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goldfades · 2 months ago

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friday night lights | JOE BURROW⁹ [010]

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MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | requested -> how joe and reader met? we know they met in high school, sophomore year but id (and i’m sure everyone else😅) would love a little flashback chapter!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | descriptions of partying, underage drinking, kinda slowburn? shy girl x football player trope, maisie being protective, nothing else!

The first time you met Joe Burrow, he wasn’t Joe Burrow, not yet. He was just a tall, lanky sophomore quarterback with an arm everyone talked about and a quietness that made him feel like a walking question mark. Athens High was small enough that everyone knew everyone—names, faces, family stories that spread like wildfire—but Joe? He wasn’t loud enough to grab the attention of half the school, not until football season started.

You were sitting on the bleachers during a pep rally, Maisie beside you, her commentary on everything from the band’s uneven tempo to the cheerleaders’ synchronized high kicks keeping you thoroughly entertained. The players were being introduced one by one, each jogging onto the gym floor to varying levels of applause. When they called Joe’s name, the cheer was louder, a steady roar that vibrated through the walls, and you found yourself craning to see what the fuss was about.

There he was. Light blond hair a little messy, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hands tucked into the pockets of his letterman jacket. He didn’t wave or puff out his chest like the others; he just gave the crowd a small nod before retreating to the back of the lineup. Something about him—his quiet confidence, maybe—caught your attention, and you didn’t quite know why.

“You’re staring,” Maisie muttered, not looking up from the doodle she was adding to the corner of her math notebook.

“I’m not,” you whispered back, even as your gaze lingered a second too long.

That was the beginning.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, at a biology lab you’d been forced to pair up in, that he really spoke to you. Joe wasn’t your usual seatmate, but he slid into the stool beside you with a polite nod, his long legs awkwardly folding beneath the too-short lab table. The two of you were tasked with dissecting something unreasonably gross—a frog, maybe? You couldn’t remember now. What you did remember was Joe, his steady hands cutting through the assignment with precision, and the way he chuckled softly when you accidentally dropped a scalpel.

“You’re not a fan of this, huh?” he asked, his voice low but teasing.

You wrinkled your nose. “Not all of us dream of gutting things for a living.”

“I’m not gutting anything for a living.” He smirked, a tiny flash of mischief in his otherwise calm demeanor. “I throw footballs.”

It wasn’t the smoothest line, but it was enough to make you laugh, and that laugh seemed to encourage him.

From then on, he started showing up more. A quick wave in the hallway, a quiet “Hey” as he passed you in class, and the occasional comment during shared group projects. It was nothing monumental, just small moments that began to stack, like bricks in a wall you couldn’t stop building.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Maisie warned one afternoon as the two of you sat on the steps outside the school. “Guys like him don’t date girls like us. They go for easy cheerleaders, not girls who can barely talk during a book report.”

“I can talk during a book report,” you shot back, even though it wasn’t entirely true.

Maisie raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “I’m just saying, keep it realistic. He’s an athlete. You’re… you.”

You knew Maisie didn't mean to be discouraging, she was always the realistic one between the two of you. You watched rom-com's, and was a hopeless romantic—and Maisie, well... she wasn't the romantic type. She meant well, she just didn't want to see her best friend get her heart shattered by a stupid (her words, not yours) blonde quarterback.

But despite her skepticism, you couldn’t stop yourself. Each time Joe said your name or offered a lopsided grin in passing, the crush rooted itself deeper. It was innocent, for now, a quiet hope you kept tucked away like a secret note in your locker.

And then one day, Joe did something that changed everything. Something so small, so simple, that it left you reeling. He stopped you in the hallway between classes, his book bag slung over one shoulder, his blue eyes holding yours for just a beat too long.

“You going to the game Friday?” he asked.

You blinked, startled. “Uh… maybe?”

“You should.” He shrugged, shifting on his feet. “It’s gonna be a good one.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing there, your heart thudding in your chest like a drumline warming up before a halftime show.

The walk to Maisie’s car after school was peppered with her usual commentary about the injustices of teenage life. Something about how the cafeteria's pizza was an actual health violation, how Mr. Harper’s pop quizzes were a form of psychological torture, and how group projects should be banned by law.

You let her vent, only half-listening, your mind replaying Joe’s voice: “You should.” It wasn’t like he’d asked you on a date or anything, but it was the first time he’d gone out of his way to talk to you outside of class. The possibility of seeing him again on Friday made your chest buzz, but Maisie? Convincing her was another story entirely.

“So,” you began casually as you slid into the passenger seat, trying to find the right approach. “Are you going to the game Friday?”

Maisie turned the key in the ignition, her ancient Honda sputtering to life with a groan. She shot you a sidelong glance. “Why? Are you going?”

“Maybe,” you said, a little too quickly.

Her eyebrows rose as she backed out of the parking spot. “What’s this about? You hate football. You called it ‘organized concussion practice�� last month.”

You shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “I don’t hate it. And it’s not like I’m going for the game. I just thought it might be fun, you know? Something different.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes, the car bouncing slightly as it hit a pothole. “Different like sitting in the freezing cold with half the school, pretending to care about a sport we don’t understand?”

“You don’t have to pretend to care.” You grinned, nudging her arm. “You can sit there and make fun of people like you always do. It’ll be fun. Besides, you never know, you might actually enjoy it.”

She snorted. “The only thing I’d enjoy is the halftime show. And even that’s debatable.”

“Come on,” you said, dragging out the words in a way you knew would get under her skin. “We haven’t gone to a single game this year. Don’t you think it’s time to show a little school spirit?”

“I have plenty of spirit,” Maisie deadpanned. “It’s just not for sports. My spirit is reserved for things that matter, like protests and pizza Fridays.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the seat. “Maisie, please. Just this once?”

She glanced at you, her expression softening ever so slightly. Maisie might’ve been a certified cynic, but she wasn’t immune to the rare moments when you genuinely wanted something.

“Why are you so set on this?” she asked finally, her tone skeptical but not dismissive.

You hesitated, the truth bubbling at the edge of your lips. “I don’t know. It just… feels like something I should do.”

Her eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the road. She let out a dramatic sigh, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Fine. I’ll go. But if anyone spills nacho cheese on me or tries to talk to me about touchdowns, I’m leaving.”

“Deal.” You grinned, relief flooding through you.

Maisie muttered something under her breath about friendship being a burden, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. You knew she’d show up in her usual no-nonsense way, probably armed with a thermos of hot cocoa and a thousand sarcastic comments, but she’d be there.

And as the two of you drove home, her complaining fading into the background, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, Friday night would be more than you’d ever expected.

┈┈┈

The bleachers were packed, the air alive with the buzz of small-town Friday night energy. The faint smell of concession stand hot dogs wafted through the air, mingling with the sharp chill of early autumn. You tugged your jacket tighter around you, glancing at Maisie, who sat next to you with an impressive scowl already forming on her face.

“See?” she said, motioning to the field where the players were warming up. “Organized concussion practice. Case in point.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “You promised you’d keep the snark to a minimum.”

Maisie held up her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. But if someone tries to start a chant near me, all bets are off.”

