#like if my brain just became a radio receiver

[katyspersonal]

I love the dreams in which the chorus of Hail the Nightmare sings for me... It is a different song every time, but they are always so beautiful, so... genuine? Invoking emotions I can't even identify. They are entrancing and elevating. Singing of Choir (that I presume is in Ebrietas lyrics) just feels so cold and hollow in comparison, it doesn't have fire in it.

Really would love to see (or rather, hear, haha) another dream like that.

[rbbrbikerthorp]

A Tribute To Helmets

I grew up during the Apollo space missions, and whilst I didn't show a particular interest in NASA's exploits, I received a kid's space suit and helmet as a present. I vividly recall how different things sounded when I put the helmet over my head. I think that was the point when my kinky fascination for helmets began.

From my childhood, I remember watching an episode of the early Flash Gordon series (in monochrome) where Ming places a helmet on the head of one of his dissenting subordinates. Once the helmet was strapped on, the man became compliant, passive and drone-like.

At that moment I realised that something designed for safety and protection could also have very nefarious uses. Combined with visual and audio stimulation, the helmet could also contain electronic circuitry that can disrupt the natural processes in the brain. Helmets could also contain syringes, which can deliver chemicals and other substances directly into the head to suppress and indivual's throughts.

So here is my AI tribute to the Helmet, and how, when placed on the head it can strip away emotion, knowledge, purpose and individuality.

This man in his early twenties was just starting out in life. He had dreams of being successful, having the perfect suburban life - wife, kids and the kind of home people dream of. He had just agreed to join a multinational conglomerate, and as part of his induction he was required to take a medical. So on the appropriate day at the specifed time he turns up for what he thought would be a routine appointment.

On arrival, he was taken into a private room. He was asked to disrobe and was given a set of leathers and boots to wear, which, despite all his reservations he put on.

Once the leathers were zipped up and boots were on his feet, he was escorted to a room where a lab assistant placed a full-face helmet onto his head. He was then taken into a room filled with tech and video screens. The technician typed some commands into a computer and the helmet activated.

Isolated wearing the helmet, he was subjected to audio and visual stimulation; stripping away his own throughts and identity. Replacing it with a predetermined 'template', which the company would deploy as necessary. Thoughts of family, kids and friends replaced with absolute loyalty to the company.

'Physical' completed, the company has deployed him 'into the field'. Now a biker, his primary objective is to ride around and recruit candidates to join the company.

Meanwhile...

Some scientists are about to record the disruptive effects of their advanced helmets on three 'volunteers'. Once the helmets are fitted the volunteers will follow instructions and head to drone processing.

Elsewhere, two cyclists have been given new 'aerodynamic' helmets for a week to try.

Affixed to their heads, they will have no desire to ever remove their helmets - ever.

Sticking with a sport theme, the new coach has provided the team with revolutionary and technologically advanced helmets. These not only offer superior protection to the head, but also allow the coach a direct interface into the players' minds. It's going to be a successful season for this team.

There are worried faced amongst this army platoon - and they should be worried.

They will follow the General's orders to place the helmet on their heads. When they do their individual thoughts will become suppressed as they turn into droned soldiers. No more briefings, no reliance on old technology like radio transmissions, which can be hacked into by the enemy. The helmet will ensure all orders issued by the commanders are transmitted directly into their brains.

There are changes afoot in civilian life too. A new force for law and order is being created. One by one members of the police force are invited to undergo a routine medical.

Soon they will all be fitted with helmets; permanently connecting them directly to the company network, with orders transmitted directly into their brains.

There is to be a zero tolerance of crime - even minor misdemeanors. So they begin to 'clean up the streets'.

Chavs and scallies are rounded up and each one is fitted with a helmet...

Once the work of the helmet is done, a new 'drone' is sent out onto the streets as a 'recruiter' for the company.

They're also recruiting in colleges and universities...

And back in the boardroom, the executives are monitoring progress of the company's plan.

Each member of the so-called 'C-suite' has been given a helmet to allow speedier decision making and negate the need for laptops, smartphones and video screens. Directly connected to the company's network through their helmet, they follow the instructions fed directly into their brains - following them to the letter. After all each helmet ensures they are exemplary servants of the company.

Hope you enjoyed my AI tribute to the helmet. Depending on the feedback I might do a second helmet blog.

Oh, in case you were wondering which is my favourite helmet, it's my Arai Corser, pictured below.

[kaneandfeels]

SO A LOT OF YOU ASKED A LOT OF QUESTIONS So we answered every one we were asked

1. What is an element of your story that surprised you?

How quickly the Holmes and Watson dynamic we used as a writing crutch entirely flipped through our characters growing and developing. Feels became the star rather than the sounding board in a way that is really organic and good - Jack

Its scope. I had dabbled with absurdism before Kane and Feels, but never gone full existential horror. I’m more of a like quiet melodrama type so i love that jack was able to get me writing more esoteric bullshit- Oli

I don’t know if it's surprising, but there’s a tenderness to a lot of the series that I wasn't expecting when we started. It sets its tropes out strongly, and then the characters interact in that space and take it in wildly different directions, while remaining true to the genre. - Jude

2. Is audio drama the only medium you've worked in? How does it compare to other mediums?

Audio dramas are the only form I've ever received feedback for really, I have a literature degree and I am constantly making stories but I don't really have any other published works like this. - jack

I’ve studied in other mediums, but not worked in them. I’ve done bits of filming at school but found quickly my talents laid in sound. - Jude

I’m an audio nerd, through and through. Started as a musician, became a DJ, wrote a sitcom, did a degree, made some docs and factual programmes and then it's been audio dramas since then. It's a difficult medium to master but a rewarding one when its’ done right. - Oli

3. What are some audio dramas that inspire you? Both in general and for your podcast.

Welcome to nightvale was a big early touchstone, the work of Dirk Maggs like batman knightfall meant a lot to me as a child, I had it on cassette tapes

HItchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the radio series) is a big one. I listened to it religiously when growing up. Neverwhere was another one that inspired me from a sound perspective. The shifting brickwork always tickles my brain. - Jude

I listened to a lot of HP as a kid, while going tobed. I graduated onto the BBC7 ‘Comedy Club’ which played a mix of half hour sitcoms and stand up comedy vehicles between 10 and midnight when I was going to sleep… occasionally I would drift into the ‘seventh dimension’ where I’d hear the man in black, Blake 7 and all other sci-fi horrory affairs.  When Nightvale turned up, that was a game changer, cause it opened the field to people like me to go make audio dramas without the clout of the BBC behind us. Same with Wooden overcoats. 

More specifically though, there is a direct line between Aker and Blacker’s “beyond Belief’ on the Thrilling adventure hour’ and the early drafts of Kane and Feels

4. Who is a character that took you by surprise?

Councilman Geoff Grace. Go listen for why - Jack

Jeanine (the housewife) wasn’t surprising, but she was shocking. I just loved her framing and existence in the story. It's one of those ones where you can feel the screen on the scene. you ‘re looking in at this strange commercial of a woman as she lives this warped 50’s vibe. - Jude

For me, its the monster from wonderland. I had this idea for something grotesque, that pulled apart the idea that words don’t hurt. Of course words hurt. That’s why they can lead us to violence or action or whatever. So I had this idea of a monster who said words ‘scar from the inside’. Jack said ‘this is great, what is this monster?”…. And i hadn’t thought that far ahead. I said ‘I dunno, that’s your job, spookyman’ - so suddenly its the voice of the goddess of spite, we get Vivi P, the most terrifying italian woman ever to grace our studios to do her voice, and then pepper her in through out the series making her a serious big bad. Didn’t know she’d have that milage considering it was essentially a joke about sticks and stones breaking bones. - Oli

5. If you're the writer, how did casting/producing change how you thought about the podcast?

No one gave a fuck about our opinions on this particualr subject. - Oli

6. If you are a voice actor or audio editor, what is your favorite blooper moment?

There's a line with constituents in season one episode 4 that I just couldn't say - Jack

I think a lot of our weird bloopers end up in the show, either as the take or buried beneath some stuff. Season 2 is lousy with them, from Chippie’s final monologue to the sound of me and Oli in Thornbush’s charity shop. To even the joke about Paul Bearer in the final episode. - Jude

There’s one take we never used, where Ali Cambell, Jeanines’ actor, improvised a story about their first hamster. In the story, she crushes it to death. We loved it at the time, but it was arguably better than anything any of us had written so I personally coward’d out and didn’t put it in. - Oli (Id’ forgotten about that - Jude)

7. If you could make a crossover (canon or non canon) with any other audio drama, what would it be?

Am I allowed to say ‘Camlann’? Even though its very recent we’d slot in very well.or Victoriocity - Jude

I mean, I want to be on hello from the magic tavern, but not as kane - Jack

Sandman. Wanna work with Dirk. or What’s the Frequency or if Rose Drive ever resurrects.  - Oli

8. What is an inside joke or reference that is hidden in your podcast?

So many wrestling kayfabe references -  Jack

I always think of ‘GET BACK VILE BEAST’ *dunstan throws a spanner at a bird* - The real joke is that a lot of the rocks from St Dunstan made it into Camlann episode seven when the hill opens up into the underground.

The inside joke for me is the loops. “Jude’s discount Loops” - hacking these beautiful pieces of music that Oli has made and getting them to work. They’re all like 14 minutes long and there’s chopping that needs to be done. 

9. What are some of your favorite podcasts to listen to?

World Beyond Number. Westminster Insider, Too many Tabs, Chapo Trap House. I’m a trash person who listens to trash. (other than WBN, most exciting actual play on the scene RN) = Oli

Is it terrible I’m more of a music person? I’m currently spiraling back into Nonagon Infinity by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. I listen to old audiobooks to sleep. At the moment it's the good omens radio series with Mark Heap and Peter Serafinowitz. - Jude

I have an elaborate weekly schedule of podcasts I listen to, my current favorite is 'mom can't cook'

10. Are the podcasts you make / enjoy making the same kind you enjoy listening to (genre, formatting, etc)?

I mostly listen to character improv comedy and comedy reviews of film and wrestling. A little bit of D&D actual play too. so I guess... no? - J

I can’t just say ‘I don’t listen to podcasts’... I mean I can and I don’t. - Jude

No. - Oli

11. Free space! Tell me something cool about your podcast!

The music is crazy good - Jack

The Sound Design is once in a generation. - OliThe writing is ambitious and exciting - Jude

[kanmom51]

JK the crowned 👑 spoiler king

cr./to the creators of the media used in this post.

Touched on this a little yesterday here:

He really is.

The king of spoilers.

And he seems to also be the gift that keeps on giving too, lol. The layers upon layers of his spoilers are being revealed to us slowly but surely. Can't wait to see if he has more in store for us.

So, what did he give us so far?

JK playing JVKE's Golden Hour, showing us the JM tattoo (lest us forget closing with "your the love of my life").

Next we have him telling us:

🐰 I want to be a bartender. I think it's going to be fun.

Next he does the butterfly out of nowhere with his hair tie.

Did I mention him coming back for live no. 4 on white day, half an hour before SMF pt. 2 teaser was landing to tell us to look forward to it?

And finally, well, for now that we know of that is, we have his cooking live with a pre-prepared guitar to play Letter for us. JK, not the one that did the guitar playing for the song, made the effort of learning the cords and playing it for us just before the album and the hidden track, a song that he took part in, landed.

He keeps on doing this, JK.

But not with any of the other members.

So, JM spoiler king will be the more accurate description in his case.

Funny how JK keeps doing this with the one member big chunks of this fandom think he's no longer close with. All while he is radio silent about the others.

What was it that JK told us in the past?

Well, obviously there has been a lot of concentration going on with these spoilers...

None of the other members received this treatment from JK, not even Hobi, whom JK is undeniably super close with.

JK will dance and laugh and tease the others after their releases, but no spoilers were given, and especially no lives just sitting and watching said members songs, shows, compilations just for the sake of that alone. Fully entranced. Unwilling to even look at and totally uninterested in the comments during said live.

Only JM.

And I'll raise you another one.

JK knows.

These spoilers come out of knowledge.

JK knows JM's songs, JM's projects, JM's choreos, JM's MVs before we do.

And you'd say, "well, they are part of the band, no?" But you see, first of all JM being super busy preparing for his first solo album release wouldn't be in touch with them all on a daily basis and definitely not in a manner that they all know the comings and goings of his projects/songs/choreos/MVs. For example, Yoongi didn't even know about Letter.

So yeah, JK knew and knows all these details, down to SMF pt. 2 choreo, down to the set of Like crazy MV and JM's bartending duties there. All before it landed. All before we knew.

To sum it up with a nice little bow:

TKKs are right. Ex Jikookers are right. Those two, most definitely drifted apart, have zero to do with each other, don't even like each other anymore. So much so they can't stand to be next to each other, in each other's presence nor talk to each other. JK's supposed vocals on Letter are AI, it's all a big fat lie they came up with to placate the Jikookers that were rioting in the streets. And hugging, eww, totally out of the question. No hugging allowed. If they communicate it's through Tae, JK's new boyfie. Cause Tae, he gone and dumped Jenni's skinny ass the second JK became available.

