#its on a loop of restarting and shutting down and restarting and shutting down

[lucidicer]

i update my pc and the entire thing bricks itself. great

[astralis-ortus]

it feels impossible (it's not impossible)

✱ bestfriend!bc × gn!reader

— 'cause you are the one i was meant to find.

w.count → 2k genre → romcom, fluff warnings → minor cussing (as per usual, heh), chan refered to as chris a.n → i'm usually not the type to write this long simply because i'm easily distracted and have the tendency to abandon projects, but hey! this one prevails :] hopefully next time i can write even longer fics<3 ⋆ see masterlist

honestly, you thought you were going crazy when the same melody restarted on chris’ speaker for the nth time today. it’s not that the song is bad—you do actually love ‘rewrite the stars’. you’re a fan of the movie, much like chris is, but putting the song on loop? for hours a day? for weeks? your sense of fanship isn’t that strong, especially when the song’s been out in circulation for years now.

“you wanna hear a theory?”

your question easily turns chris’ focus away from the endless papers he had to grade by the end of the day and towards you, raising an eyebrow to the sudden break of silence. his eyes visibly twinkled, contemplating if he should entertain the idea of putting on his regular-26-year-old suit over the professional-high-school-teacher ones he’d been in for the past couple hours or so.

well, to be fair, chris hasn't even been focusing on the pages of essays he needed to check. not when his mind has been preoccupied with something—someone­—else.

“shoot,” he eventually replied with a lopsided smile etched on his lips—head cocked to the side when he finally decided to shut the screen of his decorated silver laptop, offering you his entire attention. “it better be funny or entertaining, considering i’m risking losing my hearing to my kids’ complaints for not returning their papers on time tomorrow.”

“oooh, pressure,” you mocked, a wide grin appearing on your face while you try to ignore the rush of tingles under your skin when you noticed the way chris referred to his students as ‘my kids’—something he’d always done and so do you, but somehow had a different effect on you as of recent. “believe me, it’s something fun,” you hummed with a shrug, mirroring chris as you set your laptop aside.

chris’ pair of charming dimples came into view upon your confident reply, fully immersed in the stage you’re setting up. fabric of his gray couch, one where you two had been slowly melting into for a few hours now, gently rustled when chris fixed his posture, less from lazing around and more into focusing on you and whatever nonsense he believed you were going to say. the glint in his eyes grew brighter by the second, both from anticipation and excitement.

“tell me.”

it felt like spring—when the flowers were in bloom, the breeze was blowing ever-so-gently against your warm cheeks, and the swarm of butterflies were surrounding you with its pairs of fluttering wings.

chris made you feel like spring.

“gee, tone down the excitement, mr. bahng,” you inadvertently shifted away, silently praying to whatever force ruling the universe that chris wasn’t aware of the way your heartbeat spiked to his playful grin. “don’t want to disappoint you there.”

”as if you could ever,” chris promptly refuted with a chuckle, chin resting on the palm of his hand. the way his playful gaze was directed right at you, framed by those loose curls of his, proved to cause your heart more problems than ease. “the ever-so-perfect you? a disappointment? really?”

”oh shut up,” you groaned, half wanting to wipe the cocky smirk off his face—or…?

”but then—if you say so, do tell me,” frown on your forehead instantly dissipates, replaced by a mirror of his lopsided grin when you figured you could turn the bullet right back at its owner,

“am i perfectly on point when i say you’re in love?”

despite the slight pang on your heart, you couldn’t help but giggle at the way his face fades into surprise, a shade of blush slowly creeping on the top of his cheekbones.

the topic of love was never really something you discussed with chris. sure, you two met each other in college where hormones were bursting through the roof, but neither you or chris was interested in dating anyone—you with your slowly budding crush on chris, and chris with… god-knows-what he’s interested in. you never pried, for the sake of not making things awkward. that's your norm, and how you’ve spent your last 7 years with chris.

you and chris remained friends, which at some point evolved into best friends (you now, by the hey-i’m-bored-at-2am-let’s-hang kind of standard), and somehow, you two happened to land a teaching job within the same district around the same time. chris went to teach a reputable high school in the area, while you pursue your dream of teaching kids. you hang out at each other’s place every other day, despite the time you spent together consists mostly of being nose-deep in your respective workload.

the topic of love still was something foreign—you wouldn’t deliberately bring it up other than around the occasions when wedding invites stopped by yours or chris’ doorstep.

maybe, it’s time to change that.

”…huh?”

chris is thoroughly perplexed.

”oh come on, don’t even try to lie,” with a smile decorated with victory, you finally teased the man across. “it’s all written on your face, you know,” you continued, fingers gesturing to your own, “but also, your choice of song. god, do you even listen to anything else when you're in love?”

“but i'm not!” he yelped, facepalming himself upon realizing the shift in his tone is a dead giveaway of his true voice. “god—no. i'm not,” he added meekly, shaking his head, “you know i love the song. that's all.”

”fair enough,” acknowledging his plea, you briefly nod, “but that doesn’t justify the way you’ve been keeping the song on repeat! and don’t you think i don’t remember the few other occurrences when you did the same, because i knew for a fact that something happened every time you became distant after going through this rewrite the stars cycle!”

if his face were flushed before, then you’d categorize this new shade apparent on the tip of his ear as a what-the-fuck-i’m-screwed kind of blush and frankly, seeing this new side of him kind of made you regret not bringing the topic up sooner.

”you remembered?” his voice sounded more of a squeak rather than a proper question, still hiding behind the safety of his palms. “no you don’t! that was ages ago!”

”so things did happen!” your grin turned into a laugh, drowning chris’ groan and series of disapproving no when he realized he just bit into your colorful, glimmering bait. “gosh—why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone? i was kinda hurt whenever that happened you know,” you purse your lips dramatically, “i lost a friend to talk to and never exactly know the reason why until today.”

“oh,” chris blinked, finally looking right at you with a puzzled gaze, “you… were? i mean—i’m sorry i hurt you. for the record, i wasn’t dating anyone. i just kinda assumed, you know, since you were dating someone else anyway i thought—“

”hold up—“ both statements rolling off of chris’ lips inadvertently made you hold up a hand, stopping the latter on his tracks. ”what?”

now both of you are puzzled.

you? dating someone?

”i just wanted to give you space,” chris reiterated, hand now awkwardly resting on his equally red nape, “figured you’d want that since me being around will likely bring trouble for you and the person you were dating.”

”but… i haven’t dated anyone since we became friends?”

you’re thoroughly confused.

”wait, what?” chris shook his head in disbelief, “what do you mean you haven’t dated anyone? what about the notes? and the flowers? and the chocolates too! what do you—what do you mean?”

nevermind, now you’re thoroughly confused.

”the ones from back in college?” your memories were not exactly as clear as you expected it to be, but you do remember receiving those gifts a few times due to its absurdity. “that was all from the rich ass kid i tutored! the one who i told you kept teasing me about never receiving any valentine's day gift? that kid? they sent me those gifts as a prank!”

“…what?”

the amount of ‘what’ you two have said in the past few exchanges is ridiculous.

”god—you thought i’ve been dating and never told you?” you finally pieced the puzzle together, incredulous. “and that’s why you distanced yourself? dude, are you serious?”

”well i just assumed!” chris raised his hands in defense, equally as incredulous as you are, “to be fair, those are usually gifts you get for someone you like! how am i supposed to know it’s from the kid you tutored? you never tried to told me!”

”you could’ve asked?” you stated, as-a-matter-of-factly. sometimes, despite that brilliant brain of his, chris could be quite the foolish one between the two of you. “besides, i thought you knew! you literally read the cards!”

”wha—how do you expect me to digest any of that when i was under the assumption someone i like is dating someone else!”

silence befalls chris’ usually cozy living room, leaving the soft resounding melody that hadn’t stopped as the only sound filling up the space. you’re not even sure if your ears were actually catching the right words falling from his lips; it felt too much like a fever dream. judging from the way his eyes turned wide, however,

you might have heard him correctly.

”you… like me?”

you never imagined you’d piece those words together, much less directing them towards chris. hell, even by remaining as friends was enough for you—having him to yourself was not something you thought would ever happen in this lifetime. you’re happy as you were; you’re content with being friends.

chris, on the other hand, is still visibly trying to digest the events that just unfolded around him. from the misunderstanding to unintentionally confessing his feelings, this was not how he expected his Sunday evening to be. all he wanted to do was be near the one person he’d been secretly nurturing his feelings for, praying that maybe one day he’d finally muster up the courage before everything was too late—but this was not how he expected things to turn out.

”i’m sorry,” he finally croaked, breaking the suffocating silence whilst also being too embarrassed to even look you in the eye, “i know it’s weird—from the misunderstanding to, you know, what i said. i never intended for you to find out about it this way. i understand that you don’t feel the same way, it’s okay, you—“

”oh shut up,” you capped his ramblings short, catching chris off guard. it’s not often you cut him off when he speak, so when you do, he knew you meant it.

“just, what?” you sighed, fingers begin massaging the throb on your temple. it’s hard to decipher what you’re currently feeling as a whole, but one thing you know for sure— you’re especially bothered by his last statement.

“chris, how would you even know what i feel if you’ve never even asked me?”

you watched through his pair of curious eyes as thoughts ran inside his mind, slowly deciphering what you meant with the sudden calmness in your voice.

“uh,” finally managing the train of assumptions in his head, chris then looked at you—only now, with a glimmer of hope reflected in his eyes, “do you... like me? like, more than just friends?”

and to that, you finally nodded.

“yeah, you dumbass. for the longest time.”

watching the way chris’ smile bloom easily turned you into another smiling mess—not missing the giggles nor the flush on your cheeks and all. It feels dumb, realizing that you’ve been into each other for forever but never realizing it because of some stupid misunderstanding.

“and i like you too,” chris reiterated, his goofy smile erasing any trace of worry that was present on his face just a second ago. honest to god—you thought you were falling in love all over again for chris.

“in that case...” he shrugged before outstretching a hand, trying his best to play things cool despite the growing excitement in his eyes,

“will you officially be my partner in crime?”

sound of your laugh only fuels the warmth spreading within chris’ heart—and it felt like the way he spent all those countless nights, wishing that one day the stars would eventually align for him finally paid off as you held his hand in yours, smiling brighter than any stars ever discovered.

“gladly.”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[gaspardcaderousse]

Nauseam, Infintium

On the night of one August 31 out of thousands and thousands, Kyon gets a phone call and takes a little trip and will remember none of it tomorrow. (itsukyon, 3.7k words. content warnings for discussion of literal and metaphorical death, plus briefer discussions of suicide [with some light imagery] and animal death. crossposted on ao3.)

August 31, 6 p.m. Kyon stares at the ceiling of his bedroom.

August 31, 7 p.m. Kyon stares at the ceiling of his bedroom.

August 31, 8 p.m. Kyon stares at the ceiling of his bedroom.

He can’t see a point to moving when he’ll wake up tomorrow, unaware and almost two weeks younger, cut off from his future for the sixteen-thousand-and-whatever-eth time. This lethargy must be what it feels like to be depressed, and he wishes he was annoyed, instead; he wishes he could go back to when he was just annoyed. He wishes he was anxious, or angry, or sad. That last one comes closest, but “sad” sounds so shallow compared to the cold weight pulling down on his eyelids, his legs, his chest. 

He can’t see a point because there is no point. So he’ll wake up tomorrow and not remember, and in the meantime, he tries not to think about anything at all, as if that might help.

His attempted lack of thoughts is interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone. He closes his eyes but doesn’t move, and finally the ringing stops — except it starts again almost immediately. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, but the caller makes one, two, three more attempts until finally Kyon gives a groan of frustration and sits up, grasping with irritation at the incessant little device. He doesn’t even bother to look at the number.

“Hello?” he snaps. 

“Good afternoon, Kyon,” Koizumi replies pleasantly. “Could you meet me on the roof of Nagato’s apartment building?”

