#STAGNANT FOR 11 HOURS

[wickjump]

at this rate error might win and get a crumb of genuine self confidence this is bullshit. we should kill him

[rowanhoney]

okay SO I don’t remember what meds I was given (and only 2 doses of it </3) and it hasn’t helped in the ways I’d hoped but god I’m experiencing some reeeeal clarity today and I think some healing to follow

[koiiiji]

finishing ur requests? uum no. another idea nobody asked about? yes pls💯💯

wooin x sis!reader (platonic)

author’s note : after last chapter i had this headcanon in my head. i suspect that wooin grew up in toxic household where his parents make him study, locking him up in his room, but boy probably was dreaming about just be free, and once left home. i also suspect his family probably has the same wealth as minu, but his parents way more toxic and controlling. but when he left home he left his part there, the part of his soul.

honesty 1000% in love how some ppl just ignored my closed inbox and keep sent requests🤣🤍🫵🏻 seriously guys, the best!! i will answer all requests, almost all is in process(i mean at least 20-40% already done) but now enjoying my time at home😌💌🔒

warnings : no(?) lil fluff, lil angst, nothing hardcore, prob grammar mistakes(not proofed as all my writings)

༘⋆ wooin is older sibling 100%

༘⋆ when his parents told him he will have a sister, when he was 3 or 4 he was jealous, and whole 9 months he waited for someone who will ruin his life

༘⋆ but instead, when your father brought you and your mum to home from hospital, wooin was confused

༘⋆ he only saw a small girl, no one who could harm him in any way

༘⋆ your first ever smile was for him, or because of him by the way!! and he blushed so so much when your small hand clung to his index finger

༘⋆ so he built a soft spot for you in his heart in two years, because first years you’ve been crying, screaming and sobbing mess, well like all toddlers, while wooin was saying that he was too old to babysit you (bro was like 5-6 years old and crying himself to sleep bc didn’t understand how 10*10 equals 100 and 11*11 didn’t equal 111)

༘⋆ btw you were always silent when he was babysitting you. he chuckled each time when you looked at him with wide open eyes

༘⋆ through his childhood your parents were extremely strict with him, so he partly grateful to you for the fact that you took some attention on yourself and gave him the opportunity to be free from his studies and lectures from your parents for a while

༘⋆ but each year atmosphere in your home becomes more toxic, and when you grow up a little you could remember how wooin was locked in his room to study better, because he didn’t have acceptable marks

༘⋆ but you would always sneak in his room late at night, with your saved from the morning sweets and share some with him

༘⋆ you both favorite was lollipops with lemon favors tho!!

༘⋆ when you were about 13 years old, wooin left the house, he was 17

༘⋆ no need to say that your parents were furious. especially your father. in korea it’s common that son is inherits family business or work, so it’s always been a big scandal over his marks, behavior and look

༘⋆ so when he left, for you it meant that all the attention and rigor of your parents were transferred to you

༘⋆ atter the first couple of months of your brother's absence, he found the strength to meet with you

༘⋆ wooin knew perfectly that parents rage will reflect on you, and honestly he were scared - that you will hate him

༘⋆ when he met you near your school, he froze for few seconds and then hugged you so tight that you thought he was about to break your ribs (you returned him that favor)

༘⋆ you two always were close, wooin was your freshness in a house full of stuffy, stagnant air, while you was his little sunshine of hope and happiness in his dark, locked room

༘⋆ you didn’t have a lot of time after your school, so you just hugged tightly and exchanged phone numbers, so you could stay in touch

༘⋆ few days after you find the way to sneak out of the house to meet with your brother you spend few hours on a bench talking and listening to each other

༘⋆ - how are the relatives? on a scale of one to fucked up, how angry were they?

- fucked up in a cube, you know our dad, he wasn't just furious, from the screams from their room, i think he literally lost his temper

༘⋆ wooin just chuckled sadly and rubbed his neck with the palm of his hand

༘⋆ as the years passed, your nightly meetings continued. sometimes he would catch you after school or another after-school club where your parents had put you

༘⋆ wooin offered you to run away to him several times. by your senior year in school, he was self-supporting, and he even had some white-haired giant working for him, constantly pining after him

༘⋆ somehow you refused, deciding to finish school first and then he promised to help you with either work or university, depends on what you will choose

༘⋆ yes, guys from sabbath know you

༘⋆ yes, heyok once caught you two hugging

*wooin pressed his lips on top of your head, tightly shutting his eyes, frowning a little, he didn’t know when he will see you again, because he knew, in exam session parents won’t let you have a free second*

༘⋆ in first place heyok though you two dating, but then joker explained him how things actually going(my headcanon that they gossip girls, frfr)

༘⋆ since you hanged out with wooin you caught your brother’s manners of jokes

༘⋆ “hey, big bro, does that new red haired guy in your team have a girlfri..”

“don’t you even dare to finish this sentence” he exclaimed indignantly. no way his precious little sis will deal with that motherfucker.

[remember-digimon]

Next up is my favorite, Matt!

Wow what a cool guy.

So, Matt is usually described as a loner, Tai's rival, and the Angsty Cool Guy. None of these actually describe who he is, so let's dive into that.

1. Loner. Matt isn't a loner, he's lonely. Big difference. He keeps others at a very long arm's length as a self-preservation mechanism; due to his parents' divorce basically breaking his little heart at a really young age. He learned then that other people could hurt him by leaving, and decided from then on he wouldn't give them the opportunity to hurt him. His loneliness is so deeply rooted that it's interpreted by others as aloofness, while he is only 11 years old. Like damn wtf

2. Tai's rival. Outside of the Cherrymon incident, which was just good ol' manipulation to get the two most powerful Digimon in the group to fight, Matt was really only considered Tai's rival in early promotional stuff that had a little bio for each character. Matt likely gets interpreted as Tai's rival because they fight a lot, but it's not that simple. Matt doesn't want to compete with Tai, he doesn't want to be the leader. He butts heads with Tai because they're basically opposites. Matt is acutely aware of the group's feelings and needs, while Tai remains laser-focused on the goal at hand. This dynamic isn't like Ash vs Gary, where they're actively competing with each other. Matt gets frustrated with Tai very easily, and he feels things so intensely that he can't really help but blow up.

3. Cool Guy. Let's get one thing straight, this kid right here is not cool. This was more of a thing in the dub iirc, but regardless, his attitude is just a cover to keep people from getting too close. Hell, it takes Gabumon a few episodes longer than the other Digimon to really get close to Matt; before that point, Matt certainly isn't a total dick to Gabumon, but he isn't fully trusting yet either.

Matt's relationship with TK is an interesting one. He feels like it's his sole purpose to protect TK, not just from monsters but from anything unpleasant in life. All of the familial love and affection he gets comes from TK so it's understandable why he would feel this way.

One complaint I often hear about Matt is that his breakdown in the Dark Masters arc when TK gets kidnapped by Puppetmon is way overblown, that he wouldn't normally react that way. He left TK at the amusement park during Weregarurumon's Diner, and when he couldn't immediately leave he didn't break down like that.

The difference in these situations is obvious if you pay close attention. First of all, from the time the kids get up on the day Bakemon raid Odaiba to when they're back at the digital world and split up after talking to Homeostasis, is all one day. It feels much longer because of how many episodes that is, but they're all on at least 24 hours without sleep or taking a break. Also, keep in mind that Matt woke up earlier than the others, before sunrise, as his dad got him and Gabumon to the warehouse to keep them from getting abducted by the Bakemon.

Second, in that span of time the kids have all realized what they're up against. They've lost Wizardmon, Chuumon, Piximon, and Whamon in quick succession, the last three to the Dark Masters. Learning that his little brother has now been captured by one of these Dark Masters would lead Matt to fearing the worst.

Then there's the big fight he had with Tai just prior to the breakdown. He accused Tai of being obsessed with fighting and ignoring the others' grief at the loss of their Digimon friends. By the time he and TK are in the tree with their Digimon, he's already showing signs of wanting to break away from the group, saying that they don't need the others.

Matt also feels that his growth is stagnant compared to the others; this is untrue, as Gabumon would not be able to digivolve to higher levels if Matt wasn't growing and changing. But his self-image is so damaged that he always sees the negative aspects of his personality when comparing himself to his peers.

And of course we have to talk about the Dark Cave. Because of how the Digital World operates, Matt's depression materializes and manifests as a cave that he can't escape until he comes to terms with it. Obviously this quick recovery from a depression spiral is not based in reality, but this is an episodic kid's show so I'm surprised we even got this much.

Matt's experience in the cave is one that a lot of people who have dealt with depression and loneliness can relate to. He says he wants to be alone, but Gabumon calls him out on that and makes him realize that isn't what he wants, actually. He wants to be more open with people, he's just under the impression that he's not really important, not wanted, so it's better off to just not even try. His relationship with his mother is highly strained because of the divorce, and because he has an overwhelming sense of loyalty he probably feels he has to be cold to her for his father's sake.

As for his father, Hiroaki is at work more often than not. Every time we see Hiroaki and Matt interact, Hiroaki is either brisk and business-like or even annoyed; when Matt meets up with him at the TV station, Hiroaki is angry that he didn't stay hidden. Obviously this is out of concern for his son, but still. A moment later, when TK shows up, suddenly Hiroaki is much softer in speaking. So I imagine that this dynamic would also have an impact on Matt's mental health; his dad is almost always at work, and when we do see him with his dad, Hiroaki is a bit tough with him.

But it isn't all sad times and angst with Matt. He loves music, later forming a popular band in middle school and high school. Once he realizes that he can open up to people, and they won't intentionally hurt him, he's able to create real, lasting relationships that aren't based on the cold exterior he uses to protect himself. It's clear that he needed to learn to let others in, and once he did learn that, he becomes much happier and more willing to open up and let those walls down. Even if it's just a little bit.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 11 - loneliness

Warnings: red room nightmares, light stabbing, taunting

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint and Natasha get sent on their first mission together. As usual, nothing goes right.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Natasha lays with her wrist cuffed to the bed.

As far as things had gone, the day was a good one.

If approved, she could be going to Romania to see an old friend. It had been years.

The promise of leaving the compound gave her something to look forward to. Amongst the stagnant landscape and muted feelings, she recognised a good thing when she saw it.

Eyes closed, Natasha breathes deeply, focusing on sucking in, then expelling breaths.

Lately, she has felt so heavy, every action costing immeasurable effort. Even climbing into bed felt like a chore.

So much has happened this week.

Olivia.

Debrief.

And now a potential mission.

Three months at Shield, and she was only now seeing it for what it was.

Even then, it was just the tip of the iceberg, of that she was sure.

Breathing evenly, she recounts the day. She hopes it won't give rise to new nightmates and for once she’ll get a good night sleep.

Eyes closed, she gives thought to the upcoming mission and all the week had held, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

.

Gagged in a chair, she feels hot breath on her ear.

She suppresses a shudder, but barely.

Her face impassive, the rope that loops around her neck tightens as she moves her arms.

“Fun, isn’t it?”

The man smiles, coming round to face her.

“Get out of that.”

Natasha can’t move her arms without choking herself.

Her whole body hurts.

Fingers wiggle, but that’s about all the movement she has.

It feels hopeless.

She feels so sore, so sorry for herself. All she wants to do it give up.

.

Natasha wakes with a gasp.

First touching her throat, then her lips, she takes a breath.

Another night.

Another nightmare.

So many old memories and old wounds brought to the surface.

At least she didn’t throw up.

Closing her eyes, she knows only an hour has passed.

She unlocks the handcuff and pulls it off her wrist.

She has so many hours to go.

She knows she needs sleep.

It just feels so unappealing.

She tries to erase the bomb maker and all his tests from her mind, and counts her breaths in hopes it works.

.

Clint yawns.

His computer on, he glances quickly at Natasha’s cameras and watches her sit in the middle of the room in a yoga pose, soles of her feet together.

His coffee isn’t strong enough.

Her despondency is taxing.

He takes a sip.

He didn’t sleep.

Not after the imagery of yesterday's debrief; Natasha being choked, spat on and forced to break her own hand to accomplish a mission for the KGB.

“It’s fine,” she had said, “I was used to it, and I was the best.”

The hint of pride at accomplishing her mission had made him feel like hitting something.

She’d asked why they were questioning her about Oleg, the arms dealer. Clint had considered how to respond. They always seemed to walk a fine line between telling her things and putting truths in omissions.

Sitting across from each other, he'd handed her a file.

The man had been in prison and now he was not; and whilst times had changed, he continued to make and sell bombs without impunity.

Olivia had presented the mission.

With Natasha, they could approach him under the ruse of the Red Room. Have her talk to him, about his current projects.

Olivia has argued that it would put Natasha in a situation where she would need to play both sides and prove loyalty.

Natasha rebutted this, arguing that she had already done that by killing Dreykov.

She'd conceded though, after reading through the mission debrief, especially when it dawned on her that a mission would mean she'd be allowed to leave.

Clint swallows, remembering how their last mission together went, as they took the life of Dreykov’s daughter.

He needs a break.

Constant worry of her survival was wearing on him.

He promised safety and a new life and all he’d given her was this.

Cages and reliving trauma.

He thinks of it often.

The shooting range could only do so much, and his energy was limited these days.

He sips his coffee.

Opening his emails, both Fury and Olivia have emailed and he sighs heavily.

Mission approved, it reads.

He stands to tell Natasha the news.

He wonders when his life will go back to normal.

.

Clint runs his hands through his hair as he passes Sharon on his way to Natasha.

He inquires about how things are going.

There are still murmurs of derision when it comes to Natasha. But, she states, it seems to have calmed for now.

Gossip had decreased and there were other things for SHIELD to talk on.

Clint is glad. He doesn’t think he could cope with yet another thing.

The starkness of the cell always saddens Clint.

Not that she would be allowed much, and not that they had given her much, but it was so spartan and cold.

She’s been here for just over 3 months and the lack of personal effects in a space, that is supposed to be her own, makes him sad.

She still has his watch.

He’d let it go, made it a point that he had another one.

He likes to think it helps her.

The handcuffs too, he’d let her keep.

Natasha stands looking at him.

He thinks she’s lost weight.

She has his watch on her wrist and the cuffs in her hand, and Clint looks around to find no other traces of her within the room. It’s stark and minimalist and agrees with Olivia that something needs to change.

“It’s been approved,” he tells her.

Natasha’s face is grim.

“When do we leave?”

.

Oleg looks old, Natasha thinks, watching him eat.

His face aged and scarred, the hair loss marked since she saw him last.

There’s a hatred that’s in her body, long dormant and curled for revenge.

She’s going to kill him, even if that’s not in the mission parameters.

If they’re going to test her, she’s going to test them too. Let them see what the real black widow is; not this traumatised quim, of what she’s become.

If there’s any time for it, this is it.

Killing Dreykov allowed her entry.

Maybe killing Oleg will support her in moving forward.

She wants to be alone. It’s been so long since she was truly alone without someone watching, and the loneliness it invokes is starting to get to her.

