#Cold Start Injector

[diagnozabam]

Coduri erori OBD2 Smart Fortwo

Smart OBD Powertrain Generic Trouble Codes DTC Codes — P0100-P0199 – Fuel and Air Metering P0100 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit Malfunction P0101 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit Range/Performance Problem P0102 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit Low Input P0103 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit High Input P0104 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit Intermittent P0105 Manifold Absolute Pressure/Barometric…

[oduvnix-ts4]

🎄🫖 CHRISTMAS HOT COCOA OVERRIDE 🫖🎄

What could be better than a hot drink on a cold winter's evening? This drink in a beautiful Christmas mug!

   Today I come to you with another drink replacement, namely hot chocolate from a new tray added to the base game (came with update 1.111.102.1030, so it will not work on older versions, unfortunately).

   As usual, I'll start by showing you what these hot drinks look like in the original:

And now more about my overrides!

   I swapped out 6 different types of different hot drinks, including the textures of both the mug itself and the drink.

〇 hot cocoa

〇 hot cocoa with marshmallows

〇 peppermint hot cocoa

〇 hot cocoa with gingerbread (originally a vegan cocoa)

〇 mulled wine (originally a vegan cocoa with marshmallows)

〇 spiced hot cocoa

    But if you don't have winter holidays in your game right now or you want more standard mugs, I made these replacements for you (the drink textures will remain the same, only the mug itself will become regular):

✧ DOWNLOAD ✧   

MAIN MOD: ~ CHRISTMAS VER.  or       ~ BROWN VER.       or ~ WHITE VER. ADDON: ~ Tuning Addon (increases the number of “sips” from 3 to 5) ~ Electric Kettle Addon (adds these drinks and some of the drinks from last override to the electric kettle from the "For Rent", !required XML-injector!)

  It is desirable not to put the files with texture replacement deeper than one subfolder in the Mods folder. Also, this mod will conflict with any mod that replaces these textures (I know for sure that A.I. Upscaled Food is not compatible with my mod).

[pomegranatelifethis]

Rescue Among the Shadows

An old hospital building in a dark, abandoned part of Gotham. It's cold, raindrops leaving thin lines on the windows. You are one of Bruce's closest allies and have been working side by side with him for some time. However, a criminal organization has captured you and plans to use you as a test subject for an experimental serum. Bruce, aka Batman, takes action to save you.

When you open your eyes, your arms are tied to a stretcher. Men in masks are walking around him, injectors and notebooks in their hands. “This serum will change Gotham forever… and you will be the first step,” the leader of the organization says in a cold voice. Your heart is pounding, but you know: Bruce will never leave you here.

At that moment, the lights in the room flicker and go out. A shadow moves in the darkness. As the members of the organization scream in panic, a familiar silhouette appears: determined and silent, in a cloak. Bruce.

Bruce's Reaction

Bruce does not have an emotional outburst like Joel; His style is more controlled, but the anger and determination in him are visible in his eyes. His first move is to create chaos using the smoke bomb. Then, he emerges from the shadows and takes down the men one by one—every move calculated, every blow precise. When he reaches you, you make eye contact as he cuts your bonds. “You're keeping me waiting,” he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice but also a sigh of relief. He makes you feel like he's risking everything to keep you safe, but he never says it out loud.

- You: “I was starting to worry that you were late.”

- Bruce: “Traffic is bad in Gotham. Are you ready?”

As he breaks free from his bonds, the organization leader points a gun at you with one last move. But Bruce is faster—his batarang soars through the air and knocks the gun out of the man's hand. “I won't let them touch you,” he whispers as he grabs you by the arm and pulls you towards him. This is his clearest emotional moment, similar to Joel's protective attitude towards Ellie, but still tempered with Batman's coolness.

As you leave the hospital together, explosions and sirens surround you. Bruce gets you into the Batmobile and looks back one last time before disappearing into the city. “It's over,” he says, but his tone makes it clear that he promises himself not to put you in such danger again.

Bruce is a strategic and cool-headed hero rather than an instinctive and emotional savior like Joel. But the fact that he risks everything to save you shows how much he cares about you under his tough shell. Instead of Joel's desperate anger at saving Ellie, Bruce's calm but indestructible determination dominates the scene.

@jscrawls @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

[inkmonster21]

Falling in Faith

Series Masterlist

Gideon Gemstone x Fem!Reader

Warnings: drug OD, rehab, religion, dark humor, you’ve seen the fucking show

1. This is Some HBO Bullshit

The darkness enveloped you completely, and a biting cold surrounded you. It felt like time had stopped like you were suspended in a void of nothingness. The only sensations you could feel were the coldness seeping deep into your bones and the feeling of falling downward as if you were weightless in an endless abyss. Your mind was clouded and confused as you tried to make sense of what was happening. You tried to move, to grab onto something, anything, to stop

The fall came to an abrupt and painful end as you slammed into something hard and wet. The impact jarred my body, sending waves of pain coursing through you. The wetness surrounding me felt like a pool of molten lava, searing your skin and radiating intense heat.

You cried out in agony as the pain became unbearable. Everything hurt, my skin burning like it was on fire. The screams that escaped your throat felt primal and full of raw terror, your voice hoarse and raw from the intensity of the pain. Your body felt like it was being consumed by flames, every nerve ending ablaze and sending signals of pure torment throughout your being. The tears streamed down my face, mixing with the sweat and blood that coated your body.

It was Hell.

Your eyes shot open, your body jerking upright as you tried to gasp for air. You gasped deeply, chest heaving as you struggled to draw in oxygen.

Ian leaned back against the worn couch, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Holy fuck, dude! I thought you were a goner," he exclaimed, his voice tinged with relief as he held up the now-empty Narcan injector.

Your voice came out raspy and hoarse as I croaked out the question, "What happened?" Your body trembled uncontrollably, the aftermath of the overdose leaving you weakened and disoriented.

Ian's face was a mix of concern and worry as he spoke, "You took a hit of something bad, and went down fast." He ran a hand through his greasy hair, his gaze roaming over my trembling form.

You tried to remember what had happened, but everything was a blur. You couldn't recall the events leading up to this moment, only a jumble of fragmented memories and sensations. You felt dazed and confused, struggling to make sense of it all.

Despite the chills that racked your body, there was a lingering sense of heat, as if you were still burning. The memory of the pain and the intense heat was one memory that was crystal clear in your mind.

The weight of the realization hit you like a freight train, your mind struggling to accept the harsh truth. "I died. Just now," you mumbled weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ian's eyes darkened, his expression solemn. "Yeah, you're not wrong," he replied, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "You flatlined for a minute there, baby."

You shuddered as the memory of the experience came back to you. "I- I went to hell," you repeated, voice quivering as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

Ian leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on me. "Hell? You sure about that?" he asked, his tone slightly skeptical. He knew firsthand that overdosing could be a hell of a trip, but he wasn’t a believer so he laughed at your comment.

You met his gaze, expression serious despite your weakened state. "Yeah. I'm sure. I've never felt pain like that. I was burning, screaming, and there was just a void of darkness and nothing."

Ian scoffed at my comment, dismissing it as a mere hallucination. "Babe, come sit and chill the fuck out," he said, gently pulling you up onto the couch. He began to roll a joint, his hands moving expertly as he worked.

He started laughing, his expression filled with amusement as he spoke, "First time you OD and you think you see Hell. You're a funny kid. You told me you didn't believe in that shit. Thought your grandparents were big Jesus freaks." It was clear he found some amusement in the situation.

"Yeah, well, never quite had a trip quite like this one," You said, my throat still feeling raw and dry.

He held out the joint, offering it to you. You looked at the joint, feeling a mix of aversion and curiosity. You managed to stand up, legs feeling unsteady beneath you. "I gotta go home, E," You said, a hint of desperation in my voice.

Ian's expression turned curious, his gaze fixed on you. "You sure you're in any shape to walk home on your own?" he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

You met his gaze, feeling a mix of helplessness and desperation. "Can you drive?" You asked, knowing you weren't in any condition to make it home on foot.

Ian considered my question, his brows furrowing as he thought about it. "I suppose I could give you a ride," he smirked, a sly look glinting in his eyes. "But you owe me one, got it?"

You groaned, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice. "Fine. I owe you one," you agreed, your voice raspy and hoarse.

Ian's smirk widened, satisfied with my agreement. He got up, grabbing his keys from the coffee table. "Let's go then."

I felt a wave of nausea wash over me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep anything down for a while. I managed to follow Ian out of the apartment, thankful for the cool night air that hit my face.

The street was dark and quiet, the only sound being the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. I shivered in the cool night air, my body still shaky and weak.

Finally, the familiar sight of the trailer came into view, and a sense of relief washed over you. You eagerly hopped out of the car and practically ran towards the trailer, desperate to get away from the situation. You just wanted to get inside and be alone for a while.

You shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you looked around. Despite the trailer's worn and trashy appearance, it was familiar and comfortable. You couldn't deny that it felt like home.

You let out a sigh as you noticed your mother passed out on the couch, used tinfoil and syringes scattered about. It was a familiar sight, one that should have been alarming but had become almost normal.

You stumbled to your bedroom. Falling to the mattress on the floor. You stare at the ceiling.

You look to your left seeing your little sister Avery. A few empty wrappers of kraft cheese lay at her head. The kid went to bed hungry. She always did.

As you gazed at your little sister, your heart ached with guilt and helplessness. You hated that she had to grow up in this dump with your sorry excuse of a mother. You knew that she would probably end up living the same hellacious life you had if nothing changed.

You felt the weight of your decisions and mistakes heavy on your shoulders. You started doing drugs at the age of thirteen. From that moment on, your life spiraled out of control, and you found yourself drowning in substances just to feel something.

Despite your struggles and mistakes, you wanted better for your little sister. You wanted her to have a life filled with everything you thought was important. You wanted her to have things, love, and faith in something, anything. You wanted her to have a future beyond this trash heap.

You looked tenderly at your little sister, her innocent face bringing a bittersweet smile to your face. You whispered, “No more, Avery. You deserve better than this.”

The words came out softly but with a fierce determination. You knew you weren't in any position to provide any of that right now, but you could get fucking clean and damn try it.

You started the journey towards sobriety alone, and it was a brutal one. Sickness took over your body, making even the thought of food make you want to gag. Withdrawal, as they say, was hell.

Faced with the overwhelming challenge of battling sobriety on your own, you made a desperate move. You reached out to the only person you thought maybe would support you, your grandfather. You dialed the number, heart pounding nervously, unsure of what he would say or do. But you knew you had to give it a shot. You needed help.

It was Sunday, and the church had just let out. As people filed out, chatting and exchanging pleasantries, your grandfather, Johnny, was engaged in a conversation with the pastor, Eli Gemstone. Johnny stopped mid-sentence as he glanced down at his ringing phone. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat when he saw your name on the screen. It was enough to make him stop talking altogether.

He quickly excused himself from his conversation, “Eli, I’m so sorry. I have to take this,” his focus now fixed on you. He hit the accept button and spoke into the phone, his voice filled with surprise and a hint of concern.

“Hello?” he said cautiously. His mind raced with thoughts of what could have prompted your call.

“Hey, Grandpa.” Your voice replied, a mixture of hesitation and hope. "I...I need your help." You admitted, the weight of your words carrying through the phone.

Johnny sighed and closed his eyes. He knew that trusting you wasn't an easy task anymore, given the past incidents. He wanted to be there for you, to help you, but he also needed to protect himself and his wife from any more pain or disappointment.

"What kind of help do you need, sweetheart?" Johnny asked carefully, choosing his words cautiously. His heart was torn between wanting to help you and shielding himself from potential heartbreak again.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the strength to say it out loud. "I'm... I'm trying to get clean, Grandpa." Your voice quivered slightly, vulnerable and raw, “but I… I’m alone and you know I don’t have money for anything. I hate to ask you and Grandma for anything but, I could really use your help.”

Johnny's eyes widened, his heart leaping with a mixture of surprise and hope. He had suspected something was amiss, given your past actions, but hearing you admit it shook him. "Oh kiddo," he said, his voice tinged with both worry and a glimmer of hope.

Johnny's eyes lifted heavenward, tears welling up as he thanked God above for this moment. He had hoped and prayed for this day but never really expected it to come. "Thank God," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

"Stay right there," Johnny replied, his words holding a mixture of reassurance and determination. "We're on our way to get you. Just stay there, kid, okay?" His voice was filled with warmth, a mix of love and relief.

Johnny rushed over to Bonnie, interrupting her mid-conversation. He couldn't contain the excitement in his voice. "Bonnie, we need to go, sweetheart." Bonnie turned to him, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Johnny's eyes sparkled with hope and a glimmer of joy. "It’s (y/n). She needs our help."

Bonnie gasped, her hand going to her chest. "Oh, bless the Lord," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

"She’s reaching out," Johnny continued, his voice filled with relief and a mixture of emotions. "She just called me. She wants to get clean. She’s waiting for us now."

Bonnie's face lit up with joy and urgency. "Come on, let's go!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. Without hesitating, Bonnie grabbed Johnny's hand and raced towards the parking lot.

The two of them made a beeline for their car, their steps filled with both urgency and relief. They were about to embark on a journey that could change everything - not just for you, but for their entire family.