The two of you settled in with a group from your biology class—a group you hadn’t hung out with outside of school before but were surprisingly easy to be around. They handed out popcorn, passed around a bag of Sour Patch Kids, and made corny jokes that Maisie laughed at more than she’d ever admit. Even you found yourself relaxing, letting the game wash over you as something fun instead of a chore.

“Okay, what’s happening now?” Maisie leaned over to whisper as the players jogged off the field and the marching band took their place.

“Halftime,” you explained. “This is the part you said you might like.”

She raised an eyebrow, watching as the band launched into a spirited rendition of some pop song from two summers ago. “Well,” she said slowly, “it’s not bad. Kind of catchy.”

You grinned, nudging her. “See? Told you this wouldn’t be so terrible.”

“Don’t get cocky,” she warned, but there was no venom in her tone.

By the fourth quarter, even Maisie seemed invested, clapping lightly when your school scored and muttering curses when the refs made questionable calls. You didn’t know what surprised you more—that Maisie was actually having fun or that you were, too.

But as the clock ticked down to the final minutes, you couldn’t help but scan the sidelines, searching for the number nine jersey. Joe had been on fire all night, his throws sharp and precise, his presence commanding even from this far up in the stands.

When the buzzer sounded, signaling your school’s victory, the bleachers erupted in cheers. Maisie rolled her eyes at the whooping and hollering but clapped politely.

“Alright,” she said, standing and stretching. “You got your football experience. Can we go now?”

“Just a sec,” you said, your gaze locked on the field.

You spotted Joe near the fifty-yard line, surrounded by teammates and fans congratulating him. But it wasn’t the crowd that caught your attention—it was her.

A girl with shiny brown hair and a bright smile leaned in close to Joe, saying something you couldn’t hear from this distance. She had that effortless kind of prettiness that made you feel frumpy in comparison, and the familiarity with which she touched his arm sent a pang through your chest.

Then he hugged her.

It wasn’t a quick, congratulatory pat on the back, either. It was one of those hugs that lingered, the kind that looked like it belonged in a rom-com montage.

Your stomach dropped.

“Hey,” Maisie said, nudging you. “You good?”

You forced yourself to nod, blinking rapidly against the sting in your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Maisie frowned, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push. As the two of you made your way down the bleachers, you couldn’t help but glance back one last time. Joe was still standing there, his arm slung casually around the girl’s shoulders, his grin easy and warm.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, you told yourself. He wasn’t yours. Not really.

But as Maisie led you out of the stadium, chattering about the game, you couldn’t shake the ache in your chest—the kind of ache that only comes when you realize you care about someone more than they care about you.

The girls from your biology class caught up with you just as you and Maisie were about to leave the parking lot. They were breathless and giggling, their faces flushed from the cool night air and the excitement of the game.

“Hey!” one of them called, waving you down. “There’s a party at Megan’s house—like, right now. You guys should totally come!”

Maisie raised an eyebrow, already halfway in the car. “A party? At Megan’s? Isn’t she the one who turned the chem lab into a glitter bomb last year?”

“That was iconic,” one of the girls said with a laugh. “Come on, it’ll be fun! You can’t just go home after a game like that.”

You hesitated. Parties weren’t really your thing, and you could already see Maisie gearing up for a sarcastic excuse to say no. But something in you—the part still stinging from seeing Joe hug that girl—felt like rebelling. Like shaking off the evening’s disappointment and pretending, for a little while, that you weren’t someone who usually played it safe.

“Why the hell not?” you said, surprising even yourself.

Maisie froze, her hand on the car door. “Excuse me, what?”

“Come on,” you said, grabbing her arm. “Let’s go. It’ll be fun!”

Maisie groaned but let you pull her along. “You owe me for this.”

Megan’s house was already packed by the time you arrived, music thumping loud enough to shake the front porch. The air was thick with the smell of beer and cheap perfume, and the living room was crowded with people laughing, dancing, and shouting over each other.

It started with a drink—just one, you told yourself, to loosen up. But one turned into two, and before you knew it, the edges of the world felt softer, the music louder, and your inhibitions practically nonexistent.

You danced in the middle of the living room, your arms thrown around the girls from your biology class, laughing so hard your sides ached. Maisie watched from the couch, shaking her head but smiling faintly at your antics.

The party had only grown wilder as the night went on. The living room was now packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the music loud enough to make the floor vibrate under your feet. You were too buzzed to care about the sweaty press of bodies or the occasional elbow that jabbed you in the side.

Maisie was still parked in her corner, sipping from a plastic cup and looking suspiciously at anyone who came too close. Your biology classmates were dancing near the kitchen, laughing so loudly you could hear them over the music.

And then you saw him.

Joe stood by the far wall with a cluster of his teammates, their broad shoulders and easy grins making them look like they owned the room. He was in the middle of laughing at something, his head tilted back and eyes crinkled in that stupidly charming way. You should’ve looked away, walked the other direction, anything.

But you didn’t.

You blinked hard, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, and did the only thing that made sense in the moment—you grabbed another shot from a passing tray and threw it back. The burn of the alcohol made you wince, but it dulled the edges of your hurt just enough to push you back into the safety of your friends.

Hours later, the party had become a blur. Your legs felt like jelly, the walls swayed slightly every time you moved, and even Maisie’s sharp voice sounded muffled through the haze.

“I think I need the bathroom,” you slurred to no one in particular, pushing off the couch and wobbling on unsteady feet.

“You need to sit down,” Maisie snapped, grabbing your arm.

“I’ll be fine,” you mumbled, waving her off. “Just… the bathroom.”

You stumbled into the hallway, squinting at the doors as if one of them might magically open and guide you inside. Instead, you bumped into something solid—someone, actually.

“Oh, crap, sorry—”

It was Joe.

His hands caught your arms gently to steady you, his expression shifting from surprise to concern the moment he got a good look at you. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

You yanked your arm away, wobbling but determined to keep your balance. “I’m fine,” you muttered, glaring up at him.

Joe frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. “You don’t look fine. What’s going on?”

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” you snapped, stumbling past him.

But instead of letting you go, he followed, his concern overriding any annoyance he might have felt at your tone. “You’re drunk,” he said plainly, his voice quieter now. “Where are you trying to go?”

You paused, the fog in your brain making it hard to come up with a snappy reply. “Bathroom,” you finally said, crossing your arms.

Joe nodded, stepping ahead of you. “Come on, I’ll help you find it.”

You wanted to argue, to push him away and tell him you didn’t need his help, but your legs were too wobbly, and the spinning hallway wasn’t exactly making things easier.

He walked a few paces ahead, glancing back every so often to make sure you were following. When you stumbled again, he sighed and offered his arm.

“Just take it,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re gonna fall on your face if you don’t.”

Grudgingly, you grabbed his arm, leaning into his steady warmth as he led you toward the bathroom door.

“Why are you being nice to me?” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

Joe paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “Because I care about you, even when you’re mad at me for no reason,” he said softly.

You didn’t have a reply for that. Instead, you pushed the door open and stumbled inside, closing it behind you before he could say anything else.

And for the first time all night, you let yourself breathe.