The boat just off the coast of Sulina was more like a passenger ferry. It was big enough that he could be thrown easily from the stern and just maybe have the rotary blades dispose of him further.

Get out of that, she thinks.

She’d left a message with the wait staff to give him a note, signed by her, and she watches as it gets delivered.

He puts on glasses and his face morphs to a smile.

Maybe she had laid it on too thick.

Natasha adjusts her dress, knives in her hair ready, as the dress really left nothing to the imagination.

“He’ll be here in five minutes or less,” she tells the ear piece.

Clint’s voice returns.

“We have you. We want to know about Ukraine and Paris. And see if you can ask about—"

“I know,” she growls. “I know.”

Clint is quiet.

The comms switch and Oleg approaches, holding up his hand for her to take.

“Natalia!” he croons, using Dreykov’s pet name for her.

“What a wonderful surprise!”

He pauses as she smiles, the evening air filtering his aftershave that evokes memories of the rope around her throat.

“Under new management? First the FSB, then the Red Room, what do the KGB have to say for themselves? Have they been good masters?”

Natasha kisses his ring, the customary greeting and continues to regard him with a smile.

She’s glad she has knives.

“Not as good as the old days, Oleg.”

The answer seems to please him, and she motions for them to sit on the bench to her right.

“You’re right Natalia, those were the days, when you were younger and I was at my prime.”

She thinks she hears Clint growl.

Ignoring the words, she hands him a diamond.

“They need some help,” she starts, wondering how to compose her words.

He nods and takes it.

“But first they need some information.”

She hands over another diamond, and he takes that enthusiastically as well.

Natasha holds up a third, but waits.

He eyes it, looking down at his other two.

“Of course,” he starts, “what do they want to know?”

He puts a hand on her leg, and Natasha turns her body into him.

Her skin feels hot under his hand and she hates her body for reacting to it; that in her loneliness unwanted touch is touch all the same.

She asks first about Ukraine, and he confirms information that Shield seems to already know, Clint only prompting to clarifying a few details.

She hands him another diamond.

“Tell me, Natalia, how has the transition to another master been?”

Natasha’s face flushes, she hopes he’s alluding to the KGB, but she fears he’s not.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little voice tells her to run.

“Not as easy as I’d hoped,” she manages, “tell me about Paris?”

He smiles in a somewhat kind way, moving his hand away.

“Ah Paris. Do you know the outskirts of Goussainville? The cemetery?”

She laughs.

“You didn’t?”

He smiles.

“I did.”

A small joke that she knows will be lost on Clint.

“They can find it there, but if they take it, the cost will be more than this.”

He holds up the diamonds and offers his pudgy hand for more.

They’re cut off by his phone ringing, and she allows him to move away. His new position close to the edge of the boat is more tenuous and she likes the angle.

Edging to the side of the seat, Oleg frowns and gives her a quick glance.

It could mean nothing.

She decides against it.

It never means nothing.

Natasha stands as Oleg finishes his phone call.

“Did you also want to know about Budapest? What else have you told the Americans Natalia? Did you know in the organisation, they’re all working for us? You have the same masters, just under a new name.”

Natasha’s stomach drops.

There’s a mole in SHIELD.

It’s all Natasha needs to know she’s been compromised. A knife comes out of her hair as quick as the gun he pulls from his jacket.

She’s just faster.

The knife slices into his side, and then in quick succession, her hand becomes bloody, a look of shock and anger crosses his face, and he spits blood onto her.

She takes a certain amount of pleasure pushing him overboard.

In his last breaths, he grabs at the knife, forcing it back against her, slicing the top of her hand.

Pushing him back, he makes a loud splash, and the cacophony in her ears becomes startling.

.

<3

[ms-m-astrologer]

Cosmic Events: October 2024

Executive summary: eclipse season ends; stagnation.

Lunar Phases

Wednesday, October 2, 18:49 UT - New Moon/Solar Eclipse, 10°04’ Libra

A balancing act, trying to find the middle path - between wanting to defend ourselves and our loved ones; and wanting to establish ourselves for a long time. The nature of this eclipse family is on the valedictory side. Look for ideas and situations whose time has come and gone.

Sunday, October 6, 21:50 UT - Crescent Moon, 29°07’ Scorpio

Thursday, October 10, 18:55 UT - First Quarter Moon, 17°58’ Capricorn

Monday, October 14, 06:30 UT - Gibbous Moon, 6°25’ Pisces

Thursday, October 17, 11:26 UT - Full Moon, 24°35’ Aries

An angry Full Moon, bursting with ancient grievances. Women are especially enraged, and I think women’s issues (and our governments’ lack of interest in same) are going to be impossible to ignore.

Sunday, October 20, 17:21 UT - Disseminating Moon, 12°48’ Gemini

Thursday, October 24, 08:03 UT - Last Quarter Moon, 1°24’ Leo

Monday, October 28, 09:00 UT - Balsamic Moon, 20°25’ Virgo

Void of Course Moon

Tuesday, October 1, 21:39 UT (Virgo) - 22:20 UT (Libra)

Friday, October 4, 10:40 UT (Libra) - 11:22 UT (Scorpio)

Sunday, October 6, 22:52 UT (Scorpio) - 21:34 UT (Sagittarius)

Wednesday, October 9, 05:54 UT (Sagittarius) - 09:38 UT (Capricorn)

Friday, October 11, 15:53 UT (Capricorn) - 16:31 UT (Aquarius)

Sunday, October 13, 14:11 UT (Aquarius) - 19:55 UT (Pisces)

Tuesday, October 15, 20:00 UT (Pisces) - 20:34 UT (Aries)

Thursday, October 17, 19:26 UT (Aries) - 20:00 UT (Taurus)

Saturday, October 19, 19:33 UT (Taurus) - 20:07 UT (Gemini)

Monday, October 21, 21:00 UT (Gemini) - 22:50 UT (Cancer)

Thursday, October 24, 04:47 UT (Cancer) - 05:24 UT (Leo)

Saturday, October 26, 08:04 UT (Leo) - 15:47 UT (Virgo)

At 7 hours 43 minutes, this is the longest October void Moon.

Tuesday, October 29, 03:54 UT (Virgo) - 04:30 UT (Libra)

Thursday, October 31, 16:57 UT (Libra) - 17:29 UT (Scorpio)

At 32 minutes, this is the shortest October void Moon. (But notice how many are under 40 minutes!)

Retrograde/Direct/Etc.

Transiting Mars enters its pre-retrograde shadow on Thursday, October 3.

Transiting Ceres is in her post-retrograde shadow all month.

Transiting Pallas begins October in her post-retrograde shadow, and exits that on Friday, October 4.

Transiting Jupiter starts October in its pre-retrograde shadow, and stations retrograde on Wednesday, October 9.

Transiting Saturn is retrograde all month.

Transiting Chiron is retrograde all month.

Transiting Uranus is retrograde all month.

Transiting Neptune is retrograde all month.

Transiting Pluto begins the month retrograde, and stations direct on Friday, October 11.

Transiting Eris is retrograde all month.

Ingresses

Transiting Mercury enters Scorpio on Sunday, October 13.

Transiting Venus enters Sagittarius on Thursday, October 17.

Transiting Sun enters Scorpio on Tuesday, October 22.

Transiting Vesta enters Libra on Sunday, October 27.

(If that doesn’t seem like a lot to you, I agree. Stagnant.)

Opportunity Periods

Sunday, October 6, 17:09 UT - 22:52 UT. “Take advantage of the only Opportunity Period for weeks.” (No kidding.) “Good for everything from deep romance to hard work.”

Tuesday, October 15, 06:38 UT - 20:34 UT. “Great for artistic activities, romance, or anything you want to see grow.”

Saturday, October 19, 14:11 UT - 20:07 UT. “Good weekend hours for either work or play; especially good for innovative artistic endeavors.”

Monday, October 21, 20:50 UT - 21:00 UT. “Use this short period to do the right thing; especially positive for networking and communication.”

Monday, October 28, 21:31 UT - Tuesday, October 29, 03:54 UT. “Excellent for cleaning up and getting organized during the Last Quarter Moon.”

Et Cetera

We emerge from the shadow of the eclipse on Saturday, October 5 - at 18:49 UT to be precise.

Libra season is going to be very feisty, let’s say. Once Scorpio season begins on October 22, tempers should slowly begin to calm down.

———————————

Venmo Mary_Brack

PayPal MaryVBrack

Thank you!

[resident-rats]

Gotta ask for #11 for metaltango and maybe early training days???

On it boss 🫡

Prompt: “You talk too much. How about we use your mouth for something else?”

Word count: 1175

[18+ under the cut}

Sparring was the one thing Leon had some confidence in, having already some experience under his belt from back in the police academy. Not a complete novice. But it was quick to dwindle after meeting Krauser. His Major.

The man was easily over six foot, built like a tank. Wearing the constant look of not taking bullshit on his face. And yeah, pretty soon Leon had been put in his place. Perhaps not as good at hand to hand combat as he had hoped.

So, there he was yet again, for the umpteenth time since being on base, flat on his back, staring up at ceiling tiles as Krauser stood over him.

“Pick yourself up Kennedy.”

Business as usual.

They had been at it for about an hour or so. Some rounds going better than others, but regardless they all ended the same.

Leon sprung up. Not willing to surrender yet.

“Come at me rookie, give me all you’ve got.”

“Sure you can handle that?” Grinning to himself as he took to his corner of the mat.

“You say that like you’re good at this.”

“Maybe I’m just letting you win.”

Krauser only scoffed, starting to circle one another. Trying to bait the other into making the first move. But fundamentally it was Leon who lunged first, trying to get a hold of his Major’s shirt. Which the man dodged. Of course he did.

“Old age not caught up with you yet.”

“Shut it rookie.” The cogs clearly turning in the man’s head, watching Leon like a hawk.

But Leon smiled to himself.

“Maybe if you focused you’d bag a win.” Krauser continued.

Leon tried again. Missing completely. Looked like Krauser was just too slippery. Though as he stood there, trying to determine what to do next, the man in front of him moved unexpectedly. Grabbing Leon’s collar, countering his defence with his forearm, before kicking legs from under him. And he was down. Krauser pinning him, thighs sat snug over Leon’s hips. Full weight just holding him there.

All Leon could do was lie there defenceless. If it had been a real life situation he’d have been more than dead.

His heart rabbitted in his chest, still working it’s way through the adrenaline.

“Too slow Boy Scout.” Watching as that wiry smile made an appearance.

Suddenly Leon was all too aware of his own hardening cock. A mixture of adrenaline and the man on top. Sure, he had thought about his Major sometimes. More than guilty of it even. Though usually able to move past that desire when sparring. Only, Krauser was stagnant. Remaining firmly above. Staring down into Leon’s eyes. And Jesus, he hoped that Krauser couldn’t feel it.

“At least you’ve still got it in you.” Meant to break the tension, remind Krauser he had won. That he could get off. But he didn’t.

“Shut up Kennedy.”

“Just saying,” Coming out a bit more strained given their position. “Glad your joints still work.” In reality, Krauser wasn’t that old. Early thirties give or take. But Leon could never resist goading him on. Getting into the swing of their back and forth.

But Krauser didn’t move. Arms still stiff and holding him there. Laboured panting.

“You talk too much,” The words coming out rough. “How about we use that mouth for something else, huh?”

And if Leon wasn’t getting hard before, he certainly was then.

Before Leon knew it they were kissing. Lips parting for Krauser’s, feeling the hot breath against his face. Essentially crushed under the man, but Leon didn’t care. Whatever was happening, he needed it.

Like it was instinct, Leon’s hands moved before he had even registered, aiding his Major in fishing his cock out. Fumbling with desperation and anticipation.

Krauser got to his feet, urging for Leon to kneel before him - which he happily did - opening his mouth, tongue flattened over his teeth, awaiting Krauser. Not thinking twice.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Hand around the base as he slapped his tip against Leon’s tongue, smacking it into a pool of spit. Then it slipped in, heavy and salty in his mouth. Noting the shudder that went through Krauser at that, head bowing forward, causing loose strands of hair to fall into his face. “Fuck, rookie, always knew you wanted it.”

Hand spayed out, teetering upon the nape of Leon’s neck, holding him there, coaxing his way into Leon’s throat.

“Much better like this,” He huffed, voice straining a little. “Always talk too fucking much don’t you?”

Leon just hummed, mouth still wrapped around the man’s cock.

“Even now you’re still a noisy bitch - ah fuck.” Finally bottoming out. Holding Leon firm against him, nose burrowed into his pubic hair. Growing use to the sensation, throat full, controlled breathing, inhaling the scent.

“That’s good, just like that.” The hand on the back of Leon’s head turning to a gentle caress.

And that was when Krauser began to move. Gradually at first. Pulling out just enough before sliding back, revelling in the way the throat constricted him each time. A couple small groans falling from his lips.

The situation in Leon’s pants was dire. Imprint of his needy cock more than visible.

Bringing his own hand down, Leon rubbed himself through the fabric, not having the brain power to get it out properly. Jesus though it still felt good, moaning around the cock in his mouth as he did so.

“Fuck, always knew you’d be a slut Kennedy. Take cock so well.” Hips snapping just that little bit harder.

Leon continued to rub himself, all the while still drooling which only aided his Major’s movements further.

It was obvious Krauser was struggling to hold back, huffing and panting above, hips growing more frantic, spluttering into him.

“Such a good fucking boy aren’t you?” Spoken between shallow breaths. Leon’s hand still relentlessly feeling himself, groping as much as he could. “That’s it Kennedy, touch yourself for me.” Brows pinching together, doubling forward slightly. Fist tightening in Leon’s hair.

“Ah fuck- gonna cum rookie,” Cock sliding in and out with ease. “Here it comes, oh fuck-”

Just like that he was spurting hard down Leon’s throat. Mouth still stuffed full as he swallowed. Held there like a device for Krauser to fuck in to. Hearing the way the man sighed in pleasure, followed by the occasional grunt. Jesus, it shouldn’t have been so hot.

It was what tipped Leon over, cumming stupidly into his underwear. Leaning into the man above for support. Cries stifled by the softening cock still held in his mouth. Orgasm washing over him, not caring about the sticky mess he was creating.

Eventually Krauser pulled out, thoroughly coated in saliva. Leon’s eyes glassy and brain foggy, not quite noticing the dribbles escaping the corner of his mouth. Little to no thoughts in his head.

“Knew that’d shut you up.” Krauser eventually said, stuffing himself back into the confinement of his pants and fixing his hair.

But it had Leon thinking that maybe he should mouth off more often.

For this asks game!

[watchoutforthefanfics]

achievement unlocked 🔓 (part fourteen) || Streamer AU! Reddie (IT)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: this prompt + BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish

Summary: Richie liked to play video games, and by some stroke of luck, it became his job. Being primarily known as Trashmouth on stream, he found his own little group of streamer friends and they became intertwined: The Losers Club. It never did feel quite complete, though. Well, until, he got his very own backseat gamer in chat.