You were locked in your bedroom, fighting against the temptations that seemed to lurk around every corner. The cravings were strong, gnawing at you relentlessly, making it nearly impossible to ignore them. Your willpower was being tested to its limits as you tried to stay strong and resist the urge to give in to your old vices.

The piercing sound of your phone ringing broke the silence in your room, jolting you out of your battle with temptation. You reached out, picking up the phone.

You recognized your grandfather's number and felt a rush of emotions - hope, anticipation, fear. You answered the phone, a mixture of nervousness and excitement evident in your voice, "H-hello?"

"We're here," your grandfather's voice came through the line, filled with a mix of relief and concern.

You peered through the broken blinds, and the sight of the familiar truck parked outside sent a rush of emotions through you. Your grandfather's big blue truck, adorned with Bonnie's favorite "Not Today, Satan" flag flapping in the breeze, was a familiar and comforting sight.

With a heavy heart, slung your worn duffle bag over your shoulder. Avery was a a friend's house for the weekend, and your mom was nowhere to be found, having left hours ago, leaving you alone in the trailer. As you stepped outside, the cool night air greeted you, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere within the trailer.

Bonnie, who was standing beside the truck, saw you emerge from the trailer. Her expressive face was filled with joy, and she couldn't contain her excitement. Seeing you, she began jumping up and down, unable to hide her happiness.

"Sweetheart!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with joy and relief as she rushed toward you. With open arms, she encircled you in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. "Thank God you're alive."

Johnny, standing nearby, shook his head at Bonnie's exuberant display. He jokingly grumbled, "Jesus H Christ, Bonnie! You're gonna wake up the whole crack yard with your hollerin'."

As Bonnie and Johnny embraced you, their love palpable, you managed a weak smile. The sight of them, their concern and affection filling the air, both warmed your heart and made you feel guilty for all the pain you'd put them through.

You climbed into the back seat of your grandfather's truck, sinking into the worn cloth upholstery. Johnny glanced into the rearview mirror at you, his tone gruff but filled with concern. "You look like absolute hell, kiddo," he said bluntly, his eyes locked on your haggard appearance.

Bonnie, sitting next to him, shot him a disapproving look. She couldn't help but elbow him gently, signaling for him to soften his tone.

Your voice was soft and resigned as you stared out the window, acknowledging the harsh truth. "Yeah, drugs do that," you said quietly.

Johnny and Bonnie exchanged a pained glance, their hearts heavy with sympathy and a mixture of emotions. Their eyes met, silently sharing an understanding of the gravity of the situation. The sight of you, so deeply entrenched in the grips of addiction, was a stark reminder of the challenges ahead.

As your grandfather parked the truck, you looked up and saw the rehab center illuminated in the night. The bright lights felt like an inviting beacon, beckoning you with a promise of recovery and a chance at a better life.

Johnny turned off the ignition and looked back at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of worry and hope. "Are you ready, kid?" he asked softly, the gravity of the moment hanging in the air.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice tinged with determination. "I'm ready."

Johnny nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and support. "Alright then, let's get you inside," he said, opening the car door and stepping out, offering a hand to help you out.

As you took his hand, the weight of the moment settled over you. The journey ahead wouldn't be easy, but you had chosen to seek help and start your recovery. With a deep breath, you stepped out of the truck, your resolve strengthening with each passing second.

You steeled yourself and stepped inside the rehab center. The doors closed behind you, creating a barrier between your old life and the path toward recovery.

Time dragged on as the days ticked by, each one filled with therapy, counseling, and facing the demons that had led you down the path of addiction. Every moment was a challenge, a fight against not only your cravings but also the demons of your past.

As the days turned into weeks, a change started to take place within you. Through the pain, the struggle, and the intense therapy sessions, you began to find solace in faith. The teachings of Jesus Christ became a guiding force, helping you to see beyond the darkness and towards a path of redemption and recovery.

As you delved deeper into your faith, memories of your overdose haunted your thoughts. The image of the black void, the feeling of sinking into it, and the crushing realization that maybe you had ended up in hell - it all came rushing back to mind when you studied the Gospels.

With unwavering faith in God's grace and forgiveness, you found solace in the belief that you would never be condemned to hell again. The teachings of Jesus Christ resonated with you, offering redemption and a chance for a new beginning.

You faced the mirror, your reflection staring back at you with a newfound clarity. Your eyes, once dull and lifeless, now sparkled with vibrancy. Your teeth, free from the stains of substances, shone brightly. And, most of all, your smile - it had returned, wide and unfiltered, a sign of the joy that sobriety had brought.

Your advisor, a woman whose smile was warm and kind, entered your room and greeted you with a sense of familiarity. There was a palpable change in the atmosphere as if the room itself seemed to resonate with a sense of accomplishment and newfound hope.

The advisor's voice, filled with a mix of excitement and anticipation, asked you the question. "Are you ready?"

You took a deep breath, your eyes meeting hers with a conviction that had grown over the past weeks. "Yes," you replied, your voice steady and resolute. "I’m so fucking ready."

The advisor's smile widened, a nod of approval on her face. "Good," she said softly, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I have a surprise for you."

As you walked through the halls, the sight of the entranceway filled with balloons caught your attention. The bright colors danced in the light, creating a cheerful atmosphere. The vibrant balloons seemed to symbolize a celebration, a joyous milestone in your recovery journey.

With a confident stride, you strutted down the hallway, caught up in the upbeat music that filled the air. You caught sight of your advisor, and the staff busting moves and breaking it down, and you couldn't help but match their energy. Holding up your sobriety coin, you flashed it with a hint of pride and a hint of snark, a symbol of your hard-earned milestone.

As you reached the doors, you were greeted by the sight of your grandparents waiting outside. Their eyes lit up with delight, their faces breaking into smiles as they saw you healthy and radiant.

Your heart leaped with joy, and without hesitation, you sprinted toward your grandparents. They caught you in their embrace, their arms wrapping around you in a tight hug.

"Oh, my sweet child," Bonnie whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

Johnny held you tight, his rough exterior softened with tenderness. "You look so good, kiddo. We're so proud of you."

Tears sprang to your eyes, overwhelmed by the love and pride radiating from your grandparents' embrace. Their words echoed in your heart, their support and affection a powerful force that bolstered your recovery journey.

Your grandmother pulled back slightly, her eyes filled with tears. "Look at you," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "You look the healthiest we’ve seen you since you were 15!"

Johnny nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving your face. "You've come a long way, baby," he said gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of emotion. "We never doubted you."

With a heart filled with gratitude, you smiled and hopped into the backseat of the truck, your grandparents joining you.

Johnny and Bonnie exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with joy and anticipation. "We have one more surprise for you," Bonnie said, her voice tinged with excitement.

Your little sister, Avery, suddenly appeared in the back of the truck, slamming her hands against the glass window, her voice piercing through the moment. "Surprise!"

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned around and saw her grinning at you, her excitement infectious.

Avery, ever the energetic and adventurous child, was determined to squeeze through the small window. She wriggled and struggled, her giggles filling the air as she attempted to fit her tiny frame through the space. Finally, with a burst of determination, she managed to push herself through the narrow opening, her body contorting in ways you had no idea possible. She landed in the backseat with a plop, triumphantly declaring, "I did it!"

You couldn't help but burst out in laughter, the sight of your little sister's victory making your heart fill with pure joy. At that moment, all the worries and concerns faded away as you enveloped her in a tight hug.

Your grandmother's cheerful voice broke the silence, filling the truck with excitement. "You two are coming to live with us!" she exclaimed, her words brimming with joy.

Your eyes widened in surprise and a mix of emotions flooded through you. It was both unexpected and filled your heart with warmth.

You couldn't help but blurt out a quick question, your face registering shock and disbelief. "Mom's letting you move?" The thought seemed almost too good to be true.

Johnny's tone was serious and his eyes fixed ahead, his words heavy. "Legally she has to," he said gruffly, his demeanor showing the weight of the matter.

Your mind raced as your brow furrowed, trying to make sense of this unexpected turn of events. Avery sighed, “Mama, got arrested.”

Your eyes went wide with surprise as you looked at your sister, processing her words. "She got arrested? Again?" you asked, stunned.

“She's going to be there a while,” Johnny stated bluntly. “We’ve become legal custodians to Avery.”

You found yourself reflecting on the turn of events, a mix of surprise and concern swirling within you. "I go away for three months and all this shit pops off? What did Mom do when she found out you have custody?" you asked a sense of curiosity and worry in your voice.

Johnny sighed, his expression showing a mix of frustration and disbelief. "Well, the day of court, she showed up pissed. Cursing, screaming, demanding we give Avery to her as soon as her jail term finished. But your grandma and I were firm on not even letting either of you spend time with her. So I threatened a restraining order against her if she even tried to talk with you."

The unexpectedness of it all suddenly struck you as hilarious, and a laugh escaped your lips. The image of your grandma and grandpa standing up to your mom's outbursts and threats seemed like something out of a fucking HBO show.

The drive from BFE Morganton, North Carolina to North Charleston, South Carolina turned into a makeshift road trip. With a mix of gospel tunes and singing along, the journey quickly transformed into a series of mini montages. You couldn't help but comment on the situation, drawing a parallel to the surrealness of a made-for-TV movie. "See? Told you. HBO bullshit," you quipped.

Your little sister, ever the enthusiast, practically squealed with excitement as she pointed outside the window. "Look! It’s the house!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with amazement. "It even has a pool!"

As your eyes took in the impressive size of the house, you couldn't help but comment on the obvious improvements. "Dang, Grandpa," you remarked, your brows furrowed in surprise. "I didn't know y'all remodeled."

Johnny stepped out of the truck, a proud smile on his face as he looked up at the house. "Well, we haven't seen you in 6 years," he said, his voice tinged with both affection and a hint of pride. "We've made quite a bit of money since then." Johnny gently touched his cross necklace, a symbol of his faith, and sent a silent prayer skyward before winking at it.

Avery bounded out of the car, her laughter filling the air as she scampered towards the front door. You stepped out after her, your jaw dropping at the sight of the massive mansion before you. It was grandeur in all its glory.

You couldn't help but let out an exclamation, marveling at the opulent surroundings. "Oh yeah. This is some total HBO shit," you declared, still in slight disbelief at the luxuriousness of it all.

[usafphantom2]

‘Flying at over Mach 3 is a thermal problem. Everything is too hot, including any air you slow down to interact with the vehicle. You are trying to make the vehicle (and the pilots inside) survive for hours in a pizza oven, while they are getting cozy with two 500 million BTU/hour flamethrowers,’ Iain McClatchie, an aviation and turbine engine expert

Quora.

‘When you look at a graph like this, your first impression might be that the vehicle is this glowing hot thing slicing through the icy -52 C air at 80,000 feet. So naturally, you think of the air as cooling the airplane down.

NO…Not so much. The air has to change to the vehicle’s speed to touch the vehicle, and that requires work. That work heats the air. At Mach 3.2, the stagnation temperature of the air is 740 F, which is hotter than every (labelled) point on the above graph! (The nacelles around the engine afterburners, unlabelled, are in fact hotter than the air around them

Basically, the shocks from the airplane heat the air around it, but the vehicle itself cools the air in contact with it down. Once the airplane passes by, all that disturbed air tumbles to a stop, leaving a path of hot air through the upper atmosphere.

‘So back to life in the pizza oven. The basic solution is (a) leave most of the airframe hot and make it out of stuff like titanium and stainless steel that are strong when hot, and (b) start with a large amount of cold fuel, and then dump heat from critical areas into the fuel before burning it. When decoupling from an aerial tanker, half the SR-71’s weight was fuel.

‘A special type of kerosene fuel, JP-7, was developed for the SR-71 to be good as a heat sink. It boils away at 285 C at 1 atmosphere pressure, which is the upper end of the kerosene range. When the plane tanked up at 30,000 feet, the kerosene might start below 0 C. At speed, it would be used to cool the avionics and cockpit, and by the time it arrived at the engine it would get up to 177 C. It was then used as hydraulic fluid for the various engine actuators, primarily the variable geometry nozzle. By the time it got to the fuel injectors it had gotten up to 316 C (but wasn’t boiling because it was at several atmospheres of pressure). At cruise the burner cans were at 330 kPa (about 3.3x the pressure at sea level), so the fuel still didn’t boil as it left the nozzles but the droplets would have evaporated very quickly.’

McClatchie continues;

‘JP-7 is mostly a mix of hydrocarbons centered around C12H26 (dodecane). The graph above shows the vapor pressure of dodecane as a function of reciprocal absolute temperature. That makes it a bit hard to read. 0.0024, for instance, is 417 Kelvin which is 143 Celsius. Liquids start to boil when their vapor pressure is greater than the ambient pressure. I’ve labelled the boiling point of dodecane at 2900 Pa, which is the absolute pressure at 80,000 feet, and 13000 Pa, which is the minimum absolute pressure in the SR-71 fuel tanks. Note that the dodecane component of JP-7 starts to boil at 162 C at sea level… quite a bit less than the advertised 285 C which is actually when the stuff boils away completely.

‘The flash point of JP-7 is 60 C. The fuel was held in tanks whose walls were formed of the skin of the vehicle. Since fuel vapor against the top skin of the vehicle would be well over 60 C during cruise, if air was allowed in any ignition source in the tank would cause a deflagration and destruction of the vehicle. Instead, nitrogen gas from a 260-liter liquid nitrogen dewar was used to pressurize the tanks. This would have mostly been an issue during descent, when the ambient pressure rose and extra gas was needed to fill the tank ullage space. Click on the full article to read more.

