#best radio commercials and voice tags

[kwameadu]

Choosing The Right Voice Over Artist

There are a few important factors to consider when choosing the right voice-over artist for your project. First, you need to consider the type of project you are working on. Is it a commercial, an instructional video, or a corporate narration? Each project will require a different type of voice-over.

Next, you need to consider the tone of the project. Is it light and fun, or serious and educational? The tone of the project will help you narrow down your choices of voice-over artists.

Finally, you need to consider your budget. Voice-over artists can range in price, so you need to find one that fits within your budget.

Take the time to consider all of these factors and you'll be sure to find the perfect voice-over artist for your project.

radiojingles24.com

[patchworkgargoyle]

🩸 A Steddie Big Bang Fic 🌙

Chapter 6

story by: @patchworkgargoyle || art by: @mcdadarts || playlist to come by: @steves-strapcollection || beta'd by: @tboygareth Rating: E || Words: ~6k || CW: blood drinking, accidental to intentional voyeurism, mutual masturbation (kinda) || Full tag list on ao3! Fic title from Wolf Like Me - TV On The Radio We're getting into the spicy shit with Eddie's pov today, folks! Mind the content warnings.

The research crew lasted twenty minutes after Harrington left before they gave up studying. Dustin insisted they’d checked every single musty tome even vaguely related to werewolves already and found nothing, and sitting there going through them all again was a waste of valuable time.

What wasn’t a waste, apparently, was sitting in the Harrington’s living room and watching a recorded version of Grease, commercials and all. Not that it mattered, because the kids all talked over themselves during the whole movie anyway. Though, sometimes, Eleven (and Eddie had yet to have that name explained) stopped to sing along under her breath and it warmed Eddie’s cold, sluggish heart so much that he sang Greased Lightnin’ with her. He hoped that would save him from facing Max’s brutal wit being turned on him for being a metalhead singing to a damn musical.

These children that Steve surrounded himself with–or, from the stories Dustin had been telling, it sounded like they adopted him instead–were insanely brilliant and brave, and the way they talked about Steve now that he wasn’t around wasputting even more cracks in the walls Eddie had put up to keep Steve at a distance. Not that it’d been working well in the first place. Steve himself had smashed a hole through it when he offered Eddie his own blood (something Eddie did his level best to Not Think About), despite only knowing Eddie for a little over a week. But Dustin, Max, and El, all so much more like Eddie than Steve was in school, and yet here they were, describing how he’d stopped some kind of lost swamp creature from ruining a farmer’s field, and probably being killed for it, with nothing but his charm and a big bag of compost. What a big damn hero he was.

So, sue him if he’d been rethinking all of his Doctrine bullshit. Steve wasn’t King of Hawkins High anymore; he was grumpy on the mornings he had an early shift, he indulged Eddie’s long-winded ramblings, owned a terrifying amount of medieval weaponry, and he took care of his people. And Eddie had found himself temporarily counted amongst them. It chafed and made him feel special at the same time.

Sometimes he found himself sneaking around the gym attached to the monster hunter library while Steve–no, Harrington swung around all sorts of dangerous and spiky implements in a training regimen designed to put all his rippling muscles on very athletic display. Eddie told himself he was studying up. In the unlikely event that Harrington did turn on him, of course. It was the smart thing to do.

Eddie had zoned out thinking of said training when he heard a car door close outside. Snapped out of his daydream, Eddie's head twitched towards the noise, and when Max’s did too all the kids were on high alert.

“That’s not Steve and Robin,” Max warned.

Dustin looked at Eddie, wide-eyed, and Eddie felt his hands clench in the arm of the couch. “Maybe it’s one of your moms?” he suggested, but Max shook her head. “Fuck.”

“It’s fine, I’ll answer the door, people know me and Steve are like this,” Dustin wrapped his middle finger over his index, “so that shouldn’t give anything away. I’m here all the time!” His nonchalant shrug did nothing to conceal how his voice cracked nervously and Eddie’s confidence sank lower. “Y’know what, maybe they’re just turning around and won’t even knock–”

Three hesitant knocks echoed down the foyer and Dustin winced.

Max glared, unimpressed. “You jinxed it, moron.”

“Shut up!” he hissed. Waving his hands around like a manic conductor, Dustin made everyone sit in silence while he stared at the door. Eddie hoped this would work, just waiting the person out, but his hopes were dashed when they heard slightly more frantic rapping. “Shit. Alright. Time for Plan B. Eddie, prepare for Plan C.”

“What’s Plan C!?” Eddie whispered anxiously. He hid his face in his hands when Dustin copied Eddie’s Dracula pose from earlier. “No, no, absolutely not, Dustin. Wait, hey!”

The kid raced to the door when the knocking came back and Eddie flung himself to the floor to not risk being seen. The sound of the lock was all the warning he got before Dustin opened the door and: “Oh, um. Hi there, you’re Steve’s friend right?” Eddie knew that voice. “Is he here still?”

Eddie popped up over the couch. “Chris?”

She grinned and waved, so Eddie scrambled off the floor and ran to tug her inside, deftly avoiding the sunshine, then wrapped her in a tight hug. Seeing her was more of a relief than he’d thought. Being stuck in Steve’s house without his stuff, his friends, his uncle…

“Oh fuck, I forgot to leave a note for Wayne.”

Chrissy snort-laughed into his shirt. “He called me and I told him you were okay, but I had to make sure.” She stepped back. “You do look okay. Good, actually. Even though, uh,” she trailed off and saw Dustin standing at the closed door wiggling his eyebrows at Eddie.

He narrowed his eyes at Dustin and subtly shook his head, only getting an eye roll in return. “We’ll talk about that later, I think,” Eddie said. “In the meantime, wanna help me babysit?”

After introductions were made–and El made Chrissy giggle when she bluntly but admiringly stated, “You’re very pretty,”–and they’d all settled back in, Eddie found that Chrissy fit right in. Dustin was a little starstruck at first, which Eddie chalked up to the whole freshman nerd kid and senior cheerleader thing, but as soon as she started asking about the summer camp hat he wore he started infodumping like his life depended on it. Chrissy, used to listening to Eddie’s endless speeches, participated like a pro. The way Dustin’s grin kept growing made Eddie think she’d just earned a friend for life. Eventually Max peeled Dustin away from Chrissy with a few well-placed taunts so she and Eddie could catch up.

Chrissy’s life had been going along as normal, though she’d been keeping tabs on Jason just in case, she told Eddie. He wished that hadn’t made her wince with guilty regret, but they’d fought before over her relationship with him so badly once it nearly cost him their friendship, so he kept his opinion to himself. As far as she knew, though, Jason was acting normally.

Eddie had a little more to talk about. Gossiping about Steve with her was a relief; who knew he’d learn so much about the former King in just a few weeks of forced cohabitation?

“You know, he mumbles to himself,” Eddie said, ignoring that he was also mumbling. “He’ll mumble and when I try to talk back he gets in a little snit and says ‘I wasn’t talking to you!’” Chrissy giggled at his very poor impression of Steve’s voice. “What does he expect me to do? He asks himself questions and I answer and he gets all bitchy at me. But I can’t win, because, get this, he’ll bitch at me again when I don’t respond because he’s mumbling in the same damn tone!”

Eyes sparkling with mirth, Chrissy covered her smile with a hand, her knees tucked up to her chest on the couch. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” she teased.

“I don’t like your tone,” Eddie said, eyes narrowed. Her smile grew wider behind her hand, and when she raised an eyebrow he folded his arms. “Don’t get any ideas, Cunningham.”

“No, nope, no ideas.”

He glared at her for a few more seconds before a song came on over the TV that jogged his memory and he pointed at the screen. “And you know what else he does? He sings. Into objects. Like his hairdryer, straight out of the movies like a weirdo!”

A loud snort caught his attention and Eddie’s gaze snapped to Max who was watching Eddie from the corner of her eyes with a smug, knowing expression. He felt like a deer in headlights suddenly, until Max rolled her eyes and went back to talking to El and Dustin.

“Despite all that, looks like you’re doing pretty well here. And you don’t seem, um, thirsty.” She whispered the last word with a curious quirk to her brow, and Eddie shrugged.

“Got it covered, the last time. You don’t need to worry about me so much, Chris, you’ve got your own stuff to handle.”

“Yeah, okay, my best friend being framed for murder isn’t something to worry about,” she said, rolling her eyes before turning sombre. “Eddie, I’m gonna worry until you’re safe. I hate that I can’t do anything about it.”

Eddie shifted in his seat. He was always uncomfortable with people worrying over him, but it’s not like she was wrong. This was serious, the worst scrape he’d ever been in and he didn’t even know why it was happening in the first place. Dragging a hand down his face, he heaved a sigh and looked down at the floor. “Sorry, Chris. You’re doing enough just by being here.”

Her mouth pursed unhappily, but before she could say anything more, car doors slammed outside once again and Max perked up.

“Steve’s home.”

Before he could react, the door flung open and Steve stood there, his eyes darting across the group. When he caught sight of Chrissy, he sagged. Robin, right behind him, looked ready to fight until she also saw that everyone was fine.

Eddie tracked Steve as he trudged up the stairs without a word. He was smeared all over with dirt, his face grim and tense, but the walkway above obscured him from view before Eddie could get a better read on him. Robin drifted into the living room and curled up into the one empty chair, almost swallowed by the plush cushions. Dustin got up and switched the TV off.

“What happened?” he asked.

“‘Nother werewolf,” Robin said quietly, and the words spread like a shockwave through all of them.

So, Dustin’s plan had worked. The killer struck again, proving that Eddie was innocent, but also that there was someone with a vendetta against werewolves. Steve must’ve had to bury the body too, and that made Eddie’s stomach drop to his feet. With a glance up, he saw Max looking more stormy than usual. She, Robin, and Steve were all in danger, then, more so than Eddie himself was, in his opinion, and now he really understood how Chrissy felt. How could he help them, stuck in this house, unable to go out in the daytime, waiting for the killer’s next move? His hands started to shake, whether it was with fear or anger he couldn’t tell, but he stuck them under his armpits and squeezed, ignoring the way his jaw tensed and his leg started to bounce.

“I’m so sorry, Robin,” Chrissy whispered, and Robin’s head snapped up like she didn’t even realise Chrissy was there, her eyes going wide.

Robin nodded, her surprise quickly eaten away by dread and she murmured a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Were there any new clues?” Dustin asked with an unusual amount of respect.

“Steve and Hopper didn’t find anything, but Jason Carver showed up and said some things. Steve could tell it better but, uh, he should rest. This was… hard on him.”

“Jason?” Chrissy frowned.

“Yeah, I dunno, something about finding the body first but Steve didn’t really wanna talk about it. I think, maybe, we should talk about it in a day or something.” Robin fidgeted with her rings, looking from Chrissy to upstairs to the floor.

Eddie’s eyes were drawn to the upper floor where he could still faintly hear Steve’s heartbeat, the occasional foot fall, like he was pacing but trying to be quiet about it. His lips pursed into a thin, worried line.

“He didn’t tell you anything?” Dustin asked.

Robin gave him an unexpectedly angry look, so Eddie jumped in. “Dustin, man, you’ve been researching all day, give it a break alright?”

“But–”

“Push it and I’ll tell Jeff to kill off your beloved little warlock next session.”

Dustin’s eyes narrowed, but Eddie’s serious tone must’ve gotten through to him because all he did was huff and cross his arms.

“Maybe we should go,” El said, looking upstairs now too.

“I can’t drive, and Eddie can’t until tonight.”

“Shouldn’t leave at all, probably,” Eddie added dourly.

“I can drive you.” Everyone turned to Chrissy. “I’ve got my mom’s station wagon. It’s no trouble.”

Eddie nudged Chrissy with his knee. “You sure you wanna handle these gremlins?” he teased.

“I’ll keep him in line,” Max smirked while Dustin pouted.

Dustin crossed his arms and tilted his head back imperiously. “Eddie said grem-lins, plural, Maxine.”

“You’re pushing it, nerd.”

Robin stood in a sudden flurry of movement. “Okay! Better get all of you gremlins home before Chrissy decides to take back her very generous offer. Come on, shoes on, chop chop!” She clapped her hands in a way that Eddie intrinsically knew came from Steve, and the kids all stood and started towards the door for their shoes.

El, though, stopped beside Eddie. “Can you thank Steve for having us over for us please?” She said it so seriously, so earnestly, that Eddie swore his heart grew two sizes.

“Of course kiddo.” He reached out and ruffled her long hair, and she giggled while leaning away.

When Chrissy got up to leave, Eddie joined her, wrapping her in another hug before she left. “Thanks for taking everyone home.”

She shrugged. “It’s something I can do, at least. And, well, maybe Robin can tell me a little more about what Steve might’ve said about Jason. I’m… I’m really worried, Eddie.”

“I know Chris. I’m sorry.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “We’ll figure it out.”

With the brats corralled, Eddie waved them off from the shade of the doorway. Robin gave him a short, awkward wave, a blush over her cheeks when Chrissy put her hand on the back of her seat to back out of the driveway, and Eddie filed that away for another time. Then he shut the door against the sunlight and returned to the now eerily silent house.

It was something he noticed the longer he stayed here. When Steve was away at work, Eddie left to his own devices, all he had to do was read the books he’d brought, maybe snoop around for some others, plunk away at his guitar and fill the silence with the old records that the Harringtons left to collect dust. But even with the music playing, the house seemed to absorb noise, like a museum. And there were barely any signs of life, except for the occasional bit of mess that Steve left around when he ran out of time in the mornings. Everything that Steve left alone: the whole dining room, entire guest rooms, even the hallways seemed to eat noise and repel clutter that showed anyone lived there, even Steve.

Eddie had, admittedly, snuck into Steve’s room once or twice. He’d left the door open, what was a curious, bored vampire expected to do? There, thankfully, was some personality, though the awful plaid wallpaper did its best to drown it out. The messed up bed that Steve couldn’t be bothered to fix up, a few clothes scattered by his hamper, some magazines–sports, mostly, and some gossip mags, to Eddie’s disappointment–piled on his nightstand. He didn’t bother poking around in any drawers, didn’t want to risk moving too much in case Steve caught on and got miffed.

What did Steve even do in this house all alone? What did he do before he had to cohabitate with Eddie, who, he would readily and sometimes proudly admit about himself, was a rather irritating guest at times. Eddie kinda hated thinking about it too hard.

But right now, the silence was disturbed, just barely. Eddie could still hear the pacing above.

He was torn. Something in Eddie wanted to check on him, but Steve hadn’t come down to even speak to the kids. He would’ve heard them leaving. Would he even want the nosy freeloader in his house knocking at his door?

His feet started to move towards the stairs before he even decided. Each stair he climbed, he tried convincing himself that he was just heading to his own room–not his room, the guest room, nothing in this place was his, jesus–but he passed the door that he should have stopped at. Kept going to the end of the hall, and the pacing stopped.

“Hey, uh, Steve?” Eddie knocked on the doorframe, even though it was completely unnecessary. “You alright in there?”

No response. Eddie could hear Steve’s heart, racing too fast to be mistaken for calm. A few seconds passed. A few more.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled. Turning, he was about to walk back to his room when the door opened.

“It’s fine.”

Steve had one hand on the door, the other hanging limp at his side. He was still covered in dirt; smelled like it too, fresh soil and sweat, and something distinctly off and Eddie had to fight wrinkling his nose at. It made Steve look pale, and Eddie felt that was wrong. Steve was built for the sun, for being golden, he shouldn’t look pale.

“You should shower, dude,” Eddie said, trying to a rueful smile, but the humour didn’t land. Steve just shrugged it off.

“I guess. I will.” He turned and wandered back into his room, leaving the door open, and Eddie couldn’t find a reason not to follow. It felt enough like an invitation. Walking in, he tried to make it seem like he was seeing the bedroom for the first time, but Steve scoffed.

“I know you’ve been in here, Eddie, I could smell you in here when I got home once, you don’t have to put on an act.”

Eddie stiffened. “Oh. Uh. Sorry dude.”

“Whatever. I kind of expected it.”

“That’s a lot of trust you’re placing in the resident drug dealer.”

Steve shot him an unimpressed look. “You sell weed, Eddie,” he said flatly. Wobbling his head, Eddie mouthed the words back at Steve silently, mockingly, which finally drew a tired laugh from him. It wasn’t the kind of laughter he could get after verbally tearing Frank Sinatra to shreds while they got high on the living room floor, but it was good enough. The sound didn’t last, though, fading like every other sound in this fucking house, leaving a gaping silence where they both stood awkwardly, a few scant feet between them.

Eddie shifted on his feet, stuck his hands in his pockets then took them out and folded his arms over his chest. Meanwhile, he watched Steve, who couldn’t look up from the carpet. “You probably don’t want me lingering around in your domicile, so I’ll just–”

“Are you thirsty?”

Now that, that rang out through the room. “What?”

“You spent all day around the kids, and you haven’t fed since, uh, since last time when everyone was around.” Steve finally looked up from the carpet, something burning in his eyes.

“Nah, I’m fine, pretty good actually,” Eddie stumbled out.

“You said you fed from Chrissy every few days though.”

Truth was, Eddie was hungry. It was sort of an ever-present thing, though easy to manage once he’d learned how to sate it in a way that actually satisfied him. And yeah, it had been a few days since he’d bitten Steve’s wrist, but the way Steve acted around him the next day–flighty and awkward, not sticking around in the same room too long–made Eddie less than inclined to ask for more.

“I can deal, Harrington, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Steve started walking closer. There was a determination, a heat, in his gaze that made Eddie feel a little warm and jumpy, and he started backing up. “You should be in peak condition if something happens. And I–”

Steve reached out behind Eddie and closed the door, Eddie having to back up against it, trapping them both in the horribly plaid room that Eddie couldn’t even see, because Steve was right there, in his space, so close Eddie could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Steve’s arm was still outstretched, hand pressed against the door by Eddie’s head.

“I want you to.”

Heat flashed under Eddie’s skin, his sluggish heart beating faster. “What the fuck do you mean, man?”

“I mean.” Steve ran a head through his hair, messing it up worse, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “It makes me feel good–better. The bite. And, you gotta drink, so it’s like. Win-win or whatever.”

“Win-win?” Eddie said, high and nervy, “The hell? How does it make you feel good?”

“Just, please?”

His voice sent a lance of desire and hunger through Eddie’s spine. Steve’s face looked haggard, dirt caked into every worryline, but something burned in his eyes, something needy, and he was so fucking close they were sharing breath. Eddie could see the blood coursing through his neck, the artery so close to the skin, and he must’ve stared long enough, hesitated enough, that it spurred Steve on. He deliberately pulled down the collar of his shirt and tilted his head to the side, baring his long, freckled neck to Eddie.

