#Relief Valve Tenders

[peachsayshi]

I'm more interested in hearing ur hcs for JJK as dads:)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: fluff

wc: 1,104

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ girl dad hc's (gojo, geto, nanami, choso) ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

...gojo stares at his baby girl like she's the secret to the universe's mysteries. there is no denying his strong attachment towards her, which is why the first thing he does when he returns home from a long trip away is see her. he watches with big, proud eyes as she waddles over to him, her small feet pattering lightly against the wooden floor of your home. she's still figuring out her words, squealing with excitement as he meets her halfway with two long strides. he arches his tall body forward, scooping her up in his arms before smothering her with kisses on each cheek.

she's so happy when he’s around, and it makes your chest feel tight, your ribs unable to contain the love pouring out from the valves of your heart.

"god, I missed my girls..." satoru breaths as she wraps her arms around his neck and rests her cheek on his shoulder. he turns on his heel to look at you, eyes filled with devotion and sheer gratitude. he places such a sweet, tender kiss on your lips before stating, "maybe we should take a vacation soon, just the three of us."

...geto thinks it's strange that only two years ago he regarded you as a stranger. now, you're fast asleep on his sofa, with mimiko on your lap and nanako on your shoulder. he checks the time to see just how late it is before turning off the tv and reaching for mimiko first. he brushes the hair away from her face, carefully lifting her up while smiling to himself when he feels her body naturally seek out his. the vacancy prompts you to flutter your eyelashes open, adjusting to the darkness of the room, and by the time you're fully aware of what's going on, you notice that he's picking up nanako as well.

"easy, sweetheart," he whispers softly, "just taking them to bed."

you meet him in his room afterwards, taking his hand as he draws you onto his lap. you rub your tired eyes as you mumble a hello, feeling his gentle kiss travel down the column of your neck, while his delicate fingers slip underneath your shirt to sprawl across the bump of your belly. he sighs into your neck, easing his mind of the noisy thoughts as he touches the life he's created with you.

...nanami arches his brow at the distraught expression on his daughter's face, her cheeks are so pink and her eyes are still welling with hot tears. the look is enough to crumple him like he's a flimsy sheet of paper, but he's holding his composed expression as to not worry her. instead, he shifts his attention down to the open wound on her knee - a nasty little cut unfortunately, but one that he's already carefully cleaned up. "there now, my darling..." he soothes with his deep voice, as he thoughtfully places the band aid over the injury, "we're all done."

she's still sniffling, her hands gripping tightly onto her dress. "still hurts, papa..." she whimpers. he eases the tension between his brow, before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her knee. "better?" he asks, gazing up at her from underneath his blonde lashes, but she simply bites her lip and shakes her head no.

nanami picks her up, holding her close to his chest as he holds a pensive look on his face. "what else can we possibly do, hmm?" he coos into her temple as he leaves another kiss in place. she continues to sniffle, tiny hands clutching onto his shirt which she uses to wipe away her falling tears. "uhm, maybe...maybe we can get ice cream?"

her innocent tone is enough to make him smile with relief, and he glances over his shoulder to catch you shaking your head playfully in his direction, but even you can't stop yourself from grinning as you watch your baby girl twist your husband around her little finger.

...choso smiles at his daughter's reflection in the mirror. her hands reach for the pig tails in her hair, and she touches it before turning over her shoulder to gaze up at him. "I look like you, papa!" she remarks with pure joy, and choso can't help but bend over and kiss the top of her ahead affectionately. "you're the prettiest girl in the world, precious."

her cheeks turn rosy from how bright she's smiling. she stands on her feet, barely able to make direct eye contact with her father who is seated cross legged with his body upright. he has to hunch over a little, obliging her demand of placing his jaw against the palms of her delicate hands so she can hold him. "no, you're the prettiest in the world," she responds and the man melts into her touch almost instantly. he circles two fingers around her wrists to kiss her digits, then leaning forward to plant another one on the tip of her nose. "I'm afraid there's no competition."

she babbles on as he looks at her with amusement. fatherhood was never part of his plan, and he wasn't even sure how he would take to it when you told him you were pregnant, but it’s been four years down the line and he's the happiest he's ever been. he can hear you call for them from the kitchen, and carries his daughter in his arms before exiting the bedroom.

he seats her comfortably on the dining chair, lightly pinching her cheek as he announces that he will be right back. he finds you in the kitchen scooping out rice into the bowl, and takes the opportunity to circle his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

you ease into his embrace as you serve the last amount before tilting your head slightly to kiss him softly on the cheek, "something on your mind?"

he sighs heavily when you turn on your heel, stealing a kiss in between before murmuring sweetly against your lips: "I want another baby"

[anon-e-miss]

Hazing - 2

Prowl raised his servo, shielding his optics from the sun beams that broke through his window. Groaning, he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His hood bounced up and Prowl flushed with shock and anger. Though he pushed it down hard, the latches would not hold. As he held his hood down with one servo, Prowl ran the other down his belly as he reached for his groin. Like his hood, the latches of his girdle had popped, no doubt from the kilolitres of transfluids someone had flooded his gestational tank with. Despite his best efforts, Prowl could not latch his girdle, even though he pressed his bloated belly so hard half processed transfluids spurt from his valve and he collapsed with a groan. Who? Who had fragged him?

He remembered the team tying him up and shoving stylus’ into his aft port, valve and spike and Prowl remembered them pushing spike rings down his spike and latching a clamp to his node. They had snickered as they had forced his charge to rise without relief, that was the sound his helm had gone blank at. Sometime later, someone had come. Not only had they come into his office, they had come in him. His panel was still pulled back and Prowl gasped as he found his valve folds tender and gaping. Just from moving a little, he knew his afthole was in a similar state. How many mechanisms had fragged him while he was out? Who? The Spec Ops agents were not large mechs. Had they fisted him to leave him in this wrecked a state.

The stench of interface hung in Prowl’s office. It stank of stale transfluids. He pushed himself up and slid off his desk, hobbling as he tried to stand. Pools of transfluids were on his desk, more were on the floor. There was no way Prowl was going to summon a cleaning crew for this. His team knew what they had done but no one else needed to. Prowl could not afford to develop that sort of reputation. It would be a fight to regain his footing with the operatives. As Prowl looked at the stylus’ scattered all over the floor, he promised himself that he would put each and every one of them in their place, all Prowl had to do was sort out how. His processor fixed on this as he scrubbed his desk and then the floor. They might have outnumbered him but who was to say he had to take them at the same time?

“Ya got a lil stain there by yer keyboard,” Jazz noted as he sauntered into Prowl’s office. Startled, Prowl sat up straight and the tape holding his hood down gave and it popped back up, almost hitting him in the face.

“Ya almost wouldn’t know,” Jazz said, putting a cube of black energon down on the stained bit of desk. “After a few cycles o’ air filtration, ya won’t smell it quite the same. But y’re gonna look at that spot ya hit wit yer trash can ‘n that one on yer desk, ‘n yer gonna remember. When ya get up, y’ll leave a puddle in your chair.”

“You,” Prowl hissed. “You fragged me.”

“It was that or had ya o’er to Pharma to get yer charge drained off,” Jazz replied. “I didn’t think ya’d like havin’ that report on yer record.”

“No,” Prowl agreed.

“Look at ya wit yer armour taped,” Jazz teased him. “Ya look like a freshmech after a college party.”

“I blame you for this,” Prowl hissed.

“Yer hood popped all on its own, Prowler,” Jazz told him. “That’s what ya get wearing a chestplate two sizes too small.”

“It is not,” Prowl countered, blushing a deep red. Jazz laughed and he flicked Prowl’s hood and it bounced up into his face again. A moment later it was gone, not down but gone. Prowl covered the whole as his wells all but spilled out of it.

“Three sizes too small then,” Jazz replied. He brushed his digit over Prowl’s nozzle. “What’s this.”

“Ack!” Prowl gasped as Jazz flashed the drop of energon at him, and then licked it off all the while keeping optic contact. He flushed with humiliation.

“They keep ya ‘way from yer bitty all dark-cycle?” Jazz asked.

“No,” Prowl replied. “The progenitor has custody.”

“Poor Prowl,” Jazz said. Prowl was frozen as Jazz peeled his chassis off him and left his engorged wells to fall free. “Wit wells this full the bitty’s gotta be pretty fresh. Ya outta still be recoverin’ not workin’.”

“Sentinel gave his orders,” Prowl replied.

“How can he give a Copbot orders?” Jazz asked. Prowl blanched. “He let one o’ his freaks breed ya, Prowler? Then give the bitty to the freak?”

“What do you care?” Prowl asked.

“Call me old fashion but I think bitties are best left with their oris ‘less that ori’s a piece o’ scrap,” Jazz replied. He leaned across the desk. “Are ya a piece o’ scrap?”

“No,” Prowl replied.

“I have to agree,” Jazz said. “Ya did good work for me ‘n mine. Every spot ya tweak in that brief was on point.”

“I am pleased your recovery mission was a success,” Prowl replied.

“It’s cute that ya mean that,” Jazz declared. “Sincerity’s an odd thing ‘round here.”

“What do you want, Jazz?” Prowl asked.

“Since ya got me ‘n mine back safe, I figured I best check up on ya,” Jazz told him. “‘N since I helped ya pop yer latches, figured I’d best help get ya sorted too.”

“Oh,” Prowl said. “Stand up, Prowler,” Jazz said. “Take that girdle off so I can take yer measurements.”

Prowl did not have to obey but it seemed foolish to refuse the help. He had been struggle to think of a way to escape back to his own barracks with his armour in such disarray. Jazz was not servos off as he took measurements, not at all. The tactician was keenly aware that this mech had fragged him but he did not remember a moment of the act. He could not stand with his legs together due to the way Jazz had ravaged him. How did a mech a full helm shorter than Prowl possess a spike that could do that sort of damage? Jazz brushed his digits over Prowl’s belly, over the stretch marks that glared on his sentio-metallico. It was less loose now, because of the transfluids Jazz had filled him with but it was still soft.

“I couldn’t even tell ya’d just popped out a bitty,” Jazz told him. “Ya healed well from it.”

“I heal quickly,” Prowl replied.

“On the surface,” Jazz replied and Prowl’s optics narrowed. “Ya can’t play meek wit me, Prowler, I work wit ya. Ya put yerself under his thumb ‘cause ya know yer only chance to e’er see yer bitty is through ‘m. Yer spark sick.”

“My spark is none of your concern,” Prowl countered.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jazz said. “I like what yet processor can do. Don’t let it break on me.”

“No one and nothing can break me,” Prowl replied.

“Those afts out there are in for an education,” Jazz guessed.

“Stay out of my way,” Prowl insisted. “Or you’ll learn the same lesson alongside them.”

Jazz did not ask Prowl’s opinions for his armour. When he returned with it, well after the usual work joor was over, Prowl sighed at the sight of it. It was snugger to his frame than his old armour, though it was also properly fitted. Adjustable panels allowed for the armour to hug his belly now and still hug it when it had gone flat. His chestplate hugged his wells too, instead of compressing them. Jazz installed something in his subspace and a remote in Prowl’s arm. When Jazz flicked a switch, Domes covered Prowl’s wells, behind his hood, and started to pump. Energon flowered from his aching nozzles. Prowl’s cheekplates flushed.

“Ya don’t wanna let these dry up,” Jazz explained, lightly patting Prowl’s hood. “Yer gonna wanna fuel yer bitty when ya get yer chance wit’m.”

“I have no way to know that will ever happen,” Prowl said, feeling teary suddenly. “Tarantulas is his favourite madmech.”

“Sentinel goes through favourites like most mecha go through towels,” Jazz replied. “Y’ll get yer bitty. Now go home.”

“You do not want to take your due?” Prowl asked.

“Am I due ya, Prowler?” Jazz asked.

“Are you not?” Prowl countered.

“We’ll see,” Jazz replied. He patted Prowl’s back. “Go home.”

Taking a more winding route through the Primal palace, Prowl walked past the mess hall. At this joor, it should have been been empty but a dozen or more mech were milling about. Prowl peered in through the doorway as there was a... shift change between the crowd by the energon dispenser. From the puddle of transfluids and lubricants, Treadbolt had seen a great deal of action already. As he had spiked Prowl’s energon to make him more complascent, Prowl had spiked his. He had slapped on of Wheeljack’s failed ops weapons on the Seeker and then waited for his moment. When the Seeker had tumbled against the wall, Prowl had activated the weapon and Treadbolt had fallen through the wall but only part way, leaving his lower half in the mess.