Written by Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[darth-mortem]

Here is the first chapter of fic I write for PriceGhostWeek2024

“Bravo-6, what's your status?” Price heard in the earpiece of his radio and closed his eyes for a second, leaning heavily against the wall. “Bravo-6, how copy? Do you copy?”

“Affirmative.” The captain exhaled hoarsely, covering the wound on his thigh with his palm. “All units, move out from the facility to the exfil point. Don't wait for me. That's an order. Copy that?”

For a few seconds, the only sound in the earpiece was the crackling of interference, and then the battle group commanders began to confirm receiving the new order in turn. Even through the interference, Price could hear the desperation and disagreement in their voices, but the task was completed, the bombs were planted, the timer was started, and soon the entire complex, which the terrorists had turned into a secret base and ammunition depot, would explode. In addition, the storm was getting worse by the minute, and if the soldiers didn't hurry, the helicopter might not be able to pick them up.

“Rog.” The absolutely emotionless voice of Lieutenant Riley was the last to sound, and Price slid heavily down the wall to the floor, as if the realization that it was all over for him had only come now, and not before, when he had lost his battle group, when he had been shot, and when he was in a dead end, surrounded by enemies.

“Good luck, lads.” He said. “Bravo-6 going dark.”

You can keep reading here or on the Ao3

There was silence. No, of course, voices could be heard from behind the barricaded door, some clatter and noise, but it all came to the captain as if from afar. He sat there, thinking that he needed to put a tourniquet on and bandage his wound, but he didn't move. What's the point if it's all over in twenty minutes? Maybe it would be even better if he lost consciousness before everything exploded.

Suddenly, something changed outside the door. The angry voices turned into panicked ones, and then there were shots and screams of people who were obviously ending their lives in very painful ways.

Price gathered his strength and forced himself to open his eyes, fighting off the deadly cold that had already begun to stiffen his body. He thought again about the tourniquet, but before he could do anything, an explosion occurred. At first, the captain involuntarily shrank back, but quickly realized that it was not over. The timer on his wrist continued to tick away the seconds, and the room was filled with acrid smoke, from which emerged the burly figure of a man whose face was hidden by a blood-covered skull mask.

“Ghost?” Price wheezed in disbelief.

“Affirmative.” The lieutenant replied calmly, hiding the knife covered with blood in the sheath on his chest.

“What the hell are you doing? I ordered you to go to the exfil!” The captain tried to frown, but unexpected relief gripped him so hard that he involuntarily shivered. 

“Do you really want to discuss this now, sir?” Riley knelt down, opened the first aid kit, and began to quickly apply a tourniquet to Price's leg. “You can court-martial me. I don't care.”

Ghost took out an auto-injector, removed the cap, and injected the drug into the captain's thigh with a sharp movement. The pain and weakness receded, and he reached out and grabbed the lieutenant's shoulder.

“I will if these bloody bombs go off before we get out of here.” Price said with a crooked smile on his lips.

“Then we'd better hurry.” Ghost threw the captain's arm over his shoulder, jerked him to his feet, and they ran as fast as they could for the exit.

Price saw corpses. Lots of corpses. Twisted necks, broken spines, slit throats, faces turned into a mess; bone fragments and pools of blood; shell casings and throwing knives that Ghost had left in the bodies of his eliminated enemies in a hurry...

The captain read his classified file. He knew exactly what Lieutenant Riley had done in Mexico. But it was one thing to know and quite another to see how one man had methodically and cold-bloodedly killed everyone who stood in his way, regardless of the number of enemies or their weapons.

After another run, Price realized that they were close to being rescued but also that there was not much time left. He and Riley had to cross a huge two-level loading dock, and there were more than enough terrorists here. They seemed unable to determine the target of the enemy's infiltration of their base and found no bombs, but they decided to move their arsenal just in case and were now loading it onto trucks and ships.

Price and Riley looked at each other. They both knew that they couldn't let the terrorists carry out their plans, because that would mean the unit would have to go out again to eliminate them.

“We don't have much time.” Ghost said, looking at the timer. “But I can try to hold them off if you have my back, sir.”

The captain looked at his leg. The bandage was reddened with blood, but not as much as it could have been: the lieutenant had done a great job with first aid. Despite this, he could see how many enemies were down there, and at some point he wanted to say, ‘negative, let's just get out of here.’ If he had been alone, he might have done so, but now he had a lieutenant with him: the new guy in the unit, the one no one liked, the one who was the only one who had come back for him, his commanding officer, even though he had never given any reason for such affection.

“Go ahead, Ghost.” Price decided and held out his hand. “Give me your Remington and take my M4. I have two magazines left.”

“No need, sir.” The lieutenant placed his sniper rifle in the captain’s hands, and he was sure Riley smiled under his mask before rushing to the stairs leading down from the service bridges.

Ghost was a tall and burly man, but Price had lost sight of him by the time the lieutenant acted. When he saw the smoke bombs explode in three places, he pressed his cheek against Riley’s Remington butt and peered through the scope. The captain couldn't see what was happening through the smoke, so he concentrated on shooting the enemies that remained in sight. Riley probably had his thermal imager down and was using a knife or his Beretta M92 with a suppressor to stay invisible to the enemy until the smoke cleared. The captain was watching what was happening below so closely that he didn't hear the approach and jerked when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Now it's time for us to go.” Riley exhaled hoarsely, and Price noticed that he was now covered in even more blood; he could only hope that it belonged to his enemies.

Ghost helped the captain up again, and they ran for the exit. There was very little time left, so when something exploded behind them, Price involuntarily flinched, but from Riley's lack of reaction, he realized that it was his way of stopping the loading.

After leaving the base, the captain and lieutenant found themselves in the middle of a storm. With no more than seven minutes left on the timer, Ghost showed his feelings for the first time: he cursed and easily hoisted Price onto his shoulders, then ran to the exfil point as fast as he could. The captain realized that they were already too late, but he remained silent, focusing on staying conscious as the effects of the drug the lieutenant had injected him with were beginning to wear off.

Hour ‘X’ found the fugitives on the halfway. A bright flash cut through the thick veil of the storm, and Ghost managed to fall to the wet ground, covering the captain with his body, before an explosive wave of fierce power swept over them, scattering debris and branches of the few trees that grew in this place forgotten by God and the devil.

[sevasey51]

Y/N has had a migraine brewing all day while at work. Connie has paperwork to finish so after her shift she goes upstairs to lay on his office. Considering she worked all day and well even if she was off his loving husband and surgeon mind does everything to help her.

Even When You Hate It

Summary: After battling a migraine all day at work, Y/N retreats to her husband Connor’s office to rest. Despite having paperwork to finish, Connor immediately shifts into caregiver mode when he finds her in pain. Knowing the oral meds won’t work, he gently administers the sumatriptan injection she dreads. Though it makes her sick, he stays by her side—calm, steady, and comforting—holding her through the worst of it until the migraine begins to break and she finally falls asleep in his arms.

By mid-morning, the pounding had started.

At first, it was a dull pressure behind Y/N’s right eye, easily ignored in the rush of a chaotic maternity floor. She kept moving, kept smiling, kept charting. But by the time she made it through three postpartum checks, a code brown in a delivery suite, and half a protein bar eaten in the stairwell between pumps, the pain was blossoming—hot and tight across her scalp, with little flashes behind her eyes when she bent forward.

By noon, she’d dimmed the hallway lights near her workstation. By 2 p.m., she was nauseated enough to skip lunch altogether. And by the end of shift—when her badge finally beeped out of maternity—she wasn’t sure if she’d make it down the elevator without throwing up.

But she didn’t go home.

Instead, she took the elevator up to the cardio floor.

Connor’s office was dark and quiet when she stepped in, the ambient hum of his air purifier the only sound. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. Just kicked off her shoes, curled onto the couch he kept there for nights he didn’t make it home, and wrapped herself in the soft gray throw blanket they kept folded by the armrest. Her head throbbed. Her skin was too hot, then too cold. But this—his office, his scent lingering faintly in the space, the knowledge that he wasn’t far—was safe.

She texted him once.

“Upstairs. Migraine. Lying down. Love you.”

He didn’t answer right away. She didn’t expect him to. He had notes to finish, cases to prep, rounds to review. But he always came.

And he did.

Connor opened the office door as quietly as he could. It was nearly 6 p.m. He found her curled on her side, one arm slung over her eyes, the throw blanket tangled around her knees. Even in the dim light from the hallway, he could see how pale she looked.

“Hey,” he said softly, crouching by the couch. “Baby. You still with me?”

She groaned in response.

“Scale of one to ten?”

“…nnghhf…”

He smiled faintly, brushing a few strands of sweaty hair off her temple. “That bad, huh?”

She nodded, flinching slightly at his touch. Her body was warm, not fevered, but warm in that way she got when the migraine started winning—when the pressure behind her eyes stole her words and her balance and left her barely able to tolerate light or movement. He saw the twitch in her jaw when she swallowed hard, trying not to gag.

He exhaled. “Alright. Let’s fix it.”

She whimpered at that.

Connor didn’t take it personally. He knew what she meant.

Fixing it meant the injection.

“I can do the oral,” she mumbled hoarsely as he gently peeled back the blanket, checking the inside of her arm for gooseflesh. “I’ll just—gimme water—”

“Nope,” he said gently. “You know that’s not going to touch this. You waited too long. Your stomach won’t even absorb it.”

“I hate the shot,” she groaned.

“I know you do.”

“It makes me sick.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Connor…”

He kissed her forehead. “Even if it makes you sick, it’ll break the migraine. You’ve had this building all day. Let me do it. I’ll stay with you.”

Tears stung behind her closed lids. But she nodded.

Connor prepped the sumatriptan auto-injector with practiced hands. He helped her roll gently onto her side, baring the upper part of her thigh, swabbing the area with alcohol. His voice never stopped—calm, low, reassuring.

“You’re doing so good. Just a quick sting, okay? Deep breath in…”

The injector hissed with a dull click.

She gasped, fingers tightening around his free hand as the burn settled into the muscle. Her whole body jerked at the sensation—the rush of pressure, the metallic taste in her mouth, the nausea clawing up her throat.

“I got you, I got you,” Connor murmured, already pulling the waste bin close, rubbing her back. “Let it out if you need to. No pressure.”

She did. Just a little.

He held her hair, wiped her face with a cool cloth, and whispered quiet affirmations as her body shook. Then he cleaned her up, helped her sip water when the waves settled, and tucked her back into the couch with practiced hands.

“I hate that one,” she whispered again, voice cracked from tears and bile.

“I know,” he said, climbing onto the couch behind her, wrapping himself around her back. “But I love you. Even if it hurts.”

She didn’t answer. But she let him hold her, her body slowly going slack as the worst of the nausea passed and the tight band around her skull began to ease. The meds were working.

Connor pressed a kiss to her temple. He didn’t move again.

Not until she was asleep.

[ghostlyglimmer]

Lockjaw

Summary:

Missing for three weeks, Danny finally escapes, only to be found dead and taken to a funeral home. But death isn’t the end—Danny awakens on the embalming table with his jaw wired shut and terrifying new powers. Disoriented and desperate, he must find his way home, knowing nothing will ever be the same again. CW: Gore

Chapter 1: Bring me to Life

By GhostlyGlimmer

Anita Grayves stretched her back, each vertebra popping with a satisfying crack as she exhaled a long sigh. The dim, sterile light of the embalming room cast a clinical glow over her as she donned her PPE, the familiar rustle of the fabric and snap of the gloves a ritual she knew too well. Her technician, Dalton, rolled in the gurney with the next client, the wheels creaking slightly on the cold tile floor. With deliberate care, he unzipped the black body bag, revealing the still form inside.

Danny Fenton, just seventeen years old, lay before her. His once vibrant eyes, now milky white and clouded, stared unseeingly at the ceiling. The raven-black hair that had probably once been meticulously styled was now disheveled, a sharp contrast to the pallor of his skin. He was small for his age, almost fragile-looking, and Anita couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow as she gazed down at him.

But it was the Y-shaped scar on his chest that made her pause. Her brow furrowed in deep thought. She had seen countless autopsy scars in her career, but this was different. The coroner’s report had mentioned it wasn’t a typical dissection; it was a vivisection. The word sent a chill down her spine. She had heard stories, whispers of unsanctioned procedures, but she never thought she’d be the one to witness the aftermath.

Taking a deep breath, Anita began the embalming process. The familiar hum of the pump filled the room as she attached the trocar to his abdomen, starting the slow, methodical draining of blood from the body. The crimson fluid seeped out, replaced with embalming chemicals that would preserve what remained, ensuring the semblance of life for his final viewing.

With the embalming fluids circulating, she moved on to setting his face. It was important that he looked peaceful, almost as if he were merely sleeping. She began with his mouth, loading the needle injector with a barbed-tipped wire. The tool clicked as she pressed it against the maxilla, the wire piercing through the bone with precision. She repeated the process with the mandible, then twisted the wires together, securing his jaw in place. There would be no risk of it coming loose during the funeral, sparing his family the distress of seeing him slack-jawed in the casket.

Next were his eyes. Anita carefully pulled back his eyelids, reaching for the eye caps—small, clear discs with barbed spikes on the inside. They would help his eyes maintain a natural, slightly closed appearance, preventing the sunken look that so often accompanied death. She was inches away from placing them on his clouded eyes when her stomach let out a loud grumble.

“Damn it,” she muttered, the sudden urge reminding her of the coffee she had downed earlier.

Reluctantly, she pushed back her rolling chair, the casters scraping against the tile. She stripped off her PPE, each piece coming off with a practiced flick, and headed for the bathroom. The small, clinical space echoed with the sound of her footsteps as she entered, the door clicking shut behind her. She hurried through her business, then paused at the sink, methodically scrubbing her hands. As she looked up into the mirror, her reflection stared back at her—haggard, with dark circles etched under her tired eyes. She grimaced, making a mental note to try and get some sleep tonight.

Just as she turned off the faucet, the lights flickered, followed by a low, otherworldly groan that seemed to reverberate through the walls. Anita froze, her heart skipping a beat. It was a sound unlike anything she had heard before—something between a wail and a whisper, as if the air itself was being torn apart. A chill ran down her spine, and she stood there, paralyzed, staring at her own reflection, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

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Anita jolted at the horrific sound, the air around her vibrating with an unnatural, bone-chilling resonance. Her hands flew to her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise, but it was too late. A searing pain shot through her head, her vision darkening as her eyes rolled back. She crumpled to the cold, sterile floor, her body limp, blood trickling from her ears and pooling beneath her head in a dark, crimson stain.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton’s eyes shot open in terror. His pupils contracted painfully against the blinding fluorescence of the room, his breath catching in his throat. His mind, sluggish and disoriented, struggled to make sense of what was happening. His hands moved instinctively to his face, rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase a bad dream.

But this was no dream.

As his vision cleared, he looked around, taking in the stark white walls and the cold steel surfaces of the embalming room. The air was thick with the acrid scent of formaldehyde, stinging his nose and making him gag. Panic surged through him as he realized he was completely naked, save for a thin cloth draped haphazardly over his waist.

But it was when his gaze fell on his chest that the true horror set in.

There, etched into his skin, was a large, brutal Y-shaped scar, stretching from his shoulders to his pubic bone. The sight of it made his stomach churn. His face contorted in terror, a scream tearing from his throat, raw and primal. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, each one more desperate than the last, as he clutched his head in his hands, trying to comprehend the impossible. The room seemed to close in around him, the sterile environment suffocating, the silence after his scream deafening.

Danny was alive—but something was horribly, irrevocably wrong.

Ȃ̵̢̡͕̲͍̺̬̩̪̯͖̝̤̱̖̮̼̝͎̭͇̖̥̫̒̈́̔̃̎̄̌̿̍͘̕͝A̵̡̨̙͇͚̥̦͚͙̘̝̤͎͙͒̽̃̒́́͛̉̂͋͝ͅÄ̶̧̨̢̛̛͖̭̠̤͈͈̘͔̣͔̱͇̱̜̯͎͚͍̩͚̺̦̜͑̑̓͂͋͌̄͜͠͠͝Ą̴̧̢̢̧̢̝̱̻̥̹̖͕̦̠̬͙̭̜̣̱͓͚̗̗̬̮̙̤̲͇̟͚̣̜̜̼̹̻̮͇̟̤̹̩̬͕͖̖͙̤́̈́̓́̾ͅͅA̷̧̡̢̨̧̩͙̥̥̘̘͚̞̣̮̣̯̮͔͚͈̤͙̦͈͕͙̣̳̝͈̩͙͇̲̳͈͈͖͙̦̥͈̗̠̖̣̐̇̇̆͒͂͗̃̾̀̆̈́̽͆̆̕̚Ą̷̧̨̥̠̦͙͍̘̬̥̘͕̦͚̫̣̱̤͎̹̰̣̥̰̥̟̘̜̗̪̫̘̤̱̈́́͐̌͛̄̀͆́̓͂͛̈́̇̉͜͝͠Ą̸̢̡̞̻̪͎͔͕̠̗̖͈̲̯͓̜̝̭̼͎̟͕̀̌̀̈́̑̏̑͐́̋̄͌̏́̈́͋̈́̊̋̓̓̀̏̏̀͝͝ͅA̷̧̡̧̧̛̛̠̘̻̮̱̦̠̦̣̫̩̬͚̦̳̮͙͎̞̞̗̮̩̩̪͓̩̻̪̱̰͉̼̮̞͖̒͋͐́͒͗̒̋̑͂̅̎̾̀̓̔̋̇̈́͑̆͐̌͌̑̌̋̅̔͘̕̚͝ͅA̴̛̛̛͙̮͌̌̅̀̊̅́̉̈́͆̅͑̐̏̄͆̈͗̒͐̓́̀͊̆̔̅̄͂͊̃̍̽̈́̊͌̀̿͛̓̈́͗̆̓͋̈̑̚̚͝͠͝͝À̷̢̧̡̢̙̪̰̮̼͙̣̜̭̦̞͓̩̝̣̙͕̞͙̳͇̦͉̼̜̠͈͔̰̺̟̜̳͍͚̥̺̫̈́͛̾̌̊́̿͊̈́̑̓͌̕̕͝ͅA̷̧̨̧̧̧͍̦̖̖̭̪̭̞̦̹͎͈͕̖̮̙͇̪̥̣͕̪̫͓͙̖̜̙͍͉̭̺̘̰̞̰̯͓̔̐̂͋͋̀̓̍̓̉͑̇͊̊̃̈́̌̅͑͆̍̑̋͑̍̔̂̒̀͗͌̇̂̆̈́̂́̈́̉̀͗́̐͛̇͆̂̀͂̔͐͛́̈́̉̃̕͘͝͝͝͝ͅĄ̷̥̗͕̙͍̭̠̮́̈̀͗̈̏̅̓̓̄̈͆̄̈́̃̌͒̓͑͐̉̔̉́͗̌̍͆́̍̆̕̚͘͜͝A̷̧̙͓̫͚͐͐̉̈́̾̍̇́͋̎̆͒̆͒̋̌̕Ą̵̨̡̧̧̢̢͓̯̤̹͙̘͈̹̭̥̪̬͕̜̦̠̻͓̫̤͈̜̣̲͙̬̦̣̺̖̞̗͎̙̙̩̯͍̱̥̝̖̅̀̋͊̇̉̔̈́̈́͗̇͗̈́͋̇̆͐͌̽̓̾̀̀̀̏͒̑̉̔͂̚͜͜͜ͅͅA̸̧̡̨̡̢̻̜͓͚͖̞͚̜̞̙̻̥̠̞̰͔̠̗͎̝̖͇̳̎̀̄̌̒̓͒̐̎̚͠Ạ̴̧̢̫̣̻̬̮̙̫̯̪̙̻͈̟̪̳̅͆͗̌̓̒̍͗̅͊́̏̃͐͑̃́͆̒̍̓̍̈̔͑̾̽̽̐͗̂̑̋́͌̚̕͝͠͠͠Å̵̧̨̢̡̛̯̻̬̻͈̩̹̜͓͎̣̜̥͔̜̩̟̞͓͓̠̬̬̟̜͓͓̲̻͚̟̦͇͓̰͕̲̝̳̺͕̝̭̣͕͈̥̲̪͎͎̻̟͚̖̋͋̀̋́́̊̎̐̀͊̑̊̾̓̈͛͒̄̊̀̕̚͜͠͝ͅͅA̶̛̛͕͈̻̺̲̤̳̖̋̓̀͋́͗̀͒̃̈́̉̅̉̉͑͑̋̅̃͒̎͋̎̏́̓͌̆͋ͅȦ̵͖̪̘͛̋͒͠͝ͅĄ̴̧̨̢̛̦̱̦̺̩̞̟̲̻̬͈̪̖̬̯̝̝̲̰̣̩̯̫͈̫̪̜̳͇̮͖̪̱̠̹̤̰͓̭͕̥̹̣̀̅̉̒̃̽͊̆̊̈́̄̐͌́̓̾̓̍̌͑̓͌͊̾̊̂͒͌̀̔͒̕͘͘͘͜͜͝͠͝ͅÄ̶̢̢̱̯̰̟̙͇͔̰̗̜̦̤̪̟̞̪͍̞̟̠̰̗̬̖͎͓̰̫́̈́̊̈́̒A̷̧̢̢̛̹͇̩͎͎̥̱͔͉̞͍͕̠̮͔̭̪͔̜̜̘̰̞͇̱̙͖̮̞̖͉͚̯̟͙̞̫̭͔̰̞͙̗̱̹̺̰͖̭̮͚̪̩͒͑̽̉̋̔͗͗̃̊̀̽̾̿̒̍͗͑̇̅̒͛̈́́̍̿̒̾̊͋́̃̃̈́͂̔̀͐̿̆͌̑̐̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅA̴̡̢̢̧̡̧̛̯͔̭̝̪̰̳̭͚̗̣̼͕̗̟͈͔̩͖̪̖̪͈̝͉̭̭̝̳̘̠̬̩̰̳̳͍̘̫̪̓̀̾̉́̿͂̓̾̎́͐͑̄̉̿̈̍̅̎̏̈́̓͘͝͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅA̶̙͇͎̤̓̿͗́̄̔̆͋̋͆̒̔͐́̽̄͒̎̏͛̂̅̒̋̽̈̋͂͐͐̎̅̌̋̾͑͌͋͐͘̕̕͝͝Ḁ̶̧̡̨̡̢̛̛̰̫̰͓͍̥̝̤̤͕̟̬͕̺͔̻̯̗̠̺̯̬̲̠̳̗͇͇̖̳̙͈͖͕͚͖̖̟̻͉̼̈̈͆̉͊̃̐́̎̊̌́̆̓͆̈̉́̅̆͌͐̽͌̀͒̽̌̿͐̀̽̈́́͋̑̕͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͠ͅA̷̡̨̢̛͕̟̜̰̼͔̠͉͈̼̫͚̟͈̻̖͛̍̍̇̑̐̓̓̀͠Ą̷̱̲̱̳̦͔̥̼̠͕̠̟͎̣̘̮͉̖̗̙̗̞̣̟̈́̾̽̿̍͌̚͘͜͠A̴̡̛̹̗̥̯͇̥̙̣̙̜̰̪̰̘͈͐̌̃̓̌̾̿̃̈͒͋̃̐͒̔̍̈́̓͑̓́̔̔̒͂̐̉̀͋͆͌͂̾͘͘͝͝͠͠Ā̶̡̛̛̖̳̟͕͖̻̲͓̦͈͓͚͈̺͍͙̲̗̒̐̍̂̆͋̈̃͑̽̉̓̃̇͘Ą̴̨̛̣͓̞̪̱̰̜͂̏̀̆͒̀̿͆̑͊̿̈́̑͋̀̌̾̀̈́̾̽̈̈́͐͊̀̒̈́̇͒̈́̀̐̌͒͋͌͊̉̂͒̄̒̇̇̐̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͝͝Ā̷̛̛̬͙̠͉̰̼̼̦͉͕̤͈͙̯̈́̿̅̊̋̽̈́̓͌̈́̏͋̍͌͑̆́̄̂̍̿̉̑̈́͊̀͐̈́͋́͆̌̉̀̔̂̍̍̾́̔̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝A̷̡̧̡̢̨̡̡̢̢̘͉̭̠̖͈̠̭̖̞̭̞͎̤͚͕͔͖͚͇͇̯̟̝̪̖̦͙͙͇̳̪̼̮̫̥̲̲̙͔̟̭͈̺̺͚̬̱͓̠͒̎́̒͐͋͒͂̍̈́̅̐̇͜͜͠Ą̷̢̡̢̢̛̲̝͉͓̺͉̣͇͖̺̜̝̗̹̥̩͎͔͕̦͉͍̜͉͔̫̟̥͓̯̬̖̣͙͍̭͇͔̱̺͈͈̱͗̓̽̒̐͂̓̿͒͊̓̌̅̈́̉̅̓̎̈́̎͗̈́̍̌̒̂̈́̋̐͋̓̆́́̈̇̂͐̔͘̕͝͝A̴̢̡̛̭͈̺̥͇͓̟̻͔̪͇̝̰̱̮͇̦͕̞͙̘̤̻̺̐̎̇̉̓́̐͂́̀͌̽̋̒̀̋͊̀̾͒̓̇̽̂́͛̓̀̓̄̉́̅̀̾͒͌̈́̐͐̑̈́͒́̌̈́̿̽̾̃̽̀͋͛͘͜À̶̡̧̧̨̨̛̛̮̹͓̥̠̱̱̯̪̹̹̮̳͔̞̫̗̹̘͙͙̝̘̳̠̠̳̱̺̗̳̬̰̤̩̖͙̬̥͔̬͈̭̳̬̻̼̐̎͌͆̎̈́̀͆͌̒̅̾͂̋̍̏̈́͛͆̓̊͐͊̄̀̂͐̽̓̍͊͆̚̚̕͜͠͠͝͝Ą̷̧̛̛̛̛͈͖̞͓̱̦̬̣̭̗͍̤̣̦̯̪̹̘̟̙͈̼̬͑̿͊̈͑͛͒͗̑̀͆̏̒̓̃̊̏̐̉̿̄͒̂͛̈̀̂̈͋̀͗̃̆̏̾̏͐̂͂̊̈́̏̐̉͆̂̍̓̚͘̚͘̕͝͝͝͝ͅͅÁ̴̡̢̧̢̩̰͔̰͈͖̬̯̱̙̱̣̭̟͇͙̦̭̣̱͉͇͚̗͌͋͘͜Ä̵̧̛̝̘̼͇̬̭̼̬̠̞̩̩̜̤̰͙͔̼̬̟̟̫͓̥͇̱͕̦̜͙͚̪͚̩̱̟̗̥͙͇̩̞̬̞̗̥̻̘͓̹̻̰̫̙̯̗̹̹́̐͐̎̇̿͗̊͂̏́̂̋̀͆̆̾̄͑͑̽̌̈́̄͋͋̈̂̆̐̀́͌́̎̋̅͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅA̷̧̢̡͇̣͈̥̻̗͓͈͖͔̭̩̪͎͍̻̥̝͈̝̭̤͍̘̺̥̲͉̰̦͓̫͇͓͙͙̣̼̫͇͛̋͒͐̄́̔̓͐̅͒͆̏̅̎̇́̚̚͜͜͜ͅ

As Danny’s scream echoed in the sterile room, he froze, realizing something was terribly wrong with his voice. It wasn’t his voice. It was distorted, hollow, like a death rattle echoing from the depths of a crypt. The sound made his skin crawl, every hair on his body standing on end. It was the kind of voice that belonged to something not of this world—something dead. He slapped his hands over his mouth, horrified, tears welling up in his cloudy white eyes.

