#e: happy progress day!

[i-n-t-e-g-r-a]

I wish feelings could be captured like photos. And I wish I could always feel this way, I wish this moment could last 🩶

[celayawitcher]

starter for @jovethebarbarian.

where: idk we're on land safe in lysara probably

when: after the drowned king!

note: as requested in #plot-calls

Asking questions seemed to leave the witcher with only more questions, but still Celaya pondered. Some seemed to have insinuated that they had stealthily made their way onto the boat out of sheer curiosity, but many, much like Celaya, had been invited. Still, only three, herself included, had made it out with these dreaded rings, that which had grayed her hand and seemed to emit this palpable iniquity. "Are you a Haven wolf?" She'd spent some time there, helping the Iskaran refuges settle in to their temporary conditions and she hadn't remembered running into this one; he was hard to miss. "I'm surprised, though a little relieved, that Aurea hadn't been invited." Who better to try and rope into this mess than the werewolf Queen? She wondered if this one had taken her place or if he was an unrelated casualty to add to the mess.

[ryujinseaborn]

starter for @robinxofxstars.

where: progress day

when: day 2

note: heyyyy how yall doin

Ryu knew that Robin was never one to miss a celebration, whether it was pirate centric or otherwise, and it was part of why the pirate captain attended. It was easy to slip into a crowd, go somewhat unnoticed when the entirety of Eterna seemed to be amassed in presence. Eventually, he stumbled onto Robin, the cambion tucked away in the corner of one of Eterna's various bars; it was empty enough considering most were sprawling through the streets, watching chariot races and joining escape rooms. "I should have known to find you here," Ryu clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, "We're supposed to be celebrating Lysara's progress," Ryu continued with his grating sarcasm, slipping into a chair and kicking his feet up, "And you're often the life of any party so why are you tucked away here?"

[lotharx]

starter for @fharzai.

where: progress day

when: day 1 or 2 ya kno

note: hello my son in law and fellow red hand, this will get better

Their paths seemed only insistent to cross when on the battlefield, whether that was in Fharzai's genuine dreamscape or here, in this scope of the world. Lothar hadn't ever had the chance to truly chat with the dream druid, and considering he was never a man of many words, Lothar often didn't know where he'd start if given the opportunity. Fharzai had done a lot for the Iskarans, it seemed each battlefield Lothar was, so too was Fharzai, and yet he was of the Queensguard, too. He was one amongst the crowd of those Lothar scrutinized, but one who could sway how the barbarian truly felt about Lysarans as a whole it would seem.

"Fharzai," Lothar greeted gruffly, nodding, "So we finally meet outside of battle," the barbarian wasn't necessarily known for smiling but his tone was softer than normal, borderline kind.

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3

[celayawitcher]

"You're teasing me," stated in an unsure timbre, Celaya would have believed it considering how often many spoke on the contrary to such a statement. Good company, she smiled at that as though it was preposterous, and though she had to assume he was teasing, she felt some insight to the fact he was serious enough despite the fact they were two perfect strangers. It was baffling but a welcoming change in opinion on her. Celaya's eyes glanced down at the sword, shrugging simply as she held it up for him to truly inspect if he so wished, "I'm not sure; it was gifted to me from Lady Severian's armory when defending Aventia. If you discover any longsword of mithril in your travels, however, I am looking for one of Iskaran make." She had to presume he knew well enough about swords and that it wasn't an offhanded question considering the phrasing.

She's speaking and he should feel guiltier for only half listening, one hand feeding Vee a blueberry from his pocket again as he properly assess her. He sees all sorts of people in the city, it's a hub for a reason, tons of people coming and going or just passing through on their way to go do something grand. And Thalindor likes these people on account of usually they're armed to the teeth and that's an easy enough conversation starter. The armor she wore was well made, there was age to the shield, the hilt of the sword strapped to her back. "Then I'm sure those aboard the Damodred's Delight will be in your good company." It is a compliment said too casually, he thinks she's one of the most interesting mortals he's met thus far and his brow is somewhat furrowed as he catches a glimpse of the guard of her sword. "Is that Iskaran?"

[chaoticforever]

Remnants of Regret | Tony Stark x Son! Reader

Summary: All Y/n ever wanted was his father’s love. Was that too much to ask?

Y/n sat on the floor in his bedroom, legs crossed, focusing intently on the canvas propped up before him. With a charcoal stick in his hand, Y/n carefully sketched the outline of a cityscape, his e/c eyes narrowed in concentration. His room permeated with the soft scratching of charcoal on canvas, a melody in the air.

Once Y/n finished the final touches and scooted back to examine his piece. One simple word crossed his mind: beautiful.

Since childhood, Y/n has loved drawing, sketching, and painting. He started with simple subjects like trees, flowers, and stars, then progressed to more complex images like people's faces and vehicles. He loved it so much that he pursued an art degree in college, unable to imagine a life not surrounded by art of some kind.

Furthermore, art allowed him to express emotions that words couldn't convey by providing an escape from the chaos of everyday life. It was just him, his brush, and the many possibilities on a canvas.

However, Y/n sometimes wondered if choosing art as his passion was a good idea since his father, Tony Stark, did not seem to appreciate his artistic abilities. Instead, he shifted the appreciation that he should have for Y/n to someone else.

Peter Parker.

See, Y/n Stark is the type of guy who preferred music and painting to building suits and technology that Tony loved so much, which only seemed to widen the gap between father and son. Tony didn’t seem to have much time for his son but made sure to have lots of time for Peter, who shared Tony's love for technology.

Y/n couldn’t help but feel jealous as he watched his dad always dote on Peter, offering him opportunities and praise that Y/n craved. But he seemed to have little time or patience for his artistic son.

He placed his finished piece on his desk and started putting away his sketching utensils. Just then, he heard a knock on his open door and turned around to see that Steve was standing in the doorway. Y/n smiled when he saw Steve. Besides Tony, Steve was his favorite Avenger. He sometimes acted more of a parent than the one currently in his life and the guys both bonded over their love for drawing.

"Hey, Steve. How was the mission?"

"Tiring. Dealing with rogue mutants can certainly take a toll on me," Steve replied, his eyes suddenly drifting to Y/n's newly crafted sketch, "Nice drawing Y/n. Is this for your end-of-semester art project?"

Y/n nodded his head in confirmation. "Yes, my professor wanted the class to draw something that represents our unique perspective on the world."

"And what perspective is that?"

Y/n paused to think about that question. "I guess... It's my view of the world as an artist. The world is full of life and energy, but there's also darkness and shadows. It's a reminder that beauty and struggles coexist. Nothing can ever change that."

Steve nodded, tracing the bold lines and subtle shading. "That’s an interesting yet accurate perspective. I am proud of you. You’re going to do great things one day."

A small smile appeared on Y/n’s face. He may not have gotten his dad’s praise, but he was happy that someone praised his artistic abilities and told him that he was proud of him. It warmed his heart.

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"You’re welcome. By the way, we’re having a group dinner tonight. We’ll be having lasagna, so bring your appetite."

Y/n grinned. He loved the soldier's cooking, especially when it was a dinner meal. It was so much better than eating takeout. "Oh, I'll be there, and y'all better hope that it all doesn’t get eaten by me."

Steve laughed before pivoting on his heel and leaving. Y/n watched as the soldier's retreating figure disappeared down the hall before turning back to his sketch, contentment washing over him.

As Y/n admired his work, his thoughts drifted back to his father. He knew that Tony loved him in his own way, but their relationship had always been strained. Tony’s focus on technology and his busy lifestyle, along with mentoring Peter, left little room for the two to hang out or for Tony to understand Y/n's passion for art.

But now, Y/n was determined to fix their relationship. After all, he lost his mother over a decade ago, and his father was the only blood family that he had left. He didn’t want their relationship to continue to be strained, and if Tony could make room for Peter in his life, then he could make some room for his biological son.

With that thought in mind, the e/c-eyed male headed to the private elevator that would take him to Tony’s workshop. And as he rounded the corner, he bumped into Rhodey, whom Y/n often looked up to as well. They greeted each other with their signature handshake that was only made for them two before Rhodey took off, explaining that he had a meeting to attend with a council member, and Y/n continued his journey to the workshop.

When he arrived at Tony's workshop, he saw his father standing next to his work bench, typing on his phone. Behind Tony, there was his Iron Man suit, opened up. Y/n figured that he just stepped out of it.

"Hey, Dad." Y/n greeted politely, crossing the room to give Tony a one-armed hug.

Surprisingly, Y/n's father did reciprocate the hug but didn’t even bother to look up at his son when he greeted him. He just kept his brown eyes glued to the phone in his hand. "Y/n. How was your day?"

"It was good. Classes were pretty light today, and I mostly just worked on my end-of-the-semester project for art class." Y/n explained, hoping that Tony would ask him more follow-up questions, such as what piece Y/n decided to draw or if he could see the work for himself. However, all Tony gave was a curt nod, still typing on that phone of his. So, Y/n cleared his throat and switched topics: "Dad, do you want to hang out this Saturday? There’s this art showing at the museum, and—"

"An art showing?" Tony finally looked up from his phone, his eyes flicking briefly to his son’s face before returning to the screen. "Sorry, kid, but I have meetings this Saturday. Besides, I’d rather watch paint dry than look at old paintings. You know that I’m more of a technology and engineering kind of guy than an art one."

Y/n's shoulders drooped, and he tried to hide the disappointment he felt. "Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe you’d want to spend some time together. It’s been a minute since we did something like that."

Tony seemed oblivious to Y/n's reaction, continuing to tap away at his phone. "Well, we’ve been busy. You're busy with college, and I'm busy with SI and saving the world, two full-time jobs for me," he put his phone down on the desk, finally giving Y/n his full attention. "But you’re right, we haven’t hung out in a long time. How about we go see that new Outlast movie that’s coming out next weekend?"

Y/n nodded, a small smile coming onto his face. Even though it wasn’t what he wanted to do, he was just happy to have some father-son time with his dad. And more importantly, it was without Peter.

"That sounds good to me. I can’t wait."

Y/n turned around and prepared to leave the room, excitement fluttering in his chest, just as Tony got a phone call from Peter. Y/n stood there for a moment and listened to how Tony asked Peter when he would be coming over and that Tony cleared the rest of his schedule today to help Peter with his last semester project.

The h/c-haired son frowned, feeling the excitement he felt a couple seconds ago disappear and the raw disappointment return. So, Tony can clear his schedule for Peter and make time for him, but he can't make time for his biological son?

It was ridiculous.

But Y/n had to remind himself that it was okay. Peter could have that time with his father all he wanted to today because next weekend, the two Starks would be spending some time together.

Feeling satisfied, Y/n left the workshop and returned to his room. It turned out that he had two things to look forward to: lasagna and the movies next week.

He couldn’t wait.

XXXXX XXXXX

The days passed slowly, but finally, the long-awaited Saturday finally arrived. It was the day of the planned outing with Y/n and his father, a day Y/n had been looking forward to. He hoped this would be a turning point in their relationship, a chance to bridge the gap that seemed to widen between them every passing day.

Now, he was getting ready in his room, choosing a casual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. He knew that, even though it was April, the weather was rather cool with it being sixty-five degrees outside. That made him add a blue jacket to his outfit.

After checking himself out in the mirror, he walked down the hall to the common area, where Tony had told him to meet. As he walked down the hall, he hoped that the horror movie they were going to see would be good. The trailer did look promising but they can also be deceitful.

Y/n rounded the corner and entered the common area, where the Avengers were watching a movie and enjoying a spread of pizzas, popcorn, nachos, and cheese fries. Thor was the only one who wasn’t here since he went to Asgard for a few days. He noticed they were watching the first "Back to the Future," a classic Steve had promised to watch at the next team movie night after Y/n discovered that he had never seen that movie series before.

Guess he finally listened, Y/n thought as he looked around the room and noticed something that he had failed to notice.

His dad was nowhere to be found.

"Hey, has anyone seen my dad?" Y/n asked, looking over the team of heroes.

"Yeah, he left. You just missed him too." Clint answered, his fingers reaching into the popcorn bowl that was in his lap and shoving some popcorn into his mouth.

Y/n frowned. What? "Left? Left where?"

"He said that he was taking Peter to the science fair." Steve munched on a pizza.

The college student's heart sank and his shoulders sagged, feeling disappointed. So, his father had forgotten about their plans. Again. And it was for Peter. Again.

"Oh," was all Y/n could manage to utter. He knew that he should be used to this, but it still stung every time it happened.

Natasha, sensing the disappointment in Y/n's timbre, glanced over at him. "You didn't know he was going out with Peter."

That was a statement, not a question. Natasha had always been perceptive.

"No, no, I did," Y/n backpedaled, forcing a grin. He didn't understand why he was protecting his father, but he just wanted this conversation to end. "I just forgot, but you telling me made me remember."

Y/n knew he was a terrible liar, and he didn't sound convincing. He knew they didn't believe him, considering Steve's frown, Bruce's concerned look, and the looks shared between Clint and Natasha.

Bruce grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "Look, why don't you join us, Y/n? You can finish the movie with us."

"Yeah, come on, Y/n!" Sam piped up. "We've got plenty of food, and we were just about to start a game of charades."

Y/n glanced at the team of superheroes. While he appreciated their invitation, he had been looking forward to spending time with his dad, so he shook his head but still kept the forced smile on his features. "Thank you guys, but I think I'll just head back to my room. Next time."

The h/c-haired male turned around and left the main area, frustration nagging at his insides. When he got to his room, he flopped down on his bed, back pressed against it as he stared up at the ceiling.

He didn’t understand.

Why did Tony continue to treat him as an afterthought? And what the hell was so damn special about Peter? Why did he always have to be the recipient of his father’s love? He couldn’t help but feel like he was always playing second fiddle to the guy who was two years younger than him. It was ridiculous to be jealous of someone younger than him, but Y/n couldn’t help himself. It hurt so much that his father favored Peter over him.

Y/n pulled out his phone, intending to call his dad when he got a notification from Instagram that his dad had posted a pic. He clicked on it and found himself staring at an image of his dad with Peter.

The caption read: Peter will take over my company someday. #prouddadmoment.

Proud dad moment...?

Peter wasn’t even his actual son and Y/n couldn’t stand the way his dad looked at Peter with such praise. What can I do to make him look at me like that one time?

And before Y/n knew it, his cheeks were pelted with water, and he just realized at that moment that he was crying. The tears fell to his cheeks before dropping onto the bed, but Y/n wiped his cheeks angrily since he shouldn’t allow this to make him sad. But it was so hard not to.

His e/c eyes drifted to the photo that was on his side table. He reached for it and picked it up. It was a photo of his mom. Y/n allowed his finger to run over his mom’s smiling face in the picture. It’s times like this when he wishes that she was still alive. At least then, he’d have a parent in his life who cared about him.

Suddenly, a knock came from his door.

"Come in," Y/n called out, setting down the photo back on his desk. He wished that it was his father knocking on the door, but he wasn't surprised when the door opened, and it wasn't him. It was Steve. "Hi, Steve. Did you like the movie?"

Steve nodded, taking a seat on the bed. "I did. It was a great eighties film. I can see why you love it so much." Steve then changed the conversation. "You okay?"

Y/n nodded. He knew he wasn't okay, but he didn't want to ruin Steve's evening with his problem. "I'm fine. Shouldn't you be playing charades with everyone else?"

The soldier disregarded the question and simply stared at Y/n for a moment, seemingly sensing that he wasn’t telling the truth. "Hey, why don't we grab some dessert? I know a great ice cream shop."

Y/n hesitated briefly. He didn't want to be a burden to Steve, but he also didn't want to spend his evening in his room.

"That sounds nice, thanks." Y/n smiled and followed the soldier out of the door.

Steve drove them to a small ice cream parlor that was tucked away in the city on his motorcycle, a vehicle that Y/n had never expected to get on willingly. Steve got the classic chocolate sundae, while Y/n got a vanilla sundae with chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and a cherry on top.

They then went to the park to watch the beautiful sunset and enjoy their sundae. The sun, a fiery orb of warmth and light, dipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky with two shades of orange and pink.

Y/n and Steve watched the breathtaking scene in comfortable silence. The park was lively with kids playing, the distance hum of cars, and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Y/n's vanilla sundae sat untouched. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by the disappointment and hurt he felt over Tony's absence. Steve, on the other hand, enjoyed his chocolate sundae, taking slow, deliberate bites of it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The super soldier broke the silence, his eyes shifting over.

"Yup," Y/n murmured, his e/c eyes taking in the stunning view. "It's like a painting."

Steve smiled, nodding his head in agreement. He then spoke again, his voice deadly serious. "So, what's going on? You've seemed a little down lately."

Y/n let out a sigh, knowing there was no point in lying to Steve. "It's my dad. I just feel like he always puts Peter first. It's like I'm not even his real son sometimes."

The blonde's expression softened, and he placed a comforting hand on Y/n's shoulder. "I know it's tough, but try not to take it personally. Your dad has a unique relationship with Peter, but that doesn't diminish his love for you. You're his son."

He sighed again, "I know but it's hard not to feel overshadowed sometimes. Peter gets all the attention, and I'm just... here."

"Your dad may not always show it, but he's proud of you, Y/n," Steve assured him. "And I know that he loves you very much. Sometimes, parents just need a little reminder that their kids need them."

Y/n nodded, but he couldn't help feeling skeptical. After all, actions spoke louder than words, and Tony's actions indicated that he loved Peter more than him. Like Y/n would always come second to Peter.

But he didn't feel like dwelling on Tony's absence anymore. Instead, he turned his attention back to the sunset, watching as the last sliver of the sun disappeared behind the horizon. The sky grew darker, the colors of the sunset fading into the twilight. He didn't get the opportunity to spend the evening with his father as he planned, but at least he had spent it with someone who cared about him deeply.

And that made him smile.

XXXXX XXXXX

The next morning, Y/n found himself in the kitchen, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. The events of the previous day still weighed heavily on his mind, leaving a bitter taste that even the strongest brew couldn't mask. He wanted to confront his dad about his behavior, but at the same time, he didn't want to talk to him after what happened.

As he added a dash of sugar to his cup, the familiar clanking of Tony's footsteps drew closer. He saw his father enter the kitchen, but Y/n leaned against the counter, his back stiff and his gaze fixed on the windows. He deliberately avoided greeting his dad as he would usually do.

"Morning, Y/n," Tony greeted politely, but Y/n remained quiet, his back still turned. Feeling perplexed by the cold shoulder, Tony frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Y/n replied, voice low and dismissive as he finished his coffee and placed the cup in the sink.

Y/n moved forward, attempting to leave the kitchen, but Tony stepped in front of him, unsatisfied with the response. "I'm your father. It's my job to be concerned."

Y/n's laughter rang out, harsh and bitter as if Tony had just told him a funny joke. "That is quite ironic coming from you."

The frown on Tony's features deepened. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Y/n's voice was quiet, "that lately, you've been anything but a father to me. But I can't say the same for Peter tho. You literally drop everything for him, but you can't even remember our plans."

Tony took a step forward, his tone rising defensively. "That's not true, Y/n. I do my best to be there for both of you. I juggle a lot, but I make time for you when I can."

Y/n's gaze didn't waver and he cocked his head to the side. "You make time for me? Then where were you last evening?"

"I took Peter to the science fair."

"Even though we had plans to go to the movies?" The younger man pointed out.

Tony's eyebrows furrowed as realization dawned, shame washing over his face. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I know we had plans, but Peter needed me. I couldn't leave him."

The two Starks were so busy arguing that neither of them noticed a stealthy figure that managed to infiltrate the compound, temporarily disable Friday, and had a knockout device in their hand. 

"Peter needed you?" Y/n shook his head, his voice thick with hurt. Why did he forget about me? "What about what I need? You're my dad, not his. I need you."

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You have me every day, Y/n. Don't you see that I am always here for you?"

"Are you, Dad?!" Y/n's voice rose to a shout. "When was the last time we spent quality time together, just the two of us? When was the last time you and I had a real conversation that wasn't about your work or Peter? When was the last time you asked about what's going on in my life? You probably don't even know that my birthday is in two days. I'll be turning twenty-three, by the way. You don't know that one of my art pieces was presented at the museum you found too boring to visit. And you don't know that I made the Dean's List in school for the third year in a row!" Y/n's voice dropped to a whisper, but the words still stung like acid. "Mom would never treat me the way you do."

Tony flinched as if struck, his eyes widening at the mention of Y/n's mother. The weight of his son's words hit him like a physical blow, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the room began to fill with a thick fog.

Y/n noticed it too, confusion clouding his face. But as more of the mysterious substance was released into the air, he dropped to his knees, his vision blurring. Tony staggered and slumped against the kitchen counter, his eyes falling shut.

And then, everything went dark. The gas in the room caused both father and son to collapse, slumping to the floor hard.

Later, once Y/n regained consciousness, his head pounded as he tried to piece together what happened. The last thing he remembered was the argument with Tony in the kitchen, and then everything went dark. But now, he found himself in an unfamiliar room, dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The walls were made of rough concrete, and the floor was cold and hard beneath him.

"Y/n? Can you hear me?" Tony's voice, filled with concern, reached him, and he turned to see his father hovering nearby.

"Dad?" Y/n's throat was dry and scratchy as he tried to sit up, but dizziness forced him to lay back down. It's overwhelming.

Tony helped Y/n into a seated position against the concrete wall. "Easy there."

Y/n looked around. "Where are we?" 

"I'm not sure," Tony admitted, his gaze scanning the room for any clues. "But it appears that we have been kidnapped." 

Y/n's heart pounded in his chest as the reality of their situation sank in. Oh crap. He couldn't believe that they were in this predicament, but he didn’t know why he was completely surprised. Since he was a Stark, people have always attempted to kidnap him since the day he was born, but this was the first time someone had successfully managed to kidnap him. 

And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault. If only he hadn't argued with his dad, they wouldn't have been distracted when their captor struck.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Tony apologized, his eyes filled with remorse, and Y/n was slightly taken aback because he hadn’t been expecting that. "I should have been there for you more. I let my work and my relationship with Peter overshadow our bond. That was wrong of me to do that."

Y/n eyes drifted to his hands, clasped in his lap. "You know, it hurt every time you chose Peter over me," he admitted, his voice quiet. "I don't understand why you always favor him. Why is everything he does amazing, but when it comes to me, you're never satisfied? Was it something that I did wrong? Or didn't do? Because I can change if it means you'll love me."

Tony shook his head vigorously, moving closer to his son. "No, Y/n. I don't want you to change for anyone, especially not for me. I can admit that I haven't always handled things perfectly. Peter reminds me of myself at his age, and sometimes I get caught up in my own nostalgia. But that doesn't mean I love you any less, Y/n. You're my son. I'd do anything for you."

Y/n's heart swelled at his father's words. He forgave Tony the moment the words "I'm sorry" exited his lips. Y/n had never been one to hold grudges, and now that Tony had acknowledged his mistakes, he hoped that they could finally move forward and rebuild their relationship.

Y/n wrapped his arms around Tony, who reciprocated the gesture. "I just want to spend more time with you," he muttered. "You know, do all that father-son stuff."

"And we will," Tony promised, pulling away. "As soon as we get out of here, I'll clear my schedule for the next month. We can go to the Bahamas. The water is beautiful, and I know they have amazing art exhibits there. It can be my birthday present to you. It'll be just the two of us."

It was impossible for Y/n to refrain from allowing the corners of his mouth to curl upward into a smile. He experienced a sense of optimism for the first time in a long time. As he looked into his father's eyes, he was certain that he would fulfill his promise. Y/n couldn't help but feel like a ten-year-old on Christmas morning.

"I'd like that, but how are we going to get out of here?" That was the big question.

Tony smirked. "Leave that to my team."

He informed Y/n through sign language that he had a secret tracker implanted in his watch, which had been confiscated. The Avengers were aware of the tracker, so it wouldn't be long before they arrived.

And then, as if on cue, the door to the room they were in flew off its hinges by a man getting thrown through it. Then, Steve walked into the room, dressed in his Captain America outfit. Steve threw his shield at the cell the Starks were in, allowing the two men to finally escape.

"Tony, Y/n, are you guys okay?" Steve walked over to them and started looking for signs of harm or injuries of any kind, but was relieved that he didn’t find one. 

"Just peachy," Tony assured the blonde, grabbing his watch from a nearby table and taking Y/n's arm. They rushed out of the building, with Steve leading the way.

As the three made their way out, Y/n heard the sounds of gunfire, screaming, and growling echoing in the air. The Hulk was in full force, dismantling one of the kidnappers, while the other Avengers fought alongside him. Steve sprang back into action, and Tony transformed his watch into an Iron Man glove, joining the fighting. Even Spider-Man was there, taking out multiple opponents with ease.

But in the chaos, Y/n spotted a gunman aiming at Spider-Man from a distance. Acting without hesitation, he pushed Spider-Man out of the way, taking the bullet meant for him. The gunshot tore through Y/n's stomach, and he fell to the ground, eyes widening in shock and pain.

Tony had just fired a beam of light from his repulsor, sending the man flying into the nearby truck. But as he did, he heard the crack of a gunshot. He looked over to see where the shot had come from.

And his heart dropped to his stomach.

Y/n had been shot.

The bullet had pierced Y/n’s stomach, and blood was already soaking through his shirt, dripping onto the ground below.

"No, Y/n!" Tony screamed, running over as Steve hurled his shield at the shooter. Tony caught Y/n just as he began to fall, blood seeping through Tony's fingers as he peeled off his jacket and pressed it against the wound. Y/n trembled in his arms, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"D-Dad."

"I know, I know, it's going to be okay," he whispered, his voice thick and his eyes shone with unshed tears. "You're going to be okay, I promise." His jaw clenched as he peered over at his teammates who had finally finished their fight and were rushing over. "Get us to a hospital, now!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Steve moved forward and quickly helped Tony carry Y/n to the Quinjet, with the other Avengers following closely behind them. Once inside, Natasha took her place in the pilot seat and Clint sat in the co-pilot seat next to her. Natasha quickly turned on the controls and maneuvered the jet into the air above, racing to the hospital.

The Quinjet soared through the sky, the city a blur below. Inside, the atmosphere was filled with worry. Everyone watched as Iron Man tried to help his injured son. Tony refused to let go of Y/n, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding, mind racing with fear and desperation. He had faced countless dangers as Iron Man, but nothing compared to the fear he felt at the thought of losing his son. 

Finally, the Quinjet landed on the rooftop helipad of Metro-General Hospital, and Steve and Bruce rushed out, carrying Y/n on a stretcher. Tony was right beside him, keeping his hands clasped in Y/n’s. 

"We need a doctor, now!" Tony shouted as they burst through the hospital doors.

Immediately, a group of two doctors and two nurses came over, taking over Y/n's care and wheeling him away. And Tony was beside them, still holding his hand.

"What happened?" One of them asked.

"Some idiot shot him," Tony explained. 

The medical team wheeled Y/n into the operating room fast. The female nurse commented how Y/n had a weak pulse rate as the group of medical specialists lifted him onto the bed. Tony held onto his hands, tears welling up in his eyes. 

The male doctor assessed the situation, noticing a smaller entry wound in Y/n’s upper right back and a larger exit wound in his abdomen. "Lungs failing," he said, his voice steady but grave. "Start an I.V. — two units of O, stat." The female nurse hurried off to fulfill the order. The female doctor asked for adrenalin, and the male nurse rushed to comply with the request.

Tony stood by his son's side, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the doctor's work. He couldn't remember a time he prayed, but he found himself silently pleading with any higher power that might be listening to spare his son's life. "Hang in there, son," he whispered.

Y/n struggled to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t think I’ll make it. Guess I’ll be seeing my Mom soon…"

The billionaire's heart broke a little more. "Don't you dare die on me." Tony's voice was borderline pleading, begging for his son not to leave him. He has to survive.

But as the doctors worked frantically to save Y/n's life, his condition continued to deteriorate, his grip on Tony's hand weakening. "Dad," Y/n whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm so cold."

Hearing this, Tony couldn't hold back his tears, which fell onto his son's hand. "I-I-I can't feel my legs," he continued, making Tony feel an enormous sense of dread and despair. He wanted to leave, unable to continue witnessing his greatest fear unfolding before his eyes. However, Y/n gripped Tony's hand tightly. "D-Don't go." Their eyes met, and Y/n let out a gasp before managing to utter three words.

"I love you."

The heart monitor's steady beep began to slow, then faltered, finally falling silent as Y/n slipped into full arrest. Tony cried out, "Oh god." His hand clamped over his mouth as he watched his son flatlined.

"Full arrest. Paddles!" The male doctor shouted, and the female doctor brought over the paddle machine. Tony stepped back as he witnessed the scene unfold. The lady squirted gel on a paddle, and the male rubbed them together. "Clear!" He yelled and used the paddles on Y/n. 

But it didn't work.

"Recharge," he barked, and she obeyed. "Clear!" He used the paddles once again.

Still, Y/n’s heart did not respond and the heart monitor remained silent. His grip fully weakened in Tony’s hand, and his eyes remained unmoving. Sadly, it was officially. Y/n, son of the billionaire, was dead. The male doctor looked at Tony with a mix of sympathy and sadness.

"I’m so sorry," the male doctor voiced. 

And, just like that, Tony Stark broke. 

He leaned over Y/n, his body heavy with grief, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his son's lifeless hand. The pain in his chest was unbearable as if his own heart had stopped beating. He couldn't believe his only child was gone.

Now, he would never witness his son's college graduation, celebrate another birthday, see him walk down the aisle, or become a dad himself. Y/n was gone, and Tony would never see his son again.

And Tony felt like he had died too.

His sobs echoed through the hospital room, a sound so full of anger and pain that it seemed to pierce the very air. The doctors and nurses quietly left the room, deciding to let the genius grieve alone.

"Y/n," he choked out, his voice breaking on his son's name. "Please... come back. I can't… I can't live life without you here."

But he knew that his son wasn't coming back, no matter how much he'd beg for it. That thought was unimaginable, a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

He had failed his son, failed to keep him safe, and now, Tony was forced to face a world without the h/c haired male in it. 

It was bad enough that the genius had been such a shitty dad to choose Peter over Y/n, but now he wouldn’t be able to show Y/n that he was fully committed to changing, to being the dad Y/n deserved.

That made his sobs grow louder.

The Avengers entered the room, their faces etched with sorrow. Each of them had faced countless battles, but nothing could have prepared them for the pain of watching one of their own lose a child.

Steve placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort for his friend. He knew that no words could ease the pain of such a loss, but he hoped that his presence would offer some solace. He took a moment to say a silent prayer for the man who was like a son to him.

Natasha's stoic expression cracked, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had seen death countless times in her work, but this — this was different. This was one of their own, a part of their family.

Sam also couldn't hold back his tears. His vision blurred, and he wiped them away, not wanting to add to Tony's pain. But the pain was there, a dull ache in his chest that echoed the grief of his friend.

Clint had to look away, his jaw clenched. He had lost people before, but this was different. This was a young man, full of life, who left this cruel world too soon.

Bruce stood with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes were downcast, but there was a hint of green in his eyes. He couldn't imagine the pain of losing a child, especially someone so wonderful. 

Peter was the most visibly shaken and he felt somewhat responsible. If he had been more aware of his surroundings and saw the hidden shooter, then Y/n wouldn't have taken the bullet for him.

Parents shouldn’t have to bury their child, but Tony was going to bury his.

Tony's fingers trembled as he closed Y/n's eyes. "I’m sorry, son," his voice was a broken whisper. "I love you so, so much."

For Y/n, the light had gone out. For Tony, the darkness has never felt so complete.

XXXXX XXXXX

[queenendless]

♡♥︎ STANDING NEXT TO YOU ♥︎♡

A/n: Yall ... when you meet the guy that voices THE Sung Jinwoo, your admiration and affection becomes a full blown one sided infatuation that leaves you all messed up inside. So writing really helps vent out those entangled emotions. And I know for a fact I'm not the only one that does this so no shaming down below yall pls n thnx.

Pairing: 25 yr old Sung Jinwoo x 27 yr old Fem!Reader

CW: 21+ MATURE CONTENT INVOLVED. Outdoor smut, some degradation, possessiveness, established relationship, and use of Korean terms.

DON'T REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGARIZE, COPY, EDIT MY FANFIC WORK. RATHER REBLOG LIKE AND FOLLOW PLS N THNX.

Sorry for the late post but HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY~!

Nae Sarang — my love

Bogo Sipeun — Miss you

Jagi – baby or sweetie between couples

Sarangkkun — a lover or someone affectionate

Banjjak – other half/significant other

Naui Haneul — my sky/someone who encompasses your world

Naui Bit – my light/clarity and joy

Naui Cheonguk – my heaven/make life blissful

Gijeok – miracle in your life

The dipping weight beside you on the bed stirs you up slightly.

Velvety lips decorating your face helped pull you along further.

The low purring lull of your name in your ear by that oh so familiar voice got your heart aching, racing, seeking solace in that comfort. Enough to where you hummed as your tired eyes opened to the shadows with daylight sneaking in through the gap of your dark curtains, highlighting the pair of amorous light grey gazing intensely at you from above.

“Good morning, nae sarang.”

That encompassing form of Sung Jinwoo melted against your smaller form, submerging you in the faint scent of his earthy smoky cologne ingrained in his clothes. Your hands paw at his back, serving as an anchor to help pull you both closer.

“Bogo sipeun.” You murmur against his addicting lips, feeling him smiling, hearing his deep hum, when his elbows were sinking deep on both sides of your pillow, weaving those lithe fingers through your hair, cradling your noggin as the new tilted angle gave him the chance for his tongue to dip right on in. The creamy taste of coffee filled your mouth, bringing pleased hums at the forefront.

“You're learning well.” He crooned. Your Korean was still a work in progress, yet your cheeks burned deliciously nonetheless, earning you tender pecks to both of them when he finally pulled away. “I made you breakfast.”

He patiently waited for you to sit up enough before he carefully set down the loaded tray from your nightstand to your lap, all your favorites presented pristinely. “I'm supposed to be gift giving today, not the other way around.” You murmured, rubbing your eyes, when his sneaky suckling mouth latched onto your neck, making you giggle at the ticklish sensation.

“I know … but worshipping you is my year long holiday.” He grinned seeing the nice mark he left on your skin. “Now, would you rather I feed you myself? Because we have a long day planned out.”

You grabbed his scarred left hand, nuzzling your cheek along his warm rough palm, smittently smooching all over those permanent burn marks, cradling that weary damaged hand as an extension of your lifeline to the man before you.

His thumb instinctively brushed your bottom lip, when those e/c eyes fluttered up in that entranced sense that spurned his inner beast on. “What do you think, sarangkkun~?”

The many glowing violet eyes of the Shadow army widened from the trembles coming their way as their master growled hungrily against your neck, leaving a possessive bite on your collarbone, you squeezing his scarred hand sending a jolt of painful pleasure through his limb.

“Careful jagi. Come tonight … I'll make sure we both have our fill … I promise you~”

Despite those words full of dark anticipation, you were astounded at how you were able to eat after that. Then again, feeling his burnt hand brushing your skin as it cupped your cheek felt too nice to let go of, your pretty flustered face locked onto his calm, smiling one that wouldn't let up on giving you butterflies, your heart pounding in painful pleasure itself.

After that, freshening up and getting dressed for the day felt like quite the tizzy with the enriching laugh he left you with as he took the emptied tray to wash, still rattling in your eardrums.

A day out in the bustling Korean city awaited you.

Many eyes on you, full of couples and singles mesmerized by the presence of the 10th S ranked hunter in the country walking through the decorated streets, displays of hearts and flowers keeping the theme of the worldwide holiday apparent to all. His arm hugged around your waist with his gloved hand squeezing your hip tightly, face neutral but senses alert in case anyone dares try anything, hence him claiming you for all to see. Your hand overlayed his own, squeezing him gently released his tensed nerves, if only for a reprieve.

However, aside from the usual fan greetings and words of thanks for all his hard work as a hunter protecting their country, it was smooth sailing.

While the norm was chocolate gift giving, you were given a shopping spree. Your attempts at refuting such a generous offer was silenced by Jinwoo's many insistent kisses.

“You're impossible.” Your mumbling recession at just going along with it as you spun about in oh so many new clothes that caught your eyes, fashionable and comfy, as he lounged in the cozy waiting chair with crossed legs, reminding you of the sight of the Monarch posed in his throne, infatuated with the sight of you getting more lovely with every outfit you tried on.

“And you're breathtaking. Remember that.”

“I still can't help but feel deep down that I don't deserve any of this. That you chose me out of everyone else … even someone of your age like Cha Hae-In.” Twiddling with your hands did little to push down the doubts.

Humming deeply, he squeezed your shoulders supportively, startling you right out of your skin. “Age is just a number, though.”

His chin rested atop your head, stubbornness reflected back at you from the body length mirror in the private dressing room, wolfishly grinning.

“You're more than enough for me. You've always been."

Your docile face turned around enough, angling just right to land an appreciative peck on his cheek; your newly bought lipstick decorating his cheek, crinkling as he chuckled.

Anxious awkward nerves rattled you as you two ate out next. The high class restaurant overlooking the buzzing plaza, the late afternoon highlighting the city skyline and beyond. His other, bare hand squeezed your other hand across the table, reminding you you weren't alone.

“Sorry. You went to the trouble of booking this place for us and I'm dampening the mood.”

“Don't be. I know being out and about is a lot for you to take in. If you want, we can go someplace less … grand.”

“No. I want to stay. We have the place to ourselves after all, my gijeok.”

You gasp at seeing him pull something hidden away in his shadow, presenting a bouquet of variety flowers to you with that charming smile of his. “For you, naui bit.”

Accepting the flowers with gratitude, his foot slyly brushing yours had you biting your lip, his silver eyes darkening at the display. Your bashful return of it had you two playing footsie underneath the clothed table, your nerves settling down as you clink your filled glasses in a toast, drinking before settling in for your late lunch meal. And yes, you ordered more than enough to have leftovers for later.

Any and every gaze sent your way from any passerby after was overpowered by the penetrating stare, scent and strength of the strapping man claimed as yours.

The rare chance you had while traversing through the busy market was when Jinwoo was sought out by some kids turned fans of his, able to slip away to buy from a booth selling velvet boxes and bags filled with your intended gift to him from the start.

The curious raised brow look thrown your way when you returned to his side had your insides doing flips, but he stayed silent, his arm returning to pin you right by his side.

However, the moment he led you both back to his parked car and got in with your bags, his very shadow engulfed you both, clinging onto him from impulse at this twist.

The whipping airs of the chilling darkness dissipate as fast as they appeared when you arrived at a new destination.

Whether it was an actual spot in the real world or you were in another reality altogether, you were speechless, getting out of the car to take in the view. The outdoor pool of shimmering waters teeming with such a mana esque aura mesmerized you at first sight. The surrounding flora and fauna were all in cool shades of violets. The full moon rays casting its highlights among the shadows.

“I recently discovered this place during my travels. Figured it'd be a nice final stop for today. Think of it like our own personal mineral bath. The healing properties are quite rejuvenating. Can't do much for this hand, though.” Him flexing said covered limb with gloom overtaking his face at the sheer memory of it.

Being the one to give his hand a reassuring squeeze brought a tint of pink to his cheeks. “Well, I love your hands, scars and all.” Your honest open emotion made the rest of his restraint finally crumble.

His hands enveloped your frame immediately, easily stripping you out of your attire, the merging of blue and purple mana undoing his own apparel for him, as he laid an onslaught right into your welcoming caverns.

Above and below.

Your senses heighten as the waters seeped into your body, bringing forth your desire in such palpable degrees. Tongues clash, sloppy smacking of lips devouring one another, and hands exploring as he leads you two into the sparkling oasis.

He leaned back against the edge of the lake, weaving a handful of your hair through his fingertips all to keep a grip, arrogantly admiring the view of you straddling his lap while making out with his pecs, practically chewing on them, teething on his perked up nipples, dragging his quavering groans and sighs right outta him, pride swelling within at you claiming him as yours. Your tongue scorched down to his six pack before giving them the same special treatment, his firm muscles flexing from how your sweet mouth created goosebumps along his canvas.

Tugging your hair insistently, you get smothered by his all encompassing mouth, easily lifting you up with one arm underneath your thighs just to get you hugging his slim waistline, raising you high, the moon casting you in its lunar blessing, crafting your vulnerable beauty to be Jinwoo's alone to cherish and ravish. The magic infused waters serve as a lubricant, luck working in his favor to have his veiny thickness getting slowly but surely into your already gushing gummy walls.

“Naui Cheonguk~” He moaned in the crook of your neck, greedy hickeys decorating your skin from your neck to your shoulder blades. Scratching his undercut had him rutting more feverishly, devouring your velvety boobs next.

Your wind swept head craned back, trained on the galaxy of stars painting the midnight sky, believing this place to be paradise itself, scorching rapture unraveling your very core brought forth by the marbled crafted adonis thrusting vigorously into your womb from below. “Naui Haneul … all mine.” His hefty pants hit your swollen marked breasts jiggling right in his face before suckling them like the starving animal that he is.

“Your cunt is sheer bliss. You relish being my cocksleeve, don't you? My touch starved whore? Filled to the brim, clenching on tightly, as I stuff up your needy quivering hole. Your horny cries won't let you deny it. Tell me, does your pussy love being on my cock?” Those half lidded eyes looked up at you, his nose nestled in the valley between your mounds, that all consuming gaze of his had you squirting harder along his shaft.

“Mmmh yes~! S – nngh – so m – aaah – so much~!”

“So sexually deprived, so touch starved, that you genuinely questioned if you were worthy to be by my side.” His hand fondled and smacked your rumbling peachy cheeks, leaving a faint handprint along one, thriving off your sharp moans as he fingered you between those cheeks in tune with his spread ravishing your insides upfront. “When these– aah – past few months – mmmh – have been – nngh – utter bliss~” His canine teeth pearly smiled up at you, licking those swollen lips. “I'll never let you go.”

His primal ferocity clashed with his sense of speaking through the electric rush coursing through his mana filled veins; literally popping out along those flexing biceps of his.

“Y/n … my wicked angel … you're mine.” That heavy, gruff tone his voice became, the predatory glare of those glowing blue irises had you clutching unbearably so. Raising you until only his tip stayed within, bringing you back down to take him in full.

“I love you, Jinwoo~! All of you~!” Your watered up eyes spilling trails of hot tears down that flushed face he adored so much had him kissing those tears away, licking away that salty goodness.

“Then come for me, love. ARISE.”

That word, in that deep low resonance, would make anyone bust hard. It reverberated straight to your bundle of nerves, clawing his back deeply, crashing down in blinding euphoria.

The white hot seige of his seed flooded through your gates straight after, his well endowed balls slapping you feverishly, unloading all that he had, his strangled moan cuffed to your breathless shrill cry. Rutting up savagely to chase that high with you, cum encircled his shaft, as streams of your juices spilled down your spasming thighs and his sturdy ones.

Yet one orgasmic rush wouldn't be enough to satiate the second Shadow Monarch, the absence of him through your folds, the rush of hot air giving you whiplash, as he got your upper body sinking in stomach first along the earth like ground, your fanny waving in the air, now filling your asshole to the brim with his coated schlong, the new angle got you mewling madly. The nasty squelching sounds he pounded into you stirred him back to semi erectness.

Clawing at the grass, leaving indents in the ground, arching your back against his soaked chest, his arm hugged your squirming waistline. His scarred hand abusingly rubbed your neglected clit, fisting right into your sensitively pulsing cunt, his other hand grasped your neck to force you to look right at his gorgeous, groaning self.

“I'll spend every waking moment, in this lifetime and the next, until you can feel and think of nothing else but my profound devotion to you, banjjak~” He was so damn close to edging over again.

Your orgasmic yell busted all over his jacked forearm, the trigger to him following suit, pulling right outta you just to witness himself ejaculating all over your backside.

Collapsing carefully and slowly atop you, these heaving bodies took their time to finally catch a breath, his hand releasing your neck to clasp your shoulder, your own face buried in your arms to rest if only in those moments.

His cream covered hand pulled out to your whining dismay. Tilting your head back, you obscenely watch him lewdly licking it clean, drops of semen dotting your drooling face with your tongue sticking out shamelessly. Another sloppy shower of smooches to clean up that breathtaking face of yours.

Igris, Iron, Tank and even Tusk were bashfully averting their eyes the whole time, laying out blankets for you two to sit upon, some to help clean you up, and others to drape yourselves in, before returning to their inky domain.

Helping you both out of the soiled waters, you sat on the already laid out blanket as Jinwoo cleaned you both up gingerly, tossing the soiled cloth aside then wrapped a new clean blanket big enough to cover you both, sharing body heat to battle the cool breeze arriving.

“So,” A mini shadow creature popped out from the side to deliver your bought gift straight to Jinwoo's awaiting hand, slinking back to join its comrades. “How's about sharing this with me, you sneaky little minx~?”

The next half hour was spent in each other’s arms, feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries one at a time, resting your head against his shoulder, taking in the sounds of crickets and cicadas, relaxing in the calm night, exchanging cocoa berry tasting kisses.

“I love you too, Y/n. More than anything. I'm honored to be standing next to you.”

It would be another half hour until you two would dress back up and return to your plane of reality, straight to your shared abode to spend the rest of the night into the following morning conked out in bed.

For now, this is how you spend your Valentine's Day.

Together.

[casimirnoctis]

"But you know the truth of them now, no?" His eyes scanned her, not with scrutiny of her proclamation to such lands being crude fables, but merely assessing Freydis when she mentioned Aetheron, of her home being taken. He could understand keeping an arm's length away from personal tragedy, from grief; what knowledge of their troupe here, which he learned mostly from Juneau, he'd not wish upon any regular person. Casimir nodded, a simple agreement to her claim, shrugging after a pause, "I believe my mother would much prefer one donned in full plate, leading at the front lines much like you." Casimir couldn't say that his mother would appreciate Freydis' assumed emotional depth, feelings that surpassed any calloused tactics of the battlefield, but Freydis - Icefang - was a seasoned warrior, a jarl who had her own underdog ascension. "Someone who has the claim of being unbowed and undefeated," Casimir continued, as a dhampir it was difficult for his emotions to be pulled to the surface, his expression flat despite his dry humor currently.

