#progressed chart asks

[deepvelvet]

Composite moon through houses p2

MASTERLIST

PART 1

6th: This is a more difficult placement for the moon in composite, since it comes a lot of times with bickering and critisism of each other, keeping score, looking at the little things. So it tends to be more judgement of each other and feeling we are in service of each other, in some fashion. Its not the most romantic place to have composite moon but the two people can focus on tasks very well if we have the moon well aspected. Their ideas of improvement are not quite similar, when it has hard aspects to it. So the emotional energy this two people create it's based on how they will do improvement out of their individual lives, their couple dynamic and their response to the envoiroment. We can feel less accepted.

"Sometimes i don't understand your way of feeling things, but we can think through how to focus on getting common ground."

7th: Both people can feel deeply emotionally compatible. They feel assured by the other person. One of the most beneficial places to have composite moon because this two people relate with each other in a relationship context. They are looking for the same kind of environment within the relationship itself. It's easy to relate, to bond, to have support, to feel that the other person is looking for the same things in a context of a relationship.

"The echo moon - one of them send out a vibe and the other receives and send the same kind of vibe back"

8th: It's a very complex placement for the composite moon. So in that case, you will want to look at both natal moon as see how they are aspected and how their personal 8th house or plutonic/scorpionic difficulties exist there. The combination of the lunar dispositions of what's familiar to us, ups and downs, what's hidden from view, compulsions. So the two people are very driven by their combined compulsions. It can be a very obsessive placement. We can deal with a lot of fears, attachments, insecurities, pulling each other's strings, triggering each other. If they dealed with their own pluto stuff, their own eight house stuff, we have two people that have really evolved beyond being driven by their dark forces it can provide the climate for healing and transformation. For other people, is going to be obsessions, fear, crisis and challenges.

"It's hard sometimes, but we can heal together."

9th: There is agreement about their life views, philosophies, morality. Sharing of abstract ideas, there's quite a lot of conversation in this placement. Even if they have different backgrounds and moral views with this placement they will find a way to agree on each other's perceptions, or to have some kind of shared ideal, common ground. It's not a position that provides a lot of intellectual growth for the two people because we do tend to have agreement that's already built in. So there isn't a curiosity outside of what's going on between them. So they can enforce each other's beliefs, provide more of a concreteness to each other's philosophies or ideas.

" I believe in what you believe."

10th: The two people see the other person can provide what they need to build, in the outside world, safety and security. The moon is naturally opposite to the 10th house on the wheel. The other side of the same coin, moon and Saturn. So while the moon is our basic need for security and safety, the 10th is where those things happen. Where we go and do the things that the 4th needs. So in this placement we have two people joining their most subjective personal states and feelings in a context of getting ahead, public image, status, what's external to us. They can be prone to identify outside external circumstances as the problems, difficulties and the supportive things that are working within the relationship. Its not a really personal place for the composite moon to be. They relate emotionally in their thoughts about where they want to go, how they want things to go to achieve their goals in order to meet the moon needs.

"What we can become together? Where are we going? How our combined lifestyle can provide or be the vehicle for what we want to achieve?"

11th: Very fun and friendly relationship. The two people relate to each other as friends, they're Very accepting of the other person's weirdness. We get to be who we are. We invite the other person's unfettered natural expression. We get to fart in front of each other, eat too much in front of each other. We get to do whatever just happens and the other person Very much enjoys it. So, the spontaneity is similar. Very few expectations and demands made on each other. A great deal of forgiveness and tolerance. A free-flowing, exciting place. Cut down on resentments, score keeping

"I accept whatever it comes with you."

12th: As well as 8th, it adds some complexity to the relationship. Often that's something very obscured about each other. We aren't completely aware of what the other person's deep needs are, how are we combining, what exactly is going on. Revelations tend to come though being stimulated to act irrationally. We'll have something that will come up that we will discover about ourselves. The two people learn about what they don't know they don't know about themselves as a result of How the other person triggers them or feels along beside them. Combined sansitivities, fears, mysteries, some of our dark side that they are combining and triggering in each other.

"You made me see parts of me i didn't knew i have"

[hedonistbyheart]

Just watched a (super interesting) interview with the director of episode 7 and he calls Charles straight in it too! Are George and Jayden really the only ones on board with bi Charles? Director guy is all "we've all been rejected by a friend" and meanwhile Jayden and George are out here going "I left it open" "you did".

It's just the fandom and the guys themselves out here in payneland I guess.

[queerlycarter]

i wanna start hrt but i should get all my health bullshit sorted (by which i mean diagnosed) first rrrrrr

[darthkvznblogs]

On a Cybertronian scale, how tall are the Diamonds?

White is close to a hundred feet tall, and Blue and Yellow are somewhere around 60-70 feet tall!

Optimus, one of the tallest "regular" Cybertronians (y'know, excluding Combiners, certain Big & Tall lads, and of course, Titans) is about 30 feet tall, so White is over three Optimus Primes tall.

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (Part 1)

The plane was late. The girls weren’t here and Bobby was freaking out. The crowd gathered outside the arena was rising into a crescendo, in raw anticipation. The tension was palpable, it was as if the energy was fizzling from the fans into the very ground of the stadium.

‘Everyone ready? Lets look alive!’ The man with medium length hair spun around, pointing at everyone, checking on progress. Bobby, the manager of Huntr/x frantically flitted around, looking absolutely frazzled.

‘Okay, ready? Yeah, we’re ready. But where are the girls?’ He frowned, turning around to Y/N. The girl in return, shrugged, her eyes glued into her notebook. She was writing a new song. One just in case Huntr/x decided to do another comeback early. The girl group was known for being random with their timings. This meant it make Y/N's job that much harder.

‘Check their location.' She sighed before looking up.

'Although, it isn't exactly unlike them to be late.’ Y/N shrugged, flicking back through her little black notebook. She wrinkled her nose, slightly concerned for the group's well being.

Y/N knew their little secret, for she was their trump card. You see, Y/N was the ghost writer. The one who made sure all the songs went viral, ensuring that the honmoon remained steadfast in its hold. It wasn't an easy job seeing as the songs had to chart well and actually be enjoyable. However, the girls did have great voices so that made it slightly easier.

‘It shows their plane veering off course?’ Bobby flipped his phone around, shoving it above Y/N’s notebook.

The girl looked up and gave a sly grin.

‘Start the music, they’ll arrive.’

Like comets raining down, the three managed to make it onto stage, half way through the song. Y/N looked out into the cheering crowd from behind the curtains, narrowing her eyes at the thin lines rippling with light. Tonight’s concert would be enough. Just enough to keep the shield up. It would hold until their next comeback after this concert. Right?

--

‘Did we just see gold?’ 

‘Ah! I can’t believe we’re doing it!’

‘It’s so exciting!’

The three cheered, shaking each other in sheer joy.

‘This means we can release our song soon and turn the honmoon gold!’ Rumi cheered.

Y/N gritted her teeth, slightly resentful. It was her song. She was the one who wrote it, slaved over it for weeks to make sure it sounded perfect for the girls.

‘It’s finally time!’ Mira exclaimed

‘Wooo!’ Rumi cheered until her voice suddenly cracked, her cheer suddenly muted. ‘Whoa that was weird.’

‘Do you need some water?’ Y/N mumbled, as the elevator doors opened.

‘Did someone say water?’ Bobby grinned, before gesturing frantically and calling out. ‘Water. Now!’

Y/N sighed, walking out from behind the group, watching how they all were showered in praise. Praise that never seemed to be shared with Y/N. It wasn't as if she was asking for all the credit, however it would be nice to hear a thank you once in a while.

‘What a way to end the world tour! And that guy in the finale who exploded confetti?’

‘Amazing special effects.’ Y/N cut in briskly, side eyeing Mira who returned her glance with a slightly panicked one.

‘Yeah it was super chill. Amazing song writing by the way Y/N.’ He added almost as a sidenote.