How long he had been stuck there before someone had taken advantage, Prowl did not know. The Seeker had told Prowl to remember his place, beneath him, beneath all. He was only a Praxian after all. Prowl was curious as to his state and peered into the kitchen on the other side of the wall. Someone else had thought to look here and they were fragging Treadbolts face and recording the act as he ordered Treadbolt to swallow every drop and the Seeker did as he clung to the thigh plating of his abuser. Seekers considered themselves superior to grounders. All ground frametypes existed to serve and to please them. It must have galled Treadbolt to be stuck pleasing grounder spike. His cockpit had popped open, so full of grounder cum as he was. Prowl left his fate. The conductor of his humiliation had been handled, now the rest remained.

[smol4bluengine]

It had been a few months since Edward's last visit to the steamworks. Mr. Percival had gotten word from Sir Topham Hatt a few months back that the steamworks had the parts needed to proceed with repairing Gordon. This was a big mood booster for the engines, feeling relieved and hopeful that things would turn out fine for their big engine friend. Now all they had to do was wait patiently to find out if the surgery was successful, which left the engines on pins and needles in anticipation. One day at Knapford, Mr. Percival was sitting at Sir Topham Hatt's desk looking over that day's schedule.  The narrow- gauge conductor's thoughts were soon interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He quickly answered. "Hello, Sir Topham Hatt's office, Mr. Percival speaking." Mr. Percival answered. "Ah, Sir Topham Hatt! What can I do for you today sir"? Mr. Percival asked. Station masters and rail workmen temporarily stopped what they were doing to discretely listen in to the two controllers conversation, though they couldn't hear anything from Sir Topham Hatts end. "They just finished with Gordon's surgery"? "You just heard from the steam works"? Mr. Percival continued to listen to Sir Topham Hatt, a smile soon spreading on his face. "That's great sir"! "Yes, I'll let them know right away"! Mr. Percival said as he hung up the phone. The thin controller quickly rushed over to the stations P.A. system, confusing the staff. He switched it on and began to speak. "Attention, attention, to all engines and passengers, we have just received an update from Sir Topham Hatt." Mr. Percival's voice rang out from the speakers. Every engine and passenger within ear shot quickly came to a halt and turned their attention to Knapford station. "We are very happy to announce that the North Western's number four express engine Gordon has had a successful surgery and is in recovery"! Mr. Percival announced. The station immediately erupted in cheers and happy whistles. Both engines and humans rejoiced at the news. "Alright, alright, settle down, we still have a railway to run, but engines are encouraged to spread this news to the rest of Sodor. With that being said, let's get back to work." Mr. Percival responded. And so, the engines who were at Knapford headed put to tell the others about the good news. At Vicarstown, Flying Scotsman was in the middle of unloading his passengers from the mainland when the little diesel boxcar Philip came rushing in, nearly colliding into the famous engine. "Philip be careful! You nearly ran into my passengers"! Scotsman scolded. "Oh no! I'm so sorry Scotsman. I was too focused on finding you to tell you about the update we just got from Mr. Percival and Sir Topham Hatt"! Philip apologized. "News? Does it have anything to do with Gordon? Are there any updates about his condition? Is he alright"? Scotsman asked in anxious anticipation. "Yes, we have an update! Sir Topham Hatt says: Gordon the big engine has had a successful operation and is in recovery! Gordon the big engine has had a successful operation and is in recovery"! Philip said in sync with an announcement from the Vicarstown intercom. Scotsman let out a big wheesh of steam in relief. "Thank steam"! Scotsman said. Ever since he had received the news about his brother's accident, Scotsman had been feeling like a failure as a brother. The two tendered engine had been going over Gordon and his interactions since the first time they met thanks to Sir Bertram Topham Hatt's father, Sir Charles Topham Hatt, reunited the two Doncaster brothers. Scotsman recalled the days of and up to the great race, and all of the teasing he had done to Gordon. He wondered if he hadn't said those things if it would've prevented Gordon from hastily streamlining himself and leaving behind his safety valve. Scotsman felt great shame for focusing more on the race than stopping his brother from overheating and exploding. Just the memory of that day sent a shiver to Scotsman's firebox. He could've lost his brother that day and to Scotsman it would've been his fault. Philip saw what had happened at the race and knew that Scotsman was going through a lot of inner turmoil over what had happened that day and what was happening currently. So, the little diesel spoke up. "I'm sure Gordon will appreciate you being here right now. Why don't you go check in on him? I'll take care of your coaches for you." Philip offered. Scotsman gave the little diesel a small smile. "Thank you, Philip, I think I will." Scotsman said as he uncoupled from his coaches. Philip smiled back. "Anytime Scotsman, tell Gordon I said hello and that everyone hopes he feels better soon"! Philip called out to a departing Scotsman. Scotsman blew his whistle in response as he made his way towards the steamworks. "What do you mean Sir Topham Hatt isn't allowing Gordon to have visitors at this moment?! I'm his brother for goodness sake"! Scotsman's voice boomed. The big mainland engine had just arrived at the steamworks and was trying to enter the building but had been stopped by Victor and Kevin. "I'm sorry friend, but Sir Topham Hatt asked us to not let anyone see Gordon right now until he is ready to fully explain what is going on." Victor replied. "Why would the Fat Controller need to wait to explain something to us? Everyone already knows what happened and that Gordon made it through! What more can there be to this ordeal"?! Scotsman angrily steamed. Scotsman's outburst had frightened Kevin, which caused him to back into a stack of empty crates. The crates tumbled over onto the track, blocking Scotsman's path further into the steamworks. The larger engine came to a stop, his attention drawn to the fallen opened crates before him. A logo on one of the crates had caught Scotsman's attention, it read "Little Tykes amusement park". That name was familiar to Scotsman who immediately confronted the narrow- gauge engine on it. "Victor, tell me Sir Topham Hatt didn't." Scotsman said horrified. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait a while Scotsman, Sir Topham Hatt promised that he would explain everything by the end of the week." Victor responded. Scotsman wanted to argue more, but Victor advised against it as confronting Sir Topham Hatt might add on extra stress to an already exhausted Gordon. Not wanting to cause his brother any more grief, Scotsman agreed to drop the subject and wait. It felt agonizingly long, but slowly and surely the days moved on, getting closer and closer to the day Sir Topham Hatt would supposedly tell them what was going on with Gordon. It was the day before Sir Topham Hatt's update, and Scotsman had found himself working with Spencer running the express. The two tendered engine was waiting at Knapford for Spencer. Toby was unloading passengers from Henrietta. Percy entered the station looking very confused. “Is Sir Topham Hatt and Lady Hatt having a baby”? Percy asked out of the blue. This question caught the engines and coach off guard. “A baby”? Scotsman stuttered. “Percy, whatever gave you that idea”? Henrietta asked. “Well, I was in the shunting yards organizing James’s goods trains when I overheard Dowager Hatt’s friends asking Dowager Hatt about a crib they saw in the back of her car during her drive to Sir Topham Hatt’s house yesterday.” Percy replied. “This is the first time we’re hearing about it. Usually when the Hatt family is expecting they’ll tell Edward, but he hasn’t said anything about a baby.” Toby said. “You should probably check in with Edward, Percy and get the facts, we don’t want to cause an upstart for no reason.” Scotsman advised. Percy agreed and promised to let the other three know if he heard anything as he left to resume his shunting duties. Toby and Henrietta soon departed, still very confused about the whole ordeal. “A baby at a time like this? Poor Sir and Lady Hatt must be overwhelmed with Gordon and a new baby.” Henrietta said worryingly. Scotsman was soon left with his thoughts. The sight of the Little Tykes amusement park logo along with what Percy just said made Scotsman worried. “Sir Topham Hatt wouldn’t do that, would he”? Scotsman thought. Memories of what his controller back on the mainland once said swarmed in Scotsman’s smokebox. “The folks in America have found a way to save the essence of an engine, though many controversies have sprung up. The mainland thinks this method can be beneficial with preserving engines and are looking to get it approved by Parliament.” Scotsman’s controller said. It had been approved and Scotsman recalled the feelings of unease as he passed by amusement parks. When he was approaching one, Scotsman would shut his eyes shut, not wanting to see what had become of the engines who were saved. All he heard were the tiny peeps of whistles. He hoped Sir Topham Hatt hadn’t gone with that solution to save Gordon. Though Scotsman wouldn’t have to wait in anticipation for long, as Sir Topham Hatt approached him. Scotsman was surprised to see Sir Topham Hatt, even more so in the current state. The Fat Controller looked like a mess! He looked disheveled, a five-o clock shadow had grown upon his face, and there were bags under his clearly tired eyes. Even so, Sir Topham Hatt did his best to make himself look presentable. “Good Scotsman you’re still here.” Sir Topham Hatt said. “Sir is something wrong? Is everything alright with Gordon”? Scotsman asked concerned. “Everything’s fine now Scotsman. I’ve actually come by to see if you would like to, well, see Gordon.” Sir Topham Hatt asked. “Oh yes sir, please sir”! Scotsman begged. “Alright, take the track up ahead, it will take us to my house. Just puff slowly and as quietly as you can.” Sir Topham Hatt instructed. “And Scotsman, one more thing.” Sir Topham Hatt said. “Yes, sir”? Scotsman asked. “Whatever you see at my residence, please wait to respond to it until after I told the others.” Sir Topham Hatt begged. “Very well sir.” Scotsman agreed, though he already wasn’t liking what was going on. Scotsman though still followed Sir Topham Hatt’s orders and quietly made his way to Hatt manor. As Scotsman pulled up to the Hatt residence, he could see both Lady and Dowager Hatt waiting nearby. There was no sign of Gordon, only a blue pram that was being pushed by Lady Hatt. Scotsman’s worse fear was realized. The two women approached the big engine and Sir Topham Hatt, who had climbed down from Scotsman’s cab to greet the two. Lady Hatt looked up at Scotsman. “Someone’s been wanting to see you.” Lady Hatt said in a soft hushed voice. She gently pulled back the blanket to reveal the pram’s occupant. Inside was a very small tender engine, fast asleep. Its face was soft and round with rosy red cheeks. A light blue baby bonnet adorned the top of its smokebox. The tiny engine gave little coos and whimpers from time to time though the pacifier it was suckling on muffled the noise a bit.  As more of the engine was revealed, its form became recognizable even at such a small size. That last bit was soon removed to expose the tender and the number four that had been painted onto it. Scotsman was frozen in utter disbelief. They had turned Gordon into an amusement park kiddie engine.

[bharathomeopathytreatment]

Natural Healing: Homeopathic Remedies for Varicocele Relief

Varicocele A condition that is defined by the growth of scrotum veins, is a condition that affects about 10% of males. Although it is often not accompanied by symptoms, it could result in discomfort, infertility, or other issues. There are many treatments available, including natural remedies and alternative therapies such as homeopathy. In this thorough guide, we'll discuss varicocele, its symptoms and the various varicocele natural treatment

options to manage the problem.

What is Varicocele?

The condition known as varicocele refers to the swelling of the veins in the scrotum. It is similar to varicose veins found within the leg. The enlargement occurs when the valves in the veins aren't functioning properly which leads to a pooling of blood and an increase in pressure. Varicocele generally develops slowly and is more prevalent on the left side, but it can also be found on both sides.

Symptoms of Varicocele:

Some people who suffer from varicocele do not show any symptoms; other men may observe:

A visible or palpable swelling A noticeable sign is typically an enlargement or lump in the scrotum. It could feel like a bag of worms.

Pain or discomfort: Varicocele can cause a painful, dull ache as well as discomfort or irritation in the scrotum, especially after a prolonged period of standing or other physical activities.

Testicular Atrophy: In extreme instances, or if untreated, a varicocele may result in testicular atrophy, an illness in which the affected testicle gets smaller in size.

Fertility Issues Varicocele is associated with male infertility because it may affect sperm production and the quality of sperm.

Conventional Treatment as compared to. Alternative Approaches:

The treatment for varicocele has traditionally included surgery. Although effective, surgery comes with dangers, including bleeding, infection, and the possibility of damage to nearby structures. Furthermore, the recovery process is often long and could take time off from working or engaging in physical activities.