That desperate, unnatural hunger that had haunted Eddie since he woke up on a cold forest floor in Chrissy’s arms, ever-present and voracious, grew like arousal in Eddie’s gut. Saliva pooled under his tongue and, unbidden, his teeth began to elongate as his gaze locked onto that pulsing rush tantalisingly close to his face. The longer he looked, the faster Steve’s heart raced, the more tempting he was, the warm scent of his heightened emotions wafting into the air like wine and pulling Eddie closer.

Just a taste, he promised himself. 

Eddie let one of his hands wrap around the back of Steve’s neck, fingers threading through his soft hair, while he grabbed the hand Steve was using to hold the shirt down, pulling it further out of the way. One last glance at Steve’s face, and Eddie saw his eyes had gone heavy-lidded, his mouth dropping open just slightly when Steve caught sight of Eddie’s fangs. Cocking one eyebrow, he tilted his head further, into Eddie’s waiting palm, trusting he’d be held, and Eddie couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

He surged forward, and bit into Steve’s neck. The first gush of rich, metallic blood made Eddie groan and Steve gasp. Instinct made Eddie bite harder, deeper, his teeth sinking without resistance into flesh and muscle.  Eddie’s fingers clenched where they held Steve, pressing him flush against his own body. Steve didn’t even flinch, seeming to arch into the touch, panting. His skin flushed; Eddie could feel the flood of warmth down Steve’s neck from his face as it bloomed against Eddie’s cheek.

Feeling bold and ravenous, Eddie withdrew from Steve’s neck to manhandle him against the door instead, slamming him against it with a bang and pressing against the long line of his body before licking up the rivulets dripping from the punctures. The soft oh he drew from Steve felt as intoxicating as his blood. Clinging to Steve like he was, Eddie didn’t feel his hands move until Steve’s fingers dug into his side, keeping Eddie close.

Steve’s free hand clutched Eddie’s, the one resting on the unmarred side of his neck, twining their fingers together and squeezing, and Eddie’s breath hitched as he squeezed back. He laved the flat of his tongue over the wounds before pressing his lips around them in an open-mouthed kiss and sucked, drawing a fresh flood to the surface. The taste was fucking addictive. Something lurked in Steve’s blood that made the most base, monstrous parts of Eddie sing and snarl with greed, something heated and needy.

It clicked, when Steve’s hand roved down. Grabbed Eddie’s ass though his jeans to hold him still while Steve rocked his hips up, his hard dick brushing against Eddie’s own and making them both moan. And oh shit, Eddie was so hard it was painful.

That taste was desire, hormone-spiked blood, more potent than any drug or liquor Eddie’s ever had. The instant he placed it, he knew he wanted more. More blood, more of Steve. He met the next roll of hips with a reedy whimper, muffled against Steve’s neck as he still drank deeply of that heady taste, let Steve’s hand guide him this time, enjoying the thrill of being led. Until.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve groaned, low but loud in Eddie’s ear, and reality crashed down around him.

Eddie shoved himself off of Steve, ripping himself out of his grasp and pressing the back of his hand to his blood-stained mouth. Wide, panicked eyes met Steve’s, still heavy-lidded and dark but growing confused. God, what a vision he was as he leaned against the door, gasping for breath and hard in his jeans, flushed deliciously red despite being drank from like a fucking juice box. It was… it was terrifying. Fear sparked and caught in Eddie’s chest. What the fuck was he thinking!?

Brows furrowed, Steve stepped forward. “Eddie? What is it?”

“Shit.”

Eddie bolted. Dodged past Steve, whipped the door open and ran to the guest room as fast as his unnatural speed let him. He slammed the door behind himself and braced against it, scared that Steve would try to bust it down as soon as he came to his senses. And he would. There was no fucking way Eddie could get away with that.

He knew his bite did something. Chrissy had tried to do research for him, but couldn’t find much without Jason catching on, but she’d told him the bite makes prey less likely to fight back. But she’d only ever relaxed, like getting high, not–not like Steve trying to rub one out on him. Not like moaning Eddie’s name while they were so close together Eddie could still feel how it rumbled in his own chest.

Anxiously, Eddie licked his lips and only tasted Steve, wincing at how that made his cock throb against his zipper. “Shit,” he whispered shakily. A manic laugh threatened to bubble up but he swallowed it back.

That was so stupid. All of it. He should’ve realised as soon as Steve asked to be bitten again that something wasn’t normal about this and put a stop to it. Could’ve called Chrissy; she was coming by tomorrow anyway. Now he had to worry about Steve kicking him out and forcing him to walk home with the murderer still at large. The one who fucking framed him, for a reason none of them have discovered yet. He let his head fall back against the door with a hollow thud, and waited.

Minutes passed, then hours. The sun began to set, and Eddie found himself anxiously pacing around the room, packing his duffel bag then unpacking it, his clothes strewn out of it like a racoon had rifled through them all and found his wardrobe lacking. Yet through his own chaos, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from keeping an ear out for Steve.

He hadn’t left his room, not once. Sometimes he paced, and Eddie caught the occasional frustrated huff. When Steve’s habit of talking to himself kicked in, Eddie resolutely ignored it–meaning, of course, that he listened anyway but felt deeply guilty about it. But nothing he heard made any logical sense. “What did I do?” spat as a frustrated whisper was the most baffling, but Eddie refused to contemplate that it might mean anything other than Steve wondering how he’d gotten suckered into bumping clothed uglies with The Freak.

So Eddie paced and unpacked and re-packed and stewed over the countless stupid life choices he’d made to bring him to this moment until the sun was well beyond the horizon and his hair was a frizzy mess with how often he’d been digging his fingers into it. The carpet, shockingly, didn’t show a single dent with all the trudging around he’d done.

Simultaneously wiped out and still wound up, Eddie flopped onto the bed with an explosive sigh and slapped his palms over his face, grunting loudly. If Steve was debating whether he would kick Eddie out or not, he’d rather Steve get on with it and put him out of his misery before the sun came up. He didn’t want to burn to a crisp before he got to see Wayne again.

“Fuck it,” came another irritated whisper from Steve’s room. Eddie braced himself for stomping down the hall, for Steve ripping the door open, furious, demanding that Eddie leave. Instead, he heard bed springs squeak. It took little effort for him to listen closer, frowning in confusion.

Then, Eddie heard the quiet zip of jeans being undone, and shuffling. A relieved sigh.

What?

Was Steve doing what Eddie thought he was doing? There was no way. No fucking way. Sure, Eddie had been staving off the raging hormones he’d drank straight from Steve’s veins all night with little success, hoping he’d burn through them with his pacing and ignoring how he’d been half-hard for most of it. Steve had to have crashed from the high by now.

And yet. There was a hitched breath from behind the two doors separating them. Eddie swallowed, and dragged his hands down his face, letting them flop to his sides. This might be Steve’s home, but did he really have to do this now?

Eddie didn’t even want to admit what had happened, not that it helped. With Steve apparently jerking it just down the hall, though, the images rose unbidden behind Eddie’s scrunched eyelids anyway. How the blood flowed slowly over the tendon in Steve’s neck to pool in the divot between his collarbones, the dark desire in his blown-out pupils. The way Steve’s fingers dug into the meat of Eddie’s ass to pull him where Steve wanted, right against his cock.

The sound of Eddie’s name in Steve’s mouth as his lips brushed Eddie’s ear.

He swore soundlessly. Wriggling a little and hissing at the growing tightness in his pants, Eddie sent up prayers to whatever deity was listening to make him Not Horny. No thoughts of old people or relatives or complex dungeon traps could take his mind, or his hearing, off of Steve masturbating quietly just a few feet away. Didn’t he realise that Eddie could hear him? Steve wasn’t the only one with super hearing. It was rude, and terrible hosting behaviour, and–

Steve moaned softly, though it cut off like he knew he might be heard–too fucking late for that–and Eddie wanted to scream in frustration so badly he clamped his hand over his mouth. His dick throbbed, though, at the new sounds echoing his way. Wet, slick sounds.

Fuck. Swallowing down a wave of guilt, Eddie let his hand trail over the bedspread, along his hip, and cupped his dick through his jeans with a shuddery sigh. He bit his lips together to make sure no noises escaped as he squeezed himself. It’d been too long. Out of respect to his werewolf host, he’d hadn’t rubbed one out the whole time he’d been at Steve’s. Steve, apparently, had no such reservations. So…

So why not? Why the hell not. Eddie undid his fly and quietly as he could slipped his cock out, already hard, the tip flushed red. He couldn’t help remembering that he had Steve’s blood in his body now. How he’d tasted. Breathing heavily, Eddie stroked himself, thinking of the way Steve’s plush lips parted, the fire in his eyes as he begged Eddie to bite him… how big his cock felt, though it was trapped in his jeans.

The familiar weight of his own cock twitched in his hand, a spurt of precome dripping down, slicking the way. He could hear how Steve’s heart rate picked up now that he’d given up trying not to listen; now that it, too, had become familiar.

Steve made another sound. A groan, deep in his chest. Eddie’s mouth dropped open with a harsh sigh. He was so fucking turned on. The taboo of listening to Steve get off, jacking off to it, praying Steve couldn’t hear him too, made that frisson under his skin rise and burn so fast Eddie started to feel breathless, wound tight.

He stroked himself faster, hips canting up into his grip, desperate to chase the feeling as he imagined how Steve looked sprawled on his bed with his massive hand wrapped around his cock. Eddie couldn’t help wondering what it’d feel like to have Steve’s hand replace his own and that image made him clamp his mouth shut around a quiet whimper. 

Eddie heard Steve swear again, his voice going a little higher, and Eddie found himself nodding, like the other man could see him. He wanted to be seen. Wanted Steve to rush in, see him furiously pumping his dick and know exactly what got him here. Maybe he’d crowd Eddie against the bed and start to take him apart with his long fingers, grind their cocks together, fuck his way inside as they kissed all heated and dirty and chant Eddie’s name–

Steve moaned, then, quiet enough that Eddie almost missed what he said.

“Eddie.”

Shock forced a desperate whine out of Eddie’s throat before he choked it off with a gasp. Oh shit. Oh shit. He froze, could tell Steve had too. Steve heard him. He knew. He felt his heart in his throat, thundering away.

Until he heard it again. A tentative, “Eddie?” from down the hall. Confirming he’d been caught. Why didn’t Steve sound pissed?

There was the distinct click of a cap being opened. Still frozen, Eddie couldn’t believe his ears when he heard Steve start up again, jerking himself off slower now, the sounds slicker, wetter. He… he knew Eddie was listening, could easily guess why Eddie had fucking whined like that, and he was still…

God. Fuck. Oh fuck that was hot. And terrifying. How the hell was this even happening!?

Steve keened, loudly, and Eddie cursed as his hips bucked helplessly into the hand still wrapped around his aching cock. This was insane, absolutely nuts; Eddie had never even thought of something like this despite his expansive and wildly horny imagination. But he followed suit and started fucking into his fist, fast and filthy, past the point of caring that Steve could hear the bed creaking slightly with his movements.

And then Steve did it again. “Fuck, Eddie,” he moaned. Deliberately. Eddie couldn’t hold back the needy cry that rose from his throat, muffled as he bit his lip against the growing pleasure sparking along his nerves. He was gonna come, quickly, felt it barreling closer like a freight train. Steve wasn’t holding back his sounds anymore either, every gasp and groan unconcealed, stroking his cock without any fucking shame.

Eddie was shaking, panting hard, losing his rhythm. Thoughtlessly he started to beg, “Please, please please please.”

“Shit, yeah, do it, c’mon Eddie,” Steve urged, “gonna come too, oh shit!”

Fireworks exploded behind his eyes. Every muscle in Eddie’s body seized as he came, whining so fucking loud as he spilled over his fingers, cum splattering his shirt and soaking in warm and sticky, cock pulsing hard when he heard Steve cry out, a satisfied, guttural thing. Gasping for breath, Eddie went limp on the bed, his mind empty of all thought except for the way Steve moaned his name, how he sounded when he came.

There was no more movement from Steve’s room. Eddie could hear him in there, his breathing evening out along with his heartbeat, but he didn’t get up.

Was he waiting for Eddie? There was no way he’d go over there himself. He was still processing the everything that just happened. What if Steve had still been affected by the bite, and now that he’d gotten it out of his system he regretted literally jacking off with Eddie? More or less.

Eddie’s anxieties swirled through his mind until morning. Steve didn’t leave his room once.

[fraugwinska]

Chapter 4 - Alteration

Alteration (noun) a change in appearance, character, or structure of something

Tags & Warnings: Mentions of Torture, Mentions of Drugs, Blood & Gore

Your mind felt like it was hollowed out. This week had been nothing less than exhausting.

After your first day of 'training', as Alastor had decided to call it, and the heavy aftermath that came with it, he was more transparent, yet no less harsh, in preparing you. Him and you had a long talk the morning after, and while he explained his position in hell and the scarily high number of his very powerful enemies, you sat, listened and most importantly - thought.

Hell's politics were complicated, and moreover, they were filled with violence, manipulation and bloodlust. You've gathered that much from the books you read, but listening to Alastors stories and explanations made it feel less abstract and way more real and tangible. Any serving souls actively running around the pride ring for an influential master were a probable target for kidnapping and torture, to get information, intel or just a little rise out of an opponent. And from what you heard, Alastor had pissed of many more powerful overlords than made friends with them over the decades he was in hell, above all three overlords thay sinners called the V's. You knew them well, you read about them in the Infernal Times Today all the time, they were omnipresent. Especially Vox, the TV demon, had a long standing, intense rivalry with your master, and together with his close allies, he dominated the pride ring in it's social core – influencing every aspect of media and commercial business, except for Radio of course.

“As I intent to have you as my personal assistant, you'll be in far more danger to be the target of unsavory attacks than any other souls I own.”, Alastor explained much less jovial than you felt comfortable with.

The next 'training sessions', as he named them, were similar to your first day, although Alastor always told you what you had to do and expect. You had a feeling that because he was so upfront with your trials now, they might've been less effective, and you had finally accumulated the courage to voice your opinion after the third day at dinner. Alastor had chuckled at your remark, his eyes curiously scanning you, before answering. ”Maybe, my dear kitten, but I'd better be safe than sorry – it would be no use to have a doll being broken before it even got out of the box.”

As weird as it felt, you didn't mind being referred to something resembling to a toy – you went into Alastor's services knowing full well you were a servant, not an employee. You prepared for it. You basically engraved it into your soul he owned. You just hated the feeling of not being trusted to prevail. You had huffed in frustration, but kept your opinions to yourself, basically swallowing your grilled crawfish in one big bite, painfully aware of the bruises from your training still on your face. Interrogation training had been not only physically, but visibly, taken a toll on you. Despite Rosie's best efforts, some cuts and bruises wouldn't heal as quick as you wanted. Every evening she would stop by, tending to your newest injuries and inquiring about your mental well-being, reminding you to use your notebook if things got too tough. You knew it was meant as a consolation, and you should've been more than grateful, but it stung to be seen as a so... weak. You wanted to be seen as stronger than. Every night, you processed the days events, the horrible, arduous, painful things you heard, endured and/or experienced. Alastor's shadows were ruthless beings full of malice and feral brutality, even the more sentient ones. Sometimes, when the mansion was quiet and the shades weren't creeping in the edges of your room you would allow yourself to cry silent tears, just to flush the impending pressure out of your system. Or you would begrudgingly take Rosie's advice and use the red notebook to write your emerging feelings down the way you often did when you were still alive: in poems, aphorisms, statements or sketches. Sometimes, you did both. It helped though, you could face each morning with an emptied mind and the indifferent expression you had made your own.

On day six you had dark, prominent circles under your eyes when you came down for breakfast. You were, again, earlier than usual, the events of yesterday had kept you wide awake. It had been the most exhausting experience since day one. No physical harm, but mental. Alastor had invaded your mind, flipped through it like a picture book, in search of a specific memory he told you to hide away, the memory of the night in the cabin. He had told you it was his weakest and most experimental ability, but it felt like he was at a mastery. Hours went down, with you fleeing with your entrusted memory from the invader, like a child running from a feral dog. Your head felt like it was slowly split open by a dull axe. He bulldozed every wall you put up with ease, ripped off any barricade in order to find you. It was a painful, draining game of hide and seek. In the process, he brought up vulnerable, messy, hurtful memories you once stored away in the depths of your mind.

Moms panicked face before she locked you out of the house and the sound of hinges breaking. Dark, rusty stains on the obituary of your birth father. You, singing, sitting on a cliff, overseeing the ocean, a diary in your hand. Your twelve year old self burying a dead blue jay in the woods with her bare hands, crying.

You entered the kitchen and found Alastor, leaning against the counter, arms crossed and staring out of the windows. It was a sunny, windy morning in hell. Cold, but bright.

“Good morning.”

“And a good morning to you, kitten.”

Unusual short greeting for him. Huh. You eyed him, then turned to see the french press and his crimson coffee mug untouched in the cupboard.

“Should I prepare your coffee, ...Alastor?” He didn't answer. You started to worry... silent Alastor was frightening to you, unlike chatty Alastor. You opened your mouth to cautiously ask again, when he broke the silence.

“There is something I'd like to ask about yesterday, my dear, if you don't mind.”

You owlishly blinked at him. “I don't.”

He still didn't move, resembling a chiseled statue, hell's sun illuminating his face and silhouette with the pinkish hue of morning dawn.

“What was that sweet tune you were singing? On the cliff, I mean.”, He turned his head in your direction, his grin loose and twitching and his eyes.. tired? He still wasn't looking at you, not directly anyway.

His question was... random. Unexpected. You took a moment to sort your thoughts, struggling for a second to hold your composure.

“It was a song from a musical I starred in, ''Hadestown”... Flowers, it's called.”

Alastor nodded, lost in thought. “It sounded lovely.”

You had no idea what to say to that. You just stared at him, unsure why he even brought it up in the first place... You knew why this memory was so painful impactful to you, but... to him, it must have seemed like a normal, uninteresting one. Why this one? He sighed, then snapped his fingers. His magic, or whatever it was that he could do, never ceased to amaze and surprise you. Instantly, the breakfast table was set. His coffee mug was on the table, full to the brim with fresh coffee, as well as a plate for you with some cut up fruits, a cup of tea and a silver tray with milk and sugar. He sat down, taking a sip, his eyes roaming over to you expectantly. You raise a brow at this sudden change of the atmosphere but sit down too, picking up a fork and beginning to munch on your breakfast. Better not question too much, you were too exhausted anyway. The fruits were tart, sour and stinging, a little bitter and a hint sweet.

“We'll move into the hotel today, kitten.”

You stopped chewing, eyeing you master with erect ears, who chuckled at your sight.

“I think you are adequately prepared now, at least for the area around the hotel. But we have to establish some ground rules.” Alastor lifted a finger, wagging it with a smug smile. “I can't have my little lynx out and about doing whatever she wants, I still have a reputation to uphold.”