Y/N sighed and began to zone out. She didn’t need to be there anymore. It was time to go home whilst the girls decided what to do. Y/N had finished writing Golden two weeks before and Huntr/x had already recorded the song, meaning Y/N could rest. It would be a long time since Y/N was able to go home and get a full nights rest instead of being in the studio, mixing and mastering a new song for Huntr/x.

She trudged her way onto the dark streets where her own penthouse apartment resided. It was one of the perks for owning royalty on all the songs of Huntr/x. At least Y/N had been smart enough to invest in the shares of the company with her money. At this rate? She wouldn’t have to work for the next fifty years if she wanted to. Her retirement was set.

The streetlamps left much to the imagination, however, Y/N was too tired to be wary. The streets here were safe. It was a rich neighbourhood anyways. 

Y/N’s phone pinged.

Golden was being released in an hour.

Well that wasn't the plan. But then, did the girls ever tell her of any plans they had? She gritted her teeth, looking at the notification on her phone.

Was it wrong for her to feel slightly resentful? She could see the lines. She could see what the other girls could see, but she couldn’t harness the spiritual power to create a weapon. Y/N was an anomaly. A failure of a hunter.

She scrolled the comments, phone tightening in her hand as she read through each one. The praise was lavished onto the girls. Mira, Zoey and Rumi. Nothing mentioned her, the song writer, the producer. The reason Huntr/x even had songs to sing.

‘You’re looking awfully tense.’ A smooth, plush, voice noted.

Y/N whipped around, brandishing her phone into the shadows.

‘Who’s there?’ She snarled, eyes darting between the flickering streetlights.

‘Don’t be afraid. This won’t hurt one bit.’ Another voice snickered.

…

A pause.

Then another.

Then ten seconds had passed.

‘Um, what?’ The first voice sounded confused.

‘What am I supposed to be waiting for?’ Y/N shifted her posture, now feeling more confident.

‘Your soul. We were meant to take your soul.’ A deep voice muttered, as five boys stalked out of the shadows separately.

‘What the f-’

‘Who are you?’ The one with black hair, took point, walking towards her with a hungry glint.

‘My mother taught me not to tell my name to strangers.’ She snipped back, studying the new figures walking towards her. They were otherworldly in beauty. Jaws chiselled, faces unblemished and fair.

A flash of purple, jagged lines across skin.

‘You’re demons.’ Y/N deadpanned, facepalming. ‘No wonder you’re all so damn pretty.’

The one with pink long hair and heart shaped bangs snickered, sidling up to her. ‘You think we’re pretty?’ He gave a sickly sweet grin, reaching toward her chin.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself asshat.’ Y/N slapped away his hand. ‘I’m actually not into pretty boys so don’t even try.’ Her body was tight, poised to jump at any time. Even if she couldn't harness the spirit power, she could fight just as well as the rest of the hunters.

‘Maybe she's more into guys like me.’ The one on her left spoke up, shifting into her line of sight.

Y/N’s eyes traced over the muscled man, her eyes lingering on his revealed abdomen as he stretched.

‘Huh, gym rats. Also not my type.’ She shook her head, turning to leave. ‘I’m not into conventionally attractive men. I don’t share.’ 

‘Who says you have to share?’ 

Y/N jumped slightly, surprised by the man with black hair standing now in front of her.

‘We know you write all of Huntr/x’s songs. It’s how they're so popular.’ The one with purple hair, wrapped an arm around Y/N's shoulder.

‘Don’t touch me.’ She brushed him off, backing away into a wall.

‘Yeah?’ The wall replied.

‘Huh?’ Y/N turned around, only to be met by a wall of solid muscle. ‘OKAY STOP.’ She whisper-yelled. ‘What do you guys want from me? I don’t carry cash.’

'What? We don' want your money.' The one with blue hair chuckled, leaning on a lamp post.

'We want something more valuable.' The tallest said, flicking away his pink bangs.

'And that is?' Y/N narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the group of strange yet alluring men.

‘Write for us. We need a debut single in three days.’ The one who looked like the leader gave a wicked smile.

‘What makes you think I would do that?’ Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head in a question.

‘Because we can give you what you want. Fame, recognition, power.’ 

'Who says-' Y/N began before falling to her knees, clutching her head.

Unbeknownst to her, the boys hurriedly gathered around her as she fell, the closest catching her before she collapsed on her side.

The outside world was suddenly cut off from Y/N's mind. It was silent.

And then it began.

Pain.

Throbbing pain as visions filled her head. It was searing, as if a hot knife were being twisted. Visions, sounds, memories. This wasn’t her world. This was the world of…

KPOP DEMON HUNTERS.

Part 2

[sixeyesonathiel]

academic rival!satoru who starts pulling all-nighters and obsessively rewriting his notes not just to beat you—but to catch your attention. he tells himself it’s strategy, war, rival stuff. but deep down, he’s hoping you’ll finally look at him. not glare. look. and when you do—when your gaze sharpens like a blade and you hiss, “how the hell did you score higher than me?”—his heart flutters like it's prom night, like you proposed marriage with your rage. he circles the date on his planner. he writes a haiku about it in his margin. “her eyes could kill me / but in that moment, i’d die / a scholar in love.” he considers submitting it to the campus poetry zine. he doesn’t. but he thinks about it. constantly.

he didn’t mean to start this rivalry, but he absolutely doubled down on it once he realized you were finally taking him seriously. the first time you muttered “smug bastard” under your breath in class, he swore he saw the face of god and got addicted to the sound of your frustration. he spiraled that night. rewrote his planner in pen. made a color-coded timeline of “her fury levels vs my grades.” it’s posted on his wall like an artifact. so now he’s trying harder. not just studying. overstudying. outscoring you on every test, quiz, class poll, kahoot game, group project ranking, and even the stupid little brain break games professors throw in. he shows up with research articles printed and annotated just so he can leave them on your desk, post-it commentary signed with a heart. he calls it “scholarly banter.” his friends call it “a cry for help.”

everything he does is soaked in neon desperation and pastel affection. he's convinced every time your voice raises in exasperation, it’s basically flirting. he calls it “intellectual foreplay.” his friends call it “delusion with extra steps.” you once slammed your textbook shut mid-discussion and muttered something about transferring schools just to escape him. he marked that moment in his journal as “peak chemistry.”

he still steals your pens, but now he leaves behind new ones. personalized. glittery. cursed with horrible puns. your name spelled out in cursive on the cap. once he got one custom-made with your initials and a tiny heart, and when you used it during a test, he almost fainted. he says it's to maintain “balance in the rivalry.” really, he just wants to see you roll your eyes, maybe sigh in that way that means you’re exasperated but not homicidal. progress. baby steps. thesis-worthy milestones. he once emailed the campus stationery supplier to ask if they could make pens that smell like your favorite shampoo. they said no. he cried a little.

his google drive has twelve folders named after you: “rival data,” “her essays (aka masterpieces),” “evidence she’s smarter than me but i’m hotter probably,” and “her favorite snacks ranked by study mood.” he makes spreadsheets comparing your academic scores. one chart tracks your moods based on how many hours you spent in the library, cross-referenced with your spotify activity. it’s color-coded. he thinks it’s romantic. it looks like a CIA threat report. he once gave a presentation with you as a case study on academic excellence. you weren't in the class. he did it anyway. he said it was “practice for when we’re co-professors someday.”

you treat him like a nuisance. a threat. a very loud, very cerulean-eyed glitch in your academic routine. you work harder just to obliterate his smirk. you glare when he gets the top score, mutter insults when he raises his hand, scoff when he compliments your writing. he thinks it’s all part of the enemies-to-lovers pipeline. it is not. you hate him. you're convinced he's mocking you. and he’s too stupidly in love to realize his plan is imploding like a dying star. he writes motivational quotes on his mirror. they’re all just things you’ve yelled at him.