Hell nah!!!

But because I already went there, talk about changing the subject, lol, I was sent this clip today from my daughter:

This:

People, there you have it.

[thebrightestlodge]

What's the conceit of Godcleaver's world? I keep hearing about individual characters within, but I don't know much about what the setting is fully.

Oh! Can answer! Full Info under the readmore, but Godcleaver is my comic! It's a psychedelic barbarian horror where our hero is someone who has to kill a lot but he doesn't like it. If you want t4t dyke horror and opinions on being angry about trauma (or jsut want to see weirdos be weird), you can read it here! Just be warned, it's jsut started and definitely will get weird!

Godcleaver is our story's title, but it takes place on a planet called Aurgelmir. Aurgelmir, The Primordial Nightmare, The Corpse Planet! Almost like our own but defined by how constant and terrifying mutation and evolution is. Some parts of the world can go from inhabitable to livable in a few years. Almsot always some weird pseudo-evolution/spiritual apocalypse happening, it's considered normal. Animals constantly mutate, radiation is the norm, and body modification and mutilation is a belief as constant as belief in the gods. The Gods are ALSO the other important part here! All-Seeing and All-Obsessive, they're mostly seen as lights (specifically the space between the lights). They take and choose and do strange things to world and especially the people in it. They speak through Augers, chosen prophets who are radio receivers for messages from the Gods. Abducted quite a bit and are attuned to the world in a way beyond the normal man.

Aurgelmirians are regular humans (jsut varying stages of human evolution, Cro-Magnon/Neanderthals/Homo Sapien are the ones we see the most) Bioengineering but in a Giger/body mutation way, mostly for medical stuff. Surgery is the new sex if you love sepsis, y'know? Primordial man became their own Ancient Astronauts because no one else was visiting. Psychic and temporal reality shifts at will, not through gods, but through human perseverance (and scary brain stuff, you'd be amazed at what a Neanderthal can do using jsut an extra 2% of brain power)

They're gross and weird and speak like radio recordings from space, but not because they're mean. They're survivors of a gross and weird world, it's how they adapt! Think this tweet thread. They can survive anything and can do anything jsut because they're happy to survive! Humans persevere!

Hopefully(?) this explains it a bit better! A lot comes from specifics about people or stuff in the comic (especially stuff with gods I keep close to teh vest)

[prince-liest]

The last bus stop in hell is a new favourite. I went absolutely insane when I realised what the fuck Alastor did to get out. The gun shots felt genuinely shocking, I could feel just how angry and out of control Alastor felt when he pulled the trigger and it wasn't even from his perspective!!!!! Genuinely think the fact that you've written this from Angel's pov was a genius move, it keeps the mystery of not ever quite knowing what Alastor's thinking that we have in canon whilst still letting us feel just how angry and violated and reactionary Alastor is in that moment when he lifts the gun and tells Val to beg so he can force Val into a position of weakness and kill him like that. Waffhdhdhgv going crazy stupid. Genuinely think Alastor's pov would have made this a tougher sell (you've kept the fic really kind despite everything. You haven't dragged pain out for the sake of showing pain and I think it works.)

Thinking about how Val uses what he taught Angel, how in your fic Angel mirrors Val is so many little ways because he learnt everything from him and yet still, Angel is a genuinely kind, caring individual despite everything when Val so obviously... Isn't

Thinking about the fact that as proven here, Alastor could look like shit and still no one would dare to so much as look at him too long

Thinking about how genuinely good husk is to still want to make sure "Alastor's" going to be ok even though he's scared shitless. thinking about how kind he is to Angel

Also LOVING the little. Anon culture you have built here. Giving myself a call sign emote.

- ☠️ -spirits

It's 8am and I've already been awake for 4 hours and the brain cells I have remaining just want to go /cups hands around this ask and holds it close to my heart

You have pinpointed so many of the things I was hoping to convey in this story and it just gives me the warm and fuzzies. I was a little unsure about how the subject matter of this fic would be received and y'all have consistently made me very happy I decided to write it. Just. Heart emoji!! Thank you, anon! (Also what a great emoji to choose, hahaha. The anon culture kinda built itself, ILY guys and also cannot believe there are so many!)

Speaking of which: MORE ASKS UNDER THE CUT! If you sent me something about the fic last night it's probably down there!!

THE NEW CHAPTER WAS INSANEE ???? SCREAMING OH MY GOD ALASTOR STRAIGHT UP SHOT VALENTINO ??? (until he was nothing but mush 😨) speechless beyond words but it was SO good and cathartic omg i was literally on the edge of my seat in suspense 😭😭😭

Hahaha, thank you so much! Honestly absolutely lovely to hear—I think the general response to this chapter can be summarized as "oh my god" and this pleases me immensely. 💛

Angel Dust finally being able to cry when Husk backed away from him, ouch my heart 😭 Also Alastor not being able to use any of his usual radio demon powers but still managing to be the scariest person in the room. Very well written. I don't usually read stuff this dark but I'm really glad I decided to.

Huskerdust are my little gold vein of goodness threading through the horrible bedrock of the rest of this fic, haaa, and I really wanted that moment of catharsis for Angel himself... and YES!! Alastor was a scary motherfucker before he ever became the Radio Demon and I'm so glad that came through. Is he okay? No. But he's ready to make that everybody else's problem.

Thank you for taking a chance on this very murdered dove! I am genuinely very flattered to have the opportunity to make a dark fic a nonetheless good read for you!

An absolutely stellar chapter, as always! Your writing kills it every time and your descriptions are staggering in their detail! I adore how many emotions you made me go through during Alastor's entrance alone; from realizing that he escaped on his own, learning that his leg was injured in the process, to finding out that his mouth is bloodied. I crumpled on into myself. Agh! Of *course* he'd chew through it rather than just breaking/snapping it off. Truly a one of a kind man. So much showing without telling! It's all wonderful and your work is always such a delight to read. I'm not normally one who physically reacts to writing, but wow some of the scenes in this chapter had me flinching! This was most definitely a ramble that I could have simply commented under the chapter itself; all that to say that I am very excited for the next chapter and all of the aftermath to follow! 💫💫💫💫💫

P.S. Thank you for giving Alastor a gun. It is what he deserves. ❤️

Alastor DOES deserve a gun, ehehehe. Honestly so pleased that this has stood out to you as an example of showing without telling specifically because Angel Dust's extremely traumatized POV has been godly for opportunities to do that and it's been a very fun way to write. Gosh, this ask just means a lot to me in general, thank you SO much for your lovely words!

[circuslemon]

WOAG

Gonna be sort of spamming art dumps because I wanna share my notebook doodles.

I'm going to be posting about 2-3 years worth of notebook doodles so I split them up into categories that compliment eachother.

This post is themed after things relating to me, EX, self portrait doodles, the cat I put in my signature, sonas, random doodles, and just any lil doodles that don't really connect to anything I wanna make a sepparate post about.

This doodle comes from my Autism brain reading the french word for vegetables on a can of vegetable soup ((I'm Canadian)) and becoming obsessed with the word.

This happens often

I mis-remembered some song lyrics I heard on the radio while I was in the hospital and just

I straightened my hair for the dirt time while my bangs were long and I became off-brand Sia. ((My hair is naturally alot wavier irl then how I draw it))

I was wearing my jacket I painted to look like Nagito Komaeda's, and it made me very happy.

I had a dream one night about receiving a Lil plush duck with three eyes, one on its neck, I loved it so much I drew up a sewing pattern when I woke up ((you are allowed ro create your own)) he had the weird thready fur some webkinz have.

This page was me just doodling and writing down the first thoughts that come to mind

And my brain just

I ended up creating my snail sona

((My brain is full of the Vocaloid song, Colorbars, by GHOST))

Maybe 1-2 years later, while I was in the hospital, I redesigned my snail sona and confirmed that I was, in fact, a snail. ((I also did a full traditional piece - it's on my deviantart))

Reiny is my sona. I made for an original closed species I made, you'd be able to find my species somewhere on my toyhou.se profile ((though I still need to reorganize my account sobs)) The species is reffered to as Bridge gaurdians and are based on these Lil ghosts with long legs I like to make.

This is my Dungeons and Dragons sona, They are a Leech that takes control of a dead body, in which I have to redesign.

Their name is Marshel

☆WILL BE CONTINUED IN REBLOGS☆

[mrs-johansson]

Chapter 4: Captain America: The Winter Soldier - Partners in crime

Part 5:

We pulled up outside an abandoned military base where the signal led us. “The file came from these coordinates,” said Natasha as she pocketed the device. “So did I,” Steve spoke.

As we were walking further into the camp it became more interesting. “This camp is where I was trained,” he said. “Changed much?” I questioned thee-soldier. “A little.”

“This is a dead end. Zero heat signature, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off,” Natasha said as she was trying to find the signal pinpoint.

Then I noticed a building that was odd at this specific place. “I don’t think that’s allowed to be here, is it?” I pointed at it and Steve frowned. “Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards of the barracks. This building is in the wrong place.”

Rogers opened the lock with his shield and we were in in no time. Turning on the lights there was a huge SHIELD logo on the wall and the room filled with desks that seemed like an office.

“This is SHIELD.” “Maybe where it started.”

Then I noticed three pictures on the wall. “I don’t think it’s a maybe,” I said as I recognized all three. Howard Stark, Peggy Carter, and Col. Chester Phillips. “There’s your grandfather,” Nat poked my side with her elbow. “Howard.” “Who's the girl?” Natasha asked with a slight smirk. “Peggy Carter, one of the founders of SHIELD.”

Steve kept his eyes on the picture before turning away without a word. Nat looked at me with a confused look but I just mouthed a ‘later’ to her.

After we found an elevator we quickly realized that there was more to this place.

It took us to a room full of old computers, it was like a Time Machine.

“This can't be the data point, this technology is ancient,” Nat spoke out loud before noticing a flash drive port. We locked eyes and I nodded toward it. She put the driver in it and activated the computer.

“Initiate system?” Spoke the computer. “Y-E-S, spells yes,” Nat typed in then started smiling. “Shall we play a game?” She turned around. “It's from a movie that…” “Yeah, I saw it,” but Steve was quick to shut her down. “Next time,” I smiled at her but then the computer started talking.

“Rogers, Steven. Born, 1918. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born, 1984. Stark, Y/n. Born, 1989.” The voice clearly had an accent, I just didn’t know what type of. But the biggest concern was how does a hundred million years old computer know us.

“It's some kind of a recording,” I think she was trying to stay calm with this sentence.

“I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am,” the computer screen showed an old photo of Dr. Arnim Zola. “Do you know this thing?” Asked Nat.

“Arnim Zola, a German scientist. I studied a couple of his theories,” I said as his face burned into my mind from the dozens of sleepless nights of studying.

“He worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years,” Steve added while rounding the main computer.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972 I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body, my mind, however, that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.” “That doesn’t sound disgusting at all,” I murmured and Natasha just squeezed her elbow into my side and I just frowned at her.

“How did you get here?” Steve asked more aggressively. “Invited.” “It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value,” I said.

“They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own,” said then I guess Dr. Zola.

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull.” “No, I didn’t,” I looked at him with a weird look, doesn’t he know? “Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” “Prove it,” ordered Steve.

“Accessing archive.” The computer screen showed them old footage of Johann Schmidt/Red Skull, of the original SHIELD founders. And he spoke about the history of HYDRA.

“That's impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” Natasha pressed. “Accidents will happen.”

The computer screen showed us HYDRA had killed Howard and Maria Stark making it look like a car accident along with the recent death of Fury.

“HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero sum.” With anger, Steve suddenly smashed the computer screen. “What's on this drive?” I asked.

“Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.” “What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” Natasha jumped to action. “The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.” Suddenly the doors started to close, Steve tried to stop them by throwing his shield in between them but it was too late.

“We got a bogey. Short-range ballistic. 30 seconds tops.” “Who fired it?” I asked. “SHIELD.”

“I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain. Admit it, it's better this way. We're both of us...out of time.” Steve noticed a small opening on the ground, he threw the metal door aside and just as the place exploded he threw all three of us into the hole and protected us with his shield, then we managed to get out from under the building rubble just as some agents arrived to roam the area for us.

***

“I think I know a place to lay low,” Stev said as we were driving away from the camp. “You have friends? That are alive?” I asked from the backseat. “I just met him, don’t be rude,” he said. “I’m just surprised.” “Thanks.”

We got there in the morning. It was already bright and all three of us had some sleep, taking turns in driving.

When I saw the smaller family house, I was very curious about Steve's friend. I bet it’s a grandpa.

Steve knocked on the door and in a couple of seconds, a guy opened the door with a very surprised look on his face. “Hey, man.” “I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low,” Steve said. “Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Natasha added the important detail. “He’s not a grandpa?” I looked at Steve and he just sighed. “Not everyone.”

“I’m Y/n Stark, by the way, we haven’t met,” I introduced myself to the man as we entered the house. “Sam Wilson. Stark, huh?” “Yup.” “Does he know that you’re a fugitive?” Asked Sam. “Am I really a fugitive if I’m fighting for the good? I guess I am though, but no, he doesn’t know.”

