#Humidity Hack

[radiantplants]

Plant Squad

Plants grouped together create natural humidity zones. 🌿 #MicroClimate #HumidityHack

[cappurrccino]

forget all those curly/wavy girl hair routines that are a million steps long and want you to use a dozen products and have your head upside down for an hour, i think my new go-to style is going to be "sleep on it wet, hit it with a 70s amount of hairspray in the morning"

[lesbicastagna]

just googled it and i can't believe in english the plant in the first pic is called "prickly pear"....literal child's language that's so funny

[riotbeankai]

after over 3 years of managing to avoid it, I tested positive for covid yesterday. literally 3 days after I got my covid booster, so it may be that I got exposed ON the day I got the booster 🙃 but idk if I got it from work or the pharmacy or dinner with family or what so that's fun. I'd been wearing a mask (except to eat) since coming home from a work convention until I could be sure I didn't catch anything there, so hopefully I didn't expose too many people ☹️🤧

[nick-momrik]

Home Assistant Air Quality Monitors from IKEA Vindriktning

[ingleaisle]

I cant use AC bc the bill is too high, i cant open anything to let air in bc its technically still hotter out than in AND there's no screens so even if im Graced with a breeze, its not worth the 4534535355 bugs

I just gotta deal with this forever

[bowtiepasta]

you’re eating watermelon slices off of shoyo’s kitchen counter in his hoodie while he fixes a broken fan. it’s the middle of summer, and you can’t stop ogling him.

his hair’s grown, messy from humidity. a little darker too, with sun bleached tips soaked up on all the courts he’s played on. there’s a sliver of gauze still taped over his left pinky from yesterday’s serve-receive drills, and the hoodie hanging from your frame smells like that eucalyptus soap he found in a corner store and got obsessed with. says it soothes his sunburns.

speaking of, your eyes trail his shoulders — all freckled and golden from training in the heat, to the lines of his neck, where sweat gathers in hollow places and dips under his collar. he’s got his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth while he concentrates, hands quick but gentle, almost like he’s afraid of hurting the fan more than it already is.

“you’re gonna fry,” you say, voice dry from the fruit, “if you keep sitting that close to the window.”

“can’t hear you. think the heat melted my ears.”

you toss a rind at him.

he dodges it easily and grins, wide and sleepy eyed. there’s a tan line on the back of his neck in the exact shape of the necklace he wears to practice. you only know because you helped him peel it off last night when he came home sore and stupid.

you take another bite. the watermelon’s from a street vendor down the block who sells it in hacked-up wedges, ice cold from a blue cooler. you’d walked back barefoot, because your sandals snapped and sho offered to carry them, but ended up forgetting them halfway through a story about some new blocking form he’s trying. the apology came in sugary form.

he grunts when the screw won’t budge, that tendon running down the side of his throat pulling taut. the new mole you didn’t notice until two nights ago, when he’d passed out on your chest after a beach run and a long shower, dances around on his chin.

“fan’s a lost cause,” he mutters, pulling the tool from between his teeth. “might throw it off the balcony.”

“you won’t,” you pop a seedless piece of watermelon into your mouth. “you love that stupid fan.”

“‘s not stupid,” he pouts, “it’s from kageyama.”

you blink. of course it is. a gift from his old partner, lugged across an ocean because it reminded them of a joke only the four of you would still remember.

(them including tsukishima kei, another old teammate, who somehow got dragged into both the trip to brazil, and the mess, completely against his will.)

you swallow your laughter, nudging a sweaty curl off his forehead with your pinky. “you know we’re gonna die in this kitchen, right?”

the cracked plastic base even has a sharpie doodle on it: a lopsided smiley and a thumbs up drawn onto the compartment you open to replace the batteries.

“ever the romantic,” he deadpans, but he leans into your touch anyway, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “at least you’ll be wearing my clothes.”

you grin. “buried in them, actually. put it in my will.”

he snorts, tossing the screwdriver onto the counter beside you and stretching out his arms. big baby. “maybe we should go swimming.”

“after you fix the fan.”

“fan’s dead too, baby.”

you suck the juice off your thumb and look at him, really look at him, bare feet blackened a little at the soles from the tile, right hand smudged with grease from the inside of the motor. there’s a healing blister on his palm. a faint shadow under his eye from waking up too early for runs on the beach.

you lean forward and kiss the corner of his jaw, slow and quiet. “then let’s go die in the ocean instead.”

he smiles like it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.

[eldritch-queern-magicat]

Yay for me, I have all the water I'm going to need for my plants until next summer. The tote outside under the window unit air conditioner had somewhere over eleven gallons of water when I started. Good thing I didn't just get rid of all the gallon jugs I filled last summer, I guess. So much water just pulled out of the downstairs air, I don't even want to know how much came out of my room.

God, this is definitely my favorite plant parent life hack. Reduce that water bill because shit's getting way too expensive! Plus city tap water isn't the best choice because of all the treatments it goes through. The chlorine is always pretty strong, just based on the smell.

-Aria 🪭😺

[augustjoy]

You’re…intimidating.

Based on the following ask: For Hotch x reader, could I please request charming witty reader who Hotch has an obvioussss crush on and he's trying to flirt but he's out of practice and she's pretty extroverted, confident so she just doesn't register he's interested and he's getting grief from the team for being all puppy dog eyes at her? Pref non-BAU reader but maybe she works in a different FBI dept or she's a lawyer/consultant they work with often and Hotch is always the first to suggest working with her so he's not being subtle in wanting to spend time with her lol. Feel free to adapt!! Thanks!! ❤️Okay pookie!!! I’ve been thinking about this one and it might end up pretty self-indulgent and for that I am sorry – girlie works for cybercrimes (but transfers to the BAU – sorry it felt right) and she’s the best of the best like Penelope worships her…she’s a little alternative so Hotch admires her from afar because she’s not his usual type just PURE FLUFF

Aaron Hotchner x FBI! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 2674

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Aaron is 45), some explicit language, not an OC but reader is described to have some tattoos and piercings (nothing specific though), reader works for cybercrimes and is SUPER tech savvy, idiots in love, Hotch pining hard, tooth rotting fluff, canon typical violence, mentions of hacking and breaking laws, reader is an extroverted introvert, Reader is called “Agent Z” or “Z” because she is a gen z, let me know if I missed any

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Hotchner, this is the third time this month you’ve requested her. I’m beginning to think we should be offering her a spot in the BAU.” Director Cruz teased.

“If she’d be willing, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.” Hotch shrugged.

“I’ll put in the consultation request and maybe I’ll bring up the idea of a transfer to her.”

Hotch stood and returned to the sixth floor, promptly running into Penelope, as she was making her way back to the Batcave.

“So, I heard I might be getting some assistance on our next case! You know if you keep inviting Agent Z to join us, I’m going to get used to having her around.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hotch asked.

“No, it definitely wouldn’t…unless she stops coming around.” Penelope retorted.

The look on Hotch’s face gave him away, there was a brief flash of disappointment at the suggestion of you not coming around anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought…which made him even more nervous than you did. Speaking of…

“Hey Hotch!” You called effectively startling him.

“Hello! I uh – I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Ah well, Cruz emailed the request over and I got the notification, so I figured there was no time to waste.” You shrugged.

“Well, we might as well debrief the team then.” Aaron offered, gesturing toward the conference room.

--

Here’s the deal, Aaron had feelings for you, you had captivated him the first time he saw you. It was a Tuesday in July, the weather had been unforgiving…hot and humid, not ideal for the business attire of FBI agents.

As he made his way into the building, he’d taken note of how nearly everyone had their suit jackets or blazers slung over their arms, their sleeves rolled up as they hurried into the air-conditioned building.

But then there was you. You were wearing these chunky black loafers and black trousers, your top had been a simple black tank, it was hugging your skin in a way that made Aaron’s mouth go dry. You had a checkered cardigan tossed over your forearm that you had clearly removed. It allowed Aaron a view of the tattoos that adorned your arms.

He couldn’t explain the pull he felt…you had been so different from any woman he’d ever had any interest in before, but maybe that’s why things never worked out with them. Maybe the others were too stiff, too proper. Maybe he needed a little chaos in his life.

--

During the debriefing, Aaron had made sure you were sat next to him. He let Penelope present the case as usual and allowed time for theories. While Derek and Emily were talking back and forth about the possible age and gender of the unsub, Aaron’s eyes were trained on you. He could see your mind running a mile a minute.

“What is it?” Aaron asked, tapping your arm gently.

“Oh, no. I was just thinking. There’s something about the photo’s that were left at the crime scene…it feels familiar.” You shrugged.

“Have you seen another case like this?”

“I think so…” You pulled open your laptop and began searching through old case files and evidence you’d logged over the years. “Here! Hotch, look at this!”

Aaron leaned over, leaving hardly any space between the two of you. His gaze shifted from your profile to your computer screen, taking in the images before him. On your screen were photos that were nearly identical to those in the file the team had just reviewed.

It seemed as though this unsub took photos to document their work. Leaving some behind at the crime scenes, taunting law enforcement.