“I'll do as you say, Alastor.”

He gave you a pitiful smile. “Of that I have little doubt, my dear, but see, I find myself in a jiffy with you.” He folded his hands, leaning on the breakfast table, and put his chin on top, blinking lazily at you. “The inhabitants of the hotel are very... skeptical of me. They most rightfully mistrust me. And by proxy, they will most likely mistrust you.” He tilted his head. “I need you to keep a more... friendly front, I'm afraid. More human, as ironic as it may seem. To help lessen the... lingering animosity against myself.”

You gulped the rest of your fruit platter down, blinking at him like he was speaking cantonese.

“I'm not... human enough?”, you carefully ask, reaching for your teacup. Something to hold onto because... the audacity.

“You do come off as a bit... robotic, kitten.”, Alastor laughed into his cup. “As charming as it is, it does tend to offset other people. And I need those people to believe they can trust me. What better way than to have a loyal, charming, likable sinner assistant, who seems to just love working for me?”

You were brooding in your thoughts. Being likable... what the fuck does that mean?

“How should I... what should I do then?”, you voiced your thoughts, your expression crumbling. You had perfected the mask, the act of having your act together. You were stone, a front nothing could penetrate, a golem, ready for the will of your master. Just as you willed yourself to be, as a result of your deal.

“Well, for example, you could do what I do and smile more, darling~!”, Alastor exclaimed, suddenly lively and enthused. “A smile goes a long way, it's the sword and the shield of the educated mind! Take it from me, A-HA!”

You absent-mindedly took a few sips of your tea. It was perfectly steeped, not too sweet, creamy. And yet, it didn't really warm you. Smile, he said. The more you thought about it, the more laughable it became to you. How horrid would your forced smile look like – definitely not likable or maintainable in the long run. You felt safe behind your frown. Your unmoving face was your only defense, a strict, but necessary line of defense – your fragile rest of humanity, the part of you that made you weak and vulnerable was only shielded by your stone-hard indifference.

Alastor studied your face, his eyebrows raised high into his red bangs.

“Although, you don't seem too keen on that, if I may say so.”, he stated, he grinned and took another gulp of hot coffee. His voice sounded too overly smooth and nonchalant, you felt a bit like he was disappointed. “Maybe we'll find another tactic that suits you more.”

He tapped his chin, his long, slender, claw-like fingers looked like daggers against the morning sun.

“Well, then, maybe, try to show more of your personality darling. Converse more about your personal likes and dislikes, show interest and sympathy in the inhabitants. Listen closely, and know when to share, and when not to.”

You nodded. You were relieved, he had interpreted your thoughtful eyes and hesitation right, and even offered you an alternative. It wasn't ideal, but workable. You furrowed your brows. Alastor sat in front of the kitchen window, his never-ending smile wide and full of curious expectancy. The morning light illuminated his silhouette like a halo, yet there was an aura of darkness around him. So strange. And in a way, so... sad.

“I'll do my best. I promise.”

“I am most certain you will.”, he chuckled darkly, batting his dark lashes as he gave you a sly smile. “And kitten, I almost forgot the most important rule – You'll tell no one about our deal.”

Packing felt uneasy. The few things you had were quickly gathered together and put in a simple leather travel bag that sat readily on your bed. In a way, you would miss your room. It was small, but it was one of the few constants since you woke up in hell. You hadn't really bothered with decorating – with what? And more importantly – what for? But you had the feeling Alastor had equipped this room more like your own taste than his – a slight variation of his style, melded to fit more you.

As soon as you had entered the room, you wrote down the rules in your notebook.

You packed the diary to your clothes and toiletries, and closed the straps of the black bag with a sigh. From the corner of your eyes, you could see one of Alastor's shadows lurking in the corner, watching you. You glared at it, but left it be. You couldn't drive it away anyway. As you bent over to close your window, your hand pushed down on your pillow and a crisp sound cut the silence of the room, so loud you nearly choked on a wail. The photo of your mother! You hastily grabbed it from under your pillow. It had a new crease, but was still intact. You stared at it, wondering why you had almost forgotten your most precious memento.

Mom. She was so beautiful, did she really look like that? Your memory was strangely fuzzy for a moment. What would she look like now? How was her life, with ...Frank dead, his money in her account? Free to do as she pleases, no chain on the ankle, no daughter to sacrifice her future for, the heavy anchor drowning her youth and aspirations? Was she happy? You hoped so. When you were alive, you had her eyes. But you remembered that she was taller than you, more slender, not as curvy as you. Graceful. Talented. Tears. Oh shit. Tears! You were crying.

With a bit more force than you wanted you wiped the small drops from your cheek, taking a deep breath. You opened your bag again, ruffled till you found the little red book, and put the photo in the crease on the last page. You couldn't afford sentimentalities. What's done was done.

Alastor's shadow hummed.

“I will kill him! Charlie – let go, this time I'm REALLY gonna kill him!”

“Get new batteries for 'ya vibrator and STOP BITCHING! I. FUCKING. ASKED!”

“FOR A COKE!”

“This IS coke!”

Alastor hummed as he threw open the front door for you, not acknowledging the ruckus and screams from the inside. You were hesitant, but scanned your face to make sure it was friendly. Well, -er.

The scene you walked into was movie-esque. A cute demon girl with long, flowy blonde hair and rosy cheeks had wrapped her arms around the waist of a slightly smaller, moth-like girl with a spear in her hands, struggling to keep her away from ...someone? Another, very small female demon with one eye in a petticoat dress pulled at the girls ankles in a very ineffective attempt on helping, manically laughing. The target of the oncoming spear attack, a tall, very thin arachnid-like... man? Woman? Held on something that looked like very dubious bags of white powder, while his... her? face was turning pink from screaming. Behind the scene on a hybrid of a concierge desk and a bar, a grumpy winged cat-demon held his ears down with one paw, the other held a large, neon-green bottle half full of a liquid that surely would have been labeled radioactive or highly toxic on earth... it glowed.

“Home sweet Home, my dear!”, Alastor exclaimed joyfully, and started walking towards the mess of limbs, screams and weapons. You followed behind him, cautiously.

“These are DRUGS, Angel. I thought you meant the SOFTDRINK!”, the girl with the spear hissed, still being held back by the two other women.

“I'm not at fault at what you think I meant, bitch, that's on you.”

“Guys, stop it!”, the blonde cried whining, finally wrangling the spear away from her friend.

“And Angel, that's not cool. You know we don't want drugs in the hotel.”

Alastor cleared his throat, and heads turned to you two. Your ears twitched slightly, you could've laughed at the picture before you in another life.

“My dear friends, I've brought the promised company. Meet Miss (Y/n), my lovely assistant.”

You bowed your head, then remembered to be more informal, and waved weakly.

“Hello, it's a pleasure to meet...”

“WELCOME TO THE HAZBIN HOTEL!”, the blonde girl squealed, almost hauling herself to you. The sheer force of her body weight made you take a steadying step back. She was a bit taller than you, in a feminine dressy suit. Her face was creamy white, with distinct round, rosy cheeks and a smile wide as that of Alastors, although much warmer and more genuine.

“I'm Charlie, and um.. yeah, sorry about...” she motioned with both hands to the fight scene, “aaaaall of this, it's not always like that.”

You just nodded, looking over her exited gestures to the other inhabitants. They were staring at you, some with curiosity, some with skepticism. The Spear-girl looked especially angry.

“Come in, come in! Gosh, you're a cutie, look at those eyes! Here, here, let me introduce you!”, Charlie pushed you nearer to the group. You felt stiff at her enthusiasm, and tried to breathe to relax more. Be likable.

“This”, Charlie grabbed the angry looking girl with the spear, “is my girlfriend Vaggie. She manages the hotel with me.”

“Hi.”, you just said. She snorted at you, looking from Alastor, who observed the spectacle from the side with offensive amusement, back to you in a way that said 'I don't like you at all'.

“Deer Daddy has an assistant? That's a new one. She got a stone face. Did 'ya get her to work late-nighters with 'ya, smiles?”, the one who was introduced to you as Angel Dust asked Alastor, wiggling his eyebrows and smiling in a lewd way.

Alastor finally came to your side, one hand on your shoulder, and waved his hand derogatory. “Bare him no mind, kitten, Angel has a very... childish sense of humor.”

“Fuck you, I am hilarious.”, Angel answered, giving you a condescending smile. “Weell, 'ya got nice tits, sweety, but I'd loose the granny pants. Not sexy at all.”

The smallest demon girl, the one with the one eye, circled you non stop, looking you up and down while talking like a waterfall. “Kitten? I thought her name was (Y/N), is it because of your ears? Or the tail? Anyway, you look not much like a cat, Husker is much more catlike no offense! I like your eyes, uuuh, they sparkle, I'm Niffty by the way. These shoes are amazing, so pretty. AH!” Nifty swatted a cockroach right by your tail. “Gotcha!”, she grinned, almost like a gremlin, baring her sharp teeth at the poor insect. Husk, the aforementioned cat-like demon behind the bar, gave you a distrustful look, taking a big gulp from his questionable bottle, but nodded at you. Your head swirled. They were... loud. Chaotic. Eccentric. A lot. All of these things.

You took a deep calming breath. “Thank you for letting me stay here. It's very nice to meet you all. I hope I can be of best assistance to everyone.”

Alastor laughed beside you, pressing you into his side, his smile extraordinary bright and ecstatic. “See, Charlie, I've told you, she's a gem! We'll have the best of times with her!” His background audience cheered and hollered.

Charlie looked a bit nervous, searching for your eyes. As if she was suspecting you to be more of a hostage than an assistant. “Riiiiiight. How about me and Vaggie show you to your room? It's newly renovated, and really pretty! In the meantime you could prepare dinner, Alastor?”

Alastor beamed deviously, pushing you into the demon princesses arms with enthusiasm.

“What a wonderful idea, Charlie. You show her the knicks and knacks, I'll make use of the kitchen! Who's in the mood for Jambalaya?”

<< Previous Chapter - Next Chapter >>

[abigailjohn2023]

The Sweeping Achieve of Radio Development

Radio advancing is, by and large, in the present modernized world. TV and on the web publicizing get everybody's thought, aside from radio advancement remains totally one of the most bewildering ways of managing achieving your objective huge number. It is particularly persuading if your propelling spending plan doesn't make to TV or your get-together is very market or close by. voice drops

To be strong, finally, you'll need to framework radio showing as you would methodology another plan, all in all, you ought to have a particular target to you - progress of a thing, another assistance or connection transport off, sporadic purchase data, etc. You in addition need to know who your vested party is and sort out your development to the best radio station, the best correspondence and the ideal doorway opening.

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Kim Gordon proposes that you spread out your social occasion. Slight them down unequivocally to period, sex, money and conceivable home and some time later assistance with radioing grants stop, which is clearly going to have fitting social event data, to track down the right shows and time tasks.

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One of the essential advantages of radio advancing is that it's more sensible than TV or dissipating headways. In any event, everything, select associations could fight to deal with the expense of shocking openings. Inc. proposes a few choices rather than the standard 30 or 60 next plugs open. For instance, you could guide or co-support one of many radio's events. You could really help a specific level of the show, for instance, the temperature report or sports. In this model the DJ reliably says a little set thing early and following the piece. As an extra benefit, headways base on following express pieces of interest are the almost certain be revolved around.

[commercialkingsblog]

Radio Ads That Get Results

Radio publicizing can be an autonomous organization's dearest friend. It's by and large sensible, very convincing, and allows you to zero in on your group pretty unequivocally. It's moreover a level milestone - - your promotions can sound in basically the same manner comparable to those of a corporate goliath. producer voice tags

In any case, not all radio commercials are made same. Again and again, they're wasted on "name affirmation" distinguishes that should be run over and over, simply needing to convey a positive impression in the group's mind. Over the long haul they promise you more business, but nothing you can follow.

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Never let the radio station create your commercials. They're ordinarily particularly charming people, and extraordinary at the particular work of selling radio publicizing. In any case, they're generally not arranged creators. Ideally, you'll get a decent advancement that sounds like the wide range of various things on their station. Ideally, you'll get a horrible advancement. In case you will do radio, finish all that as required and select a specialist advertising trained professional.

Recap a story. Radio areas of strength for is light of the way that it is a confidential medium. It's often focused on when someone is isolated from every other person, for instance, while making a beeline for work. It can without a very remarkable stretch mix the inclination that prompts bargains, and the best method for doing that is by retelling a story. Make an engaging battle that is handled by your thing or organization and have it continued. Story-based plugs stop by dependably further developed results than standard host based ones.

Stick to one idea. 30 - - or even 60 - - seconds isn't a lot of time. Consume every single piece of it on one idea or benefit. Whatever else than that basically bewilders your group.

Give a sensible wellspring of motivation. You won't get brings about the occasion that you don't demand them. Tell your crowd individuals it you accept they ought to do, whether it is visit your store, call you or visit your site. Whatever else you do, remember about this step. If you don't demand that your group do anything, they will not. These considerations couldn't simply super-charge your radio advancements, it's likely they anytime will save you cash too. Since a carefully formed advancement will make more response without being run so a ton.

Would it be really smart for you eventually own or assemble a workplace, daily existence arranged building, you are familiar the upsides of getting a prepared business cleaning organization which you can trust. Since clearly, your gathering, potential clients and guests will require a perfect, stayed aware of and mentioned working spot.

Regardless, with all the business cleaning organizations in Sydney and the country over these days, precisely how might you pick a provider that you'll have the limit help out across the long run and that you're prepared to rely on to complete a stunning responsibility, every single time?

Besides, recorded underneath are a couple of locales to consider while considering choosing an absolutely new fitting cleaning organization for your office environment or business arranged building

[becomingbts]

Time heals (sometimes) - 1

Summary: 6 years ago, (Y/N) thought that she was finally taking her life into her hands, leaving behind a toxic and abusive relationship with a man who taught her she’d never be worthy of love. However, it became hard to ignore his words when she met her seven soulmates who rejected her without even giving her a chance to prove herself. It took (Y/N) 3 years to realize that it wouldn’t be her end. She would live on to prove them all wrong; she would become what they all thought she wasn’t: someone worthy of love. And as she stands proudly on the stage, under the  burning spotlights and the applause and  the cries of the delirious crowd, she feels alive. Alive, just like the bond she believed to be broken.

Pairings: Y/N x OT7

GENRE: Soulmate AU!, Idol Y/NAU!, semi social-media AU!, ANGST (mainly), fluff, romance, maybe smut in the series.

Ask or comment to be tagged!

1.5k

Warnings:  The series is going to be heavy with a lot of personal experiences  mixed into the fiction, so this is going to be kind of therapeutic for me. Please, consider not reading the series if you are not comfortable with: abandonment issues, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, self-harm (not descriptive and only part of MC’s past), suicide thoughts (in the past), toxic behavior, toxic and abusive relationship (in the past), depreciating self-talk and low self-esteem, a lot of curse, physical and mental pain, near death experience situation (in the past), and maybe smut scenes (happy ending though, but it will probably be quite the ride).

NOTE: So hello everyone, welcome to Time Heals (sometimes). Thank you so, so much for the warm welcoming, it has been my first time getting so many asks, I was honestly overjoyed. I still don’t really know what to call this part; is it a teaser? A note? A full chapter? I believe we’ll get some snapshot of memories like this one throughout the series because there is going to be a lot to unpack on both sides. I think it will be a chapter nevertheless because I have to establish some kind of order as to which parts should be read first, and I think this one is extremely important.

Thank you for reading,

-Dolly

Profiles #2 - here - part 2

Her scream pierced through the air while cries broke in the frenzied arena while a single blond-haired man froze, emptily staring at the stage. It felt like his senses heightened; his skin was shuddering, his eyes were frantically searching for one specific figure while his voice was lost in his throat. The screams resonating in the stadium would have been too loud for his voice to be heard anyway. 

Jimin knew he shouldn’t be there. 

Namjoon had told them more than once that none of them should try to go to one of (Y/N)’s events. It could be dangerous and they could be overwhelmed; anything could happen to them and they would still remain a nobody who fainted in the howling crowd. Would they want to take this risk? No.

So, Jimin would have had to admit that going to her very first concert in Seoul since the pandemic sounded like a very, very, very bad idea. And to be honest, it still didn’t seem to be a bright idea now that he was actually there. 

But he still went because he needed to see her for himself; to see how she was. He had so many things he dreamed about asking her. Are you okay? Are you sleeping well? Did you eat before coming to the arena? Are you nervous? Do you... remember me? 

Maybe he was torturing himself. He kept on watching her lives, following her on all social media, always made sure to leave a sweet comment, and never miss any of her new updates... Maybe he even had a folder of pictures of her on his phone but he’d never admit it to any of his mates. Taehyung would probably take his phone away from him and delete everything and Jimin couldn’t let that happen.

He felt like it was cheating. Don’t take him wrong though. When he thought that, he was not really thinking about the boys. They did collectively agree not to follow her activities as an artist but it was getting harder and harder with how popular she got anyway. Moon was everywhere. In commercials, on the radio, her songs were on the TV… Even if she was known for refusing most of the promotional contracts that were offered to her, her image was still constantly in the media despite her avoidance of it. Ironic, but the media were trying their best to find anything about her, be it positive or negative. One day she was seen on her bike, the next, she was in a coffee shop, and it kept on going on, overstepping on her privacy as if it was just a meaningless word. 

The lockdown had admittedly played a major part in Jimin’s obsession. Being in their apartment meant quickly running out of activities, and his job as a dance teacher was not really filling his free time (a lot of his classes were also canceled). It was also during that time that (Y/N) truly blew up as an independent artist. Advertisement on YouTube started being around her channel and her music, the recommendations he kept on seeing were about also her… Jimin’s resolve honestly broke easily. It was hard not to be curious about his lost soulmate even though he didn’t feel like he had the right to be hurting. 

Anyway, to come back to his main point, if Jimin felt like he was cheating; it was mostly for her. After all, (Y/N) had no means of letting the curiosity get the best of her, to know what they were doing; to simply see or contact them. He had, at first, not really thought about that. Watching her content seemed a very innocent thing to do in his opinion; billions of people were watching her content, why should he prevent himself from doing so? Yet, Jimin could still remember one of her live she did soon after that interview she had given on this damned radio show where she had revealed who her title track ‘TIME’ was about… She had gone live the next day-Jimin had jumped on his phone because of the notification-and one fan had asked her what would she do if she knew that her ‘ex-soulmates’ (and those words left a very sour taste in Jimin’s mind) were watching her. The question had silenced a previously restless Jimin, replacing his initial excitation with dread while a lump formed itself in his throat. He had not even noticed it; he was so focused on her live and her upcoming answer that Jimin had completely missed the sound of a glass breaking in the apartment. Jimin had been home alone, so even if had indeed heard it, he probably wouldn’t have bothered to check what had happened, thinking that the wind knocked it over or something. Jimin had been so absorbed by what he had been watching that he even got surprised a few hours later when Seokjin came home and yelled at him for breaking something when he had been clearly innocent, engrossed in (Y/N)’s live (not that he could tell his soulmates about that part, but yeah). (Y/N)’s live would always be more important than some random glass breaking again in their apartment. Every object was doomed with Namjoon living here anyway.

