#and then uses one for all to speed to the corner store or some shit and then runs alllll the way back and is like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dj-of-the-coven · 1 month ago

Text

How to Burn Your Own CDs - a guide for Windows users

Are you--yes, you!--tired of paying money to stupid shit like spotify for your music? Do you hate the way that the music industry takes almost all the profit that bands make through streaming and leaves them with pennies? Have you ever wanted to fire up that old CD-Radio in the corner of your bedroom, only to be stopped because all you have on CD is Weezer's blue album and a copy of Kidz Bop 16 that you don't remember buying? Well this guide just might be for you!

Materials you'll need:

A computer. Can't do it without this one.

A CD drive. It can be internal or external, but you'll need one either way. You can find them at Office Depot for fairly cheap and I've heard that some Walmarts carry them.

A pack of CD-Rs. CD-Rs, or CD Recordables, come in packs of 20, 50, or 100. A proper 100-pack should cost you no more than $30, so unless there's some special shortage in your area, don't buy from anywhere selling them at a markup. CD blanks are literally 50c a piece.

CD cases. Sold wherever CD-Rs are, but you can also find these at thrift stores pretty easily.

A sharpie or some kind of permanent marker

Software you'll need:

Jdownloader. You can acquire mp3s through Bandcamp if you're dedicated to righteousness, but for everyone else, install jdownloader or some other kind of open-source download program. I will be proceeding as if you have jdownloader available.

Windows media player. This should open automatically when you insert a CD-R into your CD drive.

Fre:ac audio converter. This is only for the occasion that you encounter OPUS or mp4a files that cannot be interpreted by your CD player.

Note: If you're very determined not to download software onto your computer, you can use free youtube downloaders and audio converters, but these are subject to viruses and other issues such as download speed. I will be proceeding as if you have the programs I listed.

The process:

Decide what you want to burn--anything goes, but keep in mind the time limit on your CD-Rs. Most will record 90 minutes or less.

Open jdownloader, switch to the linkgrabber tab, then paste youtube links in any order until you have all the music you want. I'd personally recommend doing it song-by-song instead of a full album stream, because a massive file will require a lot of work to separate back into searchable tracks.

De-select all files except audio on the right-hand side options menu.

Make a folder inside the music folder of your laptop and label it with the name of your mix CD.

In the properties tab of each song on jdownloader, change the destination folder to the folder you've just created.

Hit "start all downloads".

Once finished, open each folder. If everything is an .mp3 or a .wav, skip the next 2 steps.

Open Fre:ac audio converter to convert all audio files that aren't .mp3 or .wav into .mp3 or .wav.

Drop the converted files next to the unconverted files in your folder. If you wish, you can delete the originals to make the folder easier to browse.

Put your blank CD-R into the CD drive. If external, plug in your CD drive first or the tray will refuse to open.

Windows media player will open automatically. On the right-hand side, you will see the tracklist of your CD-R (which should be blank). On the left, you will see the audio that your computer is able to find in the music folder. Put your selected tracks IN ORDER onto the tracklist.

Listen to the beginning and ending of each track to make sure there isn't a significant time gap. This also prevents accidentally burning a youtuber's stupid outro if you missed it before.

When satisfied, hit "start burn".

On an external drive, the CD tray will open upon completion. You can reinsert it to ensure that the burning went smoothly.

Once satisfied, remove the CD from your drive. With your sharpie or permanent marker, write the name of the album on the front, then store safely inside a CD case.

you did it👍

Ask me if you run into any issues.

Legal disclaimer: this guide is purely for educational purposes and I do not admit to or take responsibility for any piracy committed using the instructions given.

Illegal disclaimer: cops suck my dick

#diy #diy or die #cds #old tech #cd burning #how to

205 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 6 months ago

Text

Prompt Day 16: Struggling

Word Count: 658

Rating: T

CW: Langauge

Summary: A letter from Eddie to you. Yes, YOU.

@corrodedcoffinfest

Hello Fellow Freaks,

So, it’s come to my attention that things have been a little rough for you lately, huh? Shit, I know all about that. I’d recap some of the misfortunes I’ve had in my life, but seeing as you read and write about me, I think you’re pretty up to speed. In fact, some of you have written me struggling as a way for you to feel better about your own. And I don’t mind that at all. That’s what I’m here for, anyway. I belong to you. I’m for you.

You all bring me to life every time you click on a new story and choose to take an adventure with me. The fact that you want to spend time with a freak like me blows my mind sometimes.

You know I was never cool or popular. Maybe you weren’t either. I honestly never gave a shit because I had the most metal people around me. I hope that you do too. But even if you don’t, you’re more than welcome to share my friends. All us lost sheep know what it’s like to struggle.

And if you’re struggling right now, there’s something I want to let you know. It’s okay.

It’s okay that you’re struggling right now. We all do it and we all need it sometimes to help mold us into whatever we’re supposed to be. Sometimes struggle makes us work harder. Sometimes it makes us curl up in a ball and want to hide away forever. The curling up part of that is okay, but the hiding away forever isn’t.

You’re stronger than you think you are. Wondering how I know this, are you? Little known fact is that I’m actually a pretty smart dude. Occasionally. Anyway, here’s the answer: you’re here. You’ve overcome all the struggles of your past to be where you are now. And if you could do it then, you can do it again now and in the future. That strength is inside of you. I promise. Sometimes it just takes some effort and patience to find where it’s stored.

Know what else is awesome? Not only do you have me when you’re struggling, you have the others who write and read stories about me. Because even if it doesn’t seem like it, they’re struggling with something too. Carrying the burden isn’t as heavy when you’ve got someone to shoulder it with you. Help ease one another’s loads. I’m trying so hard not to make a cum joke right now.

It doesn’t matter if you’re in pain, so you want to write me in pain to cope, or if you want to read about me taking care of you and helping you through it. It’s beautiful how I can be there in any way that you need me. I’m there with you to celebrate, cry, laugh, heal, and even some spicier stuff I will not get into here. Even if I enjoy it very much.

No matter how hard life tries to make you feel like you’re isolated, you’re not. Hell, I hid out in a vacant house for a few days where not a single person knew I was. Lonely? Yeah. Very. There’s only so many cans of Chef Boyardee you can look at without wanting to start up a conversation with the guy on the label. And yeah, it did get to me at times. I felt that there was no one out there who would believe me or see my side of things. Goddamn surprise to find out I had way more people in my corner than I ever would’ve guessed. I just didn’t know it yet. That group of people is there for you, too. Even if you don’t know it yet.

And I’m one of those people. If you ever forget that, all you have to do is start a new story, and there I am.

From

Signed

Your Dungeon Master

Love,

Eddie

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fic #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #CCF

67 notes · View notes

brianlesshetaliawritings · 6 months ago

Note

hey, since your request are open, can you write a Yandere Russia x reader? A scenario where the reader is a foreigner and he goes in reader's country to meet some important businessmen, just to fall for reader who was just standing in front of a store like🧍. Thank you❤️

Yandere Russia seeing reader for the first time

note: i loved this idea so much. thank you anon. this'll be in russia's point of view, and i'm sorry it took me so long. like really long.. to do this. if you request anything else pls specify that it's you so i can make it priority and make up for it by being faster next time.. just like add a star to it or some shit like that. i hope this is what u wanted but im not certain :(

!! yandere content. if you can't handle any behavior possibly seen in a yandere please don't read this. !! (example; obsessive, stalkery, possessive, violent, or generally horrid behaviour.)

It was late when Russia was finally allowed to leave. Not his worst work day, but certainly not his lightest. Actually, he's been rather busy, this being his third country in this week alone. Luckily though, he's finally able to have some peace. Stroll around and take a view of the surrounding cityscape around him. He feels a bit out of place, but that's to be expected. It's something he's used to (even in his own country..)

But as he's walking, something hits him. He hasn't ate today. Too caught up in the busy-ness of the morning to even had thought about it. And he really doesn't want to enter a resturaunt, or cook at the hotel.. So he settles on something simpler. He'll just get himself a quick meal at a corner store, whatever pre-made thing is available really he isn't picky.. Had too hard of a life to be choosy with things such as food.

Looking through the streets, he finally finds one. The bright lights of the sign a bit bright as he looks at it too long.. He squints, blinking a bit to regain his sight and looking down to- oh? At this hour? He stares for a moment before slowly looking in the other direction, just to be sure he won't get noticed. God, they're gorgeous. So much so he doesn't even feel hungry anymore, or exhausted, or anything. It's like the very presence of this mysterious stranger just caught him. Something he struggles to not rocket focus on, and he hasn't a clue why. Blinking, he looks down at the road. Why's he so focused on this random person just looking at the signs in front of the store window tonight? Maybe he's just so tired he can't focus.

Shaking his head, Russia walks across the street and goes past them, having to use every tiny bit of control he has to not gawk at them the entire time as he goes through the door. Making his way in-between shoves, he decides to just try and not get caught absolutely enamored by this beautiful individual he just found himself. Carefully looking through all the chips and jerky and whatnot he decides to lean down and settle on some potatoe chips. An easy answer. And as soon as he stand back up, his eyes conveniently land right back on the very person from earlier! They went in after him and yet they're checking out earlier. He looks over their outfit, then the counter. What they got looks good..

Putting his chips back up, he goes to the back of the store. Where is it all.. Grabbing the drink you got from the fridge before looking all about the store to get the rest. And he sighs once he finishes. He sort of wishes he didn't decide to avoid you, internally kicking himself in the ass for making that decision. Quickly getting his items checked out, he steps outside the door, looking both ways.. There. Turning. He follows you at a steady speed, not too slow, not too fast. But then, a crowd spawns from the middle of norwhere as you're passing a street and.. Your gone. He looks around, but there aren't any signs of you anywhere. Standing at the sidewalk of the intersection, he sighs, frowning. Just as quick as you showed up, you dissapeared.

He doesn't know why, but he has a feeling this person will haunt his mind until he finally finds them again. Hell- they already are. And it's making him increasingly frustrated that he didn't try and come up to you. His grip tightening a bit on the bag, he makes a promsie to himself. He'll find you. Even if it's the last thing he'll do.. He'll find you.

#hetalia x reader #yandere aph russia #aph russia #yandere hws russia #hws russia x reader #aph russia x reader #yandere hetalia #russia x reader

103 notes · View notes

almostgenerallyalways · 2 years ago

Text

where the wild things are (part 2)

Pt 2/? - part 1 here Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem reader Category: angst / light smut (>18!) / eventual happiness Word count: 2,7K CW: language, grief

Two years ago, your sister’s death left a smoking crater in your life, leaving you to take care of your niece. Bradley has lived with loss his whole life, and is in a bad spot on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

Or: there is a crack in everything / that is how the light gets in

Six weeks later Bradley finds himself at Target early one Saturday morning, listlessly looking at socks (keeping on, his mom used to call this, on mornings where she’d throw open the windows to the Tierrasanta house, blasting Aerosmith or Tina Turner to silence the ghosts clinging to the walls, though he personally prefers operating on auto-pilot to think of the state he’s been in for the last few weeks), when a little girl rounds the corner of the aisle at full speed and crashes right into his left knee.

“Oh, shit!” He says, before he can think better of it, but upon impact the child has immediately started wailing so loud that she can’t possibly have heard him.

He drops his red plastic basket to the floor and kneels, helping her sit up. At first glance, there’s no sign of injury, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, princess, are you okay?” he asks, quickly looking over her head for bumps. She can’t be more than four or five, but she has a set of lungs on her like a much older kid.

Bradley doesn’t know a lot about kids, but he thinks this one may be more shocked than hurt. Already the heaving sobs are slowing down, and she looks up at him with something of curiosity.

“Where are your parents?” He looks over his shoulder, down the aisle, searching for a frazzled mom or dad, or at least an employee bearing a red polo shirt. It’s before nine-thirty, early enough that the store isn’t crowded yet, and the speckled grey linoleum tiles stretch empty as far as he can see.

“Sierra!” He hears a frantic voice exclaim, before a woman appears around the corner, clearly distressed. “Sierra, what the –”

He sees you still, recognizing you at the exact moment you do him.

“Oh, shit,” He says again, and Sierra’s definitely heard him this time.

* * *

You rush over to kneel down beside the little girl before him, gathering her up: “Baby, are you okay? I’ve told you a million times not to run off like that.”

Bradley watches you run your hands over the little girl’s head, down her shoulders, and a comprehension dawns over him that makes his stomach coil.

Having established that she’s not hurt, you look over at him with wide eyes: “Bradley. I’m sorry.”

What you’re apologising for exactly, he’s not sure, but it brings him back to the morning after you met: waking up to his empty bed, and the gut-punch of disappointment it had been. It’s not like he’d never done it – quietly gathering up his clothes from the floor of some conquest’s bedroom before any further entanglement could ensue was something of a modus operandi for him, he can admit that – but that night had felt different to him, had felt real. He remembers the way your fingertips on his bare skin had brought heat to the surface, and incited a pull deep in his stomach he couldn’t quite put a name to. You’d made him laugh and you’d dulled the heavy, hollow feeling he’s gotten used to carrying everywhere, lately, the weight around his neck lessening with every kiss you’d pressed to his overheated skin.

And then he’d woken up alone.

And here’s the reason, he thinks, the sinking feeling in his gut rapidly accelerating. He gets to his feet, anger bubbling up in his chest: “What is going on here? Are you married?”

You get to your feet too, the little girl now clinging to your leg (you look beautiful, he can’t help but think: wearing leggings, a jean jacket and a faded baseball cap. No trace of the dressed-up glamour from the night you met, and all the more endearing to him for it), your eyes growing wide: “No!”

He continues, crossing his arms: “Because I’m not that kind of guy, if you’re wi-”

You cut him off with a hand on his wrist, and he stills immediately.

Truth is, he’d hoped, and what is as dangerous as that? He’d taken you home, had been entranced by you. He’d slept with you and it had felt right, he feels fucking stupid thinking it but it had, and he’d fallen asleep tangled up in you and had felt, for some stupid reason, safe.

And then when he’d woken up, you’d disappeared.

He shrugs off your hand, straightening himself to his full height, and looks down the harshly lit aisle. “Right, I guess I’ll –”

“Bradley,” You say softly, and he looks back down. You’ve picked the little girl up off the floor, holding her on your hip now, and she looks up at him with eyes that resemble yours, and he feels his chest constrict.

You bite your lip. “I owe you an apology. But can we have this conversation somewhere other than the sock aisle?"

* * *

You commandeer a small table outside the adjacent Starbucks, which has a view over a thin stretch of arid plants interspersed with a few palm trees, immediately followed by the parking lot. Behind it, Saturday morning traffic is swelling over the Mission Valley Freeway.

Giving Sierra a book from your bag and some water, you look her over once more to make sure she’s okay. She’s been on a wild streak lately, slipping away from you when you least expect it, no matter how vigilant you are. You try hard not to consider it as another one of your failings as a parent, but it’s getting difficult.

Right now, though, she is surprisingly compliant, settling down into the metal chair with her legs crossed, already engrossed in her picture book. You suspect it has everything to do with the man currently pulling back the chair next to you.

Just a second too slow, you realise that he’s pulled the chair out for you. “Oh. Thanks.”

You sit down, and he mirrors you.

You’d forgotten how handsome he was, or really you’d tried not to think about him at all. He’s dressed differently, on a Saturday morning: shorts and a worn raglan tee, sunglasses hooked into the neckline. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, lightly bouncing the right one, and you don’t really know how to take it.

“I’m sorry I just left,” You say, not sure where to start. “I had a great night with you, and then… It was a cowardly thing to do.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’d like to play it cool and say it didn’t bother me. But I don’t know, I kinda thought we hit it off.”

“We did,” You sigh, glancing at Sierra. Truth is, it had scared you, how easy everything had felt with him: The conversation at the bar never running dry, the way he’d kissed you (outside, you blaming the rapidly cooling night air for the goosebumps on your skin), the way he’d whispered into your skin, in his bed, clutching your hips as he buried his face into your neck, setting every nerve in your body alight.

You’d been fooling yourself, because things weren’t easy, were they?

“This is going to sound like a huge cliché, but… I never do things like that. Anymore, at least.” You can’t meet his eye, staring instead at a crack in the pavement where dry weeds poke through, trying to grow against the odds. The previous time you’d had sex at all, you recall, was with your ex-boyfriend, who’d dumped you three weeks into grieving your sister. Who, when you’d still been reeling from it, the sound of the impact still hissing in your ears, had sent you a text: It seems like you have a lot going on right now. Maybe we should hit pause on this until you get back to Boston.

You look at him finally, cringing at yourself. “I thought I could be selfish for a night. And after you fell asleep, reality hit me and I couldn’t face trying to explain that I… can’t get involved with anyone. Maybe that’s presumptuous, or maybe I shouldn’t have gone home with you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Bradley looks down at his well-worn pair of running shoes, not meeting your eyes. “Oh. I see.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Sierra was up half the night, and so you barely got any sleep. Maybe it’s the undeniable fact that sitting across from Bradley again has an effect on you – the way his jaw works, the subtle smell of his aftershave. That stern set of his brow, a premature groove indicating he may spend too much time wearing that expression.

The sober, aggressively sunny reality of the Mission Valley Target parking lot isn’t enough to fully dispel the pull you felt towards him.

You hesitate. Sierra is the most guarded part of your heart, but you feel you owe Bradley an explanation. Glancing over at her, you see she’s in her own little world, absorbed in her favorite book. You take a deep breath.

“Two years ago, my sister died.”

Bradley’s head shoots up, at that, and his brown eyes rest on you.

You look down, smoothing your hands over your thighs, bracing yourself because you will not cry before 10 AM. “It was stupid. She went in for routine surgery. One in a million.”

Thinking back to that phone call always pulls you back under, and you have to make an effort to keep your voice even. “I was living in Boston at the time, and the entire flight back here I…” You shake your head, ousting the memory of the worst six hours of your life, when you’d tried to bargain with a God you’d never believed in, when you hadn’t been physically confronted yet with the cold, hard reality you knew awaited you after landing. “Anyway. Sierra has been with me since.”

The man across from you nods, hands still clasped together by his knees. “I’m sorry I assumed… I just saw you, and she looks so much -”

You cut him off. “I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. It’s hard to talk about, sometimes, and at Callie’s party…” You pause, trying to sort through your thoughts as cars slowly roll by a short distance away, looking for parking, families transferring their weekend shopping into the trunks of their cars.

“I don’t go out much, anymore. My dad’s not in great health, and my mom takes care of him, so they can’t take care of Sierra. I take on extra billing hours all the time to make ends meet. There’s a medical malpractice suit and the lawyer fees are horrendous, and it’s so painful to keep dragging it out, but I have to pursue it if I want any chance of sending Sierra to college. It’s just a lot, all the time.” You take another deep breath. “I guess I wanted to feel like my old self for a night.”

You look up, feeling your eyes tear up. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy, I just wanted to explain-”

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his. It dwarfs yours, and the feeling of his rough palm on your skin grounds you. “Hey. It’s okay.”

* * *

Hangman has been trying to reach him for two weeks, but this time, when his Bagman moniker flashes up the screen of his phone just as Bradley pulls his truck into his driveway, he picks up.

“Bradshaw.” Hangman is, of course, already coming in hot. “So you do still know how to answer the phone. What gives, man? If it wasn’t for Penny telling me you were still coming to the bar, I might’ve thought you’d burned in.”

Bradley makes a mental note to skip the Hard Deck’s tip jar, next time.

“Been busy, Bagman. I know you’re living it up there on Oahu, but some of us still have work to do.”

“Fuck you, Bradshaw,” The other man says good-naturedly. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not moping around too much.”

Bradley sighs. Since the uranium mission last year, the relationship between Hangman and him has changed, into something that may be the kind of friendship you can only have with someone who saved you and your kind-of-estranged, kind-of-uncle’s life while also still being annoying as shit. Bradley has spent over a year unlearning the decade-long honed itch to punch Hangman in the face, only to find Jake Seresin to be… a good man. A thoughtful friend. A tenacious friend who will keep calling when you’re pointedly ignoring anyone’s attempts to get in touch with you.

“How’s Vanny?” He asks, knowing Jake will tell him anyway, because he can’t not talk about his girlfriend. Meeting the younger aviator changed his friend, sanded down some of his rougher edges.

“She’s great. Getting her double stripes next week. She’s been asking about you.”

Bradley grabs his gym bag from in front of the passenger seat (he never did get any new socks), clutching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slams the door shut. “I’m fine. Tell her that.”

He hears Hangman inhale on the other end of the line. “Fine. Okay. Where does that fall on a scale of, say, zero to going to the gym at three AM and dodging Penny’s invitations to dinner?”

Unlocking his front door, Bradley sighs again. One thing about Seresin is, he’s extremely perceptive, and once he’s zeroed in on something he will not let it go. It’s infuriating, but on some level, Bradley knows he should be thankful for it. “Let’s say a four, okay?”

Sometimes he thinks about the crash that nearly cost him an eye, and left him with the scars on his face, and wonders what his mother would’ve said, is almost glad she wasn’t around anymore to get that call (Ice got it, instead). Just last year he and Mav went down in enemy territory, and the moment he turned the yoke around he’d been sure he was signing his own death warrant, and still he couldn’t have made any other decision.

“Alright, man.” Jake knows which boundaries not to cross, as well, when to respect the territorial integrity of Bradley’s defenses. “I’ll take a four. If you feel like a change of air, you know you’re welcome in Hawaii any time, right? We’re probably getting our assignment here extended until at least the end of the year.”

“Appreciate it, Bagman.”

Goodbyes exchanged, he hangs up and steps out of his running shoes in the hall, dropping his gym bag on the floor. He stands there, for a minute, letting the cool air of the dark entryway hit his skin, a welcome contrast to the day’s accumulating heat outside, and closes his eyes.

He’d taken your hand, and you’d both sat there for a minute, the dry breeze across the parking lot carrying with it the fumes of traffic crossing the freeway, mingling with the smells of tacos and ceviche from a food truck preparing for the lunch rush, until Sierra had gotten impatient and started trying to get your attention, dropping her book to the floor.

“We should go,” You’d said, inclining your head to the girl, who’d seemed not to be holding her earlier run-in with Bradley against him, grabbing at his sleeve as he’d gotten up to retrieve the book off the ground.

Picking it up, he’d frozen.

It was a newer edition, but the design had been familiar, the cover picture immediately calling him back to his mom reading to him at night, pitching her voice low and high at intervals to emulate all manner of different monsters, Bradley exclaiming at every turn in the story as if he couldn’t recite it by heart, as if they hadn’t read this story together a million times over since Goose had been killed.

“Where the Wild Things Are”, he’d said, a little hoarsely.

“Yeah,” You’d smiled, somewhat watery still. “It’s her favorite.”

Something like resolve had settled in Bradley’s stomach, then.

Phone still in his hand, he swipes the lock screen and scrolls down from Hangman’s name to the newest entry, freshly saved under his contacts as Paloma, dove emoji, and hits call.

Authors note: soooo pt 1 of this didn’t gather much interest but I have the rest of the story loosely plotted out and i’m enjoying writing it (ask me if i’m working through my feelings re: deciding not to have kids by writing fic lol) so i will probably finish it anyway, just not sure on what timeline. anyway, comments/reblogs always appreciated <3 here’s my masterlist for other stories

#bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley 'rooster' bradley x y/n #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #tgm fic #top gun: maveric fic #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw imagine

225 notes · View notes

tactical-jellyfish · 24 days ago

Text

For Joanna (pt. 2/3)

Warnings: Nikolai is still a depressed bisexual man, google-translated Russian because I am writing this after two exams, in other news, reader finally figures out what feelings are and why they keep experiencing the pesky buggers. In other news, my hand is hurty and currently in a brace, but I refuse to fully rest it, so I'm writing anyway, but there might be minor spelling errors as my usual typing speed and rhythm is very much off.

Having a friend is... a new experience that you really happen to like.

Nikolai doesn't hang out often, but he's on the same wave as you when he is. Drinking slow and chatting, sometimes taking turns poking at the other's music taste because really, Nik? What is that shit? It's not "rock", I'll tell you that.

It's new, yes but... easy, so you let him closer than anyone else. When he brings his crackers, you bring your own snack in turn, an old favorite from the only corner store in your hometown that carried the brand, it used to be something you only ate with family, only on holidays. Now, you share it with Nikolai. And it's–it's not bad, not at all.

You'll admit, you're getting used to him. You like having him in the shop now, quiet or not.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So, it turns out, you are far too stupid to know how to have a friend, even months into befriending your favorite pilot.

Granted, you've never been... the brightest, when it comes to social matters. And you know that, you accept it. But that doesn't make it any easier when another joke you had tried to give the Russian at your side in jest makes him pull back again, makes those pretty brown eyes point toward his glass instead. Calling it a glass is charitable, that thing is dirt cheap and made of plastic, your idiot brain adds, in some vain hope to not think about the fact that you seemingly bruised your best friend's feelings with the playful barb (Yes, Nikolai was your closest friend as of right now. No, you wouldn't be saying that aloud if you could help it).

You really didn't know why it seemed to make Nikolai recoil so hard so fast, to you it had just been a simple joke, because god, that English guy with the beard sure did talk nice about you, huh, Nik? I wonder about that sometimes. And seemingly, that had been squarely the wrong thing. So, you did the very best you could to backtrack when you saw him put his hands on his knees, almost dropping the glass in your hands as you race to meet him as he stands.

Maybe he doesn't see the panic in your wide eyes, maybe he chooses to ignore it because you've seemingly done so wrong by him that he'll just leave forever and never talk to you again, and- "мне пора идти, пока." You, admittedly, haven't picked up very much of his language yet, but you know that last part means goodbye and some part of your brain simply cannot let that happen. Nikolai doesn't say his goodbyes like this, he pats you on the shoulder and smiles, sometimes winks as he closes the door behind him.

His face is flat. It scares you.

So, you being the fool you are, grab his arm like he owes you money, take the cracked leather of his jacket into your hands, feel the dry texture because he forgot to take care of this one (it had since become his de-facto flying jacket) and hold. "Wait, Nik, please, whatever I said, I didn't mean to, just-"

You are not a person who sounds desperate. You are independent and you are a sharp bastard. So why are you stand here like a kid on their first day of school, desperately clinging onto your only lifeline to the outside world? You were supposed to like being a hermit, you've been fine for years now.

Nikolai seems to see this, and, despite his better interests, he pauses before he talks. Still flat, like he's barking out an order. "Do not speak of that. Not of John, and not like that." Ice water replaces every last cell of blood in your veins. What did you do? How did you get Nikolai to flip from being the single friendliest person (at least, an asshole like you) to the icy, distant tone that you knew you deserved?

You'll never say that you deflate under his pinning stare, but you know you did, to some extant, mentally riffling through every memory you had of the captain and all he said of the pilot. Nothing.

At least, nothing that would imply Nikolai was this willing to seemingly entirely cut ties with you because you had tried to make light of it.

Your brain never catches what's going on around you when you think like that. It doesn't catch the way he sighs or the slight remorse in his eyes at shutting off so hard, seemingly sending you into a tailspin. черт возьми, right. The Russian scolds himself for that in his mind. The mechanic is not often socialized. He takes a minute to stand, watch the emotions play across your face. Can't hide a thing. The touch of a callused hand pulls you from your thoughts for long enough to look back at him, and then at the big hand on your shoulder.

"Apologies. I have neglected to inform you of something personal to me."

To your shock, you aren't socked in the jaw, but rather, gently herded back into your (garbage) lawn chair (in the garage) and then Nikolai is before you, and he tells you a long, long story.

Of being young and in the military, before he branched off and did his own thing. Of falling head over ass for squarely the wrong person. Not because he had been bad, but because John was a man who knew his own values, and didn't make exceptions.

By the time the solemn tangent is finally concluded, you feel like hot garbage. In some part, because your friend is suffering under the weight of early-twenties feelings at least a decade later, but mostly because you dug that hurt back up. Unknowingly, yes, but you reminded Nik of love that wouldn't ever be given to him.

You've never been the sort to handle words. This whole incident proves that, so, instead, you reach out slowly. It isn't often you hug people, even less often you do it without them explicitly asking, but Nikolai seems to like hugs. You give him more than enough time to back out anyway.

He doesn't.

Instead, for a length of time that is between you two and the higher being (or lack thereof) of your choice. You hold each other in the shop.

"I'm sorry. I wouldn't have ever said it if I had known, I don't want to hurt you, Nik, I just-"

You're choking on words and apologies, some needy, selfish-feeling plea to just hold on to your friend, keep him around and not upset with you.

"I understand. Simple mistakes, yes?"

It's a heavenly mercy that is extended to you in that moment, Nikolai holding you by the shoulders just to pull back enough to smile at you, cheeks rounded and eyes crinkling at the corners, warming the lovely dried-mud color you'd grown attached to.

"Yeah, simple mistakes." Your voice contrasts his, a bit more shaky, still unsteady as you pull your mind back together.

In the silence, momentary and short, you decide there is one more than that much be said. You blurt it out before you can do any better thinking on it.

"You're a friend to me, Nikolai. A good one."

There's a soft chuckle, and a hand tenderly splaying over the small of your back as you're pulled close, flush to the warm oil-and-engine smell that always seems to hang on Nikolai more than you, despite this being your literal job.

His voice is warm again, you can feel his smile even if you can't see it.

"You are a friend too, механик. Very good."

#nikolai cod #x reader #nikolai x reader #stupid reader #emotionally unaware reader #yes they are stupid #no i will not apologize #also for a certain silly #you still know who you are

12 notes · View notes

trivialbob · 9 months ago

Text

I was tagged by @mstacobelle and @littlerunnergurl: Name 5 things that really irritate you, and what you do to keep that irritation from turning you into a serial killer, or just slapping people on a street corner in your town.

Let's see.

When the grocery store has a sign that says 4 for $10 or $2.99 each. I am accustomed to that horrible pricing at convenience stores but hate that my grocery store has started to adopt the "or" practice. So I simply refuse to buy one OR four of that item at the grocery store, no matter how much I want it. I have many little personal boycotts. They bring me much satisfaction, even if store managers don't notice it.

When the grocery store has a sign that says 4 for $10. Period. Bob! What's the problem? The problem is when my wife wants to buy all four items even if we only need one. No, no, no. 4 for $10 with no footnote means we can buy one item for $2.50. Yet she still wants to buy four. This is why I never complain if she hands me a grocery list, and I shop by myself. The savings are in my control!

Drivers who disrupt the smooth flow of traffic. Those who drive way too fast or a bit slower or even the speed limit if the rest of the vehicles are going faster. Awful. Or the people who brake on the highway, start to exit, and only then use a turn signal. Isn't there some sort of social contract or state law that says be predictable and don't disrupt your fellow travelers' lives, even if you are hyper-miling in your hybrid or pleasing Gaia by making that turn signal bulb last longer by using it less? I cope by thinking these drivers are someone's lovable grandparents. I wouldn't have lost my shit at my grandparents. When I'm following a slow driver and being tailgated by an aggressive one, I love to simply move over and watch the two jerks annoy each other.

Centipedes. Damn, even if every insect is one of God's creatures, centipedes creep me out beyond belief. Any living thing with more legs than a tarantula is heinous, except those puffy green caterpillars. A centipede in my house makes me shriek. Satisfaction is derived from spinning the monster to death in the vacuum cleaner or feeling a satisfying smush from stepping on it. They're only targets inside the house. Outside they are fine.

"Special" episodes of TV shows. A black and white episode, to be artistic? Ick. A musical version? Yawn. Seinfeld S09E08, with the Indian wedding where the timeline was in reverse? Not for me. Even worse are "Very Special" episodes, often with music-less endings and nowadays a toll-free number appearing on screen. The Bicycle Man episode of Diff'rent Strokes was one of the first. It was a "sit-com" episode about child molestation. Just because a comedy show is (or used to be) entertaining and popular doesn't mean it has to "start a conversation." The remote control, or the round knob on the TV when I was 12-years-old, provided relief.

#M*A*S*H irritated me a lot too #I coped by watching it with my best friend while we drank a lot and complained non-stop #We really enjoyed doing that

40 notes · View notes

galaxyedging · 6 months ago

Text

Cold Meds Musings

Emotions and smutty under the cut:

Joel Miller

Joel sat handling the carved wood with a delicate touch that betrayed the size of his fingers. The ornate bird whistle was complete, except for a coat of paint but he knew the recipient would love to do that.

As Joel ran his fingertips over the wood, he reflected on the journey that had led him to lay down root in Jackson. His trip down memory lane was cut short by the sound of hurried foot steps above. Another memory rose. One from a time when his daughter's feet were so tiny that they made the same sound over head. Joel's heart clenched at it. His little girl was long gone.

The foot steps turned and grew louder as their owners races his way. Voices added to the noise as they came into view.

"Uncle Joel!" "Grandpa!"

Two beautiful, curly haired, doe eyed children attached themselves to either leg as he stood from his stool to greet them. "Oooft. Hey, kids. Has the party started yet?"

"No, Uncle Tommy told me to come get you. Mom just came back from the store. I asked them to tell me what the party was for and they told me to ask you." Joel's granddaughter looked up at him with a face he hadn't seen for a while. Sarah used to use the same one on him.

Speaking of things Sarah does, he could imagine her grinning up a storm with Tommy as they past this task onto him.

"Well, baby girl, a long time ago, some people got real sick, real quick...."

"That rhymes Uncle Joel." Tommy's son gave him as much shit as his old man did.

"Yeah, I know." Joel smiles. "Anyway, those people could have gotten the whole world sick, so a brave doctor, Doctor Pertiwi, came up with a way to stop it. By some miracle, it worked, and we were all saved."

"Why was she brave, Grandpa? That's what Doctors do, help people." This one was even sharper than Sarah at her age.

"The way she found...it meant that her and people she loved had to...well, they gave up their lives to save us, honey."

"Oh. Like Uncle Tommy's soilder friends?"

"Excactly." Joel sighed in relief.

"Dad? Dad, you down here?" Sarah's voice barely proceeded her down the basement stairs.

"I'm here. I'm comin'. I just seem to have some trouble walkin' for some reason." Joel grunts as he drags his legs with two amused children clinging on tight.

"Come on, you two." Sarah chases the kids ahead of her before stopping to turn to Joel. "I almost forgot! Happy birthday, Dad."

Thought: What if the outbreak was contained?

Dieter Bravo

"Bola! You have to help me." Dieter's ratty bathrobe swished behind him. Leaving him looking like an unhinged superhero as he ran the halls of the mansion looking for someone to help him. Unfortunately, he didn't possess super speed, or in his Crocs, the regular speed needed to catch Bola as he slipped through the door at the end of the long corridor.

Like the steady beeping in Alien, the click of high heels on solid wood flooring alerts him that his adversary is near. He shouldn't think of her like that. She isn't the enemy, his cock's Pavlovian response to her is. He should just say no, but he is far too weak to.

Before he sees her round the corner, he hears the sound of her riding crop smacking the leather of her thigh-high boots. His cock leaks at the thought of what she can do with that crop.

"Curse your sudden but inevitable betray!" Dieter berates his wayward nether regions.

"There you are!" A crimson smile spread across her beautiful face as she makes her way towards him.

Backed into a corner, all Dieter can do is try to talk his way out. He's good at that. He's studied human behaviour for years, and he has always excelled at improve. He opens his mouth to tell her that, as much as he is enjoying their time together, he is afraid that he cock might actually fall off at this rate. All that comes out of his mouth is a whine as she latches on to his pulse point and sucks.

"I was afraid that you were avoiding me. Now, be honest, Dieter, do you want to have sex with me?"

"Oh, God, yes." He moans while he tongue traces the ropes of his neck.

"Good, because Momma has a wide on and she needs you to fill it." With a short sharp slap of her crop to his balls, she's off to her room.

Dieter makes a silent pray for the safety of his cock before kicking his less than aerodynamic footwear off to chase her down the hall.

Thought: What if Dieter was locked down with someone hornier than him?

#thoughts #joel miller #dieter bravo

12 notes · View notes

mayasaurusss · 11 months ago

Text

Just like in the movies

Pairings: platonic (for now) Spider-Van! X fem!reader

Synopsis: you have an interesting meeting after escaping death.

Warnings: from strangers to friends, comical (Don't take this as my normal writing, I can do better I swear), gender neutral Van, use of every common trope (seriously I'm ashamed of myself) -ooc Van- inspired by ITSV, not proofread.

Enjoy! :)

The tick tacking of your desk clock stirred you from your trance. It was currently 5:12 pm, outside darkness fell, the city being brightened by traffic lights.

Your hands covered your face, trying to rub the tiredness off of it, glaring at your notes and piles of books lying on your desk. Despite the necessity to relax and sleep, you needed to suppress it: you were in the last few weeks of your finals, you needed to push your limits just a bit more, then you'd be free -for some time- and this torture would be over.

Groaning, you carried your heavy body torwards the bathroom, turned on cold water and hopped into the shower. Cold showers were the only thing that could wake you up, alongside with coffee.

Your kitchen cupboard was completely empty, not a trace of coffee or any other energy-inducing food.

"Shit..."

You didn't feel like going to the coffee shop just around the corner from your apartment, you certainly could not stomach the idea of talking with the old lady at the counter, she could always bring up the most random topics and start a one sided conversation that could last up to 45 minutes.

There was a small convenience store some streets away from you, if you went there you could buy tonight's dinner, alongside with some well deserved -shitty- coffee.

You lazily put on some pants, a sweater a, jacket and a scarf to shield yourself from the cold New York weather; grabbing your backpack and your wallet, you got out of the apartment.

Outside, thin snow fell on your skin, freezing the tip of your nose and hurting your cheeks, it was a welcomed feeling after the almost unbreakable trance of your studies.

"Come on, you just have to pass this lasts tests and it's over" reminding yourself.

The past few weeks felt like an eternity.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice a truck speeding torwards you.

Someone shouted out, and you realized the situation you were in a little too late, your whole life flashing in your eyes as you stared at the truck lights, not making an effort to move at all.

Your sight shifted when you felt someone pulling you in their arms, your view changed drastically: you weren't staring at the truck lights anymore but gazed on New York City skyline.

"W-what...?" your eyes contemplated the city, too lost in the view to notice what was happening to you. When you began falling down again, you let out a scream of terror and gripped tightly whatever -whoever- lifted you up in the air.

Laughter filled the space "That's everyone's first reaction, but don't worry, you'll get used to it soon" you heard from the person holding you.

"What the actual fuck is happening?!" voice hoarse from the sheer terror you felt.

"Ow, stop holding so tight! You're hurting me!" you turned your head to see that the person who hold you had a mask and was watching you intently.

"You look hot" whoever was under the mask said smugly, their eyes -eye-holes?- winked at you.

"I don't think this is the right time to say stuff like that!"

With force, you were pulled torwards a building and placed on the rooftop.

You huffed heavy puffs of air out of your lungs and looked incredulous at whoever swooped you up.

Now you could see them at full body length: they were covered in a suit, red on the top and chest, a dark shade of blue colored the sides and legs. A spider figure was drawn on their chest, paint slightly dripped down, smudging the edges.

They wore a mask with comically large eyes, staring down at you, a heavy silence filled the air.

"Hi" their voice echoed out.

"Hi..."

"Are you ok? You risked a lot down there you know?" you peered down at the street looking where you were almost killed.

"Yes... Thank you" you whispered, you got up on your wobbly legs, still shaking violently with fear.

"Careful, go slow" their arms wrapped around your sides, steadying your swaying figure, you held on tight to their arms

"I am sorry if I sound rude but...who are you?"

"Are you kidding?! You don't know me?" they shout out, their -comically large spider-eyes- widened out and arms spreading "Seriously?!" you shook your head.

Letting go of your body, they ran up and over the edge, making your legs wobbly again in fear "I am..."

They got into a super-hero pose, their arms resting on their sides, chin high. "The Amazing Spiderman!" "..." "And who's that supposed to be?" you asked genuinely confused. "...the superhero?"

"I've- I've never heard of you..."

"Never?!" their -comically large- eyes widened, their voice sounded hurt.

"Huh, that may be 'cause I'm kinda new, y'know? Just got in the business" they murmured, scratching their neck to ease tension.

"How did you do it?"

"You mean the swinging?" you nodded.

"I was bit by a radioactive spider, now I just kinda shoot webs from my wrists and stick to buildings, y'know?"

"Ah, I see. Kinda cool" you truly didn't know what to say, too dumbfounded to formulate a response: for the last minutes you experienced something that was really, really out of the ordinary.

"Yeah it is, sometimes when I have to go to work I just swing over there!" returning from their place on the edge and got closer to you.

"Look" they showed you their wrist, on the suit near the base of the hand sat a watch-like object.

"They're called weeb shooters, someone made them for me" showing you their gadget, they shot out a small weeb string in between their fingers and showed you.

"Whoa...does it really stick to things that well? It looks frail"

"Yes, it can support my weight easily, plus some more added weight" they said, winking at you.

"Oh stop it" you lightly shoved them, before bringing your hands to your sides, trying to bring heat to your body. "Hey, are you cold?" they said.

"Yeah, I was actually supposed to go to the store before that...inconvenience"

"Where is it?" you told them the location.

You felt yourself get pulled to them, their right arm hugged your body tightly with surprising strength,

"Let me give you a swing there"

"Are you crazy?! I'm don't want to 'swing' there!" you screamed, terrified to relive the experience of before.

"Relax, I won't let you fall! " they prepared themselves, their muscles flexing under their suit.

"How are you sure of that?"

"I never failed"

"This might be the first tim- woah!" you hadn't the time to respond, as a web shot from their wrist to the other side of the street and with strength, you were pulled from your position and were now 'swinging' in between buildings.

"Don't look down!" they said to you, adjusting their grip on your body

"If you say that, of course I'm gonna look down!" you clenched to their figure, hoping to not fall in the void.

"Don't you feel lucky to be given a ride from 'Spiderman'?" voice full of pride, when they didn't receive your answer they looked at you, trembling and eyes shut.

"Don't worry, we're almost there" the movement ceased and lowly dropping torwards the street.

Your feet touched the ground, finally.

Your legs felt unsteady when you standed up, holding on their body as they put you down.

You steadied yourself and looked at them

"Thank you, really, for everything" waiting for a response, Spiderman shifted uncomfortably under your gaze

"Hey, I was thinking...would you like to be my friend?"

"Friend? You wanna be friends? Why?"

"I mean, this kind of stuff is the things that happens in movies, I would like to take this chance" fingers moving nervously against one another.

"Would you like, then?" seeming almost scared of your rejection.

"Of course!" grabbing your backpack, you searched for a pen and a pieve of paper, quickly writing your number on it.

"Here, mysterious 'spiderman' " you folded it and took their hand, gently placing the note on their palm.

"I have to go now" you said, walking to the entrance of the store, before turning and smiling at the masked figure "I hope we'll be great friends".

Van stared at the store entrance, not moving an inch of their body and without words left.

They didn't know why they felt this way, it was almost like an electric shook throughout their body. Filled with adrenaline, they webbed onto a surface building and set off into the night, under the incredulous stares of people.

Some minutes later, the window of their apartment opened and Van entered inside the living room.

"Where have you been? Fighting crime again?" Taissa's voice spoke from the couch.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't tell you" Van said, taking off their mask.

"I met someone, she was about to have an incident but I saved her" they looked at Taissa on the couch, too busy with scrolling through her phone "Cool".

Van stripped from their suit, left it in the laundry basket and slid in the shower.

Finally, they laid on the soft bed, feeling their muscles relaxing after the long day spent at the store and casually saving lives. Their head pressed against their arms, eyes shut remembering the events of the day.

Overlooking Brooklyn's view, the spider-senses tingled when they saw someone carelessly crossing the street, they noticed a truck coming torwards the figure. In an attempt to warn them, Van tried to shout but whoever it was, they didn't move.

"Shit!" they jumped from the building and tried to make it to the person before it was too late.

Thankfully they did, their arm sliding and catching whoever it was just before a tragedy could happen.

Arms shaking from the adrenaline, they noticed the girl in their arms screaming and their first reaction was to release a laugh, but when they looked at her words left from their mouth completely: whoever she was, she captivated Van's senses.

In a mess of emotions, the firsts words that left their mouth were "You look hot".

" You look hot"?! What was I thinking?!

Their hands flew to their face, trying to rub the blush off of their cheeks.

When remembering how she looked at them after giving her number, they softened and exhaled a breath.

They slid down the covers, eyelids heavy, before letting out a sigh and drifting to sleep.

"Like...in the movies..."

#yellowjackets #van palmer x reader #spiderman #yellowjackets x reader #shauna shipman x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #first post #first fic #Author regrets everything #van palmer #yellowjackets x you #lottie matthews x reader

48 notes · View notes

4townlove · 2 years ago

Text

4⭐Town Daydream : Paparazzi Problems

ok the image is a bit dramatic given the situation but still dhengjskkfdn enjoy !!!

⭐

"You sure it's this one?" he asked, an eyebrow raised in suspicion even though his lips curved up into a playful smile.

the evening sun flinted off the corner of his lips, and that smile was just as radiant, if not more so. It took all the strength you had not to lean up and kiss him again, but the grumbling of your stomachs cut through your thoughts with the force of a thunder clap.

"Y-yes I'm sure. I mean, I better be." you giggled, squeezing his hand in yours. "I come here often enough that I might as well volunteer."

that beautiful smile of his broke into a chuckle and you might as well have melted at the sound. "Well, I'm sure you'd do great at it. Just like everything else you do."

"Oh come o-"

"I mean it." he cut in softly, turning your attention away from the display case of cupcakes, slices and ice cream to take your waist in hand and gaze so deeply into your eyes that the whole world fell away. "Babe... trust me when I compliment you, or praise you, or tell you that I love you..." he leaned in, dangerously close, so close you could that when your eyes focused for half seconds at a time, you could see each individual eyelash framing his glittering eyes. and then he whispered, "I mean it with all... my... hea-"

"IS THAT 4TOWN?!"

both of you flinched at the sudden exclamation from across the road, hands tightening on each other as you both turned to the group of giggling students staring right at you both, phones in hand, poised to capture the perfect shot.

"shit." you hissed under your breath.

he grabbed your hand, immediately turning to speed walk away, "We gotta go-"

"Heyhey there! You're in 4Town right?!" an older voice blurted out, this time from infront of you both. he stopped so suddenly you faceplanted into his back, but when you regained your vision, the crowd had multiplied and spawned several cameras, some on phones, the others like the professional one the man infront of him was holding.

"Come on, a quick pick." the man jeered, already ducking behind it to grab some candids. "Care to introduce us to your new flame?"

"No." he stated, eyes narrow. "Excuse u-"

"CAN I GET AN AUTOGRAPH??!??"

"You can be with me instead!"

"Bro that's your type?!

"YOURE NEVER NOT ON MY-"

"Let's go!" he muttered to you and only you before you both bolted through the screaming crowd, your arms shielding your faces as you pushed through the crowd of yelling people.

"Hold on tight." he said again just to you, which you realised when you felt his lips brush against your ear, and squeezing his hand even tighter, as a break came in the bubble of crushing bodies, you burst through and bolted down the street, gasping at the bright sun-filled air as you raced away.

breathless and elated from the rush of adrenaline pumping through your blood like electricity, you both barrelled towards the security detail waving you to the black SUV down the street, panic knocking his black sunglasses off his face as he yelled, "HURRY! INSIDE! NOW!"

"alright alright" his ward smirked at you, winking as you dove into the car and then followed you in, closing the door behind you just as a wave of screaming fans and impatient paparazzi slammed against the side.

your heart punched in your throat, breath racked in and out of your lungs too fast and yet not enough to get any real air in, and though your head span with the shock of everything, your hand remained tightly held by his.

"are you alright?" were his first words to you, and then his palm was holding your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin as he gently coaxed your gaze up to his.

you had to blink a few times to clear your vision, but when you found him before you, the panic ebbed away like a low tide.

"yeah..." you exhaled. "b-but I'm... I'm so sorry for... all this. If I hadn't asked you to come to the store then-"

"Hey..." his voice, that calm soothing voice of his that quelled all storms brought you back from the one raging in your mind. you blinked at him and felt your body inch closer instinctively as he continued, "That wasn't your fault. I still had a great time out with you."

"but... they're gonna have pictures of us now. and they're-"

"let them have their pictures." he rolled his eyes. "we have the real thing: each other. and besides, I meant what I said, or what I started to say."

you frowned, every moment before the interruption of the crowd, but then his hand slid up from yours, gliding up your arm, over your shoulder, caressing your neck until he cupped your cheek in his palm. as the car swerved fast back to the studio, he leaned in again, that frustratingly gorgeous smile blossoming over his nearing lips as he finally finished, "when I tell you I love you... I mean it with all... my... heart."

your own tripped and collapsed in your throat as you breathed his name, gripping the bottom of his jersey tightly.

his lips brushed against yours as he uttered the final whispered promise: "and I... love... you." before sealing it with the gentlest and sweetest kiss in the universe.

#turning red #4town #4 town #4*town #4townie #4town x reader #4town headcanons #4town robaire #4town jesse #4town taeyoung #4town aaron t #4town aaron z #💛4town daydreams #⭐headcanons #⭐from 4townlove

73 notes · View notes

andorerso · 1 year ago

Text

Rebelcaptain Whumptober: Day 10

for the prompt "Stranded" (warnings: character death, but not Jyn or Cassian. it's Melshi. also zombies)

Curled up in the corner, legs pulled up against her chest, Jyn scratched at the bite mark on her wrist. It was getting itchy. Not a good sign.

Across from her, next to the cashier’s desk, Andor was still staring at the mangled corpse of his… friend? Boyfriend? Brother? She had no idea what they were to each other, but she didn’t think Andor had moved a muscle since the man took his last gurgling breath so she gathered they were close.

Everything went to shit so quickly.

Jyn’s people had been battling another group of survivors to seize control over the area for months now. Small skirmishes here and there, taking out a scout or two, capturing and interrogating members for intel. Nothing major so far, but it was all building up to something. The Rogues had supplies Jyn’s people so desperately needed; food, medicine, water… But the Partisans had weapons and the advantage of an old US military base that anyone would be envious of.

Yavin County wasn’t big enough for both groups. A conflict was inevitable, and they had been preparing for this battle for months. Here, at the ruins of the small town that separated their two bases, was supposed to be the last stand. Jyn had her targets in sight, had spent countless nights pouring over the intel they had, deciding who would need to be eliminated first, who was their weakest link, who could spell trouble… She was to take out their best soldiers, leaving room for others to sneak into their base and ambush their leaders. The rest of the group would then scatter or fall into line.

Yeah, sure. When were things ever that easy?

Nobody counted on the fucking horde that showed up. The new recruits panicked, took off on their own or got swept up in the first wave, while the braver ones attempted to take out as many undead as they could. That went about just as well as panicking.

Rule number one: you didn’t fight a horde. You ran.

Saw called a retreat, but Jyn was too in the thick of it to make it back to her jeep in time. She’d ridden with Reece Tallent, and the fucker couldn’t care less that not everyone returned. He took off at full speed with whoever was on board as soon as he jumped into the vehicle; the rest of them? Tough luck.

Then there was that stupid bite, of course.

Jyn fired a bullet between the zombie’s eyes, but the damage was already done. Partisans and Rogues alike were fleeing. The horde was advancing. She couldn’t make it back to one of the jeeps now, even if she wanted to. Some of them still lingered while they waited for the last survivors to jump inside, but running into the thick of the horde was suicide. The only thing she could think to do was take up shelter in the hardware store across the street.

She wasn’t the only one left behind, it turned out. She saw one of the Rogues running to make it to a truck that was just leaving when three zombies toppled him to the ground. Somebody from the car yelled “No!”, and out of the corner of her eyes, Jyn saw a man jump from the back of the truck to try and rescue his friend. The car took off without them in a cloud of smoke.

Jyn didn’t stop to help. That man was a fool; one of the undead went for the jugular, his friend was as good as dead. But that didn’t stop him from dragging his bloody and barely conscious body to the hardware store, and damn it, they may be her enemy, but even she wasn’t cruel enough to leave them out there to be torn apart by the horde. Curse her bleeding heart.

The man pulled his friend inside, and Jyn slammed the doors shut just in time. Bodies crashed against the glass, mindless in their pursuit to get inside. Clashing teeth, decaying flesh, dead eyes staring at her with hunger. Jyn stood there for a second in frozen shock.

Then she snapped into action, finding the nearest shelf in the store and attempting to push it against the door.

“Fucking help me, will you?” she hissed at the Rogue. He turned his head to glance at her, and she finally recognized him as Andor.

Who knew he was so selfless?

With a quick look at his convulsing friend on the ground, — definitely dead, Jyn decided, he was missing half his throat — Andor got up and helped her push the shelf in place. She wasn’t sure how long it’d hold, but it was better than nothing. Andor immediately returned to his friend, grasping his cheeks in his hands, murmuring something.

Jyn had the decency not to eavesdrop, but even from the spot she claimed in the corner, she heard it clear as day when his gurgles turned silent.

She glanced at them. His body had stopped twitching, his eyes staring into nothing. Andor’s head was bowed, one of his hands grasping the man’s jacket, his shoulders shaking. It wouldn’t take long before he turned…

Luckily, Jyn didn’t have to voice that. With an audible inhale, Andor lifted his head, retrieved a dagger from his pocket, and slid it into his friend’s head. Killing the brain before the virus had time to reanimate him. The action seemed strangely gentle for what it was.

Then he placed the dagger on his dead friend’s chest and went completely motionless. Still crouching by him, still clutching his jacket, still staring at his lifeless eyes. He just turned off.

After an hour, Jyn couldn’t take it anymore. She had tuned out the banging on the glass, she had tuned out the horrible groans and rattles, she had tuned out the uncomfortable stares of dead people. She tried not to think about her own impending doom, tried not to wonder who made it from her group and who hadn’t.

But her eyes kept wandering back to Andor, waiting for him to move, to say something. Kneeling right in front of her line of vision, he was impossible to ignore.

Oh, fuck it.

Jyn stood from the corner, slowly approaching. He didn’t look up when she stopped by him, but she shrugged out of her jacket, using it to cover his friend’s mangled body.

Andor finally lifted his head, and their eyes met. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes, his expression smooth as stone, but she held his gaze and said nothing. They didn’t know each other, and I’m sorry would have been fucking offensive when under different circumstances, she might have been the one to kill his friend. She couldn’t act like she cared. But… it was a gesture. Because she knew what it was like to lose someone.

The silence that stretched between them should have been uncomfortable, but it seemed like he understood. He glanced away, finally releasing his death grip on his friend’s jacket, and sat back against the cashier’s desk. Jyn took that as a success.

She made it back to her corner, a little unsteady on her feet. The world tilted for a second. Shit… She clutched her wrist again. How long before the fever kicked in?

When she sat back down, Andor was watching her curiously.

“What’s your name?”

“Jyn,” she replied, her tone clipped.

“I’m Cassian.” His gaze strayed towards his friend’s body, a flash of grief in his eyes. “And his name was Melshi.” Determination hardened his features as he stood up. In a tone that left no room for argument, he continued, “I’m getting out here.”

Jyn snorted. “Good luck with that.”

He shot her an annoyed glare like she was being unreasonable for seeing the situation clearly. Getting out of here… Yeah, right. And go where?

“Were you bitten?” he asked, his eyes roving across her body.

So he did see her wobble. Jyn gave a curt nod, absentmindedly scratching at her bite.

“Okay. We need to treat that first.”

She wanted to laugh in his face.

A bite didn’t always have to be a death sentence, but in this case, it almost certainly was. With a mortality rate over eighty-four percent, it was difficult to treat under better circumstances. Let alone when you were stranded in a hardware store with a horde waiting for you outside. She didn’t see what he could possibly do to help her now. Maybe if she had made it back to base… But even then.

The bite killed you more often than not.

“What’s the point?” She waved her hand towards the store entrance where the undead were only growing in numbers. “Look outside. We’re dying here.”

“In that case.” Face blank, Andor pulled out his gun and held it out with its handle pointed towards her. Jyn stared at him. “Or would you rather I do it?”

She said nothing. Satisfied, he withdrew his hand and reholstered his gun.

“So let me fucking help you then.”

God. What a dick.

xxx

Andor searched the store for supplies, returning with some bandages, cotton wool, antiseptic, and rubbing alcohol. Jyn watched him, still a little wary as he crouched in front of her and ripped open the cotton wool packaging. Her head was foggy, her limbs a little sluggish, her mouth dry, her skin hot.

The bite was pumping its venom through her system, leaving her weak and vulnerable in front of a man who was, for all intents and purposes, her enemy.

It scared her. He could overpower her right now, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. It scared her more than dying.

But all he did was pour alcohol on the cotton and reach for her hand to clean the wound. Her body tensed up, but she didn’t fight him. His grip was loose, his touch surprisingly gentle, and still, she couldn’t make herself relax. Always anticipating a blow, that was her life. She watched him as he worked, the furrow in his eyebrows, the lock of hair that fell over his eyes, the downturn of his mouth as he inspected her bite.

He was, Jyn mused, undoubtedly handsome. The thought may have been a side effect of the fever that was surely ravaging her body by now, but it was still true, which was rather annoying. It was the last thing she needed to be thinking right now. If she had to die, she wanted to die with some damn dignity.

But yes. The photo she saw of him didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

After a while, Andor lifted his head and met her eyes. Jyn knew she was caught staring, but she didn’t flinch away, holding his gaze as if daring him to call her out on it. She’d use the about-to-die card if she had to.

“You look like shit,” he said after a pause.

She barked out a laugh of surprise, the sound rough. “You’re a fucking asshole, Andor.”

He stilled. Jyn didn’t realize her mistake until he spoke. “I didn’t tell you my last name.”

Goddamn it. She would blame this on the fever as well.

Jyn opened her mouth, hesitating. What were her options? If he wanted to, he would kill her anyway. Which wasn’t a terrible loss as the bite might still do that for him. But she could be honest and hope he saw it as a gesture of goodwill. He knew she was with the Partisans; they’d been shooting at each other not two hours ago. He knew she had killed members of his group before, and would have killed more if things went differently today.

What did it matter if she admitted she was going to kill him as well?

“We surveilled your group,” she spoke softly, watching for his reaction. “You were one of my targets.”

Andor grunted. His face gave nothing away. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.”

Deemed dangerous and competent enough to be a problem. He was one of the three people she was supposed to handle.

Figures he’d end up being the one possibly saving her life.

For a second, Andor only stared at her, his eyes roving her face. Jyn shifted in her place, tightening her hands into fists, preparing for a fight. She had two daggers up her sleeves, another in her boot. A gun strapped to her thigh as a last resort. She was a little dizzy, but she could get the jump on him, go for the neck before he had the chance to realize —

Andor nodded, interrupting her battle tactics, and went back to applying antiseptic to her wound. Jyn waited, but he didn’t have any comments for her. No snippy remarks or angry quips. Not even a ‘it’s a good thing you didn’t kill me then.’

What was wrong with this man?

“You’re all done,” he said after he finished wrapping her wound. Jyn’s eyes followed him as he stood up, a question on the tip of her tongue.

He met her gaze and raised his eyebrows as if to say, spit it out, we don’t have all day.

“I killed your people,” she said. A statement, not a question. But he understood the meaning. Why are you helping me?

“I killed yours.”

“Does that make us even?” she wondered.

Andor shrugged. “I don’t know what that makes us. I just know I’m not leaving anyone behind.”

His gaze strayed back to the body on the floor, just for a split second. Melshi, he had said. Was this guilt then? Atonement? Trying to make up for what he felt was a failure by saving someone else?

Well, either way. She wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

But there was still the matter of the horde out there. And it was getting dark soon. If he had any bright ideas, it was time to come out with them.

“We still can’t fight our way out.” She gestured to the undead, clawing at the glass. “Even if I was in top shape. Which I’m not.”

He fixed her up, so her wound hopefully wouldn’t get infected, but the fever would only grow worse. God only knew if she’d even survive.

“We’re stuck here.” Her tone was factual, hiding the desperation that reared its ugly head. She was not going to be a zombie meal. Any death would be better than that.

Andor’s jaw worked as he scanned the store, taking inventory of the shelves. His expression shifted, a glint in his eyes that revealed he had an idea.

“Jyn?”

She blinked, surprised at the sound of her name from his mouth. It was… hmmm. Better not think about it now.

“What?”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something akin to a smirk. “How much do you know about making bombs?”

#rebelcaptain #rogue one #therebelcaptainnetwork #dailyrebelcaptain #my fics #rcwhumptober #rip melshi #sorry my dude i needed a victim #also i just cannot write non-horny jyn afdhhfgh #it's not projection shut up

32 notes · View notes

corner-stories · 1 year ago

Text

a new york state of mind

Bart Allen. Jesse Chambers. Grant Emerson. Lower Manhattan. New Beginnings. Winged Helms. 3358 words. (ao3.)

With only a duffle bag and a backpack on his person, Bart Allen tried not to look like a tourist as he navigated the streets of Lower Manhattan.

It was overwhelming to be around so many new things. Nearly every store or cafe he saw was unfamiliar, yet intriguing, like every door could lead to something new.

It seemed that every person he walked past was just looking for a place to be. On one street corner Bart passed a woman talking on her phone in the thickest Brooklyn accent he had ever heard, and on another was a jazz band unloading an ungodly amount of instrument cases from a single yellow taxi.

And to Bart’s surprise, he had only been in New York for a few minutes and not yet did someone act like spending three thousand dollars on rent counted as a personality trait.

The hustle and bustle of the city made both Keystone and Central look boringly tame, but in his twenty odd years of life he was used to this kind of chaos. As he walked forward he could feel a sense of anticipation building in his gut, something that would either fade away or remain with him during his tenure in the city.

After a few moments of walking, Bart arrived at his location with his luggage in hand. In contrast to all the movies he had seen about a young person moving to New York, the anticipated place was not a theatre on Broadway, an esteemed private university, or even some shitty shoebox apartment in the East Village.

Instead, Bart stood in front of the brownstone belonging to the Justice Society of America, a place that was several stories high and undoubtedly bigger on the inside. As the sounds of Lower Manhattan filled his ears, the feeling of anticipation in his gut got stronger and stronger. Suddenly, his grip around his duffle bag tightened.

Before Bart’s mind could wander in a million different directions, the door of the brownstone burst open and out came one of the more… energetic supporters of his current career choice.

Jesse Chambers was smiling from ear to ear as she skipped down the steps, then dashed over to approach the gangly, mopheaded Speedster on the street.

“You made it!” Jesse cheered in a tone so bubbly that it caught Bart off guard.

Who was she and what had she done with Jesse Chambers?

The blonde even hugged him, something that made Bart wonder if he had truly entered the Twilight Zone.

“Whoa! Whoa! Nice to see you too, Jess!” he said, awkwardly hugging her back and patting her on the shoulder.

Having a smiling Jesse hug him so hard that she lifted him off the ground was certainly a change of pace. He had heard that Jesse became as giddy as a schoolgirl when it came to matters of the Justice Society, but Bart didn’t think she got that giddy over it.

After a few seconds of utter glee, Jesse put him down and the expectant knot in Bart’s stomach had yet to go away.

“How was the trip here? You all good? Got everything you need?” Jesse asked all at once. The fact that she wasn’t speaking at super speed was absolutely astounding.

“Uh… yes, yes, and yes!” answered Bart, happily patting the duffle bag in his grasp. He gave her a smile and did his best to not act like he had only remembered to pack last night. “Got two weeks worth of shit all here.”

There was a beat, then Bart refocused his gaze on the brownstone once more. Standing this close to the place reminded Bart that the choice he made was very tangible and real — no longer a mere idea he had kept in the back of his head for god knows how long.

Bart sucked in a few uneasy breaths, then looked towards Jesse. The smile on her face had yet to fade away.

“I guess we should just head in then, huh?” he asked, realizing that he could no longer prolong the inevitable.

Jesse gave him a nod. “You ready?”

For once in his life, Bart realized what it was like to look before one leapt. He took in one more slow breath, then said —

“...let’s fucking do this.”

Before he could take a single step, Jesse reached over and snagged both Bart’s duffle bag and backpack.

“Too slow!” she teased, and to that Bart could only roll his eyes.

Entering the building reminded Bart of a day two years ago, a day where his choice to pursue higher education had led him far from the midwest. The halls of the brownstone were certainly less chaotic than a public university’s freshman dormitory, but they were no less capable of filling Bart with a sense of unease.

But the good kind, the kind of discomfort associated with growth and new experiences. If he was on edge then so be it, because it signaled the start of something new.

“I’m glad you’re doing this,” said Jesse as she led Bart through the main foyer.

In his peripherals Bart caught sight of an ominous, unfamiliar shadow on a wall. It turned out that knowing of Todd Rice’s status as the JSA’s security system did not make the eldritch blob on the wall any less startling.

“Oh really?” replied Bart, keeping his eye on the dark splotch for a few seconds. “I couldn’t tell.”

Jesse guided Bart up a short flight of stairs. “No, I mean it — most college guys go to Daytona Beach or Cabo for spring break, but you’re here.” She turned back and gave him a grin that was just a bit softer than the ones before. “I’m proud of you.”

Bart briefly avoided her gaze as they walked across the carpeted floor. “Well… it’s just for two weeks,” he decided to say, figuring that it was better than anything else inside of his head. “And it’s better than an unpaid internship.”

Jesse rolled her eyes as Bart followed her. Truthfully, he was quite grateful that the JSA would compensate him for his time. The stipend may have been chump change in New York, but combined with the free accommodations and food it was absolutely plentiful.

As Jesse guided Bart through the hallways he would call home for the next two weeks, he got a glance of the world he was just dipping his toes into.

A handful of JSAers were present in the halls as the pair of Speedsters walked. Bart only knew them by their codenames and not their given ones, but hopefully he would learn them at one point.

Through a slightly ajar door he saw the ‘other other Wildcat’ unabashedly vaping in the privacy of his own room. Judging by the scent, Bart was immediately aware of what exact substance he was partaking in. Truth be told, he didn’t take the Pretty Boy Wildcat for the stoner type, but one learned something new every day.

Also walking down the aisle was Doctor Mid-Nite in his signature costume, albeit with the cowl pulled down and a pair of dark glasses over his eyes. Unsurprisingly, the world’s greatest physician was holding two bagels and a mug of coffee in his hands. He proceeded to shuffle down the hallway with all the grace of a soggy wet owl. The Good Doctor was at least polite enough to mumble something that sounded like a greeting as he passed by the Speedsters.

Through a doorway leading to a living area, Bart caught a glimpse of a handful of JSAers simply joking around. The one he recognized as Citizen Steel was napping on a metal sheet on the floor (for some reason) and the unholy trinity that was Stargirl, Cyclone, and Lightning were in a competition to see how many objects they could stack onto their teammate. Judging by the impressive Jenga Tower on Citizen Steel’s forehead, it was fair to say that Cyclone was in the lead.

After a few more moments of walking, Jesse finally brought Bart to a room at the end of the hall.

She opened a door to bring him into a space only slightly bigger than his room at uni — somehow, it was just a little more welcoming. Instead of plain white, the walls were painted a dark brown. The one window was wide and the single bed in the corner was adorned with clean, freshly-pressed sheets — akin to what one would see in a hotel. There was even a desk and a fan in the corner.

“It’s not our biggest room, but it does have a nice view,” Jesse explained as she placed Bart’s luggage on the bed.

“It’s perfect,” the younger Speedster said, and he meant it in every way. He had only been in the room for a minute and he already decided that he would enjoy the next two weeks.

Jesse gave him a softer smile, then went over to pull the curtains back. True to her word, the view outside was resplendent. From where they were they could see above the trees of Battery Park and all the way to the Statue of Liberty.

It was certainly a better sight than what he had back at university, which included some trees and approximately one third of a building.

As Bart took in the view of the partly cloudy day, Jesse pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the screen.

“Okay, so dinner’s served at seven-thirty, so you got some time to yourself,” she explained quickly. “Other than that, training with Wildcat starts tomorrow morning, so you should be good for today.”

Bart looked back to her and nodded his head. “Alright, thanks.”

At this point of time he was still taking everything in, whether it be the unfamiliar scents or the sound of New York seeping in through the walls. He knew that eventually the noise of the streets would become so cordial that it could lull him to sleep, but for now he would need to get used to it.

After stepping towards his bags on the bed, Bart began unpacking his things. Before Jesse could come over and help him, the pair of Speedsters heard a knock on the door.

Glancing over at the doorway, Bart and Jesse witnessed one of the JSAers gently pushing the door open, the one with S-Tier “himbo energy” and a pair of warm, kindly puppy-dog eyes.

“Hey, Jess?” asked Rick. With one arm he opened the door and with the other he held onto a restless toddler.

Little Johnny Tyler was rather perturbed as his father carried him into the room. His youthful face, while usually adorable, was twisted into a look of unease and wariness. Fortunately, the two-year-old was smart enough to recognize his mother standing close by and raised his arms up to reach for her.

Fortunately, Rick was ever the doting father and carried his son over right away.

“Hey, Bart,” said Rick to the younger Speedster, to which he received an awkward wave in return. The Man of the Hour then focused on his wife. “Sorry, Babe, he’s not going to sleep… again.”

Amused, Jesse rolled her eyes. “And in other news water makes things wet, come here.”

Carefully, Jesse took her son from her husband. Little Johnny looked a bit more comfortable once he was in his mother’s arms, but only slightly.

“Hey, Mister Grumpy Pants, are you giving Daddy a hard time?” Jesse asked as she began bobbing up and down to comfort her son.

Johnny babbled in response, which in Bart’s babysitting experience could either mean so much or nothing at all. As the little one began chewing on the sleeve of his Wonder Woman onesie, Jesse gave Bart an apologetic look.

“Hey, you good here?” she asked. “Need anything else?”

Bart nodded quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Go on, take care of the little poop rocket, I’ll be fine!”

As per usual, Jesse looked the slightest bit annoyed at Bart’s nickname for her flesh and blood, whereas Rick looked amused.

“Okay,” Jesse said, reaching over to squeeze Bart’s shoulder. “See you at dinner.”

With her slightly less grouchy son in her arms, Jesse exited the room. Before Rick followed, he gave Bart a polite nod and then closed the door behind him.

Once Bart was alone there was not much to do but unpack.

Unsurprisingly, the Speedster emptied his bag in a flash. In less than a second he placed everything where they needed to be, putting the clothes in the closet and his electronics on the desk. He even set up his gaming laptop and made sure that his mouse was properly plugged in. Afterall, he couldn’t possibly imagine two weeks without being yelled at by thirteen-year-olds in a game of Call of Duty.

At the end of it all, Bart stood in the middle of the space and took everything in. The little room in New York instilled an unfamiliar sensation inside of him, one that left him with more questions than answers.

Bart thought about what would happen during the next two weeks. Having spent the last two years as a full-time university student, his hero time was strictly limited to weekends and very rarely on weekdays. Even the Fastest Electrical Engineering Major Alive couldn’t be in two places at once, especially when Jesse was covering most of his tuition.

As his train of thought began to flow, Bart also wondered just how long he could keep wearing his current colors.

Despite managing to remain rather babyfaced in his early adulthood, Bart wasn’t sure if continuing to call himself ‘Kid Flash’ was the best idea. His growth spurt didn’t help either, as the former baby of the Flash Family had grown at least six inches during the summer between high school and university.

On the bright side, he was close to overtaking Wally in terms of height. But on the not so bright side, it was becoming very difficult for Bart to keep imagining himself as ‘Kid Flash.’

Sometimes looking at himself reminded Bart just how much things had changed, that he was no longer the youthful boy who daydreamed during history class and always wished he could be somewhere else.

Nowadays, he spent more time focusing on school and trying to be Bart Allen, something he had initially done on his family’s request. Unsurprisingly, he grew rather fond of modern education once he was studying something he was actually interested in.

The next two weeks were his opportunity to put on a mask and be a speedster again. To what end he wasn’t entirely sure, but he was sure that he would find out eventually.

With most of his things placed where they needed to be, Bart went to his duffle bag on the bed and rummaged around for anything he may have forgotten.

Then at the bottom of his bag he found it.

Sitting at the bottom was a helmet made of several metals. The main part of the contraption consisted of a circular dome, but on the sides were gold-colored wings welded firmly into place.

He had made the helm a while ago with nothing particular in mind, a project that had come to fruition due to too many hours spent in the workshop of Titans Compound. He had begun tinkering with the scraps and junk he found lying around, most of it consisting of material S.T.A.R. Labs didn’t need anymore and dumped on the Titans.

Nonetheless, after playing around with the 3D-printer and a highly experimental nth metal titanium alloy someone just threw in the trash, Bart — in his own words — created a thing.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he bothered to bring the helm with him, but there was something about the way it felt on his head that Bart couldn’t deny.

He couldn’t exactly describe it — perhaps… a fullness, a completeness, a feeling that such a winged helm on his head practically felt like a crown. Plus, busting out his half-assed Hermes cosplay was fun sometimes.

Nonetheless, Bart hoped that Jay wouldn’t mind seeing a similar helmet across the JSA meeting table.

Bart walked to the mirror on the room’s walls and placed his helmet on his head. It sat upon his reddish-brown curls like it was meant to be there all along. When he saw his reflection he couldn’t help but smile — perhaps he could craft himself a traveler’s cloak and caduceus to complete the look.

As Bart removed his helmet and placed it into his closet, he heard the sound of the door creaking. When he looked over he expected to see Jesse, Jay, or maybe ever Courtney.

But to his surprise Bart was greeted with the presence of a person he had not seen in a long long time.

Grant Emerson had a mask covering his entire face, but judging by the way he weakly crossed his arms Bart guessed that his old friend was nervous to see him.

“Uh… hey?” The unease in Grant’s voice was unmistakable.

Bart smiled brightly, both surprised and charmed. “Hey, it’s you!”

Grant nodded and awkwardly cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

As cheery as could be, Bart walked over to his old friend. He was quick to notice that Grant was no longer a whole head taller than him, another allusion to just how much time had passed. Literally being able to look Grant eye-to-eye was certainly something Bart would need to get used to.

“Long time no see, huh?” asked the Speedster, smiling as cheerily as ever.

Grant nodded again, then scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… that’s one way to put it.”

“Cool mask, Dude,” Bart was quick to say. “Makes ya look tough.”

Grant let out what sounded like a cross between an awkward chuckle and a grunt. “That’s the idea, it gets kinda itchy though.”

There was another beat as the two young heroes stood in the room.

Bart could sense that Grant had many things to say, but for the life of him just couldn’t say it. He knew that his old friend had become more withdrawn over the last few years for a multitude of reasons.

But through the mask Bart could see the familiar pair of brown eyes he had spent time with on the Titans Base at Liberty Island, and once he got a good look at them suddenly many things came back to him, things he had thought to be forgotten and lost.

At the end of the day perhaps fewer things had changed than Bart had initially thought.

“It’s good to see you, Dude,” he soon decided to say, knowing that breaking the ice a little more could do wonders in making Grant less nervous.

“Yeah, you too.” The walking nuclear reactor then let out another grumble, though one more akin to a verbal tic as opposed to an expression of discomfort.

Once more, Grant reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “So uh… some of us are gonna pop in a movie before dinner, you wanna join?”

Bart shrugged. “Depends, what were you guys thinking?”

“Well, Tommy suggested Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2, but that’s only because he’s stoned,” Grant said a little too casually. “So I’m gonna try to turn on Slumber Party Massacre when he’s not looking.”

There was a beat, then Bart burst out laughing. He took a step forward and placed a friendly hand on Grant’s shoulder.

“That sounds absolutely fucking sick, let’s do it.”

From the way Grant’s mask moved, Bart could swear that his old friend was smiling.

“Alright, cool,” said Grant casually before walking out of the room.

Bart followed him with a grin and made sure to close the door. As he walked down the hallways he caught another glimpse of the city outside of the windows. More and more he was getting used to the sound of the street or the various buildings crowding the view of the sky.

As every moment passed, it was getting a lot easier for Bart to embrace a New York state of mind.

#Bart Allen #Jesse Chambers #Grant Emerson #Pieter Cross #Tom Bronson #Courtney Whitmore #Maxine Hunkel #Jennifer Pierce #Nate Heywood #DC #JSA #Rick Tyler #Johnny Tyler #Bart joins Team Nepo Baby!!!

11 notes · View notes

giftedpoison · 1 year ago

Text

So I don't know what to do with this information so buckle up I guess.

Hi, my name is Eve and in my real life I used to work at a grocery store (it's a chain but not necessarily a national one so i won't be saying their name for purposes of anonymity).

I worked there from the age of 16 (was hired December 18th 2016). Eventually started working in their shopping department for curbside pickup in 2019, when the department opened. Became a supervisor in the department in November of 2021 (after doing the job for a few years being paid as a part time shopper rather than supervisor) then i was promoted to Lead of the department in Feb. of 2022 (which essentially meant I ordered supplies, dealt with managing a group of 13 individuals and sat in on corporate meetings and the like).

That's my history. I quit in September of 2023. Because the job was trying to kill us all and I hit my breaking point. (My breaking point was when 5 of my employees including myself nearly passed out from over exertion. I say nearly because I forced them to stop and eat and hydrate when it got too bad, i was fighting for management to give me help so we could get breaks out but they wouldn't listen and I ended up absolutely word vomiting my building frustrations with their management style that I had been actively fighting against for well over a year at that point.)

I know I'm a good leader, but management increasingly thought of me as naive and too soft as a leader because I refused to step back and allow abuse of my workers for corporate profit. Despite the fact I would show them statistics and give them nuanced balanced perspectives they let their own biases get in the way.

Three of my shoppers were their main targets. Two of which were neurodivergent and came from a not so great background. The third one wasn't neurodivergent but she came from a broken background that involved drugs and alcohol as a minor she was 19.

I think about the third girl so often. Because I remember she wasn't shopping at the speed they wanted her too (aka the goal for the whole department) which was a valid critique and the manager basically played bad cop which was fine. And I remember after this I was working with this girl and we were running behind that day, to no fault of hers, and i had to come help her finish her shop so we could prepare for the customers to arrive.

And she was panicked. Saying she's really trying and she's afraid she's going to get fired and a bunch of other things as i'm helping her. And I looked at her and tell her. "Listen I've seen you're numbers recently, they aren't where they need to be but i can see you steadily increasing if you keep increasing no matter what the number is by the time management says something again. I will back you. It is okay and me helping you right now is not your fault." I found out recently she no longer shows up to work. And she basically quit. Which was probably in part due to personal issues like the fact her best friend was in coma at one point. And such. And she also got jumped in the parking lot by some girls and the police had to be called. But I can't help but to wonder if I had still been there, if she would have felt safe to keep coming back knowing that there was at least one person in charge in her corner. (now, I know for a fact there is none because I was a one man defense line)

I can't help but to think about my one coworker, one of the neurodivergent ones, who is still routinely get shit about his out of stock list despite back when I was still working there I literally showed them that his numbers averaged out to be about the same as everyone else.

I'm not going to say any of the three were perfect, they didn't always do their best and were sometimes unreliable. But did they deserve to get emotionally abused by one of the supervisors (who i reported over five times, and who also once threatened me but management refused to deal with)? No. Did they deserve to be treated like less than assets when two of them used to come in all the time on their day off to help until they got fed up with being treated like they were lesser?

I think about the time I fought against a capacity increase (literally one of the hours we could have 13 orders drop for one hour with only 2 hours to do it, and maybe 2-3 shoppers to execute it, and that's assuming we had the previous hour completed and actually had a full 2 hours). And then when it went into effect anyway despite me shoving numbers at every higher up I could about how it didn't work for what we had to work with. My one manager told me that's just how you build a business, increasing volume. So I told him it's also how you burn one down. He didn't have a reply.

I asked politely from the store manager that if we called for help, if there was no other employee who could, a manager should help us. And he returned with hedging and saying that "well if there's only one manager on duty that's not really feasible". Even when there were three managers on duty and two of them were standing around talking they did nothing. But don't worry if it was register front end drowning two managers plus a stocker would come to the rescue.

And prior to all this, prior to my Lead position, I didn't know I could be an effective and intelligent leader. Now I know I can, but absolutely no one will listen to me and will routinely talk down on me when they were so interested in me, that they fought corporate when corporate didn't want to give me the promotion and gave me a bigger raise than was protocol because they believed in me. And that belief went down the drain immediately when they realized I would not blindly fall in line.

I feel so bad that I'm no longer on the front lines defending them, and that I failed to give management one last piece of my mind like I was going to, but I know if I stayed there it would have eaten me alive and that it was slowly killing me.

I don't know where to go from here. How to live knowing I have enough intelligence to lead and be fair and nuanced, but having no where to put that to use. I don't know what to do anymore but this one haunts me.

And like I'm not gonna say I was perfect and I definitely didn't know the answers to everything. And I did have my issues. (I was angry but refused to take it out on anyone, I sometimes got so overwhelmed I had to ask someone to take over while I laid on the floor for a second to regain perspective, and I would often have to sit down because I would become light headed and dizzy from the heat outside). But at the very least I fought for them ya know?

#musings #tw: abuse #capitalism #i think about them so much and i wish there was something else i could do #but i can't even go public with my knowledge because there's no documentation #all there is is first hand accounts from shoppers #but that's not really anything #and everything can be twisted in our own faults very neatly #corporate hell #leadership #anyway this is part of the reason i want to work as a librarian because of a big part of that job is public service and giving people safet #where there is none #which stems from like my trauma or whatever i guess #i just want people who have the cards stacked against them to at least have one person in their corner when everyone around them is telling #them that they are worthless #can you tell why i live AFTG yet #I'm such a wymack #or dan #or neil #aftg

2 notes · View notes

banditthewriter · 2 years ago

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo 2.0 - They Will Come For Me

They Will Come For Me requested by @occasionallygiveadamn with Matt Murdock for the @badthingshappenbingo

Enjoy!

***

The problem started out that I needed to go to the corner store to get things for dinner. Then the problem morphed into the fact that it was raining which meant the problem became that there were no cabs around. The next problem was the store I usually went to was closed so I had to go down an alley to try to get to the next closest store.

And if that wasn’t enough, on the walk back with groceries in my hands, I was cornered by four men in masks.

The bags dropped as I tried to use the self defense moves I’d learned recently, but I hadn’t gotten to the point where I learned how to take down multiple attackers. I wasn’t even sure if that was on the curriculum, but maybe I’d make the suggestion after I got through this.

If I got through this.

The headache was either from the second punch or from my head hitting the wall. My wrists hurt where they were tied together and then tied to my own legs for some reason. Like I was going to be running away when my ankles were tied to the metal chair I was in.

There was so much rope used. These kidnappers had probably gotten some strange looks at the hardware store for those purchases.

“I don’t have money,” I slurred, my head pounding from the potential concussion. “You won’t be getting a ransom from me.”

The one closest to me walked by, his mask moving as he spoke.

“Not ransom. A theory.”

A theory. You blinked up at him, the hanging lightbulb making it hard to focus on the cut outs where the kidnapper’s eyes were.

“A theory? Care to share with the class?”

He came a little closer and tapped a crowbar against your knees.

“You’ve been protected by Daredevil twice now. Daredevil being the man that’s broken our deals multiple times. So we’re going to see if he’ll show up a third time.”

“Did you shine the Bat-signal to let him know? Put it in the classifieds? Billboard on one of the streets?”

The eyes narrowed as he stared at you. You lifted your eyebrows and waited.

“Trust me, we got the word out.”

“‘Trust me,’ says the kidnapper. Yeah, I’ll hold onto that.”

The kidnapper reared the crowbar back like he was going to strike you, but then held back. Instead he turned and walked away.

“You have no idea what he’s taken from us. I refuse to let it happen anymore.”

You dropped your head and rested your chin on your chest. The man walked through and continued to complain about what all Daredevil had done to them. It was quite a list, but a lot of it seemed tangentially related to them. Sounded more like they just wanted to be overindulgent with their issues.

“Not like that one chick who goes around fighting people,” he said as he garnered more speed on his complaints.

That one chick? You lifted your head and peered up at him.

“Jessica Jones?”

The man turned to look at you, surprised that you had interrupted his tirade.

“Think that’s her name. The PI.”

You started to smirk. Then a full blown smile crept over your face. The kidnapper seemed startled when you started to laugh.

“You…you kidnapped me to lure out Daredevil which is bad enough. But Jessica? Jess? My roommate?” You laughed again, harder this time. “Oh you are in so much shit right now.”

Because yes, your roommate was going to come for you. And yes, Daredevil was going to come for you. But it wouldn’t just be Daredevil, not really. It’d also be your boyfriend, Matt Murdock.

You knew without a doubt that they’d come for you.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #they will come for me #my writing #daredevil

12 notes · View notes

himbowithapen · 1 year ago

Text

Monsterfucktober - Day 17, Imps (Helluva Boss)

“Sir, I know he’s hot and all, but isn’t it against company police—not to mention Hell policy—to bring a live human back with us? Especially if you’re not going to kill him?”

“Shut the fuck up Moxxie, look at this hunk. He’s cool.”

Blitzo, with a silent ‘o’ flipped Moxxie off and led the human into his office. “Now, tell me, which prince of Hell did you suck off to get a bod that sinful. Ho boy!” The door slammed behind them, and Moxxie put it out of his mind. This was classic Blitz; no rule left unbroken. Unless it was wholly unethical—and even then he’d only give a shit half the time—Blitz would be absolutely down for it. A human was a bit out of the range he’d chalked his boss up as finding attractive, but equally he never liked meeting expectations.

“I’m heading home.” he said to Loona, Blitz’s daughter and company receptionist. It wasn’t like they were going to do business anytime soon, not with Blitz fucking a target.

“Kay.” Loona didn’t look up from her phone. Moxxie was expecting some kind of comment on his weight, but no. The second he left, he went for the grocery shop on the double. There was something he needed, badly.

“Do you have this with that one flavour?” Moxxie was waving a can of soup in front of the store employee, who sighed as their eyes failed to match speed with his flailing.

“Try reductions, then if it’s not there try ‘treats from the other circles’. Have a Hellish day.” Their voice was monotone and lifeless, like they’d been well land truly crushed by the infernal punishment that was working in the service industry.

“Could you come with me?” asked Moxxie, not noticing how badly the attendant wanted to be left alone.

“No.”

“Alright. Pardon my intrusion, thank you.” He left the can on a shelf—the wrong shelf—and went straight for reductions.

“No. No. That’s a used dildo. That’s a well used dildo.” Moxxie swept around the shelves, crammed from top to bottom with recalls and damaged goods. “What kind of store sells ‘live horny tentacle in a can?!’” He heard the distant sound of two or more of Hell’s residents having an orgy in another aisle. “Oh, yeah. Pride ring.”

He went straight for ‘treats from other circles’, double-crossing his fingers that he could find at least one more can of Millie’s favourite. “Come on, come on.” Just as he turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of it: the Lust stall, in all its glory, with one can still on the shelf. But, just on the other side of the aisle was someone else, also looking in the same space. Moxxie started walking, so did the sinner. He sped up, so did they. He broke into a sprint, and the four-armed, fluffy, spidery-looking guy did the exact same thing. Their hands grabbed the can at the same time, fingers interlocked around it.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?! This is my can!” he sneered, trying to pull it from Moxxie’s grasp.

“I think you’ll find this is my can. I came here specifically for it, and I’m not leaving without it.” He could feel his fingers slipping, but he wasn’t going to let up for even a moment.

“Awwww, that’s cute.” His other set of arms grabbed Moxxie by the throat and lifted him off the floor. Still, Moxxie kept his grip on the can. “Let it go, short-stack. I got a million better things to do than strangle you.”

Between gasps for air, Moxxie managed a strained sentence. “My wife is sick.” He drew his gun with his free hand and pointed it dead in the sinner’s chest. “You don’t want to know,” he gasped, “what I’ll do for my wife.”

The spider glared at him. Moxxie glared back, unwavering despite his lack of air. Then the spider let go with all four arms. “Eh, like I need it. Supposed to be going straight anyway.”

Coughing and spluttering, Moxxie put his gun away. “Thank you. Have a Hellish day.” He paid for it without further delay, then rushed home.

“Millie, I’m home!” He called out. The only response he got was a cough. He put the can down on the kitchen counter and went to see his wife.

“Oh hey hunny bunny.” said Millie, giving him a weak smile as he squeezed her hand. She was doing better than before, but still, he hated to see her in pain.

“Are you hungry? Have you been drinking? Do you—“

“I’m fine, really sweetie. I’m just glad you’re home.” She opened her arms, and Moxxie lay down with her. Despite being bedridden, she held him in her embrace. “How was killin’ without me?”

Moxxie laughed nervously. “Funny story: Blitz took a liking to the client, and instead of killing him, well…”

She gasped. “He didn’t?!”

“Yeah! He did! Right in the office!”

“He showed mercy to him from the office?”

“What? No. He’s fucking the target in the office.”

Her mouth was agape, eyes wide. She made a noise that showed she was searching for something to say, but she was struggling. Moxxie thought it was cute, despite the circumstances. “But they’re so smooth and uninteresting!” Moxxie gave her a confused look. “Well, you know. Their whatsits. They’re smooth and boring.”

“You’ve seen a human penis?”

She shrugged. “I got curious. If it makes you feel better, he was already dead, and it looked disgusting.”

“That does make me feel better. Thank you Millie.”

“You weren’t jealous, were ya Mox?” Her tail circled around his leg, and Moxxie felt his insides melt.

“Maybe just a little bit.” It coiled over his thigh, and a giddy smile crossed his lips.

“You know I only got eyes for you, MoxMox.” She kissed his cheek and he felt his body weaken. He’d missed sex, and it felt like a gift to be back when Millie felt in the mood again. But he wasn’t ready to just yet, first he had the can.

“I got you something, it’s a supr—“

“A SURPRISE?!” She sprang out of bed and onto her feet. The covers flew down to the foot of the bed, and Moxxie fell off. When he looked up at her, Millie’s eyes were wild and excited. Nothing made him happier than that look on her face. “What is it? I gotta know right now!” She looked like she could almost jump around in bed; as much as the thought made Moxxie’s loins tingle, he wanted to make sure she didn’t strain herself while still healing.

He got up, laughing as he fended off hugs and nails eager to dig into his back. “I’ll go grab it. But, in case you’re disappointed: just know I nearly shot a guy over this.”

“Disappointed?” Her smile shrank. “Mox, why would I ever be disappointed in you?”

He wasn’t so sure himself. The words just slipped out, and they weren’t ones he used regularly. “I– I don’t know.” He sank down. “I think; it’s just been hard without you. Obviously I’m glad you’re resting, and it’s working. But I felt like I let Blitz down today. Right now he’s in the middle of intercourse with a target, who I didn’t shoot because I hesitated. He’s breaking one of Hell’s most integral rules and it’s all my fault.”

Millie put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulders. “Sweetie, Blitz has fucked plenty of humans. I walked in on him once fucking some politician on your desk.”

“Really? So he’s done it already? That’s relieving. I guess I feel a little better.” He leaned back into her and put his hands around hers. “Thank you honey, I—he fucked a politician where.”

“Don’t you worry. Come here, let Millie take care of you.” Her legs went around his waist, locking in front of him, and her forked tail brushed against his cheek, then between his lips.

Moxxie’s eyes nearly rolled back. “Anything you say, dear.” She leaned back onto the bed, and he followed her down. His head found a space between her legs; her thighs were like pillows, and he savoured every moment rested between them before she pulled them out from under him.

He rolled onto his front and watched as she got out of bed and opened their wardrobe; specifically, the wardrobe dedicated to sex toys. She revealed a big, red dildo, which she held against her waist and posed in front of him with. “How ya fancy this in your glory hole of a butt, possum?”

His cheeks turned red. Every since that incident on the beach, Millie had taken to calling him that in private. Initially, he felt degraded by it, and not in the best way, but it was what Millie would say after that made it all worthwhile.

She walked behind him, dildo attached to a strap she’d put on, then pulled his trousers down. She spat on the tip of the dildo, then pressed it through his ass hole. He felt the tip press against his g-spot, and that’s when she said the magic words. “Play dead.” He gave up all struggle to hold himself up while she fucked him, instead going limp on the bed while she pushed further and further into him. She knew him like no one else; start it off dry, then lube up when he’s earned it. The dildo went further in, and further, until most of the shaft was buried between his cheeks.

He felt it adjust and press against his front as Millie leaned over him. He felt her breath on his neck, her nose against his ear. “Don’t you ever think you’re a disappointment to anyone. You got that Mox?”

Moxxie felt blissful, so much that he paid little attention to what he said. “Yes Millie, I’m sorry.”

“No apologising!” She pulled back on her hips and the dildo left him hollow, all the way up to the tip, which clung to his insides. Moxxie yelped, biting down on his lip and clawing at the bed. Millie’s sweet voice was filled with the assertiveness that turned him on so much. He hadn’t heard it from her since she started feeling sick. “That’s not very dead of you, is it possum?”

“No. It’s not. I’m a bad possum” He was panting, eager to please but already out of his wits with pleasure.

“Shut up!” She spanked him, and Moxxie’s eyes went wide. The sound echoed around the room. “You’re a bad nuthin’, got it hunny bunny? You insult yourself again and I’ll throw the lube out.”

He tried turning to face her, but only managed to get halfway. He grinned giddily. “Don’t tempt me.” The dildo went in, straight to the base, and he lost his breath before collapsing again on the bed.

Her pace became steady, pulling in and out of him while she murmured reassuring words into his ear. “You’re the best husband a lady could hope for, and you do a wonderful job for B. Now repeat it.”

“I’m a good husband—“ Another spank.

“The best!”

“I—I’m the best husband!” he called out, half speaking, half moaning. The dildo pulled all the way out, and when it went back in, he felt something cold and wet around it. His grip on the bed loosened, and his head fell against the mattress.

“Good possum. I love hearing ya knowing your worth.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Moxxie almost didn’t feel it; she’d pushed the dildo so far in that the base was threatening to join the party.

“I’m a good possum.” His breaths were hot, and his vision was blurry. “I’m a good possum.”

Millie pulled out, and Moxxie heard a thud behind him. Instinctively, he turned to check on Millie, but she was standing right there, holding onto the bedside table. The strap-on, however, had dropped to the floor. Millie looked out of breath. “Sorry MoxMox, I’m still tired. Not sure I can finish you off.” She stepped forward and fell onto the bed next to him.

He took her in his arms. “You were amazing. I feel a lot better thanks to you.” He kissed her forehead, and she smiled. “Do youuu want your present now?”

Their tails intertwined and she held him close. “It can wait, I just want my possum.”

“Really? Because I really did nearly kill a guy for it. Kind of a big deal; stand off in the supermarket.”

She shushed him. “Cuddles.”

He nodded and pulled the covers over them. “Cuddles.”

#monsterfucktober #monsterfucktober 2023 #helluva boss #moxxie x millie #possum

2 notes · View notes