TWs: innuendos, lots of talk of sex (it's Richie), cursing, brief mention of toxic relationships, and shameless flirting.

[[A/N: Fun fact, the songs I use in this fic are based on me shuffling my playlist and what comes up so. Enjoy :))]]

Richie was kinda sick of the road.

It was the fourth morning, and he thought he was in Oklahoma. Maybe.

The state sign was a few hours back, and Richie's mind was kinda melting. Just interstate, miles and miles of roads and cars, and luckily, changing trees and skies. Otherwise, his brain was definitely on low power mode: not tired, but in a mental capacity kinda way.

Eddie was doing something, or so he assumed. So currently, he was listening to music to try and keep him sane.

"Can I call you Rose?" Richie muttered along, switching lanes (his exit was coming up), "-'Cause your fragrance takes over the room."

🎵 Can I call you Rose?🎵

"Darling~" Richie got more into it, tapping along the steering wheel, "-I wanna-"

A chime echoed through the speakers, cutting off the music. Richie blinked, turning to his phone: e.kaspbrak is trying to videochat.

Quickly, Richie adjusted the angle to face him more, and answered.

"Hiya, Eds," he spoke, in a cliché New Yorker accent, "-What can I do for ya?"

He flicked his eyes to the camera and caught Eddie setting his phone up and stepping back -holding up two shirts. He looked like he was in a store, one where no one would mind if he took up a little space.

The traffic halted in place, and Richie would normally be pissed but he had Eddie now. So, he was completely fine with it. Grateful even.

"Which one's better?" Eddie asked, holding up one and then the other, "The blue or the pink?"

Richie's eyes lingered on the phone for maybe a second too long, because-

"Look at the road, fuckface," Eddie chastised.

"Traffic is completely stopped, Eddie baby," Richie soothed, nearly immediately, "-I am perfectly safe. Plus, how am I supposed to help if I can't look?"

Eddie's lips pressed into a thin frown.

Richie took the moment to skim over Eddie, he was dressed like he was on a run (he assumed he was). Wearing a red tanktop and running shorts, Richie couldn't decide if it was hot or cute. Eddie was a mixture of both in his mind, honestly. And then his eyes flicked to the shirts, simple ones, one tanktop with a graphic on it (Kirby, Richie thinks), and the other a simple baby blue t-shirt with a white collar and sleeve cuffs.

"Whichever you want, Eds," Richie spoke, passively, "-They're both good."

Eddie frowned again, pushing them forward further, "I asked you, dipshit. I want your opinion. Which one?"

Richie pursed his lips, eyes dashing to the road (still stagnant), before snapping back over to the phone. He really looked at the two of them, really fucking looking. Because that's what Eddie wanted, and Richie wanted to do what Eddie wanted for the rest of his life, probably. Taking a minute, he imagined Eddie in each one individually. He could picture Eddie pretty clearly now, honestly; he felt like he knew him like the back of his hand.

Blue with white collar, Richie's mind tsked, graphic pink tanktop.

"Blue," he answered succinctly (Eddie nodded and put the pink tanktop out of frame), and asked, curiously, "-and why exactly did you need my opinion, Eds?"

Eddie picked up his phone, as Richie looked forward and watched the cars begin to move -he shifted all of his focus. Eyeing the exit he needed to get off on, Richie waited patiently for Eddie's response.

"You're my boyfriend, dipshit," Eddie remarked, "-I want you to like how I fucking look."

"Eds, you could wear a neon jumpsuit that was so bright it burnt my fucking corneas," Richie laughed, pulling off onto the new road (GPS said something about turning left so he did), "-and I would still love the shit out of you."

"I didn't say you wouldn't love me," Eddie clarified, pointedly, "-I said that I wanted you to like how I look. I know you fucking love me, but that doesn't mean I can't like... fucking please your tastes or some shit."

"Awe," Richie cooed, "-Eds wants to please my tastes-"

"Shut the fuck up, asshole, you know what I mean-" Eddie huffed out, exasperated, "-Like I like your hair this length. If you cut it short, I'd fucking kill you."

"You like my hair?" Richie laughed, "-The monster that just fucking sits on my head? The shit I don't even try to take care of? The-"

"Yes," Eddie interrupted, "-I fucking love your curls. Even though you don't give a shit about them, I will. I'll figure that shit out, and take care of them. Because you're never getting fucking rid of them, ever."

I want you to be here to stop me, forever. God, I would do fucking anything-

"Salon Eds," Richie chimed, in an infomercial sort of way, "-where you don't give a fuck, but he does."

"That's not... Whatever, the point is-" Eddie continued, "-I want to hear your opinion, just like you want to hear mine."

"I don't even have a fucking opinion on myself, Eddie baby," Richie laughed out, winking exaggeratively, "-I am completely moldable. In more than one way too, if you know what I'm saying-"

"Shut up," Eddie laughed out, and Richie wished he could look. God, he fucking loved him, "-You're such an asshole."

The rest of the ride was a lot of the same, just bickering and Eddie stayed on the entire time. Or well, did his best to. Richie could tell when he was getting tired, he got really fucking giggly (at least with Richie) and couldn't properly focus. So, when he noticed it, he'd send Eddie off to bed, refusing to entertain shit ("Someone wise once told me that not sleeping fucks with your brain function, Eds.") until he heard Eddie's little tiny snores -so quiet you wouldn't even catch it in person, probably. Richie somehow hoped he could.

Eddie had just fallen asleep (he was only an hour ahead of him at this point), and Richie was picking at his fingernails. His phone laid along the mattress, somewhere near his left hand. He just fidgeted and stared at the ceiling -thinking.

This was a big fucking deal, and the last time Richie made a big fucking deal in a relationship, his heart ended up splattered on the fucking sidewalk. It wasn't that he didn't trust Eddie, he did but it's just... It's a different wheelhouse to be with Richie all the time, not just in the moderation Eddie had.

Steve would probably say the same thing about this shit, that it's how he's wired and they're trying to change it but it's okay if it still seeps out sometimes. Because yeah, Richie was working on it, but he still felt... like shit.

He believed that Eddie really fucking liked who he was (loved it actually, indirectly said but still). He really fucking did. But that doesn't mean he, himself, does. And Eddie was fucking helping, constantly reassuring him and saying the shit that Richie just needed to hear. He really didn't know how Eddie did it, but he did. But still, this shit in him was rooted deep. Probably as soon as his fucking sister was born-

Ding.

benny.boy.official ✔️

hope you're having fun rich !!!

send pictures with Eddie when you get there ☺️

Richie stared at the message for a second.

Ben. Sweet, grounding, kind, Ben. Ben who would do everything in his power to believe the good in somebody, even if everything they fucking did was bad. And it wasn't even like he was naive, he just... he just believed the shit out of it.

Richie clicked call before he second guess it.

"Hi, Richie!" He chimed, soft and warm (always was), "-How's the trip going? 2 more days, right?"

"Heya, Benny," he smiled back, naturally relaxing at the sound of him, "-and yeah, tomorrow is the start of the fifth day. Only one more after that, and then I finally fucking get Eds."

"I know!" Ben grinned, and Richie heard the murmur of maybe a movie in the background, "-I'm so happy for you two. It's amazing, really, Eddie's so excited, I can tell."

"Yeah?" Richie asked, genuinely.

"Oh yeah," Ben reassured, "-We went to get coffee this morning and I've never seen him smile so much, Rich."

Richie's heart flipped in his chest (he hoped it never stopped doing that), and he grinned so brightly that it hurt. If he was on his stomach he might've been kicking his feet. Fuck, he really loved him. He hoped with everything in him that Eddie wouldn't get sick of him physically, god, please-

"Ben," he spoke, "-can I ask you a question?"

"'Course, Richie," he answered, maybe a little concerned, "-what's up?"

"Is... Do you think-" Richie started before exhaling a breath, "-Do you think I should be worried?"

"About what?" Ben asked, curiously.

"Well, um, everything," Richie laughed a little, nervous, "-I don't... There's no hesitation in my body about Eddie, seriously, not a fucking shred. But... What if it's different for him?"

Ben questioned further, "What do you mean?"

"What if Eddie's... not sure? Or-" Richie scrambled, "-what if he meets me in person and I... I scare him away? It's one thing to text and call me but to constantly be around me? I don't-"

"Richie, breathe," Ben interrupted, calmly.

Richie obediently did so. A long breath echoed out of his lungs, and his heart slowed.

"Okay, now," Ben began, gently, "-has Eddie ever told you that he's not sure? Or that he's hesitant?"

Richie pressed his lips together, "Well, no, but-"

"Rich, Eddie would tell you stuff like that," Ben cut him off, "-He's very straightforward, you know that."

Richie sighed, "Okay, yeah, so he's not hesitating. But... whose to say it won't be too much for him? All my shit."

"Richie, he's dating you. He cares about you," Ben hummed, "-You guys know each other inside and out because you want to learn it all. Both of you do. I don't think Eddie's going to run."

"But what if he does?" Richie asked, pathetically, "-I can't... Ben, if he can't handle me, I'm fucked. I don't think I can-"

"If anyone can handle you, it's Eddie," Ben laughed a little, before adding, "-except for maybe Stan and Patty."

Richie laughed a little too.

"The point being, if-" Ben made sure to stress that word, "-and I really don't think this would happen, okay? But if Eddie couldn't handle you, you'll be okay. It'll hurt, but all of us Losers will be here for you. Worst case scenario, you have us."

He let a breath rattle out of his lungs, "Yeah, I do."

"But Richie, I really don't think you should even think like that," Ben spoke, carefully, "-Eddie really, really cares about you."

"I know," Richie sighed out.

"I don't think he'd even want to leave your side, honestly," Ben hummed, "-When you're finally united, I don't think that Eddie will want to leave you alone again. Ever."

Richie pressed his lips together, as tears burned the backs of his eyes.

"Eddie's not gonna run, Richie," Ben echoed again. His voice soft and warm, it made Richie's head clear and eyes grow heavy.

"Yeah," Richie exhaled a deep breath, "-he won't."

He could almost hear the smile through the line, Ben's little soft one. The one that if you saw would make your insides feel gooey, because it was just so fucking kind. God.

"I love you, Benny," Richie spoke, light and scratchy.

"I love you too, Rich."

"Now," Richie switched gears, grinning, "-about Ms. Marsh-"

Richie woke up that morning lighter, Ben's words thrumming through his head. He was up, miraculously, at 7:30 (all these timezones were really fucking with his sleep schedule). And was currently debating getting ready and heading out early. Because he couldn't exactly wait, or sit still, it was fucking impossible for Richie Tozier. He was itching to fucking go, to shave down some of the hours to get to Eddie.

If he left early though, Eddie would probably freak out though (something about hours of sleep and blah, blah). So, he just decided to grab his phone and fidget with it for a while.

Richie liked to search himself up, he'll admit it. He liked to dive into his fandom like a super spy (like the boss working undercover in that one show). He did it for a lot of reasons, maybe to see what his fans wanted or what they were reacting well to. Sometimes just to see what shit they were up to. This usually spanned from a lot of different platforms: Instagram, YouTube (he loved watching edited compilations of himself), Reddit, and Tumblr primarily.

Today, his poison was Reddit.

r/trashmouthtozier

u/trashmeuptozy • 4d

What are our theories about Richie's disappearance?

2.4k upvotes • 1.7 comments

⬆️ ⬇️ 💬

toziers-texas-toast • 4 days ago

personally I think he's u-hauling

⬆️1.25k ⬇️89 💬

reddie-girlie • 3 days ago

all I know is that it probably involves ��

⬆️1.2k ⬇️27 💬

bouncing-baby-boy • 3 days ago

guys don't worry he's just on a side quest

⬆️1k ⬇️54 💬

not_on_my_crotch • 2 days ago

fucking ur mom

edit: ur dad sorry

⬆️967 ⬇️53 💬

Richie pursed his lips, letting out a sigh (a little of relief), he was actually kinda worried about the reception of him just up and leaving. But, they seemed to be handling it relatively well. They obviously had questions, as they should, but they weren't harassing him for answers, so it was good.

r/trashmouthtozier

u/tozier_babeyyyy • 2 hrs ago

Reddie Playing Minecraft (link)

my first ever reddie comp !!! Hope you guys enjoy :)

⬆️3.5k ⬇️22 💬

Richie stared at it for a second, before clicking the link. Maybe a little too quickly, they could have his IP address right now-

"Alright troops-"

And then it was off like a rocket, every single moment they spoke to each other -documented. He watched the village section more than once, of his own doing, just rewinding and watching it over and over. Watching Eddie shuffle behind him, like he'd known he'd protect him. God. What a stupid fucking way to feel about a game-

It carried on the same, all the moments he remembers (he doesn't think he can ever forget anything about Eddie to be fair) all the way up to the end of his stream. He watched himself do his outro, Eddie's Steve fidgeting with chests on his screen.

Laughing a little, he went to get out of the video, but-

BONUS ROUND: spaghetti talking about Richie to the other losers, flashed onto his screen -some very fast-paced royalty-free music following.

Richie paused for a second, what?

Now, he was looking at a clip from Bev's stream. Her camera up in the top right corner, Richie mindlessly noted that she had looked very pretty that day, good for her. Before focusing on her screen, where just a few steps in front of her Steve (Eddie) was watching Richie run around in circles with Bill. The iron golem, at that moment (it flicked between Bill and himself), was chasing him around the outskirts of the village.

"If he dies," Eddie suddenly spoke, and he watched Bev adjust her vision in the game to look at it, "-he doesn't like... Nothing bad happens, right?"

Richie smiled, gleaming a little bit.

"Nope," Bev smiled, bright, and popped the 'p', "-Worst-case scenario, he ends up back where we started and has to get back to us-"

Richie watched as Bill was suddenly launched into space and the chat snapped onto their screen.

big.bill was slain by an iron golem

He laughed a little at the memory.

"-Just like Bill will have to do now."

"Oh," Eddie responded, still watching Richie get chased around the village with a keen eye. Was he always looking at me?

"C'mon, Eddie," Bev interrupted, "-Let's steal some crops, and then we can tear down their houses for resources-"

"We sound like fucking colonizers," Eddie retorted, and both Bev and Richie started snort laughing in tandem.

And then, he was looking at Mike's screen, facing out onto the flower field. Eddie was stood right beside him, so he knew relatively when this was. Even heard himself a little distantly in the background.

"I'm staying here. I'm living here. My vote's for here-"

Mike was close to Eddie though, so now, he could hear Eddie laugh a little. A soft, sort of affectionate, of all things, laugh that made Richie's head spin a little. Okay, a lot. It made his head spin a lot.

Affectionate? For Richie Tozier? Praise fucking god-

"He's such an idiot," Eddie laughed out.

"In general? Definitely," Mike responded, laughing a little too, "-But for you? God help his brain cells."

"Yeah, well," Eddie spoke, soft, "-I'm an idiot for him to, so."