On her side of the screen though, (Y/N) had seemed taken aback as she had read the question and had gritted her teeth gently. She had seemed to be pondering about her answer even though a lot of people in her chat were telling her to forget about the question if it made her uncomfortable (a lot were even scolding the person who asked). Yet, sighing softly, she had looked up at the screen: 

“I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from asking questions on this topic. It’s not taboo but I’d rather not remember everything that comes with it. However, to answer this-hopefully-last question about it, I’d ask them to turn off my stream and to stop watching any of my content. It would only be fair after all. I’ve been denied access to their lives six years ago, why would they get a free pass into mine now?” She had not smiled nor had she seemed hurt by her own comment, yet Jimin’s heart had shattered in pieces, unable to press the cancel button. 

Her voice had slowly faded into background noise while her words had been stuck in his head. 

I’d ask them to turn off my stream and to stop watching any of my content. 

How could Jimin ever do that? He realized that he truly should. Namjoon would even agree with you, as ironic as it sounded for Jimin. Namjoon had been one of the most adamant ones about rejecting your bond, after all. Jimin was shaking with bitterness while ‘Moon’ continued her stream peacefully with music. Jimin could only try to gulp his anger down as he remembered her crumbling features on that fateful day. 

“You’re not our soulmates. This name on our arms means nothing to us. You are nothing to us if not a hindrance. Leave us alone.” 

If Jimin could go back in time, he’d prevent Taehyung from spatting those words at her. Yet, he couldn’t do anything. Playing the scene over and over in his mind wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change that she probably hated them. It wouldn’t change the song she made about them. 

And worst of all, it wouldn’t change the fact that Jimin had let himself believe that their choice had been for the best, trying to console and reassure himself, even if he had already known that it was wrong. Tears were pooling up in his eyes even if none escaped as he finally caught a glimpse of her on the stage. Suddenly brought back to reality after his subconscious memory trip, Jimin finally connected back to the world, looking around while he was still frozen on his spot. People were still screaming around him and he wondered if he looked like an intruder. Because, after all, wasn’t that what he exactly was? She said it herself that she didn’t wish for them to watch her; so what was he doing here? 

Jimin couldn’t help but stare; she looked ethereal, dressed like a queen in the middle of a sold-out arena. People were screaming her name as she yelled her infamous ‘hi people’. It was an opening sentence that Jimin heard way too many times in her vlogs and suddenly hearing it in real life seemed surreal. 

Jimin could only watch in awe, entranced with her everything. 

Screw the boys and what they would think once he’d be back from her concert. 

He had been the one to find her six years ago anyway. He had been the one to bring her to their home six years ago, hoping for the boys to change their mind once they’d meet her.

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Uploaded : 09/04/2021

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[rubdown]

I was tagged by @kvothes to name 10 songs I love by 10 different artists and u know what... I'd love to! Now I'm a person who likes to listen to the same music for 15-20 years in a row plus I'm a FM radio top 40head and somebody who never knows what's going on and who loves slop. But these are some songs that I can never listen to enough times in a row!!!!

1. No One Dies From Love by Tove Lo - ok not to be like "WHY is NOBODY talking about this" but like why is nobody talking about this!!!! Not only does it fuckin whip ass and slap but she says "no one dies from love..... guess I'll be the first.... will you remember us.... or are the memories too stained with blood now?" HELLO??????????? THE FACT THAT THIS ISN'T BEING DISCUSSED AT ALL HOURS RIGHT NOW???? THIS IS A FUCKIN SONG!!!!

2. Western Wind by Carly Rae Jepsen - is this the best CRJ song I've ever heard in my life??? No... that's "I Know You Have a Girlfriend" which isn't on any American streaming services so I have to listen to it 200x in a row on YouTube which is dehumanizing. Sitting here rewinding it with my fingers... ok. HOWEVER this is a new CRJ song and I love it and it has changed me. The verses are like fine but the chorus sounds soooo good.... "DO U FEEL HOME FROM ALL DIRECTIONS??????"

3. Dark Green Water by Great Grandpa - @notthequiettype put this on a playlist (btw if anyone posts a playlist or a song I'm not joking when I say I slam the link and listen immediately like if u think nobody cares think again bc I am on top of it) and it stopped me in my tracks!!!!!! About 3 minutes in it gets quiet and ur like ok it's winding down... then they pop off and start yelling again and it HITS!!!!!! She's like "hold on best I can to a space where... ALL 🗣 THINGS 🗣 FADE 🗣 INTO DARK 🗣 GREEN 🗣 WATER!!!!!" voice breaking.... absolutely yes bitch.

4. BITM by Leikeli47 - Spotify put "Money" by Leikeli47 on their Taurus zodiac playlist a couple years ago and as a Taurus I listened to it and was just like yes..... YES!!!!!!! She just dropped a new album and maybe it is being overshadowed... but it completely fucks!!!!! "U MIGHT WANNA LOOK BOTH WAYS BEFORE U THINK ABOUT CROSSING ME"..... YES!!!!!! I WANNA GO CRAZY

5. Teach Me by Miguel - ok like I said I listen to the same songs for decades... this is from an extremely important 2010 album and is without question one of the best horny fuck songs of all time. IT WASN'T EVEN A SINGLE?????? ANYWHERE WE ARE~ I'M DARING U TO DEMONSTRATE~ THE FRONT SEAT OF MY CAR~ CLOSE UR EYES AND ACCELERATE~ IF U NEVER SEEN SATURN~ TAKE A RIDE ON MY ROCKET BABE~ UR BODY IS A PARTY AND~ I JUST WANNA CELEBRATE~ brother that's fuckin music!!!!!!

6. Diane by Cam - this is sort of a reverse Jolene where miss Cam finds out she's fuckin another girl's man and she's like oh my god I'm SO sorry I had NO idea we BOTH should dump his cheating ass. Full force galloping at full speed music and this bitch is SINGING her HEAD off!!!!!! "ALL THOSE NIGHTS THAT HE'S GIVEN TO ME... I WISH THAT I COULD GIVE THEM BACK TO U!!!!!"

7. Come To My Window by Melissa Etheridge - I learned what the dictionary defines a lesbian as because this song came on the radio at some point when I was a young child so like between 1993-1996 probably and I was like now this is a fuckin song and my mom was like "hey u know Melissa Etheridge is a lesbian" and I was like what's a lesbian and my mom was like (paraphrasing) "a woman who loves other women" and I was like oh my god... remember when Applebee's used this song in a commercial to promote their curbside pickup???? JUST THINKING ABOUT IT MAKES ME SCREAM... LESBIAN APPLEBEE'S???? CRAWL INSIDE.... WAIT BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON!!!!

8. Spud Infinity by Big Thief - springy sproingy jug band science fiction porch music.... music to think about how u are a small and in the dirt but at the same time u are everything in the sky. KISS THE ONE U ARE RIGHT NOW KISS UR BODY UP AND DOWN.... OTHER THAN UR ELBOWS. Brother I'm losing steam they shouldn't let me write about things I like

9. Cat & Dog by TXT - I think everyone should listen to this kpop song at least once. I will never forget sitting here getting my mind blasted wide open by it. TXT set a precedent with this and they haven't disappointed me since. THEY GOT THESE LITTLE BOYS BARKING ON THE TRACK RIGHT OUT OF THE GATE!!!!! The English version they say "it's no coincidence it's a kitty-incidence" think about THAT!!!!

10. Stay (I Missed You) by Lisa Loeb - this was recently featured on the tv limited series Station Eleven where someone who was born after 99% of the population died in a flu pandemic sings it on a karaoke machine. This proves how important this song is... Stay by Lisa Loeb transcends total global collapse. DID LISA LOEB DIE IN THE FICTIONAL PANDEMIC???? OH GOD... btw if u still haven't watched Station Eleven u simply must. It sounds bleak but it isn't and made me cry so hard from joy that my face separated from my skull. SO I - I TURNED THE RADIO ON I TURNED THE RADIO UP AND THIS WOMAN WAS SINGIN MY SONG!!!!!!

[nugnthopkns]

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. “Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You’re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @ricohenrique @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[angryschnauzer]

Blackwater Lake - Chapter 1

Summary: There’s a little town high in the mountains where everyone has a secret, and every family has something that makes them unique. In Blackwater Lake those that are outcast by nature come together. 

Characters: Werewolf!Captain Syverson, Werewolf!Female Reader, Vampire!Walter Marshall.

Warnings (for this chapter, all small mentions but warning just in case): Breastfeeding, Accidental Cutting Injury/Blood loss, blood transfusions. This chapter contains no sex scenes or scenes of a sexual nature.

A continuation of previous Werewolf!Sy stories Moonlight on the Sand and Castle Under The Stars. This will be a series of stand alone stories/2 parters, which will revolve around the residents of the town, with some recurring characters.

I do not run a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post something new.

Blackwater Lake - Chapter 1

The late spring day brought pleasant scents and mouth watering flavours, Blackwater Lake’s town May day parade in full flow as you held two month old Luna in her carrier to your chest, turning to smile at your husband Sy as he balanced Mikey on his shoulders so your son could watch the floats whilst they slowly cruised past. You knew he would be most excited about the Fire Department bringing their trucks past. At the first whoop of the siren Mikey squealed with joy, the ice cream cone in his hand tipping slightly and setting a blob of blue bubblegum flavour gelato into Sy’s cheek;

“Hey, no wriggles! Its raining ice cream down here”

Pausing the consumption of your own cone you handed it to Sy as you reached into your bag and found a baby wipe, moving to wipe his cheek before stretching to wipe your son’s face. Finding a trash can to toss the wipe into, you smiled as you watched your two boys as they waved to the Fire Trucks, the crew making sure to honk their horns when they saw Sy.

Everyone in town loved Sy. You’d moved there together when you’d found out you were pregnant with Mikey, your army days behind you and wanting to seek somewhere quiet where you could live in the woods to allow for full moon runs whilst being close enough to civilisation to raise a family. The aging receptionist at the realtor had pulled you aside the second you’d arrived in their office when you’d visited the town, recognising one of her own as her nostrils had flared and she’d explained that there were ‘all sorts’ in the town. That was your first meeting with Edith, and you’d gone on to move in just up the mountain from her. Once Sy had finished in the Army and baby number two was on the way, he’d started working alongside retired detective Walter at his construction company where they specialised in commercial buildings. They were always on call for when businesses had emergencies, so had come to the aid of half the town after storms and accidents.

As the parade dragged on Luna woke, grumbling for a change and a feed. The two boys were transfixed with the parade and you’d lost your ice cream cone to Sy who was now mindlessly munching away on it. Tugging on his sleeve you caught his attention;

“Luna’s woken up, i’m gonna take her into Sue’s Coffee Shop to change her and give her a feed”

“Sure thing Darlin, we’ll come find you in a bit”

-

The coffee shop was quiet, its doors opened onto the sidewalk and as the radio played soft rock music, just one or two tables taken outside but the inside empty. Sue - the owner - smiled at you as you walked in;

“Hey Sue!”

“Hey there! What can I get'cha?”

“Can i get a decaf iced latte? I just need to change Luna if that’s ok?”

“Of course, no need to ask, the restroom is empty”

A couple of minutes later your little girl had a clean butt but was still grizzling, now hungry for your milk. Sue had set your drink onto a table in the corner, a soft window seat she knew you liked to sit at to feed. Settling in you pulled your cami top down and unhooked the strap of your nursing bra, helping Luna to latch on as she cried before a blissful quiet descended over you as she happily suckled on your breast. In the quiet of the coffee shop you reached for your drink and sipped on it, smiling down at your beautiful daughter as she gazed up at you;

“Hey there my little Luna, better now? Is that the good stuff? Yeah? Well that’s what your Daddy says it is…” you said with a whisper and a smirk.

“Hey”

The sudden greeting made you jump, looking up to see Walter standing near your table;

“Oh, Hi Walter”

“Sorry…” he glanced away, averting his eyes from where you were feeding; “I just asked if you wanted anything?”

“Oh no, i’m fine, i’ve got a coffee… but you’re welcome to join me if you like? Sy and Mikey will be along once the Parade’s over”

Nodding once the quiet man went to order before returning with what looked like a quad espresso but faltering when it came to taking a seat;

“Where did you want me to sit?”

“Oh anywhere you like” you shifted Luna as she had finished on one breast, hooking that side up before shifting and moving her to the other breast. You’d mastered the art of switching breasts without revealing anything, the baby's head blocking any view of a nipple, and you were a vehement supporter of breast feeding - in fact any feeding - and had been known to get into loud shouting matches with anyone that told you to cover up something that was completely natural.

“I mean, i don’t want Sy to think i’m here oggling his wife’s tits”

Laughing, you kicked out a soft chair with your foot;

“This is fairly low, take this one and here…” you moved the upright menu on the table in front of Luna’s head, knowing that she would now be shielded from view and with your breast, and saving Walter’s embarrassment.

Just as Walter sat down Sue brough over his sandwich, the scent of it hitting your nostrils and making your stomach audibly growl;

“Oh wow, what is that?”

“A steak wrap with chimichurri sauce” he lifted one half and offered it to you, but you shook your head.

“Thanks, but that’s just a little too rare for me… looks like a good veterinarian could bring it back to life”

Walter laughed as you called out to Sue, ordering one of the same.

“You want yours still mooing too?”

“Medium, please” you laughed as she nodded and walked away.

As she cooked your meal you turned back to Walter. You’d had a few conversations with him over the 11 months he and Sy had worked together, but knew very little about him apart from his reputation of being quiet and surly, generally sleep deprived and a little pale most of the time. He’d been medically retired from the Police Department after an accident where he’d lost a lot of blood and had never fully recovered.

As Luna happily fed and Walter devoured his sandwich you sipped on your drink, watching with curiosity as the man ate in silence, savouring each bloody bite. When he finally crumpled the napkin onto the plate and sat back he caught you watching him;

“What? Do i have something on my face?”

“No” you laughed softly; “Just watching how quickly you devoured that sandwich. Rachel not feeding you at home?”

Walter’s face dropped;

“She left”

“Oh fuck. I’m sorry Walter, i wouldn’t have said anything if i’d known”

“S’ok. She got fed up with the way i lived my life, but i can’t change who i am”

“True”

Just then Sy and Mikey came running into the coffee shop;

“Hi Darlin! Hi Sue! Hi Walt… be right back, Jnr has a bathroom emergency!”

The two Syverson boys disappeared into the restroom, and you could clearly hear Sy’s voice;

“Point! POINT IT AT THE TOILET! That’s it, stand on your tippy toes… there we go! Got here in time!”

You suppressed a laugh, Walter raising his eyebrows;

“Potty training?”

“Uh-huh… it's been a challenging few weeks to say the least, but Mikey wanted to give it a go”

The sound of the dryer could be heard as Sy and Mikey reappeared, Sy giving you double thumbs up from behind his son who ran to you;

“A perfect aim Darlin, no leaks. Think this deserves a cookie!”

As Mikey squealed with joy you groaned;

“Sy… not more sugar! He’ll be up all night. Mikey, honey, how about some fries?”

“And Eggies?” Mikey asked

“Sure thing honey, get Daddy to ask Sue”

As the afternoon wore on and the boys chatted, you listened as Sy and Walter discussed work stuff, Luna sleeping peacefully in your arms as you ate with Mikey. Finally glancing at your watch you motioned to Sy the time;

“Hun, i’ve gotta go collect our meat order from Walkers Meats”

“Oh yeah, sure. Here…” He opened his wallet and peeled off a bunch of $20’s as he turned to Walter; “She makes the best Steak Tartare… it's unbelievable”

“You make that?” Walter asked

Angling Luna into her carrier sling you adjusted the straps and nodded;

“Sure do! Hey, did you want to join us for dinner?”

“Yeah, join us!” Sy parroted; “And before you say anything, you wouldn’t be intruding”

With a weak smile Walter nodded;

“Sure, that’ll be nice. I gotta go to the lumber yard before though… pick out the stuff for next week's job”

You noticed that Mikey had finished his meal and was looking sleepy, holding your hand out to him he slid off the chair and stood next to you;

“How about I take the kids home, Sy you catch a ride with Walter?”

With everyone happy with the arrangements you made your way along main street to where Sy had parked his enormous truck, helping Mikey into his seat before unlatching Luna and settling her into her carrier. They were both fast asleep by the time you got to the drivers seat. 

You managed to park directly outside the door to Walkers Meats, and Freya the weekend girl helpfully brought everything out to you when you called inside that the kids were asleep in the car and you didn’t want to leave them.

-

Dinner had been fun. The two kids were peacefully sleeping as the three adults chatted after the meal, before you finally stood to load the dishwasher and start hand washing the items that couldn’t go in there. Just as you were about to start you heard a cry from the kids, Sy standing;

“It’s Mikey, i’ll go”

As you started to handwash the various knives and delicate glasses, Walter stood at your side to dry items, the two of you talking casually before you let out a cry and pulled your hand from the soapy bowl of water. The dark crimson of your blood flowed from your finger, the knife you’d forgotten you’d put in the sink the cause;

“Fuck… hand me a towel…” you asked Walter, but were surprised when he sucked in a sharp intake of breath and turned, hunching over. Clutching your hand to your chest, you were surprised by his reaction, before he suddenly turned and you let out a shriek.

Sy appeared at the doorway in a panic before rushing to you, wrapping a napkin around your hand before he finally turned to look at Walter;

“What the fuck…”

Walter was pale, paler than usual, but that wasn’t what shocked the pair of you. No, it was the fact his eyes were pure white except for dark pools for his pupils, and as he opened his mouth to speak you saw his fangs;

“It’s… it’s the blood…” he gasped out; “It drives me…”

Sy wrapped his arm around your shoulders, but looked at his friend as he slumped onto the floor, shaking and sobbing;

“Think we need a chat Walt”

-

The three of you sat around the kitchen table, a hefty glass of scotch in front of each of you as Walter spoke;

“So umm yeah… this is why i left the Department. Went into a supposedly abandoned building, but it wasn’t empty. Two what we thought were junkies in there, looked like they were frail and would snap in a keen wind, but they had this strength and speed… They overpowered me, latched onto my neck. Drained my blood, and when the last drop was about to pass their lips one of my officers finally found me and shot them. They bled into me. The EMT’s took me to New Mercy and gave me a massive blood transfusion, and treated me for severe anemia… well guess what, the fangs and fucked up eyes were a surprise a few weeks after i was discharged”

You sat wide eyed and mouth agape, not touching your drink;

“I have so many questions...”

“Okay”

“Garlic. Crosses. Being invited in. Sunlight…”

Walter chuckled;

“Most a load of complete bollocks. Garlic? Well you put some in your steak tartare didn’t you? In fact it helps with the anemia. Crosses? No issue. Being invited in, again that’s just rubbish. Sunlight however… why do you think i’m so pale, huh? Have to wear factor 50 all the damn time otherwise i end up looking like a Maine Lobster at a cookout”

Both you and Sy were transfixed, Walter chatting away but his eyes hadn’t returned to normal and his fangs occasionally caught on his lip as he spoke.

“What ‘bout blood then?” Sy asked

Walter cleared his throat;

“Well, i’ve been making do with cows blood since Rachel left”

“You used to suck her blood?” you asked in a high pitched voice

Again Walter cleared his throat, this time just the faintest hint of a blush crept over his cheeks above his beard;

“Err yeah, about once a month… but she had enough in the end and left”

“I got another question” Sy interjected; “Why are your fangs still out?”

Although he answered Sy, Walter looked directly at you;

“Because she’s bleeding”

You looked down at your hand, puzzled as the wound had now sealed, before it hit you;

“Oh… I should go and sort that out”

Sy caught up quickly, glancing at the back of your dress;

“You’re fine Darlin, Walt caught it in time”

When you returned to the kitchen the two men had knocked back their drinks, Sy pouring another hefty glass for the pair of them. Pouring your drink into Sy’s you smiled at him;

“Luna won’t appreciate it”

Making yourself a herb tea you sat down next to Sy, leaning on his shoulder as you sipped your tea. Walter cleared this throat;

“You two have taken this a lot better than i envisioned anyone would… better than Rachel did…”

You looked up at Sy and smiled, his own grin crossing over his face before he nodded and you both turned to Walter as Sy spoke;

“Oh… we have a bit of understanding of this kinda thing”

With the full moon starting tomorrow night you knew that you could both force your eyes to turn orange, the bright ring of fire in your irises flaming like a pyre, shocking Walter so much he slipped back on his chair and fell to the floor. Greeted by both of you giggling, he pulled himself back up using the table as he righted his chair, knocking back the rest of his glass;

“What… the… FUCK?”

[redisriding]

The Right Swipe - Chapter Eight

A Court of Thorns and Roses Modern AU Fanfic

All character’s belong to the wonderful Sarah J Maas.

Tags: @superspiritfestival @duskandstarlight @perseusannabeth @courtofjurdan @omg-aelin @keshavomit​ @rainbowcheetah512 @queenestarcheron @mis-lil-red @queen-of-glass​

Cassian sat in his truck, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music playing on the radio. It was some classic rock channel that his truck had picked up on the drive out of Velaris to the hiking trail where he had agreed to meet Nesta for their second date.  

He had been waiting for almost an hour. Not that Nesta was late, but because Cassian had arrived excessively early. 

He had woken before his alarm that morning and was too restless to try and go back to sleep, so he had got up and padded around Azriel’s plush apartment making himself breakfast. 

But even the elaborate spread he concocted disappeared sooner than he would have liked. He sat at Azriel’s kitchen table trembling with energy that he didn’t know what to do with. 

After cleaning up, he decided to make himself useful. Locating Azriel’s tool box, which was some search, he set about hanging the paintings that Rhys had ordered to brighten up the grey minimalist box that Azriel lived in. 

He had only drilled the first hole in the wall when Azriel emerged from his room, bleary-eyed and grumpy. “Cass, what are you doing?”

“Hanging the art Rhys bought.”

“I can see that, but do you need to do it before 8am on a Saturday?! The neighbours are going to complain.” 

“Right, yeah. Sorry.”

“Why are you even up so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, go watch TV or something.” 

“Do you want to—.”

But Azriel had already retreated back into his room, presumably to hide under his duvet for another few hours. 

Cassian closed the toolbox with a sigh. 

Lying down on the floor he began scissoring his arms and legs, making dust angels, while trying to decide how best to kill his morning. 

He wasn’t nervous about his second date with Nesta, for everything that could have gone wrong already had. Today’s date was a lucky second chance he didn’t think he was going to get, so he was determined that today Nesta was going to get to know the real him, and if she didn’t like it, well he didn’t lose anything he hadn’t already anyway. 

Climbing off the floor, he headed for the bathroom.

He didn’t think he had ever showered before a hike, it was the kind of thing you did after you got all sweaty, but given this hike was really a date, turning up smelling ripe wouldn’t do him any favours.

He did however take the opportunity, while he stood under the warm cascade of water, to stroke himself to completion…twice. Nesta’s presence already did things to him, he didn’t need to add unreasonable levels of horniness to the mix. 

After towelling off, he spent longer than necessary arranging his hair into a loose man bun, a style that Emerie always told him was sexy. He choose to assume she was an authority for all women and that Nesta would approve. 

Grabbing his phone off the vanity, he sent her quick message.

Looking forward to seeing you today :) 

Nesta’s rely came a few minutes later. 

Hope you can keep up ;)

Cassian’s chest clenched, that stupid grin he’d recently started sporting spread across his face.

Don’t worry about me sweetheart ;) 

Adjusting his towel, and himself, Cassian padded from the bathroom back into the room he was staying in at Az’s. 

He pulled a pair of trousers from the drawer he had hastily stuck the few clothes he brought with him into when he arrived. He then spent longer than he was prepared to admit debating which of his three flannel shirts he should wear. Cassian was just grateful he didn’t have to borrow anything ill-fitting of Az’s this time. 

After lacing up his boots with shaking hands, he decided that he couldn’t sit around in Azriel’s apartment any longer, he was going stir crazy, which is how he now found himself at their date spot, early. 

A few hikers who had passed in the hour he sat there had thrown him dirty looks. Men who sitting alone in trucks in the forrest tended not to be up to any good. To be fair to them, about half an hour in, Cassian did debate unzipping his trousers to rub a quick one out just to ensure that any lingering horniness was drained. In the end he decided against exposing himself, given, to do so would be to commit a criminal offence. 

It was then that he had started tapping his steering wheel and singing along to the classic anthems. 

The radio had just cut to a commercial break when a little red spots car appeared in his mirror. He laughed as it came to a stop behind his truck. 

Of course that was what she would drive. 

————

Nesta parked her car behind a massive truck. There was absolutely no reason for it to be the size that it was. She was sure that it was owned by some Velaris douche who thought anything outside the city limits could only be enhanced by the smell of exhaust fumes and the sound of an engine revving. She was nervous parking her car behind it, for fear the driver would simply reverse over her car, but it was the only space available in the small lot at the foot of the hiking trail. 

Switching off the engine she pulled her phone just her bag and sent Cassian a message. 

Hey! I’ve just arrived :) 

She hadn’t seen him while she was searching for a parking space, so maybe he was still yet to arrive. He didn’t really know Velaris particularly well after all. 

She shucked off the tennis shoes she had been wearing to drive and pulled her hiking boots from the back seat. She had her head down, lacing them up, when a knock on her window startled her. 

Jumping, Nesta looked up see a smirking Cassian crouched down looking in the window at her. 

Her stomach lurched, brain short circuiting. 

Gods. 

This was not the man she had met 10 days ago for dinner at the House of Wind. 

He was spectacular. 

Gone was the nervousness, dressed in clothes that didn’t fit him, with hair that was gelled like a helmet to his head. 

Instead, today, Cassian looked at ease. He was wearing a dark green flannel and his hair was tied in a messy bun. Loose tendrils framed his face. She wanted to touch them. She bet his hair was soft. Probably nicer than her own. 

If she could just run her hands through…

Nesta realised that she was gaping at him. 

Quickly righting herself, she swung open the car door. “Hey!,” she said.

“Hey yourself.” He kept that easy knowing smile, like there was something she was missing.

“You been here long?”

“Nope just got here.”

“Cool, let me just get these boots on and we can hit the trail.”

“Take your time, sweetheart.”

A little thrill went through Nesta at the casual way he called her that. 

She ducked her head to hide her blush, focusing instead on her laces. She didn’t look at Cassian but she could feel his eyes on her, watching her.

Her hands shook. 

She felt vulnerable, exposed, sitting in her low sports car, his presence looming. 

He was so much taller than Nesta remembered, broader too. She was eye level with his powerful thighs wrapped in black work trousers. 

There was something predatory about the way he stood. Dangerous. Not to her. Just that he was a powerful man, taking up space in a way he hadn’t the first time they met. 

Nesta’s blood heated. 

Finished tying her lace, she grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat and made to stand up. Cassian was beside her in an instant, arm outstretched like a gentleman to help her out of her car. 

With anyone else she would have not so politely told them where to go, but with Cassian, she was happy to accept any excuse to touch him. 

“Ready?” She asked, when she found herself parallel with his chest. 

“Yep, you know the way?” 

“Yeah I come up here all the time.” 

“It seems nice,” Cassian said. 

Nesta snorted a laugh, “This is the car park.” 

“Yeah,” pink tinged Cassian’s cheeks. Something inside Nesta twisted, she didn’t know how it could go from intimidating in one moment, to adorable in the next. “I just meant the forrest…it seems like a nice spot to go hiking.”

“If you’re impressed by this, the view at the top is going to blow you away,” she said, setting off down the trail. 

Cassian chuckled, he was behind her now, following her up the narrow path cut into the undergrowth. It would widen soon and they would be able to walk beside each other, but for now Nesta swayed her hips a little more than she normally would. “And if I’m not blow away?” 

“Oh you will be.”

“Willing to bet?” 

“Sure.”

Cassian paused for a moment, but when he spoke again, Nesta could hear the daring in his voice. “If you make me walk all the way to the top of this mountain and I’m not blown away by the view I want a kiss.”

“A kiss?” That liquid heat slicked through her again. Where was this bold Cassian the last time they went out? Trapped in that terrible hair perhaps?

“A kiss.”

“And if you make to the top and are blown away by the view?”

“Well then I’ll give you a kiss.” 

She snorted, “So either way, we get to the top of this mountain and we’re kissing?”

“Sounds like good odds to me.”

“Sounds like rigged odds!” 

“The first rule of gambling, sweetheart, the bookie always wins.”

She snorted a laugh.

“So what do you say, Nes, do you accept those odds?”

“Ask me again when we reach the half way point.” 

Silence fell between them then. Heated. Until they rounded a corner and the path widened. Cassian fell into step beside her.

“Do you hike much in Illyria?” She asked him. 

“No. I wish I could do it more, it’s so beautiful up there, but it’s…messy.” 

“Messy?”

“Yeah,” Cassian shrugged, “There used to be great hiking all over Illyria, but now, the land has all been carved up and sold to logging companies and private developers. The paths all cut through private property so you’re trespassing if you want to hike a trail.” 

“Ah, messy.”

“The old-timers really hate it.”

“I can imagine.”

“All of this wild land they had the free run of in their youth, now it’s all gone. Well, it’s still there but no one can use it.” Cassian ran a frustrated had through his hair. The movement showing off the size of his bicep. Nesta was sure it was bigger than her thigh. “There is this old guy in the town nearest me, real grumpy, his name is Beron. He always said that no one could push him off his ancestral lands, ya know?”

Nesta nodded. This was a story she knew all to well. 

“So one day, he goes hiking on this trail that cuts through land owned by some development company, they want to log the forest and then extract minerals from the soil or some shit,” Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically, “Anyway, a week later, old Beron get’s a cease and desist letter in the mail from the development company. Apparently they have cameras all over their land and were able to identify him. It’s fucked up.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“No?”

“No. Stuff like this is happens all the time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Velaris and Hewn City are growing exponentially, and developers are swooping in to try and make a fast buck.”

“Illyria is not growing, it’s the opposite. Nobody under 40 lives there.”

“You live there.”

“Yeah well I’m special,” Cassian said with a wink. 

Nesta gave him a playful shove with her shoulder, it did nothing to move the mountain of a man walking beside her. His shove back however…

It was enough to push Nesta off balance. Her foot caught on a rock. Her ankle twisted. 

And then she was falling. 

Her arms propelling in an attempt to grab hold of something.

To keep her off the ground. 

Just as she toppled backwards a thick arm wrapped around her waist catching her. Pulling her tight against him. 

“Shit sorry Nes, I didn’t mean…” his voice trailed off as is he realised the position they were in.

How close he stood to her. 

One big arm wrapped around her tiny waist, pulling her body tight against his. Her hands clutching onto his thick arms, a reflex from when he grabbed her, but now she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to let go. 

She liked the feel of him against her. 

A zing went through Nesta as she realised her breasts were pressed up against his solid chest. 

Her breathing hitched. 

He noticed. 

The laughter in his hazel eyes dying, only to be replaced with something more fierce, determined. 

Their faces were so close together it wouldn’t take much for her to close the gap, to press her mouth against his full lips. 

Her gaze flicked down in time to catch his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. 

His grip tightened on her. 

The blood pounded through Nesta anchoring her to the moment. She was surrounded by Cassian, his strong body cocooning her. All she could see was him. All she could feel as he held her against him. She could hear her pulse beating in her ears, the shallowness of her breathing, the deep breath that Cassian took to steady himself before he learnt down, closing the distance between him. 

Their lips met, tentative at first but soon Nesta found herself deepening the kiss. Her hands gripping at Cassian’s thick arms as she melted against his body. 

She was on fire. 

Never had she felt a kiss like this. 

This was it. 

Whatever it was.

She had found it. 

————

Elain’s saw her hands trembling as she pushed the elevator button. The doors slid closed and she found herself staring at a mirror image of herself. She was dressed in a soft pink coat, with a matching pink scarf. Her makeup was simple but emphasised her eyes. Her hair was curled softly. 

She had just finished fluffing her hair when the doors slid open. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the hallway, and froze. 

There were two doors in the hallway, Azriel hadn’t told her which one was his. He had just said the penthouse. 

Pulling her phone from her pocket she sent a message to Azriel. They didn’t text very often, preferring to talk on the phone. She just hoped that now he would reply quickly. 

Hi Azriel, I’m outside but I don’t know which door is yours.

Standing in the hallway waiting for him to reply, Elain was suddenly overcome with a bout of nerves. She had been so excited to finally meet Azriel she hadn’t be worried, it felt like she had been going to meet an old friend, but it was in that moment she realised that she didn’t know this man. Had never met him. He could in fact be anyone. 

And she was meeting him in his home. 

This wasn’t safe. 

She needed to get out of here. 

Elain turned back to the elevator and pressed the call button just as the one of the hallway doors behind her opened. 

“Elain?”

Hesitantly, Elain turned around to look at Azriel. 

Oh. My. Gods. 

His face was exactly how it appeared when they video called.

No. 

It was even more beautiful in person. 

His dark features, his floppy hair, his hazel eyes that were both shy and kind. 

But the rest of him…

He was a hockey player. She knew that. What she hadn’t fully considered was what that meant. 

He practically filled the door way. Long lean muscle. 

He was wearing a grey jumper and dark grey slacks, so at odds with her pink. 

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice failing her. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes…I just…”

“You just?”

“Er…I just realised that maybe this was a bad idea.”

She didn’t miss the hurt that flickered across his face. He moved then, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. It was only this movement that drew her attention to them; the scars that marred his hands. 

A hockey injury?

“Was I not what you expected?” He asked, distress settling in his features. 

“No, not at all.”

“I—.”

“No, I didn’t mean like that,” she exclaimed when she realised the way he must have taken that. “I just suddenly realised that it it maybe not a good idea to be in the apartment of some random man I don’t know.” 

A small smile played on his mouth, as if he was trying not to laugh at her, and Gods was it not the most beautiful thing that Elain had ever seen. She wondered then what he must sound like when he laughed. Some subconscious part of her decided it was her mission to find out. 

“I would say you know me pretty well.”

“I feel like I know you.”

Elain could have sworn his smile broadened slightly. “But I understand if you are uncomfortable.” 

“I think the whole reality of the situation just suddenly hit me.” 

“Yeah I get that.” He settled himself, leaning against the doorframe. He seemed in no rush to usher her inside, a fact that somehow set Elain more at ease. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course?”

“I’m terrified.”

Elain’s eyes went wide. “Why?”

“It’s been a long time since I was last on a date.”

“Sure.”

“No, it’s true! I haven’t been on a date in I don’t even want to know how long. I was with my last girlfriend for ten years and we broke up three years ago. I haven’t been on a date since.”

“But you’re so handsome.”

Azriel smiled now, a broad one, that lit up his whole face, and Elain felt something warm spread across her chest. “I’m flattered you think so.”

“It’s true.”

“Well that makes it all the more embarrassing then doesn’t it? Thirteen years since I last had a first date, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing pretty great so far.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“When was the last time you were on a first date?”

Elain hesitated. Her first date with Lucien had been just over two weeks ago. Her sisters had told her that dating multiple people was normal now, but after what Tamlin had said to her at dinner the other night…

She cut those thoughts off. If Azriel was the kind of guy that would speak to her the way Tamlin had spoken to her, the way Greyson used to speak to her, then it was better she found out now when she was able to turn around and flee in the elevator. 

“Two weeks ago.”

“Oh wow.”

“But I also got out of a long term relationship.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, two years ago. That was the first date I’d been on since.”

“How long were you with your last boyfriend?”

“Five years.”

“You’ve been on two first dates in the last seven years, and you still have more experience that me.” Azriel was fully grinning at her now. 

Elain felt her own smile match his. “It appears that way.” 

“I understand if you feel too uncomfortable,” he swallowed, “but if you want to come in maybe we could figure this whole first date thing out together?”

With a buoyancy in her heart, Elain stepped towards the door. 

————

Elain.

God’s Azriel had been struck stupid when he opened the door and she had just been standing there. Pretty in pink. 

He understood her nerves. Gods he felt them too. All the time. He had been so overjoyed when she agreed to have dinner at his place that he didn’t think about what that might mean for her. 

He was so grateful for her now, as she stepped across the threshold and into his apartment, that she had agreed to go through with it. 

He wouldn’t have just let her walk away. Not after seeing her standing there in the hallway. Something in his chest had begun singing to him then. He would have asked her to go to a restaurant instead. Not that he ever went to restaurants. His anxiety didn’t allow it. His life was spent in his apartment, at the rink, or holed up in a hotel room whenever his team played an away game. He absolutely hated being in public, but for Elain, maybe he could try. 

“This is for you,” Elain said, thrusting the potted plant that she had been hugging against herself, towards him, “It’s a snake plant. You said that you needed some plants to make your place more homely and this guy is pretty hard to kill. They don’t mind shady spots, or draughts, you can pretty much ignore them and they’ll reward you by purifying the air.” 

Azriel smiled down at her, “Thank you,” he whispered, “you didn’t have to bring me anything.”

Elain flushed pink, “I know…but I wanted to.”

“You’ll have to help me find a good spot for him.”

She smiled then, that shy smile of hers that stirred things within him, “Sure.”

Gods how had he let it go so long. 

Now he was finally around a woman and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He suddenly felt too hot and too cold at once. His gut twist, his heart pound, while other parts of him that he would never dare mention in the polite company of a lady began to throb. 

“Let me take your coat.”

“Oh thank you.” 

As Elain shrugged off her coat all of the electric heat in Azriel simmered to something closer to concern. He frowned. She was wearing a pink dress, with long sleeves and flowy skirt, it was beautiful on her but it did nothing to hide just how thin she was. 

He hadn’t noticed when they had called, but she was absolutely tiny. He was sure her waist was about as thick as his thigh. 

He hoped she was okay. 

Hanging her coat up, Azriel led her down the hallway and into the open plan living space. “So where do you think this guy should go?” He asked, gesturing to the plant.

Elain paused, looking around the big room. “Maybe he should go over there?” She said, pointing to table near the window that held only a lamp. 

Azriel padded across the room to position the plant on the table. “What do you think?” 

“Looks good,” Elain smiled that smile again, “something smells good too.”

“I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got loads of food.”

“Spend all day in front of the stove?”

A sheepish smile spread across Azriel’s face, “I was going to try and pass the food off as my own, but I can’t take the credit for work I didn’t do.”

Elain giggled, “You ordered in?”

“I ordered in.”

She rolled her eyes, “I thought you promised to make me dinner?”

“I think I promised to get you dinner, you definitely don’t want to eat anything I make.”

“You can’t cook?”

“I can barely make coffee.”

“I’ll teach you to cook, if you want?”

Making future plans, clearly Elain felt more comfortable in his presence after their initial wobble. Good. “Are you a good cook?”

“I’m an amazing cook.”

Azriel chuckled, “Then I might just take you up on that offer, at leasts I can sample some of your amazing cooking.”

Elain laughed again. Gods that sound was so refreshing, Azriel didn’t think it would ever get old. 

“So can I get you a glass of wine?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Azriel padded to the kitchen, to pour two glasses of wine. When he returned he found Elain staring dreamily at oneof the brightly coloured canvasses that Rhys had bought. He had hung them up this afternoon in preparation. He wanted his apartment to feel homey, not like he just moved in.

“Pretty cool, huh?” He asked, coming to a stand beside her. Gods she was dainty. Her head didn’t even come past his shoulder. 

Elain took the glass of wine from his outstretched hand. Her fingers brushed lightly against his, causing a bolt of electricity to shoot through Azriel.  “Where did you get it?” She asked. 

“My manager bought them, but I can find out for you?”

“No, it’s okay. I know the artist.”

“Oh yeah? Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against hers.

“Cheers! Yeah, it’s my sister.”

“The artist? No way?”

Elain nodded, “I just didn’t realise she was selling her work again.” 

“Apparently so?”

“Indeed.”

“So, ugh, do you want to eat?”

The mention of food seemed to snap Elain from her reverie. “Sure.”

Padding back to the kitchen Azriel plated up to large plates of food. One for Elain, and then double for him. 

Elain’s eye’s went big when he sat the plates down in front of her at the table. “You eat a lot of food.”

Azriel shrugged, settling himself across the table from her. “Food is fuel for me. I need it to keep up with training.” 

And it’s nothing to be ashamed of he almost added. To Azriel’s great surprise however, Elain polished off the plate of food her served her, and then joined him for seconds. She did tap out before thirds, but it was still an impressive showing. 

Azriel just hoped that it was a sign she was in some sort of recovery, and she wasn’t going to punish herself later. Or that she was sick in some other way. 

After they had finished dinner they settled themselves on the couch to watch a film. Azriel preened over how close Elain sat to him. Their legs touching. He took it as a sign that she liked him, or at the very least that she was comfortable with him. 

As the opening sequence began, Azriel stretched his arm across the back of the chair. Elain glanced up at him, smiling, she knew his game, but she didn’t stop him. She seemed content to allow his arm, slowly over the course of the film, drift down until it was slung around her shoulders. 

By the time the film ended, Elain was snuggled into his side, her head resting against his chest. 

Azriel hadn’t been paying close attention to the film, he tightened his arm around her as the credit began to roll. He didn’t want her to move. He was just so comfortable with her. Physically, as they lay together on the couch, but emotionally too. Elain was so easy to be around, his anxiety didn’t flare up. 

Azriel knew he was starting to develop feelings for her. 

It was just their first date and he was already a goner. 

He could only hope that she felt the same way. 

————

“You know when you said that I could hang with you tonight, so I could give Azriel his space?”

“Yeah?”

“I kinda figured you meant we could go to a sports bar or something.” 

Rhys looked up at his friend. They were standing in the Velaris Gallery of Art, one of Rhy’s clients had a big installation opening tonight. Rhys had only planned to stop by for a short time, to show his face and congratulate his client on her big night, but Rhys had alway enjoyed art. What harm, he’d thought, if he just glanced at the exhibition. An hour later however, and he had only seen half of it. 

Cassian had patiently trailed along behind him, making the occasional confused comment as to what exactly he was looking at. 

The only paint strokes Cassian cared about were the weather proofing he slapped on his wooden cabin every summer to protect it in the winter ahead. 

Gods bless him, he did not fit in here. He was just so big. He kept awkwardly twisting his body to avoid knocking over any of the exhibits. At any moment, Cassian risked bumping into something and the place falling like dominos. 

His friend was clearly uneasy, in his work boots and a green flannel, he had come straight from his hike to the event so that Azriel could have his apartment for a date of his own. Rhys couldn’t help but feel bad for him, “I’m sorry man, I just got carried away.”

“It’s okay.”

“Nah, give me a half an hour, I’ll talk to my client and we can get out of here.”

“Yeah?”

“Just let me find her,” Rhys said, craning his neck to see if he could find her amongst the crowd. “There’s food over there is you want to park up and I’ll come find you in a bit?”

Cassian glanced to the table with a frown. “Is it, like, real food?”

“Real food?”

“I thought it was part of the museum?”

Rhys laughed, “It’s not part of the exhibition, no.”

Cassian nodded seemingly relieved, “I’ll be at the food table then.”

“Half an hour, and we can go, I promise.”

Cassian just waved a hand dismissively, as he headed for the snacks, “Take as long as you need.” 

————

Feyre kept her head ducked as she made her way through the crowd. She was supposed to be working tonight, well she was working tonight but only in the sense that she was physically at work. She was supposed to be working the crowd, making introductions, chatting with artists, schmoozing potential buyers, but it was taking all her strength not to cry, and she wasn’t even succeeding at that. 

It had been 48 hours since Tamlin proposed. 

48 hours since he had got down on one knee in the middle of the street and asked her to be his wife. 

48 hours since the tears had started spilling, not with the joy that Tamlin had first thought, but with fear. 

48 hours since he started screaming at her in the street. How dare she reject him? She was nothing without him. Everything she had in her life was because of him.

48 hours since he left her sobbing in the street.

It had been 48 hours since she had last talked to the love of her life and it hurt. 

Gods she needed a drink. 

Sniffling she made her way to the drinks table, and took a large gulp from the first glass of wine she could lay her hand on.

“Eh…are you okay?”

Feyre looked over to the man who had spoke, a snotty laugh spluttered from her. The guy was huge, like a giant, dressed in outdoor work clothes. His shoulders curled protectively over the napkin he held in one hand and the cheese laden cracker in the other. As if anyone would even attempt to steel it from him anyway. 

She wondered which artist had dragged him along to support them this evening.

He watched her with big hazel eyes. There was something about him that looked familiar. Comfortable. That was the only reason why the next words fell from her mouth. “I think I broke up with my boyfriend.”

“Aww shit,” the giant said, shaking his head like it was the worst thing he had ever heard. “That really sucks. Were you guys together long?”

“We were serious, he proposed,” Feyre’s voice caught on the last word and the sob racked her. 

The giant swore. “No girly don’t cry, it’ll be okay.” 

He somehow managed to ease himself around the table without knocking anything over, coming to rub Feyre on the back as she continued to so uncontrollably. 

She didn’t know this man who was comforting her, but she sound herself turning into his chest, her tears wetting his t-shirt as she cried against him. One hand continued to rub her back, the other, she felt rather than saw, popped the final cheese and cracker into his mouth, before he pressed the crumby napkin into her hand. “Here, have a tissue,” or at least that sounded like what he said with a mouthful of cheese. 

They stood like that for a few minutes until Feyre was able to get her breathing under control. She took a step back to look up at the man, dapping her eyes with the napkin he had given her. “I’m sorry,” she sniffed. 

“Don’t worry about—,” the giant frowned, “You kinda look like some I know, you know?”

“Oh yeah?” Feyre wiped her nose, couldn’t be anyone good if her swollen tear stained face was anything to go by. 

“Do you have sisters?”

“Two?”

“One of them called Nesta by any chance?”

Feyre froze, her eyes going wide as she looked up at the giant, “How do you know Nes—.”

A hand came out to clap the giant on the shoulder, “Hey man, you ready to go?” 

Shit. 

Well wasn’t this the last person she wanted to see right now.

The giant’s friend took one look at her and purred. “Feyre, darling.”

[lamalefix]

Hey the anon who asked for angst here! I want what you did wirh Eddie in your story with Buck now. Like stopping functioning and things like that... But  i'm a sucker for happy endings! Maybe even bittersweet and uncertain. So to answer you, yes yes yes. I know what I'm asking fpr. I want you to hurt my feelings. do your worst!! and thank you!!

Hey there angsty anon! (now that's your name) 

You asked for this, so... here we go, this is going to be a multichapter thing, but somehow i was inspired? So please read it carefully.

thank you for your words, I hope you find this of your taste

Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV),Evan "Buck" Buckley Tags: Medical Procedures, Blood, Major Character InjuryDeveloping Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Episode: s04e13 Suspicion

Can’t have you disappear [1/3] (also on ao3)

When deployed, soldiers need to complete a range of physically demanding tasks. And they train for those tasks. It occurs that you have to move under fire, carry equipment, transfer ammunition and… well, the worst of all evacuate casualties. A casualty drag is excruciatingly challenging and involves dragging a fellow soldier from a hazardous environment to a safe location as quick as possible.

That’s what comes to Buck’s mind after a few seconds. He’s on the ground. Asphalt tastes weird in his mouth, copper-like, strong and salty.

He blinks and takes in, drinks in, the body, the pair of eyes that look lost, not so far away.

There’s the voice of someone barking orders in the radio, the same person that’s holding him down. And when Buck blinks again, he clearly sees that person, that body, not so far away.

Eddie. That’s Eddie. That’s Eddie in the middle of the road, a pool of blood under his face. Hand outstretching slightly, fingers trembling. Eyes fixed on something. On him maybe? Or maybe lost.

Asphalt doesn’t have that weird, coppery and salty taste. But… blood has.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

Do something.

He blinks again ad remembers his preparation as a Navy SEALS before the other one as a firefighter. Close down, bottle up, no emotion. Nothing.

He needs to move. Do something.

When he first started casualty drags simulation during training, he dragged dummies all covered in gears that could even weigh 132 kg total, crawling as fast as he could.

And at some point, he moves.

.

He doesn’t even notice when he does, with an impossible ache, urgency, he just moves. It’s like muscle memory, it’s like some other part of him kicks in and takes his place. It’s like the gear rolls backwards and clicks in that very spot, the right one and he reacts as he knew, as he was before. A Evan Buckley that was so long forgotten in his new almost-happy life over here. The Evan Buckley who at some point decided that being a Navy Seal was a good idea, that maybe was even good at suppressing emotions and being like a robot.

It’s fun that at some point you need to do what you resent the most, uh?

But, well.

He needs to do something.

That’s how he grovels and takes Eddie, dragging him while crawling back between the ambulance and the firetruck. Muscle memory, soldier training, casualty evacuation.

Fast.

He needs to be fast. Faster maybe. The fastest he can.

That captain, whose name he doesn’t remember, barks something and he growls a guttural, raw sounds that escapes his throat and sounds like an echo from another distant memory. But that gear runs backwards again, and clicks back in.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

Do something.

And so, he focuses on the wound.

Not on the blood that soaks Eddie’s uniform and spatters on his own white shirt, that wedges in the bed of his fingernails, that moistens his palms.

He needs to focus on the wound.

He tears Eddie’s uniform shirt, and assesses the breathing, uneven, labored, almost strangled, there’s a sound like a hiss.

Sucking chest wounds happen when an injury causes a hole to open in the chest, usually are caused by stabbing, gunshots or other injuries that penetrate the chest.

It’s about the size of a coin, the blood looks like boiling, at every hissing breath, as it’s being sucked back in the chest at every inhale and sputtered out at every exhale. And the blood doesn’t even look like blood anymore, around the wound, it’s more like foam, bright red, maybe pinkish.

When he moved, when he dragged Eddie in a safer place, between the truck and the ambulance, Eddie made a weird sound, like a protest, that ended up with coughing blood.

But he needs to move, he needs to move, he needs to do something.

And it’s became a silent mantra.

No emotion, get your shit together.

He would stop, a part of him would stop and talk, because he talks a lot, a whole lot, and that’s maybe what he does best, but now there’s Eddie bleeding out, so he has to focus and do something.

So he repeats the drill. Sucking chest wounds care. He knows how it works. He just needs to act.

Sterilize your hands. No time for soap and water, but he has a sanitizer gel in his pocket (thanks covid-19?), he doesn’t have time to put on gloves, he couldn’t even find ‘em if he wanted now. He has to focus.

Maybe he mutters something, a silent prayer, Eddie is someone who prays so he should do that for him, or maybe he just says sorry, sorry, sorry when he points his hand hard over the wound. You’d usually ask someone else to keep a hand over the wound while preparing a dressing, maybe even the patient, but Eddie lies there, still, not even moving his chest to breath, eyes open.

That’s when Buck moves his hand to cup his cheek. That’s when he finds his voice back.

“Eddie? Eddie, stay with me? Please, please, please. Stay with me” it’s all he manages to say. “We need to get you back home to Chris, y’know?”.

And that’s when Eddie coughs again, and blinks, and his eyes roll back for a moment, a weird staggering sound that comes from his mouth.

“Hey, hey, no. Okay, no weird sounds. Just stay awake for me” he murmurs, and moves to get something from Eddie’s medic bag. Because God, he has that bag with him! There should be a fucking Halo Chest Seal, there better be one.

But he needs to focus, he needs to.

The best way to do this is to spill the contents of the bag on the ground, maybe not the right choice, but the only one if you are working with only a hand, while the other is still applying pressure on the wound.

The gear rolls back in place. And he repeats the drill from where he left off.

Find a chest seal or a sterile, medical tape or plastic to seal up the wound.

“Eddie breathe, please. Breathe out” he asks, and Eddie, ever the good soldier, breathes out, a broken, painful breath.

Someone is barking orders around them, but Buck has to move. Buck has to do something.

Do something. Faster. Faster. The fastest you can. Even faster than that.

That’s his mantra. He doesn’t have that much time. Eddie doesn’t have that much time.

The Halo Chest Seal is one of the very first chest seals made commercially. It’s no-frills, and works very simply. It’s essentially a sterile piece of plastic with an adhesive backing.

He cleans the wound, wiping off the blood with a gauze he found in the bag before spilling its content on the ground, so that the adhesive can stick and he murmurs something that sounds to his hears like a prayer, but then again is maybe something he is asking Eddie. Stay awake. Stay with me.

When he applies the right pressure Eddie groans softly.

Then he needs to move him on one side, he needs  to be fast. Faster. Because Eddie lost a lot of blood, and even if he just coughed up blood only once, once too many.

He tears the remnants of the shirt off, and uses another gauze to wipe again the blood and the dirt, from the entry hole on his back, and this time Eddie groans louder.

And maybe in his head he plays a weird conversation with him, maybe a reassuring one. I know it hurts. But you are safe now. We are going to save you.

The captain of 133, Matha? Metha? Whatever barks something again and that makes the other gear, the one on which he usually moves slip in the place and take over.

But Eddie does a thing, a odd sound with his mouth. Shortness of breath, eyes lost and glassy. The seal is trapping air that’s escaping from the lungs. No. Not the right time to develop a pneumothorax. Not while there’s a fucking shooter on a roof. Not while their aid isn’t here yet.

A needle, he needs a needle. A fourteen, or maybe a sixteen gauge needle, an eight centimeter needle is more successful than a five centimeter one, but increase a risk of injury to underlying structures. He maneuvers him back supine, and when Eddie does that sound again, Buck just moves faster.

Do something.

Do something.

Faster.

Faster.

The preferred insertion site is the second intercostal space, in the mid-clavicular line, not even a inch above his wound, so he will have to insert the needle anywhere in that same hemithorax to decompress the developing pneumothorax. He just uses his antiseptic gel to prepare the area. And he should really find lidocaine to provide anesthesia, but there’s no time, Eddie has no time. And even if it will hurt like hell, periosteum and parietal pleura are highly pain-sensitive, he can’t waste time.

He pierces the skin over the rib below the target interspace, a couple of inches below his wound, and then directs the needle cephalad over the rib until the pleura does that little pop, that’s hard to hear when your heart beats like Buck’s now, but there’s the sudden decrease in resistance.

It’s when Eddie breathes better and doesn’t do that ominous, strangled sound again, that he inserts the chest tube. And while he does that, there’s the whistle of the ambulance siren that fills the air.

.

He shouldn’t hop on the ambulance, but that’s what he does, when the paramedics start to move Eddie. They are all under held targets, but they need to move, and bring Eddie to the nearest hospital.

His legs tremble when he sits near Eddie, his hand in his, his fingers trembling.

He outstretched his hand as if to come to Buck, to comfort him somehow, as he always does, with his touchy-feely show of affection. But what communicates the most, of Eddie, are his eyes. Expressive, soft, caring. Every single thing Eddie tells, comes before in his eyes, and seeing that the only thing he could do at that point was to look, glance at Buck maybe, it was his own personal way to comfort him.

And out of muscle memory, now, Buck 4.0 kicks in, and just lowers his gaze. Emotions showering over him, intense like a hurricane, but he can't, he can't break. No emotion, not now. Maybe it's time for Buck 5.0. The only thing he can do is focus on that hand, clammy and still, fingers cold and his. And he sturts humming voiceless prayers, an invocation to whoever is God and Holy to not take Eddie away.

Not from him, not for himself. He wouldn’t ask anything like that, not of Eddie, because he is very serious with Ana, but for Chris. 

That’s how prayers work, right? 

Something that’s not for you, asking for something that’s for someone else. And what’s more important than a child’s sake? 

They saved a kid today, they earned this. Right?

[erischaos]

the beginning

summary: on your anniversary, you remember how you met Johnny.

words: +1,9k

tags: fluffy

It all started a few years ago, in 2017, when you were doing a part-time job in the SBS radio as the script writer and semi-producer for a new show that was going to take place in march. The only thing that they told you about it was that it was going to be host by two newly debuted idols from a very famous company, a new that made you very excited. A few weeks later a meeting with both of them took place but you had a final exam at uni and you couldn´t attend, which made you a lot more nervous since you still didn’t knew who the idols were, because that information was confidential. The first show came sooner than expected, and as a part of the team you were finally going to met the idols. While you were waiting for them to arrive one of your girl coworkers came to you.

“y/n you can’t imagine how handsome they are” she said, almost screaming “you’re going to die when you see them” you laughed but since you were a little picky you choosed to not take her words too serious. But, oh lord, how wrong you were.

Two tall men came through the door, a blond and a brunette one. You weren’t stupid and you didn’t lived under a rock, but you were distracted enough to not notice the name of the show, which gave away completely the name of the group. A very young Jaehyun and Johnny stood in front of you and introduced themselves to the team.  Jaehyun was pretty, he was a very beautiful man, his kind eyes and his dimples were to die for, but Johnny, he was a different story. He wasn’t just pretty, his particular features left you breathless at first sight, and his aura was captivating and it made your knees weak. You felt embarrassed, he was an idol yes, but first of all he was your new coworker, and you weren’t a teenager anymore.

After all of the formalities the tallest, Johnny, came to you and started to ask a lot of technical stuff and you did your best to explain but damn, you were blown away. His eyes were a beautiful shade of honey and he never cut the visual contact which made you a lot more nervous and flustered. His voice was deep and assertive, it really looked like he knew what he was talking about, it even seemed like he knew more than you. He called his friend and you explained both some things about the script and when the time came they started the show. You were surprise this was their first time, they looked nervous but at the same time they were eloquent and funny. You tried your best to pay attention to your work, because that’s what they were paying you for, not to look at Johnny. But damn, it was hard.

A week passed and the only thing that you did was waiting for the night to see him. You were going mad. He was just a man. An idol, a very handsome and cute, and funny, and kind man, but at the end he was just a man. You realized you were completely fucked up when you started to watch his fancams. I mean, he was famous, talented, successful, and you were a very average looking exchange student who every month struggled with paying the bills. You mentalized yourself, that night you were going to do your work and nothing else, but he made it difficult though, every night before starting he used to talk to you about whatever was on his mind. But this time you were going to stay strong and tell him you had to be focused on your work.

Everything was going fine at first, but Johnny wasn’t going to let you live in peace. Actually, he was going to change your whole life with a single question.

“y/n would you like to take a coffee with me after tonight’s show?” your whole brain shut down. The only thing you could do was to blurt “yes, yes, sure, I would like that a lot” Great, you sounded like a fucking asshole, and a very, very desperate one, congratulations.

You were nervous like you’ve never been in your life. And confused, was this a date? A simple coffee? What did he wanted to talk about? About the radio? Jesus, you haven’t had a date in years. Time passed surprisingly fast for your liking and soon you found yourself on the cafeteria of the building having a decaffeinated cappuccino and listening to him talk about NCT 127 promotions. You weren’t sure if it you passed out from the stress and it was all a dream or if you actually had Johnny Suh talking to you about his day and laughing at your dad jokes.

Soon it became a routine, every night after the show you both went to the cafeteria and talked until late about your childhood, your dreams, your fears, until you had to leave to go to sleep so you didn’t die at uni next morning. Talking to him was effortless, it was like you knew him all your life, he was even better than what you thought, so full of love to give, smart, thoughtful, trustable, caring, so you weren’t surprised when you realized you were in love.  It happened after a little hiatus the program took for a show they had overseas, and when you saw him again for the first time it hit you. He came almost running to you and hugged you tight in front of all the team “I missed you a lot” he said, muffled by your hair. You found yourself breathless once again and mumbled a tiny “me too”. And just like that the realization came: you were deeply and madly in love with Johnny Suh and you wanted him to hold you like that for the rest of your life. You both let go the hug and everybody went back to work, except for you two. “a little bird told me your birthday is in a few days so, I was wondering if instead of a coffee you would like to have dinner with me” you were shooked, if the coffee dates weren’t actually a date, this was. And for your birthday! You were exploding with happiness.

That night also was when the first kiss happened. While the program was going on and Jaehyun was reading some twits from the fans, you and Johnny locked eyes. And it felt different, it wasn’t a simple visual contact, it was filled with a tension of some kind, you could feel it from across the glass and you were sure he was feeling the same too. He went on with the script but he never stopped looking at you and it was getting very intense and it only stopped when it was time for the commercials. Eventually the show ended and like every night you both headed to the elevator to go to the cafeteria floor. Normally being on the elevator with him felt overwhelming but to a normal amount. That time he didn’t even gave you time to feel nervous, as soon as the door closed he roughly leaned his whole body against yours until your back touched the wall, looking at you in the eyes, like if he was asking for your permission, you pushed him down by the nape and connected your lips to his. It was the most intense kiss you ever had, it conveyed so much passion, weeks of holding back now were being unleashed in a single kiss. His lips were heaven and hell, so dangerous but so necessary, like a drug. His hands were all over you and yours were tugging at his perfectly styled hair, now messy. You were forced to stop when the elevator reached its destiny and the door opened but your legs weren’t responding and him didn’t moved either, so you stayed for a few seconds looking at each other, breathing heavily, until you both started laughing and finally came out.

The new routine was making out in every corner of the building everytime you were alone and then go to drink coffee and chat like nothing happened. Like if you weren’t a mess, and like if he hadn’t had to hide a boner everytime. It was surreal.

Since the radio program ended after twelve o’clock you celebrated your birthday along with your coworkers, and when the show ended you went to change your clothes while Johnny waited for you in the hall, downstairs. You wore a red dress and only a red lipstick since you wanted to look good quickly, and let your hair down. When you finally met you noticed he changed his outfit for a more elegant one: black shirt and black pants. You both flustered when you saw each other “you look amazing birthday girl” he flirted with you. “you don’t look that bad yourself JonhD” you said back. “JonhD?”, he asked confused “yes, you know…your name is John and you are a dj” he laughed out loud at your explanation while he helped you to get on the company van. Soon you arrived to a private restaurant, that giving the hour it was supposed to be closed but SM has its ways.

In the middle of it was a table settled for two and Johnny helped pulling your chair like a gentleman. The conversation went very fluid during all the dinner until the champagne arrived. He stopped talking and stared at your eyes, and you realized they got teary so yours did too. He swallowed and spoke “y/n this might sound a little rushed, giving the fact that we only knew eachother two months ago and all that but” he made a pause to breath and you did too “I think I’m in love with you and, I’ll really love to be your boyfriend” a tear fell from his eye. “i know it might be hard because of my work and the fans but I really want you to be my girl” he started to get nervous since you weren’t answering “I fully understand if you don’t want to though”. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe it, but it was real. He was in front of you, looking at your eyes and saying that he loved you. You were paralyzed and the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you speak, but you ignored it and answered.

“John Suh, nothing in this world could make me more happy right now than call you my boyfriend” you grabbed him by his hands and smiled at him “I love you, I truly do”. He left out all the air he was holding and smiled too “thanks god, I though I was going to have to return your gift” he took out of his blazers pocket a medium sized velvet box and handed it to you. “oh Johnny, you shouldn't have brought me anything” he shushed you and looked at you expectantly. Without wasting any more time you opened it and inside of it was a beautiful and delicate heart necklace with both initials and your birthday date, which now was also your anniversary. Needless to say you were speechless.

Even after a year and with him taking a nap in your lap it all still felt like a dream, Johnny declaring himself to you, and now he being your first love and first boyfriend. You gently stroked his hair with one hand at the same time you were playing with your necklace, after a few minutes he slowly woke up and looked at you “nice double chin, baby” he murmured. “I can’t believe that the first thing you do after waking up is making fun of me” he laughed and you lowered your head to kiss him “happy first anniversary headass”. 

Hii!! this is my second scenario ever and since the first one got a lot of notes i decided to write another. its not as good as the first one in my opinion but i had this idea on my mind for a while and i wanted to share it! please if you notice any grammatical error let me know! it means a lot for me if you could like and share<3 

Thank you for reading me and STAY HEALTHY.

[kingofthewilderwest]

"#just because you have a bias about certain socioeconomic groups which tend to listen to country doesn't mean" // Yup. I tend to side-eye folks who are like "I like all kinds of music except country and [Insert a genre of music usually associated with Black creators like rap and hip hop]" You're not slick, ppl. I know what you're saying.

^^^^^^^^^ You hit the nail on the head.

It’s racial bias. It’s socioeconomic bias. It’s bias against people groups who have less respect and say in society.

From my tags on this post:

#don’t get me started on a long rant of the progressive side of country music and what’s been progressive FOR DECADES#from times near its BEGINNInGS#through the modern age#just because you have a bias about certain socioeconomic groups which tend to listen to country doesn’t mean#that that’s actually what the genre is or who the artists are#I could go for a LONNNNG time about this#a LONG time#some of the best protest songs I know of today’s current political situation#are country#or have like ya’ll forgotten about the folk revival#of the 1960s#or…#gahghfnfddhgnghfngh#I AM GAY AND I LISTEN TO COUNTRY#NYEH!!!!

Now. I understand disinterest in a genre because it’s not your aesthetic, but when people express their feelings for country, R&B, hip-hop, etc. …the dialogue isn’t casual “It’s not my thing.” The dialogue is a hateful, passionate retaliation.

Other genres aren’t treated like this. It’s normalized and encouraged to hate on country and rap. These genres are systematically treated with less respect and that disrespect culturally arose because these genres are associated with less-respected demographics. 

(Country music is associated with people of low socioeconomic status, for people who aren’t explicitly aware.)

Anecdotally: I’ve caught something interesting about anti-country music sentiment. Many people tell me they can’t stand the “twang.” Half the time, I’ve noticed that their internalized definition of “twang” isn’t the vocal technique; it’s that they can’t stand the presence of a Southern accent. And hooboy does that have TONS of sociocultural bias issues. As a linguist, I’ve read endless sociolinguistic studies about how Southern dialects are treated as “lesser,” and how speakers of the dialect are automatically judged to be less intelligent, etc. It’s not good, folks.

Sometimes, to help friends get out of their anti-country mindset, I’ve “tricked” them into liking country. See, genres like bluegrass grew closely out of Scots-Irish folk music. Often, we’re playing the same tunes on both sides of the Atlantic. So I play a few instrumentals, my friend goes, “Oh! I love Celtic music

The biases against those demographics color how people view the music. There’s endless things that can be said about hip-hop bias, holy shit. I won’t focus on that today because I don’t believe I am qualified to be a spokesman. Someone who understands that genre better, and other genres associated with the African-American community, and is African-American, would be a better human to listen to than me. I defer to their knowledge and experience. It’s hella important to understand what bias has been reflected against those genres.

But there’s just as much bias against country music, against another demographic. And I’ve found it wild how it gets treated on places like tumblr, which wants to stand up for underprivileged groups, but somewhat inaccurately associates country music as “anti-gay conservative evil white person music” rather than music of people historically of lower socioeconomic status.

Yes, some of the demographic that listens to country music or plays country music are bad apples. But like… thinking the music is JUST THAT is a huge disservice to what country actually is and who the music artists actually are.

The history of country music is one giant collaborative melting pot of people from many different cultural backgrounds. Broad West African influence. Mexican influence. Italian influence. German influence. Scots-Irish influence. Cherokee influence. More. Early record labels like OKEH foolishly separated “hillbilly music” (presumably white folk music) from “rhythm and blues” (presumably Black folk music) without understanding the constant racial, demographic, regional, and cultural cross-pollination that occurred between the musicians from country music’s origins. And while there ARE certain issues in country music’s past and present, and we can’t let those issues go forgotten, that’s far from the whole story. We shouldn’t romanticize issues, but we should acknowledge that this music genre has given us major strides too.

Country music is the banjo, brought from Africa, combined with the mandolin, brought from Italy, combined with the fiddle, brought from Ireland, combined with the guitar and the dobro and the accordion and the upright bass and the electric guitar and the electric bass and whatever instruments you want to put in there.

Country music is African-American musicians like DeFord Bailey, the first radio star ever introduced on the Grand Ole Opry (THE most revered country music hub out there), blues harmonica performer, playing to crowds decades before segregation was de-legalized. He toured with white Opry musicians who treated him as one of their own. It’s soul music genre pioneer Ray Charles producing a studio album entirely dedicated to country music hits like “Hey Good Lookin’” from Hank Williams. It’s country star Charley Pride, who despite the racism against him in the 1960s rose to fame and made audiences fall in love with his beautiful voice. It’s the African-American musicians who inspired many commercial country stars, like Arnold Shultz influencing Bill Monroe and the railroad workers inspiring Jimmie Rodgers.

Country music is stars like Johnny Rodriguez and Rick Treviño, singing country music in Spanish, and using obvious Latin flavors in the genre.

Country music is filled with badass women like the ladies who STARTED THE GENRE ROLLING IN THE FIRST PLACE, Sara Carter and Mother Maybelle Carter (whose guitar style is hugely influential to this day) and Maybelle’s daughters Helen, June, and Anita; the first female music manager in the music industry, Louise Scruggs; songwriters like Felice Bryant and Loretta Lynn; the most awarded female artist in Grammy history Alison Krauss; and powerhouses like Dolly Parton who stepped out of an over-controlling entertainer’s shadow to become a badass in all things like supporting the LGBTQ community, contributing to pro-transgender films ahead of their time, and starring in sex worker positive productions like “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.”

Country music is filled with activism. Johnny Cash showed a heart for those forgotten by society. He toured many times in prisons. Cash especially was an activist for Native American rights. He toured with Native American songwriters so audiences could hear their own words (I’ve been trying to find names but I’m having difficulties re-finding that information, so my apologies for not giving names of those who deserve to be mentioned). Cash released albums dedicated to exposing past and present injustices against the Native American people. He went on tours specifically to Native American reservations. 

And it’s not just Johnny Cash!

Country music is many stars from the Grand Ole Opry banding together to release AIDS benefit albums - big names like Alison Krauss, Willie Nelson, Marty Stuart, aurgh I’m too lazy to write them all, PEOPLE.

Country music is Earl Scruggs and his sons playing at the Vietnam War Protests.

Country music is tied in with the fucking folk revival of the 1960s, which was deep in left-wing activism and the Civil Rights Movement. Folk singers sang traditional Appalachian and English ballads alongside their own compositions, topical pieces protesting the current political situation. You can call one artist “folk” or “Americana” and another one “country,” but the influences were intermingling, and it’s why we have Bob Dylan and Woody Guthrie and Joan Baez and John Denver and Pete Seeger owning a banjo that says, “This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.”

Dammit, I have a full BOOK that discusses country music and political ties. 

There’s another book out there, which I haven’t read, that discusses the relationship between country music and the queer community, and how bias against country music is NOT as reflective of the listening demographic as we stereotype. I’ll take the word of one reviewer who said:

[Nadine Hubbs] explores country music lyrics, presenting a great deal of evidence suggesting that working class America is not inherently homophobic, but that as middle class cultural taste has changed to include formal acceptance of homosexuality, this process has included pinning homophobic ideas on the working class.

Country music is lyrics like this 1975 controversial song “The Pill”:

You wined me and dined meWhen I was your girlPromised if I’d be your wifeYou’d show me the worldBut all I’ve seen of this old worldIs a bed and a doctor billI’m tearing down your brooder house‘Cause now I’ve got the pillAll these years I’ve stayed at homeWhile you had all your funAnd every year that’s gone byAnother baby’s comeThere’s a-gonna be some changes madeRight here on nursery hillYou’ve set this chicken your last time‘Cause now I’ve got the pill

Country music is lyrics like this 2013 song that feels as relevant than ever:

If crooks are in charge, should we let them pick our pockets?If we don’t want trouble, should we not try to stop it?We could just sink into the quicksand slavery we’re born inBut fighting endless wars for greedy liars is getting pretty boringThey think they got us trained, so we’ll think we’re living freeIf we got time and money for junk food and TVBut it’s plain honest people never stand a chance of winning electionsThey just let us pick which liars take our rights away for our own protectionThe corporate propaganda paralyzes us with fearDestroying our ability to trustFear keeps us fighting with each other over scrapsStarving to death in the dustOrganized religion really helps you submitBut the meek are inheriting the short end of the stickFear surrounds compassion like a layer of moldAnd weakens our defenses so we’re too weak to be boldLife could be heaven, but this corrupted systemTakes away our rights, expects us not to miss themThe middle class is shrinking while the lower class growsIf we don’t wake up soon, we’ll have no class left to lose

Country music is Christians themselves criticizing the hypocritical Evangelical culture in the USA for the bullshit hatefulness stewing inside it:

Every house has got a Bible and a loaded gunWe got preachers and politicians‘Round here it’s kinda hard to tell which oneIs gonna do more talkin’ with a crooked tongue

And as that one post I just reblogged shows, there’s MANY queer country musicians out there producing explicitly pro-LGBTQ+ music.

I’m brushing over so much. I’m sorry for the simplification that goes with me doing such a pass-by overview. I’m sorry I’m focusing more on history than the present (I know more about the 1920s-1960s eras, so I’m talking from my strong suit). I hope the information is at least strong enough to get my point across.

There are definitely listeners and artists in country music who are uber-conservative white hateful Christians. Yes. I know why country music gets associated with that. But.

Country music is not ABOUT this uber-conservative white hateful Christian side. The genre is not “polluted”. It is a thousand voices from a thousand perspectives of people from many backgrounds and beliefs. And many of those thousand voices are old traditional songs that came from Black communities, or were composed by Mexican-Americans, or were performed by folk artists as part of a protest for equal rights. 

(Note: I’m *NOT* saying all Christians are bad or that different political angles don’t have merits. I’m Christian myself! And you don’t know my political party. I’m just trying to get the point across that country music isn’t ENTRENCHED in one questionable demographic.)

You don’t have to like country music. It doesn’t have to be your aesthetic. But if you find it fun to get in on society’s popular country hate roasting… please rethink this. The reason country music has been hated from its roots is because it’s associated with the socioeconomically disadvantaged.

I’m with you 100%, Ashley. When someone says they like all genres “except country music and rap,” I get a little leery. I used to be one of those people when I was younger. I had to learn to grow past those biases. But once I did, I realized there was so much I was hating on that I didn’t understand. Now, I hope I can help people overcome their own biases, such as ones they don’t realize they’ve had - for things like music.

Hi ya’lls. I’m queer and I love country.

P.S. If anyone has anything to add or correct, please feel free to add on! I’m doing my best but I do not know everything and would be happy to learn more, too!

[abigailjohn2023]

RADIO INDUSTRIAL PRODUCTION TIPS AND TIPS 

Feel it or perhaps not, the advertisements that you hear on the air are sometimes dissected, re-worked, re-arranged, re-worded and re-voiced repeatedly before eventually getting the completed item that you hear each day. Sure, there is a way to the madness of making an excellent radio commercial production. producer voice tags

But what is it?

The technique actually changes from professional to industrial, but a very important factor generally remains the same. Relate to the person listening to the commercial. One way or still another, that message and provide must affect a wire with the goal crowd if its going to be effective.

Here are a few recommendations to accomplish exactly that:Don't over believe it. Individuals are passively hearing your concept, make it clear and make it good. Placing 10 limitations on something will lose the target quicker than you are able to say "call now" ;.

1. Keep the offer good. Don't skimp and present 10% off something - produce anything FREE if they come in or call. I'm maybe not suggesting to go broke, but the higher the offer the higher chance you could have for that possible new customer knocking on your own door seeking to get you that which you offer.

2. Market on a station your web visitors pay attention to, it might not be the "best ranked in the market" ;.It will maybe not be your "beloved station" either. Rankings and age exist for grounds: to tell you who's hearing what.

3. Search for frequency. It comes in many forms: Being on the air at exactly the same time each and every day, or having enough concept disseminate over a collection time frame. Volume will be the crucial to your success.

4. Don't count on bargain attic radio industrial production. If your professional was created for "Free" or close to nothing or "thrown in", chances are it won't be of the finest quality. Spring for an outside generation service to create your message. Having an effective industrial that stands out of day on will save you profit the future and probably generate more business.

Since you know a number of the inside what to look out for and be familiar with once you venture into the planet of radio promotion you is likely to be better prepared in the future away from radio commercial creation with good items to claim and more money in to your pockets. Radio can be an incredibly effective medium when applied correctly.

[memcaked]

Food

Source: Subarashiki kono Sekai | The World Ends With You

Characters: Kiryu “Joshua” Yoshiya, Sakuraba Neku, several minor OCs

Additional tags: Autistic Kiryu “Joshua” Yoshiya, Not beta read, TWEWYTOBER 2020, TWEWYTOBER

Summary: Yoshiya is a twelve-year-old watching his too-big TV that gives him many too-big headaches in his too-big house when he sees the commercial.

Beginning notes: Addendum: this was first written and uploaded on the day of October 6th, 2020. wahoo thought this'd be some magnus opus but nah. wrote this too late and too messily to really say that in good faith

what i do have for some reason is joshua's family tree planned out well despite only having 3 of the many facts i cooked up for this. names. i gave them all fucking names. and it never appeared

Body: Yoshiya is a twelve-year-old watching his too-big TV that gives him many too-big headaches in his too-big house when he sees the commercial. That mystical Fukurai lady who’s on radio sometimes kissing what he thought was grossly artificial strawberry KitKats that flew off through a crowd of young attractive party people, dancing and laughing and making out before being sealed in frilly pink and purple packaging. “Fukurai Sync Bars, 20,000 yen,” the ad announces, “Eat one, and you’ll be making friends without even trying!”

He almost spills the pint of vanilla ice cream over his bedsheets when he reaches for the remote to pause. Yoshiya scrambles for any paper in his room to scribble the name down. 20,000 yen on food doesn’t really matter that much to an atrociously affluent, antisocial boy.

There are so many good people, strong, nice, warm people he desperately wants to befriend. He sees friends locking arms and visiting each other all the time and always, always joined at the adoring hip. Yoshiya only really wants to talk to be people about two things; Tin Pin Slammurai, and the wings. It gets really hard to talk to people when one fast-tracks you to the counsellor’s office and everyone sees “that toy anime” and not for the intricacies and lore that Yoshiya sees it as. When his eyes aren’t glued to the animals and people running away he can see just outside the gates that nobody else can, he’ll try to introduce himself to stumble and lisp through all the hard sounds. If they don’t leave before then he realises the massive void-like gap between what he wants to talk about and what any regular classmate wants to talk about, and it opens like a fresh wound with every new person. Nothing is as interesting to him compared to Tin Pin.

The day after he buys and binges on the sync bars for the first time, the social science teacher talks about a group project in threes when he hears a complaint behind him. “Shit, might have to be partners with Yoshiya.”

“Can’t get enough of Yoshiya Kiryu,” the other one says, making Yoshiya’s mood ephemerally lift until he continues with “What are the fucking chances that the kid of two socialities inherited zero charisma from either of them?”

Yoshiya turns around. He sees something he can’t name shift in their faces. “Co’llection! You’ve made a,” he clears his throat and thinks of how to reword it, “mistaken over their occupations? My stepfather is in the political profethion, not a s-socialite as you say.”

“Keyword step. Socialite, politician, what’s the difference? They all involve speaking and charisma,” the boy behind him says. He tries to lower his voice, like its not something Yoshiya and his ears which always hurt from the noise should be hearing, “Mum’s always partying even when she’s rounding out the thirties and stepdad’s must spend all his time in Chiyoda... no fuckin’ wonder he doesn’t know how to talk.”

Yoshiya clears his throat, takes a deep breath. Tries his best to make sure he doesn’t trip over the syllables in his sorries. “I’m, I, apologise for my poor elocution,”“Your what?”Yoshiya stares wide-eyed, wringing his hands. “My manner of spee’ss?”

“God, you’re hopeless.” He waves Yoshiya away, “I’ve seen all I need to see. Please don’t talk with us again, we’ll find someone else for the project.” Yoshiya blinks once, twice, three times and it's all blurry and wet. He rehearses the sentences his impediments get in the way with in the mirror, thinks how to interact and get his point across, and even with the blessed bars he can’t get through. He claps his hands over his ears and hears all the gossip still.

“Politicians’ kids have it rough…. remember the… ? the press drools at a hyperactive kid… sad fate for…”

It never really does get better for Yoshiya. He unwraps more sync bars, gets rejected, sees the wings, eats more sync bars, meets a man who understands the wings, hears his mum’s booked a psychologist, craves the artificial strawberry of sync bars, learns the secret’s gotten to the school, sees a Drake up close and phases through the graffiti fire, eats the sync bars until everything ends.

Joshua doesn’t talk much about his death. When he’s asked about his last words, he says it’s “Friends, huh?”. That’s a lie. Sanae and him are the only ones who know what it actually is. But in his painting of Yoshiya as a fervent believer in philosophies that chewed him up, it’s how he wants him to have been remembered.

“What are you eating?” Neku’s eyes shift staring at Joshua’s food. “Don’t remember buying that.”

Joshua chews fast, swallows hard. “Sync bar,” he explains, “Some top medium in the country blesses this. It’s alright.” He stretches his hand out, offering another bar he was about to unwrap.

Neku pushes it back towards Joshua. “You like that shit?” Neku snorts, “What other weird things do you like? I’ve never met anyone who’s eaten that thing and enjoys it. Always 20,000 yen down the drain.”

Joshua unwraps the rejected sync bar, takes a first bite out of it. “If that’s what you think,” he says between chews.

[banashee]

Please mind the tags and warnings

 Day 5: Silent Night

 “Silent night” is playing on the radio - again.

 Clint sighs. It’s not like he actively dislikes that song, not really. But truth be told, he might just start to hate it. It’s been all over the radio non-stop. The only times it stops is to make space for the just as endless loops of “Last Christmas” and this is the only radio station they can get here, in the SHIELD safehouse in the middle of nowhere. So, scratch that statement about him not actively hating this music. He totally does.

 Turning off the radio or the fact that Clint is almost completely deaf without his aids doesn’t help. At all. The catchy tunes are stuck in his head, no matter what, and he is about to murder someone.

 Unfortunately for this urge, there is no one around but Phil, and he really doesn’t want to murder Phil. So Clint makes do with glaring at the radio and tuning it off with a snarl.

 “Goddammit!”

 “Everything okay?” comes the question from the next room over, followed by Phil entering the kitchen. His reports are abandoned on the coffee table and he looks concerned. Clint is slumping back onto his chair by the kitchen table, parting knife and half chopped vegetables forgotten.

 “I’m fine.”

 He doesn’t sound like it at all. Phil can tell that something isn’t right, but he doesn’t ask. If Clint wants to talk, he’ll do so in his own time, Phil knows by now. The two of them have been working together for years, forming a surprisingly quick friendship. Sleeping together is still new. So is getting to know more about each other, but they’re working on that. They’ve been pretty successful so far.

 Phil pulls out another chair from the table, sits down and starts chopping carrots in silence. With a long exhale, Clint picks up the knife and continues to slice potatoes in perfect little cubes. There is no need to be this precise, since they’ll be blended into soup anyway, but he takes his time, finding comfort in the repetitive task at hand.

 After a while, Clint breaks the silence.

 “It’s just. There’s christmas crap everywhere. Every city, every village is full of it. It’s on TV, on the radio. You can’t escape it. Not even here, unless you shut everything off.”

 After a small pause, in which he dumps the potatoes into a big pot, Clint continues,

 “I know it’s supposed to be nice and festive and you’re supposed to like it, yadda yadda. But… Well. I’m not sure if I can do that.” He shrugs helplessly. “There is a reason I always volunteer for work over the holidays.”

 Phil is listening in silence but with his full attention. He responds slowly, careful to avoid potential triggers. They’re on thin ice, but Clint has opened up that far, and he takes that as a good sign.

 “Holidays… Can be hard. Especially when there are unpleasant memories attached to them.”

 This is a nice way to put it - he knows the file about Clint, even knows a few more personal details that his partner told him so far.

 “I understand. And it’s okay if you want nothing to do with it.”

 For a little while, Clint remains silent, sitting on his chair without moving or blinking. He’s staring at a spot on the wall, and Phil worries that he might have said something wrong. But then, Clint nods, finishes the potatoes, gathers Phil’s carrots and picks up the full pot from the table. He puts it on the stove and adds water.

 On his way back, he drapes himself over Phils shoulder and hugs him. Phil leans close, reaching up with one hand to interlace their fingers. Clint tightens his embrace in response, and the two of them stay like this for a while. They don’t need a lot of words.

 Only when they move to the couch, the two of them let go of each other. They curl up around one another and rest for a bit while the soup is cooking in the kitchen.

 It’s dark outside, and there is another blast of wind howling around the house. New snow is falling with it and the small ice crystals are sticking to the windows.

 The safe house is surrounded by a few trees, but it’s not enough to keep the chill away that is creeping in through every single crack. Thankfully, they have a working fireplace in the corner. It fills the room with warmth, and the scent of burning wood is always comforting.

 Clint is sharing a large blanket with Phil and they are wrapped around each other, dozing a bit while they wait for the kitchen timer to go off. The blanket is hand knitted and lumpy. None of the colours of yarn go together and it’s ugly as all hell - probably the result of some Agent’s boredom, but it’s warm and comfortable and serves its purpose beautifully.

 “Hey.” Clint says after a while, causing Phil to raise his head from the shoulder he’d been dozing on.

 “Hmm?”

 “You know what the worst part is? About the holidays.” he clarifies, and Phil is a lot more awake by then.

 “Which part?” he asks, rubbing small circles with his thumb over the calloused hand holding his.

 Clint’s hands are some of Phil’s favourite parts of him. They’re broad and rough from the years of archery, physical work and combat. Those hands are skilled in many ways, not just job related, but Clint can be so incredibly gentle, whenever he needs to be. Archery is, again, one of those factors - it requires not only strength but also precision, especially since Clint designs his own trick arrows whenever he’s got the time. But even more so, he is always careful, always gentle when he interacts with other people. Injured colleagues, civilians, children, animals. Most of all, he is gentle with Phil, in so many different ways, and it’s a wonderful, loving thing - a rare sign of unconditional trust.

 Phil loves that about him, those contrasts. And he trusts him with his life, just as much as Clint trusts him with his.

 They know with absolute certainty that they will always have each other back, never leaving the other behind, in the field just as much as outside of it. Both of them know loneliness, as well as paranoia. And yet, they trust each other enough to be able to give and receive a neck massage.

 For people like them, who have had to kill with bare hands sometimes, snapping necks like small twigs, touching a partners neck is much more intimate than sex.

 Safety and happiness - they’ve found just that, and they’re everything for one another. Sometimes it’s hard to believe they’re this lucky.

 “You know what the worst part is? About the holidays.” Clint asks, and Phil is listening.

 “It’s that a part of me      wants    to like them. And I don’t know if I ever can.” His voice is hushed and sad as he confesses this, and it just about breaks Phil’s heart. He leans closer to Clint, until their foreheads are touching.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Not your fault.”

 “Still. Is there anything I can do to help? Apart from keeping the music and decorations away from you for now.”

 The last bit actually makes Clint smile a little bit, despite everything. He smiles despite old and painful memories of loud arguments, burning christmas stockings and throbbing bruises. Ringing ears and then, silence. At least he didn’t have to hear the arguments then. Later, all of this turned into nothing but aching loneliness. He’s not sure which is worse, but at least he isn’t alone anymore.

 “Stay with me?” Clint asks, and Phil nods.

 “Of course.”

 They breathe in each other's company, legs knotted into each other and hands gently trailing over hair, cheeks and upper bodies. If it wasn’t for the timer in the kitchen going off, they’d have stayed like this for much longer, but as it is, they have a soup to finish and eat.

     True to his word, Phil spends the holidays with Clint in his apartment. There is no festive decor, no Christmas music and they only watch movies on video tape - no commercials, no holiday movies. It’s all perfectly neutral, and they spend the time off like any other time.

 Christmas comes and goes, and there is no incident - Clint counts it as a win.

 They spend New Year’s eve on the rooftop of Clint’s apartment building, wrapped up in jackets and blankets on the floor. The two of them are sharing a bottle of sparkling wine and talk the night away.

 When the fireworks start, they watch them from high up, fingers intertwined and chasing away the cold with warm kisses.

 Surprising both of them, Clint actually has a New Years resolution.

 “I think I’d like to try this whole holiday thing next year. Not much, and maybe not the whole time. Just getting used to it maybe?”

 And he does, for almost every single year to follow.

 The first year, it’s okay-ish. They’re working at the time, no way to get the holidays off, and Clint is doing fine while he’s distracted. He’s even okay with taking a walk through the decorated neighborhood, but when they get home from it, he is exhausted from shoving away old feelings, and that’s it for the year.

 The second year, they do get a few days off, and they spend them together. There isn’t much they do, apart from baking a batch of only slightly burned cookies and walking through the beautifully illuminated park every night and then drinking spiced cocoa when they’re back home.

 They exchange a small gift, each. Nothing too much, so it doesn’t get overwhelming, but carefully picked out and personal. Overall, it’s not bad.

 The third year ends in a disaster. If everything went according to plan, it would have been pretty much like the year before, but as it is, the mission they’re on right before their time off goes horribly wrong, leaving too many people either dead or injured and traumatized.

 Phil spends Christmas Morning unconscious in an emergency surgery and Clint is in a hospital bed, fighting off the withdrawal effects from an unknown drug that he was dosed with.

 In the end, the fact that both of them make it out of this alive is the best thing they could say about those holidays.

 In the fourth year, they’re home and mostly unharmed, but the memories from the last year still stick. They try to make it better, spending it much like two years before, but with nerves still on the edge, both of them struggle.

 Clint has bad mental health episodes, sometimes more often than other times, and he is somewhat used to it. But around the holidays, it flares up more and more, causing him to give up on anything festive for the year - he’s not in the mood to try. Phil understands, and is perfectly content not to bother that year. He’s struggling with his own bad days, which are more around this time, much like Clint’s.

 Neither of them wants to celebrate anything, and it’s all they can do to hold onto one another to keep themselves from falling apart.

 New Years is just another day, too, and then life goes on - they tackle it together, like always.

 In the fifth year, both Phil and Clint are in good spirits. They get a tree this time around and they decorate it with fairy lights and red baubles - no tinsel.

 “Oh god, please, no. We’ll find that stuff well into the next holiday season” Phil pleads, because he has vivid memories of that from his own childhood, especially thanks to his mother cursing over it at Easter when one of the kids found another stray piece behind a flower pot. He says as much.

 Clint can’t stop laughing for a good while after that story, and Phil can’t help but join in because his partner's good spirit is highly contagious, especially when he collapses against him with wheezing laughter.

 There is no Christmas music while they decorate - instead, they blast 80s hits and drink mulled wine and both of them are perfectly happy that way.

 All in all, it’s a good year. They miss the New Years countdown because they’re busy distracting each other in the bedroom with far more entertaining things, and watch the fireworks from the window after.

       Many years down the road, “Silent Night” plays on the radio while Phil and Clint are creating a tornado in the kitchen.

 They’re baking cookies for the holidays, and there is flour everywhere, including handprints all over the back of Clint's shirt and two in a perfect grabbing pattern on the ass of Phil’s pants. They’re laughing and giggling like teenagers in love, despite being together for so long - their twelve-year anniversary just passed two months before, and they spent the week in a spa hotel upstate.

 When the festive song starts, Clint isn’t bothered at all. He simply smiles, pulling Phil into a kiss. What he doesn’t expect is for him to turn the embrace into a slow dance all over the room.

 “You’re such a sap” he accuses, with nothing but affection in his voice.

 “Me? Never.” The twinkle in his eyes betrays Phil, and it only makes Clint laugh more. He doesn’t mind though - he doesn’t mind at all.

 Once upon a time, a scenario like this would have been unthinkable for Clint.

 He never thought he could enjoy the holiday time, let alone with a loving and supportive partner like Phil. He’s got so much to thank him for, but he’s not about to start that now. In fact, he’s already got a list.

 A list which may or may not have been part of his vows in a very private ceremony just a few years ago - same date as their relationship anniversary - they can only fit so many events into their schedule. It’s practical.

 Said vows may or may not have caused everyone involved to burst into tears, but that is strictly need-to-know basis.

 Snow is falling outside their windows, making New York a lot more beautiful than it usually is. It’s warm inside, the heavenly scent of cookies is in the air, but most of all, they have each other. They’re as happy and comfortable as they can be, and the small, matching gold bands on their fingers catch the light while they dance around the kitchen.

*+~

This is a writing challenge set up by AJ Woolfenden on Instagram, starting on December 14th. One word per day for a week.    Works shared have to use #writingweek

   https://www.instagram.com/p/CILEG_agRzF/?igshid=1p72flhf7lhzz

   Day 1: Snow    Day 2: Festive Lights    Day 3: Santa’s hat    Day 4: Gifts    Day 5: Silent Night    Day 6: Red Noses    Day 7: Miracles

   All cover photos 1-6 used from Pixabay , 7th from unsplash. Free to use photos

*+~

Warnings:

- Bad memories, PTSD - Mentions of past child abuse - mentions of drugs - mentions of injury, not graphic