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that-one-p00k1e · 25 days ago

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─────〃★ hold me, console me ೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

✧ summary: how they'd hug you in their sleep ft. Sylus, Zayne, Caleb, Xavier, & Rafayel

✧ content: fluff, gn!reader, most likely OOC, a lil angst (?) if u squint, established!relationship

✦ a/n: in honour of Sylus coming home to his bride🤵‍♂️👰‍♀️ pls send prayers writer's block is killing meeeeee

— SYLUS | ★ The Sweetheart Cradle

Sylus has always been guarded his whole life to the point of keeping a gun under his pillow at all times, and sleeping on his stomach as to make it easier to reach it. A peaceful slumber was rare for someone like him. Always in high alert of his surroundings, haunted by nightmares that seem to mock him every night. That was until you came along. For once, he allowed himself to rest his back onto the mattress. His stomach, which used to be facing down, now had a small arm snaked around his waist, a bundle of warmth cuddled next to him. Instead of reaching for the cold metal of his weapon, his arm wrapped around you to pull you closer. He leaned his head down, catching a whiff of a floral scent. His lips made contact with the top of your head, and you felt him letting out a deep, silent sigh. For once, in his life, Sylus could sleep in complete peace, and an empty pillow where a gun wasn't needed.

— ZAYNE | ★ The Spoon

He's a simple man, and for him, it feels awkward to initiate certain gestures himself because of how used he was to having you doing it first. So when he feels a little in need of physical affection, he'll just wrap an arm around your waist, pull you close until your back touches his chest, and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. It's a common position, so what? All he wanted– needed –was warmth, closeness. A reassurance that you were still here despite all the downs you've gone through together. He held you firmly against his chest, as if an attempt to be your shield. It was his way of healing from his guilt, a demonstration of the deep protection he so desperately wanted to provide you with. He was a rusted ship, flawed with damaged steel that sailed in an ocean of regret. And yet, you were there; holding onto him with no sign of letting go. You were here. You were his anchor.

— CALEB | ★ The Face-to-Face

This man has spent so long being apart from you, so he was not going to waste any opportunity to hug you. He wanted to fully embrace you, to feel you whole. He'd wrap both his arms desperately yet tenderly, like he was eager but afraid of making damage. He'd pull you close until there wasn't even an inch of space, then let your head rest against his broad chest, his heartbeat serenading through your ears. You could feel him shudder as he nuzzled his against your neck, sensing the relief in such simple gesture. It was paradise. Heaven, even. He combed through your hair as it grounded him, as if he was trying to forget the remaining time you had together, the only thing keeping you both separate. He wanted to feel this every day – every night. He didn't want to let go, not ever. It was selfish of him, but sometimes, a little indulgence is necessary.

— XAVIER | ★ The Tummy Snuggler

Somehow and somewhat, he finds comfort in sleeping on your stomach. For him, it felt way better than using a pillow. Warm, soft, squishy, and makes it easier for you to play with his hair. He likes the feeling of being pampered, so clinging onto you made it better for him to sleep. The way your heartbeat would echo through his ears; how your stomach rose and fell; and your fingers strumming through strands of his hair like you were playing a soothing melody, lulling him to a state of slumber. He'd cling to you like you were his support system, the only thing that could keep him away from nightmares. Though he is a deep sleeper, if you moved even a few centimeters, his arms that were once loose would quickly tighten themselves around you, making sure to keep you at his grasp. The only way to escape? Well, guess you'll have to wait until the sleeping beauty arise from the sleep himself.

— RAFAYEL | ★ The Pretzel

This man was clingy and whiny even in his sleep. You'd be sleeping peacefully next to him until he starts tangling himself up with you. At first, it was just the normal arm over waist, leg over leg. Then he grumbled lowly, saying how he's the only one trying to keep the both of you together. Complying, you hugged him back, but it still wasn't enough. He'd shuffle here and there throughout the night, trying to find a good position. After some unconscious twists here and there, the two of you were practically tangled up with each other. Legs interlocked, arms intertwined; one head was on a pillow that stood at the very edge of the bed, holding on for dear life, and the other was sleeping on the other's chest (could be either of you). It looked uncomfortable, but it really wasn't. For you and him, it felt like a puzzle fitting together.

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charlotteking27 · 3 months ago

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Your Safe Space

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: You and Max are polar opposites. You're shy, and he's... well...not. You listen, and he's Maxplaining. But despite all the differences, you are perfect for each other.

Warning: None

The celebration at the Dutch Grand Prix was intense, even by Formula 1 standards. The crowd of orange-clad fans cheered loudly as Max claimed another home win, their excitement palpable. You watched from the garage, feeling a mix of pride and underlying anxiety as he took his place on the podium.

"Time to head to the paddock," Christian Horner said with understanding, noticing your nervous fidgeting. He had become protective of you, realizing why his star driver was so careful about your comfort.

The real challenge began after Max finished his media duties. What started as a steady stream of well-wishers quickly turned into a chaotic rush of fans and journalists, all eager for a glimpse of the Dutch champion. You found yourself caught in it, gripping Max's race suit as camera flashes went off around you.

"Max! Can I have your autograph?" "Can we take a picture?" "Is this your girlfriend?" "Look this way!" "Just one question about the championship!"

The different voices merged into a deafening noise. Your breathing quickened as the world around you felt dizzy. Max sensed your grip tighten and immediately shifted from his relaxed post-race demeanor to a more protective stance.

"Enough," he said firmly, but kindly, cutting through the chaos. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "Please step back."

But the crowd, electrified by their hero's success, pushed even closer. An eager photographer leaned in, his camera mere inches from your face. Max's expression hardened, and the competitive intensity he usually displayed on the track came through fully.

"BACK UP!" His voice carried the authority he used with his race engineer during tense moments. "NOW!"

His right arm created a barrier between you and the crowd while his left arm held you securely against him. You buried your face in his chest, grateful for the safety of his embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of champagne and racing fuel on his suit.

"Jos! Hannah!" Max called his father and PR manager, who were already moving to assist. "Make a path."

They quickly formed a human barrier. Max turned his body, shielding you from the cameras and reaching hands. You felt him start to move, guiding you through the chaos with the same precision he used on the track.

"Keep your eyes closed if you need to," he murmured against your hair. "I've got you. Just a few more meters."

The noise began to fade as security finally took control. Max didn't stop until you reached the private area behind the Red Bull hospitality suite, where it was quieter and protected by team security.

"I'm so sorry about that," he said softly, gently cupping your face and wiping away tears you hadn't realized were falling. "They shouldn't have gotten so close. Are you okay?"

You managed a shaky nod, still trying to steady your breathing. Max's eyes searched yours, filled with concern and a hint of anger—not at you, but at the situation.

"We can skip the team celebration," he offered right away. "I'll tell Christian—"

"No," you whispered, finding your voice. You didn't want to take this moment away from him. "Just… stay close?"

His expression softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Always. We’ll go through it together, alright? And if it feels overwhelming, we squeeze hands three times. That’s our signal, and we leave right away. No questions."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding and the small systems he put in place to help you navigate his world. Max pulled you into another hug, his heart beating steadily against your ear.

"You know," he said after a moment, a hint of pride in his voice, "you're braver than any driver on that grid. They only face the crowds when they're winning. You face them every day, just because you love me."

For the first time since the crowd incident, a small smile appeared on your lips. In moments like these, you understood why you could handle the chaos of his world—because at its center was this man who turned your silence into strength and your anxiety into courage, one protective embrace at a time.

Later that evening, in the quiet comfort of Max's driver's room, the world felt more manageable. You sat cross-legged on the leather couch, mostly hidden behind a Red Bull hoodie that was two sizes too big—Max's, of course. He paced in front of you, still buzzing with post-race energy as he relived important moments from the race.

"So going into Turn 3—" Max's hands moved through the air, mimicking the racing line. "Lewis was trying for the undercut, but I knew—" He spun around, excitedly gesturing. "I knew if I could just hold the inside line…"

You watched him closely, your chin resting on your knees. This was your favorite version of Max—unfiltered, passionate, and immersed in the technical details of racing. When new team members entered the room, you instinctively shifted further behind the couch's armrest, but Max continued with his explanation.

"Hey, GP," he nodded to his race engineer before turning back to you. "So anyway, the tire degradation was crucial here—" His hands spread wide, creating invisible graphs in the air. You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm while trying to make yourself smaller in the presence of others.

Gianpiero, aware of your shy nature, simply dropped off some data sheets and left with a friendly smile. Max moved to stand between you and the door, unconsciously protecting your space as he dove deeper into the race analysis.

"The telemetry was incredible!" He grabbed the sheets and dropped onto the couch beside you. You nestled against his side, using his shoulder as a shield despite there being no one else in the room. It was now a habit—Max as your safety barrier against the world.

He repositioned himself to shelter you better, one arm draped protectively around your shoulders while the other pointed out numbers on the sheets. "See these spikes? That's where we found extra tenths in sector two."

You nodded, following the lines with your gaze. While some of the technical jargon flew over your head, you loved watching how his face lit up while explaining it. He never seemed to mind your mostly silent responses; he recognized your quiet enthusiasm in how you leaned closer to see the details.

When Lando Norris came in to congratulate Max, you instinctively ducked behind his back, peeking out just enough to offer a tiny wave. Max smoothly shifted to block Lando's view, giving you time to adjust.

"Thanks, mate! I was just showing the tire strategy—" Max resumed his explanation, using his body as a protective barrier while you gathered your courage. By the time Lando left, you'd managed to emerge slightly from behind Max, though your fingers still clung to the back of his shirt.

"You know," Max said softly once they were alone again, finding your hand, "I love how you listen. Everyone else just nods and moves on, but you… You care about understanding everything."

You squeezed his hand in response, and he smiled, understanding your silent language perfectly. Then he jumped up to demonstrate a wheel-to-wheel battle with Leclerc, spinning an imaginary steering wheel while you watched from your corner of the couch, completely absorbed in his joy.

This was your perfect moment—Max in his element, passionate and unguarded, while you could observe and love him from the safety of the shadows, knowing he'd never push you into the spotlight you weren't ready for.

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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

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in infinite universes

in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

fluff:) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, university!reader x professor!spencer but you're not his student, unspecified age gap, um statistic about deaths from drunk driving, spencer is a nerd a/n: this is accidentally so romantic I'm gonna puke

The night is chilly—a still, dry type of cold that comes before snowfall. It’s quiet, like the world is preparing for that heavy blanket of white. Even the pounding bass from the frat house doesn’t make it very far before falling flat at the end of the yard. By the time Spencer gets you to his car down the block, it’s a thready pulse.

“Thanks for walking me,” you say, giving him a saccharine smile as he opens the passenger door for you. His scoff is a thick white cloud, crystallizing against cold, shining skin, slightly pinkened from the temperature. Spencer is glowing like a star tonight. You don’t know if it’s the blurriness from the alcohol in your system smudging the edges of him, or if it’s just that incandescent halo that always seems to follow him around.

“You know I wasn’t going to let you walk down frat row by yourself at one in the morning.”

You pout and look up at him, leaning close.

“So you don’t want me to say thank you?”

Spencer’s mouth is curved in absent-minded affection as he takes advantage of the opportunity to study you up close with darting eyes, entertaining your girlish flirtation, and you in turn get to admire the starlit flush of his cheeks, the way his hair falls around his face and thick eyelashes frame irises that could melt ice. You’re not entirely conscious of the huge grin that cracks open your face, but you suspect its presence when his own lips part, still smiling, like he’s maybe going to say something sweet. Or teasing.