Ben interrupted the thought, "I agree, it's-"

And then, it cut again to Ben's stream, he was wandering over to where Eddie started building -assumedly from the direction of Bev's house. Unsurprisingly, Richie might add. He was half convinced they shared that house, actually-

"Do you think Richie will like it?" Eddie asked suddenly, Ben shuffling up to his side.

Richie grinned a little.

Ben grinned, big cheeks shot up with the warm motion, before adjusting his vision to see the frame that Eddie had built. It wasn't much, just the corners of each wall, but it was very meticulously done. Different blocks (which it should be said that Richie fetched him) all placed in their exact spot. It was pretty good for his second time playing, honestly. But, he might've been a little biased.

"It's really nice, Eddie," Ben chimed, cheerfully, "-but I do think you could build it out of dirt and Richie would still be stoked."

Very true, his mind agreed.

"I wanna actually put effort in," Eddie replied, flustered (Richie could see his cheeks all puffed up in his head), "-It's our house. Ya know? It's gotta be good."

"I think," Ben smiled, "-As long as you're in it Eddie, Richie will think it's good."

Eddie stayed quiet for a second, looking out at the house, staring. Richie waited with a breath.

"You're such a fucking sap, Ben," Eddie retorted, with no bite at all.

"Yeah, well, apparently," Ben turned to look at him, laughing, "-you are too."

And then, Eddie spoke softly, "Yeah, I am too."

Just like that, it cut to an end card. Subscribe button, next video and all.

Richie blinked, throwing himself back on the bed. Fuck, I love him. So much. Too much probably. Was he supposed to love somebody this much? Like with every fiber of his being? Every single cell? Every single fucking atom?

Taking a peek at the time, he quickly decided on sending a quick message.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

good morninggggg eddie baby 💞✨️

hope you had dreams of fucking frolicking in meadows or some shit

Fuck it.

With a breath, he stood up and started packing. His tiny little bag, full of definitely too little outfits for a trip this long, but it would not be the first time he re-wore shit. So, he was okay with it. Until, ya know, he saw Eddie. He wanted to be wearing clean shit then (he saved his Marsh original that he liked so much for the occasion).

Humming along with a song that decidedly wasn't playing, grabbing all of his hygiene shit.

"Right now, he's probably dancing with a bleach-blonde tramp, and-" he murmured, before stressing out a word, "-and she's probably getting frisky."

Unzipping a pocket, he shoved his deodorant into it. And his cologne, fancy cologne, that he maybe only bought for meeting Eddie. But he did actually like it too. He wouldn't just buy it for Eddie (he totally did).

"Showing her how to shoot a combo," he sang louder, "-and he don't know-"

He heard his phone vibrate in his pocket. Felt rather.

e.kaspbrak is calling

Richie smiled a little, answering and putting it onto his shoulder (pushed up against the side of his head).

"Hey, Eds," he chimed, bright and smiley, and pulling his bag up off the floor. Day 5.

Eddie took a pause, and Richie heard maybe the scratch of a blanket. Had he just woken up?

And then, his voice came in quiet and sleep-slurred, "Hi, Rich."

Something warm shot through his toes, he'd never heard Eddie just woken up. This was new. And Richie wondered for a second if his hair was messy, or maybe his face had patches of red from where he'd slept. He'd get to see that soon, god.

"Awe, did my lil Spaghetti just wake up?" He cooed -half genuine and half teasing.

"The only thing that's right about that fucking sentence is that I'm yours."

Richie blinked. Mine, Eddie's mine. My Eds. 'I'm yours'. My Spaghetti. My boyfriend. My boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie's mine-

"Fuck yeah you are," Richie chimed -grinning bright and wide.

Eddie giggled a little (and Richie wondered if he was rubbing his eyes like a little toddler would), "Why are you up so early?"

"Dunno," Richie answered honestly, throwing his bag into the passenger seat (per usual), "-I just woke up this early, Eds. Aren't you normally up this early? Earlier, actually-"

"I don't have a job anymore, dipshit," Eddie explained, "-and I think I overdid it last run, so I slept in. Fuck you."

"Jeez," Richie laughed, connecting him to the radio, "-I was just asking a question. You wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"

"No," Eddie replied, quickly, "-Speaking of, I sleep on the left-"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "O-kay, Eds. What's-"

"-So, if you do too, you have to just fucking deal with it."

Oh.

Richie blinked, before answering awkwardly, "No problem, Eddie baby, I kinda just sleep in the middle."

"What the fuck do you mean-" Eddie mocked his voice, and Richie smiled (what a shithead), "-'I sleep in the middle'?"

"I spread out like a starfish," Richie clarified, listing, "-on my stomach, and sleep in the middle."

He could almost hear Eddie's nose scrunch up, "What the fuck? You're such a freak."

"What?" Richie asked, a little genuinely, "-Is that problem? I can just move over to the right side so-"

"No, it's not a fucking problem," Eddie interrupted, "-We're boyfriends, we can cuddle, idiot."

Richie blinked, Oh.

Cuddling with Eddie? Richie nearly pressed the gas to go fucking faster.

"Unless," Eddie paused, quieter -uncertain, "-Unless, you don't want to, I guess-"

"No, what," Richie clarified, swinging his hand around, and focusing on the car in front of him, "-Eds, that sounds like fucking... heaven. I just... I haven't thought about that shit. Because we were so far apart, it'd just make me sad as fuck-"

"Oh," Eddie spoke, blankly. Maybe a little flustered.

Richie wanted to see his face so badly right now that it made his skin itch. God, seriously-

"Yeah, well," Eddie pushed through his thoughts, "-you're gonna fucking kiss me when you get here, so. You better get fucking used to it."

Something swirled in his stomach. Kissing Eddie? Jesus, he hadn't thought about this shit at all. I get to kiss Eddie, god. In like a day-

"Why don't you just kiss me?" Richie laughed a little, splotchy red blush crawling to his cheeks.

"Because," Eddie answered, plainly, "-I want you to kiss me, asshole."

And I'd do anything you wanted, Richie's mind added.

"Yeah, okay, Eddie baby," Richie spoke softly, before switching up, "-As your celebrity crush, I know you've been dreaming of this moment for a long time-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, dickweed," Eddie snapped back, short laughter cutting into the tone.

"-Although, I should clarify, I won't be as good as dream Trashmouth," Richie commented, "-I may not hold up against the competition. But jokes on you, you can't leave me for me so."

"I haven't dreamed about you kissing me, moron," Eddie huffed out, "-and you need to get over that shit."

"No way," Richie laughed, turning slightly, "-That shit is sticking forever. Sorry, Eds."

"It's not that fucking important-"

"It is," Richie interrupted, "-It so is. I was your celebrity crush! That's so fucking sick."

"How?" Eddie asked, curiously.

"Well," Richie drummed his fingers along the wheel, "-you fucking watched my streams and thought, shit, he's handsome-"

"That wasn't-" Eddie paused, exhaling a breath, "-You're handsome, but it wasn't... How do I fucking-"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "Eds?"

"It was like-" he started, before decidedly restarting, "-It wasn't like a celebrity crush, where you just kinda think they're handsome and just like their voice or some shit-"

Richie listened.

"-It was like... It was like having a crush on my best friend. Because you're just-" Eddie paused, "-You're just so... you on your streams, so fucking... human. Celebrities are intangible as fuck, but you... You wore ugly fucking shirts, and you have the dumbest fucking jokes, and your hair is a mess on your head. You're a fucking person, and I just... I just wanted that. Wanted you."

Richie pressed his lips together, heart skipping a beat.

"So, it was like-" he continued, slow but deliberate, "-like we were, ya know, friends, and I just knew you. Saw all that shit firsthand. And I liked that. Liked you."

He blinked. Fuck, I love him so much.

"Well," Richie let out a breath, smiling too bright, "-that just makes it more important so. You've fucked yourself."

Eddie paused, "Shit."

Richie started snort laughing, eyes clear on the road despite the laugh wracking through him. He heard Eddie break into his own laughter, and it only made him smile brighter because, god, did he love the shit out of Eddie's laugh. Well, he loved the shit out of Eddie in general-

"Are you driving already?" Eddie asked, after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

"Yeah," Richie replied, turning off where he needed to, "-I woke up early and got fucking antsy. I'm not a patient man, Eds."

Eddie hummed a little, almost like he was still a little tired, "How long are you gonna drive today, then?"

"Well," he pursed his lips, trying to remember shit, "-I've got like 14 hours left, maybe less. You won't let me push shit but I have already driven 9 hours in a day before-"

"Richie," Eddie warned.

"-I know, Eds, I know. But it's either I do the long drive today or tomorrow, and I really don't want to be fucking passed out on my first day with you."

"I'm gonna make you rest either way, dipshit," Eddie countered, "-You've been through every fucking timezone in America, your brain must be totally fucking fried."

"C'mon, Eds," Richie chimed, going into a cliché New Yorker accent, "-ya gotta show me the city."

"The shitty city?" Eddie clarified, flatly, "-The one I hate?"

"It's New York," Richie laughed a little, "-There's gotta be something worthwhile."

"I know the shit you're trying to pull. You're not gonna change my mind, Richie," Eddie replied, pointedly, "-Even if you do all those hours today, when you get here, you're gonna fucking rest."

Richie paused, continuing hesitantly, "So, you're okay with me doing the long drive today?"

"You don't," Eddie paused, seeming a little too quiet and working himself up, "-You don't need my permission to do shit, I didn't mean to-"

"Eddie baby, stop," Richie soothed, immediately, "-It's not a permission thing. It's a 'for your well-being' thing. I don't want to do shit that will stress you out. I refuse to do shit that would make you feel scared when I can't 100% be there to fix it. Or at least fucking... help you through it."

"Really?" Eddie questioned, quietly.

"Of fucking course, Eds, I love the shit out of you," Richie laughed a little, "-and the idea of you being stressed the fuck out, alone, makes me want to bite my own fucking head off. So-"

Richie took a breath.

"-are you okay with me driving that long today?"

Eddie paused, before slowly saying, "You promise you'll stop driving if you need to?"

"Absolutely," Richie agreed, "-I'm not gonna push myself beyond my limits, Eddie baby. I promise."

There was a spare second of silence, and Richie started drumming his fingers along the wheel. It was the beat of 'Before He Cheats' (the song he was singing before). And his eyes remained squarely on the road -straightforward and focused.

"Okay," Eddie sighed out, "-Okay, yeah, you can drive 9 hours. That's... I'll be okay."

"Yeah?" Richie asked, genuinely.

"Yeah, Rich," Eddie laughed a little, "-Just make sure to eat and drink properly, and maybe hit the rest areas so you can stretch out your freakishly fucking long legs-"

"Can't call 'em freaks, if that's how ya like 'em," Richie interrupted with a Southern accent, "-Mr. 'my type is tall idiots'."

"I was hitting on you, moron," Eddie huffed out, "-You're my first boyfriend. I don't even know if I have a type."

"Yeah, I kinda figured," Richie laughed a little, "-That text drove me fucking crazy for weeks."

"Yeah, well," Eddie cleared his throat, "-fucking imagine what I felt when you told me your type."

Richie paused. ("But yeah, Spaghetti, teeny little brunettes who are mean to me.")

"Wait," Richie started, "-you... I, your celebrity crush, described you, a teeny little brunette who is mean to me, as my type. And you... what?"

Eddie didn't say anything for a second.

"Don't make fun of me. Or else I'll kick your ass."

"Roger that, Spaghetti," Richie echoed in a growly voice (like it was coming out of a walkie-talkie), "-please proceed."

"I... Ugh," Eddie exhaled like the words hurt to say, "-I threw my phone across the room. It cracked my whole fucking screen-"

"You what?" Richie interjected.

"It's just-" Eddie started to explain, increasingly flustered, "-You were... you. And I was, I was the exact description. And it hit me for a second that, you know, you were kinda tangible. That, with like... the right fucking circumstances, I could have you. Easy."

Richie blinked, before sputtering, "You could. You did. You do, you do have me now."

"Well," Eddie paused, smiling (Richie could hear the cheesy grin), "-I guess I got the right fucking circumstances."

"The best ones," Richie chimed, heart rattling in his ribs (Eddie, Eddie, Eddie), "-maybe."

"Yeah, shithead," Eddie replied, "-the best ones."

[eaglesnick]

“In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of.”   — Confucius, Chinese teacher and philosopher

According to Jeremy Hunt, Chancellor of the Exchequer, his recent budget announcements will “eliminate low pay altogether". Speaking in Parliament last November he stated:

“People who get up early, put in the hours and work hard for their families deserve to be paid fairly” (Hunt: 22/11/23)

I couldn’t agree more. It is therefore such a pity that Hunt was being less than honest with us. According to The Resolution Foundation analysis of ONS data (reported in the Guardian. March 2nd 2024) after almost 14 years of Tory rule, average wages are still “below their 2008 peak".

In other words, despite inflation now falling and private sector wage rises being above inflation, the average worker in this country is no better off than they were over a decade a go. The Resolution Foundation has calculated that the 15 years of low wage growth under successive Tory governments has cost the average worker £10,700, the worst period of pay growth since the Napoleonic wars.

But who cares about the plight of the average UK worker or their families? :  certainly not Conservative governments. Under the Tories the tax burden for the average worker has rocketed, mainly through stealth taxes, and is set to reach the highest lever since the second world war.

But it’s not all bad news.

During the same time frame, emergency food parcels for the poor have risen from less than 100,000 in 2010 to over 3,000,000 a year. And while the poor queue for their food parcels, the rich are busy counting the massive increase in their personal wealth.

“Soaring levels of wealth across the UK, coupled with high levels of wealth inequality, mean that the wealth gap between the top and middle tenth of households in the UK has grown to a record £1.2 million per adult. ( Resolution Foundation: The UK's wealth gaps have grown over £1.2 million, 20/07/22)

So, when the Tories talk about an improving economy and tax cuts for ordinary working families, just remember what the stark economic reality is for the millions of workers “who get up early, put in the hours and work hard for their families”: stagnant wages and a society with ever increasing inequalities between those that work to improve the country’s wealth and and those who benefit from that work.

[novankenn]

Jaune 1/2 (v2-5)

Jaune sputtered and hacked as the hot water Glynda Goodwitch had prepared was poured over his head. Pyrrha watched from the sidelines, as Jaune’s body morphed back to his true male form. Not that she was worried, well maybe a little… Jaune took several nasty hits on his fall from the sky, and remained unconscious for their entire return trip to the cliffs.

“I’m so done!” Jaune snapped as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. “I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“Actually Mr Arc you did.” Ozpin countered.

“I did not!”

“It was assumed when you agreed to remain as a student at my school.”

“So I’m going to have to go through more crap like that?”

“No. That was just initiation, and as you and Ms Nikos have succeeded, you will not have to worry about such activities until year three and four when you and your team start to take missions.”

“Headmaster, the other pairs are just about here. We should prepare for the teaming and naming ceremony.” Glynda informed the group.

“Teaming and naming?” Pyrrha asked. She knew a little of what to expect, her agent having spent a couple of months researching the various academies on Pyrrha’s behalf. “SO that’s where we and another pair are assigned together as a team, right?”