***

“So, the question is: who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?” She leaned against the counter. “Pierce.” “Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world,” I added. “But he's not working alone, Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.” “So was Jasper Sitwell.” “So, the real question is: how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?” Steve asked and Sam jumped in. “The answer is: you don't.” He dropped a file on the table. “What’s this?” I asked. “Call it a resume.” Natasha picked up a photo of Sam with his team. “Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you,” she looked up. “You didn't say he was a pararescue.”

“I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs. What did you use, a stealth chute?” I asked. “No. These.” He handed Steve the file, and heopened it and read it. “I thought you said you were a pilot.” “I never said pilot,” he shook his head with a smile.

“I can't ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason,” Steve argued. “Dude, Captain America needs my help. There's no better reason to get back in,” Sam said. “Oh no another fanboy,” I sat down. “Where can we get our hands on one of these things?” Asked THE captain. “The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall.” Steve shared a look between Nat and I and with a nod, it was done. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

[tallmantall]

James Donaldson on Mental Health - Talking to a Loved One With Suicidal Thoughts

University of Denver professor of social work Stacey Freedenthal joins RadioEd to discuss how we can help those we love when they're struggling the most If you or a loved one are having suicidal thoughts, call or text 988. RadioEd is a biweekly podcast created by the DU Newsroom that taps into the University of Denver’s deep pool of bright brains to explore new takes on today’s top stories. See below for a transcript of this episode. Show Notes This episode of RadioEd is about suicide and how people can help those they love who might be experiencing suicidal thoughts.  We know it’s a heavy topic. In many cultures, suicide is taboo—and in some countries it’s illegal. People don’t like to talk about it.  But, as University of Denver associate professor of social work Stacey Freedenthal says, asking a friend or family member if they’re experiencing suicidal thoughts is really, really important.   Suicide is one of the leading causes of death among adults in the United States, with nearly 50,000 dying by suicide in 2021. In that same year, 12.3 million adults seriously thought about suicide.   #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com Link for 40 Habits Signupbit.ly/40HabitsofMentalHealth If you'd like to follow and receive my daily blog in to your inbox, just click on it with Follow It. Here's the link https://follow.it/james-donaldson-s-standing-above-the-crowd-s-blog-a-view-from-above-on-things-that-make-the-world-go-round?action=followPub Stacey Freedenthal. And it’s not just adults. Suicide is the second leading cause of death among people between the ages of 15 and 24 and the eighth leading cause of death among children aged 5 to 11.   So why should we ask our at-risk loved ones about potential thoughts of suicide? Freedenthal says she's often heard a slogan: “Prevent suicide with your ears.” And while it’s not quite as simple as that, Freedenthal says listening to those we love is a good first step in stopping someone from taking their own life.  In this episode, Freedenthal draws on her personal and professional experiences to share how best to support the people we love when they may be experiencing suicidal thoughts.   Stacey Freedenthal is an associate professor of social work at the University of Denver. A licensed clinical social worker, Freedenthal has a small psychotherapy and consulting practice in Denver. She also provides training and consultation to social workers and other professionals who treat clients at risk for suicide.  Freedenthal has worked in the field of suicide prevention since 1994, when she volunteered at a suicide hotline. Subsequently, she earned a master's degree in social work from the University of Texas at Austin. She held clinical positions in psychiatric emergency settings before returning to school to earn a PhD in social work from Washington University in St. Louis. Before she became a social worker, she worked as a journalist for The Dallas Morning News.  She coordinates the mental health concentration at the Graduate School of Social Work. The courses that she teaches include Suicide Assessment and Interventions, Assessment of Mental Health in Adults, Clinical Social Work Theory and Practice, and Social Justice Challenges in Mental Health Practice.  Read the full article

[paigesdontfly]

Chapter 1 Snippet!

Alright everyone, I'm gonna jump on the fanfic boat, cause why the hell not?

If this starts getting attention, feel free to start messaging me prompts and I'll do my best with them (I enjoy flexing my brain with different ideas anyway!

Most of my chapters are going to be way too long for the character limit so I'll post snippets, and if anyone wants to read what I have written (... which is a literal book), I'll share the PDF!

Please keep in mind that the main character is my OC, interacting with characters from the incredible Hazbin universe that Vivziepop has given us. I will still maintain my rights to my ideas

Chapter 1 Snippet:

“Whiskey, please. On the rocks,” I yelled over the lively and soulful tune emanating from the piano in the far corner. The bartender nodded, poured my drink for me, and let me be. I come here often enough that he knows I prefer not to be bothered. No, I like to people watch. I turned my back to the bar as more sinners began arriving, and watched as the night of debauchery began. The more the drinks flowed, the livelier the crowd became, dancing in ways that definitely showed the changes through the decades, from the Charleston to Swing. Those more intoxicated than others tripped on their own feet, or the feet of others, sloshed their drinks, a few punches thrown here or there. I smiled, knowing it was going to be an interesting night if things kept up. I did revel in the chaos that came from nights like these— and they did happen so often here in Hell.

I had just ordered my third whiskey when a demon slid in next to me to order a drink, bumping into my shoulder in his haste to do so. I inhaled my irritation through my nose, then out slowly. Incidents such as these did tend to happen often, and in the cases of intoxicated individuals, I let it go more often than not. Once receiving his drink, however, he glanced at me once, then did a double take.

“Heya sweetheart, how are you doing on this fine evening?” I sighed, refraining from rolling my eyes, turned to the bar, and sipped my whiskey. “Care to dance?” The demon asked, and grabbed my arm to pull me to the dance floor. I suddenly whirled on him, showing him my fiercest snarl. I couldn’t very well incinerate him on the spot. Not here in front of so many onlookers, but that particular look was enough to stop most in their tracks.

“I’d like for you to remove your arm before I do it for you.” The demon was taken aback, but his arm remained where it was, and his face actually steeled. “How d—” just as I was about to remove his arm from his socket, the piano playing had suddenly stopped, and a shape suddenly appeared behind the demon before he could even finish his sentence. “I do believe the lady asked you to remove your hand.” An oddly jovial voice, distorted with a radio frequency sounded behind him.

“You should do so, before you lose it.” My rescuer’s voice fluctuated in frequency, almost a growl. The demon turned with a quite irate expression on his face, until he faced the demon and immediately paled. “I—I—“ the demon stammered. “Yes, you.” The demon’s smile grew wide and menacing, his eyes pinched, as he reached forward, and the small antlers that sat atop his head grew slightly. The air around him darkened and the atmosphere became incredibly threatening. An electric tingle, like static electricity traveled over my skin, causing goosebumps to rise.

Suddenly, I knew exactly which demon had suddenly made a re-appearance after such a long absence. He reached for my aggressor’s hand, and with two fingers, plucked it from my arm and wrenched him away from me, breaking his hand in the process. The demon let out a sharp yelp and held his arm to his chest. “You really should take more care to do as you’re told.” His smile became even more menacing as I felt a shift in the air— I could feel him pull it. A small smirk played on my face; I couldn’t resist it. Interesting. Suddenly, a red cane with a microphone attached to the top and surrounded with a shroud materialized into existence, and he leaned on it, giving the attitude of being relatively relaxed and carefree; it only added to his menacing presence. Interesting indeed.

“S-s-sorry,” the demon managed to get out before turning tail and hauling out of the bar entirely. I leaned against the back of the bar chair, tilting my head backwards to get a look at my supposed ‘rescuer’. Small antlers sat atop his head in-between scarlet ears—which gave a miniscule twitch as he watched the demon retreatingؙ— and matching scarlet hair with black ends. He wore a monocle, a red striped tailcoat, black dress pants with red cuffs, and sophisticated shoes. The air around him suddenly went back to its normal atmosphere, his power pulled back, and his antlers went back to their normal size; his smile relaxed to become more welcoming, but I could tell it wasn’t genuine; this led me to believe it was just his neutral facial expression. He brushed off perceived dust from the shoulder of his jacket, then rounded on me.

Suddenly, I was face to face with the infamous Radio Demon.

[lolly-in-a-strange-land]

🎃trick or treat🎃

limerence one shot for Halloween, pls enjoy 😉

Spooky season was upon us. I had adorned the apartment with suitably festive decorations including a Halloween tree. It was essentially a Christmas tree, decorated black with bats hanging from it. The apartment was essentially a pumpkin patch, or at least, it was some weird version of one because I kept buying those cute fabric pumpkins.

I had found my soulmate in Josh, in that he didn’t seem to care about the sudden accumulation of felt pumpkins that kept appearing. It was the 31st of October and I’d gone for an interview with a radio station and then a further interview with a podcast, and finally another interview with a magazine.

It had been an action packed day and my evening was filled with conference calls about my new album and a conversation with a producer. I had been wanting to ask Josh to produce my new album, but I figured he definitely wouldn’t want to do anything like that given how different my music was to his.

My mood had soured by five o'clock as I’d wanted to attend the Halloween gig that Type O Negative were doing and it wasn’t looking like I’d be able to attend. I sat through the conference call with Lizzie and several of the higher ups, drinking wine and trying my absolute best to pay attention. My squirrel brain was just not interested.

Halloween was meant to be fun even if it was on a weeknight. The phone call with the producer was just as anti-climactic and the man had about as much tact as a nest of angry hornets, in that I suspected hornets had zero tact.

It was nearly seven by the time my evening looked like it would be my own. I definitely wouldn’t be able to make the gig. The guys had scheduled the small, private gig to start at six so their evenings would be free. By the time I traveled the 45 minute journey to L’Amours, the gig would be pretty much over. Thank you, record label and various annoying obligations, for ruining my Halloween.

I’d been texting Josh periodically throughout the day, offering updates and complaints on all the annoying stuff I had to do. He’d been replying in that usual charming, slightly snarky way that he often did. His replies definitely lifted my mood, but the responses dropped off around half five when it became apparent he’d gotten busy too, with obligations of his own.

I flopped down in front of the TV and started up Netflix. I spent a couple of hours de-stressing and watching Ghostbusters: Afterlife. Once that finished at quarter past nine, I picked up my phone and checked to see if I’d received any further messages. I wasn’t too concerned that Josh wasn’t home yet.

The gig would be over by now, but they were probably meeting fans, signing autographs and having a few drinks. No big deal. I dropped a quick message that I was finally free from work obligations and had watched Ghostbusters. And that if he arrived home in the next hour, I’d be in the bathtub, practicing some self-care.

I left Netflix open, but went back to the home screen where the profiles were and left it like that. I walked down the hall and pushed open the bathroom door, clicking on the light as I entered. I shut the door, but didn’t bother locking it. I started running myself a bath, perched on the side of the tub, watching the bath bomb I’d thrown in there, fizz and bubble.

Once it was ready, I dimmed the lights, grabbed a face mask and remembered I’d forgotten my pajamas. I opened the door and wandered down the hall to our bedroom, snatching up my strappy pajama top and shorts, then headed back to the bathroom. I went inside and shut the door again.

I was about to strip down when I heard the sound of the floorboards creaking. The whole apartment was decorated with hardwood floors so it wasn’t unusual for them to creak. It usually only happened when someone stepped on them. I nudged open the bathroom door again and peeked down the darkened hallway.

“Josh?” I called.

No answer. If this were a horror movie, I’d definitely die if I went and checked, but I did anyway.

Trudging down the hall and into the lounge again. Everything looked normal, nothing out of place. Clearly, it was just me home, and clearly, I was having stress based hallucinations. Plus the door was locked, the elevator required a fob and break-ins were pretty unlikely. So, that left the only logical explanation; the apartment was haunted.

No, because that’s clearly stupid, and ghosts aren’t real, right? Right? I decided to trudge back down the hall and into the bathroom again. I shut the bathroom door again, taking a shaky breath. Josh would be home soon hopefully, and all my stupid fears would be put to rest. I removed my clothes and sank down into warm water.

I applied my facemask and soaked in the warm water. I was finally starting to relax, to feel myself again when another floorboard creaked. I sat up, making the water slosh around me. The corner of my mask slipped a little and I suddenly felt very unrelaxed. Now I was feeling a little scared. I waited for what felt like an eternity for something to happen. Nothing did so I settled again.

My whole bathing experience was a zero out of ten. I got out of the bath after washing and shaving. I toweled myself off and put my pajamas on. I tentatively left the bathroom, walking back down the hallway and into the lounge. All was quiet and that put me on edge more. I texted Josh; when will you be home? I don’t want to alarm you, but I believe the apartment is haunted. I sent a GIF of a ghost and waited for a response.

He didn’t reply and this served to panic me even more. It was five to ten and he still wasn’t home. Relax, Emilia. He’d probably gone for drinks, or gone back to Peter’s. No big deal. We could still order food when he got back and watch films together. For a girl that played horror games, I sure didn’t handle being haunted very well.

I went to the kitchen and opened the cabinets, searching for something to snack on. I pulled out some chips and stared at them. Spicy, no thanks. A floorboard creaked and glanced around, searching for the source of the sound. There was no one there. I turned back to the cabinet, reaching up to grab a packet of cookies.