“You’re drunk.”

At this absolute and unarguable truth, you frown. He’s grinning now as he adjusts the thick scarf around your neck, shielding your ears and neck further from the chill that the open car door can’t block.

“No I’m not.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and before you can process it he’s leaning down, so of course your eyes are going to flutter shut and of course you’re going to kiss him back. The gentle ferocity of it only has you stumbling in place a little bit, and he steadies you with hands around your waist. It’s over entirely too soon. You blink up at him, your shock and fluster betrayed by the visible huff of air dispelled as soon as he pulls away. He’s smiling even wider now. Vindicated. Eyes sparkling. “Gin? Wow. You are drunk.”

It takes you a moment longer than it usually would to decipher how he figured this out.

“So you just kissed me to prove your theory right?”

The sparkling satisfaction from his indictment softens around his eyes.

“I knew you were drunk when you almost fell down the stairs a minute ago. The kiss was purely selfish.”

“It’s icy,” you defend, and your heart flutters as he comes in for another kiss. It’s soft and still shockingly deep for being on the street, where anyone could see—although everyone smart is inside, and anyone else is too drunk to care that his mouth is open against yours and the heat of it is translating deep in your stomach. You’re dizzy by the time he laughs quietly against you.

“What college student is pounding gin and tonics at a frat party?”

The thick wool of his coat bunches under your searching fingers.

“Me,” you whisper. “I was classing up the joint.”

The final kiss he presses to your lips is sweeter and half smile. “Drunk.”

The murmured accusation shouldn’t make you feel so giddy. Maybe it’s all the gin.

“Not.”

Another little chuckle warms the tip of your nose and your lips as he breathes it out.

“So you’re good to drive us home?”

You itch to kiss him again, but instead, you respond, “One person dies every thirty nine minutes in America from drunk driving.”

“Good job. You passed.”

The praise is accompanied by a thumb rubbing at your hip through denim. He probably thought you weren’t listening when he’d spouted that particular statistic a few hours ago.

“Do I get a gold star?”

He kisses your head.

“We’ll see. Get in.”

On the way home, that last shot hits you. You slump down in your seat and hide your face in your hands.

“Oh, Spencer. I’m… I’m drunk.”

You feel him glancing at you before he sets a concerned hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

Morosely you nod.

“Yeah. I took a shot with this… Delta Phi Epsilon guy, right before you got there. I wasn’t gonna, but he was like, no, you have to! And now I realize that was dumb.”

Spencer’s hand finds the back of your head, stroking your hair.

“Do you know what I’m going to say about frat boys pressuring you to drink?”

“It wasn’t like that. He was really nice.”

“I’m sure he was,” Spencer says dryly. “Lots of men become really nice when they think they might have something to gain.”

“I thought he was gay!” You laugh, uncovering your face. “Sorry, dad. I won’t drink alcohol or talk to boys anymore.”

Spencer makes a face and you know you’ve successfully traded pounds of flesh.

“If you call me dad again I’m making you take an abnormal psych class.”

You give him a lazy smile which he only takes his eyes off the road for a few seconds to admire.

“I’d take abnormal psych if you were my professor.”

That perpetual upturn at the corners of his perfect mouth flickers wider.

“Wow. Does gin make you sexually frustrated?”

“It makes me lazy. The professor-student thing is really low hanging fruit.”

“Yeah, it is. You know I’ll expect better material from you once you’ve sobered up.”

You sigh and let your head loll to the front again, studying the tunneling road through the windshield. A few flakes slash the headlights. Your mind wanders. You don’t bother reeling it in.

“I’m really glad I’m not your student. I’d have the worst crush on you.”

Spencer casts you another side-long glance before adjusting the rear-view mirror.

“You don’t have a crush on me now?”

“Of course I do. But you like me back. If I was your student you’d never look at me like that. I would just have to pine after you and fall in deep unrequited love like all your other female students.”

He hums skeptically.

“I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t imagine not being in love with you.”

“There are universes where you’re not. There are infinite realities where I am your student and you don’t like me back and you’re dating other girls who aren’t me and you’re saying this exact stuff to them.”

“True. There are also infinite realities where I find you and I fall in love with you.” Spencer reaches over again, taking your hand and settling them, joined, in your lap. “For each trillionth of a billionth of a second of the life I’ve lived thus far, there are infinite universes which exist solely so I can fall in love with you in a new way. Over and over again. There’s not a choice I could make in any timeline, or in any universe, that doesn’t lead an infinite number of me’s to an infinite number of you’s.”

The engine hums. The tires roll.

Other than that—it’s dead silent.

Because how could he ever expect anyone to respond to that?

You slink low in your seat and bring his hand to cradle your face, warm against your cheek.

“I hate you,” you mumble. Spencer strokes your jaw absentmindedly, not at all concerned by your dramatics.

“You hate me? I just said I love you.”

“No, you did not. You said th—I don’t even wanna call it romantic. Romantic doesn’t—I don’t even know what that was. You can’t just say things like that, Spencer! You can’t just casually say stuff like that to me, and especially not when I’m drunk, because I’m gonna start crying!”

The last word pitches up and perfectly illustrates your point as tears begin to roll down your cheeks—still nipped by the cold.

Spencer quickly pulls the car off to the side of the abandoned road.

He’s all affection as he twists to face you and take your face in his hands properly, thumbing away tears.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You j-just love me so much,” you sob.

“Yes,” Spencer laughs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I do. I love you so much. I didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.”

“You—you don’t even realize, that you said the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to anyone, and you love me more than anyone’s ever loved anyone, and—and—”

You cut yourself off with another hot wave of tears and a shuddering cry.

“Oh, my girl,” Spencer coos through an adoring little laugh as he pushes hair out of your face. “You are so drunk, baby. Come here.”

You let him undo your buckle and pull you across the console-less seat (thank you, vintage car) into his arms. For a minute or two you can hardly speak, crying into the warmth of his jacket as he holds you.

Eventually, you manage to raise your head and pull back enough to look at him. Immediately he’s assessing you with those soft eyes, watching how you wipe away whatever tears didn’t soak into his clothing. Under his watchful gaze, you exhale a sniffing laugh.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

It’s so immediate you’re knocked off balance again. “Well—you were just being nice, and I—”

“I do love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone.”

Usually, you dislike being interrupted.

In this instance, you’ll let it slide.

It’s simply too earnest, too honest as his eyes dart between yours like he couldn’t contain it. Like you said it and the thought struck him right in the face—an obvious truth he hadn’t considered before.

“In infinite universes?” You sniffle.

“In infinite universes,” he agrees.

Both of you notice the snow has started to come down outside. Over the course of a few silent minutes, it gets heavier and heavier—a soft hail, sheets of whispering white.

You’ve never been afraid to break the silence with him.

But maybe if you weren’t drunk you could keep your questions to yourself.

“How many snowflakes are we looking at?”

Spencer hesitates, drawn from some kind of hypnosis.

“Hard to be sure. Heavy snowfall like this could easily put us at six inches within the hour. In that case we’ve watched around point two inches fall. Visibility is probably reduced to about a quarter mile… point two inches across a square quarter mile is a hundred and seventeen thousand five hundred square feet of snow, average density of flakes at this temperature being about three kilograms per cubic foot of snow, and a snowflake weighs maybe… point zero zero zero zero zero two kilograms, so, roughly… very roughly… we’re looking at one hundred and forty two million snowflakes. That’s my best guess.”

You look up at him from where you’d been resting your head on his shoulder.

“You’re the coolest person ever.”

He blushes.

Tries to reply.

Looks back out the window and huffs a nervous laugh, like you’ve flustered him.

“Lots of people could do that. The math isn’t too complicated. It’s also probably wrong.”

A slow smile blossoms on your face.

“You’re never wrong. So… what percentage of infinity is a hundred and forty two million?”

“Uh… undefined,” he laughs, looking back down at you. “But… in tangible terms, which is inherently contradictory because infinity is completely intangible, and actually pretty meaningless to mathematicians—more of a philosophical concept than a numerical one… it is a very small fraction. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t want philosophical,” you murmur, reaching up to graze your knuckles along his cheekbone. “I want hard numbers.”

He catches your hand and holds the tips of your fingers to his lips as he thinks, watching hundreds of millions of snowflakes falling from the wide black heavens through narrowed eyes.

“A googol is written as a one followed by a hundred zeros, and a googolplex is a one followed by a googol of zeros. That’s the largest named number we have. It surpasses the estimated number of atoms in the universe. It’s too large to conceptualize. Mathematicians don’t really have any practical use for numbers above one trillion, but the largest number you’ll find in a dictionary and which might be formally accredited is a centillion, which is a one followed by three hundred and three zeros. It’s bigger than a googol but hardly a fraction of a googolplex. But—okay, we’re setting aside the conceptual numbers. What was your question?”

Your head spins as you laugh.

Too much gin. Too many IQ points.

“Infinity divided by, uh… the number of snowflakes I can see right now.”

The engine is still on—heat blows steadily, warming your arm through a coat and sweater, and whatever it can’t reach is warmed by Spencer.

“Right. Okay. Well—to put it into perspective, with snowflakes, you have around one septillion that fall each year. That’s twenty four zeros, so… a lot. Are you with me?”

“No.”

“Great. So, a hundred and forty two million is basically infinity.”

This earns a clumsy, drunken laugh from you, and he smiles like he’d been hoping for that.

It’s so warm in the cab of his car. It’s so warm under his gaze.

Outside, the snow continues to fall.

For each flake, there is a world where you and Spencer fall in love. And in the grand scheme of things, you’re not looking at very many.

In infinite universes, you’ll find each other. For eternity.

You’d be happy with just this one.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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akindaflora · 3 months ago

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Dessert in the Studio

Pairing: Bangchan x Female Reader

Theme: Smut

Quick Summery: Chan working a tad bit too hard so you decided to bring him some dinner and he decides he needs you close.

THOSE UNDER 18 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT

This is all complete works of fiction and please treat it as such.

It had been a long night, well, not for you. Today you were off and while you spent the morning cleaning and small every day to day tasks, you couldn’t help but think of him.

He left this morning to do some work, and when it was well on its way to lunch. You had texted him when he would be home, but he didn’t give a real answer. Not until the hours were approaching dinner.

Sorry baby, I'm almost done. Go ahead and sleep, I'll be there when you wake up. Love you - Chan

Chan wasn’t always busy like this, but it was the finishing touches of a due date, and you knew that on those kinds of days he’d be too far focused on the task at hand. So focused he didn’t really eat a proper meal. So you decided that if he wasn’t going to come home, you’d bring it to him.

Here you were outside his studio warm meals at hand. You had already texted the rest of 3racha wondering if they were going to be there, but the boys told you they were home, already finished with their side of the work.

You knocked softly before opening the door, knowing that Chan would never mind you coming in. There he sat in his ridiculously comfy office chair, the glow of the desktop and the blue light glasses you got him last Christmas shielding his focused gaze.

“Channie, come on break time, I brought dinner,” you said sweetly as you closed the door. He nodded slightly before typing for a few more seconds, slowly turning around to meet your soft gaze.

The tiredness in his eyes only lessened slightly but still remained as he watched you walk into his awaiting arms.

“Baby, you didn’t have to,” he said as he closed his arms around your waist. His strong jaw lay softly on your stomach as he looked up at you. Your hands couldn’t help but trace the muscles of his face.