“We didn’t have very many leads back when this came across my desk, but I have new programs I can use to run these photos through now and with Penelope’s help, I think we could finally get this guy.” You explained.

“Alright, why don’t you travel with us so you can access the physicals of the photos.” Aaron suggested.

“Okay!”

“Alright then, wheels up in thirty.” Aaron commanded.

--

“Hey Agent Z! You joining us again?” Derek nudged you gently.

“Not this time, I was just asked to come and consult on a case.” You replied.

 “Oh, I see. Bossman calling in his favorite once again.”

“Stop! It’s not like that Derek.”

“Girl…you and I both know that it is.” Derek laughed and walked off.

You made your way to Aaron’s office, knocking on the door. When he calls out for you to enter, you go straight for the chair in front of his desk, plopping into it with a huff.

“You alright?” Aaron asks, concern lacing his tone. “We could do this later if you’re not up for it.”

“No! I’m happy to help! I’ve just got a decision to make, and I don’t know what to do.” You sighed. “Let’s talk about this case!”

Aaron and you went through the case that had been sent in from the NYPD. You were confused as to why he’d called you in to consult, the case had seemed pretty cut and dry…something Aaron would typically delegate to Derek or Dave. The tech aspect to this case was so minute, it was common sense…but you didn’t want to call him out on it.

--

“Thanks again for your help, hopefully the NYPD can close that case pretty quickly now.” Aaron walked you over toward the elevators.

“Any time. I like working with you and the BAU.” You smiled cheerfully.

“So um, what was that decision you have to make?” He inquired.

“Oh, uh…well, Cruz asked me if I wanted to transfer from Cybercrimes over to the BAU actually.”

“That’s great! I mean – I uh. Do you think you’ll do it?”

“I’m thinking about it for sure! It’s just, I’ve been with Cybercrimes for so long, I’d feel bad leaving them…ya know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You said your goodbyes and you headed back to your office on the eighth floor. Aaron stood there for a bit, looking after you as you made your exit. He stood there a beat longer before turning and heading back to his office. Only he didn’t get that far. Upon walking through the glass doors, he was met with the whole team standing there waiting for him.

“You’re down bad Hotch.” Emily said.

“Yeah, that was almost painful to watch.” JJ agreed.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Hotch shook his head and made his way back to his office.

--

Agreeing with the director to have you transferred was, quite possibly, the dumbest decision that Aaron could have ever made. He already struggled just being near you when you’d come and assist, but the thought of having you around all the time…what was he meant to do?

Subject: Agent Transfer – Effective immediately Good afternoon, This email is being sent to inform both the CCU and BAU of the immediate transfer of Agent Z. In discussing this transfer, she assured me that should the CCU need her assistance in a case, she’d happily help. She does, however, know that the agents on the team are more than capable of handling things. As for the BAU, given her expertise and background, she will travel with you as needed. I just want to remind you that Agent Z has a background in hacking, computer forensics, criminal justice, psychology, behavior analysis, amongst others. Utilize her skills – I believe she will make an incredible contribution to the BAU. Hotchner – her file was delivered to your office this morning. Also, she needs firearms training, please ensure she completes this before travelling with the team. Let me know if you have any questions. Mateo Cruz - Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit

Aaron read the email four times. You would be starting with the team today…he needs to get you scheduled for your firearms training and qualification exam. He figured he could do that while you get settled in the office adjacent to Penelope’s.

--

“Hey Hotch.” Your fingers rapped against the doorframe.

“Hi-Hello. Can I uh, show you to your office?” He asked.

“Penelope already beat you to it.” You teased. “But if you want to help me bring the last of my boxes down, that would be awesome.”

“Oh, I um-I…can-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to! You’re a busy man, and I can ask Spence or Derek!”

“No, I’d love to help.” Aaron recovered.

“Okay.” You smiled.

Aaron led the two of you over to the elevator, allowing you to enter first, then following suit and pressing the button for the eighth floor. It slowly lifted before signaling your arrival on the CCU floor.

You guided Aaron to your old office where the last two boxes remained. There was an IT guy loading your monitors onto a cart, getting ready to move them for you. You looked around at the now empty space…it felt empty now, like it no longer belonged to you, and you supposed it didn’t anymore. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the slight sadness that took over your features.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just odd, having had this office for the last four years, and now it’s empty…it’s not mine anymore.” Your gaze shifted downward. “It feels like the end of a chapter. While the feeling isn’t bad, because I’m really excited to be joining the BAU, it just feels kind of sad.”

“I know what you mean. I felt that same way when I left the law firm I worked at.” Aaron looked over at you.

You met his gaze, and he offered a small smile. You returned it, feeling this sense of comfort. He’d always brought up that feeling in you though. It was like this glowing warmth that spread its way through your entire being…but that flame only burned in you when he was around.

--

“And hold it just like that, good!” Aaron praised.

You fired three consecutive shots at the target, forming a neat cluster in the outlines chest. Pride bloomed in Aaron’s chest, and you squealed with excitement, throwing your arms around him!

“Thank you so much for helping me! There was no way I was going to pass this exam without you!”

“I’m not sure how you’ve been with the bureau this long and not had to get your firearm qualification.” Aaron shook his head with a laugh.

“Hey! I have been confined to the eighth floor for the last five-ish years, I haven’t needed to carry one.”

Aaron took note of the freckles that dusted your nose, and the way the light reflected in your eyes. He thought for a moment about how close you were, and how easy it would be to just lean in the last few inches and capture your lips in a kiss. But he had to shake the thought away.

--

“I PASSED!” You shouted, running your way through the BAU bullpen.

“Good lord, what are you yelling about?” Dave asked, coming out of his office.

“I PASSED! I PASSED!” You waved your firearms certificate in the air, making your way over to Aaron’s office.

He exited his office to see what the commotion was all about, seeing you shaking your hand, waving a piece of paper around like a mad woman. He was mesmerized by you. You were 100% yourself and he admired you for it, you weren’t worried about how others perceived you. You only worried about your own opinion; you wanted to be the best version of yourself always.

“HOTCHHH, I PASSED!” You ran over to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck.

Aaron held you tight, lifting you off the ground for just a moment before noticing the look on Dave’s face. He placed you down and quietly congratulated you. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at getting caught by Dave. He knew that he had done nothing wrong…but he also knew that Dave could read him better than anyone else.

--

“Okay, when are you going to ask that girl out?” Dave huffed, sitting in the chair across from Aaron.

“Dave.” Aaron scolded. “It’s inappropriate.”

“Aaron…you deserve it. Happiness I mean. So, are you going to let it pass you by or are you going to seize the moment?”

“Sir, I don’t mean to interrupt, but we have a case.” Penelope informed. “It’s a child abduction.”

“Let everyone know we’re leaving now – we will brief on the plane.” Aaron commanded.

“Is Z going with you?” Penelope asked.

“Yes!” Dave answered for Aaron.

--

Aaron always sat next to you on the plane. It had been purely accidental, you’d sat in his usual seat and though Aaron wouldn’t say anything, Spencer did. So, you moved over into the adjacent window seat and Aaron slid in next to you. Since then, you’d always sat there.

Like now for example, the BAU was headed home after a two-week long case. The unsub had been way too good at covering his tracks, he’d had the entire team stumped. Thankfully you’d found his slipup in a dark web chatroom. He’d posted video of him torturing his latest victim in a chatroom used by very sick people. It was flagged once you’d turned on notifications for keywords and certain video content. After receiving the notification, Penelope and you were able to track an IP address and narrow down the location.

It had been exhausting honestly, running around, back and forth, interviewing people, going through evidence, just going until you found this guy…and now that was finally catching up to you. Your head had been bobbing off to the side as you fought the throws of sleep. As you began dozing off once more, Aaron reached over and led your head to rest on his shoulder. You finally settled and snuggled a bit further into his side, and for once he leaned back and let himself rest on the flight home.

Emily pointed JJ and Derek’s attention over to the two of you and then giggled. Derek quickly snapped a picture and sent it in their group chat. Penelope was quick to reply with the happy tears emojis and saying “finally”.

--

Things had shifted slightly after that. And while the team still teased Aaron about his very obvious crush on you, he finally allowed himself to be more confident in his interactions with you. He realized that Dave was right…maybe he did deserve happiness.

He’d invited you to get lunch with him a few times during work and he’d brought you coffee. He thought he was making his affection for you more obvious…but you still didn’t budge. He was beginning to worry that you didn't feel the same.

But it all came to a head when he decided he needed to be direct. Not on his own…Emily and JJ had to confront him and then convince him that you did like him, you just didn’t think he liked you.

--

You walked into the elevator, just about to click the button to the sixth floor when an arm reached in to stop the door from closing.

“Oh! Good morning Hotch.” You greeted. “Sorry, if I had seen you coming I’d have held the door.”

“No worries.” He forgave. “Do you um – do you have any plans tonight?”

“No, I was thinking of ordering a pizza and watching an episode of The Great British Bake Off. What about you?”