He felt something hard under his lips and pulled them open, trembling fingers probing inside his mouth. His breath hitched when he encountered metal wires, woven cruelly through his teeth. Panic surged through him, and he tried to wrench his jaw open, but it wouldn’t budge. A sharp, searing pain shot through his skull, and he winced, the realization of his confinement crashing down on him.

Tears streamed down his face, his entire body quaking with fear and confusion. Sobs wracked his fragile form, the reality of his situation suffocating him. This couldn’t be happening—this had to be a nightmare. What the hell was going on? Why was he connected to this machine? Why was there a grotesque wound carved into his chest? And why, oh God, why was his jaw wired shut?

His mind spiraled, grasping desperately for memories, for anything that could explain this horror. But everything was a blur, a foggy haze that clouded his thoughts. He couldn’t think straight, his head pounding with the effort of trying to piece together the fragments of his shattered memory.

But through the chaos, one thought pierced the fog: he needed help. He needed to find his family, his friends. He clung to the memory of them like a lifeline, the only clear images in his fractured mind. Sam and Tucker—they would know what to do. They had always been there for him, through every strange and terrifying moment of his life. If anyone could help him make sense of this nightmare, it was them. He had to find them. He had to get out of here.

[ltash]

Dauntless

Ep-33 "The cost of selflessness"

SimonGhostRileyxFemaleReader

Just as you sank into the cold simulation chair, a soft mechanical whirring filled the room. Black cables slithered down from the ceiling, sharp needles glinting ominously at their ends. Your breath hitched. The simulator was activating, and there was no way out. Panic rose in your chest, but before the needles could pierce your skin, a Dauntless soldier entered the room in a rush.

"Ma'am," he addressed Jeanine, who turned toward him with a narrowed gaze, " Ghost has nominated himself. He says he wants to take her place… to be the one who opens the box."

Jeanine raised an eyebrow, pausing for a beat as she considered. Her lips curled into a slow, calculating smile. "He's the most potent Divergent we’ve ever seen," she muttered to herself. "Fine," she said aloud, flicking her hand. "Bring him in."

Moments later, the door to the simulation room hissed open, and Ghost stepped inside, flanked by guards. Your heart skipped. The sight of him, stoic, unreadable behind his mask, brought both dread and relief.

Without thinking, you rushed to him, throwing your arms around his solid frame. “Ghost! Don’t do this. Please. You don’t have to do this for me,” you pleaded, your voice cracking.

His hands came up, resting against your back. “I can’t afford to lose you,” he said softly, the weight of his words sinking into your soul.

"Oh come on," Peter scoffed from behind, clearly unimpressed. "If you two lovebirds are done with the tragic romance, shall we move along?" He jabbed the muzzle of his gun into Ghost’s back.

You pulled away reluctantly, your heart aching. As you stepped back, Ghost reached out and caught your hand in his. His gloved fingers curled around yours tightly, as if trying to freeze the moment in time.

“Simon…” you whispered, your eyes searching his hidden face, desperate for one last glimpse of something, anything.

His grip tightened for a second longer. Then, with quiet resignation, he slowly let go.

The silence that followed was deafening as the guards took you by the arms and led you away, back to the holding cell where Four was waiting. You looked back one last time.

And he was still watching you.

Jeanine paced slowly across the glass-paneled observation deck, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Her cold eyes flicked toward Ghost as the guards shoved him forward.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, arms crossed, amusement lacing her tone. “So the infamous Ghost is selfless, too. Ready to die for her?” She tilted her head mockingly. “How noble. Sit.”

Ghost didn’t speak. His massive frame moved with quiet control as he walked to the simulation chair and lowered himself into it, his shoulders square, his silence more powerful than any protest.

Jeanine stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. “Remove your mask.”

Again, no resistance. Ghost simply reached up, fingers curling around the edge of his skull-printed balaclava. In one slow, deliberate motion, he peeled it off, revealing his face for the first time.

Peter, watching from the corner, let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he muttered, genuinely surprised.

The room seemed to pause.

Ghost’s features were arresting, rugged and lethal. A few faded scars marked the sharp lines of his face. His nose, slightly crooked, gave him a hardened edge, and his jaw was chiseled like stone. Close-cropped dark hair crowned his head in a regulation military buzzcut. But it was his eyes, those intense golden-brown eyes, that drew everyone in. Cold, calculating, unwavering.

Jeanine blinked. Just once. A flicker of… something, admiration?, flashed across her face, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

“Start the simulator,” she ordered, her voice low, clipped.

The machinery above groaned to life. Black, serpentine cables descended from the ceiling, their tips gleaming with sharp injectors. They hovered around Ghost like vultures before striking, plunging into his arms, legs, and neck with mechanical precision.

He didn’t so much as flinch. Not a twitch. His jaw remained tight, expression locked in grim silence.

The floor beneath the chair began to retract. Slowly, the chair sank, leaving Ghost suspended midair, limbs held taut by the cables, body dangling like a marionette. The humming of the simulation room filled the air.

Jeanine turned toward the glass console, her eyes glued to the monitors. “Vitals are steady,” she said to the technician beside her. “Heart rate’s elevated, but stable. No signs of resistance.”

“He’s controlling his fear,” someone whispered.

“No,” Jeanine corrected coolly. “He owns it.”

He closed his eyes. The room faded, replaced by the silent hum of the simulator. The cables pulsed faintly with light, reading his neural responses, syncing with his mind.

The simulation began.

The first click of the cube echoed faintly through the observation room, Abnegation unlocked. The segment of the cube lit up in a soft gray glow, revealing the trait of selflessness.

Jeanine leaned forward. “Interesting…”

Inside the simulation, Ghost found himself standing on a cracked concrete platform—Berlin. The familiar flickering subway headlights flashed overhead. The air felt cold, damp. The weight of memory settled over him like a shroud.

To his left, just ahead, was the same spot he never forgot, the place where he lost Johnny “Soap” MacTavish.

His boots echoed on the empty platform as he walked slowly forward, heart heavy with anticipation. There it was again, the bomb, ticking faintly. And Soap… Soap was kneeling beside it, wires in hand, same crooked grin, the same spark in his eye.

“Aye, Lt!” Soap called out, turning his head toward him with a grin. “Took you long enough. I’ve got this handled, the bomb’s diffused. We did it.”

Ghost froze, breath catching in his throat. The way Soap laughed, that ease in his voice, so real. So vivid. For a moment, he wanted to believe it.

“If only…” Ghost muttered, voice low.

He stepped forward, the edges of his mind threatening to tear apart, knowing it was all a fabrication. A cruel simulation. And yet—

“I missed you, Johnny,” Ghost whispered hoarsely as he dropped to his knees and pulled Soap into a hug.

Soap laughed softly, thumping him on the back. “You’re getting soft, Lt.”

Ghost’s grip tightened. “You have no idea.”

He closed his eyes, burying the pain in his chest. If only it were real. If only his friend was really here. If only he could stay in this moment forever.

But deep down, he knew the simulation was far from done.

“Lt, you have to stay strong.” Soap's voice cut through the fog like a lighthouse in a storm. His tone was steady, but his eyes shimmered with understanding.

Ghost clutched him tighter, as though letting go would erase him from existence. His voice cracked, heavy with all the things he never said. “I’m not strong, Johnny. I just pretend I am. This mask… this facade, these walls I built? They're not strength. They're armor. A disguise.”

Soap didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

Ghost went on, breath trembling. “My Divergence… it’s not a gift. It’s a curse. Everyone thinks it makes me special. But it’s what’s tearing me apart. It’s the reason I can’t rest, can’t trust, can’t feel peace. It’s the reason people like you get hurt.”

In the simulation room, the Candor symbol on the cube glowed bright white, another piece unlocked, truth revealed. Jeanine’s eyes widened, quietly studying the cube’s progress.

The simulated world twisted again, shadows warping until Ghost found himself in the heart of another battlefield, the subway in chaos. Screams, gunfire, blood. Makarov’s men were everywhere. The Task Force was pinned down.

Ghost didn’t hesitate, he raised his rifle and fired into the oncoming soldiers, heart pounding with purpose.

From the smoke, Makarov emerged, cold and calm. He raised his pistol toward Captain Price.

“No!” Ghost snarled, but it was too fast. Just as Makarov pulled the trigger, Soap shoved Price out of the way.

“Johnny!” Ghost yelled, already moving.

Makarov spun toward Soap and fired, but Ghost got there first. One shot. Then two. Makarov staggered. And then he laughed.

That sick, haunting laugh.

Ghost gritted his teeth and fired again. Makarov stood. Shot again. He kept standing. Shot again. The simulation pushed Ghost to the edge.

"Stay. Down." Ghost growled, each word punctuated with a shot. Until, finally, Makarov didn’t move again. The echo of his laughter was gone.

The smoke cleared. Soap looked at him, hands resting on his knees. “Thanks, Lt. You always pull through.” He gave that crooked grin, the one Ghost hadn’t seen in what felt like years.

Ghost took a step forward, heart easing for the first time,

But then the subway blurred, melted, and shifted into blackness.

In the observation room, another section of the cube lit up with a sharp metallic glow, Dauntless: unlocked.

A mechanical voice echoed across the simulation chamber:

“Dauntless Sim Complete.”

Jeanine’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. But she didn’t understand what it had cost him.

Not yet.

Full story on wattpad:

[zeke-fanfucs]

3/5

I wanted to write how Blanche would act when Kipp got hurt. @solzticesoulz @bookwor-mmm tell me if I messed up.

Don’t Touch What’s Mine

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧────✧₊∘

Blanche was leaning against the wall, fiddling with a broken injector cartridge, when he saw Kipp stumble back into the alley.

At first, he didn’t process it—he was used to Kipp being scraped up, dirt on his knees, bruises from parkour runs or garbage can climbing.

But then the streetlight hit Kipp’s face just right.

A swollen cheek. A darkening eye.

Blood at the corner of his mouth.

The injector snapped in Blanche’s hand.

“What the fuck happened,” he asked, voice flat and razor-thin.

Kipp winced. “S’nothin’. Just some guy at the corner bar. Big fella. Thought I was snoopin’.”

“You’re always snoopin’.”

“I always snoop,” Kipp snapped back. “I can handle it. Ain’t the first—”

“Don’t,” Blanche said sharply, stepping forward. “Don’t say that like it makes it fine.”

Kipp’s shoulders pulled in slightly. “I’m not some pet. You don’t gotta protect me.”

“You think this is about protection?” Blanche’s voice dropped. “You’re my brother.”

Kipp froze.

Blanche’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t touch family,” he said, more to himself now. “Not unless you’re ready to deal with me.”

Kipp hesitated. “It’s not a big deal…”

Blanche’s head whipped toward him, eyes burning. “Point. Him. Out.”

Kipp looked down. Mumbled. “Corner of Fifth. Big drunk asshole. Pink shirt. Missing tooth. Probably still there.”

Blanche nodded once.

“Go home,” he said. “Don’t wait up.”

“…What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna make sure he wishes he only walked away with a black eye.”

Kipp swallowed hard. “Wildfire won’t like this.”

“She ain’t gonna know,” Blanche muttered, adjusting the strap on his boot and double-checking the poison cartridges inside. “Unless he ends up in a crater.”

He started walking, already silent on the pavement, the way only a man with built-in springs and decades of grudges could walk.

Kipp stayed behind, fingers digging into Fluffle’s ear as he watched him go.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kipp felt bad for the guy.

But only a little.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧────✧₊∘

A Few Hours Later…

The man was found screaming in an alley. Paralyzed from the waist down. Covered in what smelled like minty oil, tied up in coils of wire that read “Property of Bunny Patrol” on the tag.

Nobody could get a coherent statement out of him.

And Blanche came home with dust on his coat and not a word to say.

He just dropped a cold pack on Kipp’s lap and ruffled his hair—once, quick, like it embarrassed them both.

Kipp blinked.

“…You’re insane.”