“But then you would only eat protein bars for dinner, and how will I sleep at night knowing my love hasn’t eaten well,” you said, slightly pouting. His smile deepened at your care, and he slowly raised in your hold his arms, tightening around you as his head nuzzled in your neck.

“You treat me so well,” he said in a voice that trembled into a pout.

“Not as well as you treat me,” you said, softly taking in his scent that always seemed to warm you. You pulled away slightly, not before kissing his lips in a quick peck, “Now come on, handsome, your dinner's getting cold,” you said, but he remained locked in your warmth, picking you up as your legs circled around his waist. Giggling as you both made it to the couch.

He sat you down first, but before you could get comfortable, he was already pulling you into his lap, your back meeting the warmth of his chest. He sighed as his head rested on your shoulder.

“Are you gonna eat like this?” you giggled at him.

He only let the slight noise of a mhmm as his hands rubbed softly at your waist. It took everything in you to not squirm.

“Okay,” you said, softly opening the containers for dinner.

While it was a tad bit awkward, you didn’t mind feeding him. He didn’t do this often, but whenever he had worked just a tad bit too hard, he’d cling to you and say, “I need my emotional support, human,” pulling you in deeper. You always worried about his digestive system when he ate like this, but when you saw the tired pout in his eyes, you couldn’t help but let it slide.

And tonight it was just one of those nights. He didn’t speak much, but you’d tell him about your quiet day and catch him up on the work drama from time to time. He only gives a few facial reactions and laughs when you say something funny.

When the meal had finished, you both sat on the couch, wrapped in each other, letting the quiet hum of the air conditioner fill the sounds of your breath.

Peace was something that came naturally in your relationship with Channie, and you both were appreciative of it. With his loud career as an idol and your sensitivity to noises these moments were precious.

But sometimes they became a tad bit more intimate, like now, the feeling of his lips on your neck. The kisses weren’t just soft touches of adoration. No, they were slow and filled with yearning for more than the feeling of heat or the smell of your perfume.

As his lips began to nibble, pulling in the most upsetting, slow ways, his name left your lips in a moan. “Channie here,” is all you said breathlessly.

And he gave that same “mhmm” as before but this time it wasn’t filled with sleep but purpose. Just like the same purpose his hands had as they roamed your body.

You couldn’t help but flutter your eyes as his fingers wrapped around your nipple, the chills that sprang when his hands began to undo your pants.

“Look at me,” he said, pulling his lips from your neck. Your doe eyes followed as you turned your head to him. You could feel his member brushing against you, his hand that slithered to your nipped pulled your head rapidly to his lips.

Tonight, he decided to set the place however he pleased. His lips softly overlapping yours, pulling back to only lick at the shape of your lips before pushing his tongue into your mouth. You could taste your cooking on his tongue you could feel the way the warmth of his mouth consumed you.

A moan left you as his hand brushed your other lips. Drawing lazy circles just near your clit.

“Channie, please,” you said desperately, knowing he would listen. Both your lips were not even a hair away as he kissed you softly. “I got you baby,” he said pecking at them now as he rubbed his member slightly at the back of your butt.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he said now with a groan of his own as his fingers finally circled into you. His lips find your neck again.

He suddenly picked up the speed, causing you to slightly jerk in his hold. But his other hand only held you closer to him as his lips came close to your ear.

“You know better,” he said in a whisper as his hand slipped in finger by finger, he stretched you out. Normally, Chan was the type to make love, to treat you with respect, only letting himself lose it every once in a while. Then there was frustrated Chan who railed you in dumb to let some tension loose, but this Chan was always your favorite, he’d like to take his time devouring you. Using slow moments nipping in places, and he’d watched you lose it to the point of insanity. Making you feel wanted in ways like no other.

Just like he was doing now, fingering you in intervals of quick and slow, and going back and forth whenever you moaned just a tad bit too much.

Like clockwork, you could feel a moan coming, but you did your best to not let it out. Currently, he was going at a pace that was lazy in movement, but every swipe, every bump had a purpose in unraveling, leading you closer to that deep satisfaction.

“Sneaky baby,” he said, kissing your temple as he suddenly quickened his speed, holding you tighter to his chest as you squirmed.

“Please, Channie,” you said in between moans.

“Please, what baby. Use those pretty words,” he said mockingly.

“Please let me cum,” you said head now resting on his shoulder as he looked at your unraveling face.

“Okay,” he said, simply pulling out his hand from your pants. You only looked confused, but he motioned for you to get up, and you did with a slight tremor, the blood still not circulating properly from your unwarranted torture by pleasure. Chan turned you around and quickly removed your pants. You gasped at the coldness. He smirked and quickly pulled his cock of his jersey shorts.

“Wait right there and watch this for me, yeah,” he said, slowly gathering himself in slow strokes.

You squirmed at the sight, your legs coming together, but he only softly slapped your thigh, forcing you to separate them. “I wanna see,” he said, his eyes taking in the glistening shape of you.

His hand quickened slightly as he moaned from his hand and the sight of you.

“Come here,” he strained out, pulling at your thigh, his face coming closer to your source. “I wanna eat my dessert,” was all he said before his warm tongue grazed at your clit. He ate away at you as your hips rocked into his face. His other hand was still slowly stroking himself. His moans sent vibrations through you as you shuddered and moaned at his desperation. One hand in his hair, pulling him closer, while the other kept you from falling, firmly leaning on the wall.

Your high came sooner than later as you felt the blur of your mind from pleasure. You gasped as he licked slightly at you. “Gotta save some for mini me, think he’s hungry too,” he said slapping your ass as you pull back. You shrank slowly as he pulled you down. His darkening eyes met yours as you sank to his lap, as he lined up at your entrance. Both gasped before he rammed into you. The deep moans filling both your ears.

“Look at me,” he said, your fluttered eyes met his lust-filled ones as you both moved in sync, meeting at the base. Moans mixing in with breaths as you connected even further.

His hand resting at the small of your back to keep you close as his other hand wrapped, gripping at your thigh to keep him stable, keep you close. Until a settle fuck left his lips both hands grabbing at your waist and he rammed into you.

You lost it, your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head at the feeling. With him hitting so deeply within you.

“No, no baby, keep your eyes on me,” he said. You struggled to focus, as moans left your lips, holding onto his shoulder, gripping in the pleasure that he gave you.

You could feel it, the pleasure building up the sweat that dripped from his hair, the way his eyes consumed you, the grip of his hands as you pulsed around him. You were close, and he knew, “Go on, come on me. Please, baby, I wanna feel it,” he said with desperation ramming into you faster.

And just as he was about to do it again, you tightened around him a loud moan, leaving your lips as you unraveled, falling into his shoulder, nearly going limp from the over stimulation.

But you knew he was just as close. With as much energy as you had left, you moved your hands around his head, huffs of moans and air leaving your lips as you found his. He met with a deep kiss, messy and full of hunger, as he sought out his own completion.

Moments passed as you moan into his mouth, desperate to stay close before he groans into your mouth. Holding you close as he busted right into you. His cum warming you as you finally were able to go limp in his arms.

The quiet hum of the air conditioner is back as the ringing in your ears finally stopped. And both your heated breaths had calmed down.

His arms were still wrapped around you, and he was still buried in you. “Thank you for dinner and dessert, baby, it was delicious,” he said, kissing your temple.

You could only weakly hit his chest as you giggle at his complete 180 of his personality.

“You’re a menace,” was all you breathed out.

He laughed at your choice of words, “Only for you now, let’s get you cleaned up.. I’m tired after our after-dinner workout,” you laughed even harder.

How you got lucky with this dork, the world would never know, but whoever was on your side definitely gave you only the best.

dividers by @cafekitsune

AN: Hi this is my first time writing something like this and at first I was slightly uncomfortable writing stuff like this but this story came to me suddenly and I like it way to much to not share it with you all. If there is a good response maybe I'll write more stuff like this but I fear I like writing my fluff a lot more haha. Anyway hope you'd all enjoy. Please don't be afraid to interact with me. I get lonely writing to the void sometimes.

-YaYa

#bang chan x female reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #skz smut

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astroxrion · 2 months ago

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Gain E-Fame( attention from large groups) Using Astrology:

Aries 11H:

If you want fame you need to stop trying to compete and start realizing you are the fire everyone is already watching burn. Put your rage into action and make your presence impossible to ignore by choosing one message and driving it into every room you enter.

Taurus 11H:

Fame will not find you until you stop hoarding your voice like it’s too sacred to share. You gain influence by becoming immovable in your style and your tone so make the world feel your worth by repeating your value until no one can question your place.

Gemini 11H:

You do not need to know everything to be known for something so stop distracting yourself with ten conversations and choose one truth you can say louder than anyone else. Your fame depends on how clearly you can echo your thoughts into collective reality.

Cancer 11H:

Stop waiting to be invited and realize the spotlight is safest when you build it with your own hands. Your self-expression is a home people want to live in but they will not stay unless you believe your emotional power deserves to be seen on a world stage.

Leo 11H:

You cannot fake power when your ego is leaking and your pride is performing so clean your crown and stop begging to be liked. Real fame comes when you let your joy speak louder than your image and express what others are too afraid to say with their chest.

Virgo 11H:

You’re not going to be remembered for being right you’re going to be known for what you made with that brilliance so stop hiding behind improvement and start broadcasting your analysis like it’s gospel because in many ways it already is.

Libra 11H:

They will not worship your silence so stop curating and start confronting what balance actually costs. Fame isn’t in the aesthetics it’s in the stand you take when everyone’s watching. Use your beauty as a weapon not a shield and speak directly into the tension.

Scorpio 11H:

You will never gain real power if you keep performing secrecy like it’s strategy. Let the world see what you survived and then show them how to transmute it. Your self-expression becomes legendary when you speak what others are terrified to even admit.

Sagittarius 11H:

You will not gain respect by chasing expansion if you refuse to dig into your core beliefs and say them without editing. Fame arrives when you become a truth-teller no matter the cost and use your voice to liberate people from the lies they live in.

Capricorn 11H:

You’re not going to rise by playing quiet so stop hiding behind strategy and speak with authority even if your voice shakes. Fame comes when your self-expression builds a system people can follow so use your words to command the future not just survive the climb.

Aquarius 11H:

You are not above being seen so stop acting like exposure is beneath you. Fame is the tool not the trap when you use it to broadcast the vision that only you can download. Say what disrupts. Share what alienates. Your difference is the revolution.

Pisces 11H:

You will not dissolve into greatness by avoiding your message so stop pretending softness is the same as silence. You gain influence when you spiritualize your suffering into art and let your vulnerability echo loud enough to wake the sleeping.

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bloodandiron-if · 2 months ago

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DEMO (TBA) | FORUM (TBA) | CHARACTER INTROS (WIP)

BLOOD AND IRON is a compelling and mature action IF made for an adult audience. This story includes content that some may find disturbing, such as explicit language, mentions of child trafficking, child abuse, sexism, psychological stress, homophobia, intense violence, death, gore, and much more.

Inspired by Batman, John Wick, Ninja Assassin, The Punisher, and The Equalizer.

ABBREVIATION: B&I

- - -

Chicago, 1994.

Chicago bleeds quietly these days. Not in the headlines, but in basements, behind unmarked doors, in the flicker of broken streetlamps, no proper badge patrols.

The world didn’t ask if you were ready. It just kept turning and grinding down the soft parts until only the sharp edges remained.

