#infuses peripherals

[chron1cally1r1s]

Walked for an hour, 4448 steps and I'm exhausted

After I got COVID in 2022 my energy levels took a nosedive and I haven't recovered to my normal energy levels and it annoys the crap it of me.

I get out of breath just walking up some stairs. It doesn't help that I developed mild asthma and have to use 2 inhalers when it acts up. Thankfully I haven't had to use them after I moved to my new apartment, there was clearly something in my old apartment that was triggering my lungs because I had a chronic awful cough, breathing difficulties and I was constantly sick. I moved to a new apartment mid January and the apartment is brand new and I've gotten ill twice and I haven't used my inhaler at all.

I feel better here emotionally and mentally. I had saved up a good sum of money over the past 2 years to use to furnish and decorate my apartment and I'm so happy with the choices I've made so far. The style is I guess romantic, I was going to do boho style but it didn't turn out that way and that's ok😊 I still have my bedroom to decorate and I want to make it a haven, a place that will bring me comfort and calmness. I'm still trying to figure it out.

Physically I've not been doing too well. I finally got a Ketamin/lidocaine/magnesium infusion and holy crap that was something. I had to be in the area where patients are taken to when they wake up from anesthesia while I was receiving the infusion. I was hooked up to a ECG machine, blood pressure cuff was out on my arm and a oximeter. A needle was out in my hand and a big syringe was out into a machine that pushed the syringe so it would take 75 minutes for the medication to enter my body. A few minutes later I started feeling the effect of the infusion and I feel asleep like when you get anesthesia. Half an hour later (I think) I woke up and I had an oxygen tube in my left nostril. I was so high that I couldn't see straight. If someone has blond hair I couldn't tell if I was seeing the face or the back of the head, it was freaky. I tried to see my b/p numbers but they were all scrambled and moving around on the screen. It was one of the strangest experiences of my life. I had asked the anesthesiologist if people had hallucinations and he told me yes because this medication is related to LSD 😵‍💫 That kind of freaked me out but I've already had a medication that is related to heroin so what is another medication that is a related to another drug hard drug, *shrugs*

This helped with some of the pain in my body but not the nerve pain in my feet which was the reason I was trying this medication combo. It was the last thing to try and I've tried everything medically to try to lessen the pain caused by poly peripheral neuropathy. I'm going to try it one more time and ask to increase the lidocaine which has numbing effect.

[et7432]

The Price of Immortality

(Klaus x Reader) (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: In New Orleans, Rebekah wants to defy Klaus's demand to introduce a human girl, (y/n), into their supernatural world. She invites her friend for a night out at Rousseau's, hoping for one last evening before revealing her vampire identity. As she navigates the streets, Rebekah meets a mysterious witch who knows her name, hinting at deeper connections. Despite her intrigue, Rebekah remains cautious, sensing the encounter is significant and potentially dangerous.

Words: 3,814

Rebekah stormed through the grand foyer, her high heels echoing sharply against the polished floorboards with each determined step. Elijah watched from afar, concerned, rippling through his usual composure. She didn't spare him a glance as she continued her unyielding march. Her face was a storm of anger, and her eyes blazed with unwavering determination as she headed for the exit, daring anyone to stand in her way.

"Klaus will not dictate my choices," Rebekah hissed, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for Elijah's ears. She didn't wait for a response—there was none to give. The door slammed behind her, vibrating with the force of her departure, a testament to her resolute defiance.

Life pulsed with an infectious rhythm under the vibrant New Orleans night sky. The streets buzzed with music, laughter, and the scent of Cajun spices drifting from every corner. In a city celebrated for its joie de vivre, there was no shortage of revelry.

However, Rebekah had no time for such frivolity as she stormed through the bustling crowds, her anger boiling. Her mind was a swirling whirlpool, each thought revolving around Klaus's non-negotiable demand: she had to introduce (y/n) to him. The idea of involving a human girl in their ageless games was unfathomable. This demand not only threatened to disrupt the delicate balance of power among supernatural beings but also posed a risk to their very existence.

Rebekah's fingers glided over her phone, a wave of anticipation coursing through her veins. The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, casting a quiet aura over the eager lines etched into her features. With swift precision, she typed out a message, each word infused with a sense of sisterhood: "(y/n), let's break away from the norm tonight. Join me at Rousseau's."

Time seemed to sway in rhythm, with the jazz notes drifting in from outside as Rebekah awaited a reply. Suddenly, the cheerful chime of an incoming text broke the silence: "OK, I'll be there in 30."

"Looking forward to it," Rebekah replied, already feeling the comforting promise of their impending girls' night spreading within her. She tucked her phone into her pocket and set off toward Rousseau's, each step resonating with determination. Tonight wasn't just about camaraderie but about cherishing one final evening before (y/n) discovered the truth about Rebekah and her vampire lineage.

With a determined stride, Rebekah navigated through the sultry New Orleans night under the watchful gaze of a crescent moon. The gas lamps cast an erratic ballet of shadows on her path, flickering their light across the cobblestones. As she approached a roadside bar, something tugged at her peripheral vision—an unexpected pull that diverted her attention.

A figure was seated at a table on the sidewalk, its form shaped by darkness and intrigue. It wasn't just its sudden appearance that startled Rebekah; it was an invisible tether that seemed to draw her closer. She felt an irresistible force beckoning her, like a whispered secret carried on the night breeze, adding an unexpected twist to her evening.

Responding to this unseen call, Rebekah veered off course toward the solitary figure. Her footfalls echoed softly against the stone walkway as she approached, attracted by an undeniable magnetism.

When their eyes met, it felt as though fate had brought them together in this unforeseen moment. She closed the distance between herself and the mysterious figure.

"Hello, Rebekah," the figure said, her voice a blend of warmth and mischief.

Rebekah's heart raced as she suddenly stopped, her gaze locked onto the stranger before her. How did she know her name? The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she regarded the woman with wary eyes, ready to defend herself if necessary. She couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that this encounter was no mere coincidence.

Rebekah studied the woman's clothing with narrowed eyes; it consisted of layers that seemed to embody ancient wisdom and hidden strength. The silver pendants hanging from her neck shimmered in the dim light.

"How do you know who I am?" Rebekah demanded, her curiosity sharpening. There was an edge to her stance, a graceful readiness that belied her calm exterior.

The witch held her gaze unwaveringly, unafraid. "Names hold power, especially yours. It resonates with the very foundation of this city." A sly grin spread across her lips.

Rebekah's eyes narrowed as she considered the woman before her. She could feel a power emanating from her—a familiar and foreign force. This was no ordinary witch; there was something ancient and primal about her.

"In that case, you must truly be a witch," Rebekah replied, a sense of unease settling in her stomach. She recognized the supernatural presence before her: a kindred spirit but not an ally.

The woman gave a low chuckle, her gaze intently on Rebekah's face. "I am more than a witch, my dear," she replied cryptically. "But I am not your enemy."

Rebekah raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

"Your mistrust is well-placed," the woman conceded with a nod. "After all, we both come from powerful bloodlines with long histories of conflict."

Rebekah studied her carefully, trying to decipher the hidden meanings in her words. Something about this stranger piqued her curiosity and stirred an unexplainable connection within her.

"What do you want from me?" she finally asked.

The woman leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table and intertwining her fingers before her face. "I have been watching you for some time now," she said quietly, her voice laden with mystery. "I have a proposition for you, Rebekah. A way to break free from Klaus's control and forge your own path."

"And what would compel you to do such a thing?" Rebekah challenged her voice firm despite the unsettling revelation. Anxiety wove itself into her words. "Who are you, exactly?"

A cryptic smile crept onto the woman's face as the night enveloped them in darkness. "I am many things, Rebekah," she began, her voice reaching out like tendrils in the fog. "Some call me an enchanter. Others call me a spirit walker."

"But you," her gaze wandered over Rebekah's form. You may refer to me as Odette," she revealed, her name adding another layer to the mystery that surrounded her.

The witch gestured to a small, rickety table nestled between two overgrown ferns. "Sit," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Rebekah hesitated. A part of her rebelled against the command, her instincts screaming at her to turn and walk away. But curiosity had always been her weakness; tonight, it seemed to be prevailing.

With slow, deliberate movements, Rebekah followed Odette's instructions and sat across from the witch, mindful of the distance between them. The table creaked under her weight as if burdened by the tension in the air.

"Let's get one thing clear, Odette," Rebekah started, her eyes never leaving the witches. "I don't take kindly to being observed without my consent."

Odette merely shrugged at her words, though a glimmer of amusement lit up her eyes. "Your initial journey brought you here to meet (y/n). The vampires you know will soon reveal their true nature to her," she said almost nonchalantly.

How did she know...? Shock prickled through Rebekah's spine as she absorbed the woman's words. Secrets she had held close were suddenly laid bare before this stranger. A chill ran through her veins as a new realization dawned: this was no ordinary witch.

"Why are you telling me this?" Rebekah demanded, fighting back a swirl of emotions.

"A storm is brewing," Odette replied calmly, idly running her fingers over the worn surface of the table. "And it is drawing closer than you think."

"What kind of storm?" Rebekah asked cautiously; there was something about Odette that unsettled her.

"One that threatens to topple all your carefully laid plans," Odette answered cryptically.

"Is that a threat?" Rebekah's voice sharpened like a blade beneath the nebulous warning.

Odette shook her head, strands of silver-grey hair catching the dim lamplight. "Not a threat, dear heart... but a prophecy."

The word hung between them: "prophecy." It held such weight and dread that Rebekah's thoughts churned around it, a cold fear gnawing at her insides.