he thinks it’s banter. you think it’s war. he flirts through footnotes, you throw sharpened stares. he doodles hearts on your thesis draft, you circle them in red and write “grow up.” he writes fake references in his essays like “her eyes, personal observation, 2025” and wonders why you haven’t confessed yet. he once tried to footnote your handwriting as a primary source of inspiration. you reported it as academic misconduct. he thanked you for noticing. he still has the warning email. printed. framed.

he believes in your intellectual excellence like it’s gospel. once said, “she’s a walking academic citation,” and got choked up about it. when you won the department award, he clapped so hard he got a bruise. told everyone later he was clapping for the future mother of his academic children. you told him to shut up. he saved the moment anyway. printed the photo. it’s in his wallet. laminated. waterproof. just in case.

his grades are rising but his romantic odds are tanking. he’s winning tests and losing dignity. one time he scored 100%, looked at you for validation, and you said, “congrats, nerd.” he wrote a poem about it. it rhymed. poorly. he performed it at the campus open mic. people clapped. you left halfway through. he said it was symbolic. a metaphor for your metaphorical emotional walls. he made a mood board. labeled it “the walls she built, the man i became.”

to him, you're the rival-slash-muse of his dreams. to you, he’s that annoying guy who somehow has your cat doodle as his lock screen. how? why? you don’t know. you don’t want to know. he says it “inspires him to rise above academic mediocrity.” you tell him to get therapy. he writes that down. “note to self: look into couples therapy.” you threaten violence. he updates his will. adds a note: “to be read by her, preferably with tears in her eyes.”

he's convinced you're in the slow burn arc. you're convinced he’s an incurable idiot. he messages you late at night with things like, “what’s your stance on fate?” or “if we wrote a thesis together, what would the topic be?” you leave him on read. he screenshots it and stares for hours. once he printed out a message you sent—“we’re not friends”—and taped it above his desk like motivational hate mail. then made it his lock screen for a week.

of course you and him aren’t friends. don’t be ridiculous. you’re soulmates, silly. academic rivals to twin flames. enemies-to-lovers speedrun. he’s delusional, yes, but passionately.

his delusions are so loud they echo in the lecture hall. he sees you win a class debate and writes a 2,000-word reflection on intellectual passion. titles it “she spoke, and the earth wept.” submits it anonymously to the school literary mag. signs it with your initials and hopes you’ll take the hint. you do. you write a rebuttal titled “the earth weeps because you talk too much.” he hangs it next to his bed. says it’s proof of your connection. invites people over just to show them.

you once muttered, “you’re a walking distraction,” and he whispered “she noticed me” before fainting dramatically onto his desk. his friend had to fan him with a syllabus. he calls that day “the awakening.” he includes it on his personal timeline of academic enlightenment. writes a song. badly. uploads it to soundcloud under the name “midterm romeo.” it has 101 plays. 99 of them are him.

the only reason he joined the academic decathlon was because you signed up. when asked his motivation, he said “to defeat my nemesis and earn her begrudging respect.” you stared at him. he winked. you nearly punched him. he said, "was that a spark?" and held an ice pack to his cheek with a lovesick smile. wrote a limerick about it. no one laughed but him. he printed it on a mug.

he's tried subtle confessions, like changing his discord status to “she's my thesis.” no one knew who “she” was. except everyone did. the group chat roasted him for six hours. he left and rejoined under a new name: “GPA 4 HER.” it got worse. made a spotify playlist named: “studying her like a sacred text.” you blocked him on everything but email. he started ending all peer reviews with “ps: hi.”

at some point, your mutual friends start noticing. they ask if you two are dating. you respond with horror. he responds with “not yet.” you threaten violence. he updates his will again. adds a footnote: “if she cries at my funeral, i win.” writes a powerpoint: “our enemies-to-lovers arc: a predictive analysis.” presents it to himself in his dorm at 2am. cries. adds transitions. makes a playlist.

you don’t know he wrote you into his valedictorian speech. he calls you “his greatest academic challenge and muse.” he practices it at night, staring at the mirror, pretending you're there in the crowd, not fuming—but finally, finally smiling at him. he’s rehearsed your nonexistent wedding vows more than his intro paragraph. sometimes he grades fake exams you never wrote and gives you 100 just to feel something. he once drafted a fictional university recommendation letter for you just to imagine what it’d be like to praise you publicly without you throwing a pen at his head.

and maybe, if he’s lucky, when the final grades are out and you tie for first place, you’ll look at him again. not with fury. not with confusion. but with something soft. maybe interest. maybe curiosity. maybe the beginning of something stupid. something sweet. something research paper-worthy.

strictly academic, of course. unless... extra credit?

[nightingale-prompts]

Loving Spirits - Beholder AU- DC x DP (Tim X Danny)

The rest of the series

So Tim and Danny are at an impasse. Life was comfortable. But they weren't progressing.

It wasn't stale, no never. Every day Tim could only guess what was waiting for him when he got home. If Danny was distracted with his blueprints or pouring over star charts. He could be laughing over a mythology book.

Danny had a habit of redecorating, not that Tim minded. The apartment was kind of bare before. Now it felt like he walked into the wrong house everything he came back. Boho, retro-futurism, and maximalism. Each style blended haphazardly. Tim was just glad it wasn't black everywhere. He was cool to let Danny take over the space.

There was currently one little problem. Well, several but one was more glaring than the others. He didn't know how he managed this but Danny didn't know he was a Wayne. He knew who the Waynes were but he spent so much time focused on his job, school, and hobbies he didn't care about gossip. Add that no one could casually approach him without losing their nerves and no one could tell him.

This was working out great for Tim until-

"Tim...you know I've never met your family. You've met mine and I kinda want to know what I'm getting into." Danny half laughed as he moved his rook on the chess board.

Tim panicked. He could tell Danny he was an orphan so he had no family but Danny was dense, not stupid, and knew damn well that Tim had a family. How else would Tim vent about his brothers and praise what siblings he did like? (Duke and Cassandra)

But right now Danny knew that Tim got a great position at Wayne Industries due to nepotism and brains. He also knew that said position meant a lot of late nights and overwork due to how underprepared he was. The latter was a lie to cover up his Red Robin identity

All these things he could use to get at least some sympathy from Danny and only a few compliments.

Tim didn't like lying but it's expected. Who in this family liked lying about their secret identity besides Dick who probably gets off on that sort of thing deep down. Okay, so Tim liked having a secret identity too but that didn't mean he liked lying to Danny. Okay, he would totally be okay with lying if it was easier and had no consequences but there would totally be consequences on a long enough timeline just look at Bruce's relationships.

Well Tim had to bite the bullet this time.

"I don't know. My family can be so busy. And well... I had a bit of a fallout a few years ago with my brothers. I was practically abandoned. That's why I moved out. Sorry...I don't really talk about it. Family dinner night is the most I can stand."

Timothy Drake you absolute fucking coward! That's so cheap! You manipulative little shit!

"Oh...you poor thing. I didn't know it was like that. I promise I won't bring it up unless you want to talk about it." Danny frowned sympathetically bringing up a hand to cradle Tims cheek soothingly.

Like I said, you're a genius, Tim! Greatest plan you've ever come up with! Absolutely flawless!

***

Danny guessed that Tim side of the family won't be present at the wedding. That's okay but not ideal. That allows Danny to fill up the roles with his side. Youngblood was going to be the ring bearer. Clockwork is the officiate but did Tim want a specific denomination? Danny was sure he could ask any diety to show up for the ceremony.

There was so much planning for these events, years even if he didn't just elope.

Danny just felt bad that they were this deep into their relationship but its really Tim putting in so much effort.

Tim invited Danny into his nest of all things and they are sharing a space.

Nocturne was scandalized when he heard.

"But you're so young! Even Clockwork and I don't share our nests every night!" Nocturne said dramatically pulling out a fan and cooling himself like he heard that Danny was now a fallen woman in Victorian England.