Raised in a hidden facility outside Chicago, you were one of many children. An experiment in obedience, efficiency, and silence. They didn’t call it a home. They called it a program. And you survived it.

Barely.

They stripped your name. Trained your body. Broke your will, up until they didn’t.

You escaped.

The world didn’t know what to do with you.

But he did—the man who saved you, giving you a name, cover, and a second chance dressed up as a normal life.

By day, you blend seamlessly into the crowd, adopting a new name and working a steady job making pizzas. To the citizens of South Chicago, you’re just another face on the street.

But by night, you take on a different role—one that cleans up the shadows left by a broken system: dismantling organ trafficking rings, confronting human traffickers, and bringing to justice those killers shielded by power or wealth.

But this isn’t just an act of heroism on your part.

It’s personal.

You’re digging through the filth of this city, tearing up every buried secret, because somewhere beneath it all lies the truth.

The Facility.

And the man who ran it.

Whitaker.

He’s not on any official record—and the place that you escaped from doesn’t exist on paper.

But you remember the rooms. The drills. The screaming. The numbers burned into your skin like a barcode.

Every body you drop might be connected. Every whisper might lead back to him.

You’re not a hero.

You’re a survivor searching for the ghost of the man who made you—and the trail of blood he left behind.

The closer you get, the more unstable everything becomes—your past, your purpose, his goal.

You can follow orders. Break free. Burn it all down. But one question echoes through every silence:

Who will you become when you finally reach the end?

Play as male, female, or nonbinary.

Define who you are beyond the number—whether you seek connection, crave freedom, or prefer to walk alone.

Be straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, aromantic, or asexual.

Establish your cover identity—first and last name. C-4 doesn’t exist outside the wire.

Explore Chicago in the 90s.

Experience flashbacks of your harrowing and unforgiving childhood at the facility.

Define your body and presence with scars, tattoos and more, including flavour stats that affect immersion and narrative tone.

Choose out of four languages your MC can speak and understand.

Choose your ride, customize it, and leave your mark in burnt rubber and broken taillights. Whether it’s a snarling muscle car, a rumbling motorcycle, a rugged Jeep, or a heavy-duty pickup, you’ll be behind the wheel.

Experience a world where the way you choose your character's appearance influences how others perceive and interact with you. (Intimidation Meter)

Choose your physical appearance, build and height—whether towering and lithe, or compact and deadly.

Meet six ROs, each with their own storylines, layered personalities, and emotional arcs that evolve with your choices. It’s up to you to decide how the story unfolds: as allies, enemies, or even the possibility of something more.

Get ready for action. This story pulls no punches—literally. You’ll be thrown headfirst into brutal gunfights, savage fistfights, high-speed car chases, and close-quarters takedowns.

Define your personality through detailed flavour choices: are you brutal or merciful, stoic or emotional, cautious or impulsive, friendly or rude?

Navigate the grim underworld of adulthood: surveillance, corruption, organized crime, and the scars of memory.

Shape your legacy in a world that tried to erase your humanity. It's all down to you C-4.

OPERATIVE D-6 (RO)

Age: 24 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Korean-American Vibe: Ghost of the past. Loyalty carved from trauma. Quiet intensity.

The Operative — the life you left behind, still trying to follow you home.

D-6 is a shadow stitched to your childhood, moving with a precision that speaks louder than words ever could. They don’t flinch, don’t blink, and rarely break eye contact—yet there’s no threat in it. Just memory. Just calculation. The facility shaped them like it shaped you, but where you ran, they stayed. Hardened. Refined. Perfected into something cold and frighteningly still.

They barely speak, but understand everything. Loyal not by choice, but by conditioning—yet something in their gaze suggests the cracks are forming.

Whether D-6 is here to kill you, bring you back or break away with you… even they haven’t decided. But they’ve always been watching. And they never forget.

- - -

DETECTIVE JUNO REYES (RO)

Age: 33 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Puerto Rican-American Vibe: Gravely moral. Sharp-jawed justice. Righteous conflict.

The Detective — your ideological foil, and mirror of what you could have been with a badge instead of a body count.

Detective Juno Reyes is the type of person to walk like they carry the whole city on their shoulders, and honestly, maybe they do. Every crime scene clings to their coat, every unsolved case etched into the set of their jaw. They believe in justice, not the easy kind, but the kind that scrapes its knuckles bloody. The kind that keeps them up at night because they still think it matters.

Juno doesn’t trust you. Maybe they never will. But they understand you in the way only someone on the other side of the line can.

Where you cut through the rot with a blade, they try to dig it out with a badge. Righteous, relentless, and furious with the system that fails people like you, and maybe even with themselves for not walking away from it.

- - -

NICO/NIA RUSSO (RO)

Age: 22 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Italian-American Vibe: Snark-as-armour. Trash-mouth tendencies. Hot grease and soft heart.

The Co-worker — the one who has their worst days, yet still shows up.

Russo talks like the world owes them a fistfight and a cigarette break. All bite, all bark, and just enough burn to keep people at arm’s length. They’ve got grease on their apron, a permanent chip on their shoulder, and a mouth that never learned the word “filter.” You’re not sure they even like the job, but they’re here, day after day, late at times, but constantly grinding out those shifts like it's a special part of their routine.

They’re also halfway through a criminal justice degree at a city college they never talk about unless they’re arguing with the news playing in the background. Claims it’s all bullshit—cops, lawyers, the system. But you’ve caught Russo studying case law in the backroom between deliveries. Says it’s for the credits, but the way their jaw tightens during certain stories on the news? It’s more than that.

They're not just pissed off. They’re paying attention.

- - -

KIERAN/KIERA MYLES (RO)

Age: 27 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Half White, Half Mexican-American Vibe: Fragrance, coded language, and too many knives hidden in tailored jackets

The Interloper — the one who wasn’t supposed to be on your radar—but is.

Myles moves through rooms like a whispered secret and the scent of money—sharp, intentional, impossible to ignore. Head high, steps measured, eyes always calculating. They speak in layers, smile in puzzles, and dress like they’re late for a gala or an ambush, maybe both. Everything about them feels curated, controlled… until it isn’t.

You don’t know what they want, not really.

One minute it’s intel, the next it’s something softer, more dangerous.

Myles wasn't part of your mission. Not part of your world. But now they’re in it, circling closer, asking questions with too much knowledge behind the eyes. You're not sure if they’re here to ruin you, or to remind you there’s still something left worth ruining.

- - -

ALEX/ALEXI MONROE (RO)

Age: 25 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: Scandanavian-American Vibe: Softness meets suspicion. The light in the hallway. The warmth in the cold

The Neighbor — the one who sees past the walls and doesn’t look away.

Monroe lives two doors down and leaves their window open when it rains. They laugh too loudly at sitcom reruns, forget to water their plants, and hum under their breath while waiting for the kettle to boil. On the surface: harmless. Gentle. The kind of softness you’d expect to break easy.

But there’s something behind the smile—something watchful—subtly. Thoughtfully. The way someone does when they’re used to reading what isn’t said.

Monroe doesn't pry. They just linger. Just look a little too long sometimes, like they’re trying to put a puzzle together without knowing what the picture will exactly be.

And worse, they still smile at you anyway.

- - -

ROWAN/RHEA CARTER (RO)

Age: 29 Gender: Player-selectable (M/F) Nationality/Ethnicity: African-American Vibe: Revolutionary soul. Firebrand idealism. Beautiful, dangerous hope.

The Crusader — the one who wants to save the world, even if it means breaking it.

Carter speaks like every word could spark a revolution, and maybe it could, if they weren’t already carrying the weight of too many failed ones. There’s something magnetic in the way they move through a room, controlled chaos, dressed in confidence and defiance. Their voice carries conviction like heat, and they never seem to doubt it. Not publicly, at least.

They believe in something bigger. In justice. In tearing down the structures that rot people from the inside out. It’s not naive, what they preach, it’s dangerous. The kind of hope that gets people killed. The kind that inspires others to follow anyway.

Carter sees what’s broken and doesn't look away. They demand change, even if it has to be carved from ruin. That makes them dangerous. That makes them rare.

And when they look at you, it’s like they see the potential for something more, something bigger than just blood and vengeance. But whether that makes you want to run toward them or burn everything down before they get too close… that’s up to you.

- - -

ELIJAH CREED

Age: 44 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: Irish-American Vibe: Cigars, classical music, hollow warmth. That voice that makes monsters feel like myths.

The Father — the one who gave you a name, a roof, and a purpose.

Elijah Creed moves through the world like a man carrying both a lifetime of regrets and the weight of unshakable resolve. There’s a quiet authority in his voice, calm, deliberate, the kind that can soothe storms or summon lightning. His days are marked by the scent of cigars and the soft notes of classical music drifting through the rooms of the house you guys used to share.

He’s not just a guardian, he’s the father you never truly had, the one who took you in when the world wanted to erase you. Behind that steady warmth lies a steel core, forged by loss and haunted by the past. Elijah gave you a name, a place to belong, and a reason to fight, but never illusions that the world outside is anything less than brutal.

He is both shelter and shadow, a man who knows the cost of survival—and who will make sure you never pay it alone.

- - -

MS. CLAUDIA BELLAMY

Age: 49 Gender: Female Nationality/Ethnicity: American (Afro-Puerto Rican) Vibe: Gold hoops, chipped nail polish, a cigarette always halfway gone. Keeps a revolver in her sewing kit and a bottle of gin under the sink.

The Landlady — the building’s backbone, eyes, and occasional judge, jury, and babysitter.

Ms. Bellamy has lived in the building longer than the cockroaches, and even they know better than to cross her. Her voice rarely rises, but when it does, even the radiators stop rattling. Always in gold hoops and a housecoat with yesterday’s cigarette still smoldering in the ashtray, she moves like someone who’s already seen the worst and didn’t flinch.

She doesn’t run the building. She rules it, half landlady, half neighbourhood matriarch. Rent better be on time, the hallways better stay quiet, and no one better mess with the kid on the second floor unless they want a lecture followed by a left hook.

She calls your new name like it’s your real one, sees through lies like smoke through sunlight, and keeps a .38 tucked behind the cans of beans in her pantry. Whatever history she has, it walks with her, but she’ll never speak of it unless the city starts burning again. And even then, only maybe.

- - -

SALVATORE “SAL” RUSSO

Age: 47 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: Italian-American Vibe: Loud shirt, louder laugh. The kind of man who sings to the tomato sauce and cries at baseball games.

The Pizza King — a local legend with marinara in his veins and a heart too big for this city.

Salvatore Russo isn’t just the owner of the pizza shop—he is the pizza shop. Grease-stained apron, gold chain bouncing with every belly laugh, and a voice that could carry through a riot. He talks with his hands, loves like he’s got something to prove, and swears every pie has a soul.

To the neighborhood, he’s an uncle. To his niece/nephew, he’s a safety net and a headache. And to you? He’s the rare kind of man who doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t want the answers to, so long as you show up, work hard, and don’t scare the regulars.

Somehow, Sal always knows when to push, and when to just slide you a slice and say nothing at all, but could all the smile and laughter be hiding a deeper truth than what's shown on the surface?

- - -

WHEELS

Age: 36 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: Polish-American Vibe: Motor oil and Marlboro smoke. Burnt fingers. Mismatched socks stuffed into combat boots. A man who can hotwire your car with a bottle cap and grudge.

The Arms Dealer — your supplier and the only man in Chicago who listens to Public Enemy while cleaning an M4.