He respected the legends which spoke of what she was, but such stories did not serve him, his own plight. He knew of Icefang but he did not cower at the rumors which spilled into the Iskaran Thieves Guild or charted from village to village. "My eldest sister has been first in command for my mother's schemes for quite some time. A war general, but someone of such egos." There was hidden delight in the fact that it seemed, despite his context clues of his uncle and of Veilcrest, she seemed to have no idea of his family hierarchy.

“It’s good to meet you, Casimir,” she responded, repeating his name to help her remember it with her usual warmth. She waited for some sort of reaction to Icefang, but it never came. Where he wasn’t familiar, she guessed, with the legend of Icefang, he was capable of intuiting which she would prefer to be called and she was grateful for it. “Oh, the Deadlands,” she said with a nod. “In Iskaldrik, those aren’t even real. They’re fables, bedtime story fodder, too great and terrible for us to accept as true in any way. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy for the Aetheron to dismantle; our isolationism and fear.” She gave a rueful shrug at the thought. “You must be a very impressive mind to survive such a harrowing proving ground, and then thrive in such an oppressive one.” And she meant it. As he spoke, she looked back at the highly decorated men around the room, their medals gleaming and their cloaks woven of the finest fabrics and colored with rich, expensive dyes. Freydis’ own armor had some flourishes, but in many places it was now dented and dull from use. “I believe in leading from the front lines, shoulder to shoulder,” she responded, but looked at Casimir. “It takes many different skills to win a war,” she said, knowing this likely seemed contrary to what she had just said, “A powerful mind is a powerful tool, but if that mind is more ego than valor it can be an Achilles Heel. You seem a keen mind to me, but you don’t seem like the latter to me on first impression.”

[celayawitcher]

starter for @kayames.

where: progress day

when: day 1

note: not my best work but the crack will come

Celaya is quite literally holding a lantern by the string, eyeing it as closely as she can. The antimagic in her is a touch unhappy for it, writhing against the feeling of the pulsing aetherium which charged the lit lantern as the sun began to set around the first day of Progress Day. Chariot races and a gladiator match had set the tone, and in another day and some change she'd embark on a ship for a lazy ride spliced with a history lesson. She was nervous; she could recall when Lady Severian had brought her to Neptunalia like some prized Iskaran token, but she felt some sense of understanding when it came to Ingrid - and once Akanis.

"Do you know anything about this stuff?" She'd been off in the alley near Comedy Keep, letting the lantern float back into the sky as the bleach blonde approached, watching as it drifted off and away.

[ryujinseaborn]

starter for @jovethebarbarian.

where: progress day

when: day 1 or 2 ya kno

note: as requested :* let me know if this is okay!

"A pirate and a highway man immersing themselves in the spoils of Progress Day - certainly there's a punchline in there somewhere," Ryu quirked a brow at the other, he didn't know Jove, and what he did understand about the other was criminalizing to any extent. All was forgiven by a pirate anyhow and he hoped to disarm the other if he didn't recognize Ryu by offering a mild grin. When his father was still captain of the Leviathan, he'd had his fair share of run ins with the Crimson Reavers, sometimes he'd offer them safe passage to escape the law for a hefty fee, but overtime there had been whispers of their disbandment, and it hadn't been a pretty picture.

[lotharx]

starter for @etienneulven.

where: pwogwess day, in the mercury's bazaar somewhere

when: day 1 or 2 ya kno

note: i got tired of using the same 20 season 1 gifs gasp

The streets of Eterna seemed to be sprawling with everybody who occupied Lysara as of current. Whispers had flooded the streets up to a month prior, talks of something called Progress Day, and with it came whispers of what Queen Arethusa had promised in turn this year. Lothar had always been a rather stern pessimist; it took a lot to rouse the barbarian to think of something positive or hope for a better tomorrow when it came to everything he and any Iskaran already endured.

There were whispers of whatever machinations here having the tech to hopefully strengthen them to returning to their home, whatever could possibly be left of it, and though Lothar was itching to accomplish such motive, he was unsure of accepting such buffs to their fight.

"How much faith do you have in the Lysaran queen's decree?" As another red hand, Lothar was fond of their input when it came to such topics.

[theonxepialos]

"I guess I can agree with him on some things then it seems," there's the faintest quirk of a smile, though it's meant to dig under the skin of the merchant who sat casually before him. Theon's eyes studied the other, he wasn't sure if he preferred the image of Falon dressed in his best merchant's garb or as underdressed as he was currently. The smile faded as Falon tossed this question out between them, something which felt strangely lethal from the person proposing it. "I kill for others, I don't die for them," a very clear dodge of the question, his eyes still falling over Falon, assessing him, "We both know your answer."

"No business." Falon reiterated, though if an opportunity presented itself the changeling was known for taking advantage. "Napoleon thinks making my life more difficult is amusing, and he knows we have the capital to burn when he wins." His brow remained set as he spoke, reaching for his drink as he sat back in his chair. Gaze drifting upward to the transporter over the Tower - the world had gotten smaller, and their coffers overflowed for it. Falon's rivals would be pushed out, rendered obsolete, and all that remained was to repay the debts that Theon spoke of. "Nevertheless." It went unfinished, but nevertheless, Falon was completely in love with him. "Is there anyone you care for, Theon?" He understood the business of leverage, he didn't expect a name from someone who kept his world so closely guarded to his chest. "Someone you'd die for."

[scuderiahoney]

After All

Charles Leclerc x bestfriend!reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, tooth rotting fluff

Charles is a lot of things. He’s determined, hardworking, a bit of a self sacrificing dumbass. He’s kind, talented, humble, confident, soft. He’s your best friend, your closest confidant, the person you would trust with your life.

And, according to everyone who’s ever seen the two of you together, he’s madly in love with you.

…..

Pierre’s the first one to say it. He’s known both of you the longest, he’s one of Charles’ best friends. He sidles up next to you on a warm afternoon. You’re both on Charles’ yacht, leaning against the railing and watching as he does a backflip off the deck and into the water.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” you point out, “and Ferrari will not be happy.”

Pierre snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “He is showing off.”

You give him a look of disbelief. “For who?”

Before he can answer, you’re drawn to look at Charles again when he calls your name. You watch and wave at him, and then he lines himself up for another stupid trick dive that makes your stomach lurch. He makes a splash when he lands, sinking deeper and deeper till you can’t see him through the bubbles. Just when you start to worry, just when you feel like he’s been under too long, he resurfaces. He kicks himself to the surface, hair plastered to his forehead, laughing raucously. He’s suddenly the boy you met at 13, big dreams and big plans and a big personality to get him there.

“You,” Pierre says, jarring you out of your staring. “He is showing off for you.”

You roll your eyes and elbow your friend. “What? He is not. Why would he be trying to impress me?”

“Because he is in love with you,” Pierre states, so matter of fact you almost don’t realize what he’s saying. “Come on, it’s obvious.”

“He is not!” You laugh, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “Jesus, Pierre, the fumes from those engines must really be getting to you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to speak, probably to rebut with some insane theory he’ll present as fact. He’s interrupted by Charles calling your name again. This time he’s waving you down to the back deck, eyes sparkling. He’s going to want you to jump in. You have a fear of heights, a fear of falling, a fear of deep, open water. Despite it all, you head down to meet him anyways. Charles could talk you into anything, could make even the scariest things seem easy.

“You have to hold my hand, though,” you say, when he urges you to jump in with him. “The whole way, no letting go.”

“The whole way,” he promises, knitting your fingers together.

…..

It’s a bit of fate that you end up in Suzuka for the race. You hadn’t been planning on going, but there’d been cheap flights available when you looked the week before, and suddenly you’re off to Japan. Charles is thrilled about it, always happy to have you there, even when he’s busy and barely gets to see you. He says there’s something comforting about knowing you’re in the garage or the stands.

He takes you with him to as many things as he can, including the pre race media days. The second you meet up with him after you get to Japan, he’s talking non stop about Sebastian’s Buzzin Corner project, and your heart melts at the excitement in his eyes. He’s been missing Seb lately, having a tough go of things and searching for guidance.

You watch from behind the scenes, behind the cameras, as the entire grid arrives to make pollinator hotels and decorate canvases. You smile when Sebastian spots Charles and runs over to give him a hug, and you smile even bigger when Charles follows Sebastian around like a lost puppy. Sebastian seems just as happy to be near Charles again, stopping by to check on Ferrari’s progress frequently.

Charles turns during a lull in the event, when the cameras are on another team and Sebastian is distracted, too. He waves you over, eyes bright, smile wide. You can’t help but be drawn towards him. Any time he wants you nearby, you go willingly, eagerly.

He has paint on his fingers, speckles of it on his shirt. Charles is creative, too. He doesn’t get nearly enough chances to show it, in your opinion. He’s stifled by brand deals and the public eye and overbearing management. You stand next to him, eyeing his and Carlos’ artwork with a soft smile. The pollinator hotel is filled with supplies, the roof is decorated, and Charles tells you excitedly that they’ve already had their first “guest”. He hands you a paintbrush when nobody is paying attention.

“You should add something, chéri,” he says, nudging you lightly.

You look up at him, twist your face into an unsure smile. “Am I allowed to?”

“Of course,” Sebastian says, having made his way back around to the Ferrari team. You smile at Charles’ old teammate as he pays your shoulder lightly. “It’s not exclusive, you know.”