You’re reply had been so innocent and sweet. Just a simple response to his question, not reading into what he was truly asking you.

“Sweetheart, though your plans sound wonderful…will you go to dinner with me tonight?” He asked.

Your jaw dropped, only for a moment as you worked to regain your composure. Had you really been that blind? The girls had told you time and time again that he was interested, and you’d brushed it off, not wanting to get your hopes up…but here he is now, asking you out.

“I would love to.” You smiled.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood

(Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 10

______________________________

Present

"This is so unfair" Percy says as he scrubs the pots and pans

It would be fine if it was normal dirty dishes and normal water...

But it's magical dirty dishes and you have to wash them with molten magic iron...

Great.

Percy sighs "I have been getting dreams... Of Grover, he tells me he's trapped on an island being held hostage by a... Cyclops, and the thing we need to save Thalia's tree is there as well- golden poncho or something"

"golden fleece. Percy, it's a fleece" you smile

"right. Fleece"

"so this calls for a quest" Annabeth says with a hint of excitement in her voice

"but..." She says

"but?" Percy questions

You grumble and scrub harshly "Tantalus won't allow it, he wants Thalia's tree to die so the barrier breaks completely, thus putting all of us at risk"

Annabeth smirks as she places the last of the dirty pot "Then we have to propose the quest to him in a way he can't say no"

______________________________

Past

"it's not (Name), maybe they switched them out, or cloned them, I just don't believe it" Damian says as he glares as the sitting figure in the garden of their house

The office is dark and a bit humid, Jason speaks up "When 'it' got out, they couldn't remember anything and 'it' only started to remember after a few minutes, like it was processing memories, 'it' could be a clone"

"Even if it is a clone, it doesn't matter, same DNA, same memories, 'its' a carbon copy, if it keeps Bruce from crashing out, 'it' can stay" Stephanie says

A "mission gone wrong", that's all it was, reports of people going missing after entering a certain hotel

We investigated, Batman sent (Name) inside the hotel to see the area, but comms were cut the moment they entered

Tim tried to hack, but there was no gadget to hack, not one inside the Hotel, Damian got so fed up, he threw a grenade at a window, but the hotel didn't budge, (Name) still hasn't come out of the building

Then they saw it, through a window, hundreds maybe even thousands of people, in one hotel, some were wearing ball gowns from like the 1700's, some were in punk 80's style, some were dressed in ancient Greek clothing, like time was mixed in the hotel

The problem was workers, no one paid them any mind as they just stood at a rooftop from a building near the hotel

Tim went to the entrance and was greeted by workers "Sir! Would you like to come in? We have a spa, a bar, a golf course, a race track, a pool, a climbing area, an arcade-" the worker continued to ramble

"Hello sir, would you like to try some of our lotus candies? They're complementary" another one smiled

It was creepy.

He immediately went back to report "It's like they want people to go inside, and none of the evidence shows that everyone who went missing was forcefully shoved in the hotel, they went in willingly, I think it's best to not enter, there's this weird vibe to it, like the hotel itself is the problem"

The silence was deafening, and Batman whispered "So you're telling me I sent my kid to a trap?"

They tried everything, they went back almost everyday, bombing the hotel, shooting it, the hotel would remain pristine, the only way was to enter

And it was after two years that passed that (Name) walked out of the hotel, they were out of their bat costume, instead they were in some clothes you'd wear to go gambling

Their minds were fuzzy at first, it didn't matter to Bruce, all he saw was his kid that he sent to hell and god knows what happened in that hotel

'it' would try to make inside jokes that (Name) made during missions

Batsibs were all happy when Bruce laid 'it' off from the vigilante job

Cassandra couldn't bring herself to talk to (Name), avoiding 'it' by closing her eyes

(Name) didn't act differently, no signs of trauma, in fact they testified the hotel was awesome, (Name) claimed that the hotel was so breathtaking they forgot about the mission, but it was fine, (Name) claimed they were only gone for 20 minutes

This was not (Name), no way...

______________________________

Present

"We know how to heal Thalia's tree! We know the place to go and everything!" Percy announced at the dinner table

Everyone murmured and Percy continued "Me and a select group of friends will go on a quest"

Tantalus roared "I didn't approve of this! I'd rather you all die in this wretched camp than- I mean..." He stopped yelling

But now the campers were yelling as well

"You already went on a quest, give others a chance!"

"You just want all the glory again!"

"Greedy Poseidon child"

With the new uproar Tantalus smirked "Well... The quest shall be approved, if! I choose who's going, and I choose you! Clarisse Daughter of Ares! You may choose two selective friends to go with you"

"But I was the one who-" Percy tried to reason

Tantalus glared "Do you all know a story? Where stupid children, anger the Great and smart and beloved me? Do you know what happened to that kid? You want it to happen to you?"

With that Percy shut up

I leaned in and whispered to Annabeth, Percy and Tyson, "So we are still going right?"

"Oh definitely" Percy said

______________________________

Okayss man there's this hurricane in our city and it hit yesterday, while I was outside, literally got the storm warning at school, so school was dismissed early but it was too late, it was flooded, then we had to parkour on some of the cars (not a joke, the car owners were like so understanding and let a bunch of students step on their hoods so we can pass) to get to higher ground

It was fun ngl

@delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven @sweetconnoisseurgardener @dhanyasri @bella-wolf100 @shortnsweetsposts @roseapov @d3sperate-enuf @d3kstar

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Seven: another deal. another oath

tw: grief

Marco got you sick. 

Building pressure throbs between your eyes, ravaging your sinuses with tightly packed snot. It moves to your throat until you’re constantly hacking up phlegm and the pressure in your ears swells so viciously that you can hardly hear anyone over the idle chatter in the restaurant. Of course, there is no evidence to prove that it was Marco himself who got you sick. There are countless people who flood through the doors of Sapori with empty stomachs and noses running from the bitter, humid cold of London. Anyone could have gotten you sick. 

Yet, over the last week, no one has gotten as close to you as he did. Fingers digging into your arm. Legs pinning yours to the bench. Gentle hand—the hand of a killer, his hand, that brutal fucking hand—caressing the side of your face, holding you hostage. Taking, and taking, and taking—tongue shoving past your teeth—

Blurry eyes glance away from the assaulting brightness of your phone screen. Sapori is quiet; it always is this early. Early for late night dining, anyway. Half past ten, you’ve spent most of the morning cleaning every single corner of that building. It’s how you rationalize spending more hours at work even without customers—you have to keep your hands busy and cash flowing. Except, after a while, you got too dizzy to continue, so you’ve taken refuge at a lonely table. The dust and carcinogens you’ve inhaled haven’t done anything to ease your symptoms, but you can’t afford to stay idle. There are numbers to be crunched, cash to be earned, and debts to be paid. 

Which brings you back to your phone. 

Having only graduated school without any sort of higher education, your options for jobs are limited, but working one job isn’t cutting it anymore. You can either pick up more hours like you have been doing this past work, or attempt to find a job that will pay slightly more to help cover the difference in what you now owe Marco every month. You’ve been staring at hourly wages for so long you feel your eyes begin to cross, and you don’t exactly like what you’re seeing. An early morning librarian job for £10.44, coffee shop barista for £9… nothing salary. Nothing that will save you. 

“Job hunting?” 

The ache and throbbing in your ears suffocates your senses so viciously that you didn’t hear Bruce’s footsteps approach. Jumping, you stare up at him like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Nothing like looking at other job postings with your boss staring over your shoulder. The embarrassment is enough to open up a black hole in your stomach where it consumes your organs bit by bit until you’re liquified. Your phone screen goes black, and you choke out a sheepish smile through the snot leaking into the back of your throat. 

“Just for a second job. Part-time,” you explain. Your voice sounds louder than his—ears too clogged to properly receive soundwaves. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving any time soon.” 

Bruce’s mellifluous laugh is the first thing that’s warmed your soul all week. It’s contagious. He’s always been a jovial man—you’ve heard a few of the cooks call him The Italian Santa Claus because of his rosy cheeks and round stomach. The smallest of smiles flitters across your lips as he carefully takes the seat across from you with a large bowl in his hands. 

“Ah, I wouldn’t be upset if you left. Sad, yes, but everyone finds their way out of here eventually,” Bruce assures. His accent is odd. Immigrating from Italy at a young age, his vernacular is a mash of proper English, Italian, and what you’re guessing is Italian-American slang. Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been able to gather from the movies, anyway. “You’re a hard worker. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

A wave of tears build up behind your eyes at his words, and they’re held back by a flimsy, half formed dam. Your emotions have been strewn about in your brain all week—cluttered, sticking halfway out of folders and filing cabinets. It’s hard to shove them back when you can hardly shut the drawers. 

“Here,” he continues as he pushes the bowl toward you. The hard lines of his face soften as he watches you curiously peer at the contents. Tiny bits of pasta shaped like stars swirl around in some sort of thickened broth. “Pastina. Good for your health. You sound sick. Eat up and go home.” 