"You're trying to frighten me," Rebekah accused, her voice a low growl. But her heart hammered in her chest, betraying her bravado.

Odette sat back in her chair, the beginnings of a smirk playing on her lips. "Even immortals fear what they cannot control," she said softly, holding Rebekah's gaze unflinchingly. "You, Rebekah Mikaelson, cannot control what is coming."

Rebekah bristled at the ominous declaration, silent as she judged the witch. From her mouth came prophecies and threats, a swirling tempest threatening to swallow her whole.

"I have weathered many storms in my lifetime," Rebekah finally replied, her voice carrying an edge. She stood tall against Odette's words, a bastion of defiance amidst fear's troubling whispers.

Odette nodded, her eyes glinting with a strange kind of knowledge. "As have I," she agreed, almost sympathetically. "But each storm is different."

The sounds of the French Quarter filled the silence that had settled between them. The pulsating rhythm of jazz blared from a nearby bar while tourists and locals bustled down the cobblestone streets. Amidst it all, Rebekah felt strangely isolated.

"Why should I listen to you?" Rebekah finally asked, skepticism lacing her voice.

Odette paused for a moment, considering her response. "Because, like me, you're bound to this city... and its fate."

An icy chill ran through Rebekah's veins. Fate was a fickle mistress; she had witnessed it first hand throughout her countless years of existence. It often spelled doom for those who dared to interfere. Still, there was something about Odette's words that captivated her.

"How do I prepare for this storm you speak of?" Rebekah found herself asking, despite her reservations.

"Speak your questions to the cards," the witch instructed, laying out the intricate designs face down.

Rebekah's voice trembled slightly as she replied, "My only goal is to uncover the truth. I'm trying to protect a friend from my own family."

Her heart skipped a beat as she watched the witch flip over the first card: The Lovers. It seemed an apt metaphor for her turbulent relationships, both past and present.

"A bond of passion, intertwined fates," Odette murmured, her eyes meeting Rebekah's. "But danger lurks."

Rebekah's pulse quickened at the mention of danger. She had faced many threats in her long life, but this one felt more ominous than any she had encountered before.

"What kind of danger?" Rebekah asked, unable to hide the concern in her voice.

Odette shook her head, refusing to elaborate. "The cards will reveal what they will," she said cryptically.

With a shrug, Rebekah turned her attention back to the cards spread out before them. She watched with rapt interest as Odette turned over another card – The Tower.

"The Tower represents upheaval and destruction," Odette explained, tapping a finger on the card. "Something big is coming that will shake your world."

A shiver ran down Rebekah's spine at the witch's words. She knew all too well how quickly things could change and how fragile even immortals could be in the face of catastrophe.

"What can I do to prevent it?" Rebekah asked, hoping for some guidance or solution.

Odette's lips quirked into a small smile. "That is for you to determine," she replied mysteriously. "But beware – actions have consequences."

Rebekah nodded solemnly, understanding the weight behind those words all too well.

As Odette turned over more cards – Death, The Hanged Man, and The Fool – Rebekah couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settling over her like a heavy cloak. Each card seemed to speak of impending doom and chaos.

But then there was one final card – The Star—a ray of hope amidst the darkness.

"The Star represents hope and guidance," Odette said, her voice softer now. She laid a gentle hand on Rebekah's shoulder. "It shows that despite the coming storm, there's still a chance for redemption."

Silence filled the room again as Rebekah mulled over Odette's words. Hope was a dangerous thing - it could build empires or bring ruin just as quickly. But right now, it was all she had.

"I'll prepare myself then," she murmured, more to herself than to the witch. "I'll face this storm head-on."

"And may the wind blow in your favor, Rebekah," Odette responded. Her hands began to clear away the cards, each sliding softly against the worn table.

Rebekah watched her thoughtfully, appreciating the witch's wisdom yet dreading what was to come.

She rose from the table and looked down at the witch. "Thank you. Odette for whatever this was."

Odette merely nodded, her dark eyes watching Rebekah with patient wisdom. "Stay safe, child."

Rebekah turned on her heel and headed towards the bar.

"And so, it begins," the witch murmured as she watched Rebekah disappear into the crowded street.

Rebekah entered the busy bar, feeling the powerful energy pulsing in time with her own heartbeat. The air was heavy with a tantalizing mix of bourbon and spices, dancing to the beat of jazz and animated conversations.

Amid the bustling crowd, she scanned the faces for one she recognized. And there it was, a familiar face in the sea of strangers. She maneuvered her way through the crowd towards her friend.

She found (y/n) sitting at the bar, a half-empty glass in front of her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glinted with mischief as she raised her glass in greeting.

"Rebekah, you're just in time," (y/n) said, a teasing grin on her face. "I was starting to get bored."

"I'm surprised," Rebekah replied, her voice laced with wit. "You never struck me as someone who would get bored of a stiff drink."

(y/n) chuckled and sipped her cocktail, the ice clinking in the glass. Rebekah watched her for a moment, feeling anxiety prickling at the back of her neck. She needed to tell (y/n) about the impending danger, but how could she do so without frightening her?

"(y/n)," Rebekah began, her tone serious. The shift in her demeanor did not go unnoticed; (y/n)'s grin slowly faded as she turned her full attention to her friend.

"You look worried," (y/n) observed, concern etched on her features. "What's happened?"

Rebekah hesitated. How could she possibly explain? She had seen things that were invisible to humans — fates laid out like tarot cards, cryptic warnings from centuries-old witches, and danger sketched across the night sky.

"Nothing's happened. We're having a Mardi Gras party at my place tomorrow night," Rebekah lied, her voice steady despite the tumult inside her. "My family... they've been asking to meet you."

(y/n)'s look shifted from surprise to excitement, the looming danger momentarily forgotten. "A real Mardi Gras party? I'd love to!" she responded eagerly. The prospect of joining an authentic Cajun tradition excited her enough to dismiss Rebekah's sudden seriousness.

A warm smile spread across Rebekah's face, masking the true terror that gnawed at her insides. "Great! The festivities will begin after sunset."

"With real gumbo and jambalaya?" (y/n) asked, her eyes sparkling in anticipation.

"All authentic," Rebekah assured her. She sipped the remainder of her drink, feeling it burn a hot trail to unsettle her already-roiling stomach.

"You're quiet tonight," (y/n) interrupted, jolting her back to reality. "Is everything OK?"

Just then, as Rebekah was concocting another elaborate lie to distract (y/n) from the ongoing subject, an all-too-familiar figure came into her line of sight, leaning against the bar.

Her brother raised the crystal glass to his lips, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. He took a long sip of his usual whiskey on the rocks, attempting to drown out the insatiable hunger clawing at his insides. He swallowed the burning alcohol, using it to numb both his urges and his conscience.

Slowly, he turned to face Rebekah, a cruel smirk painted on his lips. With a sharp gesture, he taunted her, daring her to make a move against him.

"Just my bloody luck..." Rebekah muttered through gritted teeth.

(y/n) glanced at her, confused. "What is it, Rebekah? Seriously, something is off with you tonight."

"Can we just leave? Now?" Rebekah nearly pleaded, forcing half-hearted smiles and nods.

Before (y/n) could respond, Klaus' cold voice pierced through the lively chatter of the bar. "Why are you so quick to leave, Rebekah? We are just getting started."

His gaze traveled from his sister's petrified expression to (y/n), oblivious to her companion's bloodline. For a moment, Klaus hesitated as he caught sight of (y/n)'s innocent radiance under the dim lantern light.

The unexpected softening of his ice-blue eyes surprised even him. A warmth bloomed within him that had no place in his life—a dangerous attraction to this human woman that resembled something other than hunger for blood. It was something unnerving yet thrilling.

Rebekah watched in shock, perceiving this transformation happening within him—the mighty original vampire displaying an alarming vulnerability, not provoked by violence or manipulation, but by sheer fascination with someone seemingly insignificant in their immortal existence.

Bitter resentment burrowed deep within her at this paradoxical display of feelings from Klaus, who had previously been indifferent to anything even remotely humane. How could he be drawn to her delicate friend of all people?

"Is everything alright?" The question, seeping out uneasily from (y/n), draws both siblings back into reality.

"All good, darling," replies Rebekah with feigned cheerfulness. She locks her eyes menacingly with her brother as if she's confronting a predator who is helplessly exposed.

"All well indeed," Klaus echoes, his gaze still fixed on (y/n). His voice carries an undercurrent of something unidentifiable, even to him. He quickly shakes off the strange sensations clouding his thoughts and proceeds with a forced smile that does little to calm Rebekah's brewing anger.

(y/n) leans in close to Rebekah, her voice low. "Who is this guy?" Klaus responds with a charming smile.

"Oh Rebekah, darling, it's not very polite to keep me a secret from your stunning friend," he teases, giving a playful wink.

Bitterness flares in Rebekah's chest. "Klaus," she spits out his name like a curse, barely concealing her hostility, "is my brother."

"Your brother?" (y/n) utters, her voice laced with disbelief. His eyes flicker to meet hers, and for a moment, she sees a glint of amusement dancing in them, which sends an unsettling feeling deep within her stomach.

"But—" her voice trails off under Klaus's intense gaze before she gathers enough breath to whisper, "You don't seem anything alike."

"No wonder," Klaus retorts, his smile tinged with a hint of cruelty as he continues this dangerous game, seemingly at the whim of Rebekah, who has hidden her feelings from him until now.

Rebekah interjects like an approaching storm cloud—dark and foreboding. "(y/n) was just mentioning our Mardi Gras party tomorrow night," she declares boldly. Looking at her brother, she silently pleads for him to play along.