You laugh, reaching out with the paintbrush and adding a small heart next to the stripes and stamps the guys have painted on. “A little love for the the pollinators and bugs.”

“You weren’t saying that about that spider last week,” Charles teases.

“It was in my hair,” you say through gritted teeth, looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t slander me in front of Seb.”

Carlos is giggling, watching the two of you. Sebastian is doing the same, his eyes lit up reminding you of years ago when he and Charles had been teammates. He’d joked about the two of you exhausting him, with your boundless energy and constant flip flopping between bickering and affection. You’d insisted you were the ones keeping Sebastian young.

Someone calls Charles and Carlos over for a photo op. You peruse the bee hotel while you stand next to Sebastian. There’s a lot of people’s artwork on there, but somehow you think you know which brushstrokes belong to Charles.

“I see not much has changed,” Sebastian says, nodding his head towards Charles. “He calls you darling and then teases you in the same minute.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “He is my best friend, both of those things are his job.”

“Ah, to be young and oblivious,” Sebastian says in a lilting tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughs, tilts his head at you. “Just that my wife was my best friend, once.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The glare has no effect if the grin on his face says anything. Sebastian is older, wiser, and Charles trusts his judgement on nearly everything, but you know he’s wrong about this. There’s no way Charles sees you as anything more than a friend. You’ve come to terms with that. You can live with that. You have to live with that.

Charles makes his way back over to the two of you, hands in his pockets. You plaster a sunny smile back on your face and try to ignore the way Sebastian is watching the two of you. Charles is telling you to paint something else, pointing out the empty space left on the canvas and the bee hotel.

He takes your hand, still wrapped around the paintbrush, in his own. He dips it in the black paint, leads you over to the wooden structure, and adds another heart.

“More love,” he says, singsongy, squeezing your hand. Behind you, Sebastian barely muffles an affectionate laugh. “More love for the bugs.”

…..

“This is my favorite song!” You yell over the booming bass.

You have a drink in your hand, your… 6th? of the night? You’re not sure, you’ve lost count. Charles keeps handing them to you every time your gets low. It’s always tequila and soda, always with two limes.

Charles laughs, shaking his head. “You have said that about every song in the past hour.”

“I mean it this time,” you say, eyes wide. You’re standing up from the table, pulling on his arm. “C’mon, we should dance, Charlie!”

He groans lightheartedly. Really, all of this should be your sign to cut yourself off. You don’t like dancing, and you rarely call him Charlie. Everyone calls him Charles, so you’d let the nickname go years ago. You’d worried it made you sound childish, made you sound like you were holding onto years past. He doesn’t budge from his spot in the booth, watching you warily.

“Amour, I don’t like this song as much as you apparently do,” he says, shaking his head. “And I like dancing even less.”

“Fine,” you say with a pout. “I will find someone else, then.”

You melt into the crowd before he can pull you back into the booth and down to earth. You’re at that pleasant stage of drunk where everything is funny and fuzzy and floaty. You spot Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, at the bar, and she needs much less convincing to join you on the dance floor. She abandons Alex with George and follows you eagerly. It’s Las Vegas, you’re here to have fun. This is fun. The two of you squeeze through the swirling mass of people till you find a good spot.

You don’t know how long it’s been when Charles finds you there- you just know you’re sweaty, a few drinks deeper, and past the point of no return. The song that’s playing now is your actual favorite song, a fact that you tell Charles when he steps in front of you, his hands on your waist to steady you.

“I know,” he says, because of course he knows. Nobody knows you better than him. “I also know you are drunk.”

“M’having a good time,” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his neck. It’s just to keep you steady, you tell yourself. “Vegas, baby!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, but he starts to sway to the music with you. One hand stays on your hip, but the other comes around to your back and pulls you closer. You like being pressed against him, like being able to feel the warmth of him even through the fabric of your clothing. You don’t think before you spin in his grip, press your back to his front, keep your arm around his neck behind your head. Tomorrow morning, or rather, later today, you can blame it on the alcohol.

Charles wraps his arm around your waist in response, and you swear you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he pulls you in again. You’ll blame that on the alcohol too.

It’s like you blink, and then you’re standing out on the sidewalk, surrounded by the lights of the Las Vegas strip. The night air is cold, and you laugh to yourself, thinking about all the talk of a night race in the desert and the temperature.

“What’s so funny?” Max asks.

You’re surprised to find him standing next to you, and you blink at him.

“S’cold,” you say, unable to explain the rest of it. You just giggle again. “Where’s Charlie?”

Max raises his brows. “He went inside to get your jacket. You left it in the booth. Remember, five minutes ago, when you said it was cold?”

Huh. You don’t remember, but Max is probably telling the truth. He and Charles are more of friendly rivals than enemies now, despite their formative years. Max is definitely not trying to kidnap you as revenge. He has nothing to get revenge for- he won the race. Maybe he’s bitter that a Grand Prix he talked about so negatively had ended up being one of the best of the season, you suppose. Though you’re not sure that would give him a reason to kidnap you-

“I called him that once,” Max says, and you tilt your head at him. “Charlie. He didn’t like it.”

You remember. It was in Brazil, when they’d all been gathered in a garage. You’d seen it in a video. You can’t admit that, though, without admitting you watch tiktoks of your best friend, so you stay quiet on that subject.

“He thinks it’s childish,” you say with a shrug, scuffing the toe of your shoe on the ground. “I… forget, sometimes.”

You forget that Charles isn’t just your thirteen year old friend, the guy you’d never expected to even tolerate you. You can’t remember how it even happened, how you went from barely saying hi in the halls at school to dinners with his family, homework at their kitchen table. You’re not sure it matters now. What matters is keeping him a part of your life.

You’ve adapted. You’ve let pieces of him go, like childhood nicknames and any hope he’ll ever look at you the same way you look at him. Charles is larger than life, now. You’re still small. You’re still thirteen sometimes, still sitting at the table, begging Charlie to help you with your math problems.

“That’s the thing,” Max says, nudging your side lightly. “He doesn’t seem to mind when it’s you that says it.”

You frown. “Oh, he definitely minds.”

Max shrugs. “He doesn’t show it, then. Probably because he loves you.”

You nod solemnly. “I am his best friend.”

“Right,” Max laughs. “Sure. Friend.”

Charles reappears shortly after that, your jacket in hand. It turns out Max isn’t even leaving- he’d just been tasked with keeping an eye on you while Charles went back inside. He says goodbye and goes back into the club, while Charles is checking his phone, telling you the car should be there any minute. The night has gone from fuzzy to blurry, and you lean heavily on Charles’ shoulder, blinking repeatedly and trying to stay awake. He pours you into the backseat of the car, drags you out of it ten minutes later when you get to the hotel.

“You are so drunk,” he says, standing in the elevator, your head against his chest.

“I know you are but whatamI?” You slur, tugging on his jacket.

Charles just laughs. Even if he could understand you, he wouldn’t get the reference. His hand is resting on your shoulder, fingers squeezing your bare skin softly. You’d taken your jacket off as soon as you got inside, complaining about being hot. Charles had just taken it from your hands with an exasperated smile.

“I think you should sleep in my room,” he suggests when the elevator dings and the doors begin to open. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

You’re not that drunk, but you’re not going to argue. “Yeah, okay.”

When you wake up in his bed in the morning, Charles is asleep on the couch. He’s stretched out, one arm hanging off the edge, one foot on the armrest. His blanket is tangled in his limbs, and you feel guilty, suddenly. It was his night to celebrate, and he’d ended up taking care of you, ended up sacrificing his hotel bed and sleeping on the sofa. You sit up, feeling sick to your stomach, and not from the hangover.

“Lay down,” Charles says, not even opening his eyes. “S’too early. You need more sleep.”

“I should go to my room,” you whisper, and he opens one eye and looks at you warily. “That couch cannot be comfortable.”

“It’s not,” he admits, and the guilt lurches in your gut again. He’s smiling, though. “You tried to insist on sharing the bed, but you were very drunk.”

That’s not surprising. Drunk you always wants Charles close. You direct your eyes to the comforter and muster up all the courage you have left.

“I’m sober now,” you tell him. “So either we share the bed, or I go to my room. You look so uncomfortable.”

Charles hesitates for only a second. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, if you’ve crossed the line. But then he’d shifting, untangling himself from the blankets and tumbling off the couch. He crawls into the bed next to you, sighing happily as he sinks into the mattress. Seemingly almost without thinking, he reaches out, slips his arm around your waist, and hauls you against his chest. You let it happen.

There’s something sacred about the time between morning and night. The sky is a purple hue outside the hotel room window. The halls are quiet. Charles’ heart thuds in your ear, steady and beating out a soothing rhythm, and nothing about this feels out of place. It’s like this is where you’re meant to be, tucked against him, slotted together like puzzle pieces. You wrap your arm around his upper arm, and he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

“G’night, Charlie,” you mumble.

He laughs, and it’s a sweet sound. There’s no hostility behind it. “Goodnight, amour.”

…..

There’s something to be said about your inability to see something as it is until it’s staring you in the face. You’re stubborn as a mule, and maybe blind as a bat, too. It’s not till the holiday break that it all clicks into place.

Charles is sitting next to you at your kitchen counter, decorating cookies. You’ve been baking all weekend. It’s your grandmother’s recipe, now your responsibility to keep up the tradition. There are batches set aside for your family to decorate later, another set for the cookie party you’re holding with some of your friends from university. But Charles had whined and begged about wanting to decorate cookies, about wanting to be a part of the tradition, and you’d given in oh so easily.

He has a heart shaped one in his hand, a knife with red frosting in the other hand. He’s being so delicate, so particular, like it means so much to him. It’s just a cookie, you want to say to him. You hold my actual heart in your hands every day without a care, but you’re so delicate with a cookie?

Except, then, you’re thinking about it, and maybe that’s not true. Charles is brash and bold and confident, but he’s never anything other than gentle with you. He cares deeply, throws himself headfirst into things, he’s all or nothing. But when he’s around you he lets his guard down, takes the time to think. He’s cautious, heartfelt, kind. He takes his time.

“Max asked me to play padel today,” he says casually. “To make up for him missing our match.”

You laugh, though it feels a bit forced. You’re watching his hands, watching as he takes the white icing and writes something on the cookie. “Oh? You didn’t go?”

Charles shakes his head. “He wasn’t free till 11:00. I told you I’d be here at 10:30.”

You frown, blinking at him. He’s so focused on the cookie he doesn’t even notice you staring. He hasn’t spent this much time on a single cookie since he got to your apartment that morning.

“You could have come over later,” you say.

He shakes his head. “This was more important. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

It shouldn’t be the moment, is the thing. Nothing spectacular happens. It’s not like he’s made some big confession, not like anything drastic has changed. Somehow, you just know. He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face, and it’s so, so obvious. You wonder if this is what he sees when you look at him. You wonder if this is what everyone else has seen and told you about. There’s so much love in his gaze that it makes your heart skip a beat, makes your skin feel hot, makes your fingertips go numb. You set your cookie down on the table.

He holds his in his own hand, peering down at it as if he’s judging it in a competition. He turns it between his fingers, leaving a red thumbprint on the underside of it. He has icing on his fingers, all the colors of the rainbow. It’ll probably stain his skin.

“You are always more important,” he breathes, and you can’t breathe at all. “The most important.”

He turns the cookie towards you, but you already know what it’ll say. His initials and yours, in white icing on a red backdrop. He’s been saying it all along, really. The whole way. More love. I know. Somehow it has still caught you off guard, stolen the air from your lungs and the words from your lips. All this time pining after him and you had never actually considered he might be feeling it, too. But it’s there, written on the cookie, and it’s written on his face, too.

You lean in to kiss him. He tastes like frosting and feels like love, and you wonder how you didn’t see it sooner.

…..

A week later, Pierre spots the matching hickeys on yours and Charles’ necks and laughs his ass off.

“I told you,” he says, through peals of laughter, shaking his head. “You are both so blind.”

Charles wraps his arm around your waist, and you shrug. You stare up at your boyfriend, happier than you’ve ever been, the weight of his hand on your hip grounding you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, dismissing Pierre even as he continues to laugh. “We figured it out. That’s all that matters.”

Charles leans close, presses his lips to your forehead. You feel it all. The years of waiting, wondering, wishing. Pierre is congratulating the two of you and saying something about calling Carlos about a bet they’d apparently had. You can’t bring yourself to care. In the end, you suppose, Pierre deserves to gloat. All your friends do.

They were right, after all.

thanks for reading! you can check out my other fics here!

[jenscx]

DAYLIGHT — yu jimin smau

park y/n is known for many things. she’s known as a pretty streamer, a popular entertainer and a hothead when it comes to video games. it’s unfortunate that her rash personality erupts when she meets yu jimin in an overwatch match.

status loading... in progress!

# tags fluff, angst, influencer!jimin x streamer!reader, enemies to lovers, cursing, gamer!reader, toxic behaviour (in game), kys jokes, suggestive themes more to be added!

featuring aespa, lesserafim (chaewon, yunjin, sakura), ex-izone members (minju, yena, hyewon)

important ! this fic is not an accurate portrayal of the kpop idols mentioned. everything stated is fiction.

characters e-girls | battle bus

00. prologue

01. reported

02. who’s that

03. degration kink

04. lying ass

05. shane dawson doc

06. WRONG KIM

07. the boy is mine

08. virgin activity

09. mentally insane

10. battleships

11. d-day [half-written]

12. sugar mama

13. separation anxiety

14. miss me

15. thinking bout you [half-written]

16. a few words

17. league of losers

18. dating rumours?

19. happy pride month!

20. PEANUT BUTTER

21. june vlog!

22. 163cm dwarf

23. inner alpha

24. FUCKASS ANIME FANS

bonus. is this easy mode?

25. fawking joe king

26. ratrina

27. la seduce

28. double it

29. digital footprint

30. inside out 2

31. wolf in her

32. bigfoot sighting

33. date (not clickbait) [half-written]

34. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

35. OPERATION!

36. a situation.

37. suicide postponed

38. dawgmaster

39. poll time!

40. damn cigarette

41. #SAVEMINJEONG2024

bonus. miss twilight sparkle

42. apologies and reunions

43. dot dot dot

44. anger management

45. regina george

46. comic con dupe

47. REPORTED MISSING

48. silly little plan

49. dirty little secret

50. february vlog

51. who is in WHO?

TAGLIST ! @imahallucination11 @wallfl9wer @seullovesme @twicesserafim @klvarchives @rinapomu @pandafuriosa60 @jisooftme @cwpiqwon @yoontoonwhs @xen248 @r4cjh @dni-unavailable @yukianism @i3lia @ryujinsdimple @httpisaoki @haerinsloverr @masuowo @multiliker @edenzeepy @1luvkarina @yeetaberry127 @saysirhc @somedaydream @sixflame438 @drvirgus (closed)

[vivienne-charm]

Dr. Stone Headcanons

x Texts with them Pt. 2 x

Part 1 here!

Part 2 bc part 1 reached 100 notes. Tysm !!! ♡

Stanley Snyder

⋆ he's an asshole

⋆ but a very cool asshole

⋆ the way he talks, the way he carries himself, even the way he texts, it's so suave

⋆ god forbid you ask for his opinion on something... it's always MEAN AF

⋆ "Stanley, which pic should I post on my socials?"

⋆ "whichever makes you look less ugly"

⋆ "...wtf?"

⋆ "so neither"

⋆ he enjoys being playfully mean to you to gauze your reaction

⋆ but if he senses you're genuinely hurt by his comment, the blondie will attempt to soothe you in his own way

⋆ "don't worry, being ugly means less creeps around you"

⋆ "stfu, stanley"

⋆ "yes, ma'am" / "yes, sir"

⋆ as you guys grow closer, this non-chalant man finds himself looking for ways to make you even more embarrassed and flustered

⋆ so sometimes he would randomly text you with sweet nicknames

⋆ oh don't ever let him know that you fw being called a good girl/good boy

⋆ if you did then uh oh, pack it up, its so over for you. he's going to ABUSE that phrase. you just handed him your leash with that one.

⋆ since he's a military man he can't be with you all the time to banter with you and all... that's why the texts between you guys mean alot to him so he makes sure to keep a backup of them just in case something happens to his phone

⋆ yk those group of people who sing happy birthday and dance around with a pic of the said person if you pay them...

⋆ for your birthday, stanley motherfuckin' snyder sends them the most embarrassing, most hideous candid picture of you which he sneakily clicked so he can send you a vid of them wishing you a happy birthday

⋆ he knows how to piss you off

⋆ and....he knows how to make it up to you as well ;)

⋆ either way, texts between you and stanley can get intense real quick. whether its from an intense banter or other stuff, it is upon you guys.

Xeno Houston Wingfield

⋆ apart from being a goofy disney villain....ok sorry sorry, apart from being a cruel dicktator, he's a sweet loverboy at heart

⋆ "Good morning, sweets! Good Night, Lovey! Have you eaten yet? Oh, did you enjoy your hiking trip?"

⋆ proper grammar, no spelling error, formal greeting, detailed interrogation

⋆ you almost concluded that this man cannot distinguish between an email and a normal text

⋆ but you were wrong

⋆ because to him texting each other is like being a PEN PAL with him, far from an e-mail...

⋆ but he's so sweet, you dont have the heart to tell him that he doesn't have to end his texts with "Yours elegantly, Xeno"

⋆ btw, if he ever sees some acronyms/slangs he doesn't understand, he immediately texts you to ask you it's meaning 🥹

⋆ some kid once commented "sybau" under his social media post explaining about some scientific phenomena

⋆ you didn't have the heart to tell him what it really means so you....

⋆ "The kid's telling you to Stay Young, Beautiful, and Unique, Xen."

⋆ he ALMOST replied back the kid with a hearty thank you but you thankfully stopped him. bless his soul.

⋆ he's the kind of fella to reply back to your texts as soon as he can

⋆ he also treasures your kind messages alot. they move him to tears sometimes.

⋆ when he complained about his ideas being rejected and you soothed him with your texts, he couldn't stop crying like a baby that day.

⋆ stanley keeps noticing his bestie being progressively more occupied with his phone

⋆ xeno doesn't realize how cute he looks replying to your texts with a big smile

⋆ he is so precious

⋆ you're winning

Bonus

Chrome

⋆ "so you're telling me, if i write something here, it'll show up in your device all the way to wherever you are?"

⋆ "yup"

⋆ he then runs away from you as far as he can

⋆ types "science is damn AWESOME"

⋆ runs all the way back to you to check if its delivered

⋆ starts shouting in amazement after he sees that you did actually receive it lmao