“Yes, you are correct, Ms Nikos.”

“Is it random?”

“Partially. It depends on the relics each pair retrieved.”

“Relic? You mean that chess piece?” Jaune asked as he tried to scrape some of the gunk from his dive into the stagnant pond from his body. “That’s not partially random. That’s completely random.”

“Be that as it may. You both need to head to the auditorium.” Glynda told the pair.

“No, I need a shower, first.” Jaune stated.

“There is no time.” Glynda countered. “Please head to the auditorium.”

“I NEED a shower!”

“Mr Arc, you can have one after the ceremony. Now, please, head in. The sooner we conclude the ceremony, the sooner you can have your shower.” Ozpin rebutted.

“Jaune, let’s just get this over with.” Pyrrha spoke up, giving Jaune a look that told volumes about how annoyed she was with him.

“Fine.” Jaune grumbled, as he fell in step just behind Pyrrha and entered the school.

/==/

Jaune was not happy, in fact he was miserable. The goop from the pond had found its way into very uncomfortable places, not to mention he was wet, and the once hot water had cooled and was now giving him a chill. He was only half listening as the other students were being formed into teams of four. It took an elbow from Pyrrha to bring back his attention.

“What!” Jaune snapped.

“We’re being called up. Move it!” Pyrrha hissed at him.

Snorting, Jaune started to walk forward, Pyrrha following closely behind, when he suddenly was stopped by a very firm grip on his wrist. Looking to his right, he saw, the young woman who had used the wagasa to protect him and the girl in white from the nevermore feathers.

“Nora, right?” Jaune asked.

“Nora, what do you think you’re doing?” her partner spoke as he placed his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve been called up.”

“Please let go of my partner.” Pyrrha commented. She could feel the tension in the air. “We have to…

“Would Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren PLEASE step forward.” Headmaster Ozpin called out for the second time.

“Nora Valkyrie? I know that name, I think?” Jaune commented, not noticing Nora reaching over her shoulder for the wagasa holstered on her back.

“You think?” Nora growled. “YOU THINK? JAUNE ARC, YOU BASTARD!!! 

“Whoa, wait!” Jaune shouted as Nora pulled Jaune away from the stage, releasing her hold and causing him to stumble about.

“YOU THINK? YOU THINK?” Nora roared as she gripped the handle of her wagasa, “9 years, 8 months, 28 days, 11 hours, 47 minutes… YOU RUINED MY LIFE!”

“WHAT?!?” Jaune and Pyrrha both yelled in shock.

“Nora don’t!” Ren yelled.

Jaune was unprepared for the strike. Nora, using the wagasa as a club, launched him into the air, and through a nearby window.

“Students please!” Ozpin shouted as before Ren, Pyrrha or Professor Goodwithc could react, Nora jumped out through the very window she had knocked Jaune through.

“What the hell?” Jaune hacked and coughed as he climbed to his feet. “What the fuck was that for?”

“If you don’t remember me, then I’m going to beat that memory back into your head!” 

Jaune used a handspring to evade Nora’s swipe. Landing in a partial crouch, Jaune moved into a defensive stance as Nora growled at him. 

==\ Episode List /==

[elvenbeard]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you so much @z-lagorio for the tag :D I'm still half-busy renovating stuffs at my new place (although this past week I've been mostly just enjoying the results of the work I put in so far xD but gaming corner is up next and I hope I can share some wips of that :3)

ANYWHO

I have been able to continue with my post-sun-ending fic a bit these last few days, I hope I can share the final version of Chapter 11 soon!

Here's a little teaser from Kerry's pov:

He arrived in front of the MSM recording studio in Charter Hill much faster than anticipated… so much so that his impromptu plan to get Lee to talk was still somewhat fuzzy around the edges. He was in the mood to storm in, guns blazing, but there was no guarantee Lee was even there. Maybe he should’ve checked that before coming here. Kerry cursed between his teeth, slightly clammy hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he parked straight across from the building’s main entrance. Reluctantly he decided to simply call his manager, something he usually never did. It rang a handful of times, longer than he would’ve expected. “Kerry?” asked the shaky voice on the other end of the line in disbelief. “Certainly not Lizzy Wizzy,” Kerry replied deadpan, “Where are ya?” His heart was beating in his throat. “I’m at the studio! I’ve been waiting to hear from you, been worried that –…” “I’m outside the front door,” Kerry interrupted him, “Come down, let’s talk.” He tried not to let his nerves show, and he was thankful for his AudioVox evening out the slight tremor in his words. “Uh… why don’t you come upstairs to my office?” Lee evaded, “Vicki just dropped by with two new demos you can listen to, I think – …” “No,” Kerry said sternly, but he was grasping at straws for a reason as to why they had to meet outside that wouldn’t leave Lee even more suspicious. “Bring the demos with ya, we’ll listen to ‘em on the road,” was the best thing he could bullshit this quickly, “Been too stagnant lately, gotta move around a bit, get the creative juices flowing.” Empty phrases he’d flung around a million times before, but they usually worked with types like Lee. “Oh… okay?” Lee said, then there was silence for a couple of seconds, “Okay, I’ll be right there but… I need to be back at the studio at the latest in an hour, got an important appointment.” Kerry didn’t reply and simply hung up. No promises.

Lee appeared at the building’s main entrance around ten endless minutes later. Kerry’s right leg bounced in a shaky rhythm, the gun in his jacket’s pocket, heavy as a brick, bruising his thigh. Lee jogged across the street, black and blue designer coat fluttering around him. He tried to put on a smile when he approached the passenger side of the car, but it was slanted and forced. Kerry opened the door for him. “Get in,” he ordered, demanded almost, and Lee slightly flinched, fumbling in his pockets and pulling out a handful of shard cases. “Got everything with me, I thought maybe we could start with the song demos? But just in case I also brought the interview questions I mentioned, and some other things you can decide on for the upcoming promo events.” “Wow, great. Now get in,” Kerry repeated himself with zero enthusiasm and finally Lee slipped into the seat. The same seat V had fucked Kerry in so gloriously yesterday… and now Lee desecrated the space with his presence. Kerry closed the door again and sped off before Lee could say another word, headed towards the highway that would lead them out of the city.

(Things happened and are about to happen 👀 been really excited for this chapter but even more so the stuff it will lead to!)

I'm tagging everyone who has something they're working on to share - this is your call to do it and tag me :D Also tagging @pinkyjulien, @chevvy-yates, @humberg, @imaginarycyberpunk2023, @swearingcactus @civilization-illstayrighthere @peaches-n-screem cause I'd love to see/read what you're working on (if you work on anything you wanna share, without pressure ofc!), be it art, writing, vp, mods, anything! :D

[parental-unit-of-chaos]

My 21st birthday is in 2 days

Another year has passed, 11 more than I thought I would get to see. Everyone says I should be happy, am I, at least I think I am. I'm still not sure what that is supposed to feel like. It's more bittersweet than anything, humorous in a dark way. I've been searching for jobs for like 3 months now, haven't gotten too much luck just yet. Though, it feels oddly healing when I apply to jobs that was my dream job when I was a teen. Even, though I have the qualifications for an assistant manager role, on paper I only have enough to do lower roles. This usually causes problems due to my energy and being able to learn everything from my role and manager's tasks within shifts within 2 months of working at a company, everyone tends to socially put me into a leadership role. Going to me, if the actual Shift manager or assistant manager is too busy.

I really do hope my HotTopic or Spencer's job applications work out. Last year, I finally fully healed my inner child, only for my inner teen to come out swinging. Honestly, it feels like I'm broken and whole at the exact same time most days. I know what emotion I should be feeling in situations, but I'm not sure if I'm actually feeling them. C-PTSD is a fucking bitch when it's mixed with Autism & ADHD. I still feel like I'm floating through life, not sure at all of what river I'm going down. I know it's not one where a waterfall is at the end of it, but that's about it. Everything else is pretty fuzzy. I love writing, I love drawing, I love to sing, I love developing into spirituality, but I feel horrible about doing them, instead of looking for jobs, but if I constantly look for jobs, I get burnt out on them. I wish just screaming and crying for 2 hours, solved everything, but sadly, life doesn't work that way. Atleast, I have my partner to help me work through this, but that shouldn't be his job 24/7. I wish I could just wave my hand and the best life that fits to me as a person becomes my life, but not even witchcraft works like that, lol. As for my witchcraft, it's be kinda stagnant, I've figured out Archangel Gaberial, Lady Lilith and Cernurous have been kinda chillin' in the background. I've been kinda scared to step into that, it's haunting, even though, I've worked with deities before!

Just to clarify to everyone, I'm not gonna hurt myself or anything, just want to vent out some things, and people can add to it from their experience if they want.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Operation Death Wish | Chapter 11

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

Synopsis: Jake Seresin knew what it was like to lose people he loved, he’d been losing them his whole life. Yet in the midst of chaos as the world as he knew it ended Jake found somebody he never wanted to lose. But what if he’d already lost her. Warnings: swearing, dystopian descriptions, gore, death, violence, alien descriptions, fighting, sexual images, 18+ (minors dni), angst, some fluff at times, main character death, grieving ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What ensued after that was carnage. You had been ushered away by Natasha while the others made a plan to defend the base.

“I can help, please let me help,” you’d begged but both your father, Jake and Bradley all remained firm.

“You’re too important, Sweetheart. You look after that little baby of ours, okay? It’s my job to protect you,” Jake had confessed, placing a lingering kiss in your hair, before Natasha all but dragged you away.

You were sitting on the cold hard bench of the underground bunker, the air stagnant and stale from years of lying empty. Above you, the sound of gunfire and explosions filled your ears and you cradled your head, trying to block out the images that raced through your desperate mind.

The bunker was overloaded with civilians, all the soldiers except you and Natasha were up top fighting.

“I should be up there Nat, I’m a doctor for Christ's sake, they need me.” But your begging had been futile, there was no way anyone was going to let you open the bunker door.

You rocked back on your heels, your fingernails digging into the steel bench, the cold metal a stark contrast to your fiery skin, as the sweat trickled down your forehead and into your eyes. The commotion above you caused you to cringe. You should be out there helping, healing the wounded and instead, you felt like you’d been dismissed.

After what felt like several hours but in reality must have been only an hour at least, a small group of soldiers appeared in the doorway, bloody and bruised but alive. Your eyes scanned the crowd frantically in search of your loved ones but the faces of the strangers in front of you told a different tale, one you weren’t willing to hear. One man was carried in on a stretcher, a deep gash across his abdomen seeping with crimson blood.

“WE NEED A MEDIC!” One of the other soldiers shouted, lowering the man onto the bench.

“Out of my way I’m a doctor,” you pushed through the crowd toward the wounded soldier. His eyes were dark and glassy and his mouth hung open as a small trail of blood trickled from his lips. His uniform was stained and the all too familiar iron smell filled your nostrils, causing your stomach to churn, as you pulled back his shirt and revealed the blood pooling quickly on his skin.

“I need a first aid kit, bandages and morphine, anything you can get your hands on,” you called out to the man, making quick work at ripping open the rest of his shirt and revealing further bruises and small cuts. One of the soldiers appeared with a first aid kit and you made quick work of applying the bandages tightly around the wound. There were two vials of morphine in the kit and you quickly injected one into the soldier's thigh muscle, hoping to release some of his agonies, as he squirmed and cried.

“There’s nothing more I can do for him,” you admitted to his friend quietly. “Without the proper equipment that’s all I can do.” His friend nodded solemnly, knowing that the inevitable was bound to happen. You felt so hopeless watching the man in front of you wither in agony.

The door of the bunker flew open with a sickening crack and more soldiers filed into the already cramped room. “WE NEED A MEDIC!” Several of them shouted as further wounded men were carried through. Natasha appeared beside you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

“What can I do?” She asked, her eyes a little watery but her lips set in a firm line. You took a deep breath, calming the thoughts that raced through your tired mind, all you could think of was Jake. Why hadn’t he come back yet? Why wasn’t he here holding you?

“I need you to triage the soldiers and send the walking wounded to the back of the line if their bleeding applies bandages. Anyone with more severe wounds or haemorrhaging I need to see immediately.” Natasha nodded, turning to a few of the women behind her and telling them the plan.

The night was long, as the line of wounded soldiers felt endless. Most of them were now comfortably settled on makeshift beds, their wounds dressed and pain medication in their systems. Two of the civilians had volunteered to find more medical supplies and had returned with nearly enough equipment to treat most of the injuries. You had stitched, dressed, injected medication and monitored them all through the night and by the time morning came you were exhausted.

Slumped on the cold metal floor by the door, your head rolled to the side as your eyes fluttered open. Something wasn’t right. You stood up, looking across the bunker at the sleeping soldiers and civilian families, all still peacefully unaware. It was almost tranquil and… silent.

“They’ve stopped,” you whispered to no one in particular. “They’ve stopped!” You exclaimed and watched as a few of the closet people began to stir. Natasha and Sophie looked up at you, sleepy-eyed and confused faces.

“What?” Nat asked, standing to stretch out her aching legs.

“They’ve stopped. It’s quiet. Listen.” Natasha stopped, squinting as she strained to listen to the nothingness.

“You’re right. They’ve stopped fighting…” Before Nat could even finish her sentence you were yanking at the bunker door, heaving the heavy metal object out of your way and running up the steps, Natasha’s desperate cries following you as you fled.

Your heart sunk at the scene in front of you, smoke floated across the base, fires visible from several of the buildings, shaky shadows sprinting through the smoke and bodies, human and creature, littered everywhere. You pulled up your jacket, covering your mouth as you headed into the smoke, it burnt your eyes causing them to water uncontrollably. In the distance, there were several dark shadows, all congregated by one of the warehouses. You called out, increasing your pace, feeling that if you found Jake a minute sooner then everything would be ok. You just needed Jake. Stomach churning, eyes streaming you lurched further through the smoke, crying out to the figures.

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

Jake’s whole body ached, the gash on his torso stinging painfully whenever he moved and his throat dry as he spluttered, shielding his mouth from the smoke. Mav was close by, slumped against the wall, the large cut on his head oozing down his face. A few of the other soldiers were mingling about, patching each other up and checking their ammunition reserves. Jake didn’t think he’d ever fought like he had last night. It had been the most physically and mentally challenging battle he’d ever witnessed. The creatures were relentless, Jake could still see the vivid images of their jaws drool dripping from their large fangs and their screams, those ear-splitting screams. He cringed at the thought. He’d never seen a massacre like it and they had never stood a chance. It wasn't until Mav remembered the TNT that was left on the base that the table began to turn but they had lost a lot, they had lost a lot of good men and women. Jake sighed slumping down beside Maverick who looked over at him, a small but grim smile on his face.

“How are we gonna tell her, Maverick?” Jake asked, watching as his eyes followed Mav’s to where the bodies of the soldiers they had lost lay under blankets.

“I don’t know, Jake. I don’t know,” Maverick admitted, resting his head in his hands. Jake knew Mav may not admit it but Bradley had been like a son to him and despite everything that had happened he was grieving his loss too. Jake had never expected to like Bradley after everything but his good nature and the way he had truly cared for you made it hard not to. Although they had a rough start Jake could see why you had loved him, why you still loved him. When it came down to it Bradley had fought to protect the woman they all cared so much for. A faint cry in the distance caught both men’s attention, looking up through the smoke as the woman's voice called out again.

“That’s (y/n),” Mav spoke first, his voice strained and he groaned, holding himself up against the brick wall to stabilize himself. Jake stood quickly beside him, both men turning to face the women they both loved. She appeared through the smoke, like some kind of angel, breaking through the mist, her voice calling out to them.

“(Y/n)?” Jake felt his legs carrying him forward until his arms were wrapped around your shoulders. His face was bruised and bloody but he looked relieved.

“Jake,” you threw your arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly as the relief flooded through you, tears pricking your eyes as you frantically tried to blink them away.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” you whispered in his ear, voice shaking uncontrollably as tears spilt down your cheeks. You pulled back, crushing your lips against his in a desperate kiss as if everything depended on it. Jake winced slightly, his cut lip stinging from the salty tears but he refused to pull away. He held onto you so tightly, you knew he felt the same.

You pulled back, noticing your father hovering behind him.

“Dad!” You lunge forward, running into his embrace. You felt him squeezing you close to him, his hand holding the back of your head, cradling you close to him. “Dad,” you sobbed into his shoulder and you could feel hot tears trickling onto the bare skin of your neck as your father cried with you. Within the last few weeks, you had found your father and nearly lost him all over again. Wrapped in your father's embrace you finally felt a sense of safety after the long night you’d all endured, maybe everything would be ok.

“Love, I have something I need to tell you,” Maverick whispered, pushing you away slightly so he could look you in the eyes. His face was contorted and you noticed how much older your father suddenly looked, deep wrinkles lined his face, and dark circles encapsulated his eyes, his dark eyes full of sorrow.

“What is it?” Your voice comes out strained and small.

Your father sighed, guiding you towards the small brick wall and allowing you to take a seat, holding onto your shoulders to support you. Your eyes looked behind him, eyes waving over the soldiers behind him trying to catch a glimpse of Bradley, you just wanted to make sure he was ok.

“Dad, where’s Bradley?” You asked, looking at him like a small naive child. Maverick locked eyes with you and you noticed as Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

“That’s what I need to tell you, Love. Bradley is a hero, he saved my life and without him, many more of us would have perished. He was a good man, one of the best and I never gave him enough credit but he was. He earned my daughter's love and I’m so glad he did because not many people get to experience that and despite everything, I know you’ll always love him. Bradley died a hero, Baby Girl. He was a true hero.” You stared at him in disbelief, unable to accept the fact that the man you had loved was gone, the boy you had loved since childhood. Bradley, who was so full of love and life was just gone.

“How?” You choked out. “How did he die?”

Jake was by your side now too, holding onto your arm as you gripped onto his shirt, your fist twisting the fabric into a tight ball. You couldn’t see, salty tears blurring your vision as you gasped out your words. It felt like your lungs were being compressed, the weight of your grief crushing you. Jake’s arms were around you in seconds, holding you against his chest as he whispered into your ear but you couldn’t hear what he was saying, everything was a blur.

“Just tell me what happened,” you whispered, teary eyes staring up at Jake, whose face was stoic and serious but his eyes sparkled with budding tears.

“He’s a hero,” Jake began.

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

Bradley’s chest heaved, his back pinned against the wall, eyes watering from the smoke. The creatures were relentless, they had pounded them with the 50-calibre guns, and grenades, hell Mav had even tried a flame thrower but nothing was taking them down. They’d lost almost half the team they had set out with, many of them with families waiting longingly for their return. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to clear the dust and sweat that trickled down his forehead. He’d lost sight of the others in the chaos and now pinned against the wall, he was vulnerable and exposed. He peered around the corner, spotting one of the creatures ambling across the clearing, its legs creaking and groaning as its metal hinges moved to carry its great fleshy body. A thud behind him cussed Bradley to spin around, raising his gun at the figure.

“Jeez, it’s just me. Put the gun down,” Jake hissed, grabbing the end of the barrel and pushing it away from his face. “You’re a little jumpy aren’t you Bradshaw.”

Bradley sighed, “Yeah, well so would you be if you’d been here helping. Where the hell of you been and where’s Mav?” Bradley glared at him accusingly. Of course, he’d been off keeping himself safe while Bradley and his friends had been out here defending their loved ones.

“I…” Jake began, his signature smirk gracing his lips, “have been saving your ass.” He pulled the rucksack off of his shoulder and swung it round between the men, pulling open the zip and revealing its contents. The bag was crammed full of TNT.

“Where the hell did you find this lot?” Bradley asked, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Mav and I found it in one of the old ammunition stores. He’s got a bag full of it too. He’s gone to find the others and will come up with a plan.”

Bradley nodded, his eyes darting about, looking through the smoke to see several human-shaped figures running back and forth between the buildings.

“Until then, we’ve gotta sit tight.” Jake slumped down on the floor and Bradley followed suit, resting his gun between the two of them.

“So Bradshaw, how long have you known (Y/N)?” Jake asked casually, Bradley could see the way Jake smirked as he tensed at your name. It was still a sore subject and despite you forgiving him Bradley still felt like a complete asshole for the way he treated you. He’d never meant to hurt you, hell he loved you and the thought of you dying broke him. He turned to Jake his face solemn, “I’ve known her since I was a kid. Our dads were best friends and so we became best friends.”

Jake nodded, “and how long have you been in love with her?”

Bradley let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “since I was a kid.” He didn’t know why he was admitting all this to Jake Seresin of all people, this guy had stolen his fiancée but for some reason, he just couldn’t hate the guy as he should. Something about the way he looked at you, held you and spoke to you made Bradley realise he did truly love you and if he made you happy then that’s all Bradley had ever really wanted.

“How long have you loved, (Y/N)?” Bradley asked, shielding his face so Jake couldn’t see as he wiped away the stray tears that had fallen.

“Ever since I first walked into her office after a bar fight,” Jake admitted, “she patched me up and after that, I was done for.” Both men laughed, looking at each other knowingly. Bradley knew that feeling all too well.

After what felt like waiting for hours, Mav finally appeared, his face was grimy and thick layers of dust outlined his wrinkles but he still wore his signature grin, his eyes wild.

“Right! So we’ve got a plan.”

“Here we go.”

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

“The plan was straightforward. Everyone knew what they had to do but those creatures had other ideas. I tried to stop him, Baby I swear,” Jake pleaded, holding onto your shoulders. You could see the tears forming in his eyes as he looked at you. You knew he felt responsible for what had happened but how could you blame him?

“Please just tell me what happened?”

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

The plan was simple. The building on the furthest side of the base was to be rigged with TNT, a siren would be set off in the building to draw the creatures in and when they got there the TNT would be detonated. BOOM.

Bradley and Jake had rigged up the siren, while the others set the TNT so that it would go off once everyone else had left the building. It was straightforward, everyone would have 30 seconds to get as far away from the building as possible before the siren began, once all the creatures had made it inside the building, Mav would detonate it.

“Why the hell isn’t it working?” Jake cursed, throwing the spanner at the siren with a loud clang. “Fucking piece of shit!”

“I don’t know, Seresin but that’s not helping us right now,” Bradley hissed, picking up the spanner and placing it back in the toolbox.

“I know but we are running out of time, everyone is waiting on us,” Jake sighed, leaning over the edge of the railings to see the group below waiting for them.

“We need to turn it by hand,” Bradley said, his voice quiet and shaky as he came to the realisation.

“What? No, Bradshaw, there has to be another way,” Jake began, reaching towards the other man but Bradley put his hands up to stop him.

“One of us has to stay.” Jake looked back at him, eyes wide. Bradley thought he could almost see his eyes glistening slightly in the pale light.

“No,” Jake’s voice broke, “no, I’m not letting you do this. How am I going to tell (y/n)? She’s only just gotten you back… I.”

“She doesn’t need me anymore, Jake. I fucked up. I don’t deserve her, I never did. She’s always been far too good for this world but she’s happy with you. You make her happy, Jake, happier than I’ve seen her in a long time,” Bradley’s voice broke slightly as he spoke, tears pricking his eyes. “Will you promise me something?”

“Anything,” Jake came to rest a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Look after her and love her. Make sure you tell her how amazing she is every single day.”

“I will. I promise,” Jake meant forward pulling Bradley into a tight hug, Bradley fisting his hand into Jake’s shirt.

“Now go! Get out of here,” he shoved Jake away hard, his hand poised on the handle. Jake gave Bradley one last look before he began his descent down the rickety metal stairs, taking them two at a time. Jake didn’t look back, he didn’t know if he could. Despite having known Bradley for only a short length of time and despite the anger felt between them Jake couldn’t help the growing ache in his heart as he left him behind, knowing his impending doom. How was he going to tell you? How was he going to tell Mav?

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

“I’m so sorry, Love.” Jake pulled you into a tight hug as you cried, all the years of emotions came pouring out but Jake just held you and let you weep. He cradled your head as you sobbed for the other man you loved, the man you had loved since childhood. Jake knew that you loved him too but he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt towards Bradley because even after everything he was still the martyr and you would always love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Taglist: @wkndwlff @a-reader-and-a-writer @callsign-phoenix @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @sunlightmurdock @topguncortez @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @airedale17 @shadowolf993 @flyboyjake @topguncultleader @callmemana @marchingicenotes7 @t-nd-rfoot @shanimallina87 @emorychase @jstarr86 @shadowsintheknight @starkleila

[mania-sama]

rule #1 - magic

Rule #1 - Magic - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Genshin Impact ❧ Pairing: Ei/Yae Miko ❧ Tags: no powers au, modern au, paralysis, self-doubt, self-esteem issues, disabled! ei, disabled! yae, disabled characters, depression, hospitals, rehabilitation, past car accident, nightmares, ptsd, fluff and angst, physical therapy ❧ Summary: Ei was left paralyzed from the waist down after a car crash. For two months, she made no progress until a patient named Yae Miko transferred to her hospital. ❧ Word Count: 3,257 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 11 October 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 11: Paralyzed ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

“You will never walk again.”

Ei didn’t need a doctor with a clipboard and a pitying expression to tell her that. The place where her legs are supposed to be are entirely void of feeling, and even she can’t feel what are supposed to be phantom pains, the mind’s recollection of what once was. There is simply nothing there, and one cannot walk on nothing.

She has already resigned herself to a life in a wheelchair, a life without legs to stand on and feet to feel the ground with. When she tries to move the lower half of her body underneath the sheets, she is met with defeat. The sheets do not shift a centimeter out of place, which would be the only indication that her pathetic attempt worked. For all intents and purposes, she does not have legs any longer.

This is why she finds the hospital’s insistence on daily physical therapy more than a little irritating. The doctor — Dr. Baizhu, his name was — already told her she has she won’t walk again. The hope to change her fate will only make her failure sting worse than if she were to give up now and adjust to her inevitable stagnant life.

Her nurse will come into her room every day at three o'clock and ask how she’s feeling. If Ei’s answer is satisfactory, the nurse will corral her into her wheelchair and take her down to the physical rehabilitation room to attempt physical therapy.

It never goes very well. The sessions are supposed to last an hour, but Ei has never made it half that long. She lasts for ten minutes before she’s exhausted from trying to walk on nothing. She can’t sense the ground beneath her or the pain of locking a joint for too long. All she can feel is the breathlessness and bone-deep tiredness that settles into her upper body.

She doesn’t know which she hates worse: the bland, cramped walls of her hospital room or seeing the pitying look on her physical therapists’ faces when she says she’s done for the day. It’s why sometimes she claims she isn’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and sometimes she’s adamant about getting out of her room to the rehabilitation center. When she’s had too much of one, she goes to the other. It’s an endless loop that she can’t find a way out of.

Especially when the rest of her body hasn’t fully healed from the accident, either.

The regular therapy sessions went about as well as the physical therapy ones do, except they allowed her to drop her counselor when they saw no improvement after three weeks. She still has to take the pills they prescribed — twenty milligrams of PAXIL daily ��� though she hasn’t noticed any improvement. Her body aches, she doesn’t sleep due to nightmares, she can barely hold down meals, and she’s lost all appetite for life.

She can never walk again, and it never hits her harder than when she’s lying in bed trying to get any amount of rest. But all she can see when she closes her eyes is her white Mercedes-Benz flip with her still trapped inside. Her world turns upside down and she can do nothing but pray that she’ll somehow make it out alive.

Then she crawls out of her smashed driver-side window, dragging her useless legs behind her, and screams until someone passes by the frozen road.

It’s always the same. The same dream, the same day hospital room, the same food options, the same pills, the same failed physical therapy sessions.

That is until she sees a new patient at the rehabilitation center. Or rather, the new patient sees her. Ei doesn’t make much note of her outside of the vibrant pink of her hair which makes her stand out like a sore thumb. She knows she’s doing something along the lines of calling the kettle black, but she can’t bring herself to care. She doesn’t care about much of anything anymore, outside of escaping the monotony of the hospital.

Ei tires out ten minutes in, and when she asks to stop, she sees the pink-haired lady gazing intently at her from where she’s working on her arms. It’s odd, Ei thinks, only her arms that are hurt. The woman has the same situation as Ei does, with hands forcing her elbows to move in and out of place, and metal contraptions strapped all along her limbs to stabilize them where she can’t.

Her gaze is scrutinizing, and as soon as her therapists’ hands are off of her she makes her way over to where Ei has taken residence in her wheelchair to wait out the remainder of her hour-long session.

“What are you doing sitting there?” The pink-haired lady asks in a light tone when she walks up. Her head tilts to the side and a smile puffs out her cheeks, but nothing about her says friendliness. “It has to be rather boring, don’t you think?”

And Ei gets it now. It’s mockery that she hears in the woman’s voice. “I’m tired,” Ei states simply, meeting her sharp purple eyes head-on. “I can’t go on today.”

“You were pathetically standing for ten minutes. I hardly call that worth being tired over,” the woman replies, her tone still airy in the way that Ei can’t help but feel a strike of contempt.

“I don’t have any usage of my lower body,” Ei points out a little harsher than before. “My upper body has to support all of my weight. It’s exhausting.”

The woman clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. Rolls her eyes! If Ei could, she’d stand up and punch her in the face. It’s what she deserves. “Then why are you here if you won’t even stand? At least make yourself useful and roll your chair away. You make me uncomfortable with all that staring.”

“My staring? You are the one that hasn’t kept her eyes off of me the entire time we’ve been here!” Ei gasps indignantly, pushing herself up on her chair to seem a little taller than she might have been before. Her back straightens, and she doesn’t miss the way the woman’s gaze flickers over her exposed body.