Your hand is hardly gripping the spoon when he says that, and it nearly slips out of your grasp to clatter back into the bowl. Mouth half open, you stare at Bruce with wide eyes. There’s not a single hint of maliciousness on his face—his eyes twinkle bright as he runs a hand over his balding head. Though he appears happy—proud of himself, even—you feel nothing of the sort. 

“I can’t go home,” you try to argue, but he quickly cuts you off with a wave of his hand. 

“You’re sick, and you’ve been working too much. You’ve worked more hours than I can legally give you this week, and though I don’t mind paying you under the table, it’s not exactly good for either of us. Rest, before you really make yourself sick,” he dismisses. 

Swallowing thickly, you attempt to fruitlessly hide the tremor in your voice. “But I… I really need the money.” 

It’s all you can think about. Money. Numbers This vicious counting game. How you’re going to cough up the extra cash for Marco and still have enough to feed yourself. To do anything. To live. Or worse—what happens to you if you can’t make enough? How many more times is he going to change your payments based on stupid mistakes that aren’t your fault?

Waving your words off again, Bruce stands to his feet, hands pressing flat against the swell of his stomach as he does so. “I’ll give you a raise, then.” 

Jarred, the side of your spoon taps against the edge of the bowl as you follow him with your eyes. “A raise?” 

“Sixteen,” he replies. “Should be enough. I’m tired of you working so many hours. You need to go out and be a kid before you get old and useless like me, yeah? Pick up a hobby. Hang out with that guy Bianca won’t stop talking about. He seems nice, hm? I just want you to be happy, kid. Now, eat up. You’ll feel better.” 

Bruce vanishes just as quickly as he appeared, leaving you alone with a bowl of pastina and your thoughts. It’s good that he did, because if you tried to thank him for such a gracious gesture, you’d certainly crumble. Perhaps he knew that, too. 

In a poor attempt to save yourself from crying in public, you quickly turn your attention to the food Bruce lovingly whipped up for you. Steam wafts and twirls upwards, hitting your face in a fine mist. Its flavor is difficult to discern with how congested you are, but the rich texture is enough to satiate the hole in your stomach. It always seems ever growing these days. A barren cavern; a void that wants to swallow you from the inside out. Not ravenous, just gutting. 

Maybe one day it will fill itself up again. 

For now, it grows. Slowly. Insidiously. Taking bits of you and shredding them into ribbons. They trail behind you, fluttering in the wind as you walk up the steps to your flat where they then roll down the stairs. It would look beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that it was you. You, with quiescent feet trudging through the door. You, with the fatigued body that can hardly dress herself into pajamas. You, who curls into bed, a motherless child—a creature waiting to vanish. 

Too broke to afford cold medicine to aid you with your congestion, it takes time before you can finally fall asleep. When you do, it grips you like a vice, pinning you down, spoon feeding you dreams you haven’t been able to see with the hours you’ve been pulling at work. They’re heavy, holding your head under water, threatening to suffocate you; you can do nothing but watch. 

You dream of your mother. 

She’s folding your school uniform in the laundromat—the very same one you use as common ground to meet up with Marco. Washers swish water in their drums as dryer alarms chime the end of their cycle in terrible cacophony. Pristine white blouses become ruined with burgundy—her hands are soiled. Covered with blood. She folds, and you sit and watch her, hands tangled in string, fingers unable to move. Each fold is done with purpose. Crisp. Effortless. Blouses, skirts, and ties stack up taller than her on the table, threatening to scrape the ceiling above. 

“Throw them away,” you say, voice weak. 

She does not look at you. 

“They’re ruined. Throw them away,” you say. 

She does not look at you. 

“Did I ruin them?” she asks. 

You blink. The string around your fingers tightens. You feel them turn cold as ice. Lack of blood. Festering wounds. Irritated nail beds. An extension of the sins trapped inside of you. 

“It wasn’t you,” you murmur. 

Finally, she looks at you and you flinch. 

“Who was it?” 

Fibers snap, and the string falls free from your hands. Fluttering and dainty; it lays on the floor in generous spirals. There’s so much blood on her shirt. An artistic splatter of violence. You can’t look away. 

“You already know,” you choke out. 

She smiles. A toothy grin. Teeth perfect and whole, lips curling, but it’s not real. Her eyes are cloudy—her eyes are dead. Her smile is dead. Your mother is dead. Cold skin, colder gaze, coagulated blood on linoleum. Rotting. You still smell it: stale blood, cologne, and mint. It follows you everywhere. 

He follows you everywhere. 

Your phone is under your pillow, and someone is calling you. Vibrations rattle through the cotton filling, yanking you out of your dream like you’re being pulled out from under water. For a moment, you think you’re home. Really home. Yet, the room is too cold, and you are too alone. Blinking the sand from your eyes, you shove your hand between the comforter and mattress to yank your phone from underneath your head. The screen flashes. 

Incoming Call from Captain Jack Sparrow

You hit accept and bring the speaker up to your right ear. “Hello?”

“Chip!” Aelin’s voice purrs on the other end. “What are you up to?” 

“Uh…” You pause as you turn to lay on your back, eyes blankly glued to the ceiling. You forgot to turn the heat back on when you got home, and you swear you can almost see your breath. “...relaxing.” 

“That’s a first. Hey, I’m stuck at Terminus, and I’m bored. John wanted to have a quiet evening together but got caught up with some work stuff. Wanna get dinner or something?” she asks. 

You sniff, and the pressure behind your eyes and ears nearly doubles. “I… don’t think I’m feeling up to that tonight. Sorry.” 

“Oh wow,” Aelin gawks. Her voice drips with concern, and you hear shuffling on her end. “Are you sick? You sound very… congested.” 

“Yeah, I got sent home from work. Must’ve caught a bug from… somewhere.” 

Aelin says something in response, but you can’t hear it. There’s nothing but ringing as you force yourself to sit up and hack up snotty phlegm, trying not to choke on it as it comes up. Acidulous liquid coats your tongue, and you wince. Vile. Why can’t you ever have anything that tastes sweet? Something easier to stomach than an unwanted tongue or blood? 

“Chip?”

Her voice brings you back to the present—back to your cold apartment with frigid sheets and your pounding headache. There’s no reason for your tears, yet they plague you anyway. Maybe it’s from your cold. Maybe it’s because you dreamed of your mom. Or maybe it’s just because you’re sad, and you have been for a while. You’re just not able to hold it back anymore. 

“Do you wanna spend the night with John and I?’ Aelin finishes. 

Lips curling inward, you try your best to hold back a sob. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

“Lovely. Riley’s driving. We’ll be there soon, okay?”

An attempt is made at making yourself look somewhat presentable, but it’s hard to make art when the canvas is crumbling. Nothing can cure you of the red irritation plaguing your scleras, nor the constant sniffing from congestion. You make do with fresh clothes and a washed face before shoving a few necessities in an overnight bag. Simple. Small. Something that won’t take up much space. 

When Aelin arrives, it’s a very unceremonious occasion. There’s gentle greetings. A pitiful look. There is no mention of how cold it is, or how the place looks sparsely lived in. She’s beautiful in her peacoat with pristine curled hair and flawless makeup. Perfect for a quaint dinner with a friend. Her viridian eyes look at you with a pity that’s nearly palpable. You feel bad for being sick—she seemed so thrilled to eat with you. 

Simon waits for both of you in front of the building in a sleek, black car that you’re surprised he can fit into. It’s terribly appropriate for him; something that would look perfect hidden in Terminus’s car park. Yet now it’s being used to transport you—a pathetic, ill woman—to her friend’s house as if you’re nothing more than a child. 

It isn’t until you find your seat in the back that you realize just how long you slept for. Dusk pulls its cimmerian shadow over the sky, obscuring the streets in the pale yellow glow of streetlights as Simon pulls into traffic. You got home around noon. Nearly a whole day wasted with sleep. 

Little is said between the three of you as you struggle to stay conscious. The consistent gentle hum of the car’s engine is better than any lullaby that you can recall. A siren’s song. A loving hand on your back. Head bobbing and swaying with the turns of the road, you listen to whatever Simon has droning on the radio; some sort of rock station that plays so quietly you almost can’t hear it at all. Every now and then, you catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, glancing at you like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep watch over you. 

It seems he’s still taking Aelin’s request to heart. 

As the car approaches the house, Aelin digs into her purse where she quickly shuffles through a small, periwinkle wallet. She fishes out some cash before handing it to Simon as he parks. 

“Here,” she whispers, quiet enough that your poor hearing can’t catch. “Get her some medicine, please.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he mutters in reply. 

Before you know it, you’re tucked into a quiet guest room on the second floor of the house. Heat radiates from the baseboards, yet your muscles tense and ache in a shiver. To combat this, Aelin has found every spare blanket and duvet she can find and has tossed them on top of you until you are nothing more than a heaping pile of laundry. At first, she had recommended throwing them in the dryer to help warm them up further, but you rejected it. 

You hate making her go through so much unnecessary effort on your behalf. 