The bathroom was a blur of fluorescent light and tiled walls, and you were grateful for the brief reprieve from the chaotic party outside. Splashing cold water on your face helped a little, but the dizziness still lingered, and standing upright felt like a Herculean effort.

You took a deep breath, steadied yourself, and opened the door, stepping out with as much dignity as you could muster—which, unfortunately, wasn’t much. Your foot caught the edge of the rug, and before you could even process what was happening, gravity had its way.

But you didn’t hit the ground.

Joe caught you, his hands firm on your arms as he steadied you. “Whoa, easy,” he said, his voice low and calm. “I told you you’d fall if you weren’t careful.”

You glared up at him, more out of stubbornness than actual anger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.” He didn’t let go right away, his eyes scanning your face like he was checking for signs of serious damage. “Come on, you need to drink some water.”

“I don’t need anything,” you shot back, trying to pull away.

Joe’s grip loosened, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he reached for a nearby table and grabbed a half-full bottle of water, holding it out to you. “Just drink it. Please.”

You crossed your arms, teetering slightly on your feet. “I said I’m fine.”

“Y/N.” His tone was firmer now, his brow furrowing in that way that made him look unfairly mature for a high schooler. “You’re going to feel worse if you don’t drink this.”

You stared at the bottle like it was some kind of enemy, but the dizziness was getting worse, and deep down, you knew he was right. With a heavy sigh, you snatched it from his hand.

“Fine,” you muttered, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip.

“More than that,” Joe said, crossing his arms as he watched you.

You gave him an exaggerated eye roll but obliged, taking a few bigger gulps. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he replied dryly, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Before you could respond with another sarcastic remark, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“There you are!” Maisie appeared, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“I’m fine,” you said, though the wobble in your step betrayed you as you tried to stand straighter.

Maisie’s eyes narrowed as she glanced between you and Joe. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Joe nodded, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze on you. “Good. She needs to get home.”

“Don’t tell me what I already know, Burrow,” Maisie snapped, looping her arm around yours to steady you.

Joe ignored her jab, his focus still on you. “Get home safe, okay?”

You hesitated, the mix of hurt and exhaustion making your chest tighten. But something in his tone softened the edges of your frustration.

“Thanks,” you murmured quietly, avoiding his eyes.

Maisie tugged you toward the door, muttering something under her breath about quarterbacks and their egos. And as the two of you stepped out into the cool night air, you couldn’t help but glance back once, catching Joe’s silhouette in the doorway before Maisie pulled you forward, back into the safety of the night.

The weekend had come and gone, leaving behind a swirl of emotions and half-remembered moments that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Every time you thought about the party—about Joe, specifically—you felt a warm flush crawl up your neck, a mixture of embarrassment and residual irritation.

By Monday morning, you were determined to put it behind you. High school wasn’t exactly forgiving, and you didn’t need rumors or awkwardness to complicate things further. But as you moved through the crowded hallways, your resolve was tested.

“Hey, Y/N.”

That voice was unmistakable, and it froze you in your tracks. You turned to see Joe, casually leaning against a locker like he hadn’t caused your entire weekend to spiral into emotional chaos.

“What do you want?” you asked, crossing your arms defensively.

Joe blinked, surprised by the sharpness in your tone, but he quickly recovered, his calm demeanor intact. “Nothing. Just saying hi. How was your weekend?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

He tilted his head slightly, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Yeah… why wouldn’t I be?”

It was the last straw. The memory of him laughing with that girl at the game—hugging her—flashed in your mind, and before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out.

“Why don’t you ask your girl instead?” Your voice was biting, louder than you intended, and a couple of students walking by glanced over curiously.

Joe straightened, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The girl from the game,” you snapped. “You were all over her. Maybe you should talk to her instead of bothering me.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the hallway noise fading into the background. Then, to your utter disbelief, his lips curved into a slight smirk.

“That?” he said, his tone dripping with casual dismissal. “That wasn’t anything. My teammates set it up, said she wanted to meet me. It was awkward as hell.”

You blinked, thrown off balance. “Oh.”

His smirk deepened, and his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “You got all worked up over that, huh?”

“I wasn’t—” you started, but the words died on your tongue. You couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and your silence only seemed to amuse him more.

Joe leaned in just a fraction, his voice low and teasing. “You’re kind of cute when you’re jealous, you know that?”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you muttered, your face heating up.

“Sure you weren’t.”

Before you could respond, the bell rang, signaling the start of class. Joe didn’t wait for you to gather your dignity; he just fell into step beside you as if nothing had happened, launching into some story about his weekend. You were too flustered to do anything but follow along, grateful he wasn’t pressing the issue further.

By the time you slid into your seat in class, the embarrassment had settled into a dull thrum, manageable but still present. Unfortunately for you, Joe wasn’t done.

“Hey,” he said, leaning over slightly so only you could hear. “Do you have a crush on me or something?”

The question was delivered so casually, with that same damn smirk, that it took a second to register. Your head snapped toward him, your eyes wide. “What? No!”

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not,” you hissed, your face feeling hotter by the second.

Joe chuckled, leaning back in his chair with an air of victory. “Whatever you say.”

You glared at him, but he just winked, turning his attention to the teacher as if he hadn’t just completely unraveled you.

For the rest of the class, you couldn’t focus on a single thing except the stupid, smug boy sitting next to you. And, much to your chagrin, the smallest part of you couldn’t help but feel a little flattered.

After that Monday, things shifted. Slowly, but surely, you and Joe began spending more time together. It started with small things—casual conversations during passing periods, shared laughs in class, and stolen moments after school. Joe had this way of sneaking past your walls, of making you laugh when you wanted to roll your eyes. And you couldn’t deny how easy it was to be around him, even when Maisie shot you knowing looks, muttering, "Don’t get your hopes up.”

By the end of the football season, it felt natural to meet him after games, even if it was just to say a quick hello or give him a high-five. But one game—toward the end of the season—was different. You could tell something was on his mind, the way he fidgeted and avoided eye contact as you approached him on the field, your jacket pulled tight against the November chill.

“Hey,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

“Hey, good game,” you replied, smiling up at him.

“Thanks.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he did when he was nervous. “Uh… I wanted to ask you something.”

Your heart did a little flip. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. “Would you… uh, do you want to be my girlfriend?”

You blinked, stunned for a moment, before a wide smile spread across your face. “Yes.”

Joe’s face lit up like you’d just handed him a championship trophy. Without warning, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you off the ground, spinning you in a circle as you laughed, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. When he set you down, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Really?” he asked, still holding onto you.

“Really,” you said, laughing at his excitement.

From that moment on, you were inseparable.

High school with Joe was a whirlwind of late-night drives, studying together at the library (where he mostly distracted you), and cheering him on from the stands. He became your biggest supporter, whether it was at your own events or just encouraging you through tough classes.

Maisie, of course, remained skeptical of Joe for a while, but even she had to admit he wasn’t the worst when he went out of his way to make sure you were happy.