He wasn't wrong though. Ghosts don't often share a nest. It's a sacred and off-limits place of their haunts. Even ancients like Clockwork and Nocturne whose original haunts have long since been lost to time (ehehe) had their own domains in the infinite realms and were careful about crossing into them carelessly so they don't muddle them.

Nests are charged with so much of your own energy, that letting them be tainted by another's energy was an uncomfortable idea. There was so much vulnerability in feeling exposed like that.

Thankfully, Tim hasn't asked them to share a room. Danny wasn't quite sure he could handle it without panicking.

Clockwork wasn't happy either witht he news.

"Moving into his nest is one thing. I respect the boldness but he hasn't even bonded with you." Clockwork was traditional at his heart but it all came from a good place. "When I claimed Nocturne as mine I at least -"

Danny nodded but tuned out the rest of the lecture.

"The future is now old man!" That was all Danny could think.

Seriously Danny was not listening. All he could hear were the butterflies in his stomach and sappy love songs.

But now Tim had proposed! That changed everything.

He asked Danny to stay by his side forever! It was a promise at that. There was nothing more binding. All they needed now was to make it official legally and get bonded.

But still, Danny would like to announce it to both their families. Although Danny hasn't told Vlad because he'd try to chase Tim off again. Seriously, ever since Danny "accidentally switched his original insane and corrupted Vlad for the alternate future non-ghost side redeemed Vlad he had been the ideal godfather. But the new Vlad was overbearing in his own way. How Dani survived is a mystery with a dad like that. Vlad was too ambitious right now and was discussing bringing Dan back to hopefully fix him. Vlad's ghost half made from his hate, anger, isolation, and obsession was to blame along with Danny's unresolved grief and fear of himself. That created Dan.

If the plan goes through Danny has to worry about more then just the wedding planning.

Danny already had so much on his plate. He needed to resolve the issue with the ecto pits soon. He had been getting complaints from the Infinite Realm residents. Being the high prince meant plumbing issues like this fall on him to resolve.

It's all so exhausting. But Danny can't help.but feel like he forgot something.

...Must not be important then.

[deepvelvet]

Composite Venus through houses p1

MASTERLIST

1th: Really common place in romantic partnerships. They appreciate each other physically. They think the other is beautiful. Combined sense of what we want to see in each other as physical qualities, the actions they are going to take about their preferences in general. The things that are appealing to each of them are very much in tune, so they can agree on good tastes, where they want to go out, what turns them on and what motivates them. Shared activities. That's a great placement to those agreements and not have fights around this. If this venus have some dificult aspects to pluto, saturn can have frictions but the agreements are still there. We can have these dificult narratives going on and still have the ease of this venus placement.

2th: Agreements in regards to money, where the money goes, how they will decorate their home, what type of house they will live in, what kind of arts they will buy or make together. It's a very natural place for venus. They agree on investments. They can share fashion sense and like the same beauty concepts. It's wonderful for people that work together and couple will feel that senses in common between them.

Edit1: it's a wonderful place for those who make art in general, because the other person supports their art and inspire them. Works so well in work and business relationships too.

3th: The shared pleasure seeking is very much centered in mental things. Shared opinions about the type of facts that they will focus on. It's a cerebral venus, not very common in romantic relationships. But there's a lot to share when it comes to world events, small talk, appreciate each other's point of view, even if it's diferent, It will be always intresting to learn about. They love this in this placement. They can feel their mind appreciated. Free will of opinions, thoughts and ideas.

4th: Same intimate preferences. Same needs for solitude or quiet. They love being REALLY close though. This couple love being home watching movies, sitting by the fire, cuddling and inviting friends over. They are more private in general about their life together.

5th: They are able to fulfill a lot of each other's romantic ideas. It's so exciting. They like to take risks, even sports. They like adrenaline together. Sharing in the exciting part of life. Be careful around other aspects in this composite so this placement don't turn intoxicating because they are in love with love, and loving each other's company, so it can make it harder to determine if there's a real solid base of compatibility.

[espressheauxs]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 || 𝐈 || 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭

summary : the “right person, wrong time” kind of chaos decided it wasn’t done with him – it hadn’t really started, after all. It wanted him to feel in a way that not even Plato could immortalize the kind of punishment Zeus would strike down on him for feeling he deserved again. It was starved of a beginning, of a place in Jack’s life.

pairing : jack abbot x f!reader

words : 2.2k~

themes/warnings : MINORS DNI/DNR. Loads, and I’m talking LOADS of hurt before the comfort that follows, Age gap relationship (reader starts off in her 20s & jack in his 30s, progresses to late 20s/early 30s & jack in his 40s), implications of power imbalance, inappropriate workplace feelings, heavily implied emotional infidelity, actual infidelity (not from Jack or reader), mentions of grief/death/being widowed, religious/mythology references & allegory, mentions of mental/emotional health issues, jealousy, misunderstanding because two idiots are in love with each other, miscommunication because said idiots do not communicate with each other, mentions of therapy and medication, conflicting feelings about having/wanting children and being married, jack is so down *bad* for you like he just wants to give you the world, eventual smut maybe idk yet, Shen is a bestie ™ , reader has some specific / non North American characteristics / cultural references, but anyone is welcome to read!

p.s: if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

note : wow a mostly fully outlined fic is in the works. So far I’ve messily outline 5 parts. Thank you sosososososo much to @slyyywriting @celestianstars for proof reading. Also, @abbotjack you made a post asking to be emotionally endangered with anything jack related…okhereyougobyeeeeee

Jack never really had to think about the phrase “right person, wrong time”.

He thought he had “right person, right time” figured out, until life decided it wasn’t really going to be fair and vanish the floor out from under his feet.

The grief still keeps up with its daily appointments, reminding him it still exists with each prescription and psych appointment he has.

That he, after losing more than just part of his leg, now has to learn how to exist as only himself with his heart missing as well. It still is, or was, some days. He was still trying to figure that part out.

Medicine was his only purpose now. Has been for a long time. Only the chaos is different now – more controlled, predictable.

The “right person, wrong time” kind of chaos decided it wasn’t done with him – it hadn’t really started, after all. It wanted him to feel in a way that not even Plato could immortalize the kind of punishment Zeus would strike down on him for feeling he deserved again. It was starved of a beginning, of a place in Jack’s life.

His life decides he needs it now– the chaos night you start shifts with him; you transferred starting in your last year of residency, some 400 something miles east of Pittsburgh, chasing a purpose, a challenge, an ideal.

Dana loves you instantly, and much to Jack’s chagrin, you find a camaraderie in Dr. Shen in between iced coffee runs and bad jokes while charting.

Jack often sees you arrive a little while before he does, chatting it up with the nurses in the break room over the latest episode of British Bake Off, or huddling over a shared plate of pansit on the nights no one ever dares to call it the Q-word. Other nights, it’s steamy plates of your carbonara on the nights no one ever wants to label the S-word.

You’ve always offered when he walks by, but he simply shakes his head and mumbles a gentle thank you.

It fascinates him, the way you’re close with everyone. He’s close with Dana and Robby, but you are something else entirely different to him – professional, and enthusiastic to learn from anything Jack had to say keeps a safe enough distance from either of you reaching for anything more than an easy going working relationship.

The distance also exists as the ring that he wears, and so do you, in a necklace tucked under your scrubs – as the love he’s afraid will die a second death if he doesn’t hold on to the last memory he has, and the one that had just been borne to you.

He’s easily got at least a decade and change on you. It’s not appropriate, he knows. He’s pushing forty something, your attending, and you’re his newly minted resident in her twenties. Barely having started living life.

Jack thinks you’re too sweet sometimes. A lot of the time, really. It’s the way your face warms up when he looks directly at your eyes when he asks you why you make a decision or a give a dosage, or the way your nose sweats a little when he compliments you on a job well done.

Yet he admires it all the same, especially when he sees how you are with the oldest and the smallest patients.

Especially with the smallest ones that came in crying and left happy after dealing with a hair tourniquet on a nine month old’s little thumb. The parent thanks you with a watery laugh and a smile, and the baby squawks happily when you magic a small toy from the hospital’s gift shop from your scrubs pocket and pretend to make it sing.

He does not, can not, let himself dream about something far more dangerous than being shot at. It felt like a betrayal to the memory of a life and a love he barely got to live.

—

He doesn’t remember exactly when it happens or what you said, but you had opened up his chest in a pseudo emotional thoracotomy and burrowed yourself into his heart just by being you, if only to mend whatever he had left of it from the inside.

Night by night, case by case, guidance on your research in exchange for the good protein bars from Shen’s secret snack stash only you knew about.

Jack feels it ardently when you’re performing an actual thoracotomy under his guidance. Lithe fingers slicing and examining a bloodied heart.

His throat just aboutdries up when you look at him - not because it disgusts him (he’s seen far, far worse) , but seeing how you maneuvered someone’s thoracic cavity and their heart was like feeling it in his own, slowly being fixed by you, being examined for further damage that could be fixed.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he says after the patching up is done and he looks at you with blood smeared all over his gloved hands.

“Yeah, you think so, Doc?” You ask in a hushed tone, eyes glistening with enthusiasm and adrenaline.

His heart knows he shouldn't like it, the way it looks when you’re coming down from the high of saving a life while blood is smeared all over you.

Jack huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and looking at you with admiration and disbelief at your own fearlessness when breaking someone’s chest open, “Take the win. Besides, it was far too risky to do it by myself.”

You don’t immediate catch the way the timbre of his voice drops as he says it, but the look in his eyes gives it away mostly, and it leaves you feeling baffled by his praise for the first time.

“..what?” Your lips tug awkwardly, not knowing how to react or what to do, especially not with bloody PPE that has definitely been soaked all the way through.

—

Somehow, there’s a closeness between you that follows. Of things left unsaid yet understood. Often silently working like a well oiled machine, a singular unit perfectly in sync while caring for a patient, affirming your decisions and you wordlessly predicting what he needed in the ER.

When Robby had asked Jack who he would recommend as a fellow out of your group, he didn’t think twice when he said your name.

“She’s the smartest one out of all of us,” he’d once said to Robby while nursing a doordash order on the roof , “this hospital would be stupid not to keep her.”

He’d certainly be for not advocating for the best resident he’s had in years.

Robby had recommended Shen. Not because he didn’t like you or because he didn’t think you were capable. But reading Jack’s glowing recommendation about you only affirmed what he suspected. Time would only tell if Jack himself could see beyond his own words.

Shen stretches out a hand, blindly sipping on his coffee as Robby and Dana slip him a $50 bill each the next time they’re in front of the betting board.

—

Jack finds himself lingering, feeling a little more, without knowing how or when – only that he does, and you exist in him long after the sun has gone up and the moon has gone down.

The corners of his lips tug in a secret smile, as his nose is able to catch the whiff of your perfume and your own smell whenever he helps tie your surgical gown and you help with his.

He tries, he really does try to ignore the feeling that burrows itself deep whenever you pat his back after helping him tie on the surgical gown.

Your hands always lingered a little longer than they should, like a balm to soothe his aches, as if to tell him - “I have you. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Jack finds it easier to sleep in his bed on the days that you do, as if your touch carries him all the way to safety, away from sand & heat and the phantom burn he still felt in his leg.

On those nights, he dreams of a feeling that only wakes when he’s not.

—

The two of you never, ever fought. Disagreements? Sure. Difference of opinion only to arrive at the same answer? Definitely.

Jack knows that that’s what he likes about you since you came on several months ago. You’re definitely the favorite out of all the residents he’s taught. The prodigal resident that was never afraid to ask why decisions were being made.

It’s what makes you an excellent doctor in his eyes, noticing things that people often don’t. It was easier for him to teach a resident that was self confident but not arrogant, and unafraid to get their hands bloody.

But your fearlessness was something he didn’t like if it involved you making a decision that put you at risk.

Sure, he’d sometimes find it funny when you were the only one to vocally tell Gloria to fuck off when she knew fuck all about being on the front lines after she denied yet another increase in security (until then, no one had ever heard you drop so many f-bombs - Jack couldn’t not laugh when he was there to witness Robby’s eyebrows all but fly to his hairline when it happened). No one but Robby ever did that (less riddled with cuss words), everyone else simply ignored what she said.

Hell, you’d even ignore what Jack would say sometimes in light hearted, less life or death situations.

But this? It was never, never this – making a decision of this magnitude without consulting him on something you’d ever only seen him do once.

“You should’ve never, ever done that by yourself.” His eyes are full of bewilderment at the mess that he had walked into as the patient is rushed to OR 1 upstairs.

“Yeah, well, I did what you taught me to do – if I waited any longer for you to tell me what to do the patient would’ve fucking bled out!”

It’s the first time the two of you ever got into an argument. The two of you never, ever argued especially not in the middle of a literal bloody mess where everyone could see and hear. But your patience was worn past thin and your fucks had long flown out the window.

“I’m your attending, that’s not the kind of decision a resident gets to make on their own!”

Jack isn’t prepared for the way you all but stomp your foot on the pedal of the biohazard bin, practically shoving your bloodied scrubs and gloves into the damn thing. Nor is he prepared for the way you point at him furiously with your left hand, where he sees the thin band of silver taunting him.

He is not a religious man, but in that moment he knows he became a martyr for a love that could never be worshipped like he used to know how to do.

“You do not get to pull rank on me!” Your voice is loud, and you’re well past the point of giving a fuck after the way your life in and out of this hospital has been lately. “I may be younger than you, Dr. Abbot, but I’m not fucking stupid!”

“That was not the standard of care.” His voice drops, full of warning as he looks directly at you. For the first time in years, the tinnitus in his ears re-emerges as his eyes flit between your face and your hand. “You’re lucky that it’s something I’m not reporting.”

He regrets it the instant he sees the way the shock on your face melts into disenchantment, and the bile burns at his throat when he sees the way light leaves your eyes.

It's the first time in a long time he wished he’d rather fall on a sword, rather than ever see that look again.

The look that told him what everyone else could see between you – that you were to Jack what Psyche was to Eros.

That you cared about him and what he had to say in a way that was more than appropriate.

Your chest heaves as you look at him, eyes riddled with a rage that squeezes in his heart. His eyes zero in on the ring again as you rub your face, hair wild in all directions from the braid it was in.

“Well fuck the standard of care, and fuck you for making me feel like shit.”

The smallness and the vulnerability in your voice hits Jack squarely where it hurts, in the places where you had started to carefully stitch the broken pieces of him back together.

“Take a bre–”

The words die on his lips as you shoulder past him, shoving the door open and knob rattling as you let it go to storm your way out and past the nurses station and down the hall.

That night, a patient’s heart was saved at the expense of two.

—

© espressheauxs, 2025

[diminuel]

I was asked to make an age chart with all the kids and share ideas what they're all doing/ who they're affiliated with. This is for the Mini-Mingo and Grumpy Verse, where the order of kids is different than in the AU where Dragon and Crocodile did not raise Luffy.

The last three are born after the time skip so they're quite a bit younger than the others. (And as it's been asked; Luffy picked the name for Merry and it is a tribute for the Going Merry.)

This is all a work in progress and can be changed around if I or anyone else has better ideas for these Monkeys~ I'm not sure what Dulcinea and the twins will do X'D

(I included Laufey so I could have 9 pics to put up. Maybe she does exist in the Mini-Mingo and Grumpy Verse. The girl twin also borrows from my Kuja Crocodile design because that was Croc's backstory for the other AU.)

[leyavo]

Dad!141 x nonverbal!child

[Masterlist]

🦫 John’s stumped when it comes to you. His two eldest excelled in communication at a young age. Whereas you were behind at everything, not so much as a hug for him whenever he was home. No you sat on the floor, in the gap between the sofa and armchair watching tv with him.