Still, she refuses to leave you as you curl into a ball, face pressed against her side as she sits on top of the covers next to you. Aelin always smells lovely. Fresh rosewater and lavender. You’re enveloped by her scent like it’s a warm hug as she rubs a hand along your back, but it’s muted. The considerable amount of blankets only allows you to feel the ghost of her touch. 

“How long has this been going on?” she asks tenderly. 

You shrug. “Day before yesterday, I think.” 

She pouts with a huff, hand ceasing its movement as she silently chastises you. “And you were still trying to work?”

“I have to,” you mumble against her. 

A terrible quiescence soaks the room. Everything hurts, and you want to rest, but you know that won’t come soon. Not when Aelin’s concern is eating her alive—a vicious plague ripping through her heart. You can hear the beasts feasting on her marrow even now. 

“Well, I brought an old friend to come visit,” Aelin grins. Before you can gather the strength to ask her what she’s talking about, she pulls something out from underneath the covers to set it in front of you. “Tada!” 

An old, well loved stuffed animal sits before you with lopsided eyes and a faded smile. Once vibrant, crimson fur has now faded into an off-tone auburn, but the resemblance of a fox is still unmistakable. 

“I thought I told you to get rid of that,” you mutter. 

“I can’t get rid of her! You used to love Pumpkin,” Aelin says as if offended. 

For a long moment, you stare at your old stuffed animal and relive the memories that soak it. It was a gift from your father when you were a child—something you used to hold close with you every night, even after his death. Even after you went to live with John and Aelin after graduation. You don’t know why, but one day you decided that you couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. You’re not sure if it’s because it was gifted to you by your father—the man you’ve tried so hard to continue loving despite his flaws—or because sweet Pumpkin had become so tainted with you that you figured you should take pity on the poor thing. 

When you don’t respond, Aelin sighs and sets the stuffed fox on the nightstand. “Alright, fine. She’ll sit right here for when you’re ready.” There’s a short pause that stretches between the two of you, but it doesn’t last long before Aelin decides that the silence is driving her mad. “I’ve heard you and Riley have been getting close,” she prompts like she’s about to spill the daily gossip. A change in subject. A way to ease you into what she really wants to talk about. “Visiting him at the club, then?”

The club. Andrei. Spilled pasta in an alleyway. Your unfortunate run in with Marco made you forget all about how you ended up in this mess in the first place. The blade of Andrei’s knife glints just as brightly in your mind now as it did that night, and you cover your urge to puke with a well timed cough. You wish she wouldn’t bring it up, but it’s a good sign. 

It means Simon was true to his word. 

“Just to deliver food. He kept fixing stuff at my apartment. Had to pay him back,” you explain like a broken record. 

Lips stretch over ivory teeth as Aelin shifts next to you. “Is that so? Sounds like he fancies you.” 

“Or maybe he’s just doing the job that you assigned him to do,” you reply bluntly. 

Aelin doesn’t tense at your insinuation, but she does sigh as she settles back against the headboard. “Thought he was better at keeping secrets than that.” 

“He didn’t tell me, I figured it out on my own,” you claim, stuffy voice unable to land the plosives of your consonants. 

She chuckles amicably as she looks down at you. Eyes closed, you’re nearly asleep, and you would have been if it weren’t for her conversation. 

“Well, you were always the smart one. Still, I won’t retract my statement. Riley’s had a lot of… partners, but he never lingers around anyone like he does with you,” she insists. “He’s a good man, really. I’m sure you’ve seen that for yourself.” 

“Can’t entertain that,” you say. There’s a sour stoicness to your tone; too tired to be annoyed yet yearning for silence. “I’ve got work.” 

Another stillness—a suffocating one. Aelin’s smile has long since vanished as her lips press together tartly. There you go, talking about work again. Like you can’t stand to do anything else. Like you’ll die without the money. 

“Chip… you know that if you need help, you can always ask, right?” she prods carefully. “Anything. I mean it. John and I… we’re here for you.” 

Help. you think of that word, and a sour cordolium rips through your chest. Asking for such a thing from someone is out of the question. You made that deal with yourself ages ago. 

“I don’t… I don’t need help. I just… miss my mum.” 

You feel the moment when the room freezes. It’s when Aelin looks down at you, doleness unleashed in her gaze. Bringing up your late mother was a mistake, but she’s all you can think about after that dream. You wonder if you’ll ever have a normal dream of her again—fresh, normal, and void of all blood. A dream where she smiles and it’s not dead. 

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say. 

“Me too.” 

When Simon returns, you’re fast asleep. Aelin can hear the sound of his boots on the floor from a mile away; purposefully making his existence known as he opens the door to the only room with the light on. His eyes are drawn to you, body curling into Aelin like you’ll fall through the bed without her. He approaches the bed and holds out the bag for her to take, and the very first thing she finds is every bit of cash she had given him to buy the items in the first place. 

Instead of chastising him, she rummages through the rest of the items. NyQuil, Sudafed, Vicks, various soups and electrolyte drinks. It’s a variable feast to fight off your cold. Aelin looks up to poke fun at the man—at this raging chink in his armor—but she loses all words when she sees the way his hand presses against your forehead. Careful fingers gently brush against a faint scar by your temple as he feels the heat radiating from your body. He watches you with gentle devotion as your shoulders rise and fall with your breaths, congestion causing you to quietly snore. You do not stir awake, but she witnesses the way your brows furrow when he pulls away. 

“She’s got a bad fever,” he concludes quietly. “She looks exhausted. Dehydrated.” 

“Yeah. She’s been overworking herself too much. Hasn’t been resting or healing like she should,” Aelin concurs. 

Fragile silence breaks as you breathe, airways too clogged for you to sleep peacefully. Simon and Aelin stare down at you for a moment, each of them considering the circumstance. Her lips press tightly together in thought before she carefully slides away from you, leaving your coiled form. She sets the bag of medicine and supplies on the foot of the bed before facing Simon with crossed arms. 

“Can I talk to you before you leave?” she requests. 

Simon answers her with a curt nod before they exit the room with the lights off and the door shutting tight behind them. Aelin’s heart pounds away in her chest as it fights against the tightness of her ribs. It’s an ever constricting cage. Relentless. Vile. She ensures that she’s not facing Simon as they traverse down the stairs. 

“Chip is… really scaring me,” Aelin breathes, and she feels her voice crack nearly as bad as her heart as her feet hit the landing. “I’m more than a little concerned or worried now she… she’s always been something of a workaholic, but this is different. It feels like she’s trying to run away from something and she’s just—I don’t know—keeping something buried inside of her. Pushing away any help anyone tries to offer her. I’m… scared she might hurt herself.” 

“Hurt herself?” Simon repeats in disbelief. “Has she done anythin’ like that before?” 

“No. Not that I know of. It’s just…” 

The words die as Aelin’s lips press tightly together once again, and she finally forces herself to look at Simon. He’s nothing but a stone—this immoveable being who won’t be swayed by anything physically or emotionally. She steadies her breath as she wills away the tears welling in her eyes. 

“I’m going to tell you this because I trust you,” she says, gaze attempting to harden. It’s a silent vow. A demand that he not repeat any of the words she’s about to speak. 

“Of course,” Simon nods. 

Aelin swallows the guilt in the back of her throat. 

“Chip’s parents are dead. They have been for a while. First it was her dad, and then her mum. My dad was the Chief Inspector working the cases of their deaths. It wasn’t… from natural causes. She holds a lot of guilt and she gets in a bad headspace over it, and I think that’s a bit of what’s happening and… it’s worse than I’ve ever seen it before. This time of year is always hard for her considering the anniversaries of their deaths, and I don’t know if it just seems worse because she’s sick right now but… fuck, Simon. The way she talked about her mum just earlier, I swear I nearly broke.” 

Crisp eyeliner marks the edges of her eyes, yet it smudges as Aelin banishes the tears from her vision with the tips of her fingers. Still as ever, Simon watches carefully and without judgement as she gathers herself in order to finish. 

“She needs to talk to someone about it, but I don’t think she wants it to be me. There are many things I think she would share, but there’s no way she’d give me the whole story,” she concludes. 

Confusion clouds Simon’s stern gaze, and he shifts on his feet. “What, you’re thinkin’ she’ll tell me and not you?” 

“Yes.” Her reply is speedy and sharp; a warning. No one knows you better than her. “She carries guilt for a lot of stuff. For… There’s just some things I know she won’t want to tell me. Things she can’t tell me because it’s… well, me.” 

Something is off—Simon can smell the stench of it from a mile away. He knows better than to question Aelin, and she seems very convinced that this is the true issue at hand, but there’s an uncomfortable trepidation that hangs somewhere in the balance of it all. A picture half developed. The brittle edge of a cliff. It’s the same feeling that afflicted him the night he fought Andrei in the alleyway—a deja vu that screams trouble if he even attempts to entertain it. 

“Please,” Aelin begs. “You don’t have to do anything crazy, I just don’t want her to be alone. Swear to me you won’t let her be alone through this. Simon, I’m not strong enough to cut through her walls but the thought of… the thought of her like this kills me.” 