I turned the packet over in my hands, reading the serving suggestion. How greedy would it be to eat the entire packet? Probably really greedy, but I could feasibly work out and burn off the calories so it would be a victimless crime. I was about to step back and head back to the couch when someone grabbed me from behind. The cookies dropped to the floor.

A yelp was torn from my throat and I thrashed about a little. A hand covered my mouth, stopping any further squeals and I was pulled flush against someone. My eyes lifted, taking in the black clothing and the Scream mask. Ghostface was evidently in my home. How the heck did he get in? I squirmed a little, but he forced my body still with a very large hand against my hip.

My mind was going a mile a minute and I sucked in air through my nose, breathing in the scent of tobacco, weed and a very familiar aftershave. For someone that was 6’4, he moved very quietly, and I was a little impressed by that. Ok, Josh, you got me. I tried to wriggle again, but he kept me still.

He was starting to scare me a little. I thrashed about again, but he forced me back against him.

The hand on my hip slid up and cupped my breast, gently teasing his thumb across the hardened nipple. I sucked in more air through my nose and whined softly. Ok, so fear was quickly being replaced with arousal.

He pinched the nipple through the thin fabric, giving it a playful tug and making me whine again.

I parted my thighs a little then looked up at him again. A silent plea. He kept pinching the nipple and ignoring my imploring looks.He gave my nipple one last pull, then he let me go, stepping back. I sucked in pulls of air and lifted my head.

In our relationship, I was definitely the more timid of the two of us, but I wanted to chastise him for freaking me out. He’d obviously snuck into the apartment when I started running the bath. He was in front of me, wearing a black hoodie and black jeans tucked into combat boots. He looked intimidating and the Ghostface mask definitely didn’t help things.

I took a step back and he took a step forward. I almost smiled at that. He wasn’t speaking, which was unusual since he was usually pretty talkative during sex.

“Josh, this isn’t funny.” I said, even though it was probably pretty funny.

He didn’t speak, instead tilting his head to the side like he was mocking me. I sighed and almost laughed. I stepped back again and my body touched the counter top. I swear I could visualize him smirking at my actions. Instead he lifted his hand, beckoning me closer. I could cooperate, but I wanted to have some fun too so I shook my head.

Given how dominant he was, he definitely wouldn’t like the refusal and I was risking possible punishment. He filled the space between us, making me flinch a little. One of his hands rested on the counter next to me and the other gripped my hip. His hand looked obscenely large on my hip. The hand on the counter moved to grip my other hip. And I lifted my head to look at him.

“Do not do what you’re thinking of doing, Josh.” I said.

He exhaled a laugh behind the mask, like what I’d said was amusing, because it was given the height difference between us. My 5’1 frame came up to the middle of his chest. Josh seemed to decide what he was going to do and I squealed as he picked me up, hoisting me over his shoulder. Despite being skinny, he was strong. I’d watched him flip a keyboard at one point and shove a piano over.

He started walking, heading over to the couch and setting me onto the floor. He sat on the couch, lifting his leg and pushing the marble coffee table back with his boot. And if that didn’t make my insides flutter. He leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the couch, lifting his other hand to beckon me closer again.

He parted his legs, making room for me. I scooted closer, watching as Josh unzipped the fly on his jeans. I stared as he shifted the jeans and boxers a little so his erection could be freed. He gripped himself, stroking up and down. I was transfixed by the sight of him. He seemed to grow bored of me just sitting and staring.

He let go of his erection, leaning and grabbing a hold of my hair and yanking me closer. A fresh wave of arousal went through me. I wanted to please him so desperately. I shifted closer, lifting my right hand and gripping the base, giving it a few gentle strokes. I parted my lips then, taking him into my mouth and sucking at the tip, licking up the precum that had beaded there.

My eyes flicked up when he shifted back. His hand was still in my hair, fingers teasing through the strands. I took him deeper in my mouth, glancing up when he groaned, head tipping back. I was definitely enjoying this as much as he was. I used my other hand to reach into his boxers to massage his balls.

His hips bucked forward and I heard him groan again. I smiled a little, enjoying being his hostage. I sucked the tip of him, enjoying the taste of his precum, then I pulled back, dragging my tongue up the underside, following the vein. My goal was to hear him make more noise. I loved when he groaned or swore.

I took him back into my mouth, sucking at him again. My hand left his balls and trailed downwards. I could feel myself soaking my panties and pajamas. I just needed a little relief. He wouldn’t notice, I hoped. I parted my thighs and started to gently touch myself, moaning. My eyes opened when I felt myself being watched. My gaze lifted to find Josh watching me.

The hand in my hair yanked me back. And I hastily removed my own hand from between my legs. He tilted his head at me and I swallowed my apology.

“Naughty girl.” He murmured.

His voice sent little tremors through me. His accent had deepened into something wholly erotic and my face went bright red.

“N-no, but I did a good job just now.” I insisted, and he exhaled a chuckle at my attempt at persuasion.

Arguing was probably the least intelligent thing I could have done. He shifted back, forcing me to stand up. I waited for what he’d do next. My legs were trembling and I could feel the ache in my lower stomach. He reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out something familiar. Ah yes, handcuffs. I went to step back until he grabbed me, yanking my body down so I perched on his knee.

“N-no.” I whined, giggling.

“Cooperate with me, Emilia.” He growled, and another tremor went through me.

I bought my arms behind my back obediently. I felt the bite of the metal as he fastened them around my wrists. He moved me between his parted legs and I blushed again. I was so tiny compared to him and that sent little thrills through me. I arched my back a little, pushing my breasts forward.

Josh’s hands gripped my arms, gently tracing down until he was touching my stomach. It was no use whining or protesting because he’d touch me when he was ready. His hands moved down, fingers brushing my clothed core before traveling down my thighs. Ok, maybe a little pleading.

“P-please.” I whined.

I wanted to smack him when I heard him chuckle again at my attempts at begging. His hands lifted, fingers tracing the hem of my pajama top, pushing it up over my breasts until I was fullyexposed. I whimpered when he cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over the nipples. My lips parted in a soft cry. He pinched the hardened buds, gently tugging at them, dragging more

moans from me. He hummed in approval when I arched my back again, pressing my breasts further into his hands.

My head tipped back onto his chest as he continued touching me. My hips shifted forward, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. He cupped my breasts, squeezing them and kneading them. One of his hands slid down the skin of my stomach, leaving a little trail of shivers. And then his hand was dipping below my pajama shorts and panties.

I gasped when his fingers slid into me. I was beyond soaked and delirious with need. I parted my thighs a little more, encouraging him.

“Like that, Emilia?” He growled.

“Y-yeah, love it so much,” I moaned again, hips shifting so his fingers would sink deeper into me. “P-please, let me cum.”

“Think you deserve to cum, princess.” Josh said, and I whined.

I nodded quickly, pleading with him again. Whenever he called me that particular pet name, I knew he wouldn’t let me. He’d drag my release out until I couldn’t take it anymore. I really hoped he’d be a little kinder tonight. His thumb brushed my clit, sending a shockwave of liquid heat through me. I huffed out another moan, sobbing a little at the rush of pleasure.

“R-right there.” I whimpered.

“Yeah, just here,” He said, angling his fingers into me again, thrusting against that spongy area within me. “Can feel you squeezin’ my fingers, Emi.”

“N-need to cum.” I whispered, almost frantic with need.

“Not just yet,” Josh said. “Need to taste you first.”

I nodded because I desperately wanted his mouth down there. His fingers slid out of me and I whined at the loss of contact. He brushed his thumb against my clit one last time before his hand slid out from my pajama shorts. The hand on my breast moved and he shifted me so his thigh was between my legs.

He gripped my hip and I watched him use his other hand to remove the Ghostface mask. His face had been painted a ghostly white with black rings under his eyes and lines along his lips like a skullface. He set the mask down on the couch and his gaze flicked to me, smirking when he saw me looking.

I guessed the make-up was for the show, but my God, did he look attractive. He’d tied his hair into a segmented ponytail and that answered the question of where all my hair ties disappeared to. His hand touched my hip again and he leaned in, nuzzling my neck and I heard him inhale.

“Smell so fuckin’ good,” He said, and my entire face bloomed red again. “Look so fuckin’ tempting.”

The hand on my hip moved up, cupping my breast, making me moan. He leaned back on the couch and I reclined against him, loving the way he’d started pinching my nipple again. His other hand gripped my hip, encouraging me to buck against his thigh. I was hesitant at first.

“C’mon, Emi, move your hips and arch your back, let me see you,” Josh murmured, nipping the skin of my neck. “Such a perfect body.”

When he complimented me like that, it made me feel so special.I arched my back into his touch and rocked my hips, grinding myself against his thigh, gasping and moaning.

“J-josh.” I whined, and I felt him kiss my neck.

With the way I was moving, I was going to cum all over his thigh. Something told me he wasn’t going to let me do that.

“Liked that I was wearin’ the mask, Emi?” He murmured.

“Y-yes, so much.” I replied, gasping when his thumb passed over my nipple.

Just as I was about to hit the point of no return, he gripped my hips, stopping me. I let out a disappointed whine. He moved me so I stood up. I wriggled my wrists against the handcuffs and turned when he maneuvered me. He leaned back against the couch, resting his arm against the back of the couch again, eyes tracing down my body.

“You could remove the handcuffs.” I said.

“I could, Emi,” He said, smirking again. “But I’m not goin’ to.”

I let out a huff of pretend annoyance, giggling a little when he raised a brow at me. He shifted forward, grasping my hips and pulling me closer. I took a shaky breath. His fingers hooked into my pajama shorts, lowering them along with my panties. I stepped out of them and he threw them carelessly over his shoulder, returning his hands to my hips and dragging his thumbs across my skin.

“T-touch me.” I whined.

My further whines turned into a yelp when he delivered a smack to my butt. Admittedly, it wasn’t anywhere near as hard as he usually did, but it was enough to jar me. Plus, my butt still stung a little from the previous night. A whimper was pulled from my lips when he dragged me closer, hands still holding my hips. His lips brushed against my rib cage and I let out another shaky breath.

He started kissing up my rib cage, taking his time and being very deliberate in his slowness. I fought the urge to complain again. His lips brushed along the underside of my left breast and he pulled me closer again, one of his hands pressing against my back as his lips found my nipple.

A sharp moan left my lips as he sucked the hardened bud, flicking it playfully with his tongue.

My back arched and another moan was wrenched from my lips as he swirled his tongue around it.

“J-josh….P-please-ah.” I couldn’t stop myself from moaning.

The hand on my hip slid down, gripping my thigh and making me half straddle him. His fingers brushed against my clit then he was pushing two inside me. My head tipped back and I shuddered as the amount of pleasure nearly tipped me over the edge. Before I could succumb to it, he stopped; fingers retreating and lips leaving my breast.

“S-so mean.” I mumbled.

“I’m sorry, you mumbled, Emi,” Josh said, and his eyes locked with mine. “Repeat that.”

“Y-you’re mean.” I blurted out, and then regretted it. I went to shift back.

The grip on my hips tightened and shifted my closer. One of his hands lifted, touching my face so I’d look at him. He was smirking at me, eying me hungrily. His other hand slid round, squeezing one of my butt cheeks. I flinched when he rubbed the flesh.

“Someone’s jumpy.” He teased.

“If you make it so I can’t sit down again, I’m gonna be really mad,” I insisted, and he raised a brow. “Real mad, like so mad.”

“I look forward to seein’ how mad you get, Emi,” He said, lifting his hand and delivering a slap to my butt, making me yelp. “You always look so cute when you’re mad.”

Of course I looked about as threatening as a puppy to him. I whined when he smacked my butt again. Each time he did it, the smacks would get harder. He stopped after the tenth and I let out a shaky exhale. The hand on my butt traced under me, fingers finding the wetness between my thighs. Those same fingers sank into me and I gasped, rolling my hips.

“Enjoy that, Emi?” Josh asked, and I whined.

“I-it hurt.” I whimpered.

“Think you’re lyin’ to me,” He said, and I shook my head. “Can feel you drippin’ on my fingers.

You fuckin’ love it when I’m rough with you.”

His fingers teased my clit and the touch sent spasms of pleasure through me. I bucked my hips again, trying to force him to be a little firmer with his touches. I protested when his fingers slid out of me entirely and he shifted back, gripping the hem of his hoodie and removing it. My eyes immediately went to his chest and waist, and all the colorful tattoos. My eyes flicked up when he noticed me looking and he smirked again.

I really wanted to touch him and shifted my wrists against the restraints. I looked at him again, imploring him to let me have the use of my hands back.

“P-please.” I begged.

“No, the cuffs stay on, Emi,” He said, and I whined again, making him chuckle. “I’m enjoyin’ having you as my prisoner. Now, stand up.”

I shifted off his lap, waiting and feeling anticipation coiling within me. He shifted to lie down on the couch and reached for me. I allowed him to manhandle me until my legs were on either side of his face. This position felt very intimate and it was something I’d never done before. I really didn’t want to smother him. His hands gripped my hips, smoothing along my skin, raising goosebumps where they touched.

I gasped when he moved me closer and I tensed up a little. He must have felt how nervous I was.

“Emi, relax.” He murmured.

“D-don’t wanna squish you.” I whispered.

“Not gonna squish me, babe,” He said, pulling me a little closer. “Good girl, relax. Let me get a taste of you.”

I went to protest again when his tongue licked a stripe from my clit, sinking down into my folds.

My lips parted to speak, but instead I cried out, tipping my head back. Once, I’d relaxed, he buried his face in me, tongue delving into me, searching and finding that spot in me that needed friction. My moans bounced off the walls and my hips undulated, moving against his lips and tongue.

One of his hands stayed holding my hips, keeping me balanced, and the other moved up my body, grasping one of my breasts and kneading the flesh, then teasing the nipple.

“Y-yes.” I moaned, back arching into his touch.

His tongue found my clit, applying pressure to it and making me squeal. He was eating at me like a man starved, groaning and using his other hand to press me close to his mouth. I was definitely going to cum and I wanted him to not stop. He’d know I was close, he always knew, but this time maybe he was going to let me.

His tongue delved back into me and the hand on my hip slid down, applying pressure to my aching clit. My eyes rolled back and I came, hard. It felt like I could taste colors. I was still wriggling my hips, drunk on the sensations. Josh’s hands gripped my hips, moving me, shifting me further down the couch. I came back down to earth slowly. I looked at my boyfriend. He shifted onto his elbows.

The make up around his mouth had smudged and when he saw me looking he shot me another devilish smirk. This wasn’t the end of it and I moved towards him when he shifted closer, lips finding my own. It was a very sloppy, passionate kiss, and I could taste myself on him when he pushed his tongue into my mouth.

He moved me again until I was on my back, grabbing my thighs and parting my legs. I watched as he lowered his boxers, then gripped his erection, lining himself up with me. I gasped when he pressed against me. There’d be no resistance, not after the orgasm I’d just had. He gripped my leg again, pulling me closer and pushing himself all the way in until he was fully sheathed in me.

The pressure and heat felt incredible. My back arched and I moaned again. I could feel the ache again and it felt amazing. I wrapped my legs around his waist and his hands gripped my hips for leverage.

“Fuck yeah,” He groaned. “So fuckin’ tight.”

I could barely form a coherent thought so when he started moving, languidly at first, then into harsh thrusts, I could only moan and cry out. He pounded into me, giving me exactly what I wanted, hitting that spot within me on every inward thrust. I could feel every ridge on him as he moved and it made my head spin. My legs constricted around his waist, trying to get him deeper.

“H-harder, deeper.” I whined.

I caught the look in his eyes when I said that. It was definitely like a challenge. His hips rolled into me, pressing closer to that spot and my head tipped back. I could feel the absolute searing bliss of another orgasm. Josh’s hand came to rest near my head and he leaned towards me, dark blue eyes locking with my own. The intensity in his eyes was very nearly my undoing.

“Like how hard I fuck you, Emi?” He asked, and I nodded.

“Y-yeah.” I whined.

“Yeah, you do. You’re a filthy, little slut.” He growled, and that accent deepened again.

He was still pounding into me, hitting that spot within me, and making my moans come out as sobs. The hand on my hip moved and he wrapped his arm around my waist, forcing my back to arch more. He leaned down, lips finding one of my nipples. The pleasure felt like a heartbeat and I arched further into the touch, impaling myself more on him.

He groaned against my breast, followed by a string of curse words. I was so close, so very close.

“G-gonna cum.” I whined.

“Good girl,” Josh groaned. “Cum all over me.”

That did it. My head tipped back as my eyes rolled. The orgasm flooded my system, throwing me off the edge of the precipice. I blacked out, body taken over by ecstasy. It felt like an eternity until I finally came back down to earth. I was breathing heavily and my limbs felt like they were made of jello.

My own release must have had a domino effect as after a few more thrusts, Josh released into me. His breathing had also deepened and he let out an elongated groan as he filled me. The heat of it made me whine. My legs flopped against the couch and I felt my arms burn from being handcuffed still.

Josh seemed to realize I was uncomfortable as he slid out of me, moving me so he could flop down on the couch behind me. He shifted my body and I felt him undoing the handcuffs. I bought my arms out from behind my back, rolling my shoulders to get the feeling back.

“C’mere, babe.” He said, and I lay down next to him.

He’d look after me. He always did. His hand took my wrists, pressing kisses to the skin where the cuffs had cut in. I smiled at the sweetness behind the action. I moved when he turned me and sighed when he started rubbing my shoulder. His lips kissed the back of my neck, lingering there.

“When did you sneak in earlier?” I asked.

“You texted that you’d be in the bath so I waited and then snuck back in,” Josh said. “And almost laughed when you thought the apartment was fuckin’ haunted.”

“To be fair, I had a very convincing case that we were,” I said. “I was a little scared.”

“I scared you.” He said, and I peeked over my shoulder at him.

“No, silly. Not when I realized it was you,” I said, turning to face him. “I mean, it took me a few seconds, but I recognized your aftershave.”

“If at any point I thought you weren’t totally into it, I would have stopped,” He said, reaching out and brushing my hair out of my face. “How was your day?”

“Not Halloween-y at all,” I said. “I had infinite interviews, well only three, but it felt like infinite. And then I had to have that conference call with Lizzie and the meeting with that jerkwad producer.”

“He did your last album?” Josh asked, and I nodded.

“Yeah, he did. He’s a jerk, but everyone uses him and even though I’ve written the whole album myself, he’ll change it and insist I bring in outside songwriters,” I said, softly. “And I’ll cave because I don’t like when people are mad at me.”

“Tell him to fuck off, Emi.” He said, but he knew I didn’t have the backbone to do it.

“I wish I could,” I said, sighing. “Wish I was a little bit tougher.”

He shifted closer, lifting his hand to cradle my face and those intense blue eyes met mine. I blinked a few times, rapidly, to stop myself from bursting into tears.

“I’ll produce it for you.” He said, and I frowned at that.

“No, I can’t ask you to produce a pop album,” I said. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You’re not askin’ me, Emi. I’m tellin’ you that I’d like to help you with this.” He said, and I smiled.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I love you and would do anythin’ to see you smile.” He said, and I giggled.

“I love you too,” I replied. “So, since there’s still a couple of hours left of Halloween, maybe we could watch some spooky films.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He said.

After we’d had a shower together, we curled up on the couch and watched horror films together.

I fell asleep on Josh at some point, but I was so happy he was with me.

[brn1029]

On this date in our music…..

That our, ofcourse, would be Classic Rock, with the exception of Mantovani….

March 29th

2007 - Bono

U2 singer Bono accepted an honorary knighthood at a ceremony in Dublin. Fellow band members The Edge and Adam Clayton joined the frontman's wife and four children at the British ambassador David Reddaway's official residence. The rock star and campaigner, 46, was not entitled to be called "Sir" because he is not a British citizen. The U2 singer's new title is Knight Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (KBE).

2005 - Neil Young

Neil Young was treated for a brain aneurysm at a hospital in New York. Doctors expected the 59 year old to make a full recovery. The aneurysm was discovered when Young's vision became blurred after the induction ceremony for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame last month.

1999 - David Bowie

The David Bowie Internet Radio Network broadcast its first show for Rolling Stone Radio. The show was Bowie's favourite songs with Bowie introducing each track.

1996 - Phil Spector

Two former members of the 1950s group, The Teddy Bears filed suit in Los Angeles, California, against producer Phil Spector and several labels. Carol Connors and Marshall Lieb alleged they had not received royalties from re-issues of their 1958 No.1 hit 'To Know Him Is To Love Him'.

1986 - Falco

Austrian singer Falco started a three-week run at No.1 on the US singles chart with 'Rock Me Amadeus', also a No.1 in the UK. Falco became the first German speaking artist to achieve a No.1 on the US charts.

1980 - Mantovani

Mantovani, (Annunzio Paolo Mantovan), Orchestra leader died aged 74. Born in Italy his family moved to England in 1912, where he studied at Trinity College of Music in London. He recorded over 50 albums for Decca records, including Song from Moulin Rouge and Cara Mia, both reached No. 1 in the UK. In the United States, between 1955 and 1972, he released over 40 albums with 27 reaching the Top 40 and 11 the Top Ten. His biggest success was with the album Film Encores, which made it to No. 1 in 1957.

1979 - Bob Dylan

After attending a Dire Straits show during their residency at the Roxy in Los Angeles, Bob Dylan asked Mark Knopfler and drummer Pick Withers to play on the sessions for his next album. Slow Train Coming was the album, recorded in Muscle Shoals in May of 1979, with Jerry Wexler producing. Dylan had first heard Dire Straits' Mark Knopfler when his assistant Arthur Rosato played him the single 'Sultans of Swing'.

1978 - David Bowie

David Bowie kicked off his Low / Heroes 77-date World Tour at San Diego Sports Arena in San Diego, California.

1975 - Led Zeppelin

Led Zeppelin saw all six of their albums in the US Top 100 chart in the same week, alongside their latest album Physical Graffiti at No.1. Physical Graffiti has now been certified 16 times Platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) for US sales in excess of 16 million copies.

1973 - Dr Hook And The Medicine Show

Dr Hook And The Medicine Show got their picture on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine after their hit, 'The Cover of Rolling Stone' reached No. 6 on the US singles chart. According to members of the group, they really did buy five copies for their mothers, just like the song said.

1969 - John Lennon

John Lennon and Yoko Ono, Black Sabbath, The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown, Curved Air, J.J. Jackson's Dilemma, Shy Limbs, Spontaneous Music Ensemble, Sunflower Brass Band and Toe Fat all appeared at the London Free Easter Festival in Bethnal Green, London, England.

1967 - The Beatles

Working at Abbey Road studios The Beatles finished recording ‘Good Morning Good Morning’. They then started work on a new song ‘With a Little Help From My Friends’, (originally titled ‘Bad Finger Boogie’), recording 10 takes of the rhythm track, then Ringo overdub a double-tracked lead vocal.

1966 - Mick Jagger

Rolling Stone Mick Jagger was injured during a gig in Marseilles, Southern France after a fan threw a chair at the stage. Jagger required eight stitches in the cut.

[alldrinkingaside]

MARCONI INVENTED the First Long-Distance Wireless. I NEARLY Destroyed One! 

Guglielmo Giovanni Maria Marconi, who is credited as the Inventor of the Radio, was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1909. Radio Shack opened their doors in 1921 and closed them in 2015. Jim Anders received a DIY Radio Kit circa 1960. Something like a Mr. Potato Head, it was a box that contained all the parts necessary to build your own radio from scratch: Spools, Wires, Screw, Control Knobs, Gizmos, a Ceramic Filter, Nuts and on and on. 

I should have been given a Mr. Potato Head instead. It would have been more my speed. I knew nothing about electronics then, and not a whole hell of a lot more about electronics now. 

"You alone can do it, but you can't do it alone" - Dr. Ron B

This Quote by Dr. Ron became something like "When I tried to stay sober alone, I wound up drinking alone" for me. I knew how to drink. My Resume included a 50,000-drink history. I drank every day for 30 years. If I was sick, I drank a pint or more of Blackberry Brandy, my self-prescribed cure-all. My only respites from drinking during all those years were during my increasingly more frequent and progressive hospital visits for alcohol poisoning.

"You alone can do it, but you can't do it alone" - Dr. Ron B

I could and did get drunk alone, but clean and sober? No way, Jose. No way, Dr. Ron.

My experience has shown me that my addicted brain will continue to lie to me long after all alcohol and other substances have left my body. Effects upon behavior, thoughts, memories, dreams, actions, wishes and emotions (however you may wish to experience and describe it) will linger long, long after you taper off or go cold turkey. It seems Addiction stands waiting for you to let down your guard so that you may once again become entrapped by it.

A brain changed by years of drug and alcohol use needs to stay connected to the human race or the hamster wheel of addiction may hypnotize you back into its futile spin. 

If you wish to think that you are somehow different than the multitudes who have preceded you, proceed with caution. When I thought that way, multiple relapses followed.  

I am reminded here of "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover" by Paul Simon. To refresh your memory, one Stanza goes like this: 

"Slip out the back, Jack

Make a new plan, Stan

You don't need to be coy, Roy

Just get yourself free

Hop on the bus, Gus

You don't need to discuss much

Just drop off the key, Lee

And get yourself free."

Recovery is just like that, but instead of "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover," it's "50 Ways to Live Life Sober" and all 50 Ways are with the help of others. 

For my third and final time (today): "You alone can do it, but you can't do it alone" - Dr. Ron B

With your little old self, you might start with Mr. Potato Head and work your way up to a DIY RadioKit. But if you're anything like me, when it comes to Recovery from Drugs and Alcohol, my simple recommendation is NEVER DO IT ALONE.

*****

Check out my NEW Non-Fiction, BECOMING UNBROKEN: Reflections on Addiction and Recovery (Find it on Amazon, Book it here):  https://lnkd.in/dkF767RT

Or immerse yourself in my Descent into Addiction and eventual Recovery in my Autobiographical Fiction, ALL DRINKING ASIDE: The Destruction, Deconstruction & Reconstruction of an Alcoholic Animal (Find it on Amazon. Book it here): https://lnkd.in/esP83n-c 

#alcoholism #addiction #recovery #books

I hope you enjoy BOTH of my BOOKS on ADDICTION & RECOVERY! (Print & Kindle Versions of Both are Available!)

[mirkwoodshewolf]

I’ll always be here; Eddie Munson x reader

*Author’s note*

Well it’s certainly been awhile but works kept me INSANELY busy plus the heatwave really affecting my brain in creativity but now that I’ve got some time, I’m gonna start doing some major updates to some WIP’s, not only in the request dept. but also trying to finish up my Celestial Hobbit story so that way I can start posting up what I’ve done so far for the LOTR sequel (already got like 6-7 good chapters of that).

Now this comes from an anon who wanted an Eddie Munson request. Now this can be viewed as either platonic or romantic (I’ll let you all decide) but just know this takes place roughly a bit after the events of s.3. So no real warnings except for canon violence, some horror jumpscare(?), mentions of torture, some swearing but overall EDDIE MUNSON FLUFF!!! Enjoy my lovelies and until next time!

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@queen-paladin​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@byersboys​

_________________________________________________________

I felt another punch across my face and the familiar numbness of a bruise forming on my cheek.

“We grow tired of your games. Tell us, who you work for? And this will all go away.” The Russian guard interrogated me.  I narrowed my eyes at him and spat in his face, this time blood spurting across his face.  He looked at me stoically before slapping me so hard, the chair collapsed to the floor and I panted.  “It would seem we need the heavy artillery.”

But something was different.  Two Russians began pulling in what looked like a large steel crate that held some kind of animal.  Wait, wait this-this isn’t how it played out. The cage rattled and I heard the familiar sound of the creature that was inside.

“No! No please! Don’t open that cage! I already told you I work at Radio Shack! What else do you want!?” but the Russians remained silent as one of them removed the locks from the cage and opened the door.  It was quiet and still and I couldn’t see anything but blackness inside the cage.

That was until the damn thing launched out at me with its face open wide and rows of teeth filled my vision.

I shot up gasping and panting as I looked around and saw that I wasn’t in the secret Russian base of the former Starcourt Mall.

“(Y/n)? You okay?” I groaned softly burying my face into my hands. “Hey, hey, hey whoa, whoa. Look at me.” I looked to my left and there sat Eddie as physically close as he could possibly be.  “Another nightmare.” He said more as a statement than a question.

“I knew this was a bad idea. I’ve been here a week and I’ve kept you up with my stupid nightmares.” I whined softly.

“Hey, first of all they’re not stupid. What you went through in that mall fire……god I can’t even imagine it. You’re lucky the worst thing besides the bruises was just your broken leg.” He said gesturing to my casted leg.

I had told him it was from a beam that had fallen on top of me when in reality it was because of the Mindflayer.  Like El, I had suffered a pretty nasty scar on my leg from it’s sharp, tendril clawed hand back at the mall.  It ran from the back of my knee right down towards my Achilles tendon. The doctors were surprised that I was able to survive let alone keep my leg with how deep the scars ran.

But it wasn’t a total loss.  Every day Eddie would come in with good proper food (which is basically junk food), some comic books, and his worn out copies of Tolkien’s books. Which he would read to me to cheer me up and not be so bored in my hospital bed up until I was able to be released.

“Second of all, you know I don’t mind you being here. I’ll always be here to look after you, just like I know…..”

“I’ll be there for you.” I finished.  That was our saying to one another ever since we first became friends. He leaned his head forward and pressed his forehead against mine.

“So what shall it be first? An early morning movie marathon or smoking our troubles away?”

“Movie marathon.”

“What her highness wants, her highness shall receive.” He said with a bow before handing me my crutches and headed out of the room to get our movie marathon started.  I steadied myself up and carefully maneuvered around his trailer until I got to the couch.

Eddie had just gotten done setting up the pillows for my leg, as I hobbled over, Eddie held out his hand and I took it as I slowly spun around and he helped me sit down on the couch.  I raised my leg and set it down on the pillows with a groan.

“Thanks Eddie.” I said.

“No prob, I live to serve.” He said with another low bow. “So what shall it be? Footloose? Risky Business? Or perhaps West Side Story?”

“But you hate those movies.” I said.

“I know, but you love them.” I placed my hand over my heart and cooed.

“Aww you do love me.”

“Do I know that? Yes, yes I do. Now come on, you’re the patient here, what shall it be?”

“How about this, we compromise by watching West Side first, and then we watch Scarface.”

“I like how you know my taste in violent movies. Deal.” He said going through the rented collection of films he got from Robin and Steve down at Family Video.  

As he started the video, he sat himself down beside my upper body and I wrapped my arms around his neck, one arm resting over his shoulders while the other stroked through his hair which made him lean back into me.

While watching the movie, my mind kept going back to the nightmare.  The Starcourt Mall wasn’t my first interaction with the ‘Curse of Hawkins’. I actually got involved with the Upside down a year after Will Byers had been found.  I had went to Dustin’s place since his mom called me to babysit him, when I nearly got attacked by his demodog that he named Dart.

Both him and Steve ended up saving my ass and from then on I became part of the group and learned the truth about what really happened to Will, got the DL on the new girl El, Hawkins lab, the Upside down, all that insane shit.  However it killed me to not tell Eddie about all this stuff (since we always told each other everything).

And now with my leg busted up for pretty much the rest of the summer and maybe even into the start of the next school year (boy is that gonna be hell), I can’t even tell him the real reason why it happened, and more importantly why I keep waking him up every night screaming and sweating.

“Eddie.” He turned up and looked up at me.  “I really am sorry.”

“For what?”

“For always waking you up. I-I wish I could tell you what happened that night but I just…..” I sighed heavily and turned away from him. I felt a hand underneath my chin as my head was turned back towards Eddie who looked at me with those deep, concerning brown eyes of his, and even emphasized his concern with that adorable puppy dog head tilt.

“I want you to listen and listen good, okay (Y/n)?” I gave him a soft nod.  “I know a thing or two about trauma, hell my whole life has been nothing but one trauma after another.” I gave him a soft glare.  “The point is, I know, at least through the shitty mental standpoint, of what’s going through your head right now. And I’m here to tell you, you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to share every detail with me right this second. Like I said, you went through some serious shit in that mall fire. And there’s not a day that I don’t regret not having been there that day for you. I was planning on bringing you lunch since you didn’t have breakfast that morning.”

“All because someone wanted to have an Indiana Jones movie marathon.”

“But you forget you accepted the invitation to said movie marathon so you are just as much to blame as I am.” He reprimanded as he booped my nose.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I muttered as I stroked through his hair.

“Anyways, I would’ve gone but then Gareth just had to ask me to help find a new snare for his drumkit and we had to make the drive outside of Hawkins for it. I may not have been there for you then, but I’m here for you now.”

“Thank you Nurse Munson.”

“That’s Doctor Munson to you little miss.”

“Oh yes right Doctor Munson, and what is my prescription Doc?”

“More watching your favorite movie and snuggles with your favorite trash panda.”

“You are not a trash panda!” I slapped his shoulder.

“Yes I am.”

“Alright if you’re one, then that makes me one too.”

“You can’t be one.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are too cute to be one.” He said placing his hand on the back of my head so that our foreheads were once again pressed against one another’s. “So I’m guessing you won’t be able to audition for the Spring Musical this year then, huh?” he asked me after a few minutes of silence of watching the Dance and the Gym scene now play out on the TV.

“Guess not. And such a damn shame, my last year and I can’t go out with a bang.”

“I know. I remember crying like a baby when you played Cinderella.”

“Ed that was when I was in 1st grade and you were in 3rd.”

“Well, still. You’ve always had the acting bug. I expect to see your name in the Hollywood stars one day. Alongside Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher and even your star crush Mark Hamill. ‘Oh Mark you’re soo dreamy, take me away on your ship to a far off galaxy!’” he mocked the last part in a higher pitch trying to copy my voice.  I lightly smacked his shoulder as he snickered.

“Thanks for the distraction.”

“Figure I let you off easy this time. You know what I usually do to distract you from your negative thoughts.” He teased threateningly as he wriggled his fingers at me menacingly.  I grasped his hand in mine and pinned it to the couch.

“Thank god you’re showing mercy.”

“But I hope you realize that as soon as that cast is off, I’m gonna be making up for lost time.”

“I’m really hoping you don’t.”

“Oh but I must. Can’t have my beautiful, beautiful (Y/n) feel neglected now can I?” Eddie cooed as he nuzzled his face into my neck, his wild mane tickling my neck (which of course the big shithead knew).

“Eddie! I yield I yield!” I said through my giggles.  He let out a soft whine but removed himself off me.

“Well only because you’ve yielded to Eddie the Banished.” he gave me a quick peck to my cheek before taking my arms and wrapping them back around over his shoulders resting over his chest as we went back to the movie.  “Imagine if this were to be the musical of Hawkins ’86.”

“You trying to make me even more depressed Munson?” I asked.

“Absolutely not. It just means this would be the first year I won’t be able to see you take the lead as the lovely Maria.”

“Please, for this musical there’s only one role I would want. And that’s Anita. Rita Moreno is a queen in this film. Reminds me a lot of my Tia Gabriela.”

“Yeah, I remember when she came for a visit from New York. Woman scared the shit out of me.”

“She can be intimidating but she’s also loving. Remember for Christmas back in Middle school she made you that shawl with your band’s name on it.”

“I still have that you know. I never go to The Hideout without it stashed in my van. Gives me luck.”

“And I know she appreciates that. She always said you were her favorite.”

“Really?”

“Don’t let that go to your head Munson.”

“Too late, if I get the approval of such a wonderful woman like your aunt Gabriela, then I know I must be doing something right.” I shoved his head playfully as he snickered and we went back to the movie.

It’s probably best that Eddie be kept out of the whole Hawkins curse thing.  At least with him, he helps make the stress of what I’ve experienced the last year feel like things are still normal and that we’re not in some countdown to the end of the world.  And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him in the clear from all that shit, God and Santa Maria above, at least give me that.

[midnightbrushandquill]

The Mind Fills in the Blanks.

There is a blind spot, in the vertebrate eye. A small patch where there is nothing to catch the light and transform it into a signal, only a bundle of nerve fibres, passing through the retina. The brain smooths this spot over, filling it in until it is unrecognizable that any patch of info was ever missing at all. This blind spot can be perceived, but only if one actively looks for it.

(Or, my friend last weekend made the comment of ‘What if Emmet forgot Ingo when he got pulled to Hisui’ and the thought has been rattling in my mind ever since).

Word count: ~4800

(The entire fic has an overall touch towards unreality, fair warning)

I

The first time Emmet thinks something might be wrong, he doesn’t notice it as such. It is a fleeting moment, a wayward thought that not so much strikes him, as gently builds; almost imperceptible among other thoughts and tasks demanding his attention, until it is undeniable. 

He is manning the Singles train, waiting for a challenger to reach the requisite number of uninterrupted victories when, as the train pulls to a stop at a station, a small growing unease manifests into a singular thought. 

I am not supposed to be here.

A wave of panic follows the thought. Was he on the wrong train? Did he read the schedule wrong? If he wasn’t supposed to be here, where was he supposed to be? Who was supposed to be manning this line instead?

He manages to pull the emergency brake on the train of thought before it can derail him completely. He is Emmet. He is the Subway Boss of Gear Station. He would not mess up his schedules. Besides, he is already a third of the way through the route, and if he had somehow boarded the wrong train, one of his employees would have radioed him to let him know. He has received no such calls, ergo, he must be in the correct place.

If the train leaves the station a half second behind, the only one who knows is Emmet.

II

The second time it happens, the thought that something is wrong is a conscious one, but he has nothing to link it to. 

He is on the Multi Line this time, finishing a battle with Cameron at his side. He has just finished the first two sentences of his prepared script (“I am Emmet. I won together with Cameron.”) when he is almost overrun by a wave of intense sadness. He does not understand why he is sad. There is nothing to be sad over. They won the battle, and Emmet likes winning more than anything else! And yet, he is indescribably, unbearably sad.

He almost stumbles on the rest of his prepared response, but it is a script, a script he has said so, so many times since he became the Subway Boss, and he is able to finish it. If he seems more subdued than usual - if there is something of a peaked underlay to his already relatively flat tones - the two trainers disembarking as the train pulls to a stop do not notice. They wave, promise to come back and beat them (one of them makes a joke about coming on a week when Cameron is not there; an empty threat, Emmet knows this trainer only boards the trains where Cameron is on the schedule), and step off.

Just like that, the sadness is gone, but the memory of it is not. Emmet too, steps off the train in what he feels is a perfectly confident manner and makes his way towards his office. He hears Cameron’s call about taking care of disembarking procedures, and lifts his hand in an acknowledging wave as he climbs the stairs up from the platform.

He is supposed to be doing paperwork, but he can’t get his mind off the strange feeling. What could possibly have caused it? He has no reason to be sad. The Battle Subway is doing well, it is just as popular as ever, Emmet has only lost two battles today when he was on the Doubles line in the morning. All in all, it has been as normal a work day as work gets, and Emmet loves his work.

Given the onset of the feeling, it seems reasonable to link it to battling with Cameron, but, no. That doesn’t make sense either. Emmet has battled alongside Cameron countless times before. Cameron is a good battler; not quite on Emmet’s level, but he holds his own, and meshes well with Emmet’s tactics, as they have trained. Emmet may be the only Subway Boss, but his depot agents are formidable in their own right. They have to be, in order to cover for him on the lines where he is not working, as he moves around the schedule.

He wonders, sometimes, why they have so many battle lines. Emmet is only one person, and his love for the subway does not make up for the fact that the workload is far too much for one person. He could close some down, convert them to normal transit, but, no. 

That doesn’t feel right. 

He could promote one of his agents? None of them were on his level, but surely he could use the help of another full-time Subway Boss?

The thought of another Subway Boss who isn’t-

The thought of another Subway Boss makes him sick.

He grabs one of the pieces of paperwork from the stack and forces himself to focus on it, taking sips of water to settle the nausea. That was unfair of him. His Depot Agents are all good people. It is verrrry rude of him to react so poorly to even the thought of one of them sharing his job.

He chalks it up to an after effect of that weird feeling from earlier, and focuses on the feeling of pen moving across paper instead.

By the time Cameron comes to check on him, he has no answers for his slight derailment earlier, and the feeling that caused it is as good as forgotten.

V-VI

It is a long time before anything else occurs out of place enough for him to truly notice, and this time, it happens twice in 24 hours. He is visiting his Uncle Dryden for Iris’s birthday. He is not keen to leave the Battle Subway if not necessary, but even he knows that he needs to take a break for maintenance, and it is good to see family again. Uncle Drayden, and by extension, Iris, are the only family he has left (well, besides Elesa, who has become as near to a sister as he can imagine over the years). 

The league is throwing a proper party for her, all fancy outfits, and important trainers meeting at the same station to network (there are no cocktails, Iris is still a child after all). Even if he wasn’t family, Emmet would have been expected to make an appearance anyways as the head of Unova’s battle facility. If Iris had not been family, Emmet probably would not have gone. He does not like parties. He was not good at conversation, and he is afraid of making a scene if the lights and noises overwhelm him. Elesa, as a gym leader, is there, of course, but it is rude of him to expect Elesa to stay with him to make up for his lack of skill with words.

But Iris is family, so Emmet is standing at the side of a large event space, wearing a fancy outfit Elesa has picked out for him, and watching as Elesa steps away from his side to converse with a visiting gym leader from another region. He does not really want to be here, but Iris has agreed to have a double battle with him the next morning, which is at least something exciting to look forward to. 

As he watches Elesa flit from guest to guest with an ease he wishes he could mirror, a waiter passes by with a tray of canapés. Emmet takes one. It is good, and, on what seems like instinct, Emmet turns to his right, raising a hand as if to gesture, his lips slightly parted with unplanned speech. 

The words die on his lips. There is no one there. Of course there is no one there, he already knows Elesa is across the room. Why had he expected someone to be standing there? He lowers his hand and munches on the canapé. The strange occurrence settles over him in a funk that he cannot shake.

Emmet skips the rest of the party.

The next occurrence happens the next morning, after his battle with Iris. He had lost to her, but it had been verrrry fun, certainly much better than the formal party. They have relocated to a much more private setting; a private party just for family. Emmet is bringing food and water to their Pokémon outside, and as he steps back inside to grab some more dishes, he catches the tail end of a conversation Dryden and Iris are having in the kitchen.

He does not hear all of it, does not even hear anything significant. All in all, he hears only five words, buried in a sentence that blurs to nothing as static settles over him.

“...it's lonely at the top…”

He does not know why the words have such an effect on him. It is not a saying he is unfamiliar with, and Emmet is not lonely. Maybe, he does not have a large circle of friends, but his current circle is a manageable number. Sure, he would not say he is close to any of his employees, but isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? They work well together, keep the trains moving on time smoothly, day in, and day out. The Depot Agents put up with his eccentricities; if anything, he would say sometimes they find them almost endearing.

Emmet is not lonely, so why can he suddenly not breathe? Why is he filled with such a gut-wrenching feeling over a simple saying?

Grasping at the wall, he manages to stay upright, and turn himself around. It is Iris’s birthday, and he will not let unwanted feelings ruin the moment.

Outside, his Pokémon are happy to comfort him as he collapses among them; happy to fill a hole in his heart he cannot explain.

Emmet is not lonely. He has Elesa, and his Pokémon, and-

When Iris and Drayden come out to see what is taking Emmet so long, the static is gone. He is not even sure why he was upset in the first place.

IX

He is with Elesa this time. They are sitting on the couch in his apartment, watching a bad movie, the kind of movie he would normally provide brash, biting commentary for. His heart isn’t in it. He is still thinking about a moment earlier at work. One of the agents had brought up the idea of renovating the empty office across the hall from him, and Emmet had all but shouted him down. He had been required to switch tracks, excuse himself and end the meeting early before he fully derailed. He could not explain the outburst, Emmet never went into the office. It was not even in use for storage. It made sense to renovate it, to make efficient use of the space.

And yet, Emmet could not stomach the thought of it changing. When he closed his eyes, he could picture the layout: a perfect mirror to his own, the decorations in dark colours where his were light, but a similar collection of books and manuals stacked neatly on the shelves. He could imagine sitting across the desk, working on paperwork from the visitor’s chair. 

The image made no sense. Why would he ever do that? He could not ever remember doing such a thing when his own office was available. And yet, something about the image was so natural and comforting that he could not shake it.

And he could not allow the office to change.

The conviction of his feelings, the raw emotion that had caused his outburst were gone. He could not even locate their tracks if he tried. But the memory of the outburst was real and fresh, and embarrassing. He had not meant to shout at his agent. 

“Emmet, if you stare any harder you’re going to burn a hole in the TV. Everything Goodlett?”

Emmet does not bother responding to the extraordinarily bad pun except to sigh. 

“I am Emmet. I am sorry Elesa. I am not feeling well.”

There is a hand on his forehead. “Hmm… You don’t feel warm.”

“I do not think I am physically ill. It is the circuitry in my cab that has gone awry.”

“Bad day at work?” He nods, and Elesa continues. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Does he? He is not good with words, but Elesa is like a sister to him. He is comfortable with her in a way he is not with strangers. He knows she will be patient if he stumbles over his words. He is not sure he can explain, but Elesa is good at understanding him (Not perfect, not in the way In-), maybe she will be able to make sense of the things that have been happening.

It takes him several minutes to put together the words he wants to use. Elesa pretends to watch the movie the entire time, as though she is not waiting for a response to her question.

“I do not want to change the empty office at Gear Station.”

Elesa looks over at him and makes a small hum in the back of her throat. “So don’t. It’s not like you need the space for anything right?”

Emmet nods.

Elesa scrunches up her face at him. “I’m definitely missing something here. This shouldn’t derail you that much Emmet.”

Emmet sinks into the couch. His smile falters. “I... yelled at Furze when they suggested it. They are on schedule for the Multi line with me tomorrow. Our coupling may come undone.”

Elesa reaches forward and grabs the take-out boxes off the coffee table, handing one the Emmet. He takes it, hurriedly putting food in his mouth as Elesa speaks around much more careful bites. “You apologized, right?” Emmet nods. He does not mention the cut-short meeting, or the fact that it had not occurred to him that he needed to apologize to Furze until hours later, because they should have known that changing that office was not an option.

“Then I’m sure it’ll be fine. Ask Furze tomorrow if they want to switch schedules, if you think you can handle that,” Elesa is continuing. Emmet lets her speak.

 “Don’t feel you have to answer this Emmet, but why is it such an issue? It’s just an empty office, right? I mean, you’re blunt, and to the point - anyone who knows you knows that - but you don’t yell. You barely even raise your voice, not like-” she cuts off, a strange look passing over her face. Emmet freezes, and forces himself to swallow. Was she feeling it too? Experiencing one of those strange, inexplicable moments he thought only plagued him? The look passes and Elesa continues, no sign of oddity in her voice. “You must have felt very strongly about it to yell.”

It is the question he has been dreading. The one he cannot even answer to himself. He puts the takeout box back down, appetite gone, and stares down at his hands, playing with the edge of the blanket that is spread out across their legs. He cannot meet her gaze, and when he finally speaks, it is in little more than a whisper. “I do not know.”

Elesa does not say anything, and he does not look up at her, but he knows, all the same, from the years they have known each other, the worried expression on her face. He knows she is waiting for him to say more, but is giving him the time he needs to find the words. He knows too, that Elesa will not blame him, will not be mad if he says nothing more, if he cannot find the words. For this reason, and many more, he wants to be able to explain further. So he sits, willing his mind to find the tracks that led to his outburst earlier.

“Did you want me to pause the movie?” Elesa interrupts his thoughts only once. He shrugs, then nods his head, still lost in his thoughts. The background noise of the movie stops, replaced by the quiet beeps and pings of Elesa fiddling with her phone.

He does not know how long it takes, but finally he finds the tracks that lead to the station he has been searching for - or at least ones that lead somewhere close. He remembers the thoughts he had earlier, about the strange recollection of events that never happened, the way the thought of change had filled him with such an intense nausea.

He relays this, shaky and stuttering over his words, to Elesa.

She does not respond, and when he looks up at her, she is staring at him with that same strange look on her face. “It’s oddish,” she finally says, turning to stare over the back of the couch, in the direction of Emmet’s bedroom, “But I know what you’re talking about. It’s like with your spare room. I don’t think I’ve ever been in there, but when you were talking about the inside of that office, I realized I know exactly what that bedroom looks like.” She frowns, her expression twisting as she places a well-manicured hand over her heart. “I don’t normally even think about it, but you have a perfectly serviceable spare room, and yet you sleep on the couch when I stay over.”

Emmet says what he knows they are both thinking. “That room belongs to someone else.”

It is a thought that doesn’t make sense - a train on a solitary track, unconnected to the rest of the system. Emmet lives alone, has lived alone since the day he moved to Nimbasa…. and yet it feels right. That room, with its black duvet, and trinkets that are like Emmet’s, but not quite, belongs to someone who isn’t Emmet.

Elesa is nodding rapidly now. “Eggs-xactly! It’s like that mug I have. You know, the black one, with the trains on it?” Emmet nods. He has seen the one she is talking about, he gave her one with the same pattern but in white some years ago, “Every time you come over and I pull that white cup down, I find myself wondering why I have the black one. You don’t use it, and yet, I feel like I’m supposed to be pulling it down at the same time. I have no reason to still have it, yet the thought of getting rid of it breaks my heart.”

Finally Emmet has someone else to talk to about the strange moments that seem to keep happening. About the little pieces he cannot explain of a life he has not lived, a person he does not know, and yet misses wholeheartedly.

They never un-pause the movie. Elesa has an early morning at work the next day; Emmet has an early morning at work every day of the week but one. They promise to talk more about strange feelings, to tell each other the moment one happens, before they can forget. Elesa hugs him goodbye, and Emmet goes to bed.

In the morning, neither of them remember what they had discussed the night before.

X

When he finally breaks, it is an accident. He is running late. A delay in his schedule caused by an unexpected communication breakdown between his Pokémon over who would join him on the Singles line that day. It is an easy argument to resolve, but it causes enough of a delay that he needs to rush in order to arrive at the station on time.

As he is sweeping through the apartment, grabbing everything he needs for the day, the edge of his coat catches on a photo frame and sends it crashing to the ground. Emmet stoops, barely breaking his movement to pick it up and set it back on the shelf where it belongs, but when he does, the glass has cracked, and he feels that static settle over him again. The cracked glass should not be a big deal. He can get it replaced, and it is not as though the crack, although large, is actually obscuring anything important in the photo. It is a photo of him and Elesa, his arm over her shoulders, hers around his waist, smiling brightly in front of Gear Station. The crack stretches from the top of the frame, above Elesa’s head, and down over her shoulder; splitting as a point just beside her to fork out to the left and down. The two of them can still be seen clearly, so why does the crack bother him so much?

He squints, peering down closer at the photo. Why was it taken at that distance, and with that framing? They are standing in front of Gear Station, which he knows because of course he knows what Gear Station’s entrance looks like, but the station is not the focus of the shot. The shot is too tight for the subject to be anything but Elesa and himself, and yet…. It is framed in such an odd way. There is only the two of them, but Elesa is centered in the frame, and enough space has been given to her right for an entire other person to be there. Emmet's field of knowledge is not photography, but even he knows it is a bad photo, so why does he have it displayed so prominently in his home?

He brings the photo closer to his face, as though that will somehow erase the crack and let him see what is beneath it clearer. It doesn’t, of course, and yet, there is a strange feeling as he moves the photo around. As though his eyes are sliding off of the frame, away from where the crack is, even when he centers it in his field of view. It is as though his mind does not want to look at what is to the right of Elesa in the photo. 