High school was full of memories like that—Joe getting overly competitive during group projects, Maisie rolling her eyes at his antics, and the three of you becoming an unlikely trio. But the sweetest moments were the quiet ones: Joe waiting by your locker with his easy smile, the two of you walking hand-in-hand through the halls, and the way he always made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

By the time graduation rolled around, you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And from the way he looked at you as you crossed the stage, you knew he felt the same.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x reader #cincinnati bengals #joeyb #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #nfl fic #nfl football #nfl imagine

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mysteryfleshpit · 2 years ago

Photo

Rare photo from early days of the pit. This gives a good idea of how small the operations were back in the early 1970s, about 3 months after the pit was "discovered". In this aerial photo, you can see the natural entry orifice (pre-excavation), a temporary electric lift tower, as well as a utility trunk connecting the surface power and ventilation plant to the basecamp down in the pit. There's also a hydraulic dredging crane that was used to "bite" away at some of the flesh down in the pit to enlarge the working area and remove material.

It would be unrecognizable only a few months later as paved roads and a half dozen permanent buildings were constructed, transforming this modest camp into a fully industrial mining and excavation site.

#mystery flesh pit #mysteryfleshpit #mystery flesh pit national park #worldbuilding #unreality

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enigmatist17 · 2 months ago

Text

Okay okay okay I haven't seen any Mirage/Hound in the Mecha Pilot/Universe AU by @keferon (if there is I apologize I haven't seen every post) so here :)

Also I'm sorta kinda mashing together my version of this mecha AU, as there really isn't a sort of "canon" version of things (I have written Ratchet both as human and bot, so there ya go) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

---

Henry was a simple guy who had lived a pretty (in his view, anyway) simple life. He had served in the military, got out when he had done his time, and had become a wildlife biologist for what was supposed to be the rest of his life.

Then they came, and his simple life was gone.

Xenobiology quickly became what he was known for, he and so many others using what they had learned to try and help the fight against the invaders go smoothly. He supposed it could have been worse; the mecha program was a far more brutal face than his dime-a-dozen lab, a lot of pilots dying more from their machinery than the aliens themselves. Jazz, the first pilot who seemed receptive to his friendly attempts to befriend those in that group, became one of the few Henry could call as a friend as they strived to protect Earth.

He even accepted the nickname Hound, the name a second skin Henry wasn't even aware he had been missing.

Then Jazz went missing, Hound there for his grieving brother as a mecha was merely put in Jazz's place, marking the first to leave. Ratchet retired (sort of, they knew he'd be dragged back eventually) shortly after, having grown tired of the constant death and overall burnout, promising that Hound could come to visit whenever he desired. The little guy First Aid stopped showing up in common areas after his whole Vortex incident, and as much as Hound was concerned for his friend, oddly enough, he did not question the haunted mecha that seemed to lurk when Hound visited his hangar.

Still, he persevered in helping to stop the threat to Earth, even when he started having breakdowns at the nonstop death. He couldn't jump fast enough when the MECHA program eventually offered him an off-site lab with housing, the buildings far enough away from their biggest main facility to be out of sight, but close enough where reinforcements could be sent out to protect their investment scientist in case of an attack. It helped to be surrounded by nature again, the smell of oil, metal, and all sorts of blood replaced with fresh air and as many plants as he could cram into the space. Sure, he was still dissecting alien biology and working on finding more weaknesses and potential uses, but it helped to be away from the worst of it all.

Maybe that break stops Hound from having a full-blown freakout when Jazz suddenly returns through some weird sort of portal, flanked by other mecha's that turn out to be alien sentient robots.

"Hound!" The pilot jumps out of his mecha and onto the hand of one of the robots, placed down on the grassy surface as Hound stares in awe. "It is so good to see you man!"

"Jazz?!" Hound drops the gun he (regrettably) used for protection as the pilot sprints over, the two falling back and onto the grass at the force of Jazz's impact, hugging the smaller man just as tight as the other was hugging him. "Holy shit you're still alive!"

"You know me, I'm too stubborn to die." Jazz's voice is bordering on hysteria, but Hound says nothing, freezing when one of the other mecha leans over them, its head tilted as glowing eyes slightly narrow. "U-Uh..."

"Prowler, ya gotta relax yea?" Hound stared as Jazz pulled back, craning his neck up with a grin at the massive alien, using the clawed finger(????) offered to get to his feet, one hand held out to Hound. "This is my buddy Hound I told you about, he's good me-people."

"It can understand you?" Hound took Jazz's hand and got up onto his feet, the other aliens crowding closer in curiosity as Jazz stepped on the offered palm, completely unphased as he was lifted into the air and set on a metallic shoulder.

"He, and they can! Hound, I'd like ya to meet my main mech Prowl to start with, he's the reason I made it home." The one, Prowl, stared down with a blank look, the two staring at each other for a beat before the mech nods his head, his doors (wings? They look like wings, which is really interesting) twitching when Jazz bonked his helmet against his cheek in a way that had the biologist doing a double-take. "What?"

"...did you get a boyfriend? Botfriend? Oh no that sounds so stupid." The former soldier slapped his hand over his face as Jazz started to cackle, the alien's own laughter that rippled through the crowd sounding as alien as it did almost human. "Forget I said that."

"Oh, never." The pilot only looked amused as he looked down at his friend, the air seeming to ease as the aliens loosened their stances, save Prowl. "To be fair, I tried that out too, and it does sound so stupid."

"Who are your other friends?" Hound rolled his eyes, eyeing the group with uncertainty. "Um, you all do understand me, right?"

"Of course, Jazz taught us your Earthen language." The second to shortest bot spoke up, their blue and white coloring catching Hound's interest. "I am Mirage, it is a pleasure to meet a friend of Jazz's."

"It's nice to meet you, Mirage."

---

Mirage did not understand this planet Earth, more specifically, why his fellow Cybertronians seemed to adjust to the planet with ease.

It was covered in organic matter, no matter where you looked.

While his attitude toward organics changed when Jazz was revealed, the person who practically forced the former noble into becoming a trusted friend, it did not mean he enjoyed dealing with organic nature. It usually meant they were in a place the Quintessons wanted, and he could see why Jazz and his people created shells to fight in; his planet was filled with more resources than he could have imagined. The latent feeling of energy (and for some reason energon, something to be investigated later) practically hovered in the air, and the Quintessons could feast for many years if they succeeded in getting a foothold.

Something these small organics had stopped, keeping a foothold despite being so fragile.

"You're brooding again."

"You know that I still do not know what that means."

"Sorry, it just means you're...lost in your thoughts, and judging by the frown on your face..plates? You seem upset is what I'm saying."

"...I am confused." Mirage had been idling outside of a market while waiting for Hound to do his shopping, his new alt mode gathering more than a few optics by the time the human had returned. Little protoforms had touched his side paneling before Hound had returned, and he could still feel their touch as he began to drive back to Hound's home. Once they had returned, Mirage had transformed to look at the small smudges on his arm plating, perched on one of the large rocks that littered the property until Hound had sought him out with a bucket in one hand. "I do not understand how my fellow Cybertronians are not...distressed by this constant organic matter."

"Well, I'm not really sure how to answer that." The organic looked up at Mirage with a servo on his hip, a friendly smile on his face. "Would you like me to help get those smudges off? Figure it's the least I can do."