Another deal. Another oath. Simon has always been a protector, in some way. A tool which one uses to bludgeon. He doesn’t know if he can be gentle. He knows he’s certainly not palatable. But he thinks of your sleeping form in the VIP room after the tussle with Andrei, and the heat of your fever against his hand, and he thinks he’d at least like to try. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he assures her. 

Nodding, Aelin attempts to strengthen her resolve with a deep breath. Frayed nerves still poke out of her skin, completely wired with worry. It sparks and fizzles, yet she still glances back up the stairs, as if she can feel the aura of exhaustion seeping out of the bedroom. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice hardly above a whisper as she looks back at him. “Truly, I appreciate it.” 

“Can’t do everythin’ on your own,” he says. 

She scoffs playfully. “Tell that to Chip.” 

Once the front door locks shut behind Simon and the house is still and quiet, Aelin sneaks back upstairs. You’re hardly conscious when she gently urges you awake to press cough syrup to your lips, but you don’t complain. You never complain—not when there’s bitter liquid on your tongue; never when you should. Silent. Pliable. Once you’ve swallowed every last drop, you collapse back into bed, body weak and overheated; slick with sweat. 

She knows she should leave once your snoring starts back up again, but she can’t. There’s something to relish in how peaceful you are in this moment. Not working yourself to death. Not running from the grief that’s been strangling you since you were a child. For a moment, as you lay there in bed, Aelin gets to see you as you were when you were a kid. 

As she stands at the foot of the bed, she recalls the first time she ever met you—both clad in black and unable to look at one another without timid smiles and tear filled eyes. Aelin was the one who had to break the silence. To introduce herself as the daughter of Sean Gilroy; the man who sat in that coffin so adorned with flowers and love. You’ve grown so much since then. A fine woman who should be proud of herself. She wants to shake you awake. Yank you out of your sleep and scream at you that there’s nothing to be forgiven—nothing to punish yourself over. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, she turns around and leaves, ensuring that the electrolyte drink Simon bought is on the pillow next to your for when you wake up in the morning.

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[lomlompurim]

What if instead of waking up in the mushroom body, sqq woke up in a doll.

Something something while lbh was away in the abyss, sqq without noticing offended a misterious (demonic-succubi-esque???) cultivator with a weird thing for making dolls. She had dolls all over her secret workshop that she very kindly let him into when she heard about the famous Xiu Ya sword being in the city.

What she wanted of him? Who knows, sqq couldn't bring himself to care. She probably wanted his money or try to steal his hair, the hair of those dolls seemed very much like real hair, although he had to admit the level of details on these dolls were amazing.

(she wanted to trick him into buying one of her cursed dolls and steal his life energy little by little, but got wifebeamed by widow sqq during their conversation about how talented she was to be able to make so many dolls, and without really understanding he rejected her with little to no emotion on his face)

So she cursed him, and since sqq didn't feel anything bad at the moment he thought it just didn't work and left, not sparing the curse a single thought after their encounter.

The rest of the story goes as usual, excep that after he self detonates his soul doesn't go into the mushroom body, instead it got directly into the shape of a doll in the workshop of this woman.

His first thought is thinking someone snitched the mushroom body bc wtf wasn't he supposed to wake up under the dirt??? Why this place smells slightly familiar? Like paint and humidity and floral perfumes?? and why everything looks fucking giganourmus?!?! A teapot should NOT look that big from his position....Oh no, did the mushroom body turned out as small as a squirrel? WhAT is happening?!

And then he looks at his arms and legs, and he has joints. White paper skin with joints in his wrists, elbows, torso, waist, knees, feet. And he panics, a lot.

The woman who cursed him starts monologuing about how she trapped him now, and you are mine, I made this doll specially for you master shen, this is my revenge for your insolence to leave me yada yada- Sqq stoped listening a while ago.

Somehow he manages to escape from this woman and now he is roaming around as the size of some apples. Everything is huge. Everything is dangerous, even the grasshopers! And this body is fragile! He can't feel heat nor cold, neither hunger or other things, but he is useless with no spiritual veins inside, and if someone is not looking carefully, they might crush him. And the way back to cq is gonna be a hell of a trip! But he needs airplane to fix this. He can't stay as a doll forever! He needs a mushroom body and then fly into the sunset far from this mess! Adiós! Goodbye! So his new plan is to infiltrate into cang qiong, look for that rat and disappear. Sneaking into some disciple's pouch must be enough to break in.

Something something it only had passed a few months since lbh stole sqq's body and everything is still very fresh. CQ mountain is a hot mess. Sqh frankly needs to lay down and take a nap. Lqg keeps figthing with Lbh practially every day and coming back beaten bloody, he has his king pestering him and a lot of paperwork to do, Lbh is a pain in the ass, Yqy is really close to snap and start a war with HHP, and he knows nothing about his bro. So yeah. Such a great time to be alive.

The mushroom bodies should had been ready, right? He must be alright...Yeah. He has enough already to keep him busy. Cucumber bro is gonna come out and stumble across at any moment. No one would bat an eye if he takes a nap, right? He deserves it. He is overworked enough for another lifetime, his head hurts, his bones hurt everywhere, a short nap should be fine...

Until he feels something small tugging his robes and a cold tiny finger poking his eyelids. But he doesn't want to. He is very comfortable on the floor of his office. Whatever bird decided to pick a fight with his face can keep trying.

"AIRPLANE, WAKE UP, YOU HACK! I NEED YOU TO FIX THIS! WHY IS A WITCH WITH ANACHRONISTIC HAUNTED DOLLS IN THIS NOVEL? THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

That voice. That fucking annoying voice was of just one person and one person only. He opened his eyes, looking for the source of the unmistakable voice of his No1 hater, but he came across with a pretty porcelain doll. With a very ugly sneer in it's face.

"W-Wha-?...Bro-?!"

"Fucking finally! Why are you sleeping on the floor in your ofice?! I was looking around your bedroom like an idiot! Do you know how close I was to falling from your window?!"

-TBC-

[littlexdeaths]

older brother’s best friend eddie x fem reader

warnings: slight suggestiveness on eddie’s part, but also lots of tooth rotting fluff <3

it’s a recipe for disaster masterlist.

a/n: this takes place somewhere after the car troubles saga, but before the fake dating saga. based on this lovely request, i hope you like it my love! i appreciate your patience xx

“dude, you sound like fucking shit.”

you hear sid’s voice ring out loudly from the dining room.

you sit up, your inherent nosiness now quickly outweighing any desire to pay attention to the movie flashing across the television. so you carefully get up from the sofa and you peek your head around the corner into the dining room.

sid has his back to you, watching out the window while he continues to talk on the phone. wednesday nights were always slotted for band practice, so you knew it could be one of four people that he was talking to. you just hoped it wasn’t a certain curly haired lead guitarist on the other end.

wednesdays had quickly become your days together as well, once sid fell asleep that is.

your brother snorts but just shakes his head in response to whatever the person on the other line just said.

“nah, don’t worry about it, ed. i’ll see what the other guys wanna do, no need to infect the rest of us with your crap.” he laughs and your heart sinks a little.

so eddie wasn’t coming tonight.

while you feel a little disappointed, an idea suddenly comes to you. and your mind is already made up before sid can even finish hanging up the phone. you grab your keys and purse and hurry past him to the front door.

“hey! where the hell are you going in such a rush?” your brother calls while you slip on your sneakers.

“robin’s having really bad cramps, gotta get her some stuff.”

you’re a little shocked with how easily the lies and excuses come to you now, but you know it’s better than dealing with the reality of sid knowing.

“okay— too much info!” he says with a whistle before he picks the phone back up to call jeff.

you make it to the bradley’s big buy without any issues, besides a disapproving look from hopper as you flew past him on main street. you’re just grateful he was feeling nice today and didn’t pull you over.

as you push the squeaky cart through the aisles you begin to pile saltines, pedialyte and chicken noodle soup into the basket. paying extra mind to grab a couple packages of reese’s pieces and twizzlers on your way past the register.

two of his favorites.

during your short drive to forest hills trailer park, you can’t help the nerves from rumbling in your belly. would he be upset that you showed up unannounced? you didn’t think that was likely, but things were still so new between you. and you really don’t want to mess anything up.

but the look of delighted surprise that crosses his features when he opens the door has any lingering worries dissolving almost instantly. while he’s dressed in a pair of checkered pajama pants and a ratty old band tee— he still manages to take your breath away.

“surprise!” you mumble sheepishly.

“you know,” eddie grins, the tip of his finger tapping against his chin, “i don’t think i ordered a nurse?”

his small chuckle quickly morphs into a hacking cough, the male resting his body further against the doorframe. but the way he’s leaning against it is very reminiscent of that night your car broke down, the night that changed everything. only this time the sweat on his brow is from a fever and not the raging humidity.

“well lucky for you, i do house calls,” you tease, lightly brushing past him to enter the trailer.

eddie had set up camp in the living room, if the amount of tissues strewn about the floor were anything to go by.