His mind urges him to put the photo down, to stop delaying his schedule any further and to get his cab moving. His heart has locked his fingers on the frame, locked his feet to the floor, unwilling to let go of even the faintest hint of-

Of-

Of something. No, someone. Someone who he misses with an intensity so hard it is blinding. Someone who he is profoundly lonely without.

He sinks to his knees, his schedule abandoned, clutching the frame to his chest. 

He is reminded, suddenly, of a moment in science class at school. Of the teacher handing out sheets of paper with a spaced out ‘R’ and ‘L’ on them. Of being walked through the process of closing one eye and focusing on the paper, moving it back and forth until one of the letters disappeared. ‘The physiological blind spot’ the teacher had called it. A spot where the eye doesn’t have any way to receive the light that comes in, but that the brain fills in so it is not noticed.

It is not the same thing. He is not trying to make a letter disappear on a paper, he is trying to see a cracked spot in a photo that his mind refuses to acknowledge. But…

Maybe it will work all the same.

Emmet closes his left eye and holds the photo up, staring intently at the crack in the photo, willing his eyes to stay stable, to not slide away. He moved the photo back and forth, in and out from his face in varying distances, and-

There.

It is a man.

There is a man standing to Elesa’s right in the photo. The split in the crack is right where his face is, obscuring it from view, but Emmet can make out the rest of him. He is Emmet’s height. He is wearing a version of Emmet’s uniform, but black, where Emmet’s is white. Like Emmet, he has an arm wrapped around Elesa’s shoulders, their arms over-lapping behind her, their gloved hands resting casually on each other’s arms. How… How had he not noticed that before?

Both Emmet and the man are pointing towards the camera. Emmet with his left hand, the man with his right.

The photo blurs, but this time, it is because his eyes have filled with tears. He cannot make out the man’s face, but he knows, with a certainty that rises from the depth of his soul, that the man shares his face. He can see, maybe not in his mind’s eye, but in his heart, the frown on the man’s face that is not at all indicative of the happiness Emmet can see in the rest of it. 

Emmet is not the Subway Boss of Gear Station, he is a Subway Boss of Gear Station. 

He does not live alone.

He is one of two. A twin. A two-car train, permanently coupled, only separable at the yard. 

Someone had separated them. And he had forgotten.

He still cannot remember the man’s name. (His older brother, his other half, his twin), but other memories flood his mind, no longer hidden behind a blur of unknowing. Memories of the two of them setting off on their Pokémon journey, nervous, excited, but together. Of late nights spent studying together in a dorm in Nimbasa, preparing for a future on the subway lines. Of the three of them (Him, his twin, and Elesa) sitting in cafés, or wandering the amusement park, Casteliacones and cotton candy in their hands. Of his twin’s exuberant joy at the puns Emmet found so disappointing. 

Him and his twin, congratulating Iris at becoming champion.

Waving to his brother as he boarded the Singles line, and Emmet the doubles.

Late nights spent discussing Pokémon, and battle tactics, and trains.

Standing side by side with his brother in the Multi lines; a battle style that flowed together with such fluidity, that it seemed hard to imagine he could ever battle alongside anyone else.

His voice, loud, where Emmet’s is soft. Expressive in a way people frequently tell Emmet he is not.

“We make a good two-car train, I- and Emmet. This time, we worked together toward a victory.”

The strange moments, the sudden feelings uncoupled from the moment at hand, the memories and surety of things that would be gone if he stopped thinking about them for too long, all suddenly make sense.

His twin is the one that runs the Singles lines.

His twin is the one who owns the office across from him.

His twin is the one who should be sleeping in the second bedroom of their apartment.

His twin is the one who is always at his right, who talks for the both of them when Emmet cannot.

His twin.

His twin.

His twin.

Of course Emmet is  lonely without his twin.

“I am Emmet. I won together with In-”

In-

Ing-

“I am Emmet. I lost together with Ingo.”

Ingo.

How could he forget. What cruel fate could have torn them apart and erased him so thoroughly from the minds of those who loved him?

How could Emmet have forgotten him?

Emmet realizes that, if he stops thinking about Ingo, he will forget him again.

He does not realize how much time has passed until Elesa comes by, letting herself in because he does not answer her knocks or calls.

When she comes in, shouting his name, he is only able to respond with the sound of knocking over the pen holder on his desk, but the sound of pens scattering, the worried chirping of his Pokémon as he refuses to respond to them, is enough for her to pinpoint his location.

When she enters the bedroom, she finds Emmet sitting at his desk. He is surrounded by worried Pokémon, pens scattered around him, and his coat has been discarded on the floor. His right arm is stretched across the desk, clutching a cracked photo frame, the sleeve of his shirt rolled back. He is writing desperately on his skin with a pen.

“Emmet?” she calls. He does not answer.

She places a worried hand on his shoulder and looks at what he is doing. It is only three words, but it floors her in the same way a broken photo frame had shattered Emmet.

Don’t forget Ingo.

It won’t be until years later that Emmet has the glass in the photo frame repaired.

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

To love a hero

A/n: So I'm really sad right now and I'm gonna project that onto my writings, sorry in advance

Plot: Loving a hero is a difficult and heart wrenching task

Pairing: Peter parker x male reader

Y/n: Your name

L/n: Last name

N/n: Nickname

H/c: Hair color

Warnings: lotta angst, happy ending because I’m not a monster, cussing, major character injury

Word count: 1774

Y/n L/n and Peter Parker went way back, even farther than Peter and Ned. The two had been friends since Pre-K, and only grew closer as the years went by. The two were almost interpretable, if one of the boys was seen, the other was close by.

No one really understood their friendship, but no one questioned it either. In high school the two boys became impossibly closer, Y/n was the first to know about Peter’s abilities, the brunette couldn’t keep something so big from his best friend. Y/n was there and helped make his first suit, the boy was there to soothe his aching bones and to nurse his blossoming bruises.

The pair shared an unbreakable bond, they were what love stories depicted. The love between them was seen by everyone but the two. Of course, Peter knew he was in love with Y/n and vice versa, but for two genius’ they were both dumbasses. Hell, even Tony stark noticed the young love blossoming, the billionaire could see how much the pair adored each other.  

On multiple occasions he’d tried to coerce the young superhero into admitting his feelings but was always given the same response.

“Y/n doesn’t like me like that Mr. Stark, I’m not ruining our friendship over my feelings.” Simple and to the point, but it drove Tony insane that the young genius was so fucking blind. He opted against bringing it up again after seeing such clear pain in Peter’s eyes every time they talked about it, being a bystander as time passed by.

Maybe Peter couldn’t see how enamored Y/n was with him, but Tony could. Especially as he clutched the said boy against his chest as he let out guttural and heart wrenching sobs.

It had all started off as a normal Saturday, Peter was over at Y/n’s the two sitting on the couch and watching some unknown movie, it was purely background noise. The two boys were to focused on each other and their conversation to care about the movie. The domestic peace was ruined by Peter’s phone chiming, a familiar sound that always caused dread to run down Y/n’s spine.

It was the sound of Peter’s police scanner, hearing the radio chatter begin. “Unknown entity in central park, currently creating a perimeter and pushing back civilians, backup requested.” The look of determination crossed over Peter’s features, and if Y/n knew Peter would listen, he’d beg for him to let the avengers take care of it.

“That’s my cue, I’ll see you later N/n!” Peter did a mock salute to his best friend, easily escaping the home via window. For some unknown reason Y/n felt on edge, his gut tightening painfully. He immediately flicked on the news, only having to wait a few moments before the familiar figure of spiderman flung into frame.

The fight was nerve wrecking, watching as the Villain and superhero alike exchanged punches and kicks, and Y/n knew Peter was probably making stupid quips to keep his anxiety under control. The H/c haired boy gnawed on his bottom lip as he watched the fight escalate, getting more violent by the second.

The villain had hit Peter with all their might, and Y/n could only watch as the boy he loved more than anything was flung against a building before he crumpled to the ground. It was as the world stood still, stealing all the breath from Y/n’s lungs as the figure of spiderman didn’t budge, he didn’t get up. Peter promised he’d always get back up.

He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on, air was to thick to breathe and he could feel the moisture running down his face and the devastated cry that left his lips went unheard. The boy couldn’t really remember when Happy arrived at his house, a grim expression on his face as he looked at the disheveled teenager.

Y/n couldn’t remember the drive to the compound, it was as if his brain had just shut down, leaving him devoid of any life. Maybe that’s what Peter was like right now, devoid of life. His constant chatter silenced, his jittery movements stilled, his beautiful face pulled into the blank look of death.

The teenage boy could remember that Happy had to pull over so Y/n could vomit on the side of the road, silent sobs clenching his lungs in their vice. Never in all of his short life had he felt so much pain, never had he begged for the sweet release of darkness as he did now.

The H/c haired boy begged any god that would listen for this to be a nightmare, that he’d wake up and he and Peter would still be on the couch. The brunette would tease him for falling asleep, but he’d take anything to make this pain go away.

When he finally got to the compound and saw Tony waiting, the same grim look on his face as happy, it felt like every last shred of his strength and control was gone. Y/n collapsed into Tony’s arms, breaking into pieces. He only processed a few words “surgery” “critical” and “I’m so sorry.” Everything blended together as the billionaire led him to the medical wing, holding onto the breaking teenager, as if his touch would mend him.

Hours felt like eternity, it was hellish. The sobs that once left the teenager were turned into deafening silence, the occasional sniffle leaving the boy, comforting Tony that the child was in fact still alive.

May had shown up at some point, Y/n couldn’t honestly remember when, or honestly care. Not when he felt like part of himself was missing, leaving a gaping hole where Peter once was.

Good news came in the form of a doctor informing them, at hour 4 of waiting, that Peter had survived the surgery and was now stable. If it wasn’t for his healing factor, the teenager would’ve been dead. He was under sedatives currently, so his body could work solely on healing.

It felt like a weight off of everyone’s chest, he was okay, alive and breathing. The 3 walked in silence to Peter’s room, May and Y/n taking their respective sides on Peter, as Tony sat at the foot of the bed.

Hours were spent in silence, May haven fallen asleep not to long after receiving the news that Peter was okay. Tony and Y/n stayed awake, both lost in their own thoughts. The teenager held Peter’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles silently. His eyes rarely left the still form, scared that if he looked away the boy would disappear from his grasp.

“Yknow what sucks about loving a hero?” Y/n’s broken voice cut through the silence, starling Tony from his thoughts. He didn’t reply, his gaze falling on the teenager. Y/n looked over at Tony and fuck that look should never be on a child. He looked so broken, so tired.

“I know he’s going to die long before me, and I’ll be stuck in this fucked up world without him.” A humorless laugh broke through the boys’ lips, it sounded watery and oh so broken. “I’m not ready to live without him Tony.” A quiet sob left his lips, his free hand going to stifle it.

“I love him so much, and it scares me so fucking bad.” Y/n’s eyes moved back over to Peter, shakily bringing the sleeping boy’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Tony felt his chest tighten painfully; this was really a reminder that they were just kids who grew up way to fast.

“He’s not going to die Y/n, not if I have anything to say about it.” Tony replied in a surprisingly gentle but determined tone. He’d be damned if he let this pair get separated, Peter and Y/n deserved to be together. To grow up together and create a life.

The room fell into silence after that, neither of them wanting to broach the topic again. In the early hours of the morning Peter’s doe like eyes opened once more. Every inch of his body ached with an indescribable pain, and he had to hold back a grimace. He was surprised to see the 3 most important people in his life strewn about the room, two fast asleep. Y/n was still awake though, clasping Peter’s hand like a lifeline has his tired eyes burned into the sheets.

Peter gave his best friends hand a gentle squeeze, but it was enough for the boy’s head to shoot up so fast Peter was scared he’d get whiplash. “Peter! Oh, thank God.” The H/c haired boy breathed out, and even through his eyes were red and puffy from tears and purple bags so dark they looked like bruises bloomed under his eyes, he was still the most gorgeous creature Peter had ever seen.

Peter gave a weak smile, squeezing his hand once more. “How long have I been out?” He questioned; head tipped to the side like a curious puppy. “About 12 hours.” Y/n replied, voice cracking slightly.

The gentle aura Y/n held around him quickly disappeared into one of anger. “If you ever do that to me again Peter I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.” Y/n spit out angrily, but the anger was gone as fast as it had appeared.

“I thought you died, and that was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. I love you, and I’d rather you be with the land of the living.” The confession was made by a boy to tired to process he had said it.

Peter felt a wave of guilt crash over him at the boy’s confession. He knew now wasn’t the time to talk on the subject. “I’m okay N/n and trust me I won’t be doing that again any time soon. Why don’t we sleep and talk again in the morning?”

Peter was exhausted, and he knew his best friend was too, they could talk about this at a later date. As Y/n made a sound of agreement, laying his head against the mattress, Peter knew that everything would be okay. It didn’t matter what horrors he faced, or what pain he went through. He had made a promise to Y/n. He’d get up every time, and he’d be damned if he ever made the Boy he loved go through that pain again.