"Very well." Hound worked in relative silence after Mirage transformed, the small cloth and polisher cream doing its job of removing any trace of a smudge. The human was humming as he worked, occasionally speaking to local wildlife that appeared not to understand his language that wandered nearby, a little whistle and movement of his hand sending them scattering. "Why do you speak to the wildlife?"

"Um...good question!" Hound chuckled as he carefully polished one of Mirage's door handles, making sure the inner part was just as clean as the outer. "Helps me pass the time, makes me feel like I'm not alone I guess. Don't you talk to uh, cyberbirds or something?"

"....Cyberbird?" Hound nearly started at the amused rumble Mirage's engine made, his face plate taking on a red hue Prowl had explained was a "blush". "Not as such, no. The closest animal I have seen you interact with that was similar to Cybertron was a turbo fox, albeit a lot less elegant."

"Aw, we might not be all fancy metal an' tech, but every animal can be elegant if you give them enough credit." Hound knelt down to get the last of the smudges on one of the wheel rims, using some bottled water to rinse off some sort of sticky residue. "I'd love to see what your wildlife looks like, your planet too."

"Perhaps one day, Cybertron is still very much a warzone that had not recovered enough from our own personal War."

"Mhm, we've got places like that here too." Hound sighed, dabbing some more polish on the smooth metal. "Part of why I left the military, I only want to help the planet, not destroy it. What's the point of fighting, only to have rubble and the dead to greet you when you're done?"

"That is a question I have asked myself for many vorns. When we were Autobot and Decepticon, I had been called a sympathizer merely because I wanted to try and end things peacefully, not with weapons and near extinction of our race." His spark pulsed painfully at the deaths that occurred before Earth was most likely even a planet, still a painful memory despite the time that passed.

"I'm sorry to hear that, you don't seem like that sort to me. Nothin' wrong with trying to use words instead of steel." Satisfied, Hound got up and onto his feet with a slight stretch, eyeing Mirage's frame with a smile. "There we go, as organic-free as I could make ya."

"It was very kind of you to do so." Mirage transformed in one fluid move, eyeing his plating with his first genuine smile. "I have not had such a thing done to me out of kindness in a very long time."

"Well, consider it me helping out a friend." Something squeezes his heart at the confused look that crosses Mirage's face for a moment, before he carefully kneels down and extends a finger (digit?).

"It is not a "handshake", but it is the best I can do." Mirage doesn't twitch when he feels the warm hands that wrap around his digit, Hound doing a mock shake, his EMF field cautiously reaching out to drape itself around the human.

"You're doing great, Mirage."

They both lie awake that night, wondering what was coming next.

---

He doesn't know what happened, only that one moment, a Quintesson was about to use its staff to stab Hound right in the chest, and the next, he's ripping its head from its body.

Safe/Confusion/Fear/Resolve

Where is Hound? Where is Mirage? Where are they?

A blast rockets past, and they react, HoundMirage lifting an alien gun to fire, a clean headshot taking out the Quintesson before them.

Something isn't right, he's not a pilotmecha, he's not a soldierspy

No, they're both and yet not, sparkheart beating as one as they fight, driving back the attacking force that had tried to take out the city that Ratchet was based out of these days, its denizens weirdly unsurprised about the new "mecha's". Jazz joins them in the fight until the last one is dead, his mecha holding its handsservos up as he regards them, HoundMirage itching for any more threats as optics flick around the now empty battlefield.

"Fellas? You alright?"

"YesNo, confusedscared?" A processor is halted by unfamiliar emotions, and a servohand reaches for their chestchassis, the outer armor opening to -

Mirage cycles his optics, shimmering out of sight when he feels something close, too close to the small thing trying to intake in his servos. Nothing can harm them, nothing would harm them, and it takes his processor a few klicks to realize the voices calling out to him were friendly. Jazz was in front of him with his servos still up, just spouting anything and everything while Bumblebee watched from just out of sight, making sure nothing was actually going to attack them despite looking in awe.

"Jazz?" His vocalizer sounds off, and he resets it as Jazz gives him a thumbs up. "What happened?"

"No idea, but you and Hound pretty much went berserker and took out most of the Quintessons. Henry, you alright there man?"

"Ask me when everything stops spinning." Hound wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but being in his bot's hands were really doing wonders, so he stayed where he was. "I don't normally talk like this, but what the fuck was that?! I thought you weren't mechas!"

"They're not." The pilot shrugged, Mirage remerging into view when Prowl clicked in warning. "C'mon, we've got to go before the lookie-loos start asking questions we can't answer."

"You're too late on that fact, son." Everyone looks down to see a lone human approaching them with an annoyed look on his face, pointing a wrench at Jazz's mecha. "Also when the hell were you goin' to tell me you made it back to Earth? Cybertron isn't exactly a hop and skip away."

"....what?" All of the alien mechs stared at the grumpy-looking human as Jazz cackled, Hound only amused as he watched Ratchet almost immediately get into an argument with a stunned Prowl.

A weird way to end what was shaping up to be a very weird day.

#personal #transformers #mecha pilot jazz au #tf mecha universe #jazzprowl #houndmirage #ratchlock #jazz #prowl #hound #mirage #ratchet #playing with them like dolls tbh

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jefkphotography · 5 months ago

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A building site crane. Black and white photograph.

#building crane #building cranes #crane #cranes #building site crane #building site cranes #photography #photo #photograph #picture #photos #photographs #image #black and white #blackandwhite #black and white photography

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oneshotnewbie · 4 months ago

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Hello! I was wondering if you're taking requests, specifically for Athena Grant? If so, please could you write something about:

Reader and Athena are together (engaged) and the reader gets injured (either accidently/someone intentionally hurt) and they've had to remove all the jewelry before surgery, so when the reader wakes up, she's panicking about how she's lost her engagement ring (half still under anesthesia and half boasting to the nurses) until Athena gets there and puts the ring back on her finger again? Like re-proposing in front of the team?

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of a serious accident, blood, conversations about possible death and the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

You leaned against the rolling doors of the fire station as the sun slowly sank behind the skyscrapers of Los Angeles. Daily life at the station was chaotic, as always - the hum of voices and the heavy clatter of equipment filled the air. The icy cold air left an uncomfortable tingling sensation on your skin, a coldness that you couldn't shake off despite the fleece jacket over your shoulders.

Since your engagement to Athena, you had become strangely calmer, your once impetuous nature had changed. But this uneasy silence that this evening brought with it made you nervous. Your finger unconsciously stroked the shiny ring on your hand - a symbol of love, the promise of a shared future that you had given each other.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Hen asked, putting a hand on your shoulder while she cast a worried look at you. "Are you unsure about... the engagement?"

"Oh my God, no Hen. I could never be unsure about Athena. It just feels so... unreal," you replied with a gentle smile as you looked at her while pushing yourself away from the wall. "It is a.. magical feeling and I'm so incredibly happy."

Hen smiled broadly at you and before she could answer you, a shrill alarm sounded, echoing through the walls of the building. The adrenaline immediately shot through your body, your muscles tensed, and the moment of calm was over. It was time for action.

"A serious accident on a construction site in the west of downtown! Several injured, unclear situation, possible danger of collapse!" the announcement echoed over the loudspeakers.