Many people also are seeking varicocele treatment without surgery options, such as natural remedies and alternative medical methods like homeopathy.

Home Remedies:

A variety of varicocele home remedies can ease symptoms and discomfort that come with varicocele. They include:

Cold Compress: The application of an ice pack on the affected area will help to lessen swelling and soothe discomfort.

Scrotal Elevation : Elevating the scrotum by wearing an appropriate undergarment or cushion, whether lying or sitting helps in increasing circulation of blood and relieves tension on the affected veins.

Regular Exercise: Regular exercise, specifically exercises that boost blood flow, like cycling, walking and swimming, can reduce your symptoms of varicocele.

Varicocele Treatment by Homeopathy:

Homeopathic varicocele treatment is an integrative approach to treating and provides alternative treatment options for varicocele, which focus on the underlying reasons for the condition. Homeopathic remedies are selected in accordance with particular symptoms and constitutions and aim to activate the body's self-healing processes. These remedies can be used for varicoceles with thick, swollen veins that feel like cords, typically accompanied by intense, shooting pains.

Varicocele treatment in homeopathic medicine is usually beneficial for varicoceles that have a feeling of weight or pulling in the scrotum. This is often which is aggravated by heat and then relieved with cold application. It can be beneficial in cases of varicocele that have bruised, tender sensations or an ache within the affected area. It is especially beneficial following injuries or physical exercise.

They can also be recommended for varicocele, which is accompanied by a feeling of fullness and dragging with a tendency to bleed or haemorrhage.

Conclusion:

Varicocele is a very common disease that can trigger discomfort or pain as well as problems with fertility for males. Although surgical intervention is the most common treatment option, alternatives like homeopathy, natural remedies and non-invasive treatments are alternatives for treating varicocele-related symptoms and improving overall health. Patients suffering from varicocele must consult with medical professionals to decide the best treatment for their condition, taking into account the specific needs and preferences of each patient. Through an integrated method of managing varicocele, patients can experience symptom relief and increase their lives without the need for surgery.

[veintreatmentsnyc]

What Are Home Remedies To Treat Varicose Veins?

Are you suffering from varicose veins? Varicose veins have many treatment options, but you must try to treat it at home; if you do not see any good results, you may need to visit a vein specialist who can treat your vein disease.

Therefore, home remedies for varicose veins are available. You also need to change your diet and do some exercise. These at-home treatments can help with discomfort and prevent the progression of this disorder. The circulatory system and your veins play a crucial role in your body’s ability to function and improve your health problem develop more than you need medical treatment, an effective way to stop problem veins from the body. Your vein doctor may remove the vein or block the vein. But what doctor treats varicose veins? A vein specialist or vascular doctor will treat the vein disease.

What Causes Varicose Veins?

Varicose vein problems can occur because of many reasons. Because of these veins, your body functions properly. When they do not circulate the blood adequately to the body, vein disease can form due to the blood clot in the veins.

Therefore, if the valves become weak or damaged, the blood can flow in the opposite direction and pool in the veins, causing them to twist, stretch and bulge under the skin.

Some factors that may contribute to the development of varicose veins are:

Age

Obesity

Absence of exercise

Hormonal changes, such as those that occur during pregnancy.

Genetics or family history of varicose veins

Prolonged sitting or standing

Varicose Vein Remedies

Natural remedies are also effective for people with varicose veins who don’t want surgical treatments. You can relieve common symptoms like pain and discomfort, heaviness and swelling in the legs. Let’s explore some most popular natural remedies for varicose veins include:

Compression Stockings

Even the doctor will suggest you wear compression stockings to improve the blood flow in the legs and promote good circulation. It is a useful garment that gently squeezes the affected area, allowing the vein and leg muscles to carry blood more efficiently. It also helps to control swelling and relieve painful symptoms, including tenderness or aching pain in the legs. To get good results, you need to wear the compression stocking for the whole day, as long periods of sitting or standing can increase the pain and develop circulation issues. Elevating your legs at night can help to ease the pain and discomfort.

Exercise and Dietary Changes

Eating a healthy diet and some active lifestyle changes can help a lot to get relief from the pain. It may benefit from developing varicose veins. For patients suffering from varicose veins, if you are obese, exercise can help take the pressure off your legs and veins and encourage healthy blood circulation. Dietary changes can also help in many cases. Reduce the intake of salt and include potassium in your diet. Eat a lot of leafy vegetables; they will help with water retention, relieve discomfort and prevent venous insufficiencies. Many need clarification about What Type of Doctor Treats Varicose Veins. A phlebologist or a vascular surgeon can treat your vein disease.

In Conclusion:

Talk to your vein doctor if you have serious vein problems. Book an appointment with your doctor. 

Article source  :  https://www.articleaffiliate.com/what-are-home-remedies-to-treat-varicose-veins/

[medilivescaremanufacturing]

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[krethes]

@wolfstarmicrofic Day Twenty-One: inhale

Set in the same universe as Wildfire.

"Moony, this is Red, do you copy?"

In.

Hold.

Out.

Hold.

"Moony, this is Red, do you copy?"

In.

Hold.

Out.

Hold.

"Moony, this is Red. Do you copy?! Remus!?"

In.

Hold.

Out.

Hold.

"Red, this is Moony."

"Thank fuck. Your vitals monitor is-"

"-Broken. Yeah. Busted."

In.

Hold.

Out.

Hold.

"Padfoot and Prongs are coming with an evac. I'm staying here with you until they get there."

"Pulse is coming down. Switching to wheel and shutting up."

Crack the canister, suck in half a breath, close. Hold. Hold. Exhale. Repeat. His lungs scream, every fibre of his being shouting that to survive, he needs to leave the canister open, take a nice deep breath, or run, get out of the trap he's found himself in. Surrounded by fallen logs on all sides, the fire encroaches, eating up the detritus that separates him from the team.

Crack, suck, close, hold. Hold. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Repeat.

"I'm still here, Remus. They're on their way."

Crack, suck, close, hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Repeat.

He's got less than an eighth of this tank left. He'd been due for a swap-out before the fire jumped their fucking break. He'd done everything right, they all had, but their job is unpredictable. The only thing about it that is certain, that is guaranteed, is that fire burns and consumes.

Crack, suck, close, hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Hold. Repeat.

Each jump can be their last, he knows this, but he wasn't really expecting this one to be it. Sure, his will is updated, and he and Sirius had their customary pre-jump embrace, looking into the other's eyes and promising to be careful, to be safe, to come back. They both know that one day, they're probably going to have to break that promise. Remus just...wished it wasn't today. He wants to see Sirius's face when he opens the birthday present Remus's already bought for him, months early.

Crack, suck, close, hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Hold. Hold. Repeat.

He knows he can just open the valve all the way and have five, maybe ten delicious, full breaths that will clear the pounding of his head, soothe the burning in his lungs. It would be so easy, but discipline and his need to get back to his friends, his family, to Sirius wins out.

Crack, suck, close, hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold! Repeat.

The edges of his vision blur, darken, and start to close in on him, and sleep seems like a good idea, because this is a bad dream, a nightmare shared by their like.

"Moony! Prongs, he's over here!!!"

The heat lets up. Strong arms envelope him. His mask is swapped for another, sweat-soaked and sooty. "We've got you, Moony. Breathe. Breathe!" He's shaken, and it startles him out of the wheel rhythm he's kept.

Remus opens his eyes to the terrified face of his husband, and his body sings with relief as fresh oxygen fills him, as Sirius's expression transforms into something peaceful, hopeful. He's safe. He can breathe.

It's straight to the hospital for him, hooked to monitors and strapped to another oxygen tank. It's so cool in here, he shivers, but Sirius's hands are warm on his forehead and gentle along his arm where he's earned a new burn scar.

"Hey," Sirius says, voice cracking.

Remus offers him a small smile, though his lips are dry and split painfully. "Everyone out?" he rasps.

Sirius nods. "Everyone out. Second string is in now, taking over. I'll go back in the morning."

"I should be good to-"

"Moony, no. Remus..." Sirius fixes him with a hard look. "You're stuck here for at least three days. Lily's going to chaperone."

Remus grumbles under his breath that he doesn't need a babysitter, but he knows that he does. Without someone he respects and cares about watching over him, he knows he'll rush right back into the thick of it, into the press and crush of the action, fighting the wildfire, keeping Sirius safe. "You'll come back?"

Sirius leans in and drops a tender, soft kiss to his mouth, and it eases the knot in his chest that has nothing to do with oxygen deprivation. He smells like cedar and hand sanitizer, and Remus wishes he'd just climb over the rail and into bed with him. That way, Remus can wrap around him and never let him go, keep him here, keep him safe, inhale his scent and exhale his love. "I always do."

[elizabeethan]

Spaces Between Us Chapter 6: History

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

***Brief mentions of past physical and emotional abuse and alcohol abuse. Brief mentions of death/loss/grief.***

Reminder that more tags will apply to later chapters and i’ll put warnings where they're necessary, but if you have any concerns or questions feel free to message me!

Weekly updates will be on Tuesdays! (probably)

This chapter is dedicated to AnaSmallGrace because they guessed the title/chapter titles correctly lol.

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly​, and to @donteattheappleshook​ and @xhookswenchx​ for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

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~~~~

She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when she stirs at the feeling of soft lips pressing damp kisses down her spine, meeting each vertebrae as his fingers tickle against her ribs, she realizes she hasn’t slept this soundly in years. He murmurs, “good morning,” against her skin and she groans in response. 

 “More sleep,” she whines into the plush pillow. 

 “What time do you need to pick up Henry?” 

 She presses up onto her elbows with a start, frantically looking around the room for some indication as to what time it is. “12:30,” she tells him, looking back with wide, anxious eyes. 

 He smiles and says, “worry not, love. It’s only just after 10.” He slides up along her body until he can lie beside her and smooth out her hair, kissing her nose gently. “I just wanted to make sure you’d have enough time.”

 Breathing out a sigh of relief, she nods and collapses back down on the bed, her face pressed into the pillow. She isn’t sure when they ended up beneath the blankets, but she fell asleep so quickly that she’s sure he could’ve easily moved her without her noticing. “Okay,” she sighs. “Thank you.”

 “For what?” he asks with a smirk, and she returns it in kind, rolling onto her side so that she’s facing him and able to see the brilliance in his eyes. 

 “A few things, I guess,” she starts. “Waking me up, making me come so hard that I basically passed out… loving me…” She trails off but can easily see that her point is well taken. 

 He’s silent for a beat, appearing to be entranced by her words as he gently traces his fingers along her temple and down her cheek, across her neck until he reaches her shoulder and cups it with his hand. “I know we said that we would talk about this later, but… Well, I don’t intend to let you go again, Emma.” 

She feels tears pricking at the backs of her eyes and she blinks hard, trying to hold them in. But for the second time today, she isn’t crying because she’s scared or in pain or hopelessly depressed. It’s because she believes him. She trusts him and knows that he means what he says wholeheartedly. 

 So she curls further onto her side, snuggling close to him and pressing her bare body to his as he wraps his arms around her and holds her in a warm, comforting embrace. She isn’t sure what she can say about the position they’ve found themselves in. It’s not as if she can leave her husband now, despite how she might want to, because she knows what he’s capable of. She thinks that now that they’ve had the conversation about Henry, he’s even more likely to use that against her and keep him from her if she were to try and leave him. And no matter how she feels about Walsh or Killian or even herself, Henry will always be her first priority. 

 Killian seems to be able to read her shift in mood, so he gently suggests, “let me make you breakfast. If the way your stomach was screaming in your sleep is any indication, I’d assume you haven’t eaten yet today.” 

 She sighs, laughing just a bit, and nods against his chest, feeling his coarse hair tickling her cheek. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

 “Not until 1.”

 With a contented hum, she smiles up at him and playfully says, “plenty of time to get your story straight. Ruby warned me that she’d be bothering you all night for details.” 

 “Details… bloody hell, woman, tell me you didn’t go to Ruby for my address.” 

 She giggles as his fingers brush along her waist, trailing from her hip to her ribs and back down again. “I needed the damn train!” 

 “Aye, the damn train,” he says with feigned irritation as he kisses the tip of her nose. “Heaven forbid the lad is without his train for a few hours,” he jokes.

 “I didn’t want to go home,” she says with more honesty and seriousness, a blush creeping up her cheeks and down her chest. “And once I had an excuse to see you, well…” 

 He hums thoughtfully and kisses her softly. “I know what you mean.”