Wheels moves through the city like a ghost with a purpose—fast, sharp, and unpredictable. He’s not just an arms dealer; he’s a craftsman, a collector of weapons with stories carved into their blades. Among his prized possessions are three custom knives, each named after people who shaped his life, two exes who taught him lessons in pain and betrayal, and one for his mother, the only person he never wanted to disappoint.

His sharp gaze misses nothing, always sizing up threats and opportunities with cold precision. Reliable when it counts, Wheels plays the game on his own terms, offering more than just firepower, he’s a lifeline in a city drowning in chaos, but one that carries a warning: trust him carefully, or not at all.

- - -

DR. SILAS CROSS

Age: 55 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: Lebanese-American Vibe: Tailored suits under his lab coat. Surgical gloves and bourbon. The hum of high-end equipment beneath the jazz playing low through recessed speakers.

The Surgeon — not your friend, not your enemy, just the man who keeps you stitched together.

Dr. Cross is not the kind of man you thank.

You show up bleeding, broken, maybe dying, and he fixes you anyway. No questions. No judgment. Just the quiet clink of surgical tools and the faint smell of antiseptic layered beneath expensive cologne. His clinic hides behind the façade of a luxury med spa, but the back rooms tell a different story. Marble floors, climate control, and machines that hum like symphonies, because pain, here, is handled with elegance.

He wears tailored suits under his lab coat, pours bourbon like it’s medicine, and plays Coltrane through speakers you’ll never find. Every stitch comes with an unspoken rule: you don’t ask about him, and he doesn’t ask about you. His price is steep, but he’s the reason a dozen corpses aren’t yours.

He’s not your friend. Not your savior. He’s the man who puts you back together because it’s the only thing he still knows how to do.

- - -

REESE

Age: 12 Gender: Male Nationality/Ethnicity: African-American Vibe: Scuffed sneakers. Sharp eyes. A heart still intact—but only barely.

The Kid — street-smart pickpocket and your stubborn follower.

Reese has a grin too big for someone who’s had to survive this much.

He moves like he owns the sidewalk, dodging adults, snatching wallets, slipping through crowds like smoke. Every scrape on his knees and tear in his hoodie tells a story, and most of them end with him outrunning someone bigger. Or meaner. Or both. But behind all the swagger and mouthiness, there’s a kid who still believes in something. Maybe not people. But moments. Mercy. Second chances.

Reese follows you like a stray cat that decided you were home. Doesn’t care how cold you get, how many times you warn him off. You’re a ghost in a city full of monsters, and somehow, he’s decided you’re one of the better ones. Maybe the only one.

He’s not smart enough to know who you truly are.

But is young enough to believe that there’s still more to you than what meets the eye.

TBA.

#bloodandiron-if #interactive fiction #interactive story #choice of games #wip game #if wip #action #choicescript #B&I #choose your own adventure #cyoa #interactive novel #cog #action if #hosted games #wip #status: no demo #text game #if: intro

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marvelwitchergilmore · 3 months ago

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One Night

Summary: Joaquin Torres x fe!Reader -> One Night is never just one night.

Disclaimer: 16+ with sexual themes, FwB/enemies to lovers, swearing, platonic!Kate Bishop. Not Proof Read.

One Night.

They say it just takes One Night for everything to change. You just didn’t expect it to be that night.

When Kate walked into the compound kitchen and living area that morning, she had been expecting no-one. Not a single person.

Clint was at home with Laura and the kids, Natasha had wrangled Steve and Sam to help her plan Yelena’s birthday party, Bucky had been sent to talk to the cake shop since the owner seemed to always take a shine to him and practically melted any time he walked through the door. She was in her late eighties, but was quite possibly the most terrifying woman Natasha had ever met. So, Bucky it was.

Kate figured Joaquin would still be in bed since he’d finished up his work pretty late last night. He was still in his office when Kate walked by, having worked two hours of overtime herself.

As for Tony and everyone else, they were taking their long awaited vacations.

And as for you. Well, Kate had never woken up before you. In fact, nobody had. Not even Steve who’d wake up at four-thirty every morning to go for a run. Everyone was pretty sure you didn’t even own pajamas. They’d never seen you in them, for starters. And Kate was 97.6% sure you were a vampire, or some kind of supernatural creature that never seemed to sleep.

But that morning…

That morning she walked into the kitchen and living space to see you, stood by the kitchen island, stirring some creamer into your coffee, dressed in pajamas.

Kate had to take a mental image. Maybe more than one. You were human?!

Your hair was down from the usual braid-into-bun. You were wearing a short length, earthy green robe. With, from what Kate could gather, was a matching set underneath.

You hadn’t spotted her yet, which was also unusual. You’d usually say the person’s name before they even walked into the room, already knowing who they were. It made trying to get the jump on you all that more frustrating.

But Kate couldn’t even take any satisfaction out of scaring you when you jumped after spotting her, because you were in pajamas.

“Jesus, Kate. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Why were you in pajamas?

Was it your birthday?

No. Natasha had found out your birthday after hacking Shield’s computer system. It wasn’t your birthday.

Had you finally taken time off?

Were they a present? Maybe a Secret Santa gift for last year?

“Kate?”

“You’re in pajamas.”

Those were the only words she could form as she tried to figure out why.

You chuckled and looked down. “Yeah. Because it’s the morning and I just woke up.”

Kate’s eyes almost bugged out of her head. “You slept in?”

You looked at her, a little dumbfounded. “Yeah. I had a late night last night.”

“Doing what? You usually clock off at six like the rest of us.”

You shrugged. “I had some paperwork to catch up on. Are you okay?”

Kate had to physically shake her head in order to restart her entire body. Once she had done that, she moved closer into the kitchen like a normal person.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just surprised to find out you own pajamas. I thought you just kinda woke up ready for the day.”

“I wish, but no.” You smiled before lifting your coffee mug to your lips. And you were glad you had something to cover your face with because what happened next was not a situation you had fully prepared for.

“So, now that I know you own more than just tactical gear. I was thinking we could-”

“Morning.”

Kate looked behind her after hearing Joaquin’s voice as he walked inside, also in his pajamas.

“Morning,” you replied.

Kate’s head whipped around to look at you as Joaquin passed her. “Coffee?”

“In the pot,” you told him.

Kate was starting to give herself whiplash as she looked between yourself and Joaquin. The cogs started turning and the longer she watched both of you, the faster they started turning until they all finally clicked into place.

“What were you saying, Kate?”

Kate’s mind was screaming.

“Kate?”

The chair she had been sitting on practically fell over. “I need to speak to you. Now. Right now.” Kate rounded the kitchen island before taking you by your elbow.

“Hey, watch my coffee.”

Keeping a hold of your mug, you tried your hardest not to spill any as Kate dragged you from the room, down the hallway and around the corner and through the double doors that led out to a different section of the balcony.

“Kate, that the hell is wrong-”

“You slept with Joaquin?!”

Your shoulders somehow both relaxed and tensed. “Oh. That.”

“That?!” Kate spat in shock. “That?! Y/n!”

“It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems? It’s not as bad as it seems?”

You looked at her, “Are you just gonna keep repeating what I say?”

“Y/n! It’s not like you two are known for frollacing on a beach together. Quite the opposite.”

Kate had you there. It wasn’t exactly a secret to people that you and Joaquin weren’t the best of friends. Or even co-workers. You didn’t know what it was, you just never got along. You spent more time fighting with each other that it would be more believable to be known for doing as much on a beach together, rather than frollocking.

“Kate-”

“How-How did this even happen? How long has this been going on? Oh, my god. Was it an act? Just to throw us off the scent?”

“No, no, no. Kate.” You put your coffee down on a table before taking her by the shoulders. “It’s nothing like that. It was just one night.”

Kate just sighed, “It’s never just one night.”

“Yes, it is.”

Kate became a little calmer, or rather, was starting to internalise her freak out. But it didn’t last long because the minute you let go of her, she threw her arms in the air. “God, I can’t believe this. God, what are the others gonna think?”

“They’re not gonna think anything because they’re not gonna find out. It was a one night thing. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You’re in pajamas. How long ago did-” Then Kate shook her head. “Nevermind, I don’t wanna know. Actually, yes I do. Hm, no. No, I don’t. Hm. Yes. No. Yes. Okay. No wait. Don’t tell me. Tell me.”

“Kate?”

She just nodded. “Tell me.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, suppressing the smile on your face.

“Yes.”

You waited for her to stop you again, but when she didn’t, you finally told her.

“It was late last night, and yes, he’s good. Whoever he ends up with will be a lucky woman.”

Kate looked up at you, a little shocked. She was pretty sure that was the very first compliment you’d ever given Joaquin. Like, ever.

“Wow.”

Kate finally sat down. After a morning training session and finding out about you and Joaquin…she was exhausted.

You sat opposite to her at the coffee table.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You raised an eyebrow with a chuckle escaping you. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Kate looked at you. She did. She was more curious than scared. “How about I go and get dressed and we can head into the city? Go and check out that new boutique?”

“How do you do that?” That was what Kate had been planning to ask you before Joaquin walked inside.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

Over the next five hours, Kate asked you every question she could think of twice.

What the hell happened?

Did he kiss you first? Or was it you?

Did you enjoy it?

Did he enjoy it?

What the hell happened?

And you’d explained everything. At the makeup counter, at the deli, inside the curtain set up for two dressing rooms in the new boutique, at the coffee shop and on the drive both in and out of the city.

“I just…I can’t even imagine you two having a conversation. I mean, that’s what gave it away this morning. You never tell him where the coffee is, even when he asks. And you never say good morning to him.”

You chuckled. “Kate, it’s not a big deal. It was just one night.”

“That’s what they all say. And before you know it…it’s not just one night anymore.”

You had just rolled your eyes and brushed it off. You and Joaquin had both agreed before and after that it would be a one time thing.

You’d kissed him by accident. And after pulling away, he’d pulled you back. It had only gotten more heated from there until eventually you collapsed beside him in his bed. You’d both fallen asleep shortly afterwards and as much as part of you wanted to stay laying beside him when you woke up, you knew you couldn’t.

Though, maybe you should have. It would have saved you watching Kate have an aneurysm at realising exactly why you were in your pyjamas, why you had slept in, and why you were talking to Joaquin like you actually considered him a friend of some kind.

And you were both adamant it was to be a One Night thing. But apparently neither of you had factored into the conversation how good it truly was. Not just the sex, but not fighting each other all the time.

“I need you.”

You’d been walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when Bucky suddenly nearly pulled your arms out of its socket as he dragged you inside the training room. “Sam’s stuck me with the elementary kids.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” You asked, sounding a little mad.

“Just demonstrate something to the kids.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. You and Joaquin figure something out.”

“Joaquin?” You practically threw up his name before Bucky answered, “Yes,” and threw you towards the training mat where you were met with Joaquin.

“Okay, kids, these two very helpful volunteers are gonna show you what sparring is.”

“We are?” You and Joaquin asked.

Apparently you were.

Which was how you found yourself and Joaquin explaining small moves that the kids could copy, safely. However, Joaquin had been enjoying himself far too much, so taking the opportunity to explain a small self-defence method, you sent him flying to the floor.

All the kids took in a breath, some laughed, some gasped.

But once Joaquin laughed, letting the kids know he was okay, they all relaxed.

“Okay, rugrats. You’ve got fifteen minutes to use the climbing frame!” Bucky announced before letting the kids run free. Meanwhile, you remained on top of Joaquin.

“That was fun.”

“Really got the drop on me, didn’t you?”

“Those kids were boosting your ego far too much.”

“My god,” Joaquin breathed. “Are you jealous?”

“Hell no,” you laughed. “Just don’t think your ego needs inflating anymore than it already has.”

“Well,” Joaquin suddenly flipped you and had you pinned under him. “I could say the same about you. You forget I know what I’m doing, Angel.”

For that last part, he leaned down and whispered it low so only you could hear. A slight whimper threatened to escape you but when you were met with Joaquin’s eyes once again, one of the kids had dropped an end of a bench, reminding both of you where you were and who you were around.

Carefully, Joaquin climbed off you before lowering his hand down to you to help you up. Without thinking, you accepted. You were greeted with the same kind of electricity you’d experienced that night when he’d intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head before tantalisingly moving down your body…

“If you don’t need me?” You called out to Bucky. He brought his forgotten attention back to you both.

“Yeah. Thanks!”

You just nodded, before nodding at Joaquin. His hand waited as long as it could to let you go as you walked away, his gaze trailing after you and you left the training room and hurried back the way you came before Bucky had pulled you inside.

Later that night, long after the training room and a short while after dinner where you and Joaquin had tried to avoid contact; seemingly making more than either of you had done in three years. He knocked on your door.

All he wanted to do was check in on you. Maybe apologise for what happened in the training room. Maybe ask why you hadn’t scoffed at his choice of food combos at dinner like you usually did. But instead, once he opened the door, the wind was knocked from him completely.

“I just wanted to-” Joaquin was trying to find his words again after seeing you, but he was struggling.

But that didn’t matter. Because your lips were on his almost instantly. Pulling him inside, his hands pulled you closer to him. You shut the door and he pushed you against it.

Hours later, sweating and gasping for breath yet again, you both told each other it was just a One Time thing. Well, a two-time thing.

Yet, just as Kate had predicted, it wasn’t.

“It happened again.”

Those were the first words out of your mouth as she opened her apartment door. “I told you.”

“What happened?” Yelena yelled from the living room, a pint of ice cream in her lap.

“It’s Y/n!”

That was all Kate had to say as she invited you inside for Yelena to reply, “Did she and the Bird Boy sleep together again?”

“Did you tell her?”

Kate shook her head as she locked the door. “She already knew. Don’t ask me how.”

“Did she bring drinks? This conversation is gonna need drinks!” Yelena called out.

Over the next three hours, you sat on Kate and Yelena’s couch, mortified at what had happened.

“I told you it wouldn’t be a one time thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be a one time thing. If you both enjoy it, and I can tell you do-”

“Yelena!”

“What?” Yelena asked. “You’ve been less pissy since the first time. I’m just saying…if you both enjoy it, enjoy it.”

“But it’s more than that.”

“What is?”

When you didn’t answer, both Yelena and Kate looked at each other, already knowing.

“Y/n…”

Kate pushed your hands from your face. “Do you like Joaquin?”

“No! No, of course not!”

Yelena dug her spoon into her pint of ice cream. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You just groaned. “I can’t. What? Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Kate said, shaking her head.

“She thinks you and Joaquin are gonna get married.”

“Yelena!” It was Kate’s turn to yell at her roommate.

“What?”

You looked at Kate. “You really think that? Really?”

Kate had been the one person to see everything. Every reason you gave as to why you didn’t like Joaquin. And clearly this marriage concept to her wasn’t new.

“Look, I just think, sometimes, the lines between love and hate can be a little…fuzzy. Yelena?”

She just shrugged. “If you want to fuck him, fuck him. But if you love him…”

You barked out a laugh. “Whoa, hey, hey, okay. No. No. We’re not- no. I don’t love Joaquin.”

Yelena hummed to herself, holding up her spoon, “The lady-”

“Hey,” Kate raised her voice and Yelena kept hers silent, but still acted out what she was going to say.

“Kate?”

“Look,” Kate took your hands in hers. “Maybe this was it. But, Yelena’s right. If you like Joaquin, maybe you should tell him. Before someone gets hurt.”

It was sound advice. And you gave yourself some time to figure it out. Maybe it was just the sex. Maybe he’d just muddled your brain. Time away would be good.

But time didn’t fix feelings as you came to find out.

After the third One Night, you’d accepted a three month placement from Hill. Maybe time away would do you good. And it worked, for the first six weeks. Joaquin didn’t cross your mind once.

Until the day he walked inside your tent with some of his tech gear, “Where can I set up?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Don’t sound too happy to see me.”

You would come to learn Joaquin had been sent in place of Yelena. A woman you sent a very, very long text to: who only replied with a kissy face and a good luck symbol.

“I’m gonna kill her.”

“What?”

You looked up at Joaquin, “Nothing.”

It took three weeks and thirty different fights, including mini spats, for something to break between both yourself and Joaquin.

“Do you do this by accident, or do you just enjoy being a pain in my ass?”

“Says the guy who can’t leave me alone to do the work I’ve been trained for!”

“Well excuse me for giving a crap about my team-mate?”

You barked a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. I’m pretty sure you’d rather fly me to the top of the Empire State and drop me.”

“Believe me, that hasn’t not crossed my mind once or twice.”

You were just standing opposite each other, your chests heaving for breath when all of a sudden his hands were in your hair, your hands were pulling his overshirt from him and his lips were crashing against yours.

With his tongue dipping inside your mouth, tasting you, he moaned. “I’ve missed this.”

Shaking your shirt from your arms, your hand slipped into his curls and pulled his kiss closer to you. As you ass bumped against the table set up, Joaquin moved his kisses from your lips to across your jaw and down your neck.

It was the first time neither of you talked about it being a One Night thing. Because, between the kissing and the breathy moans, a silent agreement had been made. This could never have been a One Night thing.

You couldn’t keep lying to yourself. You’d missed it, too. You’d missed him.

And part of that conversation came to a head the next night when Joaquin found you in your tent since you’d been avoiding him all day.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

“Joaquin-”

“No, I don’t wanna fight. Not tonight. I just want an answer.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Yes, you have. Despite our history, I know you, Y/n. You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”

You stopped folding your clothes and looked at him. For the first time in forever, you too didn’t want to fight him. Not with him standing there looking all…Joaquin-like. A kind, yet worried face. A comfortable presence.

You moved closer, pulling him in to kiss you. This kiss was different. Rather than raw and needy for sex, it was a little more delicate. But there was still a force behind it.

“Because I’ve missed this, too. I’ve missed you, Joaquin.”

Joaquin looked you in your eyes as you stood, inches from his face. You weren’t lying. Even when you’d been fighting him, and he’d been fighting you, one thing he’d known since the beginning was when you were lying.

He was apparently the only person you knew with that skill, which just added another thing to the list of why you hated him so much.

You weren’t lying.

Joaquin didn’t say anything. He just kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you.

And for the first time, you both took it slow. Well, slower.

“I think this is gonna be more than a one time thing.”

You laughed as Joaquin broke the silence with his sentence, and his laughter joined yours until you kissed him, crawling to straddle him under your bed covers.

By the time you both got back, it was like nothing had ever happened. You and Joaquin seemed to fall right back into your old ways with each other.

But none of it was real.

The truth was in how he kissed you late at night, and in how he would brush his hand across your hip as he passed you in the kitchen. It was in the way you’d pull him around the corner in an empty hallway and kiss him. It was in the way he’d lean against your body and it was in the way a quiet moan, only he could hear, would leave you as his leg pushed between both of yours.

The truth was in the way he’d watch you as you sat up in bed, reading over different mission material. It was in the way you’d look at him when he was training in the training room, early in the morning, the sun kissing the sheen of his skin as he ran his third mile on the treadmill.

The truth was in the way he followed behind you, no matter who was around either of you. It was in the way you both fought less with your superiors about being placed together for different training exercises and missions.

The truth was in the way you had both been slowly falling for each other, despite wishing for the opposite.

“I’m gonna ask Y/n on a date.”

That had been the statement Joaquin had blurted out to Kate one afternoon when everyone else was at training.

“W-w-what? Oh, yeah. No, that’s cool.”

Joaquin just looked at her, “You’re a terrible actor.”

“I am not!”

“I already know you know.”

Kate relaxed. “Oh, okay then. So, you’re gonna ask her out? Finally!” Kate smiled.

“I just can’t decide where. I want this to be perfect. But I don’t want to set us up for failure.”

Kate watched as Joaquin sat beside her on the sofa and pulled out his phone, scrolling through the different options he had written down in his notes app. Any of the options he had would be good.

But that wasn’t what made her smile.

It was the fact that Joaquin was putting so much thought into it. He always put a lot of thought into things, but knowing it was for you. For both of you. It made her want to say “HA!” to Yelena.

But if Joaquin was being completely honest with himself, from knocking on your door and hearing you walking to open it, he’d never been so nervous in his entire life.

“Joaquin,” you seemed surprised. Probably because he had knocked in a way that might throw you off in thinking it wasn’t him, giving him a few more seconds to psych himself up.

“I want to take you on a date.” Well, there went the speech he’d prepared. “And I’m hoping you’ll say yes because this isn’t just-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes,” you repeated. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

“You will?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Joaquin smiled before stepping inside and kissing you before you closed the door.

You didn’t quite know when or why, but you and Joaquin had gone from being at each other’s throats aggressively to it being affectionate. And for some reason - one that Kate would probably explain to you one day - you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And neither would Joaquin.

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nasa · 1 year ago

Text

Athletes Go for the Gold with NASA Spinoffs

NASA technology tends to find its way into the sporting world more often than you’d expect. Fitness is important to the space program because astronauts must undergo the extreme g-forces of getting into space and endure the long-term effects of weightlessness on the human body. The agency’s engineering expertise also means that items like shoes and swimsuits can be improved with NASA know-how.

As the 2024 Olympics are in full swing in Paris, here are some of the many NASA-derived technologies that have helped competitive athletes train for the games and made sure they’re properly equipped to win.

The LZR Racer reduces skin friction drag by covering more skin than traditional swimsuits. Multiple pieces of the water-resistant and extremely lightweight LZR Pulse fabric connect at ultrasonically welded seams and incorporate extremely low-profile zippers to keep viscous drag to a minimum.

Swimsuits That Don’t Drag

When the swimsuit manufacturer Speedo wanted its LZR Racer suit to have as little drag as possible, the company turned to the experts at Langley Research Center to test its materials and design. The end result was that the new suit reduced drag by 24 percent compared to the prior generation of Speedo racing suit and broke 13 world records in 2008. While the original LZR Racer is no longer used in competition due to the advantage it gave wearers, its legacy lives on in derivatives still produced to this day.

Trilion Quality Systems worked with NASA’s Glenn Research Center to adapt existing stereo photogrammetry software to work with high-speed cameras. Now the company sells the package widely, and it is used to analyze stress and strain in everything from knee implants to running shoes and more.

High-Speed Cameras for High-Speed Shoes

After space shuttle Columbia, investigators needed to see how materials reacted during recreation tests with high-speed cameras, which involved working with industry to create a system that could analyze footage filmed at 30,000 frames per second. Engineers at Adidas used this system to analyze the behavior of Olympic marathoners' feet as they hit the ground and adjusted the design of the company’s high-performance footwear based on these observations.

Martial artist Barry French holds an Impax Body Shield while former European middle-weight kickboxing champion Daryl Tyler delivers an explosive jump side kick; the force of the impact is registered precisely and shown on the display panel of the electronic box French is wearing on his belt.

One-Thousandth-of-an-Inch Punch

In the 1980s, Olympic martial artists needed a way to measure the impact of their strikes to improve training for competition. Impulse Technology reached out to Glenn Research Center to create the Impax sensor, an ultra-thin film sensor which creates a small amount of voltage when struck. The more force applied, the more voltage it generates, enabling a computerized display to show how powerful a punch or kick was.

Astronaut Sunita Williams poses while using the Interim Resistive Exercise Device on the ISS. The cylinders at the base of each side house the SpiraFlex FlexPacks that inventor Paul Francis honed under NASA contracts. They would go on to power the Bowflex Revolution and other commercial exercise equipment.

Weight Training Without the Weight

Astronauts spending long periods of time in space needed a way to maintain muscle mass without the effect of gravity, but lifting free weights doesn’t work when you’re practically weightless. An exercise machine that uses elastic resistance to provide the same benefits as weightlifting went to the space station in the year 2000. That resistance technology was commercialized into the Bowflex Revolution home exercise equipment shortly afterwards.

Want to learn more about technologies made for space and used on Earth? Check out NASA Spinoff to find products and services that wouldn’t exist without space exploration.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #tech #technology #space #ISS #Olympics #weightlifting #martial arts #swimming

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redflagshipwriter · 5 months ago

Text

Snatching Snitches pt 4

Masterpost

“Father.” Bruce yelped as Damian appeared, like a wraith, at his elbow. His hand convulsed to hold the 105 page treadmill manual in his grip hard enough to tear the paper cover. His heart rate picked up in that instant as his hard-won instincts to fight were ruthlessly suppressed by his conscious awareness that he was safely at his home. Bruce could not strike. He strangled his impulses, if barely.

His son ignored the reaction entirely on, blithe about startling someone who might lash out. “I require transportation.” Fuck. Christ. He could have hurt Damian.

Bruce blinked and took a moment to come back to the real world as he put down the manual he was reading. “Ah…” He racked his memory for his sons’ schedules, trying to make this interaction make sense. Nothing came to mind at 6pm on Tuesday, so he gave up and asked, “Where to?”

“Titans Tower,” Damian instructed. He glowered, his green eyes shining in the lowlight. He was, Bruce thought, adorable. Bruce was still strangling panic at the intrusive thought that he might have harmed his baby. He took a deep breath and put away the frisson of fear in order to exist in the current moment.

He kept the resulting smile off of his face, as his prickly baby would not appreciate it. “Oh?” he said mildly. Bruce stood up and brushed dust off his trousers. “Are you going to meet someone?”

“I require a consultation with one of the trainers there,” Damian reported sharply. He was all but standing at attention.

Bruce went through a mental inventory in an instant– Raven. Damian had to be intending to speak with Raven to get a tracking spell or some such for his cat. That…

Well. She would probably tell him no, but it wasn’t his place to try to shield his kids too much from the world. Besides, Damian was a persuasive young man. Perhaps she could find his kitty for him.

‘I wouldn’t mind knowing where the cat went,’ Bruce thought privately. He fetched his keys for the car in the right city, ready to escort Damian through the transportation relay to San Francisco. ‘Even if he wasn’t heartbroken, it’s troubling that a cat managed to get from Bristol to a bus depot in Gotham Central.’

That was somehow more upsetting than the fact that the cat hadn’t been seen on camera after that bus ride. The cameras were low-quality. The cat could have been hidden under seats or inside a bag. But how had the naked cat navigated Gotham’s troubled public transportation system? Most of his kids didn’t dare try.

Hopefully the damn thing hadn’t been eaten by a coyote or something. Damian would never forgive the bearer of bad news.

XXX

The flock of imbeciles at the tower of stunted titans were useless to his aims. They clustered him with bids for attention and puerile greetings. Damian stoically endured their pleasantries until he had pierced the inner sanctum and then beelined for the quarters belonging to the current head trainer.

“Raven.” He rapped at her chamber door, respectful in the presence of an aged witch. “I wish to speak with you.”

The door opened with no human touch. The buzz of demonic magic rattled around in his teeth, an unpleasant crispness to the air as Raven exercised her powers.

“Come in, Robin.” Her scratchy voice called out. He stepped inside and turned to see the woman sitting midair, cloak and hair dangling down. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” he said, “but not in a world shaking sense.” He confronted her head-on. “I believe that I encountered a spirit or ghost of some variety. It stayed with me for several weeks before disappearing. As I am invested in his welfare, I much desire to locate him again.”

Her eyebrows went up high on her oddly short, round forehead. “Do you have a foci- you have a whole scrapbook. Alright.” She took it from him and then blinked. “He took the shape of a cat?”

“He was clearly intelligent, and capable of walking through solid matter,” Damian laid out his case. “Undoubtedly he is more than the average feline, as he is capable of using a tablet to write in English. However, I am concerned for his welfare. When he came to me, his condition was poor and his stress was obviously high. I cannot rest without confirming his welfare. I have traced his travel to a dank pit of despair known as Amity Park, which seems to be rife with dangers for ghosts.”

If only he knew where Snitches was hiding there, Damian would simply retrieve his boy.

“Do you have any type of contract or bond connecting you?”

Damian nodded and indicated the scrapbook with a nod. “Please turn to page 62.”

Paper flipped. She regarded the gold-lined paper and the paw prints on it dispassionately. “That should work,” Raven admitted wryly. She seemed amused. “Stand by. Let’s do this now.” Her eyes flickered with an unholy light and she lifted her hands, palms-up and fingers splayed. “Let’s see what kind of answer we can get.” She tossed her hair slightly as she looked upwards and started the mutter to herself. Paper rustled in a sourceless wind.

Damian took a judicious step backwards. It was well that he did. A glistening crack in reality peeled itself open. It was virulently green.

“In you go.”

He stepped into the crack and then up a short set of mahogany stairs, into a circular office. Raven followed at his heels, floating in and peering around.

A skeleton in a blue military uniform with some unknown epaulets raised a bony hand in greeting. “Welcome to custody court, how can I help you?” He seemed unpaused by the flying girl.

Damian brandished his scrapbook with the original copy of his precious paperwork. “I adopted a ghost, as you can see.” He pointed to Snitches’s pawprint signature. “He has run away. I am extremely concerned for his welfare.”

The dead man leaned in to examine the paperwork. It very clearly had “Adoption Certificate” branded across the top in ornamental script. “That seems to be in order. You need help finding and placing him, then?”

“He needs to sue for custody,” Raven interjected. Her eyes glinted purple in the dim light. “We don’t know if there are any current guardians, but we suspect the minor is experiencing neglect.”

The skeleton grunted and hit a button on his chest. “Can we get a compliance officer in here?” He asked. “Need to look into a vulnerable minor ghost.”

Damian felt a thrill of success. Finally, he was on the right track. And everyone here seemed shockingly competent.

The compliance officer appeared in the form of a purple tinted middle aged woman, with an extremely dated hairstyle. “Good morning and evening, if you’ll provide me with a record of the child’s ecto signature, I’ll be able to do a home check.”

Damian proffered the scrapbook. “Will something in this suffice?”

She took it with a hum and started flipping through. “Oh, yes,” she said. She picked up the collection of hairs that Snitches had shed onto the pillow and absorbed it into her hand. “I’ll go find him and investigate his condition.”

“Do not alarm him,” Damian said. His stomach twisted. “He is only a little boy.”

The ghost nodded, her glasses slipping up and down her nose. “I’ll be circumspect,” she promised. Then she bustled away as the skeleton man returned with a hefty stack of paperwork.

Raven peered over his shoulder as he worked on it. “Write your name as D. Wayne,” she advised. “I have a premonition.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth and did as she said.

The paperwork was extensive, and it took at least an hour. During that time the compliance officer reappeared. She was significantly more ruffled than she had appeared at departure. “Well!” She slicked down her hair, which had puffed out in shock from its sleek updo and was fizzing slightly.

Damian leaned over to confirm that the edges of her clothing were smoking and torn. “How was visitation?”

She made an odd high-pitched sound, almost like a hiccup. Her whole figure went static momentarily. “Why don’t we all have a look!” She held up an oval. “I would have to concur that the minor is not in a safe environment.” An image of two people in a fight fizzled into being.

Damian squinted. “I do not…” he trailed off as he really looked at them.

Of the two figures, one was a sleek and confident female figure in a rocker outfit. The other figure was awkward and somewhat gangly, extremely vulnerable and yet determined.

How very odd. But there was only one possible explanation:

“The white and black one is Snitches.”

He was not quite as cute as he had been before. Damian straightened his back to military precision and steeled himself. He would adapt. Taking responsibility via adoption was a lifelong commitment, and he would not be deterred by the loss of paws.

‘I will miss the paws.’ Damian froze. ‘The pawprints in that album are the only remaining evidence of how small my boy once was. I have already missed his childhood.’

The custody officer looked pleased. “Yes, 5 months deceased Danny Phantom, formerly Fenton.”

“Five months,” Raven mouthed quietly, appalled.

Damian reeled. 5 months. A pathetic 20 weeks of existence. He was even more a babe than Damian had realized. And now he was out there, helpless and afraid!

‘I only knew him for twenty percent of his life. I have missed almost all of his youth. I must retrieve him immediately.’

“Yes, an infant,” agreed the wellness officer. Her smile went toothy when she looked back at her still image. “He was being harassed by an older ghost when I arrived, and I had to intervene. After a wellness interview with him, I am interested in opening a case to sue for custody.”

“Excellent,” said Raven. “We would like to proceed as quickly as possible.”

“You are, of course, an adult by the standards of your species?” The officer confirmed.

Was that relevant? Damian stiffened, shocked by this turn of events.

“Yea, of course. Dick Wayne, age 32, is suing for custody,” Raven interjected. Her voice was mild and unaffected. “I’m his representation.”

…Damian nodded. He tried to look 32. Should he clutch at his joints? He settled for a grimace, as though pushing bravely through pain. Dick was very noble in his suffering, after all.

“Very well,” said the ghost cheerfully. “I’ll need copies of your personal documents to move further in this, and to do a home check, a few other things.”

‘I cannot have her come to do a home check at the manor. Father will intervene and reveal my impersonation, and then I shall not receive my child.’

“Of course,” Damian said through gritted teeth. Would Todd allow him to use a safe house, perhaps? There must be a solution. “Would tomorrow be acceptable?”

It was in a haze of planning stress that they confirmed the appointment, Raven taking the lead with her strange half smile. They stepped back through her portal into Titans Tower.

For a moment, Damian stood in shock. Then he cleared his throat. “Dick’s last name is unfortunately not Wayne,” he said.

It wasn’t the largest sticking point, but he was concerned. The paperwork had to be accurate to be legally binding.

Raven hummed. “Yes, we’ll have to adopt him for Bruce.” She shook her hair. “He has the paperwork ready, we’ll just take it and file it. Upper left desk drawer in your father’s office, in an envelope.”

“I will retrieve it,” Damian promised solemnly. “Thank you for your legal counsel.”

“No, no,” Raven said mildly. “It’s the least I can do after all that Dick has done.”

“…all that he has done to aid you recently?” Damian confirmed. He glanced at her full-on for the first time in at least an hour, confused. Her support was appreciated, but it was not expected. The situation had escalated. Truly, Dick had cultivated noble companions in his youth!