Hen and you exchanged a brief, wordless glance - the mixture of concern and determination in your eyes was unmistakable. You walked quickly together towards the ambulance while the rest of the team jumped into the fire trucks. The engines roared as you left the station in a moment when the air seemed to stand still before the chaos began.

The streets of Los Angeles were packed, but the car's sirens cut through the traffic like a knife. You felt the familiar thrill of adrenaline rising inside you. But today it felt different. Every sound seemed sharper, the movements around you faster - as if the world around you was vibrating with tension. You tried to focus your thoughts, but your eyes kept wandering to the shiny ring on your finger. You couldn't shake the wonderful thought that you would soon be a Grant.

When you finally arrived at the construction site, the extent of the disaster was immediately apparent. A gigantic construction site, filled with half-built buildings, cranes towering into the sky, and workers everywhere, panicking and trying to make their way out of the rubble. The scene was a nightmare: steel beams had collapsed, concrete slabs had been shattered, machinery was blocking access roads, and dust hung thick in the air, as if the entire construction site had been shaken by a major earthquake.

Hen and Chimney jumped out of the car and immediately ran to the injured, while you turned your gaze to the half-collapsed part of the construction site, where the cause of the chaos seemed to be. Sparks flew from a stationary smaller crane that was leaning dangerously to the side and threatened to fall onto the scaffolding below.

You immediately ran, your mind on autopilot. It was clear that this situation was life-threatening but this was your job and you would stop at nothing. The crane had to be stabilized before more people were injured. A team of construction workers tried desperately to secure the heavy equipment with steel cables, but it was obvious that their efforts would not be enough. Sweat ran down their foreheads as they frantically shouted orders to the rest of your team, but time was running out.

"Damn, if that thing falls, it'll kill even more people," you cursed inwardly as you ran and grabbed one of the heavy steel cables, trying to help the workers stabilize the machine before Bobby and the others found a solution.

But the situation quickly escalated. A worker, obviously inexperienced and panicked, began to frantically pull on one of the control levers, ignoring the dangerous weight of the wooden beams moving above him. But before Bobby, Eddie or anyone else could intervene, there was a loud crack that made your blood run cold. You looked up - a massive wooden beam finally came loose and fell towards you without stopping.

Everything happened in a split second. The beam crashed down with a deafening roar and hit you with full force. You felt a sharp, piercing pain as the wood hit your body, as if your entire ribcage was being crushed. Your breath was ripped from your lungs, and you could feel the burning pain flooding your body. The sound of bones breaking echoed in your ears, accompanied by the dull thud as your body hit the ground with full force.

You wanted to scream, but no sound came. You lay under the heavy weight, unable to move, and could feel your consciousness slowly fading. Your head spun, and the pounding of your own heartbeat became duller as the blood from the wound in the side of your torso dripped onto the ground at an alarming rate. Your vision blurred, and the sounds around you became quieter. You knew you were losing control.

The world around you began to blur, but the last thing you consciously perceived was a terrified scream from Hen.

She saw it happen as if time itself was slowing down. The massive beam fell as if in slow motion, and even though Hen knew there was nothing she could do, she felt an indescribable feeling of powerlessness. She had promised her best friend, Athena, that she would look after you during missions. "Y/n! No!" she screamed as she ran across the rubble. Her voice was rough and broken, the shock almost paralyzing her.

Chimney, who had also witnessed the accident, was already at her side, grabbing his emergency backpack with shaking fingers. The sight of you lying motionless under the beam made his heart race. You weren't just a colleague, you were family. The unit was a family, and when one of them fell, everyone felt it.

Hen knelt down next to your head and felt desperately for a pulse. The blood loss was frightening, her fingers immediately soaked by the warm, sticky blood that was constantly seeping from the wound. Hen's heart was racing. She had to keep a clear head, but it was difficult. Chimney worked frantically beside her, trying to put pressure on the wound, but it was clear that the injury was serious. Too serious.

Meanwhile, the others tried to keep the gathering crowd under control while securing the other wooden beams to avoid another accident.

"We're losing her!" Chimney shouted, his voice hot with panic as he performed the makeshift wound care. Hen felt her hands shaking as she reached for the equipment, but she forced herself to calm down. There could be no mistakes. Not now.

"She's strong, no one loses anyone here," Hen whispered, more to herself than to Chimney. The sight of your lifeless body made Hen dizzy. Your chest barely heaved and your face was pale and lifeless, as if the life was draining out of you.

The two worked feverishly. Their hands slid confidently over the injured flesh as they tried to stop the blood seeping from the gaping wounds. The world around them seemed to stand still and all that mattered now was the person in front of them - their colleague. Their friend. Their family.

"Chim, we have to get her out of here. If we don't stabilize her, we'll lose her!" Hen shouted, trying to keep the panic from her voice. Each breath you took was weak, as if the next one might be your last.

"Damn it, Hen, the girder is sitting right on her chest. Bobby, you have to lift the girder! She'll bleed to death otherwise!" Chimney answered hastily, as he secured the pressure bandage to the worst part of your injury. The massive wooden beam had hit you hard, and it was a miracle you were still alive. But for how much longer? Chimney's gaze was fixed on the growing pool of blood beneath his knees.

Bobby, Buck, and Eddy were no time in coming. Each of them knew that time was now their enemy. Buck and Eddie immediately began to position themselves at the respective ends of the girder, while Bobby took the lead and stood over you.

"Okay, everyone ready? On my command! One... two... THREE!" he shouted as everyone lifted at the same time to take the weight off you. The wood cracked under the pressure, and for a moment it looked like they wouldn't make it. But with one last, desperate tug, they lifted it just high enough for Chimney to pull you out.

You were almost unconscious, pale as death. Hen looked at her best friend's bloody, limp face and felt her heart sink. This wasn't just any mission. "Stay with us, y/n," she whispered as Chimney carefully lifted you onto a stretcher.

Bobby quickly put an oxygen mask on you while Chimney applied pressure to the wound with one hand and monitored your heart rate with the other. The situation was critical and the team knew that every second counted. Without hesitation, they pushed the stretcher into the ambulance while Buck closed the doors and ran to the fire truck.

"Hen, Chim, we're right behind you," Bobby called before the doors slammed shut and the ambulance sped off, sirens blaring.

The ambulance sped through the streets of Los Angeles, the sirens piercing the night like the howl of a wounded animal. The city lights blurred into a bright kaleidoscope as the two paramedics inside the car raced against time.

Hen drove the ambulance while Chimney worked feverishly to keep the blood flowing. The oxygen mask over your face was a thin thread holding you to this life. The heart rate on the monitor was faint, and every second that passed felt like an eternity.

"Come on, come on..." he muttered to himself as he applied another pressure bandage over the one already soaked in blood. His latex gloves were red with blood, and his eyes were extremely tense. "We're losing her, Hen. The pressure is off."

Hen pressed her lips together, fighting the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. "Not now. Not here. Not her. We're almost there, keep her alive!"

The ambulance arrived at the hospital minutes later with screeching tires, and the team jumped out, the stretcher with you in the middle. You were immediately surrounded by a team of emergency doctors who moved their bodies like machines, every grip precise, every action practiced.