Of all the voices that could have soothed him right now, Koizumi’s just makes Kyon want to throw something. He looks at his phone for a moment, fantasizing about embedding it in the drywall, then realizes that nothing is really stopping him, is it? But he’d rather not spend the last few hours before the loop restarts listening to his mother’s admonishments, so he puts the receiver back to his ear and says, “Why?”

“I’m afraid it’d be easier to explain once you get here.”

“When?”

“Immediately, if you can. Unless you’re too busy?”

Kyon grinds his teeth. Koizumi knows damn well he’s got nothing else to do. He stays quiet for as long as he can, just to keep that smiling bastard waiting, then grumbles, “I guess I can pencil it in.”

He hangs up before Koizumi has the chance to respond. It feels good to shut him up — the best he’s felt all day.

He considers standing Koizumi up or running late, just to piss him off. The thought of that polite, charming boy leaning against the railing of that roof, frowning with his furrowed eyebrows and his sweat-damp (and hopefully sunburnt) summer skin, gives him a rush of schadenfreude-laden joy. He isn’t sure why; Koizumi hasn’t done anything wrong, really, it’s just the way his voice sounds, so smooth and unbothered that it’s almost smug. Kyon reminds himself that Koizumi is just as stuck as he is. Besides, lying in bed for so long has left his skin feeling sticky and hot. He stands slowly.

As Kyon shambles through his living room, his eyes catch on the fishbowl next to the door. The little orange fish inside it had been the product of so much effort on his part that Haruhi allowed him to keep it — as if he had even wanted the thing. But he took it home anyway, almost without realizing, and now his sister is attached to it. 

The fishbowl is tiny, and as Kyon pauses to watch the orange splotch swim around and around, he can’t help but feel a stab of pity. In such a small, plain bowl, it can’t go anywhere; it can’t even change its trajectory very much. It just swims in circles. This has never occurred to him before.

He could buy it a bigger tank, if he can think of a place to put it. But no — they won’t have the fish come tomorrow. 

Kyon takes his time on the trip to Nagato’s apartment building, letting the humid summer air wash over him as the sound of cicadas wraps in on itself again and again until it’s a blanket, covering his ears, droning on and on and on until every other sound is blocked out. When the thought of listening to it for another second starts to feel unbearable, he speeds up, and then he starts to think. 

Why did Koizumi invite him out like this? He had called Kyon’s phone — what, five times? Six? It must be important. Suddenly, it dawns on him: Could Koizumi have discovered a way to end the time loop? The prospect squeezes at his chest, desperate, and he quickens his pace until the building is upon him.

When he arrives on the roof, his clothes are thin with sweat and his sides are heaving from running up all the stairs. Everything is empty except for Koizumi, facing Kyon from where he sits across from the door with his back against the railing. He smiles, but he doesn’t otherwise move, and Kyon wonders, disturbed, how long Koizumi has been sitting in that spot, watching for his arrival.

The sky is wide above them, and the stars are as bright as they’ve always been.

“Have you figured it out?” Kyon pants. “How to end the time loop?”

Koizumi raises his eyebrows in (surely false) surprise. “When did I ever say that?”

“Have you?”

“No.”

All the energy seems to leave Kyon’s body right then, but somehow, he doesn’t really feel surprised. He trudges over to Koizumi, still catching his breath, and mutters, “You lying bastard.”

“I never lied to you. It seems like you jumped to conclusions,” Koizumi protests, the smile never leaving his face. He leans away like he’s afraid Kyon’s going to hit him, but the movement is too casual to be genuine. 

“What else was I supposed to assume? You called me five times. I thought it was urgent.”

“I can tell,” Koizumi comments. His eyes run over Kyon’s body — noting his sweat-drenched clothes, no doubt, with an amused detachment that makes Kyon curl in on himself. “Actually, it is urgent.”

“Out with it, then.”

Koizumi watches him for a moment then stands, turning to look out over the city. He’s wearing a brown tweed jacket, for some reason, with a pink button-down, and it annoys Kyon. The expression on his face, meanwhile, is unreadable.

“It’s almost nine,” he says finally, eyes drifting up from the city to the sky. “The world will reset in just over three hours, and the past week or so might as well have never happened. Only Nagato will remember. Isn’t it strange?”

That doesn’t answer Kyon’s question, of course, and he’s about to say so before Koizumi continues, “Pardon my honesty, but I’ve been restless all day. The idea that we’re going to forget all of this at the stroke of midnight — it disturbs me. I’ve never been particularly afraid of death — not more than the next person — but it’s coming in mere hours, and that knowledge is unnerving. In a way, we’re going to die. These versions of us will die. After all, what is any human but a collection of memories and feelings? The memories that we’ve collected over the past few days, the experiences we’ve had together, they’ll cease to exist soon, and when they do, the versions of us who lived through them will, too. The thoughts we have now will be obliterated. The people who wake up in our beds tomorrow will be different. Isn’t it strange?”

Kyon frowns. He doesn’t want to think about this, but he understands; he can’t help it. “Yeah, it’s strange. But what can we do?”

Koizumi turns his head and looks at Kyon. He’s still smiling, but it looks even faker than usual, and for a long second he doesn’t reply.

“Nothing,” he admits, finally. “Whatever chance we had to change things has already passed; you must be able to feel that as well as I can. I’ve given up entirely. For now, though, we have a few hours left before we die, and I’d like to be awake to see what happens when the world ends, even if I can’t remember it tomorrow. I don’t think I could sleep even if I tried, anyway. I felt that spending this time together would be better than spending it apart, since the end result won’t change.”

A wave of irritation hits Kyon before he can process the implications of Koizumi’s words. “Those are just your feelings, Koizumi. I wouldn’t call them urgent.”

“On the contrary, nothing could possibly be more urgent,” Koizumi argues, his smile widening. “The ending is already set in stone, and nothing we do can deviate all that much from its path; we have nothing except our feelings. If we aren’t going to indulge them some, there’s nothing left for us to do. Trust me, Kyon, I’m very serious about this.”

“I don’t like how vulnerable you’re being right now,” Kyon blurts.

Koizumi blinks, and the smile actually falls from his face for a split-second before it’s back as if nothing happened. He sort of laughs. “Was it that obvious? I’m sorry. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me — I’d rather not be left alone.”

Kyon doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just leans his arms down against the railing and looks at the city, the sky, anywhere that isn’t Koizumi. Suddenly, it occurs to him. “This is Nagato’s apartment building. Where is she?”

“When I decided I wanted to meet up, she was the first person I asked, naturally; it is her home, after all. I made it clear that it was up to her whether she joined me or not, and she said I was free to use this space, but she wouldn’t be coming.”

“I wonder why,” Kyon says, frowning.

Koizumi shrugs. “She’s lived through this same day hundreds of times. Maybe she’d rather not do this again if she doesn’t have to.”

“But surely she’s suffering more than any of us.”

“You’re probably right, but what can we do about that? If she prefers to spend the night alone, I can’t blame her.”

Kyon goes quiet again. Then, “What about the others?”

“I couldn’t invite Miss Suzumiya, obviously. It’s nothing personal, but we can’t talk about the time loop with her around, and there’s nothing else to talk about, really.” He pauses. “Which leaves you, me, and Asahina. Again, it’s nothing personal, but Asahina has been inconsolable ever since she discovered she can’t return to the future, and I don’t wish for that extra stress as I’m dying. Besides, I’m not sure if third-wheeling for the two of you would make for my ideal last moments, either.”

“You’re not dying, though,” Kyon argues crossly. He elects to ignore the third-wheeling comment.

“The person I am tonight is,” Koizumi replies without missing a beat. “The person I am tonight won’t ever wake up again. The same is true of you. I thought I explained it well enough that you’d be able to understand.”

“I do understand,” Kyon snaps, “I just don’t want to think of it that way.”

Koizumi huffs out something like a laugh, then turns back to look out over the city. He’s quiet for such a long time that Kyon wonders if he’s going to speak again, but finally, he says with some hesitation, “I’m glad you understand. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that I often… talk to you at length when I’m explaining things. This may not be obvious, but I usually rehearse ahead of time.”

He seems like he’s about to continue but doesn’t. Kyon feels oddly embarrassed. 

It gets quiet after that, and Kyon can’t stand it. He’s afraid that he’ll look at Koizumi and see his face all quiet and pensive, red from the heat, eyes distant like he just told Kyon something personal, which maybe he did. Maybe his discomfort is what Koizumi wants, just to get him to say something, just to get him to acknowledge the odd confession. But what is he supposed to say? That Koizumi is eloquent? He is, but that’s nothing new, and it only ever pisses Kyon off. That he’s sorry Koizumi goes through such efforts for him? He’s not; it’s Koizumi’s own fault. Something else? Like what?

He decides to change the topic altogether. “What would you have done if I hadn’t showed up?”

“Were you planning not to?” Koizumi asks.

Kyon scowls because Koizumi knows the answer, and Kyon knows that, and Koizumi knows that Kyon knows that, the smug fucker. Still, he grumbles, “No. But what if?”

Koizumi pauses, as if he’s actually mulling the question over, then says, “I suppose I would’ve jumped off the roof.”

That was the last answer Kyon expected, and his stomach drops painfully. He turns to look at Koizumi without meaning to, as if his expression will tell him anything, but no, he’s still just gazing out at the horizon like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, calm.

“You’re not serious,” Kyon begs.

Another pause, then a quiet laugh, barely a chuckle. “You’re right. I don’t have the courage for that; what if it stuck? I don’t want to die.”

“No one does,” Kyon responds lamely, and Koizumi just shrugs his shoulders.

Neither of them say anything else. Koizumi’s silence is almost disturbing, but Kyon suddenly feels so nauseous that it doesn’t matter. First he sees the image of Koizumi’s body, broken and bloody and unnatural on the sidewalk, hears his voice, I don’t want to die. Then he sees the ceiling of his room above him. His sister’s goldfish, swimming in circles in its little fishbowl. We have nothing except our feelings. If he had bought it a better tank earlier on, at least it could’ve had a pleasant week in Kyon’s house before the world resets. Cicadas. I don’t want to die.

The sky suddenly feels like a closed dome and Kyon realizes he can’t stand to look at it anymore, so he turns around and sinks down until he’s sitting with his back to the railing, just like Koizumi was when he first got here. The rest of the roof is still empty, and Koizumi sits next to him. 

How long do they sit there? Minutes? Hours? Hundreds of years? It’s not midnight yet, but he’s not sure if it matters. Nagato said before that the details of each loop differ. Have he and Koizumi done this before? How many times? Will they do it again? Will either of them ever know? They won’t, most likely, and that’s fine, because Kyon isn’t sure he wants to. He wishes it was over already because every second makes him dizzy, and every second feels so long. What time is it?

“Kyon,” Koizumi says, finally.

“What?”

“Have you ever been kissed? In the real world, I mean.”

What.

Kyon coughs hard, suddenly not dizzy anymore. He turns to stare at Koizumi, who is looking at him but still smiling, and lets his jaw hang slack with shock. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you’ve ever been kissed before,” Koizumi repeats. 

“Why the hell are you asking me that?” Kyon splutters, suddenly very aware of Koizumi’s mouth. 

“I kissed someone in middle school once,” Koizumi pushes on as if Kyon hadn’t spoken. “It… Ah, it wasn’t all that nice, if you can believe that, but I don’t think anyone knows how to kiss in middle school. It never led to anything. I’ve never actually had a real relationship.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Koizumi’s mouth twitches. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Kyon stares for one second, two. His brain makes dial-up noises. Welcome to the SOS Brigade website!

“Do you want to kiss me?” Koizumi repeats, at the exact same moment that Kyon blurts, “I’m not gay.”

Koizumi blinks. “What did you say?” “I said I’m not gay.”

Koizumi’s mouth twitches again, and then his smile actually widens for a moment. “And?”