“uh… sorry ‘bout the mess,” his already pink cheeks flush a shade darker while he quickly tries to tidy up. “—wasn’t expecting company.”

you can tell by his wobbly stance that he shouldn’t be up and moving around at all right now, so when he bends down again to grab more discarded tissues— you stop him.

“hey, don’t worry about that now, okay?” you reassure him, slipping your hand around his waist to guide him back towards his bedroom.

eddie all but deflates into your side, his mouth lifting into another grin when you reach the edge of his unmade bed.

“i see what’s going on here…” he hums, “trying to get me in bed before we’ve even been on a proper date.”

one of his palms slaps over his chest in mock horror as he flops down onto his mattress in the most dramatic, yet completely eddie-like manner imaginable.

“what kind of guy do you think i am, sweetheart?”

you roll your eyes fondly when he sits back up, eyebrows quirking up suggestively beneath his bangs.

“oh shame on me, we must keep that precious virtue of yours intact.” you giggle, letting him wrap his arm around your waist while he tucks you into the space between his thighs.

you can feel the overwhelming warmth radiating through the thin cotton of his shirt, and the beads of sweat beginning to trickle down his neck when you wrap your arms around him.

“please tell me you’ve been taking tylenol or something for this fever, eds.”

concern laces your tone, but you already know the answer by the way he peeks up at you under his lashes in feigned innocence.

“—uh… no.”

you let out a sigh before untangling yourself from him and he almost manages to follow you out of his room. but you are quick to turn on your heel and press a firm hand to his chest.

“nuh uh, mister. you need to lay down,” you scold, despite the pout adorning his features. “and that’s an order.”

eddie utters a soft, so bossy under his breath before he retreats back to his bed. you’re quick to rummage through the medicine cabinet in his bathroom until you find what you’re looking for. coming back to his room with a full glass of water and two tylenol in tow.

he tosses the pills back without any further argument, much to your relief. but the male immediately reaches for you again and you unwillingly slip through his fingers.

“nooo— where are you going now?” he all but whines.

you merely respond with a giggle as you slip out of his room, padding down the hall towards your bag of goodies you left near the front door. you snatch out the candy and pedialyte, and graciously clean up the rest of his tissues before making your way back towards his room.

eddie perks up at the sight of you, immediately pulling back the bedsheets and welcoming you in with open arms. you set your goodies down on his nightstand before sliding in next to him, the male completely enveloping you in his embrace.

“thank you.” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

and truly, he means it.

eddie has spent most of his life fending for himself, so he’s not used to someone wanting to dote on him like this. but the fact that you were so willing to drop everything to come here and check on him — spoke volumes.

you carefully tilt your head up to glance at him, his soft chestnut hues meeting yours as he tucks comfortably into his side.

“anytime, eds.”

and you mean it too.

you spend the better part of the evening nursing him back to health, as much he’ll let you anyway. while eddie is beyond grateful that you’re willing to care for him like this, he’s just happy to be in your presence.

and he can’t deny he’s become quite attached to you in the short time you’d started seeing each other. so much so that when you finally get up to make him some dinner he all but clings to your side, despite your protests for him to go rest.

eddie is nothing if not stubborn, so he follows you into the small kitchen. keeping his arms wrapped securely around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder while you heat up a can of campbell’s chicken noodle soup.

but as much as he's enjoying the coddling in his current state, he draws the line at your attempts to spoon-feed him. it only leads to him playfully nipping at your fingers until he finally manages to sneak the utensil from your grasp.

with his belly fully and his fever beginning to break the two of you make your way back to his bedroom. slipping comfortably beneath the covers while you flip through the tv stations until you’ve settled on some old the price is right reruns.

eddie falls asleep not even five minutes after his head hits the pillow, soft snores tumbling from his plump lips. the utter picture of content. so you can’t help when your gaze quickly shifts from bob barker and the spinning wheel to his sleeping features.

you admire the way his long lashes fan across his freckled cheeks and the little scar on the slope of his nose that you’ve never noticed before. the way his lips are slightly chapped, but still kissable all the same. and when you lean up to press a soft peck to the corner of his mouth, he doesn’t even stir.

but as you snuggle yourself into his chest you miss the way his lips quirk up in a half smile, the male ultimately catching you in the act. eddie decides to say nothing as your breathing begins to slow and you drift off to sound of his steady heartbeat in your ears.

and later, when wayne returns home from work that evening to find you both entangled and sleeping soundly in his nephew’s bed, he just quietly shuts the door behind him with a knowing grin on his face.

series taglist: @nailbatanddungeon @devil-in-hiding @mugloversonly @eddiemunsonfuxks @munsonhoneybaby @alagalaska @creative1writings @missmarch-99 @stolen-in-moonlight @xxbimbobunnyxx @calumfmu @bastardstevie @prestinalove @indigosparkle444 @tlclick73 @hellfire--cult @take-everything-you-can @guiltyasquinn

let me know if you’d like to join the taglist!

[submissivekillers]

kinktober day 1 - handjobs (cooper adams)

Cooper has a knife.

You'd only seen it at a glance, but it's plain. Ordinary. Thick blade, wooden handle, brass accents, like any other kitchen knife. Not one of yours - your knife block sits on the opposite counter, undisturbed. You hope whoever he nicked it from is alive, or at least unharmed.

But you wouldn't bet on it.

You know what he's done. Some part of you had known long before you'd switched on the TV and seen his dark eyes stare out at you, spliced over the live footage of a SWAT team swarming his house. You've seen the crime scene pictures that circulate online, heard the breathless retellings of limbs hacked and discarded, faces robbed of eyes and tongues.

You had the number on speed dial when he arrived. A soundless, motionless shape in your hallway — it never ceases to surprise you how quiet Cooper can be. You'd threatened to make him wear a bell once if he kept sneaking up behind you. He'd only grinned and said a bell wouldn't stop him. Before, it had made you laugh.

And yet - when you looked into his face and knew that those black, glittering eyes had watched twelve lives (at least) die in terror - you just couldn't find it in you to care.

It's hard to care about anything - not your phone discarded on your kitchen table, not the ordinary kitchen knife buried into the cabinet behind you instead of in your gut - except the heavy weight of Cooper's cock in your hand as you pump your fist languidly.

He engulfs you, caging you against the counter with the bulk of his broad shoulders. All your senses on overdrive, filled with him alone; the slick flesh between your fingers, the heady musk of sweat and iron that makes your head spin, the scrape of stubble against your temple. His breath puffs against your ear, humid and unsteady, and when you twist your palm just right he exhales a rough, needy sound into your hair. You feel it rumble through his throat, pressing your lips to the skin there as if seeking a soft place for your teeth to sink. Dimly, you're aware of a hideous scraping as he twists the knife beside your head.

You think this is what you care about - making him whine for you again.

The speed of your fist increases and Cooper lets out a choked groan of your name, his hips bucking when your thumb drags over his weeping cockhead. He's leaking steadily, thick spend coating your palm and smearing over your exposed stomach. Your free hand wanders, greedily groping at the softness of his hips and tangling in his chest hair, but he's not made a move to touch you other than hitching up your shirt, his palm slotted into the dip of your bare waist. The calluses on his fingertips send sparks down your spine.

You drag your tongue up the taut line of his neck until you're nosing at his jaw, nipping insistently until he takes the fucking hint and leans to meet you in a messy kiss. He's insistent, bumping your noses together as he pants into your mouth, teeth worrying at your lower lip 'til you taste blood between your tongues. You tug him away from you with a hand at the nape of his neck and hear his teeth click together around nothing.

You hold him there for a long moment, watching. Cooper's flushed red down his neck, his teeth bared, a vein pulsing in his forehead. His breath hisses through his teeth with every stroke of your hand, garbled words escaping his clenched jaw. He looks more pained than pleasured, but he's still drooling into your palm, rutting his tip into your stomach.

His eyes blink open, hot gaze pinning you in place. The dim light makes them even blacker than usual, but there's an animal shine to them even in the dark that gives away his fixed stare. Eyes locked on his, your fist curls tighter, moves faster, an obscene squelch echoing beneath the breaths you share. He's shuddering all over, fingers digging into the soft fat of your waist. You hope deliriously that you'll find bruises tomorrow.

Another garbled husk of your name, his brow furrowing as he fights to hold your gaze. "Can't... I'm, I can't—"

"It's okay, honey," you hum, soft and sweet as your hand slides from his throat to cup his jaw. "You're okay, Coop, come for me. Doing so good."

Cooper goes still and quiet when he comes, head tipped back and eyes screwed shut as he releases into your fist, errant ropes splattering your stomach. You can feel it dripping down your wrist, thick and hot, making your mouth water. You manage to pull a few more of those guttural whines out of him as you stroke him through it, milking him until he bites out a curse and tugs your hand away. There's still cum between your fingers, pooling in your palm. You idly wonder if he'd let you make him lick it up, but decide against it.