"Severe chest trauma, internal bleeding! She's losing a lot of!" Hen shouted after the doctors as they quickly pushed you through the hospital doors. Hen and Chimney followed them, both with their eyes downcast and faces covered in sweat.

The rest of the team also watched as you were pushed down the hallway towards the operating rooms and then the moment came when they disappeared around the corner with you and the team was left alone in a state of confusion, concern, hope and fear. In that moment it felt like the air was being sucked out of the hallway they stood in.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Athena stormed through the hospital corridors, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She could hear her own blood rushing in her ears, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic vortex of fear, worry and hopelessness. Bobby had called her shortly after arriving at the hospital, and his words echoed in her head as if they were caught on an endless loop: "It's serious. It's serious."

She reached the emergency room and immediately saw the familiar faces of her friends and colleagues. Bobby was the first to step forward to greet her, his face worried but calm. "Athena..." he began, but she didn't let him finish. "Where is she?" Athena whispered, her voice breaking as she looked around. Her eyes wandered frantically through the sterile, brightly lit hospital corridor until they finally settled on Hen. The paramedic stood with her arms crossed, her shoulders slumped forward, looking exhausted and full of grief.

She stepped forward and put a hand on Athena's shoulder, but she felt that words could not bring comfort here. The pain, the fear, the agonizing wait - all of this weighed heavily on Athena. "She's in the operating room. They're fighting... but it doesn't look good," she said carefully in a quiet voice. Her eyes were tired, the minutes of her colleague's blood loss and the constant tension for her life had left their mark on her too.

"Not good?" Athena shook her head in disbelief, as if she couldn't believe these words. She felt an uncontrollable tremor running through her body that she could barely suppress and the walls seemed to close in around her.

"What does that mean, Hen? Are you going to tell me that she might not make it?" Her voice had gotten louder, almost panicked. Bobby, who was standing next to them, held out his hand reassuringly, but Athena backed away. She needed answers, not pity.

"Athena, we don't know," Hen said carefully, her eyes full of compassion. "She has severe internal injuries and the bleeding was extremely critical. But she's in the best hospital, with the best doctors. They're doing everything they can."

But those words were only a small consolation for her. The worry about you weighed heavily on her chest, and she felt helpless. She wanted to be with you, wanted to hold your hand, to tell you that you should fight and not give up. But all she could do now was stand here and wait. Wait while fate decided the life of the woman she loved.

Athena nodded silently, although inside she wanted to scream. She had to pull herself together, not collapse. "At least tell me that she can feel it... that she knows that I'm here," she finally said, directing her words at her best friend.

"Athena, if anyone can do it, it's y/n. She's a fighter. And she'll know you're here, no matter what."

While the entire team waited, the team of surgeons and nurses fought for your survival. The sterile, cool air in the room was filled with frantic, precise movements. The lead surgeon wiped sweat from his brow as he made another deep cut to find the source of the bleeding

"We've stabilized her, but the blood loss is still concerning. Should we add another unit of blood?" one of the nurses asked as she readjusted the oxygen mask and checked the heart rate on the monitor. Each beat of your heart was weak, almost imperceptible.

"Yes, please. Several ribs are broken, internal organ damage. We need to decompress the left lung," he murmured, handling his instruments more tensely than usual. His hands moved in a routine manner.

One of the nurses, meanwhile, took care of the jewelry that remained on your body. The engagement ring on your finger shimmered in the cold operating room light, a tiny spark in the midst of the fight for life and death. With gentle movements, the nurse removed the ring from your blood-stained hand and carefully placed it in a bowl, along with a chain that had been hidden under your uniform, to later clean these items and hand them over to you as soon as you were able to.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The bright light of the infirmary blinded you as you slowly emerged from the deep darkness of the anesthetic sleep. At first everything was blurry - the shapes, the sounds, the feeling of your own body. You felt that something was wrong, but couldn't grasp what it was. Your head seemed to be wrapped in cotton wool, your thoughts swirled wildly, but one thing was immediately clear: something was missing.

Confusion spread through your foggy mind and your fingers twitched slightly. You instinctively reached for your hand, for the engagement ring that should be there. But it wasn't there. The cool, bare skin of your fingers touched nothing but the air. Panic shot through your body like lightning.

"Where... where is it?" you murmured quietly at first, still too dazed by the painkillers to speak properly. But the confusion quickly turned into naked fear. You blinked, trying to concentrate, but the feeling of emptiness, the loss of your ring, seemed to smother any clarity.

With a sudden, jerky impulse of movement that put the nurses on alert, you began to sit up in your hospital bed. "My ring! Where... where is it?" you gasped, your voice getting louder, your breathing getting faster. The tubes and wires monitoring you pulled taut as you tried to sit up further. Your body was still weak, but your panic gave you a supernatural strength.

One of the nurses rushed to your side, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Calm down, everything is fine. Please lie back down, you've just had a serious operation," she said gently.

But you barely heard her. Your thoughts were a wild storm, and the only reality that existed in your head was the horrible feeling that you had lost the engagement ring. Tears gathered in your eyes and your voice broke into panic. "No! My ring... I... I lost it! Where is it? Where is it?!" You desperately grabbed the nurse's hand as if she could give you the answer.

"It's fine, please, try to relax," said another nurse who had now joined you. "We'll take care of you."

But nothing could calm you down. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, the monitor began to beep faster while your heart beat in dangerous panic for your condition. Your eyes wandered around the room, searching for a familiar sign, something that could assure you that you had not lost the ring and everything it symbolized.

"No... no... please... I need it..." you whispered between gasping breaths, your voice full of desperation. The nurses exchanged a worried look, unsure how to calm you down.

Just then, the door opened and Athena entered, closely followed by Hen, Chimney, Bobby, Buck and Eddie. Each of them had spent the last few hours in endless worry, but when they saw you now - your eyes red and filled with tears, your body upright in a bed you weren't supposed to leave yet - a wave of compassion shot through them. The lump in Athena's throat grew when she saw how confused and helpless you looked.

"Hey, hey, everything's fine," Athena called immediately when she saw the panic in your eyes. She quickly went to the bed and knelt by the side, placing her hands firmly on yours. "I'm here, I'm here. You haven't lost anything."

But you shook your head violently, still unable to think clearly. "No... my ring! I lost it! Athena, I lost your proof of love…” The words came in jerky, desperate breaths as tears streamed down your cheeks. You looked at Athena with so much fear in your eyes that it broke her heart.

Athena took a deep breath, then gently squeezed your hand in hers. “Honey, calm down,” she said, her voice firm but loving. She stroked your hand gently. “You didn’t lose it. I have it.”

With those words, Athena reached into her pocket and pulled out the engagement ring—the ring she had put on you months ago when she had promised you to go through whatever life threw at you together. The ring sparkled in the soft light of the hospital room, a familiar, beautiful symbol of their love and future.

Your breathing slowed for a moment when you saw the ring. Your eyes widened, and the panic slowly faded as reality began to penetrate the veil of painkillers. "You... you have it?" you asked quietly, your voice shaking.

"Yes, darling. One of the nurses gave it back to me after she took it from you during surgery for safety reasons. I've been keeping it for you the whole time," Athena said, holding your hand tighter. "I would never let you lose it. You'll always have it. Just like you'll always have me."