“Yes, well, I couldn’t help but watch your little performance,” she says, letting the accusation roll off of her like oil to water. Her pride isn’t damaged one bit. “It’s a real show indeed. You haven’t answered my question: why are you here if you won’t stand?”

Ei sighs and wants to slump back into the wheelchair, but she keeps her back straight just to spite the woman. “I will never walk again. They make me come here if I’m feeling well, but I haven’t made progress. I won’t ever make progress.”

“Let me guess. Your counseling sessions ended on short notice as well?” Ei refuses to dignify her with a response, but she smiles and takes that enough as an answer. It makes Ei furious. “Ha! You’re as typical as they come. You know, the only reason I transferred to this hospital was because there wasn’t anyone fun to torment at my other one, but you are coming up to be quite the catch. Seems I’ve made the right call.”

The gleam in her eyes is all malice and tease, and Ei nearly calls to be taken out of the rehabilitation room on account of bullying of all things. Before she can, one of the physical therapists’ says from the other side of the room: “Mrs. Yae Miko! Are you too tired to continue?”

The pink-haired lady — Yae Miko — replies back calmly. “I would like to keep going. We still have plenty of time, after all.” Then she returns her attention back to Ei, and her arm twitches ever-so-slightly by her side. “You know my name. What shall I call you?”

“I don’t want you to speak to me ever again.”

Yae Miko laughs at this, and her face brightens to a pink shade that Ei would find cute if it weren’t coming from an evil woman like her. “You are worth staying for. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Ei sincerely hopes that’s not the case. When the woman turns to leave her hair flows behind her, and Ei can see the tendrils of sweat marring the top of her scalp, making it a darker shade than the rest of her pink locks. Ei makes it a point to look the opposite way for the remainder of her session.

—

Her walls are the same. Her food tastes bland in her mouth. Her dreams have her bleeding down her hips and face, leaving a nasty scar over her jaw that still glares an angry pink at her when she looks into the mirror. Her voice goes out from screaming until someone has a phone to their ear and pulls Ei completely out of the wreckage.

—

“Ei! You’re back! Are you going to be useless today?” Yae calls cheerfully from inside of the rehabilitation center. Ei has half the mind to feign illness and turn back to her room, but the air in there still smells like the ash of her Mercedez-Benz. If she doesn’t have a break from it, Ei might go insane.

Scowling, Ei lets herself be guided to the stretching station. “How did you get my name?”

“I asked, of course. You’ve been here for a while, everyone knows you as the one-who-won’t-try,” she says with a giggle at the end as though her joke is remotely funny. “Say, how comfortable will that chair feel today? Same as yesterday? Or are you getting used to it now?”

Ei shakes her head and bites back her response. It won’t benefit to keep goading her like this; she’ll only come back with more viscous lines.  Besides, it wasn’t like there wasn’t any truth to her words. Ei is not blind to the cycle she lives in, and the fact of the matter is that she is getting used to her wheelchair. 

She only spares Yae Miko a glance to see how her arm stretches differ from her leg, but their eyes meet and the demon sends a wink her way. Ei returns her gaze to her own body and fights down the heat crawling up her neck.

During their main exercises, Yae intently focuses on herself. She manages to move them both at the same time without the hands of her therapists to guide them. The supporting metal still keeps her stable, but the accomplishment is enough to send the whole room clapping. When the woman laughs at the praise, she turns and sends a look to Ei.

Ei grips tightly onto the bars on either side of her, panting and about to ask to give up for the day. The smile on Yae’s face disappears in a flash. “You aren’t serious, are you? I really thought we were going to work on this, Ei.”

“I’m done,” she tells her therapists, and she does not let herself meet the scrutinizing gaze of the pink-haired lady. The one that was just now able to get the whole room clapping in her name for being able to move her arms without support. Ei doesn’t watch her for the remainder of the hour, but Yae still makes it a point to make her life all the more miserable

Her words are simple and clipped, yet full of the same mockery they had before. “They said I wouldn’t be able to move my arms ever again. So, then, why am I able to do this and you can’t?”

You will never walk again.

“I will never be able to walk or stand without support,” Ei says. She doesn’t hide the resigned set of her voice. Only two days in, and she’s tired of Yae Miko. “I am happy that you were able to defy the odds.”

Yae shakes her head. “I’m not defying anything. It takes an ounce of courage and self-respect,” she says, “both of which you seem to lack.”

Their session ends there.

—

On the third day, Ei lasts fifteen minutes rather than ten.

She doesn’t know why, but Yae’s voice echoes in her ear when she isn’t speaking. Her taunts rile her up, and somehow she’s able to control her breathing easier than she had before. Of course, the demon isn’t at all impressed with the improvement even though Ei’s therapists were all delighted at her extended time exercising.

“That is still forty-five minutes you spend sitting and returning to the place you were the day before. If you aren’t moving more than you are resting, is that really improvement at all?”

The bite in her tone is the same as ever — irritating, obnoxious, rude — but instead of Ei letting it sit there in her heart, it makes her stomach roil and hips tingle with sensation. Tingling sensation.

It’s more than she’s felt in the entire two months since the start of her physical therapy program; three to four o'clock every afternoon unless she’s too unwell to participate. Yet when Yae Miko stands there, her paralyzed arms relearning how to feel, Ei can’t help but wonder if she can ever get her legs to do the same.

Her wheelchair becomes uncomfortable, all of a sudden, and their session ends with a small lesson from Yae Miko:

“If you don’t like the way the chair feels, stand up. It’s that simple,” she says. And while it stings, Ei can see it in her posture, the way her arms twitch in a sort of involuntary movement that comes from an hour’s worth of rehabilitation. One shouldn’t just tell a paralyzed person to stand, but she seems to speak from experience.

Ei ponders asking her about her old hospital and how long she’s been working on improving herself but ultimately decides against it. It’s not like they’re friends or anything.

—

After a full week and a half, at the very end of which Ei can exercise through forty full minutes, she feels her thigh pull underneath her sheets. It’s small and easily forgettable if it weren’t for it being a pull, a full sensation in her leg. The first sensation in either of her legs since she was first paralyzed and resigned herself to a life in a wheelchair.

She can’t walk on her own. Her knees don’t bend to her command, and her therapists’ hands have to force each foot in front of the other until her arms and core start to give out from keeping her body upright and tight for so long. But the fact of the matter is that, in the middle of the night, her thigh muscle pulls.

When she goes in the afternoon, her eyes unintentionally search for a head of vibrant pink hair. She stands out from the crowd, and one could spot her from a mile away. Ei’s heart does a weird skip and a race when Yae’s purple gaze sharpens on her, and she can’t fathom why. All that burns in her stomach and chest is the heat of irritation.

“Have you come to be cozy in your wheelchair again?” Yae taunts. Ei finds that her words don’t have the same effect that they had before. They don’t spark the flame of anger and resentment for Yae, but rather for the time she will lose from sitting out from exhaustion. Her body still can’t last for the full hour.

But it does exercise for fifty minutes, and Ei waits for Yae’s strut over to her like she now waits for the nurse to take her away from the crashed Mercedez-Benz, bleeding hips, and gashed jaw. Yae breathes new life into Ei with her critical provocations and harsh jeers whether Ei likes it or not.

This time when Yae comes over, she sits down on the bench next to Ei’s wheelchair. It’s the first time she’s done it, and Ei wonders a bit too hopefully if that means their conversation will last for a bit longer. Sweat seeps into the hair on her scalp, and it's clear she’s breathing as hard as Ei is however hard she attempts to hide it.

“Fifty minutes,” she says, and there’s a note of affection that Ei starts to detect more and more as the days pass by. “I can still go for the full hour. Do you know why?”

Ei starts to speak, but Yae shushes her effectively. From the way her chest jerks, Ei imagines she would’ve done the hand motion with it as well. It’s times like those, when they try to do the little things that they do that would’ve been normal just a few months ago, that she is cruelly reminded of the fates that have befallen them. The rehabilitation room has become an escape from the shattered windows and frozen road. She’s loathe to remember what landed her here in the first place.

“I work on my mind as well as my body.” Yae leans in close to Ei, so close that their foreheads touch, and their bated breaths mix in the thin space between them. “Your mind is the only thing preventing you from actually improving.”

Ei hardly registers her words, more focused on the fact that she can see the individual pores on Yae’s face, the light pink dusting over her skin from the strenuous exercise of their physical therapy session, and her carefully plucked brows that she couldn’t have done on her own. Ei realizes, perhaps for the first time, just how strikingly beautiful Yae Miko is.

“You’re cute when you pant like that,” Yae teases.

She would be beautiful if not for that terrible personality of hers.

—

Her first return psychotherapy session doesn’t go very well. She clams up when she tries to reply to the basic questions her counselor asks about the accident that destroyed her legs, or any other personal detail of her life that she’s long kept hidden away from other people. It’s difficult in the way that physical therapy was difficult when she could only last ten minutes.

“We’ll try again in a few days,” her counselor says with a sympathetic and polite smile. Ei agrees to the later meeting.

The second session went remarkably better, but only for the fact that she was able to talk about the emotions she felt during the time of her accident that still linger in her everyday life at the hospital. Her mouth remains shut on any of the real details, finding it difficult to even mention that the accident was a crash crash at all. They up her dosage to twenty-five milligrams after she talked about her consistent nightmares and lingering aftertaste of the accident on the third session.

When she’s three and a half weeks in, she exercises for the full hour. She requires less and less support from her therapists to move her legs, and the phantom feelings of pain return to her like an old friend. Even if it’s technically negative, feeling is still feeling.

And on the fourth week, Yae sits next to her after Ei has made an incredible accomplishment in her therapy; walking on a treadmill. It was with great support from both hands and metal, but it's still forced forward motion at a set pace, and it’s wonderful.

The only thing that makes it better is Yae Miko’s teasing smile and the kiss she plants on Ei’s lips. “Well done,” she whispers sweetly into her teeth.

You will never walk again.

What a lie that was.

[ms-m-astrologer]

Cosmic Events: September 2023

Executive summary: not bad! Use the time wisely.

Lunar Phases

Sunday, September 3, 07:27 UT - Disseminating Moon, 25°33’ Aries

Wednesday, September 6, 22:21 UT - Last Quarter Moon, 14°04’ Gemini

Sunday, September 10, 22:33 UT - Balsamic Moon, 2°57’ Leo

Friday, September 15, 01:40 UT - New Moon, 21°59’ Virgo

A powerful chart for practical achievements.

Tuesday, September 19, 02:00 UT - Crescent Moon, 10°53’ Scorpio

Friday, September 22, 19:32 UT - First Quarter Moon, 29°32’ Sagittarius

Tuesday, September 26, 04:43 UT - Gibbous Moon, 17°51’ Aquarius

Friday, September 29, 09:58 UT - Full Moon, 6°00’ Aries

We may be hyper-focussed on something - maybe our own vanity/pride?

Void of Course Moon

Friday, September 1, 10:36 UT (Pisces) - 13:25 UT (Aries)

Sunday, September 3, 11:57 UT (Aries) - 15:00 UT (Taurus)

Tuesday, September 5, 16:46 UT (Taurus) - 20:07 UT (Gemini)

Thursday, September 7, 22:23 UT (Gemini) - Friday, September 8, 05:00 UT (Cancer)

Sunday, September 10, 12:47 UT (Cancer) - 16:36 UT (Leo)

Tuesday, September 12, 16:06 UT (Leo) - Wednesday, September 13, 05:18 UT (Virgo)

At 14 hours, 8 minutes, this is the longest void Moon in September.

Friday, September 15, 13:49 UT (Virgo) - 17:44 UT (Libra)

Monday, September 18, 01:06 UT (Libra) - 04:58 UT (Scorpio)

Wednesday, September 20, 10:21 UT (Scorpio) - 14:06 UT (Sagittarius)

Friday, September 22, 19:32 UT (Sagittarius) - 20:30 UT (Capricorn)

At 48 minutes, this is the shortest void Moon in September.

Sunday, September 24, 20:05 UT (Capricorn) - 23:29 UT (Aquarius)

Tuesday, September 26, 12:18 UT (Aquarius) - Wednesday, September 27, 00:18 UT (Pisces)

Thursday, September 28, 20:58 UT (Pisces) - Friday, September 29, 00:17 UT (Aries)

Saturday, September 30, 21:50 UT (Aries) - Sunday, October 1, 01:18 UT (Taurus)

Retrograde/Direct/Etc.

Transiting Mercury starts the month retrograde. It stations direct on Friday, September 15, 20:21 UT; and exits its post-retrograde shadow on Saturday, September 30, 05:16 UT.

Transiting Venus starts the month retrograde. She stations direct on Monday, September 4, 01:20 UT, and remains in her post-retrograde shadow for the rest of the month.

Transiting Vesta is in her pre-retrograde shadow all month.

Transiting Jupiter begins the month in its pre-retrograde shadow; it stations retrograde on Monday, September 4, 14:10 UT.

Transiting Saturn is retrograde all month.

Transiting Chiron is retrograde all month.

Transiting Uranus is retrograde all month. L

Transiting Neptune is retrograde all month.

Transiting Pluto is retrograde all month.

Transiting Eris is retrograde all month.

Ingresses

Wednesday, September 13 - transiting Pallas Athene enters Libra

Wednesday, September 13 - transiting Vesta enters Cancer

Friday, September 15 - transiting Ceres enters Scorpio

Saturday, September 23 - transiting Sun enters Libra

AKA Mabon up here, Eostar down there - the Libra Equinox.

(Kind of stagnant, with three of the four ingresses happening to Lady Asteroids.)

Opportunity Periods

Thursday, August 31, 19:92 UT - Friday, September 1, 13:25 UT. “This OP is favorable for the arts, meditation, and helping others.”

Monday, September 4, 12:08 UT - Tuesday, September 5, 20:07 UT. “This OP is ideal for constructive and innovative projects, but Mercury retrograde and the waning Moon make it preferable to keep up with work started before mid-August.”

Friday, September 15, 01:10 UT - 02:10 UT. This is one half hour before and after the New Moon. “If you have something important to begin around now that’s part of a larger project started before August 15, this is a great time to do it.”

Sunday, September 24, 03:17 UT - 20:05 UT. “As Mercury picks up speed, this is a fantastic time to take the initiative.”

Thursday, September 28, 17:55 UT - Friday, September 29, 00:17 UT. “This dynamic OP is good for anything, but especially for the arts and healing.”

Et Cetera

Just a heads-up: eclipse season starts next month on Wednesday, October 4, and lasts through Tuesday, October 31.

[springfallendeer]

Endurance Training

Late BDay gift for @justaduckarts. Shockwave x Reader.

There is a daily routine here.

Wake up at 7 AM sharp, when the lights turn on and a familiar alarm dings. Get up, get dressed, and get ready to face the day.

Getting ready includes everything from using the bathroom to taking a shower. All basic but essential aspects of personal hygiene must be attended too, as those things were all vital to long term health.

The goal of all of this was to make it last as long as humanly possible. Then maybe beyond, if the process of drawing it out further could be unlocked.