 “I guess I didn’t expect our meeting to end like this, not that I'm complaining.”

 He laughs against her mouth and nods before murmuring, “let me make you breakfast, aye?” 

 With a nod and a happy sigh, and asks, “can I use your shower quick? I’d rather not smell like sex when I pick up my kid from kindergarten.” 

 Another kiss later, he says, “of course, love. I’d be happy to provide some support in there as well; I know sometimes that temperature valve can be difficult to navigate.”

 She sits up in bed, taking the thin sheet with her to cover her breasts, and turns to face him. “I’m sure it can be. You really did a number on me, too. I’m so exhausted that I might need some help soaping up.” 

 He smirks and raises a brow, watching as she stands and growling as he chases her into the bathroom. 

 ~~~~

 She’s glad that it’s the middle of the morning on a Monday, because that means his neighbors hopefully aren’t home and weren’t able to hear the rather noisy shower they took. Surely the sounds coming out of her were traveling through the pipes, but she couldn’t exactly keep quiet while he fucked her against the wall of the shower. 

 She’s also not sure how she’ll go on with her day when he keeps planting kisses to her neck as he stands behind her, holding her hips while she tries her damndest to flip the pancakes before they burn. “You've gotta stop,” she groans, panting as his fingers slide around her front and trace the zipper of her jeans. 

 “But you’re so irresistible,” he murmurs. 

 “I don’t have time to shower again.” 

 He hums against her neck, licking along the sensitive spot just below her ear, and says, “you don't have to leave for an hour.” 

 “Killian…” she giggles. “Grab me a plate.” 

 He does, holding it out for her so that she can place the pancakes on it before he presses a tender kiss on her cheek and says, “thank you, love.” She hums in question and he responds, “I believe I promised you breakfast, and here you are preparing it.” 

 “Well,” she shrugs, taking her own plate and carrying it to his small table. “I am a mother now. Breakfast foods are my specialty. Henry’s particularly fond of scrambied eggies.” 

 “I’m sure they're delicious,” he nods, smiling as he pours syrup over his pancakes and then offers it to her. “He’s quite the character.” 

 With a smile, she says, “my pride and joy. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

 “I can imagine,” he smiles back. He cuts into the pancake with his fork and takes a bite, humming and smiling around them at her. “Is he… is he why you stay?” 

 With a gulp and a bite of her own, if only so that she can avoid answering for a moment longer, she nods. “Walsh doesn’t want much to do with him, but he’s spiteful. He would keep him from me just because he can. He thinks he has to maintain his perfect family image if he has any hopes for reelection” 

 He’s silent for a moment, and she can see the way he bites the inside of his cheek to try and keep quiet. “Aye,” he finally says. “I suppose there isn’t much I can say about staying with someone who isn’t good for you.” 

 She’s surprised that he’s bringing this up, but supposes it had to be addressed at some point. “In your case, it was going back to that person.” 

 “I didn’t feel I had much of a choice.” 

 “I know. I wanted you to stay and you didn’t want to hear it. It’s okay.” 

 “I heard you, love,” he argues. “I just… I had to go.” 

 “Then how can you say you heard me?” She takes another bite, trying to remain calm and keep this a discussion rather than an argument. “I wanted you to stay for your own good, Killian. He was abusive to you your whole life; you didn’t owe him anything.” 

 She hasn’t thought about this in detail in years, but is brought back to one of their final conversations easily. “Liam died,” he says by way of explanation, and she nods. It’s impossible to not be empathetic for his loss, but six years ago when he impulsively decided to take his late brother’s place and care for their dying father despite how badly he’d abused his sons, she lost it. 

 “I know. I’m sorry.” 

 “Don’t be.” 

 “What happened to Brennan?” 

 “He died,” he says casually, with little obvious emotion surrounding his father’s death. “Last year. And… well, you were right. I couldn’t handle it; I drank the whole time I was there. I felt sorry for myself-- I had lost Liam, I lost you… I couldn’t handle it.” 

 She puts her fork down and takes his hand, although he refuses to look up from his plate. “Killian, alcoholism runs in your family.” 

 “I know. And after I found out how Liam died… I don't know. I-- I’ll be honest, Swan, I wanted you to come with me so badly; I resented you for not coming.”

 In surprise, she says, “Killian, I couldn't condone what you were doing. I know how much it hurt to know that Liam was drunk driving, when you thought he was your perfect older brother. I know you felt like you had to take his place as the prodigal son. But Brennan abused the two of you your whole lives. I couldn’t let you go back to him after what he’d done to you; he didn’t deserve it and neither did you.” 

 “I know that, looking back.”

 His father must’ve died a slow and painful death if he’d only passed away a year ago. Cirrhosis of the liver is bad enough, and when he refused to stop drinking despite his prognosis, Killian became enraged. He refused to speak to his father, and lashed out at his brother who saw it as his duty to care for the dying man despite years of torturous abuse. She thought he had his head on his shoulders when she found out how angry he was with Liam for caring for their father when he deserved the opposite. 

 But then, Liam died. Killian had no idea that his brother struggled with alcoholism just as his father had, as it was easy to hide from across an ocean. But when he found out that his brother, the man he idolized endlessly, died as a result of driving drunk, he spiraled and became someone she hardly recognized. He began drinking himself, although not quite enough to be concerning, and eventually determined that, in order to do right by his brother, he had to take his place in caring for their father. 

 She couldn’t watch him destroy himself for the man he hated. So she gave him an ultimatum, and he chose his path. 

 He didn’t choose her. 

 “When Liam died, you lost yourself,” she says, explaining her thoughts to herself as much as she is to him. “I wanted to help you find yourself again but you wouldn’t let me. I just couldn’t sit and watch you go back to that life of abuse; even if he was too weak to hit you or burn you with his cigarettes, I’m sure he got on just fine with the verbal abuse.”

 “How is that any different from me letting you go back home to your husband with that bloody bruise on your wrist? I’m sure he isn’t any kinder to you than my father was to me.” he argues, and she's taken aback, her eyes widening. 

 “Don’t throw that in my face,” she returns. “I don’t have a choice just like you thought you didn’t. Only I have a son to think about.” 

 He sighs and finally looks up at her. “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just… I don't know. I regret leaving every day, and I have since the moment I boarded that damn plane. The moment I shut the door to our apartment. But sometimes I can't help but think, if I hadn’t, perhaps you wouldn’t have your boy.”

 She nods, and in her refusal of his past suspicions, she says, “I wouldn’t.” 

 “But perhaps you also wouldn’t have your husband.” 

 She nods again. She doesn’t blame him, and she tries not to blame herself either, but he’s right. If he hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have gone out a month later and slept with the first guy who looked at her. So, again, she says more sadly, “I wouldn’t.” 

 “Double edged sword, I suppose.” 

 She smiles sadly and nods. There’s silence between them for a few moments before she considers what they've been through, where he’s been, and asks, “if he died a year ago, what… how did you find me?”

 He shrugs and blushes. “I didn’t mean to, actually. I came back to Boston looking for you and had no such luck. Then one night I ran into Elsa at a bar and she told me you were gone, that you left years ago, right after I did, and… I don't know. Something broke in me and I quit drinking-- for the most part. I decided I had to leave Boston and took the first job I could find, and it happened to be here.” 

 She gives him a small smile and asks, “did you intend to try and win me back?” 

 “Yes, absolutely.” 

 His serious tone in response to her joking one is surprising, but she knows he’s telling the truth. She knows he would've been successful, too, if she’d been single when they met again. Hell, he’s successful now.

 “I can’t leave him yet, Killian. I want to, but it’s not… I need to put Henry first.” 

 “I know,” he says sadly. 

 “But that doesn’t mean… I mean…” she sighs. “Just-- I know this is selfish of me to ask of you but, well, I never-- Killian, I never got over you,” she gulps. “I have every intention of leaving him when I can and when I know that it’s safe to do so. And when I do… I mean, I was hoping--”

 “Emma,” he interrupts, taking her hand. “I love you. I told you already, I don't intend to lose you again. I want to build the life with you that we’ve always planned on having. Just… Now, there's a little lad involved, as well.” 

 With tears in her eyes, she meets his and says, “even though he isn’t yours?” 

 “He’s yours. That’s enough for me.” She grins at him and stands, leaning over the table until she meets his lips in a soft, meaningful kiss. “But Emma, love, you’ve got to promise me that you’ll stay safe. If he hurts you again, or if he tries to hurt the boy…” 

 “He won't. He isn’t usually like that, he won't do it again. And he’d have to pay attention to Henry in order to be any threat to him.” 

 “Swan…” 

 “I love you, too.”

 He laughs lightly and kisses her once more. “Of all the ways I imagined us being together again, an extramarital affair wasn’t on the list.” 

 She giggles, cradling his head in her hands, and says, “it’s kinda hot, though.” 

 With a soft scoff and a shake to his head, he rolls his eyes and kisses her chastely before standing up and taking her empty plate. “Come,” he says, “we need to come up with whatever story I’m going to be feeding Ruby all night.”

 ~~~~

 “It’s so beautiful, Emma,” Mary Margaret coos as she shows her photos of the house they’ll be renting in just a few weeks time. “When David suggested we get away, I was just so excited.” 

 “It’s lovely,” she nods, smiling softly up at her sister as she picks at her salad. 

 “Mommy, I need more cheppy.” 

 “Ketchup, bub. Here.” 

 Henry hums happily as he dips his nuggets into the ketchup, making animated sounds as each dinosaur perishes as he takes a bite. 

 “You’ve hardly touched your lunch,” her sister complains after a moment, looking at her nearly full plate in disappointment. “Are you feeling okay?” 

 “I’m fine,” she says back. “I just had a late breakfast.” 

 Mary Margaret screws up her face in surprise and says, “you never eat breakfast.” 

 She shrugs. “Well, today I did.” 

 “What did you have, mommy? Cheeries, like me?”

 “You had Cheerios, my love. I had pancakes.” 

 “Pancakes?! I want pancakes! You never let me have pancakes on a school day!”

 “You must've been in a good mood if you decided to make yourself pancakes.” 

 Emma shoots her sister a discerning look, furrowing her brows, and shrugs. “Maybe I was.” 

 “That’s new,” she says, laughing when Emma tosses her napkin at her. “I’m sorry, but come on,” she laughs. “You’ve been miserable for months. What’s changed?” 

 “Nothing,” she mumbles immediately. “Oh, Henry, I got your train. Here you go.” 

 With wide eyes, he gasps in excitement and snatches it from her, hugging it to his chest. “You found Tommy! Thank you, mommy! Where was he?” 

 “Was Tommy missing?” 

 “Mommy left him in her coat and then she lost it,” he snitches. 

 “Wasn’t that the coat you wore out? You didn’t leave it at the bar, did you?” 

 She lets her jaw hang open just a bit too long before shaking her head and explaining, lying, “no, uh, I was… ya know…” she says, giving her sister a knowing look. “A little out of my head when I got home that night. Forgot where I put it.” 

 Mary Margaret hums and nods her head before saying, “you know, I think I saw the sheriff there that night.”

 Henry gasps again, his gray eyes wider than she’s ever seen them, and asks, “mommy, do you know the sheriff?”

 She gulps again, choking on her breath, and says, “yeah, I do.” 

 “You do?” her sister asks, and she wants to kick her under the table. 

 “Yes, Henry,” she says pointedly. “The sheriff and I are friends. How were your chicken nuggets?” 

 “They’re dinosaur-ies.” 

 “Dinosaurs.” 

 “Yeah.”

 She smiles at him fondly and says, “I love you,” before she can stop the words from slipping past her lips. 

 He smiles back at her and returns, “I love you too, mommy. Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine, baby. I just wanted you to know that I love you.” 

 Based on the way her sister is staring at her, she thinks she may have made a mistake opening her mouth. 

 “Are we going to get Leo?” 

 “Yeah,” she laughs. “Auntie M’s, are we going to go get Leo?” 

 She hums and picks up her plate, grabbing Emma's as well and shaking her head at how much salad is left. “I’m sure we should. Ashley is probably sick of him by now.” 

 ~~~~

 Arriving at the station should feel like any other day, but when he walks in, Ruby smirks at him. And he’s just about had it before he even gets to his office.

 “Morning, sheriff,” she says salaciously, wriggling her brows. 

 “It’s 1 pm.” 

 “Right.” 

 “What?” 

 She shrugs and giggles to herself, looking back at her computer screen with wide eyes and a hidden smile. ”How’s your friend?” 

 “Ruby,” he starts, groaning as he tosses his keys onto his desk, sitting down forcefully and dropping his head onto his forearms. 

 She follows him into his office, despite him desperately hoping she won’t, and places a printed sheet of paper onto his desk. 

 “What’s this?” he asks, picking it up and staring at the sheet that makes no sense. 

 “Something I found while I was bored today. My boss made me work a double.” 

 “Ruby,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Sometimes you just have to work a double. I’m sorry, but when you're the only deputy, it sort of comes with the territory. What did you find?”

 “Yeah, whatever,” she rolls her eyes. “Look at the name on the account.” 

 He looks down at the sheet she’s given him and, at the top corner, sees a name. Walsh Oswald.

 Bloody hell.

 “How’d you get this?”

 She ignores him, giving him a look that tells him that perhaps he doesn’t want to know. “That’s a lot of money,” she remarks obviously, nodding towards the printout. He isn't sure how she got access to his transfer records, but he must admit, he’s impressed, despite the fact that it’s likely inadmissible. Either way, it’s a start.  

 “Aye. Where does it come from?”

 “I don't know. But I have a feeling we should do some police work.” 

