#head cleaner cassette

[twobitcathedral]

[usnatarchives]

The Audio-Video (A/V) Preservation Lab at the National Archives 📼

The Audio-Video (A/V) Preservation Lab provides appropriate digital products for National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) audio and video collections.

Join us to learn a little bit more about our work in this thread for #AskAConservator! 🧵📼

Audio and video records arrive to the lab to be digitized for preservation and access. One of the formats that we see most frequently is 1/4” audio. Sometimes we need to splice leader onto the heads or tails of a 1/4” reel in order to capture all of the content.

This is what audio looks like once it has been digitized for preservation. Sometimes we bake tapes before playback to reverse the effects of sticky shed or soft binder syndrome. We also work on newer formats like miniDiscs which were popular during the late 1990s and early 2000s.

When we digitize a videotape we use additional tools like test signals, time-base correctors, waveforms and vectorscopes to ensure that the color and brightness levels are correct.

One of the formats that we digitize regularly is VHS video. We have seen these tapes range in run time from as little as 2 minutes to as long as 9 hours!

Sometimes we need to rehouse videotapes into new cassettes in order to successfully play them back. Typically we clean tapes before we play them back as well. Here are a couple images of one of our Umatic or 3/4-inch cleaners.

Thank you for your interest in the Audio-Video Preservation Lab at NARA! We hope you enjoyed learning a bit more about the work that we do!

https://www.archives.gov/pres…/products/definitions/av-lab

[thicccshady]

Welcome Home (Your Biggest Fan Part Two)🐾

Eminem X Reader

image pulled from google

✨️MasterList✨️

PART ONE Your Biggest Fan 🐾

Content: Fluff, Cursing, Brief mentions of animal abuse, Crying

Heart beating out of your chest, you reached towards your phone. A number you didn’t recognize looked back at you. It bared the 313-area code. Holding your breath you answered the phone with a soft "Hello?"

“Hello, is this Y/N?”

“Yes, this is she,” you said, pinching your phone between your shoulder and ear. If this was the call you’d been hoping for, you wanted to be ready to head out the door immediately. 

“Hi! Yes, you visited us the other day. I understand you were interested in Stan-“

“Yes, that’s correct!”

The voice on the other end chuckled at your enthusiasm. “Wonderful! His new home did not work out and he is back with us. He wanted me to ask if would you be interested in adopting him?” 

A huge smile crossed your face. “We would love to.”

“Amazing! We are able to place him on hold here for three days. Do you have a minute to schedule a time to come in for paperwork?”

“Yes!” Taking a hold of your phone, you put the call on speaker and opened your calendar. Thank god, you weren’t scheduled to go into work today. “Actually, if it’s alright, I could come in in about forty-five minutes from now.”

“Sure, let me check our openings for today.” Trying your best to be patient, you began to fidget. “Oh, looks like we are rather booked today. Would you be able to come in at 4:30?”

“Absolutely” Oh my god, how would you tell Marshall.

“Great! If you decide to take Stan home today. We will send him home with his medical records, a collar and leash. He currently is eating Iams chicken and rice dry dog food. We recommend sticking to the food the dogs are used to. Switching to another brand may cause an upset stomach. I have had the pleasure of spending some time with Stan while he has been with us. Personally, I recommend picking up some squeaky toys for him. Those tend to not last long here, but when he was able to play with one, he loved it.”

“Sounds like I have a bit of shopping to do!” You switched over to your notes app and began to make a list.

“Oh, my he will love to be spoiled. Well, Y/N, if there is anything we can help you with in the meantime feel free to call us back. Unless we hear otherwise, we will plan to see you at 4:30!”

“Thank you so much. See you then!”

“Alrighty, have a good day.”

“Thanks, you too! Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, you couldn’t hold in the excitement anymore. You did a little happy dance. Suddenly, the weight of what just happened hit you. You agreed to adopt a dog. Not just any dog, though—it was Stan. Should you have called Marshall first? What if his feelings about Stan had changed?

Frantically you pulled up his contact. He didn’t always answer when at the studio though. The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail: “The person you called has a voice mailbox that has not been set up yet. Please try again later. Goodbye.”

You sighed, typing out a quick message asking him to call when he had a moment, then set to work preparing the house. Even if Marshall wasn’t on board, the worst-case scenario would be a cleaner home. Vacuuming, organizing, and rearranging, you spent the morning in a productive frenzy.

 Treating yourself to some tea and a rest. You picked up your phone to a text from Paul. 

That’s all you needed to hear. You were going to bring Stan home today. Marshall would get home around 5:20. With some luck, and little traffic you could make it back before him. 

After stashing away some of Marshall’s loose cassettes scattered on the floor, you grabbed your keys and checked your shopping list one more time. 

Iams chicken and rice dry dog food

Bowls

Leash

Collar

Squeaky toy

Peanut butter/treats

Dog bed

Dog brush

Poop bags

Travel crate

Lots of toys

---

Your car’s backseat was soon filled with bags. You hadn’t enjoyed shopping this much in ages, and the deals you found weren’t bad either. The pièce de résistance, however, was a dog-sized hoodie that would match Marshall’s favorite.

The clock on your dash read 3:04. You would have just enough time to grab some lunch, set up Stan’s new things at home, and make it to the dog shelter before your appointment.

Excitement radiated through you as you pulled into the driveway, gravel crunched under the tires. Lugging the bags inside, you transformed your home for its newest resident. First, the food and water bowls found a spot in the kitchen, tucked away in a corner to avoid spills. You arranged the plush dog bed in the living room near the couch, where you knew Stan would want to be close to you but more so Marshall. Surely, the bed would be moved to Marshall's office on days he worked from home. The squeaky toys were arranged in a basket by the TV stand, though you chuckled, imagining the chaos when Stan—or Marshall—dumped them all out.

By 3:45, everything was ready. You sat the hoodie by the door alongside a hat, a subtle hint for Marshall if you didn’t make it home first. A quick glance in the mirror and a face wash later, you were back in the car, heart pounding with anticipation. 

The shelter was calmer than you remembered, a stark contrast to the excited storm brewing inside you. The same cheerful volunteer from before greeted you with a wide smile. “Hi, Y/N! Right on time. Are you ready to take Stan home?”

“More than ready,” you replied, practically bouncing on your toes.

The adoption paperwork was straightforward, though it felt like it took forever. You could hardly focus as the volunteer walked you through the forms, nodding eagerly at all the right moments. Your fingers drummed against the office chair you sat in. Finally, with a flourish, you signed your name at the bottom. Clicking the pen closed, your phone rang. It was Marshall. Shit, he should still be at the studio. Did he go home early? Excusing yourself, you stepped outside to answer.

“Hey, Love.” You tried to steady your voice, shaky with excitement. 

“Yo. I am starving. We are wrapping up a bit early today. Thoughts on pizza from that place across town?” 

Mentally, you calculated what time this would get him home. “Sounds great. What time do you think you’ll make it back?” You tried so hard not to sound suspicious. 

“uhh. maybe forty-five minutes to an hour. Also, I might get us a little surprise.”

Giggling at his normal nonsense, “Okay, drive safe.”

“Nah.” His voice changing to the higher pitched tone he uses with babies, dogs, and apparently you, “I Wuv You!”

“I love you too, Marshall. Bye bye.” Holding your phone to your chest, the sparkle in your eyes brightened. This was going to work out perfectly. 

Re-entering the room, the volunteered looked up at you. “Are you ready for Stan? I know he has been very eager to see you again.”

You slid back into the office chair, “Absolutely!”

“Great! I’ll go get him for you,” the volunteer said, taking the papers and disappearing down the hall.

A few minutes later, the sound of claws clicking in the hallway tile announced his arrival. Stan bounded into the room; tail wagging so hard it looked like it might propel him into the air. The volunteer handed you the leash, and Stan immediately began sniffing every inch of your shoes, pants, and hands. His feet danced with excitement, as his backend wiggled back and forth.

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed, kneeling to meet him. His warm, wet nose nuzzled your cheek, and your heart melted all over again.

As the volunteer handed you Stan’s file, she lingered for a moment, her expression softening. “Before you take him home, I thought you might want to know a little more about Stan’s story.”

You nodded eagerly, rubbing Stan’s ears while he looked up at you with his big, trusting eyes.

“Stan’s past is a bit of a mystery,” she began. “He was found in the winter wandering in a park downtown. A kind gentleman saw him there a few days in a row—no collar, no tags, and looking severely underfed. He brought him to us, and we scanned Stan for a microchip, but there wasn’t one. He either escaped and was never found or, more likely, lifted by his previous owners.”

Your heart ached at the thought of him all alone, cold, scavenging for food and waiting for someone who never came. You gave him an extra scratch behind his ears, and his tail thumped against your leg.

“We estimate he’s about two years old, based on his teeth and overall health. He was pretty scared when he first came in. A lot of dogs are, especially if they haven’t been around people much, but Stan warmed up quickly. He’s incredibly sweet and loves attention—honestly probably because he didn’t get much of it before. It’s clear someone trained him a little; he mostly knows basic commands like sit and stay, and he’s decently house-trained. So, whoever had him before must have cared at least a little.”

“Poor guy,” you murmured, looking into Stan’s soulful eyes. “But he’s okay now?”

The volunteer nodded. “He is. He’s been with us for a while. At first, he was overlooked—mutts often are, unfortunately—but then, as you know, a young couple fell in love with him. They were so excited to take him home.”

You frowned, glancing down at Stan. “If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t it work out?”

The volunteer smiled softly. “I view it as a happy ending. They were a nice couple, but shortly after they brought him home, they found out they’re expecting their first child. They were understandably overwhelmed and felt it wouldn’t be fair to Stan to bring him into such a big transition. They brought him back, and it was clear they were heartbroken about it.”

You stroked Stan’s head as he leaned into your touch, a pang of sadness mingling with your happiness. “That’s rough. For them and for him.”

“It is,” the volunteer agreed. “But we’re so glad he found you. From what we’ve seen, Stan’s a resilient guy. He just loves being loved.”

“Well, he’s going to get plenty of that with us,” you promised, your voice firm, and hands cupping Stan's sweet face.

The volunteer beamed. “I can tell you’re going to be a great match. Just take things slow and let him settle in at his own pace. If you ever need help or advice, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” you said, feeling the leash between your fingers and looking at Stan. “You’re coming home, buddy.”

--

Marshall’s car pulled into the garage, the sound of the engine humming to a stop. Inside the house, Stan was dressed for the big moment: the dog-sized hoodie you’d picked out earlier fit him perfectly. To top it off, your old baseball cap perched precariously on Stan’s head, just enough to make the sight of him even more heart-meltingly adorable, and dare you say a little shady.

You crouched by Stan’s side, giving his ear a gentle scratch. “Okay, buddy,” you whispered, your voice a mix of nerves and excitement. “This is it. You ready?”  

Stan looked at you as if he knew something big was about to happen. You had been preparing for this moment all afternoon, and now it was finally here. Stan sat obediently by the door, his tail wagging furiously but butt staying in place, just like you’d practiced.

The sound of the car door closing snapped you into motion. Reminding Stan to "Stay," you hurried outside, stepping into the garage just as Marshall was heading toward the trunk to grab the food.  

“Hey,” you called out, your tone calm and casual—too casual, given the excitement buzzing under your skin.  

Marshall turned to you, smiling but raising an eyebrow. “Hey pretty lady… what are you doing out here? It’s cold.”  

“I thought I’d greet you,” you said with a shrug, stepping closer. “But, uh… don’t worry about carrying anything in. I’ve got it all under control.” 

Marshall paused, his eyes narrowing playfully. “The fuck?... Woman, what are you hiding?”  

“Nothing!” you said a little too quickly, your voice going up an octave. “Just trust me, okay?”  

Marshall chuckled, leaning against the car. “Well now I’m not sure if I should.”  

“Pleaseee, Marshall,” you grabbed the food, stepping back toward the house and motioning for him to follow. “Come inside.”  

Marshall shook his head and chuckled, as he followed you. “You’re being fucking weird, but okay.”

The moment he opened the door, Stan perked up from his spot, his entire body quivering with excitement. For a split second, Marshall froze, his eyes widening as they landed on Stan.

As Stan bolted towards Marshall, the baseball cap slipped off his square head. The dog bounded into Marshall’s arms, his tail wagging furiously.

Catching Stan in a tight hug, Marshall lowered themselves to his knees. 

You leaned against the doorframe, grinning as you watched the reunion. “Surprise.” you said softly.

Marshall met your gaze, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pure happiness. “You—wait—he’s ours?”

You nodded, noticing Marshall’s teary eyes, a lump caught in your throat at the sight. “Yeah. He’s ours. I got the call this morning, and I couldn’t say no. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Marshall asked, his voice cracking as Stan licked his cheek. “Are you shitting me?” 

“Not at all. I think he missed you too much,” you said tears now filling your eyes.

“I missed him too,” Marshall replied, his voice soft as he looked down at Stan. Then he looked back up at you, his eyes shining. “Thank you Y/N.”

Almost as if he rehearsed it, Stan snuggled into Marshall and attacked him with kisses, whipping away the tears slipping down Marshall’s cheeks. Petting Stan with both hands, Marshall tried to process everything. “Yooo, you’re wearing a hoodie, little man? And—wait, is that your hat?”  

Stan barked happily, spinning in circles in front of Marshall. You walked over, scooping up the cap from the floor. “Figured he needed to look his best for his big reunion,” you said, placing the hat back on Stan’s head for a moment before it fell off again.  

Marshall laughed, shaking his head. “Fucking unbelievable,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He looked back at Stan, then at you, his eyes shining. “Thank you. I don’t even know what to say.” Marshall pulled you into a hug, his free arm still wrapped around Stan, who was now happily nestled between the two of you.  

“Best surprise ever,” Marshall said, his voice quiet but full of meaning. Reality snapping back to him, Marshall looked towards you. “My surprise looks like shit now. And here I thought a secret order of breadsticks would be the highlight of our night.”

You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder as Stan sniffed you. “Welcome home,” you whispered, as you scratched behind his ears.

Stan wiggled in the middle, his tail thumping against both of you like a rhythmic drumbeat. Marshall scratched behind Stan’s ears, his gaze soft as he looked at you with a full smile. “This little guy’s going to be spoiled rotten. You know that, right?... We need to get the little dude some Snoop doggy merch.”

A/N: Hey chat. I cried writing this. I'm not sure if there will be a part three.. but I could be talked into it. I really love dog dad Marshall. <3

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[corroded-hellfire]

hey! may i request an eddie x y/n sort of based on some scenes of makeup? like, when they act all lovey dovey? because i was just watching some and i got SO jealous.

My deepest apologies that this took me forever! I tried to make the scenes cute and fit into the ST world and I did the arduous task of watching JQ’s scenes and seeing him shirtless so much for inspiration. I think we can all agree Tom deserves better than Roof and Eddie deserves all our love. I hope you enjoy 🩵

Warnings: oral sex, m receiving (Eddie gets off, cause reader gives better head than Ruth), other sexual allusions, alcohol consumption

Words: 3.9k

Being apart from Eddie is the worst part about college. You’d gotten to see your boyfriend over Thanksgiving and Christmas break, but it’s never enough. Talking on the phone is great, but it’s not the same. The two of you have been counting down the days until spring break rolls around. Since you’d last been in Hawkins, Eddie had gotten an apartment and both of you were very eager to have a place all to yourselves for the whole week. 

Unfortunately, Eddie still has to work while you’re visiting, but staying with him still guarantees you get to see him every moment that you can. He’s at work the day you arrive, and he felt horrible that he couldn’t come and get you at the airport. You assured him you’d rather have him keep his job and wait a few hours to see him. He promises to keep the apartment door unlocked and you happily let yourself in once the taxi drops you off. 

You grin to yourself as you step inside. It’s a very Eddie apartment. Sweetheart is parked right next to the couch, and you can picture Eddie scooping it up and strumming the strings as soon as he gets home. The three chairs at the small kitchen table are mismatched, all of them different colors than the brown wooden surface. You bring your bags into Eddie’s room and set them down near his closet. Even before you take in the small space, you open your boyfriend’s closet and pull out the first hoodie you see. It smells like weed and Irish spring soap, bringing an automatic smile to your face. The smell of Eddie is your favorite in the world, and you make a mental note to ask if you can take this hoodie back to school with you. 

As you slip the sweatshirt on, you turn to look around the bedroom. The bed isn’t made, but the brown comforter has been thrown over the sheets to look somewhat neat. It’s cleaner than you’d thought it would be, no clothes thrown into piles on the floor or no piles of cassettes in the corner. Maybe Eddie cleaned up before you got here—but you wouldn’t count on it. He knows he doesn’t have to do anything to impress you. 

With a chuckle, you fling yourself onto the bed and revel in being surrounded by so much Eddie. His blankets, his pillows, his hoodie. You curl up on your side and bury your face in his pillow. Before you know it the sound of the front door opening wakes you up. The flight must’ve made you more tired than you thought. 

“Babe?”

Eddie’s voice has you sitting up in bed. He pokes his head in the doorway and both of your faces light up in matching grins. 

“Eddie!”

Without hesitation, he leaps on top of you, not bothering to shed himself of his dusty blue coveralls before attacking your face with kisses. His hair tickles you as his lips roam around your skin and you let out a peal of laughter.

“How was your flight?” Eddie mumbles against the skin just below your ear. 

“Good,” you say, letting your eyes slip closed. “But this is much better.”

It feels like as quickly as Eddie was on you, he’s climbing off just as fast. You pout up at him until you realize he’s stripping himself not only of his coveralls, but his clothes beneath as well. 

“Can I make it even better?” Eddie asks with a wink.

Smirking, you unbutton your jeans and shimmy them down your hips. “Get over here.”

The sun wakes you up the next morning, shining through the blinds to the left of Eddie’s bed. The rays warm your face as you stretch your muscles that are stiff from sleep. A lazy smile graces your features as you blink your eyes open and take in the sleeping man next to you. His unruly curls are splayed out on his pillowcase and his mouth is slightly agape as his bare chest moves up and down. 

Moving slowly, you turn on your right side to face him. Eddie’s enviably long eyelashes brush his high cheekbones, and a light stubble coats his jaw. Your eyes rake down the slope of his nose and study his plump lips and pinched pink Cupid’s bow. 

As if your gaze physically weighed on him, Eddie’s body shifts and he lets out a soft groan. His eyes crack open, and he blinks a few times before he turns his head and meets your stare. A warm smile grows on Eddie’s face, and he brings up a hand to rub at his right eye.

“Hi,” he mumbles, voice still groggy from sleep. 

“Hi,” you echo.

Eddie turns his head back upright and breathes out a long yawn. 

Feeling mischievous and giddy after waking up next to your love, you decide to imitate Eddie and see how long it takes him to notice. He suspects nothing when you yawn after him. But when he groans as he shifts his position and you copy the intonations exactly, he glances over at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You copying me?” he asks.

“You copying me?” you say, doing your best to keep your giggles inside.

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “What a dork.”

“What a dork.”

“Alright, you,” Eddie says, rolling over on top of you with a smirk.

“Alright you—” Eddie cuts you off with a kiss and you finally let out your laughter against his lips as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I swear, the arcade is much more fun when you don’t have to fight the annoying high schoolers for the machines,” Eddie says as he parks the van in the closest parking spot to Palace Arcade’s front door.

“We were annoying high schoolers last year,” you remind him as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Nah, we were cooler,” he tells you with a wink. 

Hawkins High School doesn’t have their spring break until next week, so you and Eddie would most likely have free range of all the arcade games in the few hours before he has to head into work. 

“Are you here more often now that Lucas works here?” you ask as you both hop out of the van.

“Yeah,” Eddie says as he slings his arm over your shoulders. “Need something to do when I’m not working or having phone sex with you.”

Face heating up, you playfully shove his arm off of you, making him laugh. You push open the arcade door and the bell above it jingles as Eddie steps in behind you. He steps away from your side and peeks into the back room, giving a small wave to the only employee working in the arcade on a Monday morning. Once the acne ridden man goes back to whatever he was doing before you walked in, Eddie silently jumps over the counter and grabs a bag of tokens from underneath it. He gently places the bag down so it doesn’t clink when he jumps back over the other way.

“And where’d you learn that?” you ask quietly as Eddie struts back over to you, tossing the small bag up in the air and catching it.

“Sinclair is still indebted to his DM,” he says with a shrug. 

“You mean he’s afraid you’ll blab all his secrets to Erica?”

“Exactly.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn towards a pinball machine and Eddie comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and dumping a few coins out on the glass. You pinch one between your fingers and slip it into the coin slot. Eddie presses quick kisses against your shoulder as the game whirs to life and moves his lips up to your neck as your fingers begin to work the buttons on the sides of the machine. Letting out a squeal, you try to shrug him off as he distracts you.

“Eddie!”

“Whaaaat?” he mumbles against your skin, moving his kisses back down to your shoulder again. 

“You’re gonna make me lose,” you pout.

“Uh uh,” Eddie says, squeezing your hips in his hands. “I’m helping you.”

He presses your body up against the machine, caught between it and his warm body against your back. 

“Yeah, some help,” you say as your fingers press into the buttons.

“I know. What would you do without me?” he muses.

That’s how the next couple of hours go—you attempting to play games and Eddie “helping” you. Both of you know the best part is his body being so close to yours, though. But you’ll let him think that he’s the reason you lost at Ms. Pac-Man.

Laying in Eddie’s bed, you watch through the open bedroom door as he crunches on a bowl of Raisin Bran, occasionally slurping some milk. Yesterday, Eddie had the day off and it was wonderful. The two of you spent most of the day in bed and ordered pizza from the best pizzeria in Hawkins. It almost makes it harder to watch him get ready for work today. He’s freshly showered with his wet curls tucked up in a bun at the base of his neck—which you’d assisted him with. His coveralls are clean of dirt and oil, the only mess spoiling the clean jumpsuit the droplets of milk that have leaked down the side of his mouth. 

Eddie downs the leftover milk in the bowl and places it in the sink with a small clank. He strides back towards the bedroom and wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. As soon as his black boots cross the threshold into the room, you whine and make grabby hands for your boyfriend. 

“What, my love?” Eddie asks as he rests one knee on the bed so he can hover over your lying figure.

“You’re cute,” you say as you stare up into his chocolate eyes. Eddie chuckles and takes your face in between his two hands and presses a few quick kisses to your lips. When he goes to pull away, you wrap your arms around his neck and let out another whine. “Don’t go.”

As Eddie sits up, he pulls your body up with him. He sighs as you bury your head in his neck.

“I can’t stay, baby.” His heart cracks when you whimper against his skin. Your arms slip down his body and Eddie manages to take your face in his hands again. “Come on. I gotta go.” He presses a few more kisses to your lips and stands up, forcing your arms to fall back into your lap. “I’ll see you later, baby. I love you.”

Leaning forward, you watch him for as long as you can until he walks out the front door. Sighing, you drop back against the pillows and tug the blanket up to your chin again. 

The sound of Eddie clanging and scraping in the kitchen surrounds you as you slump against the kitchen table, your fist the only thing propping your head up. You’d made the mistake of going to see your parents today and it had gone even worse than you imagined it would. Eddie coming home from work helped improve your mood a bit, but you’re still sour as he finishes fixing dinner. 

A plate of spaghetti is placed down in front of you, a slice of white bread tucked in next to it on the plate. Eddie plops down in the seat across from you as you pick up your fork. The spaghetti wraps around your fork as you twirl it again and again, never bringing it up to your mouth. Big brown eyes watch you as you stare blankly at your plate. 

“Do you wanna talk about it, sweetheart?” 

You shake your head, eyes not lifting from your food. Eddie lets out a silent sigh as he scoops his spaghetti onto his piece of bread.

“Wanna talk about something else?” he asks before shoving a bite of his pasta sandwich into his mouth. Your eyes finally raise and meet his, causing him to give you a smile. Sauce coats his fingertips so he sets the sandwich down and sucks on each of them. 

“No,” you say softly. 

Eddie picks up a napkin and wipes his hands clean as he looks around the room. His eyes catch on the radio sitting on the counter and he pushes himself out of his chair to turn it on. The dial is set on his preferred metal station, but the badass guitar solo doesn’t set the mood for what he’s trying to achieve. Static floats through the kitchen as Eddie turns the knob, searching for a suitable solution. A soft rock ballad soars from the speakers and Eddie gives the radio a thumbs up, as if it was his wingman on this mission. 

Bouncing on the balls of his socked feet, Eddie bobs over to you and offers his hand with a gallant bow.

“M’lady?”

Even though a small smile cracks through your demeanor, you shake your head at him. Eddie pouts and stands back upright. Starting to shimmy his shoulders, he walks around the small table until he’s in your direct line of sight. He begins to rock his hips back and forth, and while it really has no rhythm to it, it’s still oddly sexy. 

Amusement lights up your eyes as you watch him, raising his arms to the sides and adding them to his shimmies. Suddenly, he yanks his chair out from the table and hops onto it, extending his hand down to you.

“Dance with me, baby.” Again, you shake your head. But this time, Eddie has a little more hope, as it’s very obvious you’re biting back a smile. “Come on!”

With the stability of Bambi on ice, Eddie hops down from the chair and saunters over to your side of the table. He holds his hands behind his back and bends down at the waist to kiss at your neck. Your grin breaks free at the feeling of his lips on your skin. 

“C’mon,” he mumbles and he’s suddenly tugging you up by your hands. It elicits a giggle from you, and you laugh even harder as he wraps one arm around your waist, the other taking your hand in his, and rocks your body from side to side along with his own. 

A sudden surge of emotions crashes over your body. All the love and safety Eddie fills you with overwhelms you, causing tears to prickle the back of your eyes. Eddie’s presence within itself is a comfort that you will never take for granted. The urge to hold him as close as you possibly can is too strong to ignore. Slipping your hand out of his, you snake your arms around his lithe waist and bury your face into his chest. There’s only a moment of hesitation on Eddie’s part—afraid he’s done something to upset you, before he wraps you up in his arms and holds you safe and sound in his embrace. 

Even though the front door isn’t locked, it takes you three attempts to turn the handle and stumble inside. Eddie raises an eyebrow from where he lounges on the couch, his sock-covered feet up on the coffee table in front of him. Your giggles amuse him as you drop your purse near his work boots and slip out of your own shoes. 

“Have fun with Robin?” Eddie asks, watching you sway your hips as you walk over to him. Luckily, Robin only lived in the neighborhood down the road from Eddie’s apartment complex, so there was no driving after you and your friend partook in some cheap liquor. 

“I did!” you say, a giddy grin on your face. Eddie holds his hand out as you get closer, assuming you’re going to plop down on the couch next to him. But you drop to your knees between the couch and coffee table, making Eddie frown in worry and sit up straight.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” you say with a snort of laughter. “Meant to do this.” He would’ve thought you were just trying to cover up a tipsy misstep, but the way you run your hands up his thighs and start to attack his belt buckle makes him realize that you did mean to get down on your knees. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Eddie asks, lifting his hips when you try and tug his pants down.

You focus on getting his black jeans pushed down to his knees before you look up at him and answer. “Robin and I were talking about our sex lives.” Eddie watches as you stand up and whip your shirt off over your head. It falls somewhere behind you before you get back down on your knees. ��Kept talking about how good you make me feel and all I wanted was to get home and make you feel good.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a groan tumbling from his lips as you ghost your fingers over his boxer-clad dick. 

“Yeah,” you answer as you hook your fingers in the waistband of his underwear. “Wanna suck your cock, baby.”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses as you finally wrap your soft hand around him. 

“Feel good?” you ask, looking up at your boyfriend from beneath your eyelashes.

“So fucking good.”

“Good,” you say with a giggle before leaning down and licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.

Eddie throws his head back and grabs onto the arm of the couch next to him, just so he has something to hold on to. Mumbles of fuck, fuck, fuck fall from his lips as you give the head a few kitten licks. When you finally take him into your mouth, Eddie has to fight the urge to buck his hips up into your mouth. He knows you can take it, but he also knows you’re just getting started. 

You swirl your tongue around the tip, pressing your tongue flat against his leaking slit. Pretty moans come from above you as you sink down, taking more of him into your mouth. Saliva drips down his length and you use it to work your hand over what you can’t fit in your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie groans. “You always suck my cock so good. Love this pretty little mouth.”

Now it’s your turn to moan, the sound causing delicious vibrations around his dick.

You pull off just to mumble, “Love your cock,” before you’re taking him back into your mouth, letting him go deeper than before. Eddie’s eyes are half-lidded in pleasure as he watches you bob your head up and down. The way his dick disappears in between your pretty lips has him feeling like he’s ready to burst. So when the tip of his cock brushes against the back of your throat, Eddie’s seeing stars dance in his vision. 

He wants to hold out so badly, the feeling and image of you sucking him off too good to end already, but he feels his thigh muscles start to tense as he gets closer. Feeling the tightness under Eddie’s skin where your hand rests on his upper thigh, you can also tell he’s getting close. Wanting to make it as good for him as possible, you hold off your gag reflex as best as you can and take him into your throat.

“Jesus Christ, baby. Holy fucking shit.” Eddie’s hands are scrambling for something to hold on to and he settles for running his hands over his own hair.

Tears are sliding down your face, surely wrecking your meticulously applied makeup. On one bob of your head, your gag reflex decides to make itself known and you choke on Eddie’s cock. The sound pushes the man over the edge, his eyes practically rolling back in his head.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna—fuck, where do you...?”

Your hand taps his leg, letting him know you want him to finish in your mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie grunts. “I’m—I’m coming, fuck, shit, I’m coming!”

Both your mouth and your hand work him through it, and you swallow every last drop you’re able to milk from him. When he’s finally spent, you pull off of him and sit back on your heels. The room is full of the sounds of heavy breathing as the two of you try to catch your breath. The television is long forgotten background noise to the pair of you. 

A lazy smile lights up Eddie’s beautiful face and he leans down to pull you up onto the couch with him. He tucks himself back into his jeans as you settle yourself next to him. Once his clothing is fully situated, he tugs you closer until your head is resting in his lap. Still only in your bra on top, Eddie figures you might be cold, so he grabs the blanket hanging on the back of the couch and drapes it over your torso and shoulders.

“That was incredible, princess,” Eddie says, gently stroking the hair on the crown of your head. “Gonna have to let me make that up to you.”

“No need,” you slur against his pant leg, now more from tiredness than alcohol. “Just wanted to make my man feel good.”

“You made me feel insanely good,” Eddie tells you. “And I like making you feel good, too. Maybe tomorrow once you’re not so tired, yeah?”

“M’kay,” you say, and Eddie can tell you’re already half asleep. He chuckles to himself and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“I love you so fucking much.”

The last dinner you have with Eddie before going back to school is bittersweet. Your boyfriend watches you over the rim of his glass while you take a sip out of your own. He tries to get playful with you to cheer you up, copying your movements as you pick up your fork and stab some pasta, then lowering it back down when you notice his behavior. It’s clear you’re not in the mood to joke, so Eddie drops the act and lets out a sigh. 

“Sweetheart,” he says. “You have to go back to school. And it’s okay, summer isn’t too far away.”

“Don’t wanna leave you,” you mumble in reply. 

The clinking of silverware startles you, and you look up to see Eddie has dropped his fork and is reaching across the table for your hand. Happily, you give it to him, and he laces your fingers together.

“You’re not leaving me. You’re going back to school to study what you love. And in less than two months, you’ll be back here in Hawkins, and we’ll have three whole months together. You’re gonna get sick of me.”

“Never,” you interject.

“Okay, well we can test that theory over the summer,” Eddie says with a playful smile. “But I promise, the rest of the semester will go by quicker than you think.”

You tug your hand out of Eddie’s and he frowns at you before realizing you’re walking around the table to sit in his lap. He gladly slips his arms around your waist and hugs your body close against his. 

“I love you so much, Eddie Munson.”

He gazes up at you with the most adoring eyes, his thumbs gently stroking along your t-shirt. 

“I don’t blame you. Who else can whip up gourmet spaghetti dinner and look this good doing it?”

You snort and press a hand against Eddie’s chest. He laughs and cups the back of your neck, leaning up to press his lips against yours. “I love you too, baby.”

[circeswhore]

It pains me to see the shame and embarrassment on your face when I surprise you at your place and see how messy it really is. Old take-out containers that need to be thrown away. No discernable difference between the "clean clothes" pile, the "dirty clothes" pile, and the "worn once or twice but not quite dirty enough to justify washing it" pile. Dishes stacked up to the point of making the sink and most of the counter space unusable. You manage to at least take most of the trash out so it doesn't smell, but it's clearly not a place that signifies great mental health. You shyly scratch the back of your head, unable to make eye contact, muttering that you've just been in a really bad place lately and haven't had the energy to take care of it. I can hear the stress and tension in your voice, on the verge of tears. But it's okay. It's really okay. I know just what to do to help.

You chuckle at me for having a cassette tape, but when I explain what it is, you suddenly get very serious. All you have to do is listen to it while you sleep and it'll put a little bit of Maid Energy into you, just a little to help you focus on cleaning long enough to make some headway. It might take a few days to kick in, but I've seen it help other people. You aren't sure how to feel about it, but I insist that you at least take the tape, even if you don't listen to it.

It takes a few days for you to work up the courage to start listening to it, a bit of shame still lingering that you let me see your apartment like that. But, finally, you get fed up with living like that, so you pop the tape in the player before going to sleep. When you wake up the next morning, you don't feel any different. There's no sudden urge to go out and buy a black and white costume or anything. After the second day, you can feel yourself starting to look at the mess a bit more strategically, making strategies in your mind about how to clean it up. On the third day, you manage to clear off the table before going to work, a spring in your step as your life feels just a little less cluttered. It even helps you out at work, the extra energy making you eager to take on whatever little projects people need help with.

By the end of a week, you call me, absolutely thrilled. Your home is cleaner than it has been for a long, long time and it's such a relief. A weight has been lifted from your shoulders and you're asking what, if anything, you can do to repay me. I laugh and suggest that you clean my apartment next and you immediately leap onto it, offering to come over today. Your offer is kind, but I politely refuse, reminding you to keep listening to the tape to help maintain your apartment.

By the end of week two, things are starting to get a little scary. You find yourself following any task that's requested of you, obedient to a fault. Your own responsibilities are taking a backseat to what other people are asking of you. Even when you want to refuse, you hear yourself giggling and nodding along. You almost got into trouble when you went out for drinks with a coworker and a sleazy guy came up and asked you to come home with him. You're halfway out of your seat before your friend tells him to fuck off and leave the two of you alone. If she hasn't told you to sit down, you might- no, you know you would have gone with him.

When you call and tell me that you're starting to have concerns, I tell you to come over and we can talk about it. You practically collapse into my arms when you open the door, thanking me for being so kind and understanding. I say that it's nothing, telling you to sit down on the couch and take your jacket off, both of which you do without question. I go into the kitchen, getting you a drink of water, putting on a bit of music on my way back into the living room. The glass is cold in your hand and the water is so refreshing when I tell you to drink slowly, the water calming your nerves. We talk for a little bit and you tell me about how you're struggling to say No to things, how you spend an hour a day obsessively cleaning your apartment even though it's basically already clean. You blush when you tell me that you even have started taking similar care and attention to cleaning your own body, your showers taking longer and longer as you obsessively wash every inch of your body.

"Show me."

An expression of confusion flickers across your face, a cold chill running down your spine. What-

"Lilac. I asked you to show me how you wash yourself. Don't make me ask you a second time."

You look down at the water, wondering for a moment if it's secretly alcoholic somehow, but then you hear it. The "music". It's making your head feel fuzzy and it reminds you, vaguely, of the time you tried to listen to the tape while you were awake. Your whole body trembles when I take your hand, my touch sending a wave through your body.

"Lilac. Your master has given you a request. And what's the only thing that you say when your master gives you a request?"

You can feel the words building in your throat, fighting against them until they burst from your lips.

"Y-yes, sir."

I smile, rubbing my thumb over the back of your hand. "Good girl." My praise feels like an erotic thrill, a soft moan rising from your throat. Your mind swims, all of the conditioning I gave you clicking into place. You nod along with everything I say, telling you that you're going to quit your job, you're going to move in with me, you're going to become my live-in maid.

"Yes, sir."

You're going to keep my apartment spotless. You're going to wait on me hand and foot, following my every command. You're going to be my object for pleasure. You're going to be my obedient maid, my good girl.

"Yes, sir."

And when I feel that you've earned it, I'm going to reward your obedience with a pair of plump lips, a pair of fake tits, and a pumped up ass to make you into the perfect fuckdoll. Your eyes roll back in your head.

"Yes, sir."

I smile, cupping your cheek in my hand and slipping my thumb between your lips, watching you start to suck it on instinct.

"Good girl."

I-I—

T-thank you, sir.

[fvckhxpe]

scenes from a mixtape

(originally published in Juked magazine, January 2007)

I slide the mixtape into the stereo and press play.  She takes off her low-cut socks and throws them at me, humming along to the Gin Blossoms.  The loneliness leaks from me in slow drips until it disappears.

She thinks I'm crazy and she loves me.  Two of the same and we're poisoning each other, unhealthy decomposition losing its heartbeat.  Talking, together, copulating, her arms circling a torso, any waistline, but now it's mine.  Anyone would do, as long as they're bent/broken, so she and I continue on borrowed time.  And love comes in waves, small packages, coffins, a gesture, the way she mixes her fingers into mine when she grabs for my hand.  I know her well.  Sweet when tongues taste her, she's reminiscent of an old flower, the small yellow blossoms mothers teach children to behead and suck from the bottom, all the honeysuckle, a strange taste.  There must be a mathematical theory for her body, from the curve of her ass up to her perfect neck—her lips that are shamans when she speaks in the low-pitched rasp that soothes and shakes everything.  And to be there as she exists, to hear her sing in the shower, to watch her stir sugar into her coffee.  To feel tense, waiting for her to yell over:

      "Your goddamn typing is driving me crazy!"

And I keep pounding intricate diagonals of confessional bullshit (c-o-n-f-e-s-s-i-o-n-a-l SPACE b-u-l-l-s-h-i-t).  Up from the typewriter at the kitchen table, spying her form hanging in the doorframe of the bathroom, pouring drain cleaner into the sink.  Long looks across the room—we're fifteen feet apart and we miss each other.  We're killing each other.  She's walking to the bed.  I'm still typing.  "New Day Rising" kicks in quiet on the stereo—a barely audible gurgling, complete with tape hissssss.  I count one thousand and twenty-six words and I've got nothing more to say, but I don't want to stop.  I type ellipses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . until she calls over to me.

      "Your goddamn typing is driving me crazy!"

The tape pops and the tape's over, a loss of lo-fi noise, the songs slept to in younger years, the songs of the local college radio, the alternative, the rock and grunge and post-rock and post-grunge—flipping the cassette over and readying it for side two—play—and the buzzing starts, crackling from the dust and age of the carbon.  I remember the tape, I remember not having the money for a proper blank one, so it reads as a collection of Christmas traditionals erased over, small wads of paper still jammed in the top to fool the tape deck 'record' button.

      "Today is the greatest day I've ever known, can't wait for tomorrooooow . . ."

      She remembers this song, she sings along.  I leave the typewriter for her, I abandon and slither under the covers.  We sing the song together.

She's a knife cutting into me, in a way I won't comprehend until the pain is no longer there.  Long stretches of nothingness with her head on my chest, waiting for the sun to rise.  Early:  she doesn't inhale, she lets air come to her.  She stands on the heels of her feet, leaning into it, smiling with her eyes closed as if waking up is an endless pit into which she falls.  She lets her chest extend out and she yaaaaaaaaaawns and falls back to the mattress.

      "Do you think McDonald's is still serving breakfast?"

      The clock reads seven twenty-four a.m.

      "Is it really that early?"

      Seven twenty-five a.m.

      "I'm going back to sleep."

It goes wrong somewhere deep and patterned, the way she would run her thumb along the paper of a thick book she was thinking of buying as we stood in the downtown bookstore, the pages fluttering in a blow.  She and I, we had built swift and perfect on the downhill and were imploding like a dying sun with nothing more than a sliver of why it had all started.  It becomes open range barbwire and we never stop running, and when a love like that catches your skin, it shreds you and you bleed out right there, exactly where you fall.  We feel our timeline freefall:  I'm ordered to get a job; she stares in disgust at the typewriter; I spend more time at the labor office.  The air between us is white noise, bottoming out with frost as a blanket.  We're numb.  And one night Hüsker Dü kicks in on the tape deck and we're sitting on opposite sides of the apartment—not out of anger, simply necessity.  Neither of us sings along, and she stops telling me my goddamn typing is driving her crazy.

Days pass and I miss them, right past me, forgetting the clock, forgetting the shades are down.  I hardly sleep, the dreams aren't pleasant.  I sit at the edge of the mattress most nights; she sleeps through the sound of creaking boxsprings.  We keep on, the borrowed time decays.  And one day while I'm downtown pawning videos and selling blood for rent money, she realizes we're tearing each other apart with our separate young madnesses, and there's no disappearing act like the one that leaves me wondering how she took all her things in one trip.  We fall from orbit and burn up on reentry.  She leaves, things devolve, become simpler.  And the loneliness crawls back inside my stomach and drills into my spine.  It stays.  She's found a new waistline for her arms.

And I make a new mixtape.

[decepti-thots]

for the headcanon ask: cassettes and boomboxes as family relations, and/or fanon mechpreg mechanic of your choice?

Pass on the mechpreg one.

Cassette/boombox headcanon: this is really dependent on continuity, actually! For something like cartoon G1 where you have these very humanlike dynamics going on for a lot of the cast and it's lighthearted, solid 🙂, I think it's very fun (albeit I would rather it not be taken too literally). I enjoy Rumble and Frenzy as Soundwave's shitty adult "sons" causing havoc a lot. That's great. Other continuities I'm a lot more neutral on it because it just doesn't fit so well- it makes like, zero sense in IDW1, for example, that's just people transplanting stuff to a setting that has zero accomodation for it at the expense of more interesting character dynamics. Or in Aligned stuff, where you certainly have some kind of implied symbiotic thing going on, but there's not really the right tone to try and pitch that as some loose "parent" or even "caretaker" vibe. But in G1 goofier stuff it's very enjoyable to me.

Mildly related tangent: the term 'carrier' for this cassette-tapedeck dynamic is often thought to be like trine, i.e. it has no canon usage and is pure fanon despite being so overwhelmingly widespread in certain circles people assume otherwise. But I recently realised that in fact, I know of one possible canon usage of a term like that, but I need to find out if the term is actually comparable in the original Japanese. The commonly used English translation for Glit's bio says:

"He does periodic check-ups on the internal functions of his carrier…" (Relating to Glit being a tape head cleaner!)

But I need to get someone who reads Japanese to take a look and see if this is actually a fair 1:1 translation, or if e.g. it's possible the fan translating this picked a pre-existing fanon term out of personal bias despite it not being the actual word. IDK. It would be interesting to know if this is a "very technically obscure canon" moment like seeker was.

[drill-teeth-art]

From One Mask To Another

Soundwave and Mixmaster share a drink in a private meeting spot.

Content Warnings: None that I can think of, but feel free to let me know if I should add something here!

Note: Soundwave uses it/its pronouns in this. Scene under the cut !

“Y-y-you’re late,” Mixmaster said, leaning casually on the doorframe to storage room number 35-b. It was where the Constructicons kept excess materials that usually ended up dumped in his drum to be reworked. So only he really had any reason to be there. “Reason: Irrelevant,” Soundwave responded, running a quick check of the camera feeds around the storage wing. Mixmaster shrugged. “I wasn’t asking. J-just…observing.” He tilted his head slightly and looked off down one of the hallways, his lips curled into a small smirk. “Hook is in 78-c g-g-getting some corrosion resistant gloves. We sh-should duck inside. And keep quiet.” “Affirmative,” Soundwave confirmed Mixmaster’s statement with a quick peek into that hall on the camera feed, nodded slowly, and followed Mixmaster into the storage unit, shutting the door quietly behind itself. It didn’t inquire about Hook or the gloves. None of its business, and Mixmaster wasn’t the type to share excess information easily anyway. Soundwave watched as Mixmaster sat down and leaned against the wall. Soundwave noted the bit of hesitation as he sat which was new. It seemed a pain in his hip was bugging him, but Soundwave simply joined the Constructicon on the floor, Mixmaster taking note of the replacement mask Soundwave was wearing as it did. It was brand new. He could tell. It was lacking in all the scrapes and scuffs of the old one. But Mixmaster didn’t pry, simply offering Soundwave a cube of energon. “S-s-same as last time. Except I added a c-citrus flavor to it. Earth flavor,” Mixmaster said, smiling softly when Soundwave accepted the cube. “Appreciated,” Soundwave replied, turning away as it opened its mask to take a sip. Mixmaster turned his gaze away, not daring to peek at the tapedeck while it drank. Clearly it didn’t want him to. It never wanted him to. And to do so would violate the wonderful thing they had going on together. Meeting up for drinks and fooling around. No follow up questions allowed, though neither of them dared to say that part. “Assessment: Better than last time,” Soundwave said, offering the empty cube back to Mixmaster. “Ooo w-wonderful,” Mixmaster hummed as he took it back, pleased with his handiwork. “Would y-y-you like the recipe?” Soundwave paused for a moment. “Affirmative. Reason: Frenzy would enjoy it.” The mention of one of the cassettes was new. Mixmaster nodded amicably, sending the recipe to Soundwave over comms. After a moment or two of silence, Mixmaster started with his usual small talk. It was never anything with any real substance.

“I w-w-was in the repair bay th-the other night, cleaning the tools. You know they need to be scrubbed after use, so th-there I was. S-s-scrubbing.”

It was never anything interesting.

“And I figured I could just use b-b-bleach. But I didn’t want to just start mixing it with my usual c-cleaners. Cause a n-nasty reaction? No th-thanks!”

It was never anything new.

“So I decided to just use what I always did! No c-c-crazy experiments for me th-that night. Hahaha!”

It was always words devoid of information. Hollow stories that never mentioned any other Decepticon or any notable event or any feeling or thought, presented charmingly. He was always charming, social, put toegther. His act was well-rehearsed, deliberate in its lack of his thoughts, feelings, and relationships. Soundwave listened even though there wasn’t anything there to find. Mixmaster was good at pretending he had nothing to hide by talking a lot about nothing. Soundwave respected the routine as a mech of few words and a million secrets of its own. It was an act different from Soundwave’s own deliberate silence and one that worked just as well at keeping others out.

Mixmaster chuckled a bit as he poured himself another cube and sipped at it, having had a couple since he’d started telling his story. “Ah, I told you th-th-that one last time, didn’t I?” Soundwave nodded slowly. He had. Mixmaster knew when he started telling the story that it was the second time. Soundwave had seen him do that before. It was part of his character to be a bit forgetful even though he wasn’t. Mixmaster smiled at him knowingly. He knew Soundwave saw right through him. “Tell me about your d-day,” he purred before finishing his third cube of energon. It wasn’t a secret between them. The awareness of what the other was up to. They didn’t have to say it to know.

“Soundwave: Tended to security duty.” “H-h-how was it?” “Security duty: uneventful.” “Well, th-that’s good! What shift do you h-have tomorrow?” “Tomorrow’s shift: security duty.”

They each knew the other was a fraud, hiding behind the mystery and the mundane. A mess swept under the rug. A face under a mask.

“S-s-sounds nice,” Mixmaster moved over to sit on Soundwave’s lap, facing it. Soundwave set its hands on Mixmaster’s arms with an amount of tenderness no Decepticon other than a cassette had ever seen. And Mixmaster. The Constructicon’s hands rested on the tapedeck’s shoulders, and he flinched a bit as he started to lean down, his hip troubling him. Soundwave moved a hand quickly to support him. “Sorry th-th-thank you,” he muttered. “Accidentally b-banged it the other n-night…” That was new. An event. Some information. Soundwave’s vice grip on its silence slipped. “Understood. Not trouble. Rumble: helps Soundwave with weak knee joint sometimes.” Their gazes met, and for a moment they shared a silence filled with nothing but tension. No follow up questions. With no words spoken, they fell back on that rule. Mixmaster shut his optics and Soundwave opened its mask, and they held each other and kissed softly. Two frauds safely behind their masks again, keeping things quiet together.

[yanderedbdimagines]

I would like a scenario in the real world with the zappy doctor and his future obsession in the hospital! I am sw fine with anything but if you want an idea. How about his obsession being his future survivor instead of Feng? And that they are just as luckyy as Ace?

--------------

Zappy doc! Hahahaha! x’D

Ooohhh I think I see what you’re getting at and I like the idea! A thing or two may go in against the lore, but I may as well give in. xD I like this idea too much to listen to the rulez.

-------------

The Doctor

You voice out your concerns to your friends as you lock eyes onto the gigantic and mysterious crème-colored building. "I don't think this is a good idea," you say. Your eyes swivel to one of the many glass panes that have been partly shattered due to the ordeal of weather and time. You could have sworn that you just saw something, or perhaps even someone lurking behind it.

But your friends are not convinced. "Don't be such a wuss, [Y/N]," one of your male friends says, rolling his eyes at you. "This is just like any other abandoned building. You'll see, even with these wacky stories going around."

Another friend chimes in, "I agree. Besides, there has to be a good explanation of why this hospital facility can't be found anywhere on the map and why most of the surrounding buildings seem to have been demolished. It has to be something juicy since we're on US Military soil right now."

You scoff, "Which is exactly why I don't like being here. One wrong move and they'll know that we're trespassing. And who knows what kind of penalty we'll face if they capture us here."

"Well then, that makes it all the more reason to move about more carefully, don't you?" your friend says. "Yeah, so relax. We'll be in and out in a jiffy."

As you enter the building, the heavy smell of rust, mold, and wet flaking plaster fills the chilly air. You lift your nose even further up into the air to avoid breathing in the noxious fumes of the place. You realize that you should have brought a half respirator mask with you. The sight alone is already giving you the feeling as if something is about to clog up your lungs.

“Let’s split up. We can explore the institute a bit faster this way,” one proposes. The rest went along almost instantly. Despite your own reservations, you decide to go along with the group, splitting up to explore the different parts of the abandoned hospital. One friend decided he’d like to stick with you.

After splitting up, you follow the young man into the study, shaking off the anxiety from your shoulders. The tall shelves are stacked with endless rows of books, file folders, patient documents, and old video cassettes.

“Wow, look at this place [Y/N]! Who knew this hospital would have an unique room like this hidden here! There’s even still some cool-looking stuff on the desk and there’s nothing littering the floor,” your friend points out, pointing the lens of his camera towards the Persian carpet in order to capture some footage of it before facing it towards the large desk and the brown leather chair standing behind it. 

Circling around the desk, you curiously open up one of the worn binders, noticing that the paper itself is cleaner than what you expected it to be, too. Still, you decide to read the texts and examine the drawn pictures displayed within. The beautiful writings and drawings are in a surprisingly pristine condition, save for a tiny smudge here and there.

“Very impressive,” you can’t help but muse as you read through the procedure itself, only to scowl in disgust after another minute, your friend now looking over your shoulder as well. “And impressively inhumane,” you murmur after. “This procedure must have been a hell for the person involved. The fact that this was allowed here is something I cannot wrap my head around.” 

“I don’t get it at all… What is this about? And what does ECT mean?”

“Short for electroconvulsive therapy. This research is a detailed comprehensive study of the results of one of several electroshock therapies that seem to have taken pla-” you cut yourself off, confusing your friend greatly. Your eyes widen, your hair seems to stand on end and your hands impulsively grab for the binder.

“The date… T-This happened a month ago…” you say, your voice trailing off.

As you both stand there, staring at the binder filled with valuable data about the inhumane procedures that took place in the hospital, a voice suddenly interrupts your thoughts. "This impressively inhumane procedure surely has taken place quite a while ago, I sadly have to say. And I do advise you to put that down in the same state as it was there previously. That data is very valuable to me. As you may have noticed, patients are very hard to come by these days. Today is nothing more than a pleasant exception."

You both whip around in shock and stare at the towering man now filling the doorway. His illuminating eyes are fixated only on you as he speaks. A strange metallic contraption keeps his eyes and mouth pried wide open, and his overall skin texture is mostly scarred and even cracked around his hands. Metal wiring snakes through the flesh of his surprisingly muscular arms before protruding out of it, sparking in their wake.

As you both realize the strange situation you find yourselves in, you waste no time to give your friend a hard shove with the binder before the two of you stumble out of the office room and down the long hallway. You can hear the man in the torn lab coat chasing after you.

You quickly zip open your backpack and stuff the binder inside of it, knowing that this data is priceless and could serve as proof that this hospital isn't quite as abandoned as the locals currently believe it to be. Perhaps the horrors within these documents may even stir the American government to do something about this place if it ever goes public in any shape or form.

You doubt that the man would let you go now as you've just stolen his valuable data. So, you decide to take a high risk, high reward approach and try to outrun him, knowing very well that you may as well be angering him because of this. A sudden jolt of static electricity hits both you and your friend, and you scream sharply in unison as a joyful and mocking laughter responds from behind. An indescribable tingling sensation settles in between your ears, swinging between a mild ache and a burning sensation.

You yell out to your friend to go left and warn the others as you turn right on the hallway's junction. With a quick look over your shoulder, your expectation that he'd decide to chase you actually came true. You've become too big of a priority with that binder now in your possession, so you decide to pick up the pace even further than you already did.

As you rush through the concrete hive of narrow hallways and tiny rooms, a sense of claustrophobia, fear, and utmost confusion about the layout completely throws you off your memory to remember on where you and your friends came in through and where you even currently are. Heavy footfalls are hot on your heel now, so you vault over a brick wall and rush up a flight of stairs, passing a medical procedure cart at the very top of it.

Suddenly, you whirl around, managing to surprise the Doctor, before you push the cart off its place and straight towards the man who is halfway up. As you decide to keep on running, you hear it make contact with him before a loud crash and a pained yelp reaches your ears, followed by loud and amused laughter bordering on a laugh of utmost insanity.

Breathless and terrified, you bolt through the dark hospital hallways, heart racing as you try to put as much distance between yourself and the madman behind you. You find and burst through the exit doors and race into the forest beyond, the dense trees and underbrush slowing you down but providing much-needed cover.

You run for what feels like hours, your feet aching and your lungs burning, but you can't stop. You don't dare look back, afraid that he'll catch up to you, and you don't even know where you're going. But you can't stay there, not with that maniac on your tail.

Just when you feel like you can't run anymore, you stumble onto a deserted road. You pause for a moment, trying to catch your breath and figure out which way to go, when you hear the sound of a car approaching. Without thinking, you step out into the middle of the road and wave your arms frantically, hoping the driver will see you.

The car screeches to a halt just in front of you, and the driver- a woman, rolls down the window to ask if you're okay. You're about to answer when you catch a glimpse of movement within the deeper parts of the forest. You gasp loudly and dive into the backseat of the car, urging the driver to take off as fast as possible.

You swivel around in the leather backseat, throwing a panicked glance over your shivering shoulder. Your wide eyes meet fluorescent white ones which can only belong to the deranged man currently basking in the darkness of the night. Only the faint sparks of electricity jumping from the wiring sticking out of his bulky arms further indicate that it’s him as his large form quickly grows smaller and smaller by the second.

You look away, a silent sigh of relieve escaping you. You got away from him… You could only thank whichever higher power there might be for having this car drive on that particular road the moment you needed an actual escape the most. More so that it’s a nice lady that responded to your waiving arms and let you inside with perplexity and slight suspicion decorating her face.

As you try to calm your breathing, you couldn���t help but to let your mind wander to your friends. You hope that the rest have been warned, and somehow could escape alright. Another sigh escapes you. You have the feeling they’ll be fine if they don’t stick around for too long. For now, the most important thing is that you’re safe.

But… You spoke much, much too soon.

“What is that?” The woman questions out loud from her spot behind the wheel after five minutes’ worth of driving in silence, her gaze set on the dark mist protruding from the canopy above further up ahead.

Nothing more could be said as they turned into spider-like appendages and picked up the car as if it was just a toy, the two of you screaming in unison as the car door at your side got ripped off its hinges before one of these things hooked around your legs and dragged you outside in one swift motion.

The vehicle falls towards the ground with a crash as you’re fully suspended in the air. The lady doesn’t seem to be able to crawl out of the car for some reason, the smell of gasoline penetrating your crinkling nose a second after it had hit the worn concrete.

With horror, you watch as the vehicle suddenly catches fire as you’re hoisted higher and higher up into the cold atmosphere, immense heat soon rushing past as the car quickly got engulfed into a ball of roaring flames as a contradictory icy scream pierces through the air.   

You fall limp, the anxiety with everything that has happened to you so far finally catching up to you, the final drop being the terrifying wails of a dying person.

Sadly, this would only be the beginning of an experience that’s even darker and more twisted in volume…

[sucktacular]

Vent

At my parents place and have no words

Well actually I have too many words

If I ever ever ever talk about coming back here in the future someone PLEASE kill me instead it'd be less cruel

The moment I got in my old room I started sobbing and bawling my eyes out because this place is just so fucking disgusting and it truly shows my parents do not give a fucking shit about me or anything frankly

Dad gave me such a nice lil "I prommy we aren't disappointed and thus not keeping in touch as much we are actually just proud of you and trust you to take care of yourself out there" speech in the car when like LMFAO you're so funny I've literally been avoiding yall

And then don't even have the fucking brains or care to give me any clean sheets for my bed

Just two+ year old dirty sheets covered in pet hair and ceiling debris

Like I asked in AUGUST to come here like what the literal fuck is wrong with y'all (derogatory)

So my room had "water damage on the ceiling but we prommy it didn't leak" it did leak and the ceiling is literally cracked and falling down but okay I'll ignore the clear signs of a leak left in drippy dust on MY furniture I left

This house would make y'all vomit

Floors covered in ancient pet mess and the bathrooms.... Your skin would crawl. I don't even want to look at it let alone use it. I cleaned it with whatever cleaners I could find in the house cuz they also don't clean anything or have fucking dish soap to begin with let alone hand soap so that's cool and neat

Anyway please please tell me I'm a fucking idiot stupid moron and kick my ass if I ever talk about coming back here that doesn't involve "stopping by to pick up the last of my things"

They keep saying "hey if you wanna start over you're always welcome to come home" as if I wouldn't literally rather fucking kill myself than come LIVE here, let alone subject my poor fucking cat to this god forsaken house.

As if they weren't charging me $600 a month to live in my own fucking parents house when I literally had no where else to go when I was in my early 20s

but okay yeah sure I'll definitely come back to this moldy, putrid, rancid, and STILL piss smelling house to "start over"

I'd literally rather just end it man there's no way I'm ever coming back here

Y'all are deeply deeply fucked in the head

Like I thought I WAS BAD??? nawwwwwwwwww

Anyway I brought my own bed sheets and pillow and blanket cuz I figured it'd be better to be safe than sorry and I'm glad I did cuz I was exactly right that they wouldn't fucking do the bare minimum for my visit 👍

Leaving off on the only fucking positive I can muster from this fucking hell hole is I found a lot of my old cassettes and death note stuff I made and Pokemon cards and things

My lil Pikachu backpack from kindergarten... 🥺

Old sketch books

So to make it so I don't lose my god damn mind before Tuesday, I'll maybe share some photos of all that shit

Thank God I brought a whole fucking lot of weed with me LMAO (deeply pained laughter)

Also my dad is the most pissed off aggressive driver ever and I feel in fucking danger every time im in the car with him

Let alone a 2 hour drive from my place to theirs

End.

[hypochlorism]

HEAD LIKE A HOLE / I'D RATHER DIE THAN GIVE YOU CONTROL

#HYPOCHLORISM : chain-smoker with empty ashtrays , issues with eye contact , an obnoxious amount of cassette tapes , functioning insomniac , burner phones , ripped clothes but pristine fingernails , conspiracy theory aficionado , barker not a biter , "no future" stickers , pessimistic monologues , never ending knowledge on cleaning product brands , hidden softness , family disappointment , "can i pet your cat" , snarkiness as a defense mechanism , meaningless tattoos , volume maxed out , headphones on , wiping everything after touching , [...]

TW : suggested substance abuse , suggested violence + gore , emotional & psychological fatigue [...]

--- ABOUT

NAME: Aza Bilal Ashbridge ALIAS: Az , Mr. Clean , Blockhead , Dick-face , [...] AGE: Forty GENDER: Cis Male SEXUALITY: Bisexual MARITAL STATUS: Single

DOB: November 9th BIRTHPLACE: Brighton , England CURRENT RESIDENCE: London , England , a small two-bedroom apartment in Peckham which he shares with his cat Albini and hundreds of cassette tape filled boxes OCCUPATION: Cleaner @ The Bastion Hotel

Efficient and trustworthy service for the mere price of one gold coin per body! Aza Ashbridge for all of your evidence erasing needs. If you would like, Aza will also do a thorough clean-up of the crime scene though that may cost extra.