Klaus pauses before answering, smiling at (y/n). "Yes, of course, our family's annual Mardi Gras party. How could I forget?" He clasps his hands together.

"Is this your first Mardi Gras, (y/n)?" Klaus asks, his gaze unwavering from her face. The weight of his attention causes a slight blush to color her cheeks.

"Yes," she replies, smiling slightly under his intense stare. "Is it as wild and fun as they say?"

Klaus smirked at her question. "Oh, even more so," he replied, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes.

"Wild enough to awaken the beast within us all," he added cryptically, his gaze piercing into (y/n)'s as if offering a whisper of a challenge on the edge of his smirk. Rebekah glanced sharply at her brother, catching the double entendre. She shifted nervously in her seat.

(y/n), however, just laughed at his words, the sound a soft, tinkling contrast to the simmering atmosphere at their table. "I've heard rumors about supernatural elements spicing up the nightlife here. Are you confirming them?" she asked playfully.

Her innocent question sparked a glint of amusement in Klaus's eyes. He let out a low chuckle that echoed through the dim bar and sent a shiver crawling up Rebekah's spine.

"I'm confirming nothing more than our city's uncanny ability to unleash hidden desires," Klaus answered cryptically, his gaze still holding hers as if sharing an intimate secret.

Rebekah's heart pounded in her chest; she needed to divert the conversation before Klaus took it any further—before (y/n)'s life took an unexpected turn down the supernatural rabbit hole. "(y/n), I think we should head home. I need to start preparing for tomorrow's party with my brothers," she hastily interjected.

(y/n)'s smile faded from her face. "Oh, sure thing, Becca."

Klaus remained silent as Rebekah made excuses and pulled (y/n) up from the table, his eyes lingering on her. The intensity of his gaze unsettled her, making her heart pound in rhythm with the jazz music drifting in from the streets.

(y/n) took slow, confident steps as she walked away, her hips swaying with each movement. She turned back to catch Klaus's eye, flashing a charming smile that made his heart skip a beat. "It was nice meeting you," she purred, her voice dripping with allure. 

Klaus couldn't resist smirking at the thought of seeing her again tomorrow. "I can't wait for our next encounter," he replied smoothly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. The flirtatious tension between them crackled in the air as they went their separate ways, unable to shake thoughts of each other from their minds.

As the two women left the bar, Klaus watched them go, his cold smile fading slowly into the shadows. His thoughts swirled like a tempest—both treacherous and exciting. He lingered on the door even after they had disappeared from sight.

Behind him, a dark figure emerged from the bar's shadows. Elijah's face was unreadable as always, yet a hint of concern creased his features as he observed Klaus brooding.

"We shouldn't involve mere humans in our affairs, especially not her," he warned, his voice heavy with disapproval yet tinged with an unusual edge of worry.

Klaus turned to face his older brother, a smirk on his lips. "Worried that I can't behave myself for one evening?" 

Elijah ignored the taunt. "This isn't about me," he replied. "This is about you and your dangerous fascination."

Klaus considered Elijah's warning for a moment before brushing it off with an air of indifference. "What's life without a bit of danger, brother?" he mused aloud. His eyes held an eerie calm as he looked away, his thoughts already lost in the enticing prospect of tomorrow's Mardi Gras festivities.

Tags:

@jana-jaeynneee

@miacullenstark

@rcarbo1

@giaevans

[anaxiphiliiaa]

Daydream in blue ft. The Double Black

GIF by lucathy

W/C: 2064

Content warning: Fem Y/N, porn with (somewhat) plot, unprotected sex, alcohol, blood (mentioned briefly).

Includes: Unexpected consesquences after a night of drinking in commemmorance.

A/N: established relationship(s), past relationships, polyamory.

Minors DNI

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I dream a dirty dream of you, baby

You're swinging from the chandelier.

I'm climbing up the walls 'cause you want you

But when you reach you, you disappear.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The mahogany door swung open haphazardly, signaling a less-than-graceful entry to the pitch-dark penthouse.

The door swung itself shut again, leaving two lovers grasping at each other in the dark, nothing on their minds except for each other in the alcohol-infused haze.

You giggled as Chūya's hand traveled over your body, grasping at whatever part of you he could get his hands on. One hand on your waist, then another on your nape, pulling you down as if he would suffocate without your breath on his own. The ginger’s lips found yours desperately, neither the alcohol nor lack of visibility could smother the burning hot desire coursing through his veins. Your lips molded against his just as eagerly, desperate to have more of him, to taste more of him.

It wasn’t too much of a rare sight - usually, it would be Chūya drunk, being the lightweight he was, and you would always be on standby dutifully to take care of your boyfriend. But today was different. Today, both were intoxicated to the point of near delirium, hands all over each other like teenagers who didn’t know better. In the dark, where you couldn’t see; in the alcoholic haze, where you could hardly register anything at all, his burning touch was like an anchor. And by how he touched you, it wasn’t hard to tell the feeling was mutual.

First thing you knew, Chūya had carried you up in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, his own hands around your body refusing to let go even for just a second. The next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the plush mattress of your shared bed. Meanwhile, Chūya fumbled with his clothes, grumbling as he stripped down the many layers he wore. Then soon enough, Chūya’s lips were back on yours, vaunting such love and passion that never failed to take your breath away. His skilled hands made quick work of the buttons you failed to undo on your shirt, tearing away each piece of fabric that prevented him from delving further.

It was as if being nearly black-out drunk awoken something primal in the redhead. On most occasions, Chūya was a gentle and attentive lover, taking pleasure in making you scream in ecstasy while foregoing his own. Yet, this time, it was as if he was starving, sucking bruises onto your neck mercilessly, marking his territory on the canvas of your skin. You squirmed under the foreign intensity, and Chūya immediately pinned your shoulders down, keeping you still with a greedy insistence. You didn’t complain, the sudden roughness only intensified the heat between your legs. Your arms wrapped around his bare shoulders, encouraging him to be harsher, rougher, more-, more-…

“God, fuck…!”

You whined when Chūya bit down particularly harshly on your neck, further fanning the fire of his desire.

Chūya wasn’t ever this rough, much so that this whole experience was strange. But in its strangeness, there was an odd familiarity.

It didn’t feel like it was Chūya at all.

Chūya wasn’t ever this rough, but…

Brown eyes flashed through your peripheral vision, nearly sending you into whiplash.

…

“More.”, you gasped, arching your back to your lover’s touch, chasing the once-forgotten feeling.

Your hand dug into his hair, grasping at his locks as he ravaged your body and sucked bruises all over your shoulders. He said something in response to your neediness, but you could hardly register it at all, drunk on chasing the sense of deja vu.

Unwittingly to you, the ginger on top of you was feeling the same nostalgia. The hand that tugged harshly at his long ginger locks sent him reeling - it had been so long since he was treated with such aggression. The alcohol in your breath and his own added to the fogginess. Beneath the redhead, slender shoulders were morphing into broader ones, the hand in his copper locks bandaged, rough, and taunting…

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chūya growled ferally as his hips drilled into the figure beneath him, his digits a bruising grip on their hips as if fucking them into submission. “Fuck…Give me more…”, he grunted into skin, groaning when he was rewarded with another harsh tug of his hair.

You moaned brokenly when sharp thrusts were delivered to your body, pace brutal and unforgiving, barely leaving you any time to breathe. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the pitch-dark bedroom, the relentless stimulation playing further into your delirium.

A particularly harsh thrust to your G-spot sent a wave of pleasure down your spine. Your back arched, and you moaned out a single name, perhaps the first coherent word of that night.

“Osamu…!”

For a moment, Chūya was snapped from his hunger, some consciousness of the present returning to him momentarily. Did you really spill out the name of another man in this intimate moment with him? The realization twisted in his heart. He stopped, hurt clawing at his stomach. He pulled awa-

A hand tugged his ginger locks down harshly, forcing him back down. Lips crashed into his, teeth nipping at his plump muscles as if devouring him whole.

It didn’t feel like it was Y/N beneath him at all.

“Don’t fucking stop!”, you moaned, as if snapping at a certain brunette.

“Don’t fucking stop.”, a deeper, taunting voice rang in Chūya’s head. And he obliged, resuming the brutal pace he had set before, fucking for his pleasure now. “Shut it, you fucking suicidal bastard.”, the redhead snapped, hands lacing into yours, effectively pinning you down as he fucked you into the mattress.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The liquor coursing through your veins blurred faces and voices, replacing them with that of him. Earlier today, Chūya and you had visited your frequented bar, ordering fancy wines glass after glass. It was an occasion to commemorate, after all. A year before that point in time, Osamu Dazai had left the Port Mafia, leaving his past and your hearts behind him. And now, he was back, in your bed, a ghost that had never quite left.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Please, Osamu…”, you whispered drunkenly, your hands all over Chūya’s body, desperate to keep him close as if the one in your delusions would disappear if you let go.

“Osamu…”, Chūya grunted as nails dragged down his back, determined to put the figure beneath him in their place, cock twitching at every gasp and groan he received.

"You like it like this, huh?”, the ginger chuckled, spreading your thighs open and pinning them down harshly against the mattress so he could be even deeper, his cock practically knocking at your womb. You cried out in pleasure, eyes fluttering as your body shook under his. His mind was running miles an hour, clinging to a memory he tried so hard to push away, yet now the pistoning of his hips was replicating it exactly. Chūya’s cock plunged into your sopping hole punishingly, as if it was a certain brunette who had set him off, mocking him to bring out his rougher side. “‘That’s all you got, chibi?’”, “You’re pathetic…”, the voice rang through Chūya’s head like a mantra, and for once, it pissed him off most pleasurably. Chūya would never, ever treat you like that (or rather, try his best to refrain from doing so), too much of a gentleman to bring himself to treat you like anything other than porcelain. But when it came to him, he could be as unforgiving as he liked.