Instead, when he releases you and steps back, you take a deep, steadying breath and wipe your hands with a paper towel, shifting on your feet. There's an ache unsatisfied between your thighs and a twinge in your spine from so long braced against the counter, but you're more concerned with the studied blankness in Cooper's face as he watches you, nostrils flaring as he tries to get his breathing under control. He's not holding the knife anymore, but you can feel the potential for violence in the coiled muscles of his body, in the way he shifts his balance to match your slight movements.

When you reach for him, there's an instant flinch — and then your hands find his face again, thumbs smoothing over his arched cheekbones. His eyes are depthless, wounded; an animal in a trap.

"Let's get cleaned up," you murmur, pushing a sweaty strand of hair out of face. "We can talk in the morning."

He blinks slowly, and leans in to press his hot cheek to your temple, wordless.

As you coil an arm around his waist and tug him towards the bathroom - very deliberately leaving your phone where it lies - you sneak a glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there's a jagged gash straight through your cabinet door, which hangs open at an awkward angle. The knife itself is buried in your formica countertop, point impaled a good three inches deep into the cheap material.

Ah, man. There goes your security deposit.

[jd07201990]

Honestly dude? I kinda brought this on myself. Definitely coulda gone a little softer on my bro... I mean boyfriend, but like, come the fuck on! He came home every fuckin' day from practice, kicking off his rank shoes, and stomped all over the house leaving nasty sweaty footprints on the hardwood bro! Then he fuckin' thinks it’s cute to sneak up and hug me with his soaked tank top, as if his funk wouldn't ruin my clothes! What the fuck!

Ok, ok, looking back after everything that happened, maybe I shouldn't have called him a Nasty Sweatrag, and told him to soak himself in bleach next time... Especially not in front of the creepy Goth kid, who happens to be his little brother!

One moment, I was just shouting at him, really laying it on him, sick of the sweat and the time he spent with his bros. I guess I was a bit jealous, but damn dude! I'm his bro! I mean, his girlfriend... or at least I was, until I made him cry and his brother glared from the corner of the room, seething.

In that split second before my stomach heaved, I knew I'd fucked up bad. Like, really bad bro! The world fuckin spun, I hacked and spluttered, then everything went black. I woke up later that day in a bedroom that was distinctly mine, but totally different. When I sat up and noticed my B-Cups were flat, solid, and square, my nipples small and pointing downward with the new bulk, I knew I was fucking JACKED brah! I, I mean I was fucked... this is a bad thing damn it! I'm not some lumbering meathead! fuck!

Anyway, I tossed my sheets, and noticed the rest of me. I was definitely taller, with big, clammy feet like my best bro... I mean boyfriend's, dangling off the end of my bed. My legs were thick, solid and capable of carrying the added bulk I'd suddenly packed on. The entire room reeked of humid funk. There were dirty clothes all over the floor by the hamper, battered, worn old sneakers and cleats by door in a heap, and my Vanity had become a fuckin' beast of a gaming rig dude! Fuck yeah! Wait... no, I don't game damn it! I'm not a fuckin' dude!

the rest of the room had changed similarly. Everything that could have pointed to a female living here, was now distinctly male. And that of a Big, Dumb, Sweatrag of a dude, as I'd called my bro earlier. However... it didn't bother me. I could barely smell it over the pungent fog that came from my muscled-up body. I was swole! And kinda gross dude, not gonna lie... But like, I can't fuckin help it! It’s like there's a fuckin' furnace inside me, burning up everything it’s got to keep me pumped and riled, on edge so bad I can't stop myself from fidgeting. my hands just, do their thing dude! One minute I'm lookin' in the mirror, the next I'm groping my fuckin Rod... I, woah... ok, it might be getting worse! I meant my fuckin' cock! I, I mean dick! Fucking damn it!

You know what, whatever. like I said, one minute I'm standing there, the next I've got my dick in my hand, or groping my fuckin nuts like those behemoths at the gym! Or it'll slide up my shirt, lifting it up while I don't even realize it. There’re all kinds of fuckin' weird dude things happening, and I can't stop any of it! My bod fuckin does as it wants if I'm not actively fighting it! The worst, and I mean it, the absolute fuckin worst, is when I've just scratched my junk good, and suddenly, like fuckin instinct, I'm sniffin' my fuckin fingers like a damn animal! What the fuck dude! All the fuckin' bros say its natural, that its some caveman shit... I might believe them, because it happens with my pits too! Just, standing there hittin' up one of the pretty chicks... I... I mean uh... my old friends... and then wham! sweaty pit fingers all up in my grill!

My Bro's little brother, the creepy Goth kid caught up with me when I'd all but sprinted the few blocks to his and my bro.. I mean my fuckin' boyfriend's house. I was just coming to terms with the fact that I'd hauled ass down the street, half naked, when He opened the door, and busted out laughing. Even when I had him dangling off the floor by his hoodie, threatening to squash his scrawny little pipsqueak ass, he cackled, before his eyes flared, and in an instant, his hand was out, my nipple in his fingers, as a cold pain flashed over my chest, and I looked down to see my nip was pierced, a silver barbell forcing it to stick out, perked up and stiff.

My jaw fell, and I dropped his ass, trying to form words as this wild, aggression filled me. The fuckin' goth punk crossed his arms and smirked, just as the piercings, or rather, the hex he'd put on them, erupted to life. I felt as if my brain was being squeezed from the inside, as if this fuckin' loser had his hands on it, wringing it out like a wet towel. I clutched my head, stumbling until I hit the couch, and sat, my legs splaying wide to give my fuckin' junk some room, like any dude does, when I felt the pressure lesson, and a strange, warmth began to flow from the back of my head, down my spine, and settled into my fuckin balls dude! It was like having all your smarts and who you are, drained down and stored where it belongs bro! Brains in your fuckin balls!

Fuck... no wait! He said if I couldn't fight it, if I didn't learn what it was like being an athletic dude, I'd lose everything I was, and end up just another sweaty meathead, lumbering around the gym, lifting big, gettin fucking swole, and plowing my way through chicks until graduation! I had to fight it; I couldn't give up. And my bro wasn't fuckin' helping!

He was always a fuckin' Golden Retriever, happy and dopey and dumb, I shoulda realized he was a good dude and I was lucky, before I'd been Bro'd up and brain squeezed out! Now, my fuckin' bro loves taking me to the gym, putting this body through its paces, even throwing fuckin shade when he got a whiff of my fuckin' pits! He laughs, but dude? I'm fuckin ripe, always am since his little brother turned up the juice and made sure I fit right in with the bros. My bro... boyfriend... finds it hilarious when he catches me flexing in the mirror while pumpin' out reps, or when I have to peel off my tank cus it got too damn soaked! Just look at my fuckin boxer briefs bro! See that sweat? Thats a fuckin' Man's sweat! I'm a fuckin beast bro!

All I had to do was last 1 week. Live like a fuckin dude for 7 days, learn my lesson, and I'd have my old life back. That shouldn't have been hard... well, I shouldn't have been hard, when my best friend Laura forgot what was in my fuckin pants one night while I stayed over, and fuck if I didn't end up railin' her for a good hour, before I realized too late that I'd be stuck as a sweaty dude if I shot my 5-day pent up load! She gave me no option. Teasing me about being a big dumb meathead, all brawn, no brains, thinking with my fuckin' dick, and the last straw, the moment that ensured I'd be a dude forever, was when she bit and nibbled her way down my neck, her nails leaving red scratches along my fuckin back, until she bit my nipple, playing with the barbell with her tongue, and I fuckin lost it. Just fuckin plowed in, balls deep, and shot my load. That was it, everything that had made me a girl, had unloaded with high velocity into my best friend's belly. I nearly blacked out, my big feet scrabbling in the sheets trying to get deeper as my balls drained desperately. When it was over, I fell to the side in bed, gasping as she panted and giggled, tracing her nails through the sweat dribbling down my pecs. It’s been a month since I'd lost both my temper, and my female body... but fuckin look at me brah?! The bros and I are fuckin swole! My bro says I'm far better off this way, and Laura does her part, keeping the damn Male Aggression and insatiable need in my balls, satisfied. There's a reason dudes are the way they are. Sometimes, they just can't help it.

[niktokor]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞

𝐑: 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

@the-whispers-of-death this is for you. I am sorry you had to wait 1 year and 2 months for something decent. I did my best <3

𝐂𝐰: 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐆𝐀𝐙 𝐗 (𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄) 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Maybe intel was wrong, maybe you made a stupid bet or prayed as a joke and god heard you, maybe it was supposed to be a quick mission. You remembered the small chat with Laswell in that crappy room; dimly lit monitors, wet and dark walls filled with humidity that stuck on your clothes and skin like that flight or fight response, all topped with a creaking table that was more dead than alive.

All of you were around it with a classified record of many new drug lords, some more dangerous than others. Many of them were already dealt with by other Special Forces but one captured your interest.

Laswell sounded very preoccupied, the last time her comrades saw her like this were the moments before she had to kill that man in order to survive. She knew her boys were brave and fearless but still, they had to go and try to capture Malik Alman, the new Afghan drug lord that had affiliations with the Las Almas cartell.

Many corrupt soