards. As SEVENTEEN’s performance ended, he scanned the sea of idols, his gaze lingering, as it always did, on the Aestria table. His heart did a familiar little flip as he spotted her.

Cho Y/n, Aestria’s maknae and undeniably the main visual, was laughing, her head thrown back, a stray lock of her deep blue hair falling across her face. Even from a distance, the pure joy radiating from her was palpable. She was a sunshine person, and Joshua, despite his calm exterior, found himself drawn to her light like a moth to a flame.

Their dating had been a carefully guarded secret for almost a year. Stolen glances, hurried texts, late-night calls, and clandestine coffee dates had become their normal. The thought of being caught was a constant, low-level hum of anxiety, but the thrill of their shared secret, of being with Y/n, always outweighed it.

Aestria was up next for their performance. As the lights dimmed and the opening notes of their latest hit, "Accendio, " filled the arena, Joshua’s eyes were glued to Y/n. She moved with an ethereal grace, her stage presence captivating. He felt a swell of pride, a quiet adoration that he hoped no one could see.

The performance ended to thunderous applause. As Aestria took their bows, Y/n's eyes, almost instinctively, found his. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips, and in that fleeting moment, the world outside them seemed to disappear.

Then came the moment of truth. The camera, in its relentless pursuit of candid moments, was panning across the idol section, catching reactions to the performances. As it swept past SEVENTEEN, then past Aestria, Joshua felt a sudden, inexplicable urge. It was foolish, reckless even, but he couldn't resist.

Just as the camera focused on Y/n, who was still slightly out of breath but beaming, Joshua subtly raised his hand. His index finger and thumb formed a tiny heart, a gesture so common among idols, yet in this context, so loaded.

Y/n’s eyes, still on his, widened almost imperceptibly. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then widened, a genuine, joyful smile that reached her eyes. She returned the tiny heart, so quickly that anyone not looking for it would miss it.

But someone did not miss it.

The immediate aftermath was a blur. The MC’s voice droned on, announcing the next award, but the whispers had already started. On social media, the clips were already circulating, slowed down, zoomed in, analyzed frame by frame.

Joshua felt a cold dread settle in his stomach, but strangely, it was quickly replaced by a wave of defiant relief. The secret was out. He looked at Y/n again, who was now being nudged by her leader, her cheeks flushed, but a glimmer of something fierce and determined in her eyes.

Later that night, long after the awards were over and the official statements from their agencies had been released—vague mentions of "close sunbae-hoobae relationship" that fooled no one—Joshua’s phone buzzed.

It was Y/n.

"So," her text read, "we’re caught."

Joshua smiled, a genuine, relieved smile. "Looks like it," he replied. "No more secret coffee dates?"

A few moments later, her reply came. "Maybe just more public ones. And you owe me a real date, Shua. With no tiny hand hearts."

He laughed, a warm, resonant sound. The world outside might be in an uproar, but in this moment, with Y/n, everything felt perfectly right. The secret was out, yes, but so was the possibility of something real, something open, and something even more wonderful.

[captainswaglord500]

Pelagic Sawshrimp

Kingdom: Animalia

Phylum: Chordata

Subphylum: Brachiognatha 

Infraphylum: Gnathomorpha

Clade: Chondrostomata

Clade: Caridoprionididomorpha

Class: Caridoprionidida

Clade: Caridoprioniformes

Order: Caridoprionida

Family: Caridoprionidae

Subfamily: Caridoprioninae

Genus: Caridoprion

Species: C. pelagica (“pelagic shrimp-saw”)

Ancestral species: a creature similar to Pikaia gracilens

Temporal range: ~7.5 million Nicoch years to recent (1 Nicoch year = 1.3 Earth years)

Information:

In a far-off galaxy on the other side of the cosmos lies an ocean planet called Nicochnya. Slightly larger than Earth and orbiting twin stars, this planet was seeded by the Eos during the Permian around 255 million years ago. One of the most prominent groups seeded from Archaeonesia were a peculiar group of basal chordates called brachiognathes (subphylum Brachiognatha). In the 255 million years since, Nicochnya has experienced a great deal of environmental changes, having recently gone through the end of a global ice age, causing its sea levels to rise hundreds of feet and blanketing 85% of the planet’s surface underwater, and as the environments changed, so, too, did the brachiognathes themselves, radiating into fish-like forms in the absence of true fish. One species, Caridoprion pelagica, or the pelagic sawshrimp, can be found prowling the planet’s seaways.

Typically approaching 12-16 feet in length and weighing about as much as 1,500 lbs, the pelagic sawshrimp is one of the larger species of caridoprionidans (class Caridoprionida). One of Nicochnya’s most common aquatic megafaunal predators, the pelagic sawshrimp can be found in the hundreds of thousands if not millions in the tropical and subtropical oceans of the planet, primarily dwelling in open ocean, though vagrants may be found in the shallow tropical seas of the region as well, inhabiting the edge of the continental shelf. They typically prefer the photic zone of the ocean, though they can also be found in the mesopelagic zone and have been occasionally spotted in the bathypelagic zone. Though typically solitary in nature, it may sometimes show facultative social tendencies similar to those of sharks and crocodiles, wherein multiple individuals who happen to be in the same place at the same time may work together to catch prey. While typically not aggressive to divers, it is noted as being an extremely inquisitive species which often nudges or lightly bites objects and things which catch its curiosity (sometimes affectionally called “love taps”), something which can be mistaken for aggression. Amongst the sawshrimps, it shows a remarkable degree of intelligence, often tracking and analyzing prey from afar before attacking. Known to migrate long distances in search of food, a pelagic sawshrimp may travel as much as 20 miles in search of food on a given day, making use of its acute sense of smell to smell out suitable prey from afar. Some have even been found following shoals of smaller brachiognathes in order to pick off members on the peripheries. All that said, its keen eyesight is its main advantage, and some scientists believe it may be almost on par with some fast-moving Earth fish like tuna.

Showing a remarkable degree of convergent evolution to the extinct eugeneodontiform Edestus, the pelagic sawshrimp is adapted primarily to hunting shelled cephalopods like the many species of belemnoids and ammonites found in Nicochnya’s waterways, though smaller brachiognathes and the few species of placoderms found on Nicochnya frequently make up part of its diet as well, taking a particular liking to a variety of derived brachiognathes with armored shells called spritefish (order Ichthyoteuthida). It may also scavenge the carcasses of megalocephs (order Megalocephida), a group of more derived brachiognathes who fill a niche on Nicochnya analogous to whales on Earth, and on rare occasions, where other food sources are exhausted or the individual is injured, they may prey upon the planet’s native sophonts, the mermaid-like Hiirgava, themselves a variety of brachiognathes. It often relies on ramming its prey at high speeds to kill and dismember it, the prey sliding along the teeth and being torn in half as it bites down. Prey which may not otherwise be killed quickly may be thrashed around violently to dismember it before being devoured.

Though pelagic sawshrimp are not vocal in the way more derived brachiognathes are, they can produce a sound variously described as “grunting”, “chirping”, “scraping”, or “growling” by grinding together the teeth in their pharyngeal jaws. The function of this remains unknown, though it appears to be used most commonly when in proximity to larger predators, suggesting it may be a way of warding off potential threats.

Unlike the sharks whose visage they invoke, the pelagic sawshrimp does not engage in internal fertilization, but rather, they will congregate along the continental shelf in massive numbers, males and females alike, where the females will release their eggs into the water while the males release sperm on top of the eggs, fertilizing the eggs externally. The eggs will then be carried by the ocean currents, and those that are not eaten by other ocean animals will eventually settle in the shallow seas, where they will hatch after a few days. The larvae, called fry, are microscopic and planktivorous, feeding on zooplankton and gradually growing in size of the span of several weeks. By around a month, they will become known as “pups” and are about the size of a human thumb. At this point, the pups will graduate to larger prey, feeding on small brachiognathes and cephalopods. They will continue to grow until they reach adult size at between 6-9 years old and sexual maturity and sexual maturity at roughly 8 years of age, at which point, they will join the other adults in the open ocean, leaving the shallows behind. A healthy adult can expect to live anywhere between 25-37 years.

An incredibly intelligent animal, this creature holds an incredibly rich and complex relationship with the Hiirgava. For one, its habit of attacking trapped animals in their nets and taking speared or harpooned fish makes it a nuisance to many hunters. However, its great intelligence also means that it can be tamed and trained much like a dog, and many Hiirgava tribes have used this to their advantage throughout the ages, capturing their eggs and raising them in confined spaces until large enough to be used as hunting and travel companions, fetching prey for them as well as wounding it and slowing it down long enough for hunters to deliver the kill shot. However, there is also an element to this creature’s relationship with the Hiirgava that is deeply religious in nature, as it is believed to be to be able to travel between the world of the living and Fīīshāālun (Central Hiirgava: /ɸiː˧.ʃaː˧.lun/~/ɸiː˧.ʃaː˧.lun/, /βiː˧-/, /-ʒa˧-/~/θa˧-/~/ða˧-/, /-lun̥/, “(The) Eternal Sky”, “(The) Endless Sky”), the so-called “Cosmic Ocean” which is said to house the souls of the deceased as the many stars which lay in the night sky and where the celestial gods of Hiirgava mythology are said to dwell, as well as being believed to act as a psychopomp which leads the souls of the deceased to the depths of the ocean, where they meet the death god and god of the deep, Shuurash (Central Hiragava: /ʃuː.raʃ/~/ʒuː.raʒ/~/θuː.raθ/~/ðuː.rað/, /-r̥-/), who puts them through a series of trials they must first pass before being allowed to ascend to Fīīshāālun. However, this does not stop some from consuming the animal’s flesh, and those tribes living in less prey-dense water may raise them for food. It is also known for its uncanny ability to detect underwater earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and tsunamis well before they strike, and thus, it is when these animals act erratically that the Hiirgava know to head for open water. One of the easiest of Nicochnya’s oceanic wildlife to transport and take care of, it is a popular animal in aquariums across the cosmos. Breaching behavior has been observed amongst this species, though its function is unknown. Some researchers suggest, however, that it may be a way to rid themselves of skin parasites. It is known by many names amongst the denizens of Nicochnya, such as ps’aanǃúúrfíí (Central Hiirgava: /p͜sʼaːn.ǃuːr˥.ɸiː˥/~/p͜sʼaːn̥.ǃuːr̥˥.ɸiː˥/, /-βiː˥/, “the dagger-mouthed one”/“the one with a mouth like daggers”) and lúnɗáápmìtnráá (Central Hiirgava: /lun˥.ɗaːp˥.miʈ˩.ɳaː˥/~/l̥un̥˥.ɗ̥aːp˥.m̥iːʈ˩.ɳ̊aː˥/, “star swimmer”) by some Hiirgava tribes and to the Serelqi, a settler species from another planet which descend from dromeosaurs, t’aant’úúrvíí (Nicoch Serelqi: /tʼaːn.tʼɯᵝːɮ͈˥.ð̼iː˥/, borrowed from Central Hiirgava ps’aangǃúúrfíí) or sanjûč (Nicoch Serelqi: /san.d͡zɯᵝt͡ʃ˧ ˥ /, “water dzooch [a dog-like creature domesticated by the Serelqis on their homeworld]). 

[goldenherc9]

The Golden Army's St. Patrick's Day Celebration

The Golden Bros had been hyped for weeks. St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t just another party—it was a chance to show off, to celebrate, and to dominate the scene in their signature golden style. The Polo-Drones had, of course, ensured everything was perfectly planned, their black-and-gold discipline making the entire event seamless.

The Gold Stadium had been transformed for the occasion. Green lights pulsed to the beat of the music, and a massive golden shamrock emblem hung above the field. Kegs of specially crafted Gold Brew—a shimmering, golden-hued beer infused with “extra jock energy” (as Brody Gold called it)—were lined up along the sidelines. Every Golden Bro had swapped their usual kit for a special edition: a gleaming golden jersey accented with deep emerald stripes, their numbers glistening in a bold, hypnotic green.

The Polo-Drones, meanwhile, remained in their sleek black rubber polos, but with subtle green trims added to their uniforms, the golden "PDU" on their chests reflecting the stadium lights. Their task was simple: ensure total order, discipline, and synchronization throughout the event. That, and keep the Golden Bros fueled and focused.

The night kicked off with a “Golden Gauntlet” relay—an intense, alcohol-fueled obstacle course where teams of Bros raced across the field, tackled giant foam beer mugs, and downed shots of Gold Brew before sprinting to the finish. The crowd roared as Herc, fully in the zone, bulldozed past two competitors, his golden jersey catching the strobe lights as he dove over the final barricade.

“LET’S GOOO, BROOOO!” he bellowed, flexing his biceps, his voice amplified by the stadium speakers.

The Golden Bros erupted into cheers, some pounding their chests, others lifting Herc onto their shoulders in a chaotic, sweaty display of unity. Even as the Bros reveled, the Polo-Drones maintained their perfect composure—silently watching, analyzing, ensuring every moment remained in perfect alignment with Hive protocol.

Near the sidelines, PDU-070 and PDU-084 distributed golden armbands—thin rubberized bands that pulsed with a faint energy. “Golden enhancements,” PDU-001 explained in his emotionless tone. “To maximize Bro potential.”

The Golden Bros, already tipsy, accepted them without hesitation. As soon as the bands locked onto their biceps, a wave of warmth pulsed through them. Their postures straightened, their grins widened, and their laughter deepened into something more powerful, more golden.

Cap Scott Gold stood near the VIP section, nodding approvingly as the energy of the night built. “This, bros… THIS is what St. Patrick’s Day is about. Brotherhood. Strength. UNITY.”

A cheer rose up, followed by a synchronized chant: “GOLDEN! GOLDEN! GOLDEN!”

As the night continued, more enhancements were administered, more Gold Brew was consumed, and the dance floor became a sea of flexing, gleaming bodies. The Bros, now fully attuned to the golden energy coursing through them, moved as one. Every movement radiated power. Every word was spoken with confidence.

At midnight, the ultimate moment arrived—a transformation ritual led by Cap Brody himself. He stood at the center of the field, raising a goblet of liquid gold. “BROS! Tonight, we honor the GOLDEN PATH. We EMBRACE the energy! We LEVEL UP!”

One by one, each Bro knelt before him, taking a sip. As the golden liquid coursed through them, their minds cleared of doubt, their muscles swelled with new strength, and their unity solidified.

The Polo-Drones observed with silent efficiency, their glowing green-trimmed visors scanning every Bro for optimal enhancement levels. Those who hesitated were swiftly guided forward by firm, rubber-clad hands.

By the end of the night, the stadium pulsed with golden energy, the air thick with the scent of sweat, beer, and rubber. The Golden Bros stood shoulder to shoulder, their bodies gleaming under the lights, their minds perfectly aligned.

This wasn’t just a party.

This was a Golden Baptism.

A new tradition had been born.

Come join the team by messaging @brodygold @polo-drone-001 or me today bros.