Your chest was still heaving heavily, but your panic was noticeably subsiding. You looked at Athena, your eyes filling with tears again, but this time out of relief. "I thought... I thought it was gone."

"It's not gone. It was always here," Athena whispered, holding the ring gently between her fingers before slowly sliding it back onto your finger, right where it belonged.

There was a deep silence in the room. All eyes were on the couple - the team watched as Athena placed the ring back on your finger with as much care and love as if it were the first time. Chimney, Hen, Bobby, Buck and Eddie held their breath as if they were watching a sacred moment.

Athena looked deep into your eyes, her voice firm but tender as she said, "Will you marry me, here and now, a second time, y/n? Will you continue on this path with me, no matter how hard it may be sometimes?"

The words were a mixture of seriousness and comfort, a promise she had made before - and yet now, in this moment, it felt even stronger and more meaningful.

You, still slightly dazed, felt the world around you finally settle down. The fear of losing the ring had been like a huge wave that had washed over you - but now you were back on the shore. The ring was there, Athena was there. Everything was right again.

With tear-filled eyes and a weak but sincere smile, you nodded. "Yes... always yes."

Athena smiled warmly as a wave of relief and love washed through her. She leaned forward, kissed your forehead gently, and in that moment the whole room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. The team, which had been in tense silence until then, could no longer contain the emotions.

"This is incredibly beautiful," Buck murmured with a moist gleam in his eyes as Hen poked him in the side.

"It's not often that you see someone propose the same thing twice," Chimney said quietly, his voice full of emotion. Eddie nodded silently and allowed a slight smile to appear while Bobby, the silent observer, took a deep breath. For him, this moment was a symbol of the fighting spirit that united them all.

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moldydominos109 · 1 year ago

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IDK HOW TO DRAW THIS (little spoiler of next drawing)

#help #crane collapses and smashes into building at leith construction site as two people injured #smashes table #burns everything

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wolfhoundwitch · 6 months ago

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A Guide to Graveyard Work

One of the earliest introductions I had to spirit work as a baby witch was graveyard work. In short, this practice involves building relationships with the deceased spirits of a graveyard, by communicating, leaving offerings and being mindful of their space. It is part of a wider practice known as death work, but this focuses specifically on how to enter and respect what is essentially the 'home' of the spirits you are working with. You can further build on your practice from this.

This is a handy guide to the different aspects of the practice, looking into the appropriate offerings and etiquette, written with a lot of love.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯��₊‧⁺˖⋆

Graveyard Etiquette

There are rules you must follow in graveyards, whether for your personal safety, out of politeness, or following the law of your country. Sometimes these overlap. But sometimes, the rules you hear might be no more than baseless superstition, which there is a lot of concerning graveyards. There are way too many superstitions to list, however -

Some good rules to follow are:

Don't begin this work with the intention of taking from the graveyard or using the spirits in your practice. In the same way you wouldn't take from a stranger, it's important to build a relationship before you ask for things.

Try not to stand on graves where possible, out of respect for the dead but also those mourning them. Sometimes, graveyards are set up so that it is impossible to go anywhere without stepping on something, which is okay so long as you're not intending disrespect. However, do be wary that headstones can fall and the ground can shift.

Some people believe you shouldn't take any photos of the graves. I personally think that if the grave is old enough, it doesn't matter too much. If the grave is modern, it might be inappropriate for those in mourning to see you taking photos.

You can clean up trash, but be mindful of what might be considered trash. Obvious thrown-away food and drink packaging might be appropriate to clean up, but what if someone left a deceased one's favourite food at their grave? Or what if you decide to get rid of a toy or letter left there? Try to avoid cleaning up around the actual graves and focus on cleaning near the gates or in empty areas.

Don't trespass! If the cemetery has set entry times, enter and leave only within those times. Don't jump the fence, and don't enter any areas that are clearly gated or off-limits.

Leave an offering when asking to take something from the cemetery grounds. I don't feel it necessary to leave an offering each time you enter, especially if you plan on visiting often. But, if you want to take something like graveyard dirt or plants growing there, leave an offering for sure. And make sure to ASK. If you feel wrong, it's a no.

If you EVER find anything askew in a graveyard, such as vandalism, theft, or even dug up bones (it happens, I've found them before) PLEASE report it straight to the groundskeeper, associated church, or relevant authorities. It is not your responsibility to attempt to fix these things, or take things for yourself.

Offerings

You can leave offerings at the gate, or on specific graves if you want to work directly with that spirit. You don't always need to leave an offering, but it is a good thing to do when building a relationship and especially when asking to take from the site.

Some good offerings are:

Coins, especially two coins. There is a belief that the two coins are placed on the eyes of the deceased to pay the ferryman taking them over the river Styx. This has been maintained as a tradition.

Flowers. Even better if you look into Victorian flower symbolism for older grave sites and base your offering on this.

Origami. I would often fold multiple tiny cranes and leave them as offerings on individual graves. The best part is they are biodegradable.

I would be wary of leaving any kind of food or drink, as you might attract animals or even cause harm to the ecosystems living there. The same goes for anything made of plastic or that could hurt an animal.

Natural items such as seashells, feathers or stones are great, safe options for offerings.

You could also burn a candle or incense, but remember to stay with them while they burn and make sure they are extinguished when you leave.

Offerings don't have to be physical - you could say a few kind words, sing to them, or even just dedicating time to sit with the dead or talk with them can be an offering in itself.

Protection

I personally don't go into my practice thinking I could get possessed or followed by a demon at any given moment. However, I do think it's important to remember that graveyards can be full of a lot of upset, angry, and occasionally malevolent energies. Even if you don't intend to, these energies can attach to you or be taken home by you and can make you feel off.

Here are some ways you can protect yourself:

Cleanse yourself before and after entering a cemetery, even just by meditating and visualising or by using incense.

Check out my post on shielding techniques, and try to familiarise yourself with the visualisation techniques until you feel comfortable doing them.

Charm an item of clothing, such as a piece of jewellery, as an amulet to ward against negative energies that you can wear.

Find or create a protective sigil or rune that you can draw on something or on yourself.

You can pray to any deities you work with to ask for protection, especially if these deities are associated with death or spirits.

Communication

People who practice death work might communicate with the dead in different ways. They might be clairvoyant, use divination, feel energies or sometimes even just know what the spirits are saying. In any sense, spirit communication is a skill that is very much required in this practice. @koscheys-skull said it best here. You need good communication skills, in the sense that you are still talking to PEOPLE. And you need to go in with good intentions. If you are going in purely with the intention of using the dead for your own benefit, you won't get very far. If you can't talk to and actively listen with some semblance of empathy, you won't get very far. Death work is not an aesthetic, it is not for you to take your emo photos and be disrespectful. it is a serious, difficult and tolling practice that takes a lot of time and refining.

If you have gotten this far, I wish you all the best. It is a difficult but ultimately fulfilling part of spirit work, and if you are ready to dedicate the time and effort to it, you will get a lot out of it.

Thanks for reading! Please visit my tags for more guides, and feel free to reach out with requests for more information. Lots of love.

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