Your finger pointing to whatever you wanted, a nod or shake of the head whenever he asked you a question. You just did not want to talk, even your siblings had stopped trying to converse with you knowing they wouldn’t get a thing out of you.

John’s partner had given in knowing that no amount of encouragement or persuasion would get you to talk, so they learnt sign language with you. John had tried setting a routine and an achievement chart so you could track your progress, but you refused to do anything. Didn’t even want the bribe of whatever prize you’d get if you did all the tasks and spoke.

Took you to speech therapy which burnt a hole through his wallet each session. All for you to stare at the therapist and sit in silence whilst your siblings played with the toys in the office.

“There’s nothing wrong with our kid John, they might talk one day but they’re happy and healthy that’s all that matters.”

That’s when he learns sign language knowing that either way it doesn’t matter. He’d taken leave from work wondering if his absence had triggered it all, but it never had. You were the same all the time and there wasn’t anything wrong with that.

💀 Simon leaves you to your own devices, lets you sit under the table at the barbecue so you don’t have people trying to get a word out of you. He doesn’t see anything wrong with a quiet kid, even if his partner is worried about it. Just a phase luv.

Hell he was a quiet kid, but that was for a whole other reason. Your upbringing more stable than his and a loving family. Simon could go days without speaking, so he doesn’t see it as alarming and he’s sure if you want to talk then you will. He not going to put that pressure on you doing something you don’t want.

He enjoys spending time with you in silence and you smile at him as if whatever’s he’s said to you is exactly what you’re thinking. He already knows sign language, has been helping you learn it too.

Taught you the hand signals he uses in the army, exaggerated some that it’s just for you and him. His favourite being your little hand beckoning him forward when you want a hug. Hates the clenched fist that shoots over your shoulder whenever you want to be left alone and he pauses nodding in understanding.

Calls you bumblebee as you hum when you’re thinking about important stuff like which stickers you want or what desert after dinner.

🦦 Kyle knows that there’s nothing wrong or embarrassing about being behind with your words. The school had intervened and advised on getting a speech therapist.

So Kyle spent his Saturday mornings with you at the speech therapist office. He took on the all the advice, downloading audio books and talking to you more. Making flash cards and going through them with you. He didn’t pressure you to speak though, just wanted you to try.

He’s watched your face scrunch up each time you stumbled over your words and he’s right there to encourage you, hold you when the tears stream down your cheeks.

Calls you mouse, even though you don’t speak, you do squeak when you giggle. It’s low and subtle that if he’s not paying attention he’ll miss it, but Kyle loves the sound. Asks you to squeak when he’s trying to find you in the house, some what of a game too during hide and seek.

You go through months of not talking, one day calling your parents and then falling back into the silence when you get frustrated about new words again.

One day you might talk, but Kyle doesn’t force you to do something you’re not ready for. You’ll get there if and when you want.

🧼 Johnny comes home and knows that somethings not quite right. You haven’t said a word to him, no hey Da’ no thank you when he hands you a seashell he found on the beach for you.

His partner sitting him down and telling him that you’ve stopped trying to say the hard words. That you were getting so frustrated with your speech that you’ve gone without saying a word for months. Johnny wonders if he’ll ever hear your voice again. He knows that you were having a hard time with certain pronunciations, but he just thought you were getting confused by his accent and the different one of his partner.

You’re the youngest of five, how did he not realise how much you were struggling to communicate?

Calls you his little wisp (faeries) as you’re small and quiet like the Celtic magic that zips through the forest. Tells you to talk to wind if you need to, doesn’t have to be him. He sees you out in the garden, lips moving but no sound as you share something with the wind.

Purely self indulgent as I was a nonverbal child till speech therapy 🤌

[leriexoxo]

SKZ HEADCANON SERIES (18+)

Chapter 1: Bang Chan - The Rival Producer

OT8 SERIES MASTERLIST

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Enemies. That was the word. And he wore it like a damn badge.

From the moment you joined the label as an up-and-coming producer, Bang Chan had been on your neck. Stealing your time slots, nitpicking your tracks, offering unsolicited feedback in the most condescending tone possible.

“You could’ve layered this with cleaner harmonies,” he’d muttered once, listening to your beat in the studio hallway. Not even a hello.

“Didn’t ask,” you’d snapped back.

“Didn’t need to.”

It was like that every time. Arguments that started professional and always slipped personal. Creative tension that turned into glares, sarcasm, and proximity that was just a little too close for enemies.

So when management scheduled a collaboration—his team and yours—you almost quit on the spot.

“Just don’t kill each other,” one of the directors joked. “Or do. As long as it charts.”

Three days. One studio. No distractions. And the second the door closed behind you, you felt it: that hum of electricity between you, always too close to catching fire.

⸻

DAY ONE

You wore headphones to avoid him. He clicked his pen loudly just to piss you off.

“You’re stalling,” he said at hour three.

You didn’t look up. “You’re breathing.”

He grinned like the devil and leaned back in the chair, his sleeveless hoodie showing too much muscle for your own sanity.

“Bet I could finish the hook in five minutes.”

“Bet I could finish it better.”

“Then do it.”

You did. And he hated how much he liked it.

DAY TWO

You were both stubborn. Stuck on a pre-chorus.

“Your synth progression is too muddy,” he said, leaning over your shoulder. His breath was warm on your neck.

You sat still. Tight. Unwilling to flinch.

“And your voice note sounds like it was recorded in a fucking microwave.”

His laugh was low. “Still gets more plays than yours.”

You spun in your chair and shoved him back, hard. “God, you’re so—”

“Say it.”

You didn’t. You stared at his mouth instead. It was parted, pink, glistening. And for a second, the silence buzzed louder than the track looping behind you.

Neither of you said anything after that.

DAY THREE:

You stayed late. Alone. Or so you thought.

He returned with coffee, and you hated how much you needed it.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Didn’t do it for you.” He set the cup down beside you, sat in the chair across the console. “I did it for the track.”

Right.

You played back the bridge. He closed his eyes to listen. You watched him. The way he moved. The tiny nods to the rhythm. The muscles in his forearms flexing with each tap on the armrest.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why do you hate me?” you blurted.

He opened his eyes, calm. “I don’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You just…” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, voice low. “You get under my skin. You don’t take my shit. You challenge everything. You’re loud. Arrogant. Brilliant. And it pisses me off how fucking attractive I find it.”

The room went still.

Your heart thundered.

Then—

“Say that again,” you whispered.

He stood. Walked over. Caged you in with one hand on the console, the other on the chair behind your head.

“You heard me the first time.”

You didn’t kiss him. He kissed you.

Hard. Fast. Like a storm that had been waiting three goddamn days to rip through the room.

Your hands scrambled up his chest, fingers curling into his hoodie as he lifted you from your chair and placed you on the edge of the console. Buttons clicked under your thighs. He shoved your laptop aside without looking.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured, biting down on your jaw. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

You whimpered instead. Pulled him closer.

He grinned against your throat, teeth scraping skin. “That’s what I thought.”

His hoodie came off. Your shirt followed. Mouths clashed. His hand was under your waistband in seconds, fingers pressing, rubbing, teasing.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Fuck, I knew it.”

You gasped into his mouth. “Then stop talking.”

He groaned. “Careful. I bite.”

Then he was on his knees, dragging your pants down, spreading you with his hands like you were a masterpiece he’d been dying to ruin.

Tongue. Fingers. Moans you couldn’t swallow fast enough. He worked you open with precision—obsessive, hungry, like you were the only thing he needed to create tonight.

When he stood again, his lips were shiny. His eyes were blown wide.

You pulled him in by the waistband of his sweats. “Condom.”

“Wallet. Back pocket. Hurry or I’ll fuck you raw.”

You didn’t rush. He hissed as you rolled it on, watching you with that dark, intense gaze.