Chūya bit down on your shoulder, probably hard enough to draw blood. “Osamu… let you fucking hurt you…”, he growled breathlessly, the liquor in his veins egging on his fantasy. “Hah…Fuck…!”, you whined, feeling hot blood trickling down your collarbones. you hadn’t registered that Chūya had called you by Dazai’s name. you hadn’t registered that the one fucking you so deliciously wasn’t even Dazai at all. “You fucking bastard.”, you cursed him out despite the thrilling waves of pleasure shooting down your spine. Your nails scratched down Chūya’s back, determined to hurt him back - like you always did Dazai whenever he got you under his thumb and pinned beneath him. Your mind was hazy, logical thoughts all gone, and the only thing you were aware of was the feeling of being filled up so fucking good. Your hand traveled down to rub at your neglected clit, the coil in your stomach growing hotter with each thrust delivered into you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chūya shuddered as a pair of hands clambered over his chest before finally finding purchase on his throat. Your sweaty digits encircled his neck like a piece of jewelry, pressing down beneath his Adam's apple - enough to give him a hard time catching his breath, but not enough to do damage. “Fuck…”, the redhead gasped, the slight blockage on his throat encouraging him to fuck even harder and chase his high. No longer was the logical executive - he was now something feral, driven purely by his fantasy - his breaths were ragged and airy, moans and grunts streaming from his mouth, not even the usual curses could be made out. When he did manage to say something, it was a jumbled mess of Dazai’s name and profanities, bickering with the man still even in this intimate moment. You didn’t even notice at all - too busy moaning the same name, playing around with the same fantasy in your head as he did. Your pussy was practically clamping down on Chūya’s cock (or pseudo-Dazai, at this point), plush walls sucking him in eagerly. “More…”, you gasped, then rendered speechless again when his cock plunged into you, hard muscle dragging over your tight channel good enough to make you keen.

It was becoming harder and harder to tell what was real, and what was not. Memories of a night returned in waves, manifesting themselves in every thrust of Chūya’s hips, and every squeeze of your hand. He was replicating that memory so perfectly, so seamlessly - cock twitching at the thought of Dazai beneath him. Neither could you tell anything apart anymore as the coil in your stomach burned hot with pleasure, the feeling of someone’s (whose even? Dazai’s or Chūya’s?) hands all over your naked skin. The redhead seemed completely unaware that he wasn’t even doing this with Dazai, but rather with the woman he loved so damn much. But with how it was going, you may as well have been the brunette at that point. It was comical how that sentiment was shared - bandaged hands pinned you down in your fantasy, brown eyes piercing through your pleasure-induced haze.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Hng…Close?”, you tutted sarcastically between breathy moans, “Already… hah… Osamu...”. “Shut it…'m not even nearly there.”, Chūya growled in retaliation - a lie, you could tell from how sloppily he was beginning to move. His hips pushed against yours erratically, cock pulsed with need, pushing against your walls desperately for release. you laughed breathily at the banter, relishing in the playfulness you had almost forgotten. One of your hands continued the pressure on his throat, the other dug tight on his shoulders, clinging to him as you began to feel your orgasm approach. “Fuck…fuck, fuck!”, the redhead breathed shakily, “Not so tough, huh?...You’re… fucking easy to toy with…”. His hips snapped against your skin in deliberate thrusts, sloppily as his own high was imminent. “Shit…I’m cumming… hgh…oh, fuck!’, Chūya’s speech became meaningless blabberings, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself inside you, sending you to your own peak at the same time. Your eyes rolled back, mouth agape as your entire body shook with the blinding force of your orgasm. Ropes of his release painted your insides white, curses tumbling out of his mouth in a breathless groan.

Chūya collapsed on top of you, exhausted, hips slowing to a slow grind as he rode out his high. Your arms immediately wrapped themselves around your lover’s shoulders, holding him like a lifeline after the spine-shattering peak you shared. After a moment, he pulled out and laid down on the bed, breaths still shaky when he pulled your body close and muttered love words into your ears. You quickly fell asleep in each other’s arms, the tiredness brought by your release and the alcohol winning over.

…

Tomorrow morning was going to be awkward.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

[catcze]

do you have more hybrid wriothesley thoughts?

i know you think he'd be a dog hybrid but what about the obvious, wolf?

I HAVE MANY MANY MANY THOUGHTS bUT i will put them in points for my own sanity and so that i do not break my keyboard from typing ajksndajkakjs

I tried to,,, contain myself,,, as an exercise of self control,,,, but I still ended up writing smthn a little long TT

Wriothesley who is literally super soft, but only when he's around you.

Most people see him as the duke, as the admin of the fortress. He's got a fearsome reputation as someone who doesn't take any shit, and for good reason. He's not someone to be fucked with, in the least. The only exception to this rule is you. Wriothesley actually turns clingy when you're in his vicinity. Always turning his head so he can keep you in his peripheral vision, always making sure that you don't seem upset. The moment he sees a frown marring your face, he's striding over to you, a hand on your shoulder and quietly asking if you're alright.

He's... a bit more protective than you would have initially thought. Must be a wolf thing, you guess.

It was the most evident the first time both of you had went to Sumeru on a leisurely trip to see more of Teyvat. Neither of you could have expected accidentally triggering one of those strange machines in the desert, nor the hostility that it showed towards the both of you. Now, you were competent in a fight, and Wriothesley already knew that beforehand, but he still took it upon himself to place himself between the construct and you, infusing his gauntlets with Cryo and taking it out before you could even do anything. And then, instead of even checking himself over, he had rushed over to your perfectly fine self, checking over you and making sure you were okay.

He's always incredibly delighted to see you, and if you're alright with it, he likes to be connected to you in some way, shape or form.

Wriothesley is basically your living, walking blanket. Any chance he can get, he drapes himself on your back, practically flopping on you and leaving you to yelp and deal with the sudden weight you're burdened with. It's fun to mess with you while still holding you close, he reasons to himself. You grumble and sigh about how this is the third time I've dropped my drink because of you, Wriothesley, but you can tolerate it, you suppose, when he always looks so pleased when he's with you.

Wolfboy Wriothesley would be more,,, flirtatious, than dogboy wriothesley 👀👀

Wolfboy Wriothesley knows the effect he has on you. He knows how embarrassed you get when he holds you hand and keeps you by his side in front of other people. He knows how you react to his playful, flirty quips and his banter, and he just can't get enough of any of it. He says some of the simplest shit, but he's so rizzed when he says it that it becomes flirty !! With how he says it, he can make you feel so so so confident in yourself for the entire day, and it makes sure that you know how into you he is, so it's a win-win in his book.

[zhenne]

boss’ daughter - pt. 1

dr.zayne + f.reader

syn. as the chairman’s daughter, you had a reputation to uphold, a clean ledger, and an even stricter standard to live in. so when the esteemed Dr. Zayne finds you indulging one of your frowned upon vices, you fear your status may very well be in the hands of Asko Hospital’s most handsome surgeon.

wc. 1.5k

warnings. not proofread, possibly ooc, reader is not mc, slight age gap (reader is 20-23, Zayne is 28-30: pick your poison), smoking (reader), mentions of alcohol, use of y/n & l/n

← intro pt. 2 →

In the pale light of the waning moon, the Linkon lights shone even more brilliantly. The distant hum of the city rose faintly to meet your ears as you leaned against the cold metal railing of the secluded balcony. The sharp December air bit at your cheeks, but it was a welcomed reprieve from the suffocating warmth of the fundraising gala inside. Your fingers twitched—the telltale sign you were anxious. You flicked open a silver case, pulling out a slim stick. With the cigarette between nimble fingers, you bring it to your lips, sucking the flame from the light until it catches. The first drag was blissful, the nicotine cutting through the chaos of the evening like a scalpel.

For a moment, you let your head tilt back, gazing at the glittering skyline. Out here, you weren’t the chairman’s daughter or anyone’s role model—just Y/N, enjoying a stolen moment of quiet.

The creak of the door behind you jolted you, and you froze mid-drag.

“Miss L/N?” A deep voice startles you. Your heart leapt as you glanced over your shoulder, nearly dropping the cigarette. Standing in the doorway was Dr. Zayne, still wearing his impeccable all-black suit, his tie slightly loosened. Your eyes only widen as they take in the neatly styled black hair and observant green eyes.

Fuck. You are so, irrevocably fucked. Not only did you – the daughter of the distinguished chairman of Akso Hospital – get caught smoking red-handed, it just so happened to be the most irresistibly handsome doctor to find you. 

“Of all the places to hide, you pick the balcony,” the familiar voice weighs in, half amused, half curious.

You let out a stifled breath, reason and logic attempting to calm your erratic heartbeats. ‘There’s a decent chance he hasn’t noticed the cigarette yet, perhaps I can drop it and step on it-’ Nope. You look back to his face, where you don’t miss the way his eyes flick from your face to the poorly concealed wisp of smoke coming from the cigarette hidden by your body. 

At the accepting realization you had been caught, you let out a resigned sigh and turn back to the scene of the city. You suck in another breath of menthol-infused nicotine. Then, with a voice that was too tired for someone of your age, you mumble, “Why’re you always so formal, Dr. Zayne?”

His polished leather shoes quietly scuff over the wooden deck of the terrace until you catch sight of them in your peripheral—and you swear the lingering chill leaves your body with an embarrassing heat at the proximity.

“You’re the chairman’s daughter.” Is all you get in that customary stoic voice, giving away nothing but cool indifference. You can feel him watching you – you’d have to be either dumb or entirely unaware not to. The growing heat of your skin is silenced with a biting coldness that followed the trail of his gaze. 

You swallow, bringing the nearly extinguished cigarette to your lips for a final taste. Before you welcome the smoke to your lungs, you quietly whisper, “Well, I’d like to simply just be Y/N for right now. Could you grant me that?” And for the first time since the initial surprise of his appearance, you glimpse at him. His side profile is even more attractive up close. You pray the warmth in your lungs could excuse any growing heat on your face. You look away, extinguishing the dimly glowing bud against the metal railing before tossing it in a nearby trashcan. 

“I’m sure someone as versed in medicine as yourself knows what I’m about to say.”

You bristled, the sheltered part of you wanting to fire back something sharp, but the way his gaze lingered—not judging, just concerned—made the words falter in your throat.

You chew on the inside of your lips, biting back a knowing grin. There it is, the comment you were waiting for. “I appreciate the concern Dr. Zayne, but I’m well aware of the effects of smoking.” You hold your breath for a moment. “And I’m afraid I don’t hold the same zeal for medicine as my father. Besides, it’s just one,” you murmur, but the argument felt weak even to yourself.

You wait a moment… then two.. three, four…. Your hands are itching to light another, but you don’t want to be rude, even if Zayne had technically encroached on you first. When he doesn’t budge from where he’s leaned against the banister, you sigh. “Look, Dr. Zayne-”

“Are you cold?”

Your brows furrow together at the suddenness of his question, confusion flashing behind your eyes as you blink up at him. “Huh?”

He’s already shrugging off his suit jacket before he speaks, “You’ll get sick standing outside in just your dress. And smoking when it’s cold like this certainly won’t help.” The unexpected warmth and weight of the fabric startled you, and for a moment, you were enveloped in the scent of cedarwood and something distinctly him. You grip the front hems out of habit, looking up at him incredulously. 

“I’m fine, really. Besides, it's going to smell like smoke-” You’re trying to slip it off to hand back to him, but the stoic doctor holds it firmly around your frame. “You don’t have to-“

“I do.” His voice was quiet, resolute, and it left no room for argument.

For a moment neither of you spoke. The city stretched out before you, glittering and endless, but you swear the air between you felt thick, electric. You glanced at him, catching the way the soft glow of the city lights illuminated his profile.

“Dr. Zayne,” you began, but he turned, cutting you off with a small, knowing smile.

“Save it,” he mutters gently, stepping back toward the doors. “Just don’t freeze to death out here. Or let anyone else catch you.”His eyes flash with an indiscernible light, one that has you stupefied as he merely nods before he pulls open the door, ducking his head in farewell. “Good night, Miss Y/N.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. You were alone agin, his coat still wrapped around your shoulders. You exhaled, the itch for a cigarette forgotten as you stared after him, the tension in your chest refusing to fade.

[indiweb]

승한 、 SEVEN MINUTES WITH BRACEFACE. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╰⠀ft. loser nerd!hong seunghan.

cuidado ⋆ she!her pns. fem!reader. suggestive. [.4k]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ﹙ 라이즈 ﹚

" GOSH , Y'ER SO FREAKIN' PRETTY. "

waves of ecstatic admiration blow like breezes on the seashore. eyes locked and hearts stopped , gazes of raw adorning gush out like a weeping festival. the vibrant doe-eyes nerd!seunghan has for you , unlike any other. heartstrings putter much of a harp in an orchestra , your mere stare absolutely suffocating.

glances pondering afar ; no matter what class you two shared , nerd!seunghan seemingly always found you within the horde of classmates. like a needle in a haystack , he pretentiously found you with ease , lingering glimpses being stolen at any given moment you seemed to wisp his peripheral.

eyes bore a striking glint , milky way irises any man could get lost within. mouth—watering , plump lips , he could ever dream of touching. pleading. kissing. like forbidden fruit plucked from a ripe tree , nerd!seunghan craved your existence ; a blossom longing for the sun.

── sketched , fantasies compiled his notebooks , each as detailed as the next. desires flailing in the wind like dried petals. self awareness wasn’t friendly , he knew that vigorously. status quo was in ; glasses , not so much. braces alike , the hierarchy kept his confidence at ease , knowing his place amongst the ranks.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀seated diligently atop the food chain , you nevertheless flashed smiles at the boy who remained alongside the prawns. flaunted grins that led to shared breaths being swapped within the enclosure of a five-by-five storage closet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sleek digits sank into the skin of his flesh , guiding his neck closer to your own whilst lips overlapped one another. groans shared breaths , feet stumbling over the other. arms reeled behind as he stripped himself of his jacket. your thumbs caressed his jaw , pulling him back with yourself prior to thumping into the wall.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀fireworks eroded his insides , a jungle of organs entwining within each other like rabid animals. blemished hues tattered his fair skin , like a rainbow after a storm.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀insobriety , one would think. inebriation. intoxication? though your precious lips said otheriwse. as temperance as his own. a tempting sobriety , it told him you wanted it as much as did he. nothing more could send him into a frenzie , his paced actions hastened with some lenience towards your thighs.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀wild fire spread faster than thoughts. rougher than lots. how his sudden change in direction alluded moans from you. his skilled aiding a back arch into his grasp. wrapped arms snaked his shoulders much of a cobra to its prey , passion infusing itself between the two of you. not a moment was spared as tongues danced along the insides of mouths , lathering them in each others essences.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀hissed whines sputtered your distended lips , sparks decorating your flesh whilst his fingertips delved your hips and marked them as his own. carnal desires eloped his mind , aggressions growing and sensuality bestowing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" ca— can i? " pleads laced his rotted words , eyes targeting the hems of your cardigan.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" whatever y’want , bebé " haste yet sultry , your words guided his eager inclinations , seunghan lowering himself with kitten kisses trailing your clothing.

SINCERELY , YOURS TRULY Ξ ©SEUNITAS, 2024

[noctunis]

THE ROCK IS BACK‼️‼️‼️ And has brought you… Cloud Strife x Baker!reader. Imagine teaching him how to bake and he’s just standing there like “huh?” After you just reread him the instructions for the millionth time, which results in him being covered in flour.

-🪨

“then you just mix them in like,” you paused as you whisked the thick batter around, cloud noted how your tongue poked out in concentration, “this!”

cloud’s eyebrows furrowed, mako infused eyes flickering between the mixing bowl and you as he cocked his head. you simply grinned at him, hand still mixing the thick cake batter. your hand looked comically small against the big silver bowl.

you had decided to bust out one of your old recipes, chocolate cake with some raspberry mousse on top. simple but definitely one of your favorites. you had offered cloud to try some, even if he wasn’t so much a dessert type person. but then aerith found out. and then tifa. and then biggs. and suddenly—you’re making a lot of chocolate cake. you decided that you underestimated how much help you would need and the duration of time it’d take you to just bake these cakes. so who else to call but your trusty mercenary boyfriend?

“wha—?” with another tilt of his head, cloud watched you curiously as you grabbed his hand, having him hold the whisk while you let out a singsong, “keep it moving!” while you twirled your way to the cupboard and grabbed some cocoa powder along with some various other ingredients.

you giggled as you watched cloud hesitantly stir the mixture, big eyes following you while you walked back up to him and held the ingredients out to him. you beamed at him, “do it just like how i said, ‘kay?”

cloud let out an unsure, “okay.” while you held your hands behind your back and watched as he scooped some cocoa powder out with a tablespoon. mako eyes hesitantly darted between you and the cake batter, unsure if he was doing it right. his worries melted away though—when he saw that your smile never faltered. to be honest, cloud hadn’t been listening to a word you said, only focused on the way your lips moved and how you seemed so sure of what you were talking about.

“i still don’t know what you find fun about this, though. it’s so many..” he trailed off.

“steps?”

“yeah.” was all he said. he watched as you put a hand up, signaling for him to stop as you stepped closer, mixing all the powders and liquids together in one big, chocolate-y mess.

a small silence fell over the two of you as you could feel cloud’s presence behind you, watching each of your movements intently to try and find some sort of meaning behind it. you were doing so many things at once, it was hard to keep track of. a soft smile rested itself on your lips, watching cloud through your peripheral try and lean his head over your shoulder to get a better look.

“have i ever told you how cute i think you are?” you said. your eyes never left the whisk, watching as it created swirls and ripples in the thick chocolate. you heard cloud make a small noise, clearly taken aback as his eyes widened and his posture became stiffer.

“what makes you say that?” he finally asked.

you simply giggled and pointed at the mixture that lay in the bowl below you, “because you put way too much powder in this.” you finally put the whisk down, it making a clank as the metal hit the cool countertop, littered with an assortment of packages containing ingredients.

cloud tipped his head over to get a better look, his face trying its hardest not to redden as he felt your fingertips graze his jaw, softened with the flour that covered them. you were right, he thought, as he saw the clumps of leftover powder that wouldn’t break down. the corners of his mouth quirked downwards as he felt your gaze on him, almost shrinking like a dog that’s been caught red-handed.

“‘s alright, cloud. we can just try again.” you gently guided his gaze towards yours, watching as his eyebrows knitted together once you made eye contact. you rubbed your thumb along his cheekbone, peaceful grin still painted on your face when you looked at him. cloud had wondered how you could be so soft, sometimes. your hand slowly fell, the pad of your thumb making sure to run itself along the entirety of his cheek.

“did you just smear chocolate on my cheek?”

“sshh..” you said, bringing a finger to his lips. you closed your eyes as you took in the moment before you, removing your finger and giving cloud a chance to actually lick his lips and confirm it really was chocolate. it also gave him the chance to grab a pinch of flour from the counter behind you, except instead of a pinch, cloud more so grabbed a handful. and perhaps he dumped it on your head, too.

you gasped, watching as he narrowed his eyes playfully at you. backing away with his hands in a smug surrender motion, before you grabbed a handful and threw it at him, too.

“you’re on!” you shouted, and then began what would soon be referred to as ‘the flour war’.

[sdfgderp]

a/n: ARGENTIIIIIIIIIIII ARGENTIIIIIIIIIII AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH screaming aside, i believe he is the type to compliment even the features you don’t really like about yourself 🥹 this beauty recognizing beauty in others no matter how they look… peak gentleman also notice how my word count on my posts are inconsistent, sometimes i don’t put them, sometimes i do… sorry!!! also this is obviously longer than the gepard one, so guess who’s my favorite 🤭

argenti x gn! reader

cw: insecurities, gardening with argenti, brutish planting (the plants are fine, dw), cheesy argenti, subtle pining…, you aren’t together in this one lol u just got friendzoned!!! (he didn’t mean it), reader is an unreliable narrator

word count: 800+

-

sanguine locks covered your peripheral vision as argenti bent down just above you. you were crouching down to dig dirt for the roses he nursed in nursery pots, and it was time to plant them down on the ground. you look up and meet argenti’s curious green eyes.

“do you not stick your spear to the ground, kick it to get soil out, drop the seedling, and stomp dirt on it, my muse?”

his question, though harmless, stuck a spear through your plant-loving heart. in what world do you plant roses that way?!

“no? argenti, is what i’m doing not the universal way of planting things?” you counter, gently taking out a seedling out of its seedling bag. “yours is… kind of sad and brutish.”

the knight crouches down beside you, pulling back the sleeves of his turtleneck. you loosen up the soil the seedling was clinging to and bury it in the hole you made, spraying it with water infused in fertilizer. you turn to your left and dig another hole for another rose bush seedling to plant. argenti observes your way of planting, his gaze following your hands.

you break the silence as you take out another seedling from its bag and put it down on the ground. “i’m curious though, do your plants live using that method, argenti?”

he nods, “yes they do. they grow up to be fruitful plants that grow beautiful flowers, fruits, or leaves.”

“again with the compliments on plants,” you sigh. you thought, do i have to turn into a plant to get praises…

“no you do not need to!” argenti replies immediately. you realized you spoke your words out loud and dismissed it. however, the knight was faster in talking than you. seeing your hands were busy, he started showering you compliments.

“beauty is everywhere, my muse, and that includes you! you need not to turn into a photosynthesizing creature for me to compliment you! are you not aware on how your hair is just right, even when you’re under the blazing heat of the star of your home planet system? do you fail to notice how gentle you’re holding that plant? or how you look in this posture, although it could use some work…”

argenti goes on and on, complimenting the features you usually scrutinize when he catches you checking yourself out in the mirror. the shape of your nose, your uneven skin tone, your body shape, even the hair on your toes… all while you were “busy” planting when you were just busying yourself to hide the massive blush raging on your face. the nerve of this guy to catch on to your insecurities and shower them with praises. beautiful, just what is beautiful for a knight of the beauty?

“…indeed, it is a blessing for the universe to have me here with you, friend. it is a pity you downgrade your perfectly arranged body just because it doesn’t fit this planet’s standards.” him saying friend for you sounded sour. “you were once like the roses you’re planting now, devoid of flowers but still pretty, your first leaves of development adorning juvenile features you now don’t have. and i think,” he pauses, tucking hair behind your ear to clear your vision. “you’ve grown to host a lot of roses.”

in your mind, fireworks shot through the sky at the last compliment argenti dropped. your face stoic, yet your mind had gremlins scampering around, yelling “oh great heavens! this guy is going to kill me!”, and “how dare he shower us in compliments! i love it! i’m going to explode!”

“hello? did the heat get you already?” argenti snaps you out of your daze. you shake your head.

“y-yeah, i think. let’s plant these later in the afternoon.” you plant the last seedling for the morning and put back the remaining seedlings in a cool area of your garden. argenti kept the gardening tools used before sitting down with you in the makeshift tent you two made. you took off your gloves and throw it aside, sitting down and wiping your sweat. argenti crouched down and passed you a waterbottle.

“i’ll do the planting later, my dear. now that i know the beauty of your way of planting, i can perfectly recreate it and grow rose bushes whose leaves that under that star’s light, and whose roses rival the color of my hair.”

argenti goes on for another ramble about beauty, fixated on roses. meanwhile, your mind began to wander in dangerous territory. for someone who’s not used to receiving meaningful compliments, argenti is starting to look like a potential crush for you. unbeknownst to you, the knight is waiting for you to take the hint already. as you debate your tiny crush on him, argenti is praying that the beauty that sits before him will grace him their company, to be his lifelong friend partner in searching for his aeon. that is to say, if he doesn’t believe his aeon is in fact, right beside him.

[kickthecanrevolution]

A long time ago when Trump was first in office, I had a sustained two week anxiety attack, convinced we were going to experience a significant war and I had to be prepared. I’d just gotten a big bonus and I spent a ton of it on survivor gear - all of those buckets of rice, beans, dehydrated food, camping gear, solar lights - so much more. I made go bags for work, my car and home. The primary one was stolen when I first moved in here via a break in where thieves stole a lot of stuff people were storing in the garage. The backpack was in my parking spot - poof, gone.

I lugged so much of it here - over the years I’ve slowly simplified it but I’ve been a little afraid to let all of it go. it started this habit of buying extras - why not buy three Justin’s boxes of peanut butter packets even though I only need one? Why not have five ketchups so I never run out?

When R was here organizing, I *saw* it - all of the canned food that had expired, all of the stuff I was keeping in the pantry that I didn’t use because I didn’t even know I had it. She gently said “if you feel like you want to bake cookies, you can just zip over to the store and buy flour.” Part of it was never having enough food when we were little - we could afford it, my mom just never bought enough for us. It’s why I’d drive around on Christmas looking for snack food before all the kids came over. Granted, that could be my food insecurity speaking and my filter was grounded from that, it’s a very likely possibility.

Anyway. R is coming back for my last infusion bringing her BFF A who is an organizer and a professional chef. She’s going to organize so much of my stuff but the deal is, I only have what I really want to keep, consider getting rid of the extras of things I don’t need (including three spatulas, etc) and focusing on keeping what I love and use for myself every week instead of all of the imaginary dinner parties I throw in my head. So that’s what I’ve done today, after…11 hours of sleep? I’ve been slowly whittling it all down and it feels so great. I’m 90% done. It’s not as much as I thought but it’s just so good to let it go.

My surgery is tentatively scheduled for October 01, pending what happens with this biopsy on Friday. That feels lightning fast. My last chemo infusion is next Wednesday - I’m not going to lie, I’m afraid of it based on this last one, I was so debilitated by the fatigue, I had more hair shedding than usual, no appetite and the peripheral neuropathy was hard so I’m going to try to freeze my hands and feet during the infusion to prevent it. It has definitely lessened, thank God but it’s not gone away entirely. It can take a long time.

I cry so frequently these days, even writing that it’s the last one. I’ve held it all together for five months, and I can feel the emotional and mental reserves I’ve leaned on to that beginning to crumble. That’s probably good. Things are starting to get……thin when I’m sleeping. My dreams are wild and I heard repeated knocking three times last night. My cats were on high alert. I pit myself in a golden bubble and reminded myself that I live in a building where people could be knocking at other doors, not likely at 3am but it helped. I stayed up until 4:30am watching The Office and then slept hard until 9am.

I’m numb when I think of the MRI biopsy on Friday, two of my worst things happening at the same time is like a cruel joke (biopsies aren’t painful but just traumatic waiting for the results). I’m strong - I can and will do this. And then chemo, and then the surgery which completely freaks me out - I have a massive fear of “going under” - and then I’ll know what happens after those biopsies come back.

In talking about work, my oncologist recommend that I extend my leave of absence to at least March of next year. The neuropathy is concerning her as are my cognitive tests, and I think for a living. She reminded me how they have taken my body to the point of decline where the basics work but there’s a lot of damage. And the mental damage of all of the biopsies on top of that, she thinks I need time. I agree with her. So I’m going to pursue that, it means I live on a lot less and I don’t think I am guaranteed a job when I go back but I’m not worried about that.

[bisexualmcqueen]

I’ve been loving your apocalypse au! I’ve been wondering, since we know Cruz is alive would tuner cars like the delinquent road hazards have also survived?

ooo this is a good question

i want to say snot rod would have been the most likely to make it but he's old so that lowers his odds. also depends on his trim level, but he gives me big block vibes with that crazy fuckass blower and all that flame. 😅

looking at the cars they're based on... dj didn't make it 😔 boost,,, that's a tossup, i don't know, probably not. wingo more likely.

i'm not superr knowledgeable on boost (like. the modding practice, not the guy. turbos/superchargers/nitrous etc) but if a motor can handle boost pressures it certainly increases the odds of making it out with less damage.

generally 4cylinders had a much harder time keeping up with the blast. most cars are 4cylinders, and most cars are dead. most cars don't have the racecar gene tho, but that's just sort of a comorbidity with performance vehicles tho? like, the racecar gene is steroids to expressions of performance. plenty of racecars have smaller motors- WRC cars have 3cyclinders sometimes. there's nuance but i digress.

overall i'd say snot rod and wingo could have lived, from a more logical standpoint. but if the story calls for more to live, or for all of them to die, that could be worked out too. we will see if they show up, still wrestling with managing the ensemble cast further into the plot.