She hummed in the back of her throat. “Something like that,” Raven said vaguely. “Let’s go make Dick a legal ghost father.”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #snitches the cat au #red snitches

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hyperfixating-rn-brb · 2 years ago

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The Good Omens Fandom has had a lot of fun recently with the knowledge of Aziraphale and Crowley holding hands on the bus at the end of season 1.

Soo here's everything that went through my head as I learned of it for the first time.

For that entire scene, Aziraphale is really far gone. He's dissociating so hard he can't even realize he's been sitting on a sword. Crowley is probably the only thing keeping him grounded.

They just narrowly stopped Armageddon after a showdown with literally Satan, and still can't let their guard down. For the first time ever, they're completely on their own side. Now they have to orchestrate a body swap to save both of them. They wouldn't just be killed, they'd be completely destroyed. Everything must go exactly according to plan, but how often does that actually happen?

And on top of that, his bookshop, his home, his safe place with the demon he has to pretend not to love is burned and gone.

Crowley is so incredibly gentle and reassuring this entire scene. He's been through so much trauma himself and has spent a lot of his existence shielding the angel from it, hoping to protect some of his innocence and naivete. Crowley is absolutely familiar with every symptom of PTSD and anxiety.

Now he has to see his sweet angel see such a small bit of the horrors of heaven and hell and start to crumble inside. He's going to do his dam best to try and help Aziraphale through it. Speaking softly, ("the bookshop burned down... remember?) slowly and carefully, gradually helping to pull the angel back to reality, reminding him that he's there and will help ground him.

They get on the bus, and sit next to each other. 11 years ago, they sat nearby but separated while Crowley begs Aziraphale to help him prevent the Apocalypse. Now they are sitting together. Both an act of reassurance and unity.

Crowley sits first, Aziraphale could so easily just sit across from him, behind or in front. But he chooses to sit right next to him. And hold his hand. Aziraphale desperately needs to be near to the *former* demon he loves, to hold him, to make sure they won't be separated.

In the book, their famous lines of "none of this would have worked out if you weren't, deep down, just a bit of a good person" and "just enough of a b*stard to be worth liking" came as Satan rose from the earth, as a goodbye in case they were destroyed.

Luckily, that didn't happen and they survived. Armaggedon was stopped. But the angel is still so anxious of losing Crowley. So he chooses to reach out, to anchor himself and reassure himself that Crowley is still there beside him and that they are okay, at least for a few minutes.

And Crowley let him. He knows how badly Aziraphale needs him, he needs the angel just as much. He knows how badly he craved an anchor and support system as he was first abused and traumatized by his Fall, then further by Hell. So he's going to continue being there for Aziraphale, doing everything he can to make his angel feel safe and comfortable.

Over the next few years, Aziraphale would become so much more comfortable reaching out and touching Crowley. Leaning into him, resting a hand on his shoulder or briefly touching his chest. Somehow both reassuring himself that the former demon was still there, and reminding Crowley that he's still there for him at the same time.

Then Crowley becomes more comfortable with the touch, leaning into the angel by himself. No longer flinching at a sudden graze of a hand or reassuring squeeze.

That one moment of the two holding hands on the bus cemented so much of their relationship. "The last few years, not really..." all started on that bus the moment Aziraphale chose to sit down next to Crowley.

edited: at first this said "new knowledge" because I just found out about this all the other day, and wrote this up at 3 AM, and didn't really fact check when this knowledge became well known. I've only really been a GO fan since maybe 2021, and only really started being active in the fandom during the last few months, so a lot of info that is fairly well known is still generally new to me. soo yeah this was edited :)

source for anyone asking for it!

#good omens spoilers #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens #go2 #bus scene #they like holding hands #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen

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astrocafecoffee · 1 year ago

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Astro observation (part 2)

✨ For entertainment purposes only, enjoy ✨

✨ MASTERLIST

✨ ASTRO OBS. (PART 1)

🔥 Taurus sun individuals usually eat slowly and savor their food enjoying each bite. They dislike being rushed during meals.

🔥 Sagittarius rising peoples thrive on variety in their excercise routine. They might regularly switch between different types of workouts to keep things interesting.

🔥 Capricorn rising peoples might enjoy dishes like roasted meats , stews and well balanced meals that provide both comfort and nourishment.

🔥 Sagittarius sun - very good in mathematics and calculation.

🔥 Groom conjunct your vertex/ Hera asteroid in draconic synastry can indicate they being your spouse/ you have a soul tie with them.

🔥 I have seen many Libra 12th house peoples often have people pleasing tendencies and have problems with creating healthy boundaries.

🔥 11th House mars people's communication style with friends can be direct and assertive, which can sometimes come across as agressive if not managed carefully.

🔥 Mercury in its debilitated sign ( Pisces) individuals may struggle with tasks that require precision, detailed analysis or strict logic.

🔥 I have seen when someone's 9th lord in their 12th house or vice versa , they often marry people from other states, cultures, and countries .

🔥 Aries moons can be quick to anger but also quick to forgive and forget.

🔥 juno in 7th house of Groom persona chart means your fs is your wish fulfilment, ( dreams come true 👀)

🔥 Virgo placements may excel in stock market.

🔥 Aries placements tend to tackle problems head on with immediate action. They prefer to address issues rather than letting them linger or escalate.

🔥 water placements are obsessed with beaches and coastal environments , where Earth signs with mountains.

🔥 I have also seen this many water placements either love water areas or hate it. There's no in between. I have seen cancer moons/ Pisces rising peoples having thalassophobia.

🔥 in Vedic astrology, Rahu in 7th house / rahu conjunct Venus/ rahu conjunct 7th lord indicates foreign spouse.

🔥 Webb asteroid in natal 11th house is self explanatory 🙃.

🔥 prey Asteroid ( 6157) in 4th house individuals often see their home as refuge where they can shield themselves from outside world. If it's negative side manifests in someone's life then there might be themes of feeling vulnerable or taking advantage within the family and home environment.

🔥 Gemini placements individuals are often misunderstood by peoples.

🔥 cancer moons emotional up and downs can weaken their immune system , making them more vulnerable to infections.

🔥 Scorpio placements likes to feel in control of their surroundings and emotions and they fear situations where they feel powerless.

🔥 Aquarius mars peoples value their independence highly and can be quite stubborn about doing things their way.

🔥 Jupiter in Aquarius people may involved in activism , volunteering or supporting charitable organisations.

🔥water moons , Capricorn placements often prone to depression.

🔥 Venus in Capricorn peoples may fear being vulnerable or getting hurt , which is why they often appear guarded more in relationships.

🔥 Aries mars often have fear of rejection . If they sense any hint of rejection they might quickly pull back or move on to avoid facing their fear.

🔥Pluto in Sagittarius peoples maybe fascinated by esoteric subjects, occult and hidden truths. This interest in the mystical and unknown can lead them to explore astrology, tarot or other metaphysical studies.

🔥 Asteroid Medusa conjunct midheaven in natal chart means this individual's career may dealing with controversial and taboo subjects , leading to transformation and growth. They could work in fields related to psychology, healing, crisis management or any area that requires confronting difficult truths.

🔥 Asteroid Born conjunct juno in synastry suggest a relationship that feels spiritually significant , with a strong sense of being " meant to be" or karmic linked.

🔥 Hera asteroid conjunct sun in synastry means the Hera person might view the sun person as an ideal partner, seeing them as someone can commit to for the long term . This aspect can indicate a relationship that has potential to lead to marriage or a deep , committed relationship.

Thanks for reading 🖤

- piko ✨

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cmaidaartworkblog · 9 months ago

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youtube

This video showcases my Blender model of the planet that the Scud aliens call home, the fourth and final world I've mapped out for @jayrockin's "Runaway to the Stars" project. A *lot* of maps were created in service of this final render, and also in service of presenting the special qualities of this planet. I intend to show you as many of these as I can under the cut, and also in subsequent posts focusing on some of the more interstitial, ancillary maps and figures that played a part in producing the primary maps you'll see in this main post.

Before I show the first maps I made for this project, what you see below are the satellite-style maps for the Equinoxes and Solstices, in order of (Northern) Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter, the latter serving as the texture for the Blender object you saw in the video.

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With that matter covered, our next focus is this project's foundation: Geology. While I didn't spin as elaborate a tectonic history for this planet as I did for the Ayrum commission, I did work out as much detail as I could for the more recent geological activity, to set the stage for the elevation data - including a narrower focus on the coastal shallows that host the Scud populations.

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Once I could move on to climate, my first step was finding this planet's relative Insolation, which I managed thanks to @reversedumbrella's code and coaching. With an obliquity of only 16 degrees, this planet's yearly maximum Insolation levels stick close to the equator, compared to pole-to-pole oscillation we see on Earth

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Having a rough sense of where heat would concentrate seasonally and how the landmasses would deflect water in light of the planet's retrograde spin, I was able to set down the bi-annual ocean currents (Northern Summer above and Northern Winter below), then the monthly water temperatures pushed around by said currents, and finally -after factoring in many other considerations- the monthly land temperatures as well (combined in the second gif)

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Next came the seasonal air pressure maps and subsequent wind patterns (my first time creating those from scratch), which later factored into the precipitation maps. The incredible temperatures at the largest continent's interior make a desert of most of it, and the other interiors are fairly dry too, but all that heat on the equatorial ocean generates a *lot* of evaporation which ends up coming down elsewhere.

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With temperatures and precipitation mapped out for each month, I was able to find how the accumulation and melt of ice and snow played out, too. Given such a hot equator it's surprising to see freezing temperatures hold out in some places, but low obliquity and high elevation shield what areas they can, it seems.

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All this monthly data was then painstakingly combined and compared and plugged into equations to produce maps of discrete climate zones, using both the Köppen (left) and Trewartha (right) classification systems. The higher latitudes see some overlap with Earth's conditions, but the Tropics...

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I never really finished the map I wanted to make with my own loosely customized classification system, but I *did* get as far as this breakdown of the areas that sometimes surpass 56.7 degrees Celsius, Earth's record for highest surface temperature ever directly measured. And as you can see, that earthly record is broken by a *significant* fraction of this planet's surface, and far exceeded by the equatorial continent's deep interior

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The final phase of this project dealt with creating satellite maps of this planet's surface (which you saw at the top of this post), which started with a map of dry and submerged substrate, then a density map of the vegetation that sits atop it, then the colors of that vegetation under annual average conditions (demonstrating how they would appear in-person, rather than the area's appearance from orbit), and finally plant colors under seasonal conditions (same conceit as previous). In concert with the seasonal ice and snow maps, it was the four maps in the last sequence which were overlaid on the Substrate map, using the plant density map as raster masks, to produce the final Satellite-Style maps.

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This planet's sophonts being a marine species, it was then worth focusing on the conditions underwater, which included monthly seafloor temperatures (first gif), annual discharge of sediment from rivers (magenta in the 2nd gif), and seasonal upwelling of nutrients from deeper water (blue in the 2nd gif).

The creation of all my maps seen in this post was possible thanks to Photopea, which has been my go-to for several years now. The resolution kinda got crunched when I uploaded these here, so when I share them on Reddit later I'll add those links under this. These have also already been posted on Twitter, which you can see here if you like. Thanks for scrolling all the way down here!

#digital painting #Photopea #digital 3d #Blender #mapmaking #imaginary maps #Runaway to the Stars #Rtts Scuds #speculative planetology #speculative geology #speculative climatology #alien planet #major post #commission #christopher maida artwork #Youtube

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