~~~~

~~~~

[lailyn]

@febuwhump

Prompt Day 17: Field Surgery

Breathe Easy

"Why are you breathing like that?" Tony snapped. "Stop breathing like that!"

"It'd be easier - to stop - " Loki wheezed, "breathing altogether."

"Are you trying to be funny?" Tony seethed. 

"Hah!" Loki let out a chortle that sounded too painful not to be an expression of suppressed agony, evidenced by the sudden buckling of his knees.

Tony lunged forward and caught the Asgardian's toppling frame before he could inhale a faceful of sand. "Loki!"

"Heh," Loki rasped in between coughs. "Don't think I've ever heard you call me that before - "

A coughing fit drove all breath out of him, eerily silent despite the violent seizing of his chest.

"Are you choking? Is that what's happening?" Tony's hands hovered over Loki's quivering back, unsure if he should thump it or rub it or whatever the hell one was supposed to do in this sort of situation -

Call someone! Tony thought. I should call someone.

"FRIDAY!" He shouted. "Get Banner on the phone now!"

"Doctor Banner is away on a humanitarian relief mission in the Middle East, Boss," the AI answered. "He is currently unreachable. Would you like to leave him a voice message?"

"Well, get me Doctor Strange, then!"

Loki was not going to like this, but Tony was running low on options. "Or is he out freelancing too?"

"No…" Loki moaned. 

"Doctor Strange is on the line for you, Boss."

"Stephen!" Tony shouted in relief.

"What is it, Stark?" An irate-looking holographic live image of Stephen Strange popped up. "What is going on? Where the hell are you?"

"Not important. Loki needs help."

"What kind of help?" the Sorcerer Supreme asked warily.

"I don't know! He's having trouble breathing, and before you ask, no, it's not from a spell or a curse. It's a work-related injury, caused by aliens and sheer stupidity." 

Tony tried to glare at his lover but at the sight of Loki writhing on the ground, his anxiety won out.

"Please, you gotta help him," he pleaded.

"Tony, I am thousands of miles away in Kathmandu. I'm kind of in the middle of a crisis myself," Stephen said with a voice tinged with desperation. "I can try to wrap things up here, but it's going to be a while."

The sounds of Loki coughing must have caught the sorcerer-doctor's attention when he suddenly winced, "Is he coughing up blood?"

"No!" Tony looked again, and blanched at the sight of blood spattered on the desert floor like paint. "Yes! Oh fu- " 

"Stark, calm down. How much blood?"

"What do you mean, how much?" Tony's voice shrilled. "There's blood, isn't that enough?"

"Expose his chest, I need you to tell me what you see," Stephen ordered.

Tony did as he was told, ripping away Loki's mangled chest plate and tearing all the layers of protective leather underneath.

"Any visible chest wounds?"

"No, none that I can see."

"Rib - fracture," Loki gasped. "Felt it crack."

"Loki's saying it's a rib fracture, said he felt it crack."

"Chest pain?"

"Yeah. A great deal of it, from the looks of him," Tony said worriedly.

"You mentioned breathlessness?"

"Uhuh. He can hardly breathe," Tony said. Surely Stephen could hear Loki's desperate gasps from all the way there in the Himalayas. 

"Are both sides of the chest rising equally?"

Tony scrutinised Loki's black and blue torso. "The left side isn't rising at all."

"Okay. It could be a number of things, a flail chest or a collapsed lung, but a pneumothorax will kill you the fastest, so now I want you to feel his trachea."

"Let's just forget my insane IQ for a second and pretend that I'm very, very stupid," Tony growled. "How and what do I feel?"

"His windpipe, Tony!" Stephen said in exasperation. "Feel his throat with your index and middle fingers and tell me if it's central or deviated to any one side!" 

"Can't you doctor people speak like a normal person?" Tony groused.

He traced his fingers down Loki's neck as gently as he could. In his distress, Loki had thrown his head all the way back and his neck muscles were contorting under the strain but the displacement of his Adam's apple was obvious.

"The windpipe's deviated, yeah." 

"To which side?"

"To the left."

Tony could sense Stephen's impending relief, as well as the hope in his next question. "Whose left, yours or his?"

"Uh, mine?"

Tony heard Stephen curse under his breath. "Goddamnit, Stark, it's always the patient's right or the patient's left!"

"And I was supposed to know that how??" 

Stephen ignored the indignant outburst. "There's no time to lose."

"Wh-What is it?" Tony grew frantic at the sudden change in his friend's voice.

"This is one of those life-threatening emergencies most of us don't get to see in all our career, so...congratulations." 

Despite the light humour, the former surgeon sounded deadly serious. "And you need to listen to me very, very carefully coz you're gonna be the one to fix it."

"Fix what?" Tony's mouth felt suddenly dry. He had a mental image of cracking open Loki's chest and he felt instantly sickened. 

"It's a tension pneumothorax, Tony. Most likely scenario is the fractured rib punctured a lung, causing air to leak into the space between the lungs and the chest wall. But it's a one-way valve, and all that air is trapped inside his thorax with nowhere to go."

Tony swallowed hard. "That sounds bad."

"It's very bad," Stephen agreed reluctantly. "If you don't release the trapped air, all that pressure will compress his heart, his aorta - "

"Yeah, I get it," Tony interrupted. He did not want to hear Stephen say it; he could see it in Loki's eyes, glassy and damp with fear. 

He had only ever seen lips that blue on corpses. 

He had only just kissed those lips this morning, right before the Quinjet dropped them off in the middle of the Mojave Desert following a tip-off that the rogue Kree soldiers they were looking for were holed up somewhere here. 

Powered by technology siphoned off the Tesseract, the Kree's advanced weaponry had stunned Tony to the point of paralysis; if it had not been for Loki stepping into the line of fire, he would not be alive right now. 

"You can't wait for me, Tony," Stephen stressed. "He won't make it before I get there." 

"I know," Tony said softly. "Tell me what to do."

He listened to Stephen's instructions. A part of him protested at the thought of hurting Loki further, but he knew it had to be done. 

He groped down the side of Loki's ankle strap where he knew Loki kept a small knife on him at all times.

"Do you trust me?" Tony asked quietly. 

Loki nodded feverishly, never breaking eye contact, fearful to even blink. 

Do what you must, the unnaturally bright green eyes seemed to say.

Tony's own eyes watered. "I love you."

I love you, Loki's bloodless lips worked silently around the words, but Tony heard them all the same. 

He leaned down for a kiss as cold as ice. 

The taste of blood galvanised him and he ran his fingers down Loki's breastbone, looking for the dip in between the second and third ribs. 

"Midclavicular line," Tony muttered, following the space between ribs as instructed, reminding himself of the landmark Stephen had repeated over and over. "Aim below the second rib, in the midclavicular line..."

And Tony slid the knife in.

"That's it. Go a little further. It's alright, just keep going until you hear a pop or a hiss…."

Tony could hear Stephen egging him on in the background, but it was all white noise. All he cared about was getting Loki to breathe again. 

Suddenly there was an audible whoosh of air as though a balloon was being slowly deflated, but nothing was more beautiful than the sound of Loki gasping in a full breath, the first ever since Tony had dug him out from under the rubble of the Kree mothership Loki had destroyed in his wrath.

Stephen let out an uncharacteristic cheer over the connection, sounding mighty pleased with both himself and his student. "Well done, Stark!" 

"Yeah." Tony's head swam and he sank heavily onto the ground, Loki's bloodied knife dropping and disappearing into a shrub. "I did it. I can't believe it."

"Feels great, doesn't it?" There was envy in Stephen's voice that Tony did not quite understand but couldn't care less about, not at this very moment. 

He walked his knees across the dust and gathered Loki into his arms, trembling limbs and fractured ribs and all.

"Loki." Tony ran his fingers through the dusty curls to try to shake off all the trapped sand. "Loki."

"I'm here," Loki said, sounding absolutely and utterly exhausted. He wrapped his arms around the metal arm, the one closest to him and holding him for dear life. "I'm here, Tony."

"This is the shittiest Valentine ever," Tony said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. 

Loki chuckled weakly. Each breath was now easier than the one before. "I'm sure there are people out there who are having a worse Valentine's Day than us."

"You think so?"

"I know so," Loki sighed into Tony's chest. "They don't have you."

"You scared me, Games."

"And I am going to scare you again, I'm sure. But never intentionally."

Loki gazed up at his saviour, his reason for living, his heart. "This I promise you."

Tony calmed as the adrenaline finally left him and the love flooded in in its wake. 

"Good enough for me, Bambi."

He bent down once more for a kiss, sweet, long and tender. 

"Happy Valentine's Day, Baby."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Anthony."

[onyxinc]

                         DECEMBER  9TH   :   MISTLETOE

𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊  𝐃𝐀𝐘  𝐎𝐍𝐄  :   tell  us  about  your  character’s  first  kiss  .

mentions   :   frank  and  carol  sullivan  ,  rose  morrison  . content  warning   :   alcohol   ,   food   ,   and   kissing   .

new  years  eve,  2014.   you’re  fifteen  years  old  and  you  and  seventy - five  other  people  are  packed  in  like  sardines.   as  you  and  your  parents  step  inside  the  two - story  row  house  five  doors  down  from  your  own,   all  you  remember  thinking  is  that  this  is  definitely  some  sort  of  fire  code  violation.   received  a  whopping  four  hours  earlier,   the  invitation  was  the  definition  of  a  pity  invite.   your  dad  had  run  into  marci  sherman  while  perusing  foodtown’s  bleak  spreadable  cheese  section,   and  she  thought  it  was  just  so  sad  that  the  man  who  heroically  repaired  her  washer  valve’s  plans  to  ring  in  the  new  year  consisted  of  a  quiet  night  in  with  the  family.

historically  speaking,   sullivans  weren’t  exactly  a  social  breed.   your  parents  kept  their  circle  to  a  modest  handful,   just  a  rotating  cycle  of  family  friends  who  swept  into  town  a  few  times  a  year  to  sip  boxed  wine  and  gush  about  how  big  you’ve  gotten.   despite  the  innate  lack  of  blood  relation,   you  were  instructed  to  call  these  people  aunt  and  uncle;   carol  was  an  only  child,   and  frank  hadn’t  spoken  to  his  brother  since  he  caught  him  stealing  from  the  plumbing  business  twelve  years  ago,   so  the  pickings  were  about  as  slim  as  the  selection  of  non - alcoholic  beverages  at  this  party.

you’re  tired.   you’re  bored.   you  can’t  stop  refreshing  words  with  friends  to  see  if  rose  played  her  turn,   despite  the  fact  that  it’s  been  almost  a  year  since  you’ve  so  much  as  heard  from  her.   ever  the  attentive  host,   mrs.  sherman  catches  you  staring  at  your  phone  and  promptly  swoops  in,   ushering  you  towards  her  son’s  bedroom  to  play  with  the  other  kids.   well,   for  one,   you  were  far  too  old  for  playing,   and  for  two,   paulie  sherman  was  eleven.   years  ago,   you  were  recruited  to  babysit  with  the  promise  of  twenty  bucks  in  your  pocket,   a  dream  that  died  the  moment  he  threw  his  xbox  controller  at  the  screen  and  pinned  it  on  you.   the  so - called  others  were  around  the  same  age,   if  not  younger,   with  the  exception  of  a  girl  named  jackie  who  introduced  herself  as  paulie’s  cousin  from  pennsylvania.

she  was  nice  enough,   though  she  wouldn’t  stop  talking  about  her  boyfriend  and  how  his  best  friends  list  on  snapchat  kept  flip - flopping  between  her  and  a  girl  from  his  youth  group.   pretty,   too,   even  with  a  scowl  on  her  face  and  a  mouth  full  of  braces  adorned  with  pink  and  aqua  rubber  bands.   after  an  agonizing  twenty  minutes  of  watching  paulie  and  his  school  friends  play  russian  roulette  with  a  nerf  pistol,   jackie  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  said  boyfriend  is,   in  fact,   cheating  and  asks  if  you  want  to  go  outside.

“   it’s,   like,   20  degrees  out.   ”   you  point  out,   and  your  ears  begin  to  burn  with  embarrassment.   low  of  20,   your  weather  app  said  that  morning,   feels  like  8.   did  pennsylvanians  not  feel  cold?   “   and  mrs.   sherman  said   —   ”

“   no  one’s  putting  a  nerf  gun  to  your  head.   ”   she  fires  back,   and  slips  out  the  door  with  you  scrambling  on  her  heels.

much  to  your  relief,   you  find  the  adults  are  far  too  drunk  on  spiked  cider  and  mr.  sherman’s  famous  wing  dip   (   equal  parts  canned  chicken,   blue  cheese,   and  frank’s  red  hot   )   to  notice  two  young  teens  slinking  through  the  crowd.   across  the  kitchen,   you  spot  your  parents  joined  at  the  hip,   being  subjected  to  a  never - ending  slideshow  reel  of  someone’s  myrtle  beach  vacation.   a  sharp  pang  of  pity  jabs  you  in  the  gut,   but  you  quickly  dismiss  it.   they  were  the  ones  who  made  you  come  here  in  the  first  place.   you  were  perfectly  content  to  sit  on  the  couch  eating  crescent  dogs  and  watching  ryan  seacrest’s  valiant  attempt  at  moving  his  facial  features.

two  minutes  later,   you’re  sitting  shoulder  to  shoulder  on  the  steps  of  a  splintered  deck,   watching  jackie  smear  a  thick  layer  of  goop  all  over  her  lips.   the  artificial  scent  of  sugar  cookie  commingles  with  the  chill  in  the  air  and  you  shove  your  hands  into  the  kangaroo  pockets  of  your  hoodie  to  keep  warm.   as  she  caps  the  tube  of  gloss  and  flashes  a  shy  smile  in  your  direction,   you  remember  thinking  she’s  going  to  kiss  me   —   but  you’ve  been  wrong  before.   more  times  than  you  could  count.

“   what’s  your  name  again?   ”   she  asks,   fiddling  with  her  necklace.   it  was  one  of  those  wire  pendants  shaped  with  a  pair  of  needle - nose  pliers  to  spell  out  one’s  name.   jaclyn,   hers  declared  in  spray - on  gold  cursive.

“   jason.   ”

“   hi,   jason.   ”

before  you  can  even  progress  the  bizarre  turn  this  night  has  taken,   she  leans  forward  and  sort  of   .  .  .   places  her  mouth  against  yours.   there’s  something  expectant  in  the  way  she  lingers,   as  if  she’s  waiting  for  you  to  unleash  your  expert  kissing  prowess  upon  the  world.   a  foolish  part  of  you  had  always  wanted  your  first  experience  to  resemble  the  famous  upside - down  kiss  from  spider - man,   though  the  technicalities  seemed  a  little  too  advanced  for  a  newcomer  such  as  yourself.   instead,   hands  not  budging  from  their  pockets,   you  make  a  feeble  at  attempt  at  kissing  her  back.   the  two  of  you  sit  there  for  a  few  moments,   lips  repeatedly  bumping  into  one  another’s  in  some  strange  ritual  dance  that  in  no  way  resembles  kissing,   and  when  the  sliding  door  opens  and  mr.  sherman  steps  outside,   you’re  just  glad  it’s  over.

when  the  dust  settles  on  the  initial  shock  of  being  caught,   jackie  puts  her  number  in  your  phone.   you  both  know  she’ll  never  hear  from  you,   and  it’s  undoubtedly  for  the  best.   by  the  end  of  winter  break,   she  and  her  boyfriend  would  reunite,   and  soon  enough,   youth  group  girl  and  new  years  boy  would  be  little  more  than  a  footnote  in  their  love  story.

it’s  eight  minutes  to  midnight  when  your  parents  finally  escape  the  trenches  and  flag  you  down  in  the  dining  room,   where  you’re  chowing  down  on  a  plate  of  sweet  and  sour  meatballs  in  solitude.   they  ask  if  you’re  ready  to  leave  and  you  cannot  agree  fast  enough.   the  three  of  you  shuffle  home  in  silence  and  the  whole  time,   you  can’t  stop  yourself  from  feeling  that  by  kissing  paulie  sherman’s  cousin,   you’ve  somehow  betrayed  your  norwegian  pen  pal.   god,   you  wish  you  stayed  home  tonight.

just  as  you  reach  the  doorstep,   the  sound  of  muted  cheers  erupts  throughout  the  block.   fifteen  miles  west,   the  ball  drops  in  times  square  and  if  you  listen  hard  enough,   you  can  almost  hear  the  opening  notes  of  auld  lang  syne.

you  watch  as  your  dad  stops  fumbling  with  his  keys  to  lean  over  and  give  your  mom  a  tender  kiss.   so  that’s  how  it’s  supposed  to  look.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E8; Chapter Eight, The Mind Flayer - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

An unlikely hero steps forward when a deadly development puts the Hawkins Lab on lockdown, trapping Will and several others inside.

||3rd Person POV||

The once pristine and orderly lab had become a desolate wasteland in a matter of minutes. Blood painted the walls and bodies were scattered among the labyrinth of halls. Buckled down in the heart of Hawkins Lab, Owens scatters a map, pen in hand. The others quickly close in around him as he draws out their escape plan.

"Look, this is us," he circles a corner on the map. "and this is the nearest exit. But even if we somehow make it there, there's no way out."

Hopper's brow furrows, his grip on the flashlight grows subconsciously tighter. "What do you mean?"

"The locks are fail-secure."

"Fail secure?" Joyce asks.

"If there's a power outage," Owens says, looking around at the confused faces. "the building goes on lockdown."

"Can it be unlocked remotely?" Bob asks.

"With a computer, sure, but somebody's gotta reset the breakers."

Hopper inches closer, growing ever restless. "Where are the breakers?"

"Breakers are in the basement," Owens returns to the map. "three floors down."

Not wasting another moment, Hopper spins on his heel and stomps for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Bob calls after him.

Hopper gives him an incredulous look. "To reset the breakers."

Bob scoffs worriedly. "Okay, then what?"

"Then we get out of here."

"No, then the power comes back on. If you wanna unlock the doors you have to reboot the computer system, and then override the security codes with a manual input."

"Fine," Hopper sighs. "How do I do that?"

It's Bob's turn to look incredulous. "You can't. Not unless you know BASIC."

"I don't know what that means," Hopper asks shortly, growing increasingly stressed.

"It's a computer programming language," Mike replies, jumping in.

"Teach it to me,"

Bob scoffed shortly, dawning an uncharacteristic mocking tone. "Shall I teach you French, while I'm at it, Jim? How about a little German?"

Everyone listens, taken aback at his unusual behavior and the man turns to Owens.

"How about you, doc?" He asks, growing urgent. "You speak BASIC?"

Sheepishly, he shakes his head, suddenly finding the floor particularly interesting. "No."

Dreading the answer, Bob reluctantly accepts and scoffs nervously, nodding his head.

"Okay, I got this," he mutters nervously, turning to Hopper repeating the words more assured. "I've got this."

"No," Joyce's voice cracks, and she envelops Bob in a worried hug. "Bob."

"It's okay," Bob gratefully accepts the tender hug before looking into her eyes. "It's gonna be okay. Remember, Bob Newby, superhero."

||Reader's POV||

We carry on over another small hill through the trees and the pads of my feet, ironically enough, feel as if they are on fire. I keep glancing at my shoes for any sign of distress even though I know it's because I've been walking all day. And truthfully, I'm unsure how much more walking I can take.

I let out my umpteenth sigh, keeping my eyes trained on where Steve is stepping to avoid tripping on any more roots. Another side effect of walking all day, my reflexes have dulled considerably.

"How much longer?" I ask.

Steve huffs, using the bat to swipe away some low hanging branches in our path. "Jesus, if one more of you shits ask me that again,"

"Sorry, you're majesty!" I groan sarcastically, throwing my head back briefly in frustration no doubt earning a few surprised glances.

I'm able to see the clouds of branches above us sway in the wind, parting ever so to reveal the inky night sky and I calm significantly. My anger dissolves a bit, enough to feel a small pang of guilt for snapping at Steve. Especially since he was helping Dustin, and all of us, actually.

I look back down at the forest floor, a tad embarrassed.

"Sorry, really," I mumble, and I catch Steve's hardened glare soften a bit over his shoulder. "It's just,"

I pause, glancing back at the night sky once more, and I feel another soft gust of wind snake through the trees and hit my face and I feel soothed. The stars always had a way of calming me. It awes me, something about the vastness of it all, and just how complex and simple it all was, all at once.

Reassured, I continue. "My feet are killing, and the junkyard took a lot out of me. You've been super helpful, so it's not fair to you to-"

"Shut up," He hisses, suddenly.

"What?"

"I said, shut up," he repeats, voice lowered and eyes focused ahead.

I look to the others, Max merely shrugs with an odd look, Lucas readies the wrist rocket and Dustin seems to be the only one the honed in on the situation.

I fall silent, my ears straining and I'm able to make out a familiar voice over the rustling of the trees as Steve pulls away at more branches.

"Who's there?" It calls. "Who's there?!"

Steve is the first to break through the woods and we all pool out at his side. One of the first things I notice is a security booth and a familiar car parked beside. It takes me a moment to identify the two figures across the clearing, but the moment it registers, they speak, confirming my suspicions.

"Steve?" They ask in perfect unison.

"Nancy?" Steve asks.

Nancy and Jonathan stand across the small stretch of grass, and I can't help a confused smile.

"Jonathan?" I break out into a brisk walk, ignoring my aching feet and the duo makes their way towards us. "Nancy!"

"Y/n?"

"It's so good to see you!" I give Jonathan a quick side hug, relieved to see the familiar face of a Byers. "What are you guys doing here?"

I pull back, smiling at them both but it quickly deflates when I think of Will. I look to Jonathan worriedly.

"How's Will?"

I can hear the others making their way towards us, but I'm more focused on the unusual behavior. He begins shifting on his feet, his previous look of confusion towards me and my unfamiliar garb melted away into that of concern.

"We're looking for him, and Mike." He gestures to Nancy and glances at Dustin and Lucas. "Wait, they aren't with you guys?"

None of us have time to answer before a string of hideous screeching echoes out from the lab.

An all too familiar pit burrows in my stomach, I can feel it taking root at the new information. Will couldn't go missing again, he just couldn't. But if the Upside Down was involved, which I know for a fact it is, then it can't be good.

||3rd Person POV||

A golden yellow beam of light bounces down the stairwell in tune with Bob's ragged breathing and the squeak of his shoes against the polished stairs. His heart is racing wildly, and never once did he imagine he would ever find himself racing through Hawkins Lab, gun in hand, to escape an infestation of interdimensional monsters. Heck, he couldn't he even picture himself with a gun! Good thing Jim was able to give him at least somewhat of breakdown on how to use one, and for now that would have to do.

But he reminds himself of the danger, the danger Joyce and the others as well as himself. He reaches the basement and almost instantly he is enveloped in a blanket of steam from the heaters, and the poor lighting gives off the illusion he has been swallowed by a thick layer of smog. It does nothing to ease the sweat percolating on his skin no more than the distant beeps of the alarm echo in his mind serving as a harsh reminder.

He stalks carefully through the mist, checking his corners to the best of his ability for his first time and he can feel every nerve stand on edge. It's only proven by the shaky beam of light streaming through his flashlight.

A harsh and sudden hiss goes off above his head and he nearly jumps out of his skin. The gun and light come to aim shakily at the source of the noise and he feels the wave of relief crash over him as he sees it's merely a pipe, clouds of steam pooling from a small valve.

He takes a long deep breath, his aim returning to his path.

"Keep it together, Bob." He mumbles.

It's not much longer before he finds himself at the breaker room, and he is relieved when he hears the click of the door as it swings open unlocked. But it vanishes almost as soon and he jumps when his flashlight finds the bloodied remains of two bodies on the floor.

Bob does his best to collect his gasps, but he finds it a difficult ordeal. His grip on his flashlight, and his gun, tighten and he is sure to shut the door behind him before stepping further into the room. It's quiet and unnaturally still apart from the blood pumping in his ears, it only grows worse as he navigates around the fallen men. Finally, he turns the corner finding at long last what he had risked his life for. The breakers.

Labeled on a plastic tag, the words, MAIN POWER caught his eye and he knew for sure he was in the right place.

"Okay, here we go,"

Taking a deep breath, he flips the first switch and he is suddenly bathed in light. It's not long before it spreads throughout the entire lab. With every lever he pulls, the lab steadily comes to life, including the surveillance room.

The others perk up when the florescence flicker on above their heads. Mike is the first to step up to the monitors as each screen comes to life. At its center, the breakers in the basement where Bob Newby stands.

||Reader's POV||

"What do you mean? Haven't you-?"

"I haven't seen him, or Mike since Friday!" I plea.

Everything was a mess, everyone had begun talking over each other in a big huddle and no one could get a clear word in edgewise. That is until Nancy broke free from the circle.

"The power's back!"

My eyes fall past the gate and treeline to see that she's right, the building had lit up completely.

I quickly fall in line with the others and it's as if a small race broke out for who could get to the security booth first. Jonathan did, and he wasted no time hitting the button. I could hear the rapid clicking from where I stood at the front of the car, and I quickly looked to the gate expectantly.

Nothing happens.

The clicking continues and we all watched confused and increasingly worried as it remains perfectly still.

Another screech echoes in the distance and I can feel my anxiety blossom from the pit in my stomach. I begin subconsciously bouncing on the balls of my heels and I look around at the others for any ideas.

"Guys...?"

I meet eyes with Dustin and he looks as if he's grown ever more impatient, and my anxious state is his final sign. He kicks into gear, heading for the booth.

"Let me try--"

"Hang on--" Jonathan tries.

He's cut off by Dustin who weakly shoves him back with a frustrated whine. "Let me try, Jonathan!"

I watch deflated as my brother does nothing but wear out the button, and I roll my eyes with a deep breath. I feel a pair of eyes on me, and I look to find Max glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, concerned. She looks away when she knows she's been caught. I look down at my hands and realize not only am I rocking back and forth on my heels but I'm also desperately wringing my hands.

I note the silence in the air, I look back at Dustin who watches the gate expectantly, an exasperated Jonathan standing behind him. The silence lasts not a moment longer before Dustin begins shouting.

"Well, son of a bitch! You know what..." he grumbles, returning to the button with even more fervor.

I try to calm myself the best of my ability, taking slow deep breaths but it only helps so much. My eyes return to the sight of the lab, and I can't help but fear what lies ahead.

+++

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[nonbinarybrainstorm]

can we get a tfp optiratch nsfw drabble please

*jazz hands* this is very soft jsyk

It’s been a thankfully uneventful day so Ratchet could actually run the diagnostics he’d been meaning to for weeks now. Which of course means that he gets interrupted right in the middle of going through yet another firewall defrag by a pair of large arms that pull him away from his station and against a broad chest. He rolls his optics and is about to tell Optimus to let him work when a hand glides over his codpiece effectively silencing him, his words sticking in his intake. He turns around, tugging himself from Optimus’ hold and levels a stern look at him but Optimus remains unphased, letting Ratchet go easily.

“This is hardly the time or place for this sort of thing, Optmus,” Ratchet crosses his arms and Optimus has the gall to smile fondly.

“It’s a school day so the children aren’t around, the others are out on patrol and won’t be back for a few hours,” Optimus steps forward and cups Ratchet’s hips in his hands, “and Agent Fowler is at a convention of some kind. So, now would really be a perfect time.”

Ratchet eyes Optimus up and down, briefly turning back to look at his unfinished work then back at Optimus’ hopeful smile and sighs. Optimus leans down and plants a kiss on the side of Ratchet’s helm, knowing full well that he’s won making Ratchet grumble. He moves down to Ratchet’s neck cables, sucking at them eagerly as Ratchet runs hs servos over Optimus’ chest, sighing into the feeling. Ratchet tugs Optimus’ helm away and gets a confused look from Optimus as he begins tugging him away to another part of the base and has him sit on a table. Before Optimus can ask what he’s planning, Ratchet pushes his legs apart and settles into a kneeling position.

Ratchet taps on Optimus’ panel and commands, “Open.”

Optimus obeys and Ratchet is instantly on him, glossa running over his node then down to swirl around his entrance, chuckling when he feels Optimus’ legs tense as he struggles to keep them from squeezing Ratchet’s helm. He hums over Optimus’s node and smirks at the soft noise he makes. Looking up at him, Ratchet sees Optimus with his mouth open in pleasure and optics firmly locked on him sending a thrill down Ratchet’s spinal strut. Optimus runs a hand over Ratchet’s helm that Ratchet catches and turns to kiss before moving to Optimus’ wrist to nip the sensitive cables there and is dragged up by Optimus. Optimus tugs him close and kisses him, taking time to slowly run his glossa over Ratchet’s lower lip while grinding his valve against Ratchet’s codpiece. Ratchet steps back out of reach and gently pushes away Optimus’ outreached hand.

“I want to watch you play with yourself,” Ratchet smirks and Optimus stiffens in surprise.

Optimus’ faceplates grow flush as he brings a hand to his valve and rubs his node, looking away as he becomes unable to meet Ratchet’s gaze. He pushes two fingers into his entrance and brings his other hand up to continue playing with his node and a low moan escapes his intake, the thrust of his fingers start becoming more insistent. Ratchet steps forward and cups Optimus’ face, turning his helm so he’s looking at him and kisses him slow and sweet then breaks it so he can look down to continue watching Optimus work himself.

“Ratchet,” Optimus moans.

“Just a little longer,” Ratchet assures him and presses the side of his helm to Optimus’ as he strokes Optimus’ helm lovingly, feeling the excited thrum of Optimus’ engine against him.

Optimus groans with frustration against Ratchet’s shoulder and before Ratchet can react, he’s being tugged closer by the hip. With a practiced move, Optimus undoes Ratchet’s spike cover and wraps his hand around Ratchet’s spike making him groan into a laugh and then gasp as he feels Optimus’ denta dig into his neck cables.

“Impatient today I see,” Ratchet teases and moves Optimus’ hand from his spike and lines himself up while Optimus wraps his arms around his shoulders, tucking his face into Ratchet’s neck.

Ratchet pushes into Optimus, groaning low at the relief of finally being inside of him. He starts slow, thrusting in and out at an even rhythm, relishing the feeling of Optimus and breathing him in. Optimus lifts up his helm to kiss him which is slow too, both of them taking full advantage of what time they have. Ratchet pushes in a bit rougher and Optimus gasps out of the kiss and rests his helm against Ratchet’s and smiles that one smile Ratchet knows is just for him and it makes his spark stutter even after all these years. His pace picks up and Optimus cries out softly and tightens his grip on Ratchet.

“I love you,” Ratchet whispers low and Optimus gasps, “I love you so much, Optimus.”

With that ridiculous strength of his that absolutely makes Ratchet’s head spin sometimes, Optimus flips their positions so he’s riding Ratchet’s spike and he kisses Ratchet deeply. Ratchet fumbles with his hands on Optimus’ hips, trying to gain a grip in his muddled state as Optimus starts riding him in earnest. Ratchet can feel every little flutter and squeeze of Optimus’ valve around his spike, each one driving him closer and closer to the edge. Optimus looking at him so with such open and vulnerable optics also makes his spark do backflips with the sensation going straight to his array. If only Optimus knew how much of a complete sap he was, he’d never survive how Optimus would treat him, with even more tenderness than he already does. All of the kisses to his helm and gentle touches on his chest were already almost too much for him to handle.

“I love you,” Optimus whispers into his audial with so much genuine emotion that Ratchet finds himself pulling Optimus down onto his spike roughly, making him gasp and moan in surprise.

Optimus steadies himself and starts riding Ratchet in earnest, all soft gasps, and moans. Ratchet buries his face in Optimus’ chest, face heating in mixed shame and arousal, hoping Optimus didn’t notice. Then, Optimus pushes him away just enough so he can rest his forehelm against Ratchet’s again, smiling so brightly while biting his lip at the feeling of having Ratchet’s thick spike in him. He presses a kiss to Ratchet’s cheek, pets his helm, and practically nuzzles his face against Ratchet’s. It becomes all too much and Ratchet is overloading into his valve, gripping him tightly to keep him close. Optimus gasps and moans low, thrusting down once more and sighs as he tips over into his own overload, his valve squeezing tightly around Ratchet’s spike. Ratchet swallows thickly as he recovers and resets his optics to look back up at Optimus who’s smiling far too broadly.