He lifted you up—hands firm, unrelenting—then fucked into you on the console. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t romantic. It was raw. Filthy. The kind of sex that makes the air taste different after.

“Louder,” he growled. “Let the whole floor know how much you hate me.”

You did. You said his name like a curse, then a prayer, then a plea.

When you came, it was with your back arched and his name on your tongue.

He followed, breath hot on your neck, chest heaving.

And when it was over, he kissed you again—softer this time. Sweeter.

“I still hate you,” you whispered.

He smirked, voice hoarse. “Sure you do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar

[strwberri-milk]

hii never requested before so lmk if this is wrong somehow, but im curious on how you think the boys would be if they realized you were experiencing medical malpractice. (negligence, failure to diagnose, etc.) i would like all the boys, but if not, doing only zayne is fine! (most curious for him just cuz he’s a doctor lol) tysm :)

All of them are incredibly angry on your behalf. He can't believe you're going through that, being hurt by someone who's meant to help you. You'd been seeing this doctor for a while, so of course you trust them, thinking that they were doing what was good for you. However, your lack of progress started concerning you and you ended up secretly getting a second opinion, dismayed when another doctor told you that they had no idea what your primary physician was doing.

Sylus and Rafayel want to absolutely decimate your physician's practise, and will do so behind the scenes. They don't want to drag you into the situation, but wants to do something about it. He uses his money to expose the scummy things your doctor did, making sure that their professional reputation is tarnished.

Sylus goes a step further, aiming to have their credentials revoked from them as further punishment for what they've done to you.

Rafayel doesn't go that far since he doesn't care - unless you want him to - but regardless, they're both going to spend a bunch of money getting you a private doctor.

Zayne and Xavier decide to come to your appointment to see what's happening. He judges quietly, observing what your doctor does and taking mental notes of it.

Xavier not having a medical background means he decides to ask more questions about why or why not your doctor won't do certain things, asking them to record everything to a tee on your chart. He makes it very clear that he's not impressed with their work and should expect a call from a medical board very soon.

Zayne doesn't reveal that he's a doctor until he decides things have gone too far, telling your doctor to their face how unprofessional they are and that he's going to see to it that nobody falls for their trickery again. His judgement is widely respected amongst the community, therefore making it incredibly hard for your doctor to continue working the second he brings up the slightest doubt against them.

[hotluncheddie]

wc: 1.6k | rated: G | tags: Fluff, getting together, recovering Eddie Munson, they're in love

‧₊˚ ⋅

It’s Wayne’s idea first.

Eddie has to take talking again slowly, his throat ruined by the bats; some of it reconstructed and most of it heavily scarred. It’ll all return: talking and singing and silly voices. But only with time and patience.

But patience is not something that comes easy to Eddie Munson.

He seemed to take the ‘no talking’, ‘take it slow’, and ‘only do so much’ rules like it pained his soul. And they all realised quickly that asking Eddie questions to have him practise doesn't work because Eddie can never get his fully formed response out before the pain became too great. It became quickly apparent that no answer was better than something half-finished.

To help, he’d write long, sprawling journal entries, song lyrics and letters. Scratchy handwriting etched all over notebooks and loose pieces of paper, receipts, napkins and pill packets. Some he’d share, and others were squirrelled away, too honest in their pain and intensity.

But he still needed to practise; he needed to learn to speak again.

The doctors said keeping a catalogue of how he’s progressing would help with treatment; the more information available, the better they can help. To have something consistent to gauge Eddie’s ability to talk and to keep a note of the pain scale day to day or week to week. To see how far he has to go, but eventually, hopefully, to see how far he’s already come.

Dustin tries first with lines from Lord of the Rings. But the prose holds too many memories and, like the questions, too many opinions and connected tales he’s unable to voice.

Steve tries mundane stuff, like the back of the little hospital shampoo. But that quickly bores them both to tears and the idea is put away to never be spoken of again.

Robin tries asking him trivia – where do penguins live? Who was the first president? And that works for a few days, until they seem to step on some long-buried trigger, the demand too much like schoolwork, the unknown answers stinging too closely to past teachers' bitter berating of his academic failures. So trivia gets thrown out with the shampoo.

Then, one afternoon, Wayne walks in with the funnies pulled out and tucked under his arm. Spreading it out under his mug of freshly brewed coffee from home. The little grumpy Garfield looking up at Eddie from his hospital tray table.

‘I hate Mondays.’ Eddie rasps, a complex mix of frustration, relief and endearment on his face. Pain 7, words clear but slow, M most difficult because of the damage to his lower lip.

And so it goes: Garfield, pain, clearness and any details that might be important. Every day.

Steve can’t seem to let it go and becomes fixated. Garfield clearly being the answer to their problem. But more so, maybe, is the little smile the comic is able to get out of Eddie. Even on days where his pain is high and it really, really hurts him to talk, words coming near garbled, Garfield works. He talks even when he doesn’t want to, which makes him smile, small and quiet and pleased again. It’s progress.

Steve sees this, and Steve really can’t let it go. He’s a numbers guy, a bit of a stats lover – when he lets himself be honest and ignore the little voice in his head that says it’s embarrassing and he’s too dumb for all that. So he makes the chart anyway. Keeps note of when a new comic comes out and which ones Eddie’s already read. Finds old newspapers and clips the comic out of them, pilfering them from anyone who will let him – he's not above knocking on doors and asking. Not if it means Eddie might smile again, just like the very first time and so many times after.

He has a little chart for that too. A secret chart, just for him. It catalogues which lines made Eddie smile most, which made him outright laugh. Which he read when it was raining and he ached more. Which were the hardest to get out, that Steve wants him to try again one day, if just to hear him say it without the strain. Say it one day, hopefully pain-free.

Steve hopes Eddie can one day say them all with a smile and an ease, because seeing just a glimpse of it made something in Steve’s heart bright.

//

‘I’m sick of not being able to eat proper food.’ Eddie rasps, pouting. Steve is fiddling with Eddie's knuckles, drawing lines across his skin, over the dark hairs that sprout on his fingers. Steve tugs one, Eddie smiles. Cheeks dusting pink.

‘Two more weeks, then you’re released. As soon as possible after that, you come over and I make you lasagne; how about that?’ Steve says.

‘Like Garfield?’ Eddie asks, voice small, smile teasing. Steve watches him swallow, watching the scar on his neck move as he does. Steve’s fingers tingle; he wants to reach out and cup where he had to before, when they were in the upside down. Steve searching for that little bit of life, fingers slick with pooling blood. Once he’d found it, he’d ripped off his shirt and pressed it against Eddie’s neck. Steve wants to press against it now, just to feel the skin again, as it is now, raised and lumpy. But safe. Warm and dry with life.

‘Like Garfield.’ Steve smiles, his finger shifting between Eddie’s own, joints brushing, linking and locking. Almost holding hands.

//

Steve lays the table and lights a candle, smoothing his hands over his jeans and checking his hair in the reflection on the microwave again. He admitted to himself after the sixth time that it’s because he wants to look nice – make a good impression.

The doorbell goes at exactly 6pm. Steve doesn’t run, but he walks more quickly to the door than he thinks he ever has, pausing a moment to breathe and tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

He opens the door and has to resist kissing Eddie right then and there. He tears his eyes away and waves at Wayne instead, who’s backing out of the drive in his truck.

Eddie’s using his new cane, shiny black with a silver handle. He’s wearing black Livi’s and a grey check flannel. His hair is curly and shiny as it falls over his ears but above his shoulders, trimmed shorter than Steve’s ever seen it. Steve doesn’t resist the urge to reach out and wrap his fingers around a strand, tugging lightly. (Steve knows it looks different because he read an article about curl care in the hospital waiting room. Which led to buying Eddie the nice shampoo and conditioner it recommended, partially as a welcome home gift, partially as another reason to be in the room with Eddie, with something new for them to talk about. And partially because Steve watched El try to brush Eddie’s hair for him. Steve having to look away whenever she caught a tangle, Eddie wincing, the halo of frizz around his head growing.) Steve’s fingers comb through easily, locks slipping between his knuckles.

Eddie looks at him with his big eyes and his lips slightly parted, eyelashes fluttering, and Steve has to resist kissing him all over again.

Wayne honks as he pulls off down the street. Eddie starts. Steve ushers him inside, through to the candlelit dining room table and napkins Joyce taught him to fold into swans.

‘Garfield’s favourite.’ He declares, laying the pan down between them, sauce oozing through bubbling cheese.

And Eddie’s eyes are big and brown and beautiful in the candlelight. He smiles up a him so big, Steve thinks his heart will jump right out of his chest.

He gets a little excited, serving Eddie almost a whole quarter of the dish. Handing it to him before realising, ‘Sorry, sorry, that’s way too much. Oh my god, you do not have to eat all of that.’

But Eddie smiles at him, licking some stray sauce off of his thumb. ‘S’fine, Stevie.’ And he digs in.

Steve watches Eddie, tearing a piece of garlic bread with his teeth. The movement of his jaw as he chews and swallows. The curl of his fingers around his fork.

He is here. He is beautiful.

Steve feels tears well behind his eyes. His knife clattering as it drops from his fingers. ‘Sorry, m’sorry.’ He sniffs, looking up at the ceiling and placing his fork down against the plate more quietly.

‘C’mere, Stevie.’ Eddie says gently.

Steve steps around the table, hunched and fevered, and he falls at Eddie’s feet. Knees hitting hardwood as his forehead collided with Eddie’s chest. Steve turns his head, his hair rustling against his ears, Eddie’s heartbeat coming next, solid and steady and perfect.

Steve lets his fingers crawl up Eddie’s arm, up to the scar at his throat. Holding it, palm against suture, fingers against jaw and tissue and skin.

‘You’re here.’ Steve says. Voice wet and desperate.

‘I’m here.’ Eddie whispers kindly. ‘I’m here, baby.’

And choked sob leaves Steve, wounded and animalistic, and Eddie almost died. Almost died in his arms, his hands covered in Eddie’s blood. Trying to keep his insides inside.

But he’s here, and he’s beautiful, and Steve wants Eddie to have everything he ever dreamed of, anything he didn't get time to dream of yet. Because he’s here, and he deserves it.

Eddie’s palm rests over his own, connected over his neck. The other cradling Steve’s cheek, swiping a tear away from below his lashes. Gently he pulls Steve closer, pulling him up and in.

Steve can’t resist it anymore; he can’t resist when Eddie’s so close.

He leans forward the same time Eddie does. Steve keeps his eyes open just to watch Eddie’s close; he looks blissed out and perfect. Steve lets their lips collide, dry and soft and sweet, his own eyes fluttering close. Then Eddie tilts, leaning into the hands on his neck, their noses brushing, and then there’s tongue and teeth, and Steve whines weakly, shuffling closer, chest to chest, between Eddie’s spread thighs. Exactly where he was meant to be. Meant to be here. Eddie’s here and they can be together, at last.

‧₊˚ ⋅

Taglist: @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m @sweetiepeabob

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @chameleonhair @wheneverfeasible @hbyrde36

@bookworm0690

[mymoongirlreadings]

⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊ Solar Return Chart: Signs in Each House ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

Each year on our birthday, we have a new Solar Return chart for the year ahead. The Solar Return chart will let you know what can happen this year, themes of the year & how we are likely to experience in each area of life as well. This post is describing how each sign will influence that specific area of life (aka house) depending on what your new houses will be this year.

♈️ Your Aries house is we are experiencing new, profound, & powerful experiences. Where we end up arguing or fighting with ourselves about this subject within us. Where the inner battle lies. The subject we are arguing with others about or where we are defending ourselves because it’s a sensitive topic. Where we feel alone, figure out & do things alone. One of the most significant and powerful areas of life that influence years to come 

♉️ Your Taurus house is where we can expect steady routines (even if there is a lot of change or something like Uranus in that house). The situations that play out in this area of life are where we can still feel periods of grounded peace, energy, and relaxation. Sometimes it can be where we feel stuck. It’s where money, stability, comfort, and different forms of consistency can be found and offered to us this year. 

♊️ Your Gemini house is where we have new ideas, we are switching up the flow, and we are gaining knowledge & intelligence. Where we are trying new things, the subject(s) we end up talking a lot about 

♋️ Your Cancer house is an area of life that will represent the things or people that will be of comfort for us this year. It can be the area of life where we experience a lot of nostalgia and be a sweet area of our life. It’s the part of our life that makes us the most emotional just entering that area of life throughout the year. We can make major progress in this area of life based off of doing what’s best for us emotionally. This can be how we find a new sense of home this year as well.

♌️ Your Leo house is where your your soul is asking & defining your heart’s desire, the area of life you are called to be courageous in & where you deserve to feel happy. This area brings us a lot of joy, it likely is where we get creative again & start feeling confident, we get willpower from the vitality we experience by pouring into this area. 

♍️ Your Virgo house is where we start to want to organize & keep track of things, what we’re likely to make lists about, research, weigh options, and put some effort & work into in order to improve.  

♎️ Your Libra house is where the outlets of peace, joy, & happiness are found, where we tend to feel more social, where we see, feel, & get inspired by the beauty. Where little things appear that make us happy, where we feel like our personal vision of success is coming to fruition 

♏️ Your Scorpio house is where where we face our fears & break free in a powerful way in order to align with what we truly desire. Where we get jealousy & judgments from other people, a powerful upgrade nonetheless, this area of life changes us forever, a pivotal area of life. We get really intimate with what we want, where we make a way out of no way to end up in a powerful position. 

♐️ Your Sagittarius house is where miracles appear, where our faith could be tested, and we receive unexpected blessings despite how the journey looks in our experiences this year. Renewed faith, where we will feel like we’re wandering. The area of life we may be consciously trying to manifest positive abundance in, renewed experiences. The area of life we are reflecting on & looking back on past experiences, where we are currently at & wondering what the future holds & our wishes for the future. Where faith & belief in better days in this area is sometimes all we have. Where we will be asked to look at things from a different perspective that can heal, open new doors, & give us epiphanies that reveal higher perspective truths

♑️ Your Capricorn house is where there seems to be blockages to push through. The area of life where we can feel on top of the world at some points & rock bottom at others. The area of life we are asked to take into our own hands & control. Where we see important & remarkable progress always, even against potential challenges 

♒️ Your Aquarius house is where unexpected circumstances that progress you forward, where it might feel like we take 2 steps forward, a step back, then 4 steps forward—this area of life is not being experienced linearly. The area of life where we experience intense epiphanies and breakthroughs and where we are ready to change and to experience breaking free from old patterns. Where we want to step into more authenticity & where things can happen non-traditionally 

♓️ Your Pisces house is where there are a lot of potent manifestations that have the ability to come to fruition and the closing of old cycles & lots of full circle moments. We may revisit people, places, topics, & ways of operating from the past, & this area of life can feel extraordinary this year. We may do creative things here, and it can be an area of life that allows for us to cathartically release & rejuvenate. 

[unnamedgenerator]

HOLY SHIT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

THIS TOOK OVER 12 HOURS CAUSE SAI CRASHED AND I LOST ALL MY PROGRESS AND HAD TO START OVER BUT IT'S FINALLY DONE THE UPDATED HEIGHT CHART!!!

These are all the heights for these fucko's in my multiverse, do with this information what you will

Underlapse belongs to me Ink belongs to @comyet Swap belongs to Popcorn Prince Fell belongs to @underfell Dream and Nightmare belong to @jokublog Dust belongs to @ask-dusttale Killer belongs to @rahafwabas Horror belongs to Sour Apple Studios Error belongs to @loverofpiggies Sans and Undertale belongs to Toby Fox