8 AM. Breakfast is served. A perfectly balanced meal containing all of the essential nutrients needed to get them through the day. Some sort of protein. Carbohydrates are a must. Fruits. Vegetables. Oils. All prepared in a way that allows them to remain palatable, though they are a far cry from anything that a human might make for themselves.

Slurries. Crackers. Cakes or loaves. Everything fell into a category of that sort.

It was easiest to think of everything as astronaut food. Though they were by no means an astronaut. The meal was merely something easy to make, easy to store, and easy to eat. All for the sake of efficiency. With enough care put into maintaining a range of taste and texture to assure some level of enrichment, which would make the otherwise boring food somewhat easier to consume.

Eat quickly then relax using remaining time. It was best to allow the body the chance to begin processing the food before the next part of the routine began.

9 AM. Begin the daily exercise routine. Maintaining physical health is a must in this environment.

Eight total exercises to go through in two hours. Ten minutes of activity for each exercise, with a five minute break between to allow for rest and a chance to rehydrate.

An adequate mixture of liquid and electrolytes is provided in order to assure maximum efficiency.

Music will be provided if asked. The usage of VR to simulate different activities in different environments will be put to use if requested. Otherwise the exercises are carried out in the stagnant environment of the exercise room.

11 AM to Noon. Relax and recover from the exercise routine. Enrichment will be provided at request. Media of any form can be accessed through simple voice requests. The interactive AI in charge of maintaining the habitat will assure that all needs are met.

Now is the time to put in requests to change in the environment. The habitat can be recolored with ease. If additional plants or enrichment decorations are desired, they can be obtained within three solar cycles.

Animal companions are forbidden due potential risk of sickness or injury. Specialized robotic companions will be provided as a compromise. These robotic companions will be programmed with a mixture of interactive AI and behavioral data gathered from observing the organic life of earth.

12 o’clock noon to 12:15. Engage in any needed hygiene maintenance. Evacuate accumulated bodily waste. Bathe to remove accumulated perspiration. Change into provided clothes. The testing process will soon begin.

12:15. The ceiling of the habitat will open. Shockwave will retrieve you. Step into his hand once lowered into the habitat to consent to the day’s experiments.

From 12:15 to 1 PM, expect to be given all information pertaining to the day’s experiments. Anything of importance will be given, from expected level of discomfort to how long each experiment is expected to take, if there are multiple. This is the time to ask questions or engage in small talk. Expect short responses.

Shockwave is a creature of few words. He is driven by logic and by the drive to understand the various workings of the universe around him. No matter how complex or mundane they might be.

You are his current subject of interest. An illogical one, from his perspective. The experiments that he subjects you too are less out of desire to understand humans, and more out of the need to grasp why it is that he is so unusually attached.

You are his pet. His personal guinea pig. Something that he looks after and has no intention of doing away with.

Something that has awakened urges within him that he long thought eliminated due to the punishment he once endured. Something that he could not even properly use as a means of satisfying these urges, due to the weakness of the human flesh and your pathetically small size.

1 PM. The experimentation process will begin. This is where the overall routine tends to deviate, as the experiments tend to change day by day.

Sometimes he puts you in a maze and has you find your way through. Sometimes the maze is empty. Sometimes he provides you weapons and expects you to make your way through without suffering serious injury.

You might be hunted by small machines. You might wander into traps.

He might just strap you to a table and subject you to a range of stimuli to get a read of how your body will react.

Some days, the experiments are boring; used more as an excuse for interaction than anything else.

Some days, it would be more accurate to state that he tortures you. You will be subjected to painful or genuinely distressing experiences that will leave you on the brink of a psychological breaking point. But there will always be time set aside to assure that you will recover from the process. To the point that there may even come a break from the routine and future tests will be put on hold, at least until you have adequately recovered.

Some days, like today, it was the polar opposite of torture. Or at least, the torture was not meant to be painful.

“For today’s experiment, we will be doing an endurance test.” Shockwave states as he places you down atop the usual table.

There, you find a smaller table set up. One more suited to your size. One that you can and are obviously expected to lay down upon, given the obvious cuff points that are meant to keep your arms and legs restrained.

You’re very familiar with the table. All manner of sweet and agonizing torture alike have been inflicted upon you in the past, while you laid strapped down and helpless on top of it.

Already aware of what the table entails, you strip out of the sterile clothing that Shockwave had you change into just a short while ago.

While it might seem redundant to change only to then immediately strip, the clothes provided protection during transport. They kept your skin safe.

That, and they were equipped with special devices that would slow your fall if you somehow wound up being dropped. So you would fall slower, thus allowing Shockwave to easily grab you without risking severe injuries. That way, you could fall from heights that would normally prove fatal and suffer sprains at worst.

That didn’t make falling any less terrifying, though. If anything, it made it worse, because you would fall for longer.

You place your clothes in the usual spot before you climb onto the experimentation table and make yourself comfortable.

Or as comfortable as you can get with your arms and legs strapped down to the table by electromagnetic cuffs.

They make your extremities tingle a bit. Not in an unpleasant way, but it can make you feel like you’re going numb, after a while. It is a very strange sensation. But it is necessary.

You are restrained for your own safety. To keep you from getting uncooperative as the tests are carried out. That way you cannot accidentally hurt yourself or otherwise sabotage the experiment by struggling.

Shockwave steps away to retrieve his supplies once you’re thoroughly restrained.

As he does, the usual helpers emerge from their charging docks to see you dealt with.

Your body is so small and delicate compared to his. He could easily crush you with one of his fingers, if he was not careful. So smaller robotic creatures, crafted vaguely in his image, were used to get you sorted.

Their little grasping limbs could easily work with whatever device Shockwave crafted for the sake of an experiment. Whether that device was a separate object, or something built into equipment that was already in use. Like their bodies, or the bed that you were strapped down too.

They change your position to make the experiment easier. Individual plates on the bed are prompted to move, allowing the cuffs to move, which slowly pulls your legs further apart.

What is then presented to you is probably the wildest looking sex toy that you have ever seen.

A long purple tentacle, lined on each side with glowing red spots. It has overlapping plating, which gives it an almost reptilian look. But it is entirely mechanical and made from materials that your feeble human mind could never hope to grasp.

The tentacle is attached to some sort of crescent shaped base, which in turn has electromagnetic straps connected to it.

You will very obviously be wearing this thing.

The endurance training that Shockwave has in mind is unlike any that you have ever experienced in the past.

The robots get your body prepped as Shockwave returns.

He’s brought with him a similar looking piece of equipment. The same crescent shaped support and the same straps. The only difference being that in place of a tentacle, there is… Well. You would refer to it as some sort of a fleshlight. A long hollow tube that looks like it might take whatever he had to offer. Plus a tube at the end, likely to allow certain fluids to drain and reduce the mess.

A generous amount of lubricant is applied to your body while Shockwave sits down to get himself ready for the experiment.

“These tools will provide near constant stimulation to the most sensitive parts of our bodies. They will keep track of our every response to the stimulation. From our sensitivity levels, to our number of orgasms. I will take the collected data, to compare the differences between human and Cybertronian endurance.” He explains whilst going about the process of strapping the device to his own legs.

Robotic fingers poke and prod inside of you all the while, making sure to stretch you out in preparation for the sizable device that will be probing at your insides.

From where Shockwave is sitting, you can watch his every move. The smooth, calculated motions of his hand as he unlocks his pelvic plate to coax out his phallic appendage.

His spike, as it is apparently called. The Cybertronians have their own unique means of describing body parts. Though from a human perspective, it really was a strange term for a penis.

Regardless, his spike slides effortlessly into the hollow tube of the device.

As it does, the robotic aids begin to usher the probe into your thoroughly prepared body.

It is a snug fit. Intentionally so.

The fake spike has clearly been designed with the shape of your body in mind. It curls perfectly so as to avoid hitting any unpleasant spots, while keeping all the essential areas thoroughly stimulated.

Once the device is attached, the robotic aids back off to allow the experiment to proceed. They will not be needed again until it is time to release you.

You bite your lip as the stimulation begins. It starts with slow pulses. Vibrations that carefully work to get your body on board with the intense experiment that is to come.

The object wrapped around Shockwave’s phallus lights up. It visibly stimulates him with a similar range of vibrations, though it also appears to be stimulating him further through subtle electrical discharges.

He doesn’t make a sound.

You, on the other hand, are not so adept at keeping your composure.

“I modeled your device after my own spike.” Shockwave states. He adjusts how he is sitting so that he can rest his arms on the table on either side of you. All while making sure not to accidentally jostle you or bump the table that you are strapped down to.

“Our devices are designed to work in sync. The one I wear conforms to the shape of my spike, and relays information on my every movement to yours. Your toy takes that information to adjust the movements of the false spike, while taking into account every movement of your vaginal canal. Thus assuring that my device will wrap around me just as your body wraps around that spike.” He explains.

His words are more than enough to coax a soft whimper out of you.

This whole experiment is just an excuse to simulate intercourse. His device replicates the feel of your body wrapped around his shaft. Your device replicates how it would feel to have his spike slowly grinding into you.

You can feel it moving inside of you. Those overlapping plates give the device the ability to squish itself smaller or expand, which creates the sensation of slow thrusting.

Even the straps used to keep the device in place are slightly lax, allowing some give each time that the spike mimics an inwards thrust.

Shockwave’s lone eye constricts and expands at random intervals as he studies your every reaction.

You’d like to think that those subtle movements of his eye are a means of displaying pleasure. That his eye might constrict with each jolt of euphoria that rolls through him, and every relaxation is the relief before the next spike.

The antennae on the side of his head click down and then back up every so often, seemingly in time with your every internal clench.

He feels your pleasure, thanks to the devices strapped to both of your pelvises. You’d like to believe that his every reaction, subtle as they are, are in response to you.

Unlike him, you’re far from silent. You’re incapable of maintaining any level of composure throughout this strange and erotic game that he’s playing with you.

Though your movements are severely limited due to having been restrained, no efforts have been made into locking your waist into place. And so you reflexively thrust your hips to meet the stimulation of the tentacle, all the while pretending that he’s there to meet your movements.

You squirm. You moan. You whine, and you whimper.

Beads of sweat form on your heated skin. If they don’t evaporate, then they accumulate and roll down your body.

Your back is uncomfortably sweaty against the metal table. Your front is cold, from the slight breeze in the air.

You clench your hands. You curl your toes. You bite your lip and arch your neck back with each orgasm that takes hold of you.

You’re an absolute mess, compared to him.

The closest that you ever get to a big reaction on his part is when his eye dramatically flickers. His antennae will flatten almost entirely with loud clicks, and his eye will tightly constrict.

It constricts so much that he seems to be struggling to focus on you, causing a rapid flicker as his eye shrinks and expands while staring directly at you.

This lasts for a few seconds each time. Then his antenna returns to their usual relaxed state and his eye expands to its standard shape.

Some part of you wants to believe that that was an orgasm. That the pleasure managed to get so good that some part of him failed to keep tabs on his composure, causing him to have physical reactions that would otherwise never come to be.

The experiment goes on for hours.

You genuinely have no idea how many times you orgasm. You wouldn’t have been able to keep track, even if you wanted to.

There are times where the pleasure bleeds over into pain. Times where the build to the next orgasm is so overwhelming; so intense; that for a few seconds you experience genuine agony.

Tears will well in your eyes and roll down your cheeks. Your moans break into momentary sobs. You almost plead for him to stop. But before you ever can, the rush of relief washes over you as your body works its way beyond the limits of euphoria.

The experiment concludes at 9 pm. Not because Shockwave calls it quits, but because both of the devices abruptly power down; either because they have used up all of their stored energy, or because they have gathered all of the data that they could.

By then, you’re an absolute mess. Drenched in sweat, your hair clings to your skin. The evidence of your many orgasms forms a visible trail of viscious fluid, trailing down from your pelvis to the bottom of the table. The beginnings of a puddle has formed underneath, further accentuating just how overly stimulated and abused your body is after all of this.

The robotic aids return to set you free and help clean you up.

The electromagnetic cuffs are deactivated. You try to push yourself off of the table, only to immediately collapse back on top of it. A mixture of exhaustion and hyper-sensitivity renders you unable to move.

Damp cloth is used to wipe your body clean.

You tremble not just because the cloth is cold, but because your body has been left so sensitive to touch.

Extra care must be taken when cleaning between your legs. The continual stimulation has left your thoroughly used orifice flushed and slightly engorged from the constant flow of blood to the area.

As ashamed as you are, you orgasm more than once while the robots clean your soiled nethers. Which Shockwave makes a verbal note of, in order to keep the data accurate.

His voice tremors as he speaks.

After having spent the whole session completely silent, you had assumed him perfectly composed. But his voice gives him away, even if the change is barely audible.

There’s a faint tremble in his legs as he stands to clean himself. And for the first time since you have met him, his hands appear unsteady as he works.

Not even Shockwave is immune overstimulation. He is merely better at maintaining an image of composure than most.

“You held out for longer than anticipated.” Shockwave states as he cleans himself up.

His spike is absolutely saturated in… Whatever the Cybertronian version of ejaculate is.

It may very well just be a diluted form of Energon, given its bright color.

He makes sure to get himself cleaned up and tucked away before he brings his attention back to you.

“I will need time to process all of the data. So you will be exempt from further experimentation for the time being.” He explains.

Once you have been ushered back into your clothes, he reaches out to retrieve you.

The robotic aids make sure to get out of his way. He is forced to gently nudge you into the safety of his palm. You are so exhausted that you cannot assist him in picking you up.

Once he has you, he easily lifts you up to eye level so that he might observe you.

“... I am satisfied with your efforts.” He states.

This is the closest that he can get to showering you with praise. Not that you mind. You can tell by his behavior that he cares for you, in his own odd way.

Though he keeps you in a terrarium like an insect to be studied and he experiments on you like a lab rat, he obviously cares. Otherwise he would not put effort into providing you the enrichment that he cannot otherwise give you.

There is no need to give you decorations for your home. No need to let you listen to music, or for him to even make you a robotic pet.

He does that in an attempt to make you happy. Because some part of him; some small, mentally disconnected part, cares about your happiness.

That fact is made most obvious at times like this. When you’re weak and exhausted after a taxing experiment. When you’re at your most vulnerable, and at the greatest risk of being damaged by anything that he does.

Rather than just put you back in your habitat and leave you to rest, he holds you.

He carefully wraps his fingers around your tiny body and applies mild pressure to gently squeeze you, as if hugging you with his hand. Then he just holds you and observes you until you inevitably succumb to exhaustion and fall asleep.

There will be no sentimental words of praise. No compliments. No sappy promises.

Just his unwavering gaze and the delicate contact of his hand. Until you fall safely into slumber.

You’ll wake to find yourself tucked into your bed. There will be a drink and a meal waiting for you to help you recover from this taxing event.

You might even find a special treat. A cookie or a cake. Something made not by him, but by human hands back on earth; stolen away with you in mind to be used as a wordless sign of adoration and care.

He does care about you. He knows that he cares. Even if it is illogical for him to do so.