--- APPEARANCE

FACE: Riz Ahmed HEIGHT: 5'8" / 1.72 m ETHNICITY: British-Pakistani HAIR: Black and thick, usually kept short or shaved, Aza has begun to bleach it at home. This colour change began shortly after a nasty breakup and is likely to be just a phase EYES: Large and brown, though Aza tends to avoid making eye contact with people he does not wish to get attached to, he is often described as having kind eyes --- this compliment may be redacted as soon as Aza opens his mouth PHYSIQUE: Lean, not particularly muscled but not scrawny either, Aza has the body of someone who might have had a rigorous daily workout routine once upon a time but that has ceased to do so in recent years

DISTINCTIVE MARKS: His body is covered with dozens of small tattoos. Most of them have an ironic streak to them, others are absolutely nonsensical, some are downright ugly, there's no meaning or reason to the sentences and doodles on his skin . The most visible and intriguing tattoo is the one sitting between his neck and chest which reads "hypochlororous acid". His clothing style is also unmistakably ... unique . Most of them are worn-out , ripped or have holes in them . Everything is bought second-hand , some shirts seem either too big or too small for him , colour coordination is unimportant , if there is a method to his wardrobe , it remains a complete mystery to those who interact with him .

--- PERSONALITY

ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good STRENGTHS: Dedicated , focused , observant , intelligent , efficient , confident , independent , creative , resourceful , patient , hard-working [...] WEAKNESSES: Snarky , lonely , inconvenient , blunt , pessimistic , paranoid , stubborn , avoidant , harsh , demanding , obsessive , [...]

SKILLS: Cleaning after others' messes with astounding precision , some knowledge in chemistry and anatomy , understands Urdu but unfortunately cannot speak it fluently , can play the guitar and the piano , drives a motorcycle , makes a mean cup of tea

HABITS: Regularly takes sleeping pills to combat insomnia , smokes weed on a semi-regular basis though it has become more regular in the past year and a half , a smoker of tobacco as well , a social drinker which doesn't venture beyond the realm of beer , cannot fall asleep in complete silence must pop in the one cassette tape he has with the sounds of Aza scrubbing someone's brains off the floor on a loop , avid petter of all cats

--- HISTORY

Born in Brighton, Aza's parents always expected great things from their only child. The pressure of him having to get the best grades in class and the best performance in the school play and the best scores in P.E. wasn't lost on young Aza. And while his mother and father dreamed up the magnificent future their son would have as he applied for college, Aza became increasingly enamoured with the art scene in Brighton; a vibrant world of experimental theatre and noise bands slowly pulled him in. It was when his mother caught of whiff of weed coming from his son's clothes that Aza got shipped up to the capital to live and work for his uncle.

A promising young man was suddenly stuck doing janitorial work at a car rental place. Mopping floors, dusting, fixing the angle of the clock on the wall, you know the deal. Needless to say Aza wasn't happy about it. He was even more unhappy whenever his parents would call to check with his uncle if whatever story Aza had told them earlier was true or a web of insidious lies --- But Aza had never been a bad kid. Heck, he had never even been a rebellious kid. It was when his uncle smacked him across the face for talking back to a costumer that Aza decided he had had it. He pissed in his uncle's gas tank and disappeared into the night.

Aza was nineteen when he cut ties with his family. He never stopped working since then; he's been a janitor, a cashier, a bartender, a dog-walker, a gas station clerk, a grave digger, a dish washer, a fucking mall santa , you name it.

It's when he gets this contract with a cleaning agency which specialises in crime scenes that things really start to get weird.

They offered a pay check better than any other job Aza had ever had, but the things he saw ... He doesn't like to talk about it. Thinks it's rude for people to even ask. Aza wasn't ready for the casualness of vacuuming cranium shards trapped behind the sofa or having to wear extra-thick gloves to pick up someone's flesh off the mini-bar. The violence of it all shook Aza to his core but, surprise surprise, he was great at cleaning that shit up.

The faster he could get everything back to the way it was, the faster he could go back to pretending that this stuff didn't happen. Aza had an eye for detail and, soon, he became the cleaning company's golden boy. It was also around that time that the insomnias started.

Seeing good regular people diced into pieces didn't do Aza any good. Despite the money he was making, it was not enough to make-up for the emotional toll such imagery brought. He was ready to quit. But he was trapped with the sleepless nights, an inability to be left alone with his thoughts and a growing sense of paranoia that he too could suffer a fate as violent as all those people he had mopped up.

Still, he needed the cash and his relationship was jeopardised by the psychological and economical turmoil Aza had fallen into. He was a wreck. One faithful night, while crying over drinks with a colleague, he was given a name; The Bastion Hotel.

Not a bad place to make a big buck and certainly not the kind of work in which you have to worry about running into good people.

Aza didn't know what that meant. He still cringes when he thinks about how he must have looked; red-eyed and hunching, practically begging for a job interview.

He still can't sleep. He is still faced with plenty of dead bodies. But, at the very least, Aza has come to terms with the fact that nothing really matters. All of the efforts his parents put into his education? Meaningless. His girlfriend of five years who bounced as soon as things got rough? Meaningless. His collection of cassette tapes being a clear attempt of Aza trying to hold on to a time in which life was simpler? Meaningless.

Freedom? Ethics? Faith? Big fucking deal.

--- EXTRAS

INSPIRED BY: Lisbeth Salander (TGWTDT), Rustin Cohle (True Detective), The Narrator (Fight Club), Elliot Alderson (Mr. Robot), [...] WANTED DYNAMICS: Under construction / currently everything and anything!

[imanalbertross]

Sometimes your cassette player would malfunction and pull the tape out of your cassette. In some cases, the tape was irreparably damaged. This was called eating a tape. And it sucked.

Also, the mechanism that read the tapes could become dirty, and then it wouldn't play the tape correctly and could lead to an eaten tape. That could be prevented by getting a head cleaner, which looked like a cassette, but didn't have tape. Instead it had a band inside that you could add a provided cleaner to. The head cleaner then had a number of uses (sometimes for a few months) before it needed replacing. If your heads got dirty, you'd just reach for your head cleaner and play it to the finish in both directions. It made no noise except the sound of the mechanism playing the tape.

Younger writers. Please, just know that you could not skip to different songs on a cassette tape, that’s CDs. With tapes you pressed fast forward or rewind and prayed.

Also, VHS tapes did not have menu screens. Your only options were play, fast forward, rewind, pause, stop, or eject.

Y’all are making me feel like the crypt keeper here, I’m begging you 😭

[monyathome]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Magnavox Audio Cassette Head Cleaner Unopened Package.

[1surfrocker]

I got my Long Beach Public Library card today and checked out Slade House by David Mitchell. I haven't read Mitchell in years, but I loved Cloud Atlas so much I read it twice, so I'm sure there will be something here for me with this book.

Amy's finally up and walking around again after 4 solid days of being totally bedridden. She tested negative for Covid twice, but whatever it was really knocked her out. She described it to me like a constant head pressure growing tighter and tighter, like her head was getting squeezed. Sinus headaches, fevers, and a dimness of hearing due to the pressure. Apparently there was a moment last night where her ears popped, the pressure alleviated, and everything sounded incredibly loud because she could suddenly hear again. I think there's only a handful of times in our lives where we get "that sick," and I think this was one of those times for her. Glad to have her back!

Labor Day weekend is one day away, and it looks like it will be a packed weekend. Friday night is dinner with George and Keisha, after which I'll record a VO demo reel for George. He's got a deep and boomy, but also educated sounding voice. He's got the basic ingredients, but I wonder if he'll be any good! At any rate, he's become a good friend quite fast and I'm glad to be hanging with him one on one.

Saturday we celebrate Sierra's birthday with beach, dinner and drinks. Sunday we go to Bryce and Andrea's beach house in Laguna and stay the night. Will probably stay for a while on Monday since we have the day off. You can't go to Laguna in the summer and not swim in the ocean, it's sacrilege!

I've been using the Abberant DSP Cassette Tape plugin that Spencer recommended. It's really, really cool, and I gotta say, it actually makes whatever sound you feed it sound like a cassette tape. You can affect the sound by making it cleaner and more of a gentle tone, or make it sound like old, warbling cassette tape with wow & flutter. I used it yesterday on "I am Mother Nature's Slut" and it really added a cool, lo-fi sound to it, though I think I'll want to dial it back on the guitars a bit. The temptation to overdo it, especially when you're playing with a fun new toy, is overwhelming.

[normal-bias]

Demonstration Tape • Head Cleaner Tape • National Panasonic • T-13846

[suzimiya]

'Eine der besten Bands! Auch ich hatte einige ihrer Alben… 👍😂🎶' Quelle: https://twitter.com/littlewisehen/status/1412735842532134912