“Oh no,” Ratchet mutters and Optimus just laughs.

[crystalconjunx]

Mtmte Megs and J, N, P and Y?

MTMTE Megatron

Jacking Off

One might think MTMTE Megs has a very hands-on approach to dealing with stress relief, but his self-control with all his vices is still very strong. He hasn't interfaced in a long time and it's honestly tragic

If he has an s/o, he'd rather just make a move on them. Why settle?

If he has a crush, though? He would probably masturbate to them furiously. The temptation combined with the guilt and longing would make a mess of him pretty quickly. He wouldn't be able to resist telling them for long so he could at least move on.

No's

He's a serious mech, but he's fine with a little playfulness. He's been around the block, from Tarn to Kaon to Iacon and Earth— there isn't much he hasn't seen or tried, but he has a few definites. 

Sleep sex/somnophilia. Once he might not have minded with a partner, but now he suffers from pretty bad nightmares. It's best not to initiate anything with him while he's asleep or he might panic... Again.

Don't mess with his helm.

He likes bondage, but it will take a long time to work him up to anything like sensory deprivation. He will never wear real stasis cuffs or allow himself to be truly immobilized in anyway. Play ropes are fine, but nothing stronger. 

Role-play isn't really his thing. 

Degradation. He enjoys it, but at what cost? He's very unhealthy about it. 

Pace

He's not picky about pacing. However the moment calls for is the speed he's going. 

But when he goes, he goes.

His stamina is inexhaustible. His power is unquestionable. Valve is immaculate. Spike game is god-like.

A quickie in the closet? He'll frag his s/o just right to make them finish the moment they needed to, as if he knew their frame piece by piece. 

Long, drawn out thrusts that keep his s/o up all night? His rhythm never falters.

Sometimes he just really needs a hard, messy frag, all strength and unrelenting force around his s/o as he just takes what he needs. Those are the kind he's best at.

Yearning

His libido is extremely high, and being on the Lost Light means not having to focus his efforts on the war— he's pent-up 24/7. 

If he has an s/o, they're going to find themselves at his tender mercies more often than not. Otherwise he's going to be a high-strung crank until he cracks and starts self-servicing again.

[workingonthepsychward]

SIBO Solution

I’m putting this out there because someone may need to see it, like I did. 

Tl:DR: I have had SIBO (small intestine bacterial overgrowth) for about 12 years. I had many symptoms, I tried many things. I found relief 4 months ago. Now you can skip the first paragraph if you want. 

I started having intestinal discomfort over a decade ago. Gas, belching, cramps, diarrhea or constipation. It would come and go, I would be fine for a few weeks and then I’d be miserable for weeks. Usually with the pain worsening throughout the day. I had to stop wearing jeans or any other pants with buttons a couple of years ago, because the pressure would cause cramping. I went to yoga pants only. Sitting in the car would cause cramping. I looked 6 months pregnant. I tried eliminating foods, I tried gluten free, dairy free, a vata reducing diet, the low FODMAP diet: nothing. I did a food sensitivity blood test (mild sensitivity to garlic and salmon only). I went to a gastro doctor who diagnosed me with lactose intolerance and SIBO. I went through two rounds of antibiotics for the SIBO and the symptoms kept coming back. Then his only other solution was to put me on anti-anxiety meds, which I refused because I don’t have anxiety. Yes, it would get worse with stress, but it never went away when I did not have stress. So then I tried herbal antibiotics (dysbiocide and FC-Cidal). These helped and I was symptom free for a couple of months. Then it came back. I tried other supplements (Berberine), but it came back again. Desperate, I tried the first supplements again. They helped, but then it came back while I was still on the supplements! I expanded my internet search. I found many doctors specializing in SIBO. None of them would take insurance and all of them charged thousands of dollars for their services. I was almost desperate enough to try them, because I could barely make it through a day of work at this point. Perusing a SIBO forum to try and decide whether these specialists would be worth it I found a link that someone posted to something called Ileocecal Valve Massage. I had never heard of it. But: desperate. That was in January. It’s now almost May and I have been symptom free since then. Sometimes I can feel the tension building, but then I do the massage and take some magnesium that day, because my symptoms get worse with constipatio and it goes away. I take the maintenance dose of atrantil to help with the bloating (now only looking 3 months pregnant, but that is peri-menopause for you). It’s still hard for me to believe that I’ve not had cramps for so long!

So. Ileocecal Valve Massage. This is the website you need: https://drjockers.com/benefits-ileocecal-valve-massage/ 

Combine what you learn there with some herbal antibiotics to kill off the bacterial growth in your small intestines (both the dysbiocide/Fc-cidal and the Atrantil worked for me, the latter is cheaper). And who knows, maybe this works for you too. Once you’ve learned to do the massage it starts to become pretty easy to tell. When all is fine, I can dig around in my belly and find nothing. When I start feeling tension in my bowels, there is a hard, tender knot when I dig my fingers in at the right spot. I’ve graduated to only doing the massage when I need it now and am eating pretty much anything, including lactose. I do make sure I chew my walnuts really well. Funnily enough, Dr Jockers mentions trigger points in other parts of the body that are connected to the IC-valve and for me there is a clear link between a painful spot in my right calf and the IC-valve. Your mileage may vary, though.

Before you go spend your money at specialists, maybe give this a try. 

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Could I req some tfp Optiratch breeding kink 🥺 i love that shit

hella! Hope you like it!

Ratchet and Optimus had secretly been dating for about three months now. It wasn’t that either were embarrassed of each other, they were proud even, it was just the timing. The fact that they were still in war was a huge factor. In any case, Optimus was happy, and he was loved. But...not loved enough. It wasn’t that his medic wasn’t loving, quite the opposite. It’s just the fact that Optimus...well. He wanted Ratchet to fuck him. They had made love before, and it was nice and sweet, but it wasn’t enough. Optimus’s matrix was forcing him to have such dirty, foul wants. He wanted Ratchet to instill life in him. He wanted Ratchet to take him, and fill him with his overload. He wanted his kind, strong medic to inseminate him. And he was going to tell him that.

“Come on, you made an appointment with him, the least you can do is go through with it. He is nothing but kind and polite to you.”

“Optimus, you’re up next, come on in.”

Optimus inhaled, before walking inside the medbay. Ratchet motioned for him to sit on the gurney, and he obeyed. Ratchet looked over his chart, lightly humming.

“Okay, you put your symptoms as ‘heated frame’. Does anything hurt? Anything aches?”

Ratchet kept touching over his frame, and Optimus chuckled. Ratchet was so caring to him. He’d make such a good sire.

“You didn’t say such sweet things to Bulkhead when he came in with the same problem.”

“Well...Bulkhead was fine.”

“What, and I’m not?”

That comment was enough to make Ratchet pause, before chuckling, and looking him over.

“Optimus! Someone has some gusto today, I think something MIGHT be up with you.”

Ratchet made the motion to have him sit down, before Optimus held onto his hands.

"Ratchet, I concede that there has been some...mild deceit on my part. I do know what the problem is. But if I tell you, I need you to promise me to be understanding of my plight."

Ratchet looked bewildered, before nodding furiously, hands ever tight on his own.

"Optimus of COURSE. You're not only my friend, but my spark. I can be nothing BUT understanding!"

Optimus sighed in relief. His Ratchet really was so caring and compassionate towards him. It only made Optimus crave him more. He tried to be delicate in his wording, but in his bout of lust, it...didn't come out so well mannered.

"Ratchet, I want to carry your pups."

The words came out of his mouth so eagerly, so wanting, it made Ratchet freeze. Optimus scrambled, hating how Ratchet looked lost.

"Ratchet, I just mean that I...well you see, my…"

He kept trying to force his thoughts into motion, but he could refuse himself no longer. He grabbed Ratchet by his face, and planted his lips on his own. It was a hungry, aggressive kiss, that Ratchet was powerless against. When Optimus parted, nearly breathless, he looked at Ratchet, optics pleading for forgiveness.

"I apologize. Ratchet I-"

"Do you mean that?"

Ratchet's optics looked upon him intensively, and Optimus wanted to give himself to him here and now. He nodded, lightly thumbing the other's bottom lip.

"I want you to overload in me. I want you to create a new life within me. Ratchet, I want you to fill me until it hurts. Please, let me carry your sparklings."

Ratchet hesitated, and Optimus understood why. He was in his heat, he was speaking so crudely and openly, it was hard to tell if this is what Optimus wanted, or if it was his horny, horny matrix. He was about to apologize for making him uncomfortable, before Ratchet pushed him onto the medical berth behind him. Ratchet's servos surveyed his chest, and Optimus was powerless. Ratchet's cheeks were ignited, but his voice was as serious as he could make it.

"Optimus. You know that my love for you knows no bounds. If you want to carry my young...so be it."

Optimus wanted to cry in pure joy. Ratchet was going to give him what he wanted, create life in his womb. Ratchet, even at the idea of Optimus wanting him so badly, was still a generous lover. He let his lips roam from his neck, to his windows, even down to his servos. Ratchet then clicked open his valve panel, and his expert servos toyed and fondled his poor folds. Ratchet's breath was hot against his neck as he chuckled.

"You're already so wet for me, aren't you Optimus? You've been waiting all day for me, I can only imagine the agony. Don't worry, you'll get yours soon enough."

Ratchet pulled his hand away, before shoving the wet servos in the Prime's mouth.

"Suck."

Optimus obeyed promptly, pushing his helm too and fro, lips dragging across the skilled servos. Ratchet sat and watched as the wet glossa squirmed and roamed against him. Just how he liked it. Ratchet would’ve abused this opportunity to really get a good handjob, but his poor spike wasn’t willing to wait any longer. He slowly pulled his servo out of his mouth, despite Optimus’s clear want to continue. Optimus wanted to please him, it was flattering. But that would be selfish, using all this time to let the other suffer. He lifted the other’s thighs, and hiked his legs over his shoulders. He wanted to make sure he got in there, nice and deep. Ratchet’s servos carefully roamed over his big, broad chest, nearly making him tremble in anticipation. 

“Optimus, I’m going to give you what you want. But if you change your mind at any point, I need you to tell me, understand?”

“I...very much doubt you’ll get resistance from me. But I appreciate your kindness, old friend. You’re going to make a very kind...very compassionate sire.”

Ratchet wanted to add more to this, but Optimus looked ready to pounce at him at this point. He couldn’t wait any longer. Neither of them could. Ratchet opened his spike panel, finally freeing his aching spike, and let Optimus have it. The second his spike pushed past those wet, greedy folds, Optimus let his helm toss back. It was the perfect medicine to cure what ailed him. Ratchet chuckled, hands on his chest as he started to crash his hips against his own. He wanted to be delicate, wanted to be tender and loving, but he waited too long. Optimus needed that raw, forceful energy, and Ratchet was intending to give it to him. Ratchet may be old, but his want to make Optimus happy knew no bounds, and he let Optimus have the harsh, firm thrusts of his spike. And Optimus was relishing in it; thanking him profusely, gripping onto the berth, pushing against the opposing force.

“Are you alright, Optimus? I-”

“Harder. Now.”

Ratchet’s helm spun at the sudden bark of a command, but he nodded. He took a minute to adjust himself, before slamming into him again, forcing the berth below them to creak and groan underneath so much weight. Ratchet couldn't believe how wanting Optimus was, how he whined and groaned, begging for him. It was enough to push Ratchet way further than usual. He grabbed Optimus’s face firmly in his servo, wanting his focus to be completely on his words.

“I’m...I’m going to overload. You want it inside, right? This is a big thing Optimus, I just-”

“Ratchet, you’re kind, and I appreciate that, but if you do NOT overload in me, I’m going to TAKE it from you.”

Ratchet was damn near fearful at the serious tone Optimus had. He wanted him BAD, and aside from the shock, it was flattering. He nodded, kept his palm over his mouth, and continued to frag Optimus, before inevitably spilling his overload into him. He swore as he felt himself spill into his valve, and Optimus seemed to appreciate that just as much, optics rolling to the back of his helm. There was a moment where they sat there, taking in the fact that Ratchet just spilled his seed into Optimus. Ratchet peeled his hand away, watching as the drool followed suit. Optimus sat there, panting, trembling. Ratchet put his legs down carefully, and slowly pulled his spike out of him. He lightly parted the folds, getting to see his own CNA inside Optimus’s folds.

“Satisfied now, Prime?”

Ratchet thought he was going to nod, like he usually did. Optimus sat up, hoisted Ratchet up by his thighs, and but his back against the wall. Ratchet looked at him, stunned by the sudden action.

“I...I need more Ratchet. This isnt enough. I need more of you, please.”

“Optimus I don’t think I can-”

“PLEASE. You feel so good. You’re SO strong, and so kind, and so handsome, I need to have more of you.”

Ratchet stiffened as Optimus grazed his wet valve against his spike, nearly humping him like some horny mutt. His praise didn’t cease, and neither did his lips against his neck.

“I want to carry your pups. I want so many strong, compassionate pups. I want to feel swelled up with your young, I want you to fuss over me as they grow. I want a part of you inside of me. I’ll do more of the work if I must, just please. PLEASE give me permission to use you to my satisfaction.”

Ratchet knew his face was burning. Optimus always had this habit of making him flushed, and he was abusing this power now. Who COULD refuse him? A big, stubborn, handsome mech who wanted to carry his sparklings. He forced his optics onto his, and nodded.

“Use me until you’re satisfied, Pr-”

He didn't even wait for him to finish, before Optimus’s hands were on his aft, and his spike was slamming into him like some dirty, dirty toy. Ratchet always coined the term ‘I needed that’. 

And it felt nice, knowing someone felt that way about HIM.

[blackwoolncrown]

I wish there were fewer totally like extra-ass sensualists or more passionate people with a sense of balance and temperance bc idk it gets to be like, really pendulum swingy trying to navigate languages of pleasure or passion without being perceived as or being pressured to be ~absolutely unbidden~.

Anyway it’s a relief reading rn and talking about how, in the work for social revolution, yes we need to center pleasure but doing so also means knowing how to be satiable.

I think in a certain sense that was and is where free love or hedonism movements and all their ilk fail- they remain somewhat capitalistic, functioning under the idea that more is always more, which is of course unsustainable and unhealthy.

But also how, in a society with so much repression, it causes that sort of pressure valve dynamic where people see life in a binary of repression vs hedonism and as soon as they can wriggle out of whatever repressive structure they’re in, they get out and go apeshit in ways that can really harm them and others because they never learned how to tell genuine satisfaction or pleasure from addictive behavior or dysfunctional coping.

There’s a passage from Pleasure Activism where AMB talks about how, when she’s working with people on pleasure activism and explaining it to them sometimes she sees their eyes ‘light up, bright with imaginings of bacchanalias’, and how she feels ‘tender’ for them because she knows that they’re imagining that what she’s prescribing is some ‘do everything you want and as much of it as you can’ sort of idea; she can see instantly hwo deprived of pleasure they are and what a small, inaccurate idea they have of it and says, no, this takes time, this is an art and a skill and something you have to learn.

I’ve said it before but I hate the idea of bacchanalia. I feel disgusted by passions that cannot be sated. To be insatiable is as if to say you will never know peace, and nothing will ever be enough.

It’s nice reading about love and pleasure as praxis from people very much not entrenched in the perverse, bottomless stomach that is individualist anglo-capitalist-heteropatriarchy.