“I’m not bisexual either.”

“Are you sure?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Koizumi says, and his smile morphs into a rare, serious line. “That’s alright. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

All that Kyon can do, it seems, is stare. He’s suddenly aware that his face is burning up and his mouth feels awfully dry. The dizziness, though, the nausea, are both gone. He doesn’t know how to feel or what to say, so he just mutters, “You’re making fun of me.”

“No,” Koizumi says with more feeling than Kyon is used to. What feeling that is, exactly, isn’t clear, but his face is still serious. “I’m not making fun of you. Don’t worry about it — we don’t need to argue. There’s less than an hour left now, and I’d rather spend it… peacefully. Just forget I said anything.”

Koizumi looks off into the distance somewhere with a pensive expression on his face, but Kyon can’t wrench his eyes away from him. His heart is pounding and his thoughts are racing so fast that he can barely keep up with them, but he doesn’t feel disgusted or angry like he expects to. Disgusted or angry, no. Distressed, yes — but he can’t put his finger on what type of distress. He almost hates Koizumi for doing this, for making everything so difficult and wrong, but the look on his face is so sad that Kyon just feels disturbed. Koizumi has always been a liar, and for a second Kyon wonders if his sadness is just a ploy to change his mind, but it can’t be, because it’s clear from the way his jaw is set that he’s trying to hide it. 

Koizumi isn’t meant to look sad, Kyon realizes with an itch in his throat. He’s always got that same smile on his too-handsome face, and sometimes (often) Kyon wishes he could see that smile crumble into something tragic just for the satisfaction of piercing through his good-boy act, but this feels — bad. Not just wrong in its strangeness, but painful, too. Maybe he’d like to see Koizumi annoyed or angry or nervous, but he doesn’t like seeing him sad. 

Do you want to kiss me? He hears it for a third time, this one just in his head. Now that his shock has faded, the question sends a current through him, spinning his stomach around and growing thorns around his neck. Even the slight breeze can’t cool the summer air.

Koizumi is handsome. This is a fact. Kyon has acknowledged this before because it is a fact. Koizumi’s face is so well-sculpted that it’s shocking it’s not intentional (or maybe it is, Haruhi). Koizumi’s nose is slim and straight, his teeth are white, his eyes are clear, his hair is perfect, his skin is smooth, his lips are shapely and must be soft. Kyon has always known it. Sometimes it crosses his mind, but he doesn’t dwell on it. The thought of dwelling on it horrifies him. 

He resents Koizumi. He really does. 

Less than an hour blocks Kyon from the complete obliteration of the him that exists right now; less than an hour separates Kyon from the moment he will disappear from his own memory. None of these thoughts will remain. Not a minute of this struggle will persist. Maybe that’s a good thing, because he isn’t sure if he could see Koizumi’s face in the clubroom every day with this knowledge. Maybe it’s a good thing. 

Even though it’s late, he is wide awake. Even though it could be a good thing, he’s afraid. 

It’s summer. Kyon remembers their visit to the pool days ago, and the feeling of the cool water on his skin relieves him for a moment before it becomes agonizing in its absence. He imagines himself swimming. He imagines himself swimming around in circles, around and around and around, in Haruhi’s little communal pool. He imagines himself pressing his hands up against that great empty dome of the sky, and he wonders what lies beyond it. How many times has he lived through this moment? How many times can you repeat an experience before it loses its meaning? Does the meaning return if you forget the experience? Does he feel ill?

He imagines flushing that fish down the toilet.

Koizumi stirs next to him as if he’s about to speak, and Kyon grabs him by the lapel of his jacket and kisses him.

It’s not a smooth thing. His lips smush awkwardly against Koizumi’s, and the other boy doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. Koizumi’s lips are soft, and finally he shifts, cupping Kyon’s cheek with a surprising hesitancy for someone so charming. His fingers are gentle at first, maybe fearful — certainly fearful, then, as they press down harder into the skin behind his ear. They’re shaking, and Koizumi opens his mouth, inviting, and Kyon accepts. He puts his hand hesitantly on Koizumi’s arm.

His thoughts have almost caught up with him when he’s distracted by the increasingly strong trembling of Koizumi’s arm and then, suddenly, the other boy is spluttering. Kyon reels back, wondering what the hell he did wrong, when he realizes that Koizumi is—

“What the hell are you laughing about?” Kyon snaps, realizing now how hot his face has become. He’s an idiot. He’s an idiot. 

Koizumi’s laugh is uneven and frantic, and he scrubs at his face with his hands. His voice is desperate in a way that Kyon has never heard it as he gasps, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’m not — I’m not laughing at you.”

Kyon’s anger is replaced by concern, but a host of other feelings remain, cold and hot at the same time, paralyzing him and begging him to move. He manages, “What is it, then?”

“I just—” Koizumi cuts himself off and drops his hands. His breathing slows and he tilts his head back, as if looking at the stars. His eyes are closed. “This is the only way, isn’t it?”

“The only way?” Kyon repeats, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” Koizumi drops his head back to eye level and takes a deep breath. He puts his hand on Kyon’s shoulder. “We don’t even have half an hour left, you know. We ought to make it count.”

Despite himself, Kyon finds himself agreeing; he can’t imagine not agreeing anymore. He scoots closer to Koizumi and leans in once more, squeezing his eyes shut, until their mouths meet again. For a while, he makes it count. 

And then—

And then

[projectmainframe]

Next up, something that’s gonna be REALLY important later ;3

Environmental Counterfeit Observatory / ECO

A highly complex simulated ecosystem designed to allow ancients nostalgia of the world they left behind with picture-perfect replications of the world before the iterators, ecology using Ai that perfectly captures the bodies and minds of most creatures, and to simulate what it would be like to be down there as any organism. It works like Safari Mode, where you can place your conscious mind into it to observe the surface’s inhabitants or see what it’s like to become one. Over time, much of its memory has been corrupted, but if used, can scan your mind for any previously-visited locations. Because of this, it can also be used to map new routes in any regions you find, learn the land and the creatures in it, and much more. Unfortunately, it isn’t without flaws. When Flare gets too hot, ECO will use protective measures to prevent overheating, turning off all simulations it is currently running in favor of focusing on cooling itself down. If it is being used at this time, your mind will be practically deleted, and will never return. Because of this, safety measures were put in place to immediately put your mind back into your real body once ECO starts to shut down. However, nobody was ever in ECO when it overheats, and the safety measure was made mostly in fear of the pain someone would be in once the cycle restarts. They never thought it would get rid of the cycles entirely. ————————————— But alas, that is but the description of its purpose. There’s still the entire voiding REGION >:3

Region

The part of ECO located in the city is only a small fraction of what it really is. In reality, it is constructed deep into Seven Red Suns’ superstructure itself, powered by a specialized rarefraction cell designed to power ECO and the surrounding cells inside the superstructure. That way, in the event that any rarefraction cells are damaged, it will absorb all power from the damaged cell in order to have the structure keep the same amount of power as before. This cell is heavily guarded by purposed organisms within the superstructure in order to prevent any harm from coming to it. The internals of the device are quite large, holding the mass amounts of information and projections and code needed to simulate an ecosystem. You can occasionally find the mentioned purposed organisms tending to its systems. Eventually, if you go deep enough, you will find it. A massive, donut-shaped room surrounding a black and blue sphere that dwarfs you in comparison. The sphere spins and rotates rapidly, with multiple blue particles floating out of the center. Four large wires connect to it, with two of them blackened and the others pulsing blue with electricity. Massive computers line the walls of the donut room, all seemingly running detailed reports on every part of the superstructure and city. The rooms are dark, shadowed by the brilliant blue light projecting from the cell through the glass window lined along the center of each room. Occasionally, a sun symbol will pop up on some of them, checking up on different things, before leaving. In the center of the room is a large switch lined with warning lights and symbols. This is where you enter the room from. To the left is a hallway of two rooms containing recorded logs from Suns and the ancients. At the end of the hallway is a lift and a switch. Pressing the switch will make the lift move upwards, making the screen fade to black, before returning, showing the lift rising and stopping at ECO’s main simulation entrance room back in the city. The lift is only there once it rises, and will otherwise just act as a bottomless pit. To the left of the lift room is two rooms with the same purpose and look as the right hallway, leading back to the entrance in a loop.

[beyondbecks]

Disclaimer; this is kinda gory. It’s also lowkey lazy and heavily unfinished. I hope you enjoy regardless!

Cold floor. The smell of blood. Darkness. Panic. Life. Sneeg took a shaky breath in as his body restarted. He tried to sit up but was greeted with a fiery pain in his leg. His heart filled with dread. He didn’t know how or why he’d survived but it most likely wouldn’t stay that way for long. He gently tapped his head against the floor beneath him, psyching himself up for the pain that would soon wrack his entire body. After a weighty pause, he bit the bullet and his lip and forced himself into a sitting position. Crying out in pain he hunched forward biting his finger, not knowing if that thing could hear him. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked down at his right leg.

It was horrific. His knee, bent towards the left, pointing at almost a 90-degree angle towards the exit he almost made it to. It was heavily bleeding. His heart jumped and hit his brain as it pounded faster and louder the longer he stared. Despite this, something deep in his brain breathed,

“Survive.”

Almost robotically Sneeg began assessing the area around him. He saw a yellow wire, covered in blood not too far away from him.

“Stop the bleeding.”

With a wince and a slight pause halfway through leaning over, Sneeg wrapped his hands around the small wire and brought it over towards his leg. Muttering curses, he somehow wound the wire under his thigh, moving it to the thickest part. He crossed the wires, moving one underneath the other, and pulled as tightly as he could, using his teeth to hold the makeshift tourniquet in place as he looped another knot. He sighed, leaning back on his hands for a moment, closing his eyes. Willing the pain to go away, gritting his teeth as his leg slowly went numb. He opened his eyes, looking around for anything to help him move.

He glanced up at the exit sign flickering above him. All he’d have to do would be to stand and leave. Sneeg once again looked around the small area. He looked towards the rest of the desolate mall, where he assumed that the monster had fled. Looking a little closer he noticed a mall directory, or what was left of it, (shattered and mangled as if a semi had barreled through it) about 15 to 20 feet away.

Breathing deeply, he squeezed his eyes shut and began pulling himself towards the rubble, using his arms and good leg to slide across the ground, stopping every few feet to punch the ground and bite his lip as the pain pulsed throughout his leg and back, when he was finally amongst the shattered map pieces he laid down, catching his breath.

What felt like an eternity passed and finally, Sneeg sat up again, looking around the debris. After a few minutes, he found two long, almost straight pieces of metal and more wire pieces.

“Ah dammit.” He said breathlessly, looking at his leg, which had been dragged almost back into place. Gritting his teeth and looking at the ceiling, he wrapped his hand around his calf, just below where he believed the break to be, and moved it back into place. Halfway through the movement, he let his leg go and covered his mouth, biting his hand to keep from screaming

“Oh, my god.” He swallowed as bile crawled its way up his throat and tears scratched their way into his eyes.

Reassuring himself, Sneeg muttered, “It’s like a bandaid, It’s like a bandaid. C’mon. C’mon! Come ON!” and he pushed the bone back in place, a slight crunch and an immense pain roared through his body.

His hands were trembling and he was steadily feeling more and more dizzy. He closed his eyes and swallowed, begging the room to stop spinning. At least the worst was over, he hoped. He slowly opened his eyes and grabbed another wire piece, looping it under his leg, near the original “tourniquet”. Painstakingly, Sneeg moved the two metal pieces to the sides of his leg and tried his best to splint it. Once he’d stabilized his leg to the best of his ability, he psyched himself up for the next task. Standing. With a small scream, he pushed himself onto his feet, putting most of his weight onto his good leg. He began to hobble towards the door, the red exit light illuminating the small trail of blood that led from where he woke up, to where he set his leg. He leaned against the metal door, breathing hard, using the door frame to hold himself up for a moment. He reached out toward the handle and almost pushed it in, he was practically free!

“RANBOO!” The rest of the sentence was unintelligible, but something about the voice froze Sneeg in his tracks. His hand was hovering over the doorknob when suddenly, he remembered something. The sensation of remembering was new, unknown to him, yet there was a familiar tug at the corner of his heart when the memory flooded back. He could almost feel the wooden porch beneath his feet.

His eyes were unfocused, and all at once he felt himself get lost in a dream-like state. He was smaller, his leg was fine, and his feet were bare, hanging from a wooden porch swing. There was a gentle hand in his hair, and when he looked over he saw an old woman with kind eyes, looking back at him. He had no idea who she was, but his heart swelled and he felt safe. The feeling of being loved was almost palpable. The old woman reached out a wrinkled hand, calloused with time, but soft and loving, and held his face.

“Ranboo!” That voice again, but it sounded higher, younger. Sneeg turned his head to look out from the porch swing. He was sitting on a wrap-around porch, the old woman gently pushing the swing back and forth. Through the pillars holding up the awning Sneeg saw a child with short dirty blonde hair. His eyebrows were knit together and his glasses were entirely too big for his small, round face. He was looking up into a tree, face full of worry. “Ranboo! Get down! You might fall!” Again, the feeling of knowing, and even more profound, being known filled Sneeg when he looked at the other boy.

“Charlie I’m fine! See?” Sneeg remembered walking over to the other boy, he remembered looking up into the tree and seeing a third little kid. His hair was long enough that it had been pulled into a small hair tie, they were missing two front teeth, and he was perched in the branches of the tree, looking down on the two of them with a smile. Sneeg watched through his younger self’s eyes as the boy in the tree- Ranboo- swung down, holding himself upside-down by their legs.

He heard Charlie gasp and felt a little hand grab onto his sweater sleeve. Memories flooded back into his brain, small memories, sitting in front of a glowing tree, the smell of gingerbread, the old woman as she tucked him into a soft bed, looking over to see the sleeping forms of Charlie and Ranboo. Snippets of a life he knew was his broke through the wall in his brain. He gasped, and opened his eyes, breath coming out quick and heavy. He gripped his chest and the door frame as he caught his breath. The realization hit him like a truck.

“Charlie.” He breathed. Filled with adrenaline and determination Sneeg pushed himself off the wall and hobbled as fast as he could in the direction of the voice. His heart pounded in his ears as he strained to hear anything else. Screaming. He heard screaming. He moved faster, stumbling around corners, almost falling as he tried to fight his way to the noise. When it sounded its loudest, silence. A scream was cut off, and there was only silence. He swallowed the dread and panic that was welling up in his chest. He stopped in front of a door, breathless as his hand moved toward the handle. He gently pushed the door open, ungracefully walking through the door, slowly moving through the dim light.

What he saw made his heart stop. A large room full of people, all just stuck in their tracks. Each and every one of them had a white mask obscuring their faces, a strange symbol that made Sneeg’s heart drop on each of them. Some were frozen mid-run, and every one of them just stuck in time. A large set piece stood silently in the middle. As he moved closer he saw a cabin, one he’d seen before, he gasped as he took in the cage. He remembered that cage, he remembered this place, but it felt distant, foggy, and unreachable. A rustling sound made him slowly move to the floor, hiding behind some sort of camera rig. He sat with his back to it, breathing heavily, and slowly, he peeked around his hiding place to see the source of the noise.

Sneeg held his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. Not even 15 feet away, a great beast of wire and blood stood over a human-shaped figure. There was a large puddle of blood underneath the two, so dark it looked like a hole had opened up in the earth to swallow the creature and its prey. Its head was an old television, static glitching and sparking across the screen as it tore into whoever was underneath it. With a pang of fear and one more peek, Sneeg realized the figure underneath it wasn’t just an unlucky masked body, it was Charlie. Lying underneath the monster, painfully still. His arm covered his face, blood covering the rest of him. He had some sort of tactical vest on and his chest had been clawed open. Sneeg stared, stuck in a horrified trance, hoping his beating heart didn’t alert the creature as it studied the damage it had caused. What seemed like a million eternities passed and the monster seemed to grow bored. Sneeg watched as it crawled away, counting to 200 once it had left his field of vision. When his countdown finished, he painfully scrambled over to his brother.

“Nononono. Please, c’mon, please wake up. Please.” He moved Charlie’s arm out of his face, swallowing the heave that came up when he saw Charlie’s bloodied face. He shook Charlie for a little longer before dropping his head onto his bloody stomach, sobbing. He didn’t know how long he stayed there when he felt Charlie’s stomach move. There was a cough and Sneeg shot up, looking into Charlie’s face.

“Charlie?” Sneeg whispered, terrified that he was dreaming. He yanked off his hoodie, and gently moved Charlie’s glasses off his face, trying to wipe away the blood covering his eyes. Charlie’s left eye fluttered open and a labored voice came out.

“S-Sneeg?” He coughed, blinking as tears welled up to clean the blood out of his eyes. “W-what are y-you doing here? I thought…” Charlie tried to sit up, wincing. Sneeg gently pushed him back towards the floor.

“Listen, I don’t know how you’re alive right now, but I’d like to keep it that way,” Sneeg said, trying to wrap his hoodie around the wound he thought was generating the most blood loss. Charlie was covered in gashes, the biggest of which cut across his torso, starting from the side of his stomach, all the way up to his left shoulder. His arms and legs were covered in scratches from where the monster had torn into him. As Sneeg tied the hoodie across Charlie’s chest, Charlie rested his head on the ground beneath him. They were silent for a moment, before Charlie spoke again, sounding a little stronger.

“Something isn’t right.” He said Sneeg helped him sit, leaning him against a nearby chair.

“What gave you that impression?” Sarcasm creeps past the worry in Sneeg’s voice.

“I’m not sure… I can feel it in my gut.” Charlie’s face had twisted into a mischievous smile. Sneeg let out a laugh of disbelief.

“You can’t be serious. You are bleeding out, and you’re still making stupid jokes?” Sneeg felt the twinge of memory in the back of his mind. Something felt normal about Charlie making bad jokes, no matter the situation.

“I’m sorry- the need to make jokes is rooted in my innard parts.” Charlie laughed, or rather, coughed, in what sounded like a laugh. Sneeg laughed again, allowing the absurdity to pull him out of his worry for a second. Horror filled his face again as what started out as a weak version of Charlie’s laugh, morphed into a hacking cough. Sneeg held Charlie’s back as he coughed and coughed, watching with fear written on his face as blood and some sort of green goo came up and out of his lungs.

A/N: this is all I have for now! Thanks for reading :)

[eliterepairs]

How to Fix iPhone That Keeps Restarting

When your iPhone keeps restarting unexpectedly, it can quickly become a frustrating and disruptive problem. Whether it's rebooting at random intervals or stuck in a continuous loop, the issue often interferes with important calls, messages, and daily tasks. There’s no need to panic—this article provides a complete, user-friendly guide on how to identify the cause of the problem and how to fix it efficiently. By following the steps below, you can bring your iPhone back to its normal, stable performance and prevent future restarts from happening again.

Understanding Why Your iPhone Keeps Restarting

Before diving into specific fixes, it's essential to understand what may be causing your iPhone to restart continuously. The issue is typically rooted in either a software glitch or hardware failure. In some cases, an app might be misbehaving, while in others, internal hardware components—such as the battery or motherboard—may be failing.

Some common culprits include outdated iOS versions, corrupted system files, malfunctioning apps, and faulty accessories. In rare cases, physical damage or exposure to moisture can also lead to erratic restarting behavior. Knowing the cause allows you to narrow down the most effective repair solution.

Check for iOS Software Updates

One of the most overlooked solutions is a simple iOS update. Apple frequently releases patches to fix bugs that could be behind your iPhone’s restart issue. If your iPhone is running an outdated version of iOS, go to Settings > General > Software Update and install any available updates. Make sure your device has at least 50% battery or is connected to a power source during the process.

Installing the latest version not only resolves potential bugs but also enhances the overall stability and security of your device. If the issue began shortly after a new update, a follow-up patch might already be in development by Apple to resolve reported problems.

Remove Problematic Apps

Some third-party apps can conflict with your iPhone’s system software, causing restarts. If you recently installed an app before the issue started, that app may be the culprit. Begin by uninstalling suspicious apps one by one, starting with those most recently added. To do this, press and hold the app icon, then select "Remove App."

If your iPhone stops restarting after removing a specific app, you've likely found the problem. Always install apps from trusted developers and review user ratings to ensure reliability before downloading in the future.

Check Battery Health and Performance

A deteriorating battery can also trigger spontaneous restarts, especially in older iPhone models. Navigate to Settings > Battery > Battery Health & Charging to view your battery’s maximum capacity. If the capacity is below 80%, or the system shows a performance management notice, the battery could be the reason behind the issue.

While it may continue to function, a degraded battery may no longer provide the power needed to support intensive tasks, leading your iPhone to shut down and reboot unexpectedly. Replacing the battery through a professional repair service can restore your device’s stability.

Reset All Settings

Sometimes, corrupted settings or configurations can interfere with your iPhone’s operation. A safe middle-ground solution is to reset all settings without erasing your data. Go to Settings > General > Transfer or Reset iPhone > Reset > Reset All Settings.

This process restores your preferences, such as Wi-Fi passwords, home screen layouts, and system settings, to their factory defaults. However, it won’t affect your apps, photos, or personal files. After the reset, monitor your device to see if the issue continues.

Free Up Storage Space

Insufficient storage can cause a variety of performance issues, including random restarts. iPhones require free space for system operations and app functions. Go to Settings > General > iPhone Storage to review what’s taking up space.

Delete unused apps, clear Safari cache, remove large video files, or offload unused content to iCloud or your computer. Once adequate space is available, your iPhone should become more stable and responsive.

Use Recovery Mode or DFU Mode

If none of the basic troubleshooting steps work, a deeper reset using Recovery Mode or DFU (Device Firmware Update) Mode might help. These modes allow you to reinstall the iOS system or restore your iPhone from a clean backup.

To use Recovery Mode:

Connect your iPhone to a computer using a Lightning cable.

Open iTunes (or Finder on macOS Catalina and later).

Force restart the device until the recovery screen appears.

Choose Update to reinstall iOS without deleting data.

If that fails, DFU Mode is a last-resort method. It erases everything and reinstalls firmware and software. This process is best performed with the help of a professional technician to avoid mistakes that could worsen the problem.

Disconnect External Accessories

Sometimes, third-party chargers, power banks, or headphones can cause software instability. If your iPhone starts restarting after plugging in an accessory, try using official Apple-certified equipment instead. Remove all accessories and monitor the device to see if the problem persists.

Additionally, inspect your charging port and headphone jack for debris or moisture. These can interfere with electrical connections and cause your iPhone to behave unpredictably.

Perform a Full Factory Reset

If your iPhone continues to restart even after all these steps, consider performing a factory reset. This will erase everything on your device, so make sure you’ve backed up your data to iCloud or a computer.

To initiate a factory reset:

Go to Settings > General > Transfer or Reset iPhone > Erase All Content and Settings.

Follow the on-screen instructions to complete the process.

After the reset, set up your iPhone as a new device instead of restoring from a backup. This will eliminate the possibility of reinstalling corrupted system files or app data that could be triggering the issue.

Seek Professional Help

If you’ve exhausted all DIY options and your iPhone still keeps restarting, it’s time to consult a professional technician. A certified expert can run diagnostic tests to detect hardware issues that aren't visible to the average user.

Whether it’s a logic board failure, a short circuit, or a deeper software corruption, expert tools and experience can uncover what you can’t fix on your own. If you need assistance, there’s an experienced iPhone Repair service in Weston, FL ready to help you pinpoint the issue and resolve it for good.

Preventing Future Restart Problems

Once your iPhone is stable again, it’s wise to take proactive measures to avoid similar issues in the future. Always keep your iOS updated, only install trusted apps, and avoid overloading your device with unnecessary files or features. Use certified accessories and avoid exposing your phone to extreme temperatures or moisture.

Regular backups ensure that you won’t lose essential data even if problems arise. With a little maintenance and care, you can keep your iPhone running smoothly for years to come.

Welcome to Elite Repairs, where our motto, "Revive • Renew • Enhance," defines our dedication to reliable iPhone repair. Whether it’s the latest iPhone 14 or an older model, our skilled technicians deliver fast, trusted service that restores your device to peak performance. If you’re looking for dependable iPhone screen repairs or full-service iPhone restoration, visit us at 368 Fern Dr, Weston, FL — your local expert team at Elite Repairs.

[micechicken]

This is where Aligned Optimus gets his self sacrificing from, which is fucked.

Copy of what is in the screenshots below cut

“Right. So, how do we win?” Thirteen asked, discarding failure without a second thought. “Who is this icon meant to be?” He pointed at a little mote next to Unicron's Spark chamber.

“That’s you,” Alchemist said rather proudly, as if unveiling a master plan.

“I thought Thirteen was meant to stay out of the line of fire,” I said, feeling sure this was Primus’s intention. If there was a later, he would be essential.

“Well, he is and he isn’t,” Alchemist continued. “He’s not in actual danger there, unless you count being that close to so much Dark Energon condensed. That's the point. The Spark in Thirteen here is nearly identical to that of Primus himself. Its Energon frequency is the exact opposite waveform of Unicron’s Spark. We believe that by placing them so close together they will neutralize each other. When that happens, Unicron’s body will automatically close around his Spark chamber and move him into a hibernation mode at what it perceives as a lethal assault. that has no obvious countermove. It would normally then wait until the threat can be verified gone before waking him. However, we’re going to lock that part of Unicron into an infinite loop so that it can’t perceive the passage of time.” He looked up and across—“Maximo and Vector will manage that together.”

“Yeah … what happens to Thirteen then, if Unicron shuts down—won'’t his Spark be turned out?” Solus peered at the larger forms of Alchemist and Nexus. She was ready to be angry at the idea of sacrificing someone. At her side, Thirteen frowned in concentration, imagining his role.

“Well, yes it will,” Alchemist said rather awkwardly, “but it will survive because Unicron will shield his Spark instantly. Then all we need to do is retrieve Thirteen and we can restart him. He’ll be down and out, but he won't be dead. And with Unicron in hibernation there'll be no issue with the rescue. At that point we can just walk out.”

“Theoretically,” said Quintus, looking up from his calculations. He meant to be comforting, I think. He found it comforting at any rate. He had great faith in facts and figures. “And I can probably jolt him out of it,” he said, indicating the small amulet-sized bag that he wore around his neck and patted the Emberstone inside it.

Thirteen nodded steadily. “All right. Sounds plausible.” If he was fazed at the idea of killing himself briefly, he didn’t look it. He saw the sense of the plan: he approved of it. The chance of it being his last act seemed almost not to cross his mind, although I am sure it must have.

[fcdav]

On July 19, about 8.5 million computers with Windows operating systems around the world had a "blue screen" of death, and the terminals that failed were not limited to desktop terminals, but also covered a large number of servers and cloud nodes, including those that led to the interruption of a number of important Microsoft and AWS cloud services and tenant services, and the related hosts would still automatically enter a blue screen state after restarting, forming a closed loop of repeated crashes. Hosts still automatically enter a blue screen state after rebooting, creating a closed loop of repeated crashes.

According to incomplete statistics, a large number of social infrastructures, including hospitals, banks, airlines, etc., including at least more than 20 countries, were shut down for a time, causing direct and indirect economic losses calculated in billions of dollars.

The main protagonist that led to this historic event was a Texas-based cybersecurity giant, CrowdStrike.

While most people were unaware of the company's existence until now, former President Donald Trump questioned the company's operations back in 2019.

In 2019, the company's name resurfaced after a White House transcript showed that then-President Trump mentioned the company in a July call with Ukrainian President Zelensky. The controversy eventually led to the first attempt to impeach Trump.

During the call, Trump hinted that Ukraine might have DNC servers, saying, "I want to give you a little insight into the whole situation in Ukraine, where they say ...... swarmed the ...... The server, they say Ukraine has it. The server, they say Ukraine has it."

The statement was part of a broader set of Trump's remarks aimed at casting doubt on CrowdStrike's conclusion that Russian meddling in the election benefited him.

Trump's comments also sparked a series of conspiracy theories that the Democratic National Committee somehow fabricated the hack to divert attention from other political issues.

According to the Federal Election Commission (FEC), Democrats spend a lot of money on CrowdStrike.

 May 20, 2019 - Democrat Bernie Sanders invested all of his money into CrowdStrike during his 2020 presidential campaign. The main campaign committee for Democrat Phil Bredesen's U.S. Senate bid invested all of its money into CrowdStrike on June 7, 2018.On July 24, 2018, the main campaign committee for Democrat Bernie Sanders' U.S. Senate seat invested all of its money into CrowdStrike on February 1, 2019 full funding.

It is clear from the data that the Democratic Party creates misinformation for the party's own personal gain, attacking competitors and tearing the country apart. The Democratic Party has now completely turned its back on the American people. Pushing the boundaries of what's possible in the face of electoral interests and using tech companies to meddle in politics.

[maccaresolution]

MacBook Pro Keep Restarting? Here’s What to Do

Imagine You’re in the middle of the most crucial meeting of your career. Your team has poured their creativity and hard work into a brilliant presentation. Excitement buzzes in the air as you prepare to unveil your masterpiece And suddenly, your MacBook Pro gets into the mood for a game of ‘Restart Roullete’. Embarrassing? fear not, for you’re not alone in this frustrating experience, We’ve all been there. So, what’s the solution? Patience, my friend. Before getting into the solution, let’s understand the problem. In this article, we’ll go over ways to identify why your Mac keeps restarting — and, even better, how to fix it.

Why MacBook Pro keeps restarting? Hardware and software troubles Understand this, there can be two roots to the problem of why your MacBook Pro keeps restarting. On one side, there are a few hardware-related issues. Like, a fault in the battery. On the other side, there are software-related issues, for instance, an outdated MacOS.

1.Software Glitches: Sometimes, software conflicts or glitches can lead to repeated restarts. These glitches might arise from recently installed apps, updates, or corrupted system files.

2.Overheating: Overheating is a common culprit for unexpected restarts. MacBook Pro has built-in mechanisms to prevent overheating, but if these fail, the device might restart to prevent damage.

3.Hardware Issues: Faulty hardware components, such as a failing hard drive or malfunctioning RAM, can trigger frequent restarts. These issues often require professional intervention.

4.Power Management Problems: Incorrect settings related to power management can result in the MacBook Pro restarting unexpectedly.

MacBook keeps restarting over and over, how to stop it? As mentioned above, the causes are diverse. When your MacBook Air or MacBook Pro is trapped in a boot loop, you can press the power button for seconds to completely shut it down. And then, restart your Mac to check if it is simply caused by a temporary system bug.

If your Mac still keeps restarting at startup and the error message ‘Your computer restarted because of a problem’ still shows up, you can try the following solutions one by one to fix your problematic computer.

How to fix your MacBook Pro/Air that keeps restarting:

· Disconnect all peripheral devices

· Proceed with software updates

· Update or uninstall the problematic third-party software

· Boot your Mac in Safe Mode

· Disable unnecessary startup items

· Free up disk space

· Check your battery condition

· Reset NVRAM/PRAM

· Run First Aid to repair the startup disk

· Back up data and reinstall macOS

· Contact the Apple support team

Tips for avoiding your MacBook keeping restarting The MacBook Air, Mac mini, iMac, or MacBook Pro keeps restarting is a common issue among Mac users. If you prevent this problem from happening again, you need to pay attention to these suggestions.

1.Check software compatibility before installing. Before installing any new software or updates on your MacBook, take a moment to ensure its compatibility with your operating system. Incompatible software can trigger conflicts that lead to sudden restarts.

2.Check hardware compatibility. Incompatible hardware can also be a sneaky reason behind the Macbook restarting. Whether it’s RAM, external devices, or peripherals, ensure that they are fully compatible with your MacBook model and the current macOS version.

3.Keep updating your Mac. Keeping your macOS up-to-date is a crucial step in preventing those constant restarts. Apple often releases updates that address known issues, including restart glitches.

Conclusion: By following these key takeaways, you can troubleshoot and resolve the issue of your MacBook repeatedly restarting. If the problem persists, consider reaching out to apple service centre near me in Wakad Pune for further assistance.

Your Trusted Solution for Apple Device Repairs: MacCare Solution Whether it’s a minor glitch or a major issue, MacCare Solution is your trusted partner and premium MacBook service center in Wakad Pune . Give us a call today to schedule your device pickup or to inquire about our top-notch services, including Apple MacBook Pro battery replacement, screen replacement, and much more.

[greenappleservicecenter]

MacBook Pro Keep Restarting? Here’s What to Do

Imagine You’re in the middle of the most crucial meeting of your career. Your team has poured their creativity and hard work into a brilliant presentation. Excitement buzzes in the air as you prepare to unveil your masterpiece And suddenly, your MacBook Pro gets into the mood for a game of ‘Restart Roullete’. Embarrassing? fear not, for you’re not alone in this frustrating experience, We’ve all been there. So, what’s the solution? Patience, my friend. Before getting into the solution, let’s understand the problem. In this article, we’ll go over ways to identify why your Mac keeps restarting — and, even better, how to fix it.

Why MacBook Pro keeps restarting? Hardware and software troubles Understand this, there can be two roots to the problem of why your MacBook Pro keeps restarting. On one side, there are a few hardware-related issues. Like, a fault in the battery. On the other side, there are software-related issues, for instance, an outdated MacOS.

1.Software Glitches: Sometimes, software conflicts or glitches can lead to repeated restarts. These glitches might arise from recently installed apps, updates, or corrupted system files.

2.Overheating: Overheating is a common culprit for unexpected restarts. MacBook Pro has built-in mechanisms to prevent overheating, but if these fail, the device might restart to prevent damage.

3.Hardware Issues: Faulty hardware components, such as a failing hard drive or malfunctioning RAM, can trigger frequent restarts. These issues often require professional intervention.

4.Power Management Problems: Incorrect settings related to power management can result in the MacBook Pro restarting unexpectedly.

MacBook keeps restarting over and over, how to stop it? As mentioned above, the causes are diverse. When your MacBook Air or MacBook Pro is trapped in a boot loop, you can press the power button for seconds to completely shut it down. And then, restart your Mac to check if it is simply caused by a temporary system bug.

If your Mac still keeps restarting at startup and the error message ‘Your computer restarted because of a problem’ still shows up, you can try the following solutions one by one to fix your problematic computer.

How to fix your MacBook Pro/Air that keeps restarting:

· Disconnect all peripheral devices

· Proceed with software updates

· Update or uninstall the problematic third-party software

· Boot your Mac in Safe Mode

· Disable unnecessary startup items

· Free up disk space

· Check your battery condition

· Reset NVRAM/PRAM

· Run First Aid to repair the startup disk

· Back up data and reinstall macOS

· Contact the Apple support team

Tips for avoiding your MacBook keeping restarting The MacBook Air, Mac mini, iMac, or MacBook Pro keeps restarting is a common issue among Mac users. If you prevent this problem from happening again, you need to pay attention to these suggestions.

1.Check software compatibility before installing. Before installing any new software or updates on your MacBook, take a moment to ensure its compatibility with your operating system. Incompatible software can trigger conflicts that lead to sudden restarts.

2.Check hardware compatibility. Incompatible hardware can also be a sneaky reason behind the Macbook restarting. Whether it’s RAM, external devices, or peripherals, ensure that they are fully compatible with your MacBook model and the current macOS version.

3.Keep updating your Mac. Keeping your macOS up-to-date is a crucial step in preventing those constant restarts. Apple often releases updates that address known issues, including restart glitches.

Conclusion: By following these key takeaways, you can troubleshoot and resolve the issue of your MacBook repeatedly restarting. If the problem persists, consider reaching out to apple service centre near me in Bangalore for further assistance.

Your Trusted Solution for Apple Device Repairs: Green Apple Service Center Whether it’s a minor glitch or a major issue, Green Apple Service Center is your trusted partner and premium MacBook service center in Bangalore . Give us a call today to schedule your device pickup or to inquire about our top-notch services, including Apple MacBook Pro battery replacement, screen replacement, and much more.

[man-and-atom]

So shamefully treated.

San Onofre 1 (in the background here) operated sporadically for more than 20 years, as the regulatory authorities kept requiring upgrades and changes ― which is not necessarily unfair, considering it was one of the first large PWRs. The most visible change was enclosing the original gleaming metal containment sphere with a weird concrete structure known as “the silo”. Finally, at the end of the 1980s, the Nuclear Regulatory Commission was satisfied that it met all technical requirements, and issued a permanent operating license good for 20 years.

The next year, the California Public Utilities Commission required it to shut down, claiming that a fully–paid–off 500 MW nuclear plant could not provide power economically in the State.

As for San Onofre 2 and 3, following the refurbishment and replacement of major components, typically done after 20 to 30 years of operation, it was found that the new steam generators were leaking slightly ― about 100 ml a day, from the reactor circuit into the secondary water system, which is also a closed loop. This was well within the terms of the plant license, but Southern California Edison made the reasonable and prudent decision to stop operating both units and plug the leaking tubes. This is a totally normal, routine part of steam plant operation.

The Nuclear Regulatory Commission decided that this maintenance procedure constituted a major change, requiring a complete new set of licensure hearings, which dragged on for years. When the NRC refused to give SCE any indication of when or whether a ruling on allowing the units to restart would be made, SCE decided to shut down the station and surrender its operating licenses, which cost something like a million dollars a year per reactor to maintain.

@atoms4ca

San Onofre power plant

[auyouni]

some kind of madness has started to evolve // septiplier

"Why didn't you tell me??" Mark demands, and it would surprise Jack how readily he accepts Jack's reality if they hadn't already had this conversation in a million different ways.

It left such an awful bitter taste in his mouth. He tried to maintain normalcy for so long, but he's played every video game in the world by now, and all of his friends feel like damn NPCs, and he's so tired of this cycle. His only solace is his dreams.

He gives a clipped laugh, hands clenching at his sides. "Why would I? Y're barely even the real Mark anymore, t' me. The real Mark gets to leave this fucking school, gets to go on and marry Rosanna and disappear into his fairytale." They're only halfway through this loop, but eventually, everything spills out. It often does. "Or, hell, maybe he stays, I don't even fucking know. But you… There's nothing you could ever do to surprise me anymore." And he still loves him. Mark is an extremely well trodden forest path, but Jack never wants to take another one.

Mark looks stunned. "What the hell, Sean? I'm still a person! I-I have free will! If you're so sick of me, why are you still here?"

Jack goes quiet, eyes stinging with the force of his pain, so distraught and visible and bone-tired. He always cuts honey bunches off early, these past cycles, unable to handle the proximity with their doomed fate. But he can't ever resist starting it in the first place. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving Mark's. "Where else would I go?" he says, voice a little hoarse. "Where else in the world would I ever rather be? You're the best home I've ever known. I couldn't give you up, not for a single cycle." There's no desperation in it anymore, too wrung out to want Mark more than anything - and yet, he'd never give Mark up to get out of the endless plague of restarts.

Mark looks like he's been struck physically by the words, staring at Jack like he's finally understanding him for the first time. Jack's shoulders slump, wondering why he'd bothered. Mark is incapable of making new decisions, has been one of the few constants in this strained existence. He doesn't know what he expected, why this almost felt different for a moment. He shuts his eyes, reaching up to rub his temple, "I'm sorry, we can just ignore–"

There's only a half-second's warning of feeling the other man in his space - the most familiar sensation in the world - before Mark's lips are pressing into his, shockingly.

Jack feels like gravity has shifted beneath him, a tremor in the earth. Nothing has come close to scraping him, let alone rocking him, for decades now. He is shaken to his core, because this is the one thing he'd given up on being possible. It still feels impossible, but he feels an echo in his mind somewhere saying, When thinking in infinities, 'unlikely' is just certainty waiting for its turn.

Mark pulls back before Jack can get a grip on any of it, and his hands fling out to grip his best friend's arms. Honestly, he feels a little sick. It's fucked up, for Mark to swing so low just to through a wrench into this run, prove him wrong, whatever it is he thinks he's doing. "Was that surprising enough? I don't think a version of me has done that, before…" Mark's voice comes low and happy, and Jack's eyes spring open.

"That's cruel t' do, just ta surprise me," he says, voice thick with repressed emotions that have lasted millennia. 

Mark frowns abruptly, taken off-guard by his words, or tone, or maybe the defeated look in his eye. Like he's lost this fight over and over and he's ready to lay down and accept his end. "I thought you'd want me to…"

Jack tries to pull away, and maybe his friend - because even with this fresh ache, he could never erase Mark from his side - feels a little tug on his arms, but that's all he can manage. He's tired of pretending he doesn't want it, that he hasn't spent countless attempts just trying to make this, them, happen. "Not just because it's something I haven't gotten before. I want–" he chokes himself off, already sounding strangled, and he's almost disgusted with himself that these feelings can arise after all this time. Will it always be like this? How is he ever supposed to break the cycle? "I wanted you to want me because you want to. I have spent over a hundred years wanting you, Mark, an' I can't… ya can't just kiss me unless you mean it." And if there's anything he's learned, it's that Mark never means it. He's been kissed by Mark, and Dark, plenty of times at this point - never as much as he wants to and always too much - and it's started to just feel cruel.

Mark watches him with molasses eyes, head tilted, and Jack can practically feel the ache in both of their chests. Always for different reasons. Mark looks at him like a wounded bird, but without pity, and it makes Jack's chest shake. "So you do want me to kiss you," he says softly, like approaching a spooked horse, and Jack wishes he could decipher that tone. Mark steps back into his space again, slowly, and let's his hand gently slide up Jack's chest. The shaking slows, eased, but he's been unraveling for lifetimes now and it feels like his bones will never be put to rest.

"Only if you want it the way I do," he replies, voice weak, the fight going out of him. He knows, in his soul, that Mark is going to kiss him again. He doesn't know why. He can only pray that Mark takes it seriously, knows how close Jack is to that edge.

That's always been the problem, though - Mark alone has always known how to pull him back with ease.

Mark's lips fit over his like a whisper, like a promise, like tender hands picking up a wounded dove. Jack's entire body shudders, and he's so tired suddenly. The world has been crashing down around him for so long now, the prison of this campus and time itself, and why does he keep fighting this when it's all he wants? If he can ignore every failed attempt, every early elopement of Ro and Mark, every breakup that led him to the arms of another girl, every kiss meant to keep Jack from leaving him… He can let it go, just once. For his own sanity. For an antidote to the soul, even if all he tastes is poison again in the morning.

Jack's hand shakes as he reaches up to brush his knuckles over his best friend's cheekbone, and he's kissing back tentatively, afraid. So very afraid. Mark remains steady, slowly moving their lips together, like a reassurance, and Jack feels the stirrings of his long dead - or, apparently, comatose - heart, one he'd put to sleep to avoid more damage. Maybe in that time it's actually healed some, but for now, he just relishes in it feeling alive again. Mark's hand is pressed over it, like his own reassurance, and Jack wants to break and crumble in the face of it. He almost wants to run away. Instead he sighs gently, pressing a little more into Mark, a quiet trust in place. Time and time and time and time and time again, this is the only man he fully trusts with his heart.

Mark has never taken that lightly, even if he knows how to break his heart better than anyone else.

His best friend's hand rests on his shoulder, a solid weight like a tether. Grounding. Safe. Any desperation left inside of him seeps out, the rattling in his chest quieting, and he kisses Mark like everything will be okay.

Maybe this time, it will.

Mark pulls back just a hair, only a whisper left between their lips, and Jack can feel his smile without even opening his eyes. "I do want you, Sean." Jack's breath catches, a lump in his throat. "No buts. I want you too." The last sentence carries the intensity of a man of months-long yearning, and it's like some of the life is breathed back into him. Mark punctuated it with a harder kiss, as if he needs to prove it. Like he's a ghost story that Jack can only roll his eyes at, and maybe that's a bit too accurate.

He'd gone into this repeating prison stay with the idea in his head that the only way to break out of it was to finally end up with Mark. Why else would he be here? He'd healed well enough after his very first youni experience, in his mind. And so many attempts were spent trying a million different combinations to get there.

Now… it's been a while since he gave that up. Or, at least, consciously. It was all still there, and now it's pressing him closer to Mark, breathing him in. Deep inhales instead of gulping breaths, they melt into each other.

Best friends till the end.

That's all there ever was, in the end - the two of them.

"What matters to you most right now? In all of this," he murmurs softly against his lips, caressing the skin under his jawline. There's no hiding how much he's craving more of that contact, how much he still desperately wants to be held by him.

It takes longer than Jack cares to admit for him to find his voice, and when he does it sounds rough, but somehow still so clear and sure. "This." There's such a weight behind that single word. It has to be true. This isn't about the universe, and it definitely isn't about Jack finding peace within himself. Mark can make him believe again, has always felt like the key to finding his peace. His best friend, the boy he loves. He swallows hard, and whispers the next part, even if it pains him to say, even if it might shatter him. "Us."

There's a moment's pause before Mark answers, but it seems to stretch on for ages to Jack. They're both silent for so long that Jack thinks Mark might not answer, but finally he hears him mumble something unintelligible. His name. Mark is saying his name. When he opens his eyes Mark is staring at him like he's never seen him before. "Then let's try. Can we try?" He feels more than sees Mark swallow hard, and Jack shakes. Actually, maybe he just hasn't stopped shaking.

"I want nothing more, Marky," he says breathlessly, and his best friend grins, and kisses him again.

[funeralopolis666]

computer started actin weird so i restarted. stuck in the restart loop where it never shuts down so i gotta take her back behind the woodshed and press and hold her power button. i hate to have to do this to ya darlin…

sigh. runnin a free range computer farm aint easy, but its good, honest work.

[elizabeethan]

look in the mirror (and cry)

Part 2 / 5

Chrissy survives Vecna’s first attack, just barely. 

Season 4 rewrite wherein Chrissy survives and Eddie is a soft worried angel

hopefully updating daily until it’s done!!

Rated M

Read on Ao3 

Read my Other Things 

Get added to my Hellcheer fic tag list 

Tagging: @sotangledupinit​ @klauscarolove​ @itsfabianadocarmo

~~~~

Whenever she wakes up, she’s in so much blinding pain that she wants nothing more than to go right back to sleep. Part of her doesn’t even care if she never wakes up, as long as she never has to feel this pain again. 

 But then when she’s asleep, she sees him. She sees her mother with a demon face and her father with his mouth and eyes clawed out or sewed shut, she can never quite tell. She sees her house, the place where she’s grown up that hasn’t ever really felt like home. She sees herself through her mindseye, slamming her shoulders and her hands against the wooden boards that block her exit. She sees the slimy, sinuous monster who digs his claws into her forehead. She hears Eddie shouting at her. 

 It’s the same each time she sleeps, and she can never seem to wake up. She never sees the way this scenario ends, the loop of the image restarting the moment Eddie’s voice starts to sneak into her subconscious. She hears something else, too, something she recognizes but can’t place. And then she sees the rotting food and the flies and her evil mother all over again. 

 Only this time, she does wake up. It’s like she’s breathing for the first time, the oxygen burning its way through her lungs as her eyes shoot open, expecting Eddie Munson’s face, horrified and inches from hers as he holds her together. 

 But that’s not what she sees when she wakes up this time. She sees white, blinding white walls and sheets and curtains. She hears the cloying beep of the monitor that lets her know that her heart is beating. She smells antiseptic and blood and Jason’s cologne and she feels nauseous. 

 “Woah,” she hears, and she sees a small green bowl beneath her face before she feels herself retching into it. “Jesus, Chris.” 

She feels that familiar burn in the back of her throat, although for some reason, she thinks it hurts less than normal. She catches her breath, finally, taking the tissue she’s offered and wiping her mouth and her nose as she coughs again. “You good?” 

 Her eyes meet his and she stares at him, confused and struggling to identify whether it’s anger or hurt that she’s feeling as she meets his judgmental stare. She simply nods, lying back down and wincing when she shifts, her left side protesting violently. 

 “Yeah, careful when you move. Thing was shattered,” he tells her quietly. His voice is quiet, but it isn’t soft. It isn’t like Eddie’s when she could hear it in her nightmares. It isn’t like Eddie’s when he held her. “They operated but you’re gonna be off your feet for a while. No more cheer.” 

 Maybe her heart should be breaking. She loved cheering once, finding comfort in the conformity and the routines and the motivation to stay in shape. But now, ever since… The cold way in which he breaks the news hurts more than the news itself. 

 She wants to ask a few questions, like how long has it been, and where are her parents, and what’s her prognosis, and… and where’s Eddie? But Jason just stares at her, angry or upset or sad about something, and although she lies in a hospital bed, bruised and battered and broken, victimized more than she ever has been, she can’t help the niggling thought that his anger or fear or whatever this is is directed towards her. 

 “What the hell happened, Chris?” he finally asks, after staring her down as if expecting her to speak first. But her throat hurts, and she hasn’t had any water even though she could really use some, so she’s staying quiet. “Why the hell were you at the Freak’s trailer?” 

 But then, why does he get to ask all the questions? She’s the one who got attacked by… whatever that was… Why should he get to sit here and interrogate her? 

 “What–” She coughs, raising her only working arm and hitting her palm against her chest. She looks to the cup of water at her bedside table, reaching for it and looking at Jason to ask for it wordlessly, but he doesn’t move. So she tries again. “What happened?” 

 “I’m asking you,” he answers firmly. “Why were you there?” 

 It’s anger, she decides. Anger with his inability to see anything other than himself. He’s not upset at what happened to her. He’s worried about how her being at Eddie Munson’s trailer will make him look. She shifts, prepared to just get the water herself, and he finally hands it to her, his other hand closed tightly around her wrist. 

 He places the cup to her lips and watches with cold eyes as she gulps it down. She releases a breath of relief at the moisture finally hitting her throat, but it allows her to focus on the increasing discomfort of his fingers on her.

“That hurts,” she croaks. 

 “Why were you there?” he asks in sharp staccato. 

 “None of your business,” she whispers back, her voice weak and small but so much stronger than she feels. 

 “Munson drugged you,” he says, as if it’s a fact, and she can’t help but notice more pressure around her wrist. “He possessed you, tried to get you to join his satanic little cult. Isn’t that right, Chris? You’re a victim, and that Freak is gonna pay for trying to corrupt and kill you.” 

 She doesn’t know what happened. She has no idea what she saw, what she’s been seeing in her nightmares, what’s been haunting her. She doesn’t know whether it’s real or a hallucination that somehow transcended reality and broke her arm. 

 But she does know one thing. 

 Eddie Munson saved her life. 

 He brought her back from whatever curse she was trapped under, again and again. He made her feel safer than anyone in her life has before. And all she finds herself wanting to comfort the pain and fear is the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hand on her cheek. 

 So she looks at Jason again, and she refuses to let herself gulp, and she says, “I want you to leave.” 

 And she blocks out the sound of his voice as he berates her quietly, as he shoves the chair he was on across the floor, as he rips open the curtain giving them privacy so forcefully that it’s ripped from one of the hooks holding it to the track. And she doesn’t cry until he leaves the room with a forceful slam of the door. 

 ~~~~

 “This is a bad idea.”

 Of course it is. 

 “No it isn’t.” 

 “It’s Chrissy Cunningham. Do you really think anyone will buy that we’re just here to– to check in?”

 “Robin–” 

 “We’re nerds, she’s a jock. The town’s already losing their minds over her being found in Eddie’s trailer, anyway. Are we really gonna fuel that fire by–”

 “Alright.” Steve has had enough, quite frankly. “I’ve had enough.” 

 Blessedly, Robin shuts her mouth. But then Max opens hers. “She has a point, you know. It’s Chrissy Cunningham.”

 “I know who it is,” he snaps. “Nancy and I are going, you goons are staying here. We’re using the guise of wanting a report for the school paper.” 

 “Right,” Robin scoffs, rolling her eyes with a sarcastic and disbelieving smile. “I’m sure she can’t wait to give an interview about her drug deal.” 

 It’s a good point, but he wouldn’t dare let her know that thought crosses his mind; the last thing he needs is for her ego to be more inflated than it already is. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. All they need to do is get in and get a moment alone with her. It shouldn’t take long to convince her that they know what she’s going through, on some level. Hopefully they can convince her to take the Walkman, too. 

 “Whatever,” he murmurs as he shuts the car off. “We just need to get through the door, that’s all.”

 They do get through the door, and although he’s seen a lot of pain and death and just generally messed up shit, something about looking at Chrissy Cunningham, broken and beaten and scared, feels different. Worse. 

 ~~~~

 Somehow, all at once, they make complete sense and no sense at all. Their claims have to be bogus, but at the same time, they can’t be. Because while a part of her knows this to be the stuff of fantasy, another part of her saw it all. 

 Another version of Hawkins, right below them. It would make sense that that’s where she was. Maybe she wasn’t in her own mind at all. Their words serve as a reminder of sorts. Their claims that she was in another dimension, being held there by some evil sorcerer who also happens to have killed Fred Benson from Yearbook, make sense somehow. Because they make her remember how she got out. 

 She remembers Eddie, seeing him in the distance over the monster’s right shoulder, his face more scared than anything she’s ever seen as he stares up at her desperately. She hears Freddie Mercury's voice cutting through the sound of the clock and then she hears her name as he watches in terror and calls out for her. 

 He saved her. He got her a moment of clarity that allowed her to hurt that demon just enough for him to drop her. He stood there begging for her to wake up, a beacon for her to run towards until she dropped to the ground and was back in her own body, screaming and crying and needing him again. 

 “Is he okay?” she asks, interrupting their theories and their claims in her infinite distraction, because no one has been able to tell her anything about him since she woke up. Her parents came by and told her how horrified they were to learn that she had been found in the trailer park. But her mother’s words weren’t born from fear of her child’s safety– she was worried about what this would do to her image. Just like Jason. 

 So when Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington showed up at her door, something told her that she had to let them in and send her parents away. 

 Nancy seems to take a moment to shift as Chrissy changes the subject, but she quickly answers, “He will be.” 

 That means no, she tells herself. “What happened to him? After…” 

 Nancy answers carefully, calculated words telling Chrissy that perhaps the truth goes a bit further beyond what she says. “He knew how it would look when the police questioned him. That is, he knew there wouldn’t be any acceptable answer to the question of what exactly happened to you that would prove his innocence. So he decided to lie low and let things die down a bit.”

 Chrissy nods with a soft smile on her lips, surprising herself when pride swells in her chest at Eddie’s resourcefulness. It’s true; nothing he could say would make anyone believe the truth. “Good,” she says softly. “And he’s alright?” 

 “Well,” Nancy starts just as carefully, her face falling just a bit. “Um, after Fred… it was easy for everyone to jump to conclusions about… that is, what with Eddie having technically fled the scene–” 

 “You said he was alright,” she accuses with a bit more gusto this time. “I thought he was safe; are the police after him?!” 

 “Chrissy,” Steve offers this time, giving her a charming smile that does nothing to quell the storm raging in the pit of her stomach. “Eddie’s okay. We’ve been bringing him food and beer while we work to clear his name. He’s got a sick place by the water,” he says, as if it’s meant to be a joke, but she maintains her pinched brows and her deep frown. “I know you want to help Eddie; it’s pretty clear how much you care about him–” 

 “I don’t–” 

 “But our biggest concern right now is you.” 

 “Me?”

 She escaped, though. She got out, with Eddie’s help. She got away from that demon they’re calling Vecna and she sent Jason away and she’s never felt so free before. She won, didn’t she? 

 “We think he might try to attack again. We can’t be sure, but it seems like the music is what helped keep you safe the last time, right? We came to bring you this.” He lifts his backpack and pulls out a Walkman, placing it on the bed beside her leg. “We’re going to take care of Vecna, we promise. But in the meantime, we need you to have this playing all the time.” 

 She opens the top to see the tape and notes some handwriting that she doesn’t explicitly recognize, although a part of her knows exactly who spelled out the careful, blocky letters across the top of the tape. 

 QUEEN – Somebody To Love. 

 With her voice quiet, with the fleeting memory of his voice pulling her from that curse and the song breaking through to her subconscious, with the memory of the weight of hand on her cheek and his vow to stay with her, she asks, “Is this…?”

 “Eddie made you a mix,” Nancy says with a small smile. “He says that was playing when you came back. We think it’s the key to keeping Vecna away.”

 Eddie made you a mix. 

 It doesn’t mean much, or it shouldn’t, but still, her heart feels warm for the first time in as long as she can remember, and her eyes burn as tears threaten her, but it’s finally from something other than pain. 

 “Thank you,” she whispers. She places the headphones over her ears and smiles when she hears that first ringing note of her favorite song. 

 “Do you know when they’ll discharge you?” Nancy asks gently, and Chrissy almost lets herself believe that it’s some kind of invitation before shaking the thought away. 

 “At least a week, I think. The doctor wanted me to put on a little weight before–” 

 She cuts herself off, recalling the look of horror on her mother’s face as she stared down at her only daughter. It’s okay, she had promised, hand squeezing Chrissy’s in her attempt to be comforting. We’ll get you home and make sure that extra weight comes off, sweetie. 

 “And they need to make sure I don’t get an infection.” 

 “Okay, good,” Nancy says. “You’ll be safe here. Just keep the mix going. I think Eddie said he put almost an hour's worth of loops on it.” 

 She smiles again at the thought of his dedication and wonders when she became so obsessed with Eddie Munson. 

 Maybe it was the moment she saw him and knew that he really, truly saw her. Because no one else ever has. 

 “Is there any, like, message you want us to give him, or something?” 

 She thinks about Steve’s question for a minute or so, because of course there is. She wants him to know how thankful she is, how sorry she is that he’s practically an outlaw because of her, how badly she wants to feel his hand on her cheek again, how definitively she’s made up her mind about breaking up with Jason, but she can’t tell Steve and Nancy any of that. Somehow, it feels too… intimate to share. 

 So, instead, she just smiles, and nods, and says, “Tell him I'm looking forward to seeing him play at the Hideout next Tuesday.” 

 ~~~~

 Max is next. 

 She said she saw the clock on the wall of the school hallway, the same one that Chrissy apparently told Ms. Kelly about, according to her files. It feels wrong to have information about her therapy sessions, but he can’t do anything but shake away the guilty feeling because they needed to learn more about Vecna, and at least he knows she has the tape and she knows to listen to it nonstop. 

 And he knows that she wants to see him at the Hideout. Considering how things are going for him, it probably won’t be next Tuesday, but still… She wants to see him. 

 Lucas says word has gotten around that Chrissy elected to end her relationship with Jason. Apparently, the story goes that she had some sort of coming to Christ moment when she woke up and decided that she needs to dedicate herself to Jesus and Jesus only. Of course, being corrupted by Eddie “The Freak” Munson’s satanic cult means that she needs to protect herself from the devil with… yeah. Whatever. He didn’t really get the whole story.

 She broke up with Jason. She knows Eddie isn’t a satanic cult leader. She wants to see him at the Hideout next Tuesday. Can he start to allow himself to believe that maybe… 

 No, probably not. 

 Although he wants nothing more than to imagine Chrissy ruthlessly dumping Jason, Jason’s story that she came to the decision to end things out of fear is fueled by the death of another basketball player, Patrick McKinney. His body was found the same way Fred Benson’s was, the same way Chrissy’s almost was. His death disbands the Hellfire Club by order of the Sheriff, a fact that makes Eddie roll his eyes and laugh and want to cry a little bit. There’s a curfew now, too, which means he’s alone from sundown to just a little after sunup, no longer able to distract himself from the images that play in his head over and over again. 

 Chrissy snapping in half. Chrissy’s head exploding like Fred’s and Patrick’s. Chrissy’s eyes popping into her skull. Chrissy dying in his arms. Chrissy dying alone after he runs from her.

 It strikes him that he considers this group of misfits his friends now. A week after he went on the lamb feels like a lifetime of friendship somehow, and he’s grateful as he puts on Somebody To Love by Queen, tricking himself into believing that maybe his version is playing in time with Chrissy’s. 

 He barely sleeps, and when he does, for the first time since eighth grade, he dreads dreaming about her. 

~~~~

~~~~

[bokutsumie]

Hihi ! Since requests are open may I ask for kyotani (GRR SO YUMMY QLOSKSJAKAJ) iwaizumi, yaku, and akaashi if Y/n was cooking something and being like “baby come here and taste this for me” and grabbing their jaw and holding it out for him to try 🧍🏽‍♀️

HAIKYUU BOYS REACTING TO YOU GRABBING THEIR JAW TO TASTE YOUR COOKING

-> kyotani, iwa, yaku, akaashi

-> genre: fluff

-> warnings: food, swearing

-> gender neutral

-> hi bae 😏 you're my guinea pig for the new headcanon format i decided to try ! i don't know if i like this (short little scenario blurbs), or bulleted lists better. anyways i hope you like it ✊��� sorry kyotani's is kind of bad idk how to write for his character very well <\3

## KYOTANI !!

he was sitting on the sofa when you called him, "hey baby can you come over here and taste this for me?" and he responded quickly with "what is it? i'm sure it's fine."

"baby please? i think it needs more salt but i don't wanna make it too salty."

he stood up from his position on the couch and walked over next to you looking at the closed pot.

he was going to open the drawer next to the stove, however you rotated your body to block the drawer, opened the pot on the stove, scooped up some food, and grabbed his jaw while you shoved the wooden spoon in his mouth.

kyotani kentaro™ has stopped working. please restart the program and try again.

he wasn't the type to blush or get flustered, but you had always been his weak spot. he felt butterflies in his stomach, and decided to just enjoy the domestic moment between you two.

he's a bit of a closed off type of person and doesn't initiate much, but when you pull shit like this he loves it.

"it's fine, how long until it's done? 'm fuckin starving."

## IWAIZUMI !!

"hey baby? can you come here for a second?"

you were standing in front of the stove, and the kitchen was a mess. you were used to cooking but you were trying something new and you just didn't quite know if it tasted right.

iwaizumi swiveled on his heels down the hallway of your shared apartment, and shuffled towards your backside. he hooked his thumbs in your front belt loops and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"what's up?" his voice was lower than usual, his daily afternoon nap had accidentally turned into an evening one, only having woke up fifteen minutes prior.

"can you taste this for me? it seems like it needs something but i don't know what." you spun around, he unhooked his thumbs from your belt loops and you saw him stood in front of you, his hair tossled and eyes half-lidded, slouching now that he wasn't holding onto you.

"mhm." he replied, sleep still laced in his voice.

but when you grabbed his jaw and he felt the spoon poking at his bottom lip, his eyes were not only completely open now but it seems that his hair has a life of its own, and it's all spiky like he's just done it.

a rosy red creeps up onto his cheeks as his gives you a wide stare and hesitantly takes the spoon into his mouth, still utterly focused on your fingers gently holding his chin.

he has butterflies doing backflips in his stomach right now, and can't seem to fathom why it was necessary for you to hold his chin, but he didn't care, he loved it nonetheless.

you saw that he looked much more awake now, and he replied to your previous question with "no, it's good. what spices did you use? i like it." but he still sounded sleepy.

"okay thank you! you're never gonna sleep tonight once you completely wake up. i told you to set your alarm for 3!"

## YAKU !!

"hey! get over here. is this good?" you asked as yaku walked through the front door, just getting home.

"aw, did you miss me that much?" he replied, his tone was teasing.

"not at all. now get your ass over here before i dump the pot on your head." you two would always tease each other. you knew the other person was joking, but most people around you always ended up thinking that you hated each other.

he shuffled to your side, taking his shoes off and throwing them against the wall next to the front door in the process. "you know, i wouldn't have to ask you for cooking advice if i made dinner." he said, a shit eating grin on his face and his hands in fists at his hips.

"oh shut up, you know you'd burn the house down if i even let you touch the microwave." you spoke, grabbing his jaw and shoving the spoon in his mouth.

he was startled, to say the least. his cheeks heated up involuntary as he tried to hide the fact that you may or may not have given him major butterflies.

"it's fine, just needs some salt." he said the last part quietly, just to irritate you a little more, he couldn't hurt his pride too much. he walked past you and dumped the spoon in the sink, but not before flicking the back of your head first. you rolled your eyes as you kept stirring. idiot, you thought.

## AKAASHI !!

you heard the thumping of his footsteps descending down the wooden stairs, signaling that akaashi was probably coming down to see how dinner was going. considering, you were supposed to be done with it twenty minutes ago.

akaashi wasn't impatient, he had just wondered if you hurt yourself or broke something because there had been less clangs and bangs coming from the kitchen for the past couple minutes.

"hey baby, can you come taste this for me? i've remade it tons of times and it just doesn't taste right."

"of course. i was a bit worried you had given up a while ago because it was kind of quiet. i'm glad you didn't because i'm hungry." his last sentence was a mumble. you're accompanied by him at your side not too short afterward.

"smells good," he slings a hand around your waist, "i'm sure it's fine, you made it." the last part hummed against your skull as he placed his lips on your forehead.

you turned in his grip and he still held his hand on your waist, adding his other to your left side now. now, you used one hand to hold the spoon, and the other cupped underneath it to make sure it wouldn't spill. you guided it toward him, and as he took the spoon in his mouth, you moved your free hand and placed a few fingers below his chin, making sure it didn't spill.

akaashi adored domestic moments like this, he wouldn't call himself a sap but he sure didn't mind having moments like these frequently. you stroked your thumb over his jaw a bit before you released your hand to place the spoon on the counter.

one of his hands moved up to squeeze your shoulder. "it's good, i like the flavor. we should eat soon so we can go to bed early, you look sleepy."

TAGS: @we-mentally-unstable @1itt1el0v3 @milktyama @cvsmixplant

be added to the taglist

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Atlas didn’t sleep. He didn’t want to; and, after his ordeal seeing past the thin curtain of reality, he realized that he didn’t technically need to. He worked, and then he did it again.

Sometimes, he’d crash. Like a computer program, he’d be forced to shut down before he could restart. He’d pass out on any given surface ( his bed, thankfully, more frequently, once he’d started to predict it ) , and then go on about his routine once he woke up. That was, assuming he hadn’t been abruptly woken by something else.

Atlas shot up in bed with a muffled scream. His hand had flown to his mouth, and still remained tightly there as his chest heaved with the effort to breathe. His hands moved to thread through his hair, head bowing and knees drawing up to his chest. He had such horrible visions, of lifetimes he’d lived and ones he didn’t remember, of tragedies he’d lived through and ones he knew weren’t his own. They were frightening and painful, all of them … and the force of nightmares seemed to enjoy frequently making him relive them.

He couldn’t just keep sitting there. It was too suffocating. The silence was too loud. Grabbing a jacket from near the door to his cabin, he slid it on and headed out for a mindless walk through the quiet ship in its night cycle. Arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his arms. He needed a distraction … stargazing from one of the window sets would do. // @calledstars 😭

@calledstars

Morgan had problems sleeping even before their time on the ship; insomnia and frequent nightmares saw to that. They had been prescribed some sleeping medication, but some nights those didn't work as well as Morgan hoped. And when they did? It was a coin toss as to whether or not they'd have a nightmare so intense it yanked them out of a deep sleep. They had tried to get a stronger prescription, but had been denied because they "couldn't be trusted not to self-medicate". (The Chief Medical Officer was just doing his job; it wasn't fair for Morgan to hold it against him. And it wasn't as if they could refute his claim either, nor could they explain that their circadian rhythm was so fucked up because they had been caught in a loop)

On this particular night, Morgan woke up with phantom pain in their left hand and tears drying on their cheeks. Another dream about their confrontation with Atlas in the warp core room. Teeth clinking together and stars exploding before their vision as the fire extinguisher collided with their head. The vice-like grip on their wrist and the sharp, burning pain as the crystal was ripped from their palm. The agony of clinging onto Atlas with that hand as the wormhole tried to rip him away. The dread sinking like a stone into their stomach as he slipped away.

Sleep constantly evaded Morgan no matter what they tried; jumping jacks, folding their laundry, organizing their craft drawer. Every time their head hit the pillow and they began to drift off, another terror would jump to the forefront of their mind. Even their infamous stubbornness had its limits, and eventually Morgan resigned themself to not getting any sleep for the remainder of the night. Thin cotton blanket draped over their shoulders like a cape, Morgan padded down the corridor. Gunther's ear-rupturing snores and the gentle hum of the ship's insides reminded Morgan that The Invincible II was alive. They hadn't woken up to a cold, dead ship.

They had no destination in mind, just movement for the sake of movement. Their mindless wandering eventually led them to a part of the ship they hadn't spent nearly enough time in; a more recreational section that housed the galley and break room. The windows- shattered with a loud crash that was swallowed up by the void of space. Alarms blared as Morgan was swept off their feet into the endless, glittering abyss of glass and stars. The cold seized them . The air in their lungs caused them to burst. The agony lasted for a single moment before death claimed them.- Morgan squeezed their eyes shut and sucked in a breath. Their toes curled against the cool linoleum floor. When they dared to open their eyes, the break room was peacefully silent. The stars on the other side of the glass twinkled. Morgan took in a deep breath. They were fine. They were safe. They would only have to be on the ship for a little while longer. They were...

... Not alone.

Silhouetted against the stars was a figure, occupying one of the small square tables. Too broad to be Lady, but not broad enough to be Wug. Someone else? No, no, no, not possible. Morgan had increased the ship's security. Everyone who was currently on The Invincible II was supposed to be there; not a single outlier. Morgan took a breath, wishing they had grabbed their PDA at the very least, and tip-toed towards the other person.

It was Atlas, looking out into the blanket of stars with a distant look on his face. Dressed down as he was, Morgan could see the dark blotches of skin tissue across his arms and shoulder. Their stomach lurched and their heart jumped into their throat. Whatever he had gone through in the wormhole... whatever he had been subjected to in that eternity, it hadn't been kind to him. Morgan still had scars; burns, gashes, and of course the electric burn-like scars on their left arm, blooming from the meaty part of their palm. Whatever Atlas had encountered seemed to have taken out chunks. And that was only on his arms.

(They remembered the stink of burning flesh and ozone as shots from Lady's blaster melted through cloth and skin and muscle and bone. The horrible, rattling breaths Atlas took as he defended his Captain; somehow still alive despite the smoldering crater in his chest.)

Morgan shook their head again and waved a hand to get Atlas's attention. "Couldn't sleep either?"