“You’re welcome.”

[shimmerandink]

Ashes and Alchemy

Silco x Spy! Reader

Continuing part of Ashes and alchemy!

The low hum of the machinery was a constant presence, wrapping the lab in a cloak of mechanical life. Tubes hissed softly, shimmering liquids pulsed faintly under flickering lights, and the metallic scent of oil and chemicals mingled with the faint bitterness of smoke. Every breath you took felt thick with danger, and anticipation.

Your hands moved with practiced precision, adjusting the injector valve on a complex shimmer refiner. The glass tubing shimmered with a delicate blue glow, crystallizing slowly as you tweaked the pressure. The success of this process could mean the difference between power and ruin for Silco’s operation.

Behind you, Silco watched silently, his shadow stretching long across the lab’s worn floor. The glow from his injured eye caught the faint light, burning like a dying ember, full of secrets and scars.

“You have skill,” he said quietly, voice gravelly but not unkind. “More than I expected.”

You didn’t turn to meet his gaze immediately. Instead, you focused on the shimmer inside the tube, your voice steady. “Shimmer doesn’t forgive mistakes. Neither do I.”

His footsteps were soft but deliberate as he moved closer, the scent of smoke and something deeper, a mix of danger and something almost human, clinging to him. He leaned slightly over your shoulder, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“And yet you hide something,” Silco murmured.

A spike of adrenaline ran through you, but you kept your expression calm, practiced. “Everyone in Zaun hides something. We all have reasons to keep secrets.”

Silco’s gaze was intense, piercing. “Some lies run deeper than others. Tell me, what is it you hide?”

You met his eyes finally, the cold blue of his good eye locking with your own. “I’m just a chemtech engineer. Here to help.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to believe you, or rip the truth from your throat. Then he circled you slowly, like a predator savoring the scent of its prey but curious about its worth.

“You talk like a man who’s seen the edge,” Silco said softly. “But you tread carefully.”

Before you could answer, a sharp beep cut through the silence, soft, but urgent.

Silco’s eyes snapped toward the console. “What now?”

You moved quickly, fingers flying over the controls, scanning logs and readings. The screen flickered and then displayed discrepancies, shipments that didn’t match records, unexpected delays.

“Someone’s been tampering with the shipment logs,” you said, voice tense. “Either a message… or a warning.”

Silco’s expression darkened. “From Rylen?”

You nodded grimly. “If he suspects we’re playing him, he won’t hesitate to act.”

He straightened, eyes blazing with resolve. “Good. Then we have less time before this game ends.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of your double life pressing down on you. The mission had started with clarity, but now every interaction, every glance, made the lines blur.

For the first time, you wondered, who were you really betraying?

—————

The hum of the machinery was suddenly quieter in your ears, overshadowed by the unexpected closeness of Silco behind you. His presence was a weight, both threatening and magnetic, that pressed against your skin.

He leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath brush your neck, the faint scent of smoke and spice making your pulse quicken.

“You handle shimmer like you handle secrets,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Careful, controlled… but I wonder how long you can keep it bottled up.”

You shifted slightly, the edge of the metal table pressing into your hip, the warmth of his body close enough to spark something you hadn’t expected.

“Maybe I’m not as careful as you think,” you said, voice teasing but guarded.

Silco’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “I like a little unpredictability. Keeps things interesting.”

His gaze flicked to your eyes, searching for a crack in your calm façade.

“You don’t scare easy,” you said, meeting his look head on.

“Most people do,” he replied, stepping even closer until the space between you was almost gone. “But you… you’re different. I want to see what else you’re hiding.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, not from fear, but from something far more volatile.

The lab around you felt hotter, charged with the electricity of unspoken promises and dangerous games.

“And if I let you in,” you whispered, “will you keep my secrets safe?”

Silco’s eyes darkened, the ember glow flaring brighter for a heartbeat. “Maybe. But first, you have to earn my trust.”

His hand brushed lightly against yours, just a touch, but enough to send a spark through your veins.

The mission, the lies, the dangers, all faded for a moment in the heat between you.

Silco’s fingers lingered on yours just long enough to ignite a spark, dangerous and electric, before he pulled back, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re bold,” he said, voice low and almost amused. “Zaun hasn’t seen anyone quite like you.”

You let yourself smile, eyes locking with his. “I have to be. Around you, unpredictability isn’t just fun, it’s survival.”

The moment stretched, thick with tension, before a harsh clang shattered the fragile calm. The lab door slammed open, and Sevika’s sharp voice cut through the air.

“Trouble.” Her eyes flicked between you and Silco. “Rylen’s men are moving. They’re coming for the lab.”

Silco’s expression hardened instantly. “Didn’t think they’d wait long.”

Your pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the thrill of the danger closing in, and the way Silco’s protective gaze locked on you.

“You ready to see if you’re as good under fire as you are with shimmer?” he asked, voice a low challenge.

You stepped closer, brushing your hand deliberately against his. “With you? Always.”

In the chaos that followed, the clang of metal, the hiss of shattered glass, you and Silco moved in sync, a dangerous dance of skill and trust. You covered his back as he issued commands, your mind sharp and heart pounding.

When the last threat was silenced and the lab fell quiet once more, Silco’s eyes found yours again, softer now, but still burning with that ember fire.

“Not bad,” he said, stepping close, voice a whisper meant only for you. “Maybe you’re more trouble than I bargained for.”

You grinned, leaning in just enough so your breath brushed his cheek. “Trouble keeps things interesting.”

Silco’s smile deepened, and for a moment, the shadows around you seemed to hold their breath.

Pt 3?

[silurisanguine]

Aeryn x Reyes for “No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re gonna be fine.”

thanks for the ask! This is set post game, sometime in the future. Tristan is Aeryn's brother's name.

She felt it hit her hard, cutting through her shield. A powerful kett round striking her mid section as they escaped one of the Primus's new facility on Kadara they thought they'd cleared out. But all it had taken was one stray enemy to blast through her shield with their damn sniper rifle. It was only the fact she'd jumped at the moment of firing that the round had hit her torso rather than head as she wouldn't be thinking anything right now if it had been the latter.

The searing hot pain shot through her core and she stumbled, collapsing against one of the barricades to shield herself from further harm.

Ahead of her she saw Drack roar in fury, charging the offending Kett who exploded in a mass of alien blood under the krogan's hammer, but her vision was fading when Reyes slid to a kneeling halt next to her, fumbling with his first aid kit to buy her time.

Time she wasn't sure she had as a cold numbness started to replace the burning pain. Blood loss. She grasped her side, pulling her hand away to see it was covered in her blood and she let it flop loosely against her thighs, her energy leaving her in the same way her blood was. Lifting her head slowly she saw Reyes pull out some packs of medigel, frantically ripping the packaging open to get at the contents.

As he did she felt sharp piercing pain shoot through her as SAM worked to counteract the bloodloss, pinching off blood vessels. Was it enough? She could see the pool of crimson starting to seep around her legs.

"I'm sorry... Reyes...think my luck... has finally ...run out."

"No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re gonna be fine.” Reyes whispered with a concerned hiss as he pressed an emergency medigel pack to the wound. "Shuttle is on route with Lexi and a medic team from the forward base."

Aeryn faintly smiled, her eyes fluttering as the gel did it's job, trying to lift her cleaner hand to place it against Reyes's concerned face. But she had no strength in her limbs.

"I really want to, but Tristan might get his chance to shine soon." "Your brother already shines, just not as brightly as you do." Reyes felt the gust of hot air as the shuttle landed nearby and heard Lexi's distinct voice as she ran towards them. "You just need a little polish right now." Aeryn wanted to laugh, her eyes barely seeing the vision of blue as Lexi knelt next to her, but every time she tried to it hurt. Which was good she thought. If she could still feel pain then she knew she was alive. Just what ever that kett had hit her with had done damage, she knew it. Could hear it in Reyes's voice. She knew if she could focus she'd see it in his eyes too. Still his words gave her comfort, always seeing the best in her even when she knew she was a mess...and possibly dying.

"Like a diamond huh?" "Diamonds don't shine, they reflect. You cariño are a blazing star, one who is not going out yet." Reyes glanced to Lexi with concern as they prepared an injector, placing it against the bare skin of Aeryn's neck. Aeryn's eyes started to focus after Lexi pressed down on the button and something seeped into her system, and eventually saw Reyes's tense smile, his hand tightly gripping hers. Standing by her were Drack, still covered in Kett blood and Liam who was standing like a guard dog in case of any more kett stragglers found them. But what ever Lexi had done seemed to be working to help as her head cleared a little more.

"She's stable to move, but be gentle." Lexi said to Vetra who'd brought a stretcher over. Reyes let go of Aeryn's hand for a moment as he helped the turian lift Aeryn onto it and she felt it's loss more than the new pain that shot through her as she was lifted, but soon as she was being moved to the shuttle, his hand wrapped around hers once more and Reyes joined her in the shuttle, Vetra nodding to them as she stayed back to let him, joining Drack and Liam to set off the charges they laid to destroy the facility, once the shuttle had left.

"Not yet it seems..." She smiled again, a little strength returning to her, enough to squeeze his hand and make his smile widen in relief.

[simfinityccfinds]

My Sims 4 Mods Folder in text form.

By SimfintyPlays.

"Ever wonder who meticulously documents every mod in their game? Well, guess what? It's none other than me, Sara – the ultimate perfectionist with no room for glitchy mods. Consider this your go-to mod-slaying guide, not just another mundane list. Below, you'll discover the mod's status (When I mention Mods, I'm referring to gameplay, not cc or custom content) and a direct link to it. I genuinely hope this proves helpful to everyone, and I'll keep updating this document with each patch as best I can"

If you like what I do consider supporting me by subscribing to my YouTube which you can find below:

Important Links:



Let's start by exploring all my mods below 🙂:

KEY:

✓ - New Update Available

X- Broken / Hasn’t Been Updated

✓ (Does not affect the game ) - Pretty simple, no need to update

X / ✓ (unconfirmed) - Again Pretty Simple, The Creator is unsure if it causes issues so use at own risk/ Hasn’t spoken or made a post about their mods.

(The empty Ones are cc! So not mods lol and can be updated with sims4studio using batch fixes. Find the tutorial Here)

Update to Defaults:

Lamatisse Tapicoeyes Default

Lamatisse Tinsel Default Skin

Luumia Skin Vanilla Merged

VP Lush Bra, Boxers, and Panties

CAS MODS:

More CAS Columns ( Weerbesu) ✓

NSW CAS Tuning-Controlled Position MOD (Northern Siberian Winds) ✓

More Traits in CAS (The Pancake 1) ✓

Stand Still In Cas MizoreYukui (Shooksims) ✓

JS Gradual Aging ✓

100 Base Game Trait Pack X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

Kiara’s Traits + Mods X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

CAS HONORABLE MENTIONS:

No EA Eyelashes ✓

CAS Background #6 Oyster by Biancml

Sims 4 Elegant Font Override ✓ (Does not affect the game )

Minimalist Cas Organizer’s ✓ (Does not affect the game )

Ea Teeth Begone (Pyxis) ✓ (Does not affect the game )

BUILD AND BUY MODS:

T.O.O.L MOD (Twisted Mexi) X

BetterBuildBuy (Twisted Mexi) X





ESSENTIAL MODS:

MC Command (Deaderpool) ✓

UI Cheats (Weerbesu) ✓

Gshade - How to Install It Here ✓ (Does not affect the game )

Milk Thistle Lighting Mod (Softerhaze)- How to Install It Here ✓ (Does not affect the game )

No Glo and No Blu (Luumina) ✓ (Does not affect the game )

XML Injector X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

Chalkd UI ✓

FOOD MODS:

Grannie Cookbook and Addons (LBB) ✓ (No Update Needed)

Bulk Download (a bunch of recipes in one file) (LBB)

ROMANCE AND RELATIONSHIP MODS:

Relationship & Pregnancy Overhaul (Lumpinou) X

Realistic Childbirth Mod (PandaSama) ✓ (No Update Needed)

Expanded Pregnancy Options ✓ (No Update Needed)

GAMEPLAY MODS:

First Impression Mod (Lumnipou) ✓ (No Update Needed)

Mood Mod Pack ✓ (No Update Needed)

Talents and Weaknesses ✓ (No Update Needed)

Andirz Smart Sim Randomiser + Smart Shared Core (Required). ✓

DanitySimmer’s Fashion Designer Mod ✓

DISL_Residetal Lots NPC + Brain-blasted injection tools ✓

MapleDaFlap Come Celebrate Mod ✓ (No Update Needed)

Utopya Billard Mod X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

AJJ Cold Drinks ✓ (No Update Needed)

Cry Mod c

Danity Simmer NFL, WNBA, Sports Pie Menu. ✓

LTT’s Gift Override ✓ (No Update Needed)

Midnitetech’s Generic Lot’s Empty No more. ✓ (No Update Needed)

Scumbumbo’s Teleport Any Sim ✓ (No Update Needed)

Tiasha No Random Hair, A New Names For CAS ✓ (Does not affect the game )

Everyday Clutter Kit Becomes Functional ✓ (No Update Needed)

MISSHISSY:

Note;

The following mods will be updated for Lovestruck on Friday but are perfectly okay to use right now, The Creator has listed here their updated mods!

MissyHissy’s Personality Mod

The Custom Wants Mod

The Hobby Mod ✓

Basemental :





Language Barrier Mod:





SIMSREALIST:

Private Practice ✓ (No Update Needed)

Mortem ✓ (No Update Needed)

Flow Fit ✓ (No Update Needed)

Home and Land Company ✓ (No Update Needed)

All In One Download Here

LMS MODS:✓

*This one is so big that I’m just going to link her curse forge and you can copy and paste the names in the search bar* ↘





Find That Here

Auto Employee

Babysitter

Better Homework

Chores

Dogwalker

Entrance Lot Fees

Go for a Walk

Improve Kids Night Light

Improved Yoga Mat

Kids go for a Walk with Dogs

No Work Traditions

School Holiday

Better Nanny

Call to Meal

Live in Business

No Auto Food Grab After Cooking

Personal Objects

Quick Shower, Quick Bath

Sui Sui Weather AppWorking Pet Waterbowl

CARL:

Dineout Reloaded X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

Retail Reloaded X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

LOT51:

BirdLife ✓ (No Update Needed)

Doorbell ✓

Sunrise Alarm Clock ✓ (No Update Needed)





ZERBU;

:Go to School ✓

Custom Venue Changes ✓

Staff Icons ✓

All Worlds Residental ✓

Spawn Refresh ✓





QUALITY OF LIFE MODS:

Map Replacements:

20th Centuary ✓ (Does not affect the game )

Dershayan (Fanart Maps) ✓ (Does not affect the game )

Missing Plumbob (Mint Valintine ) ✓ (Does not affect the game )

Selectable Pets Always X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

Control Any Sim X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

AMELLCE:





Steady Sit Mod X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

Clean House X / ✓ (unconfirmed)

IN-GAME OVERRIDES:

✓ (Does not affect the game )

Kitchen Sponge

Spray Bottle

Folded Shirt

Laundry Pile

Mop Default Replacement

Adoption Carrier

Leash

*most of these can be found in an all-in-one download*

You can Find Them Here

RAVASHEEN MODS:

Easy Peasy Lumen Squeezy Lights (RSVN) X





These Mods Work in my Game and Have Been Updated to the newest patch:

As of 7/27/2024 at 10:23 pm this is the Updated List For working with the current

(Lovestruck Pack) PC: 1.108.335.1020 / Mac: 1.108.335.1220

Find Patch Notes Below:





[illmetkismet]

I don't know why, but I felt the need to write a missing scene in the mines where Luis gives Leon a sweater:

----

"Feeling better?" Luis asks, flipping his lighter open and closed, lighting it, making the little flame dance between his fingers, hoping it doesn't give away how unnerving it had been to see Leon like that, black veins creeping up his arms and his neck, spidering up the sides of his jaw.

Leon is looking down at his hand, mindlessly flexing his fingers when he says, "Yeah, seems like it worked."

Leon should be overjoyed, Luis thinks, to be pulled back from that brink, but his voice sounds small and a strange sort of hollow, not helped by the echo that the mineshaft makes of his words. The lighter weaves between Luis' fingers, practiced motions that help take the edge off the reality of the situation. A Little trick. A show. Only Leon's not looking.

As Luis starts to explain - "Bad news?" - Leon picks up the remaining suppressant injector, staring down at it and then away, some kind of unreachable emptiness playing across his face. Undeterred, Luis goes on speaking, probably to himself. "All we've done is buy you some time. The suppressant's effects will wear off all too soon."

Still Leon doesn't look up, his fingers curling around the injector like it's something precious.

Luis watches him, takes in the purpling nailbeds of his blunt fingers, the gooseflesh prickling up his arms. His shirt is clinging to him in a way that seems moist and uncomfortable, body armour velcroed tightly against it. The straps of his elbow pads have rubbed red raw patches into the insides of his arms. His neck had felt clammy and cool when Luis injected the suppressant there earlier.

Leon doesn't seem to have noticed that Luis stopped talking, or the way he's looking him up and down, brows knit together.

So Luis says, "But I have something else for you," with a click of his tongue, as though he just remembered, as though he hasn't been thinking of it the whole way here, to this cold and dusty subterranean place.

Leon does look up at that, expression turning quizzical. It makes Luis breathe out a little wisp of relief, this show of life on Leon's face, and he hums a bit tunelessly as he pushes off the girder he's been leaning against, picking up an old moth-eaten sweater, trying to discreetly shake as much filth out of it as he can before holding it up by the shoulders and announcing, "Ta-da!"

Leon looks skeptical.

"It's wool," Luis offers encouragingly. "Should keep you warm and dry. Well, warmer and dryer than that soaked through shirt of yours has been managing."

Leon continues to look skeptical, but only for a few seconds longer, and then he's reaching for the sweater with one hand, the other hand already busy undoing the fastenings of his body armour and then the too-tight straps of his chafing elbow pads.

"Itchy," he complains as he pulls it over his head, but Luis catches the grateful shudder that goes through him as the sweater covers some of the pale-cold-damp expanse of him. "Where'd you get this?"

It's a plain dark grey thing, the kind the fishermen of Valdelobos wore, with the high neck and the loose sleeves. Of course, the sleeves aren't loose around the muscle of Leon's arms - a fact that isn't lost on Luis and his not-so-furtive glances.

He tries not to look overlong. Says instead, "In the village."

Leon makes a thoughtful face as he straps all of his soggy gear back on over the sweater. "Guess no one's gonna be needing it anymore."

His comment is followed by silence, the only sounds between them the rustling and sliding of straps being adjusted. Luis doesn't think he means to be callous or cruel, but his usual easy smile falters all the same at the remark, and when Leon's gaze lifts back up to his face what he finds there makes his mouth tighten with something that might be the precursor to an apology.

"I suppose you are right," Luis is quick to offer, summoning up a lopsided smile, careful not to scare Leon off, not to offend with his own dangerous brush with offence. "The dead have no use for such things."

"Well. Thanks," Leon rasps out. "Lucky that you picked it up."

Yes, lucky, Luis thinks. Doesn't think about how, up close, back at the cabin, the corners of Leon's mouth looked tinged with blue. How his fist, where it brushed against the exposed skin of his chest when he pinned him back against the wall, felt ice cold. Doesn't think about Leon shivering, after - something he only caught out the corner of his eye, before Leon tightened his jaw and drew up his shoulders and breathed in slow through his nose to stop the involuntary motion.

It had been a risky search for the sweater, but Luis doesn't think about that either.

He just says, "Yes, lucky."

Leon shoots him a weak smile, and Luis' own answering smile feels a bit too lukewarm for his liking, the cold and the damp creeping into his bones. The blue tinge is still there at the corners of Leon's mouth-- Why is he looking at his mouth?

Leon looks like he's about to say something more, but Luis is already asking, "You ready to go?", anxious to get moving again, to break the chill of this moment.

He fixes Leon with one last appraising look, and Leon thins his bloodless lips for a second before he says, "Don't worry about me. Ashley is the priority." He punctuates his words with a distracted shake of his head, as though it's unthinkable that anyone should worry about him at all, and it makes something stir in Luis' chest, a writhing sort of ache he tries to ignore.

So he grins at Leon instead, taking the cue to shift focus to Ashley and away from whatever it had just been, says, "In that case, we know what we have to do," reaching for the pipe that is not a lance, reaching for a fiction, and off they go.

[queen-scribbles]

Injury prompt 29?

Just got another f!Agent through Taris recently, so have some Ody/Chance where neither of them are having a good time. :) ---

Odessa's knees were cold from the metal floor, her hands cold from the aborted gasp of her keyword by the man sprawled unconscious and bleeding next to her.

See? her thoughts taunted, He might say he disagrees, but get him desperate enough, he's just as bad as his boss.

Shut up, she retorted, scanning Chance's injuries, trying to determined which were worst. Easier said than sorted; he hadn't been kidding about the shrapnel.

You can't trust the Republic, no matter what ideals they spew.

Shut. Up. Bad as it all looked, the bloodstain above his hip was spreading with uncomfortable speed, so Odessa pressed her hands there to stem it.

Chance's eyes flew open with a ragged gasp at the pressure.

Much as she regretted hurting him--yes, even under the circumstances--it was a bit of a relief. "Chance. Chance." His eyes were hazy when he tried to focus on her and she knew she didn't have much time. "I need... There aren't enough supplies in my kit for everything. Tell me what hurts, and be specific."

Injured and half-delirious as he was, it took him a moment. "Side... where hands... nnnngh- ribs..." his voice was already fading, and Odessa shifted her hands, trying to keep him conscious. "...leg hurts worst..."

That didn't match what she was seeing, but there was a lot of shrapnel, and he passed out again so it wasn't like she could double-check.

"And for the record? I don't agree with how Master Kothe is using the command codes..."

"Vector, my medkit-" she started to say, but he was two steps ahead, already holding out a kolto injector and roll of medseal.

He nodded. "We are here if you need us." The black, pupil-less eyes were impossible to read for his opinion of her actions.

"Keyword: onomatophobia... I'm sorry. It's just... I don't want to die like this..."

Odessa grit her teeth against the stinging memory. He likes you and even he couldn't help but exploit it. She shooed the thought away so she could focus.

Can't really claim I would do different.

The kolto kicked in, the bleeding slowed and stopped--though it took long enough for the latter to make her nervous. Chance's breathing was shallow but steady, and he stayed out the whole time she was working. Once the bleeding stopped, she pulled his shirt out of the way to apply bacta patches and medseal over the worst injuries on his stomach and chest, wrapped it over his pants for the smaller shrapnel wounds on his leg. She didn't envy whichever Republic medtech had to patch him up properly, but for now he was stable.

She sat back on her heels, staring at her hands, at his blood drying in the lines of her palms. Tried to hold a roiling wave of emotion in check.

I'm glad he's okay-

He used the keyword-

I didn't--don't--want him to die-

Fortunately, the entire saga was done by the time Chance stirred, Odessa's inner turmoil back behind her mask when his eyes opened.

"Oh..." he mumbled, gingerly shifting to sit leaned against the stack of crates. "...I half expected to not wake up..."

"Oh, you weren't injured that badly," Odessa said sweetly, innocently. Slightly lying to sidestep the other reason completely. "I'm not so terrible a medic I couldn't handle a little shrapnel."

"Legate, I..." the words trailed off in a pained grimace.

"We should get you on your way before the painkillers wear off." She pushed to her feet and gently helped him stand as well. "That is, if you think you can make it?" She had to meet this scientist, but afterward, if he needed....

"I can make it," Chance insisted, though he leaned on her heavily a moment. Several emotions passed over his face as straightened--far too easily read for a spy. "...Thank you. Good luck with... with Dr. Cel."

Odessa simply nodded, and wondered at her odds of ever seeing him again as he walked away.

---

He'd meant it when he said he could make it to a Republic airlift; there was a base not even half a klick from the ruined hospital. He had a stealth generator to avoid the rakghouls and any more Imperial patrols.

But he hadn't accounted for the damage to his leg being too much for fieldkit-issue painkillers to completely dull. Maybe he should've taken her up on extra help...

No. The scientist is more important to the mission, and besides, you've asked enough of her.

He cringed at the memory of the words leaving his mouth in a rush of pain and desperation. "Keyword: Onomatophobia...."

He did think it wrong, but that hadn't stopped him. He could almost taste the guilt alongside the coppery tang of blood. That probably wasn't a good sign.

He could see the lights of Aurek, almost there. Pain lanced through his side and he bit back a cry. There were still rakghouls, even if they couldn't see him.

"I'm sorry, thank you, you're a better person than most..." A litany of things he should have said ran through his mind as spots started dancing at the edge of his vision. No, almost there, hang on....

He exited stealth outside the base perimeter, called out to identify himself, and stopped fighting to stay conscious as soon as he felt supportive hands reach for him.

He hoped he survived. He had an apology to make.

[abbi111]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝑾𝒉𝒐'𝒅 𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑽𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒆

Tags: Kabuto Yakushi x f!Character, experiments, mutation, a death, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, trauma bonding, slow burn, emotional tension

Act II, Part 8 (2/2): “Whispers Between the Lines”

Authors Note: ok guys so i know it is canonically believed Kabuto injected himself with Orochimaru and the other three at the same time for the sake of this story i changed it. It is never directly said or shown to us so I am filling in some blanks. He will inject himself with Orochimaru it just wont be now. That’s it.

1 Week After the Silence

Kana sat on the edge of the stone balcony outside her assigned quarters, legs dangling freely above the high cliffside. Below, the valley slept, swallowed in darkness, the forests silent except for the occasional bird chirping.

She didn’t notice the wind anymore. Not the coldness of the stone. Not the way her chakra had started to pulse differently since the last time she touched Kabuto.

He had kissed her like he wanted something more than power. He had held her like someone afraid of losing something he hadn’t yet claimed. And now…

Gone.

No word. No sign. Not even the soft flicker of his chakra from somewhere distant.

It wasn’t like him.

At first, she had waited. Convinced herself he was busy. Orochimaru demanded a lot. Then the days dragged on, and the silence became heavier than the guilt she’d buried when she first thought of turning her back on the village.

She asked around. Quietly. Carefully.

But no one spoke Orochimaru’s name anymore. Only in whispers. Rumors.

Like the air had swallowed it whole.

Kana knew then: he was dead. And Kabuto… Kabuto had disappeared inside himself.

That Night

She moved through the forest like a shadow. No flare of chakra. No sound of a step. Just the long whisper of her hair trailing behind her like smoke.

She wasn’t supposed to go there. He had only shown her once, from a distance. Just enough to leave it branded in her memory, yet always out of reach.

She remembered the way he had looked that day, standing beside her on the cliff’s edge, glasses gleaming. “That’s where the real work happens,” he had said.

Now she had to see it.

Not because of curiosity.

Because she was angry.

Angry, he left her. Angry, he made her care when he didn’t. Angry, she still wanted to believe he felt things.

The Hideout

Kana found the entrance beneath a jagged outcropping of stone half-swallowed by ivy. It was colder here. The air stung in her lungs with every breath. She pressed her fingers to the seal etched into the rocks—chakra-based security—but it was old, fractured. He hadn’t been back to repair it.

It let her in without a fight.

The tunnel beyond was narrow, breathing with stale air and echoes. She walked slower than usual, suppressing even the instinct to listen for danger. Whatever was here, she wasn’t here to fight it.

The walls became smoother the further she went, chiseled clean by hand—Kabuto’s hand, probably. The space gradually widened until it opened into something that didn’t feel like a hideout anymore.

It pulsed faintly with life; fluorescent jars lining the walls, tubes webbing the ceiling like veins, some humming with chakra she didn’t recognize. Organic. Wrong.

And there, deeper still, something groaned.

Kana followed the sound without thinking. The heat in the air increased with each step. A strange scent—like burning antiseptic and iron—hit her nose.

Around the final corner, she saw him.

He stood hunched over a large cylindrical chamber, breathing ragged, his body trembling as a soft glow pulsed from the fluid inside. His white cloak had fallen to the ground, soaked with sweat and blood. His torso was bare, marked with serpentine seals trailing from his spine to his abdomen.

A Few Minutes Before She Entered the Hideout (then continues in the previous scene)

A thick, segmented injector coiled from his left shoulder into the vat, drawing out a luminous violet-blue mixture.

He was submerged in the ritual now, veins flaring with borrowed strength, body cracking under the fusion.

The syringe hissed as the last of Suigetsu’s liquefied DNA merged with the plasma in his spinal tap. His body jolted.

“Jūgo’s rage… Karin’s vitality… Suigetsu’s fluidity…” he gasped, sweat rolling down his jaw. “You were all incomplete alone… but within me… complete. I’ll perfect you.”

He collapsed to one knee, his hand gripping the wooden arm of the chair to stay conscious. A violent pulse surged through his chest, rippling beneath his skin like a living parasite.

Kabuto’s face twisted, teeth gritting. His chakra distorted, heavy, and warped. The laboratory trembled as if rejecting the abomination he was becoming.

And then—

Footsteps.

He froze. Narrowed eyes scanned the darkness. Even with chakra masked, he knew. Her presence had always been different.

“You shouldn’t be here, Kana.” his voice was hoarse. Half-feral.

She ignored the warning. “I waited. For days. You didn’t come.”

“I was busy,” he hissed, returning to the panel, hand trembling as he adjusted the flow of chakra into his body. His voice had no malice—just strain. “The transition phase can’t be interrupted.”

She stared at the vat. Inside were fragments—bits of tissue, DNA strands bound in artificial chakra, blood…..fragments.

Her breath trembled. “You’re fusing them into yourself.”

He finally looked at her.

“In the shinobi world… where those without talent are nothing… those who have none can just steal it from those who do.”

The words hit her harder than she expected.

Because she understood that.

Kana stepped closer. Her eyes flicked over the veins pushing against his skin, his hands shaking from the overwhelming genetic cocktail he’d absorbed.

“You’re hurting yourself,” she said.

He laughed under his breath. “No. I’m becoming something more.”

“And what happens to you when there’s nothing left?”

He didn’t answer.

She didn’t know what she expected. Tears? Anger? A glimmer of the boy she once saw behind his glasses?

Instead, she saw herself.

Broken. Fueled by grief. Willing to become something else because who they once were hadn’t been enough.

She crouched beside him as his knees buckled. His body jolted again, the mutation still working beneath his skin. The light of the vat dimmed. The ritual is nearing completion.

He collapsed to the floor.

This time, she didn’t hesitate.

She reached out, her hand brushing his cheek. His skin was fevered, damp, but still alive. He blinked slowly, his gaze swimming, unfocused.

“Kabuto,” she whispered.

Her thumb traced beneath his eye, wiping a bead of sweat away. Not judgment. Not fear. Just… care.

He closed his eyes.

And she sat there with him, in the hollow of serpents, wondering when the line between savior and monster had finally blurred.

And why it no longer scared her.

His breathing slowed but remained unsteady, chest rising in shallow, uneven patterns. His skin glistened with sweat, clinging to sinew pulled taut under the strain of cellular war. The serum had done more than mutate his chakra—it had drained him.

Kana sat cross-legged beside him on the cold stone, her eyes never leaving his face.

The tension in his jaw. The slight twitch of a finger. The way, even unconsciously, Kabuto’s body refused to let go of control.

“Always fighting,” she murmured, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “Even now.”

Her voice trembled, but not with fear.

It was grief. And something dangerously close to tenderness.

She slid her fingers beneath his neck, lifting his head just enough to rest it in her lap. He didn’t stir—not really. A faint breath escaped his lips, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed… small. Not a scientist. Not a manipulator. Just a man who had buried himself in someone else’s ambition.

Her hand moved over his arm. Her chakra buzzed faintly in response to the mutation under his skin. The fusion was holding—but only barely.

“You didn’t need to do this alone,” she whispered.

She didn’t mean the experiment.

She meant everything.

She stayed there in silence, running her fingers through his hair, grounding herself in the rhythm of his breath. The lab’s glow painted him in shades of sickly green and violet, but she could still find pieces of the man she knew beneath the monster he was trying to become.

Her anger toward him had melted.

Only something else remained.

Not quite love. Not yet.

But it was becoming.

After a while, she spoke again. Barely above a breath.

“I used to think people in the village could never understand me. I was too quiet. Too strange. Too cold.”

Her eyes lowered, her thumb stroking along his temple.

“They taught me to hate that part of myself. To pretend. Smile at the other girls. Be obedient in the academy. Numb during missions.”

Her voice hardened.

“They never wanted me. They wanted a version of me they could control.”

Her fingers stilled.

“But you… Never asked me to change. You let me be. Even when I didn’t know what I was.”

A bitter smile tugged at her mouth.

“I thought that meant you saw me.”

She looked down at him, his eyes still closed, breath shallow. She didn’t expect a reply. Maybe it was better this way. Safer to speak when she didn’t have to see how he might twist her words into another calculation.

Her other hand, the one not tangled in his hair, moved to rest gently over his heart.

“I don’t know what you feel for me, Kabuto. If anything.”

A pause.

“But I care about you. More than I should. More than I’ve ever let myself say.”

Her breath hitched, shaky now, like the confession had broken something loose inside her. She looked away, blinking quickly.

“…And I think I hate the village for that.”

She felt the weight of those words settle into the air. Solid. Irrevocable.

It wasn’t just her loyalty that had cracked.

It was her foundation.

The girl who had once bowed her head to the Hokage’s statue now sat in a lab of forbidden science, cradling a traitor in her lap, whispering secrets she could never take back.

A groan escaped him. Kabuto’s fingers twitched.

She looked down sharply.

He shifted slowly, muscles protesting, eyes fluttering behind his lids. His voice came rough, groggy, pulled from somewhere between sleep and pain.

“…You’re here?”

“Why?”

He didn’t open his eyes fully. Didn’t look at her yet.

It wasn’t curiosity in his voice. It was disbelief.

Like the idea that someone might come for him without being called was impossible.

Kana blinked slowly. She felt her throat tighten—but her voice was steady.

“You went silent. For days.”

She smoothed his damp hair from his face again, the gesture slow, unashamed.

“You left me wondering if you were even still alive.”

Finally, his gaze met hers. Unfocused, unguarded. For once, there was no clever glint in his eyes—only exhaustion and something softer, too unfamiliar to be named.

“…You shouldn’t have come,” he rasped.

“I know,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes again, not in dismissal—but in surrender. Like the fight in him, for now, was over.

“And yet,” she added gently, “I’m here.”

She leaned down, her forehead brushing his for just a second, just enough to feel the heat still radiating off him.

“You didn’t ask me to come,” she murmured. “But you didn’t have to.”

She eased her hand back to his chest, still feeling the chaotic thrum of shifting chakra beneath his skin.

“I came because I care.”

A beat of silence passed between them, deep and fragile.

“I came because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing someone else I… trust.”

The word didn’t feel right. But it was the closest she could let herself say.

Her hand stayed on his chest, grounding him. Grounding herself.

Kabuto’s breathing slowed again. Not from pain this time—but from something gentler. Something like safety. Something like rest.

And for once, Kana was the one who gave it to him.

Kabuto’s body trembled beneath her hand. The mutations under his skin were still settling, veins swollen and twitching with unstable chakra threads.

He shouldn’t have been conscious, but the pain kept him tethered.

Kana moved gently beneath him, lowering his head to a folded cloth from a nearby workbench. She rose to her knees, scanning the lab for something sterile. Her eyes found a clean towel, a small basin of water, and something that looked like a rudimentary chakra-dampening salve.

She dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it out, and returned to him.

“You’re going to feel this,” she warned quietly.

He gave a faint huff of breath. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She pressed the cloth to his side, dabbing where the skin had cracked and split around one of the more aggressive fusions. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

A moment passed.

Then his voice broke the quiet, low, rasping, but slightly clearer now.

“Where’d you learn how to do this?”

Kana kept working, her expression unreadable. “You think I was raised by medics?”

“No,” he murmured, a weak smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not precise enough.”

She arched a brow, but didn’t look at him. “Should I let you bleed out then?”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t grateful.”

Silence again, for a few breaths.

Then, softer:

“I just didn’t expect you to know how to… take care of someone.”

Her hands stilled for half a second. The cloth paused against his ribs.

Then she resumed. Slower this time. More deliberate.

“I’ve always taken care of someone,��� she said quietly. “Just never anyone else.”

He blinked, eyelids heavy. “You mean yourself.”

She nodded. “Since I was a child.”

She dipped the cloth again. Wiped blood from the edge of the scarring seal on his shoulder.

“There’s no jutsu in what I do. Just learning how to stop pain. Slow bleeding. Keep the cold out.”

He watched her hands for a long time.

“Most people break when they’re left alone that long.”

Kana didn’t answer right away.

Then, calmly: “Most people aren’t raised to believe being broken is normal.”

His smirk faded.

The words hung between them like incense smoke—thin, curling, full of things neither of them dared to say aloud.

Kana shifted, uncorking the salve. It smelled medicinal, sour, and pungent. She scooped some onto her fingers and smoothed it along the stretch of his shoulder. His body jerked once beneath her touch, but he didn’t push her away.

She was careful. Focused. Every motion meant to soothe, not provoke.

Kabuto let out a long breath through his nose.

“I underestimated you.”

Kana shrugged lightly. “You’re not the first.”

His eyes flicked up to her.

“And you’re not afraid of what I’m becoming?”

She didn’t flinch. “No.”

He blinked again. “Why not?”

Kana met his gaze then, firm and unwavering.

“Because I don’t fear people anymore.”

She paused, then added, softer:

“Only being used by them.”

That silenced him completely.

She finished tending to the worst of the wounds, wrapping a clean strip of cloth across his shoulder and over his chest. Her fingers brushed his skin again—warmer now, no longer trembling. The pain wasn’t gone, but it had dulled.

So had the distance between them.

Kana sat back slightly, hands folded in her lap, gaze downcast but calm.

Kana began to shift away, fingers brushing her knees as she pulled back to give him space.

But then his voice, low, almost unsure, broke the quiet.

“…Don’t go.”

She froze.

His eyes found hers, glazed but focused, something unreadable stirring behind them.

“Just for a while,” he added, like he didn’t trust himself to ask more than that.

Kana’s breath caught in her throat. He didn’t reach for her—didn’t command or coax. He just lay there, open in a way she had never seen from him. Not in all the time they’d known each other.

She could have said no.

Should have, maybe.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she moved slowly, lying down beside him on the stone floor, her body curling toward his, careful not to press too hard against the places that still pulsed with new chakra. She rested her hand gently on his chest again, her head near the crook of his shoulder.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, almost breathlessly, Kabuto murmured, “You’re warm.”

His voice was small. Honest. Like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Kana smiled faintly against his skin.

“So are you,” she whispered.

He turned slightly, enough to wrap an arm around her. It was shaky at first, but then settled. Her hand slid up to rest against the side of his neck, her thumb gently stroking the edge of his jaw. His body tensed—just for a moment. Then it melted into hers.

She could feel the way his heartbeat slowed beneath her palm.

The way his breath synced with hers, little by little.

No masks. No lies. No titles.

Just them.

Two pieces of something sharp and unspoken, folding into silence.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said softly. “That you asked me to stay.”

He let out a quiet breath—half a laugh, half a sigh.

“Good.”

She closed her eyes, letting herself feel it: his warmth, his breath, the faint scent of crushed herbs and old blood, the weight of his hand resting at her back.

This wasn’t an exchange.

This wasn’t manipulation.

It was something else. Something rare.

Something dangerously close to peace.

And for tonight, she let herself have it.