--

honestly if i were to have any personal hcs for boost though he could be 2j swapped (or something). seems like the type to do a motor swap. bro is gorgeously made- this amount of detail extends to under the hood perhaps. but maybe not every car can handle organ transplants, its a lot to go through for sure... but him and snot rod are the more functional-as-cars in terms of mods overall.

look at him. the colorshift clear coat topper on the carbon weave ties it together. (its like the crushed diamond infused clearcoat on a koenigsegg but less silly)

dj does not have room left in him for a bigger motor. he is full of discs and speakers and whatever peripherals that come along with it, like an extra battery probably. i don't know about audio setups enough to say but that man is a library on wheels.

and wingo? he is just art i think. chefs kiss

--

the cars wiki, for how wonderful it is, is not a perfectly reliable source. if anyone more knowledge about the DRH reads this and sees i got something wrong, lmk!

[bardic-tales]

Day 6 | Diana Ravenscroft | Day 8

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 7: Role in the Original FF7 Storyline

Today’s prompt dives into where our OCs fit within the original narrative of Final Fantasy VII: whether they stood in the spotlight or haunted the shadows. For Diana Ravenscroft, her influence was anything but peripheral. She wasn’t a name you heard in passing or a figure glimpsed from a distance. No, Diana was embedded in the architecture of Shinra’s rot.

This post explores her role in Project N, her twisted legacy with Hojo, and how her obsession with transcendence left a trail of blood, suffering, and broken bodies beneath Midgar’s polished empire. While Cloud and his party fought battles above ground, Diana was engineering new gods in the dark.

Possible Trigger Warnings: abuse of power, body horror, captivity, coercion, eugenics, experimentation, medical abuse, psychological manipulation, scientific torture, vivisection

During the events of the original Final Fantasy VII, Diana Ravenscroft served as a critical yet covert player within Shinra’s darkest scientific endeavors. Though she wasn’t seen on the battlefield or standing before the player’s party, her presence was felt behind the scenes, woven into the very machinery of the Company’s most heinous experiments. As Professor Hojo’s protégé and eventual collaborator, Diana operated from the shadows of Shinra’s laboratories, overseeing the day-to-day cruelty of Project N: the experimental program that attempted to hybridize celestial, infernal, and Jenova genetics. Her work didn’t unfold on the frontlines, but it shaped the horrors lurking beneath them—creating failed supersoldiers, triggering biological anomalies, and warping the lives of beings like Bianca Moore, whose suffering became synonymous with the project’s ambition and humanity's hubris.

Diana’s role became especially prominent following the Nibelheim Incident in [μ] – εγλ 2000. As Sephiroth began to spiral toward his god complex and after his 'death', Shinra scrambled to maintain control over its rogue creations. While Hojo remained obsessed with Sephiroth’s legacy through direct cloning, Diana turned her attention to something more audacious: unlocking the essence of divinity itself through Bianca Moore, a celestial-demonic hybrid imprisoned within Shinra’s labs in the Shinra Mansion. This decision reframed Diana’s role in the story. She was not just as a scientist but a zealot of human transcendence. She wasn’t trying to make another SOLDIER. She was trying to forge a new species and to break death itself. Her experiments, which involved repeated vivisections and cellular infusions, paralleled the same moral decay that Shinra, as a company, had wrought on Gaia.

Her influence quietly underscores the moral rot Cloud and his party are fighting against. As Avalanche wages war against reactors and Shinra’s military arm, Diana is deep within the scientific caste, doing far more insidious damage. Her presence adds an unseen layer of horror to Shinra’s empire: one not powered by guns, SOLDIERs, and Mako alone but by the abuse of life itself.

Project N’s failed clones and biotechnological monstrosities can easily be imagined haunting the lower levels of Shinra facilities, a chilling echo of the work she and Hojo performed in tandem. Had the party ever uncovered the full extent of Diana’s work, she would have stood among the most ethically bankrupt figures in Shinra’s entire hierarchy.

As Sephiroth began his Reunion through the Lifestream and Jenova cells across the planet, Diana’s connection to him through Project N became even more disturbing. Warped by the infusion / interjections of Jenova and S-cells, Bianca Moore’s dreams and hallucinations hinted at Sephiroth’s influence bleeding into her psyche, suggesting that Diana had unwittingly created another tether between Sephiroth’s will and the physical world, much like the Robed Men. This deepened the implications of Reunion, expanding it beyond mere fragments of Jenova and into something more metaphysical: a reunion of Mother, Son, and Celestial Consort who was connected to a prophecy which spoke of destroying and remaking Existence. Ever blind to consequence, Diana remained focused on perfecting immortality, unaware that she was amplifying the very threat Avalanche sought to contain.

In the end, Diana’s role in the original story is that of an invisible architect of tragedy. She is not a villain in the traditional sense. She doesn’t hold a sword or command an army or even met the main cast of Final Fantasy VII. Her actions ripple across the storyline with the weight of irreversible consequence. Her scientific genius makes her one of Shinra’s most dangerous minds. And while the main cast may never have spoken her name, the experiments she oversaw, the suffering she sanctioned, and the monstrous ideals she chased all contributed to the desolated world Cloud and his allies fought to save. Diana Ravenscroft was not a peripheral figure. She was just a scalpel in Shinra's hands and, along with Hojo, the reason some experiments never had names: only numbers.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[female-buckets]

No because I definitely came in with the new wave of fans but there's such a glaring difference between how I and the fans I interact with operate and how cc fans operate that it makes me pause sometimes.

And I can't say too much because I've seen some sane fans and I'm a paige fan and it still needs to be seen how much her hype translates outside of her personal bubble because I've seen quite a few people being stupid about her when it comes to uconn goats and you just immediately know they don't know shit about anything that's not her face but she made it click for me so im always gon be a little biased in my take that she actually does grow it outside of her.

Like I had been to my nba home games a handful of times throughout my years on earth and they were fun but it didn't make me give a rats ass outside of the time I spent in the arena so I thought I was safe in my hatred of sports and just liked the atmosphere of live events (true) and not basketball and I was a casual Angel defender whenever she popped up on social media because the massive racial backlash that put her on my radar was insane but I wasn't a fan I wasn't riding for her day in and day out I didn't tune in on purpose or by accident through the algorithm it still didn't make me realize I actually liked basketball yet but now, now it's like wow I'm literally the target audience I was supposed to end up here the whole time. Mind you I became a fan of Paige in April this year so every basketball game I've ever seen in real time has yet to actually involve her. She even got me mildly interested in the nba even though I still object on principle because I'm poor in both money and time and women > because she makes it unavoidable, she's so immersed in everything basketball.

That's the real difference between cc and Paige and the other girlies fanbases imo She's a very insulated person and obviously she had a different starting point than Paige with all the uconn alumni but p has put in the work for the connections with non alumni over the years and you see Juju and Flau'jae doing the work to immerse themselves right now and that's just never been her thing which is fine because I support doing your job and going tf home but it leads to a very different and largely insufferable fandom culture in this case because they have no respect for anyone thats not her they occasionally like people who exist on the peripheral of her life but the respect is little to nothing and its even easier to see now that she's on a professional team because they be talking crazy.

Paige is the chosen one. Paige Atreides. She's the Kwisatz Haderach. And Wasserman is the Bene Gesserit. Lindsay Kagawa Colas is the Reverend Mother arranging all the prophecies that Paige will fulfill.

Paige Atreides must come to WNBArrakis and learn our ways. And then she must liberate us from the Clarkonnens. Lisan Al Gaib! Lisan Al Gaib!

Okay but seriously I can't wait for Paige to come to the league. We need a fresh infusion of UConn fans to counteract all the negativity from CC's fanbase.

And as usual I have to put a disclaimer here. Disclaimer: not all Clark fans are Clarkonnens. But we need to be honest about the fact that Clarkonnens outnumber regular people in her fanbase. And many regular people are getting radicalized and turning into Clarkonnens because they're fed so much propaganda.

[cannabiscomrade]

They’re gonna do my port under conscious twilight sedation 🥲 no propofol 🙃 just fentanyl and versed

Hhhhhhhhh I’m so anxious they’re gonna be threading that big ol thing into my 🫀superior vena cava🫀 while I’m AWAKE 😐

ID: Dave taking a mirror selfie in the bathroom at the infusion center. They have pink hair with brown grown out roots, and they’re wearing glasses. They’re holding up a peace sign in their left hand and holding their phone in the right hand. Their right arm has a peripheral IV hooked to a pump on a pole, which also has their feed bag hanging on it. They’re wearing black overalls and a bandeau top.

[altarfates]

❛  sometimes  i  think  you  really  must  hate  me .  ❜ *u know

The epithet of dog belongs to him, it has lost the mordant bite of an insult because he does not vehemently refute it, rather, gazes upon it with the resignation of someone who saw their end approaching and felt no imminent sense of dread. The end of his cigarette glints under the caliginous embrace of dusk, the sky transforming into a vision of lurid red blood and the orange of a tangerine husk. Matt watches it closely, not expecting to find a profound revelation in its coruscating embers but also not daring to steal a cursory glimpse of the man haunting his peripherals. at night with his eyes sharp and wary there was something of a predator within him, a hunter that explicitly understood the sacrifices it would take to achieve their ultimate goal. It’s an ambition that has never made sense to him albeit he did not need it to. The children of wammy's house were fastidiously crafted for that very purpose but mail had never been exemplary in the ways of mello or near. there was no avaricious yearning within him that gnawed incessantly at the marrow of his bones driving him to do better, be better. He had become complacent, content loitering in the long shadows cast by mello’s bitter resentment, occupied with tasks that he believed were best fit for his loyal yet useless mutt. Call him a masochist but even finding himself at the heel of mello’s dark, ominous combat boots really wasn’t all that bad. ❝ me ━ hate you ? ❞ he scoffs, flicking the burning end of his cigarette off the balustrade and into the darkness environing them. ❝ really mels, didn’t think you were capable of sayin’ something so fucking stupid.❞ he presses it against his lips and takes a long, helpless inhale before wheezing out rasps of tobacco infused breath. ❝ I wouldn’t be followin you to the grave if it were hatred now would I.❞ he finally looks at him now, levelling him with a stare that would have been intimidating had it been anyone other than mello receiving it. ❝ ━ it’s something far, far worse than that. ❞

[carencecarence]

How to cure Thyroid natural

source url:-https://ext-6616443.livejournal.com/418.html?newpost=1

Introduction

The thyroid is an endocrine gland. Its location is in the inferior, anterior neck, and it is responsible for the formation and secretion of thyroid hormones as well as iodine homeostasis within the human body. The thyroid produces approximately 90% inactive thyroid hormone, or thyroxine (T4), and 10% active thyroid hormone, or triiodothyronine (T3). Inactive thyroid hormone is converted peripherally to either activated thyroid hormone or an alternative inactive thyroid hormone

Signs and symptoms of Thyroid

AnxietyThe signs and symptoms of thyroid dysfunction can vary depending on whether the thyroid is producing too much or too little of its hormones.

When the thyroid produces too much – a condition called hyperthyroidism – signs and symptoms can include:

Waight loss

Rapid heart rate

Heat intolerance

Sweating

Difficulty sleeping

Remors in your hands and fingers

When the thyroid does not produce enough hormones – a condition called hypothyroidism – symptoms can include:

Fatigue

Weakness

Weight gain

Cold intolerance

Dry skin or hair

How to check thyroid status

Blood tests: These tests can tell you if you have hypothyroidism or hyperthyroidism. There are several types of thyroid blood tests, including thyroid-stimulating hormone (TSH), T3 and T4, and thyroid antibodies.

List of Home Remediey

Here are some widely considered remedies that may help with your thyroid treatment at home

Coconut oil

This has high content of saturated or healthy fat (healthy) and when used with the right combination of exercises and a properly balanced diet, it could be good for thyroid glands. You can also use coconut oil for your regular cooking once in a while

Apple cider vinegar 

This helps in the balanced production and expression of hormones. It also washes away toxins from the body and promotes absorption of nutrients. Apple cider vinegar can be added to water along with honey and can be taken every morning.

Vitamins help to fight the underlying causes of thyroid problems, particularly

Vitamin B 

h are essential for proper thyroid function. Vitamin B12 is especially instrumental in helping people with hypothyroidism. Including eggs, meat, fish, legumes, milk, and not in daily diet might help with a steady supply of Vitamin B.

Ginger

Ginger helps combat inflammation which is one of the primary causes of thyroid issues. Drinking ginger tea is the best way to consume ginger. Apart from that, it can also be infused with coconut oil and applied on body.

Vitamin D 

Deficiency of this nutrient can lead to thyroid problems and since the body can produce it only when exposed to the sun, ensure that you get a minimum of 15 minutes of sunlight daily. Include foods rich in Vitamin D in your diet which includes fatty fishes like salmon and mackerel, dairy products, orange juice, and egg yolks.

Dairy products

As dairy products such as milk, cheese, and yoghurt are beneficial for thyroid as they have high iodine content. Incorporate these items in your daily diet, but be careful if you are lactose intolerance.

 Almonds

Almonds are a good source of protein, fibre, and minerals and are best suited for proper thyroid expression. These nuts have selenium which is a thyroid healthy nutrient and is also very rich in magnesium that can keep the thyroid gland working very smoothly.

 Beans

Beans are high in fibre which helps to relieve constipation, which is a common side effect of hypothyroidism. Some ways to consume beans include adding them to side dishes, salads, stews and soups.

Iodine Supplements 

These supplements restore the balance of iodine in the body and help with thyroid health.

 Probiotics

Probiotic food items such as kefir, kimchi, and miso has shown to have beneficial effects on thyroid problems.

 Asparagus

Including asparagus in your diet is also a popular natural remedy for thyroid treatment at home as it has a lot of anti-inflammatories, anti-bacterial and antioxidant property

Physical activity

Regular exercising can help alleviate various symptoms of hypothyroidism. Also, specific yoga poses have seen to be effective in enhancing thyroid functioning.

Conclusion

While it is important to consult a doctor and follow the treatment prescribed to keep thyroid problems under control, but by trying above listed home remedies, you can keep the side effects of thyroid medication at bay.

One of the important components of our overall wellness is also being financially secured. Healthcare emergencies can happen any time, but a good health insurance policy can protect you from such uncertain situations. To know more about Wellness and other health related tips, visit the wellness corner.

[kivaember]

YES RUBICON REUNION OLD MAN YAOI Walter comes to Michigan like 'I'm here to discuss G13 Raven.' And Michigan knows damn well he's just here to angst. He also knows that Walter cant resist him--

there are a few old man yaoi anons in my inBOX BUT YOU GET THE LUCKY DRAW OF. i'm writing the pwp. here's a teaser wip bc ofc i can't help but do. fucking. worlbuilding. oeugh.

On the outskirts of Brigid, the provincial capital of the southern Belius region, the Redguns had set up their permanent base of operations within an industrial brewery complex. 

The deep, underground cellars that had once stored Rubiconian ale were now reinforced bunkers for ammunition and other dangerous substances, and the large, sprawling warehouses that had been used for ale storage prior to interstellar shipment had been converted into field garages for the Redgun’s ACs. What had once been a rustic perimeter of ornate fencing and lush gardens were now towering Bremer walls, steel-reinforced concrete that had regular patrols of both foot soldiers and MTs. Floodlights lit up the cracked road that snaked its way towards the complex, and its entrance had not one, but two tetrapod MTs standing guard, their robotic hands carrying heavy-duty gatling guns - keeping to the Dafeng maxim of “material superiority”. 

It made for an imposing sight, but Walter didn’t let a single shred of apprehension show as his transporter trundled towards that militarised outpost. His ride was fairly ubiquitous to the Rubicon of today: a BAWS-produced MRAP vehicle, heavy on the armour and designed to survive mostly landmines or peripheral explosions. If you weren’t rolling around in a heli-transporter or some sort of mech, then the BAWS MRAP (known ‘affectionately’ as the Pillbug) was the only safe way to travel on Rubicon.

His driver was one of the men Carla had ‘loaned’ him when he and C4-621 had landed on Rubicon. Her most ‘reliable’ men, she had sworn, and thus far Walter begrudgingly admitted he had no issue with them so far. Yeah, they spent their recreational time huffing Coral fumes or trying to get high from Coral-infused mealworms (with varying levels of success), but on the job - that being, repairing and maintaining C4-621’s AC and the garage, as well as collecting supply drops and doing other various chores - they functioned well enough. So long as they did that much, that was all Walter cared about. 

They were also fairly blase about practically everything. A hired merc off-world might’ve been sweating bullets driving up towards a military outpost that had more guns than a Furlong Dynamics warship pointing at them - but Carla’s RaD guy? He was smoking away, both hands tapping away at the steering wheel as the vehicle’s radio blasted out something that resembled dubstep, of all things. Not a single care or worry in his head. 

“Turn the radio off,” Walter muttered as their vehicle slowed to a halt in front of the outpost’s checkpoint. “The Redguns aren’t known for their taste in music.”

“Got it, Boss-man,” his driver drawled, obligingly muting the music and rolling the window down. A blast of arctic cold air immediately swept into the vehicle, but Walter suppressed a shiver. 

A heavily-armed guard approached the opened vehicle, dressed in tundra fatigues and their face concealed behind a balaclava and snow goggles, their hands grasping a frost-coated heavy assault rifle. Despite their imposing appearance, though, they seemed very relaxed. 

“ID,” they said flatly. 

Walter leaned forwards, resting a hand against the back of his driver’s seat as he held up his ID: his old Furlong Dynamics AC pilot one. Though it had been taken almost forty years ago, Walter had to admit that he’d lucked out on the genetics lottery and aged fairly well. His resemblance to the youthful Walter Kohler on the ID was clear.

“Michigan’s expecting me,” Walter said as the guard took the ID to closely scrutinise it. “I’m the handler of the independent mercenary, Raven.” 

The guard nodded and turned away slightly, accessing the walkie talkie hooked onto the front of their fatigues. Though they spoke quietly, Walter could still hear them over the loud growl of the vehicle and the whistling wind. 

“...yeah, Walter Kohler… the boss is expecting- right, okay. Got it…”

The guard turned back to face them and handed Walter his ID. “You’re clear to go in. Just you, though. Your driver’ll have to come back to pick you up when you’re done.”

“Fine.” Walter pocketed his ID and climbed out.

The ground was nothing but icy slush, but Walter kept his balance as he stepped away from the vehicle and shut the heavy door. He banged the side of the vehicle with his cane, and slowly the MRAP reversed away from the checkpoint. Walter didn’t wait to watch it leave, he just turned back to the guard. 

“Gotta go through security,” the guard said, pointing towards the checkpoint. Next to the large gates meant for vehicles, there was a small door leading into the attached building. “You’ll be given a pass, so no one thinks you’re some spy. Though…”

The guard’s gaze lingered on his cane, slowly dragging up to take him in as a whole. “I doubt anyone’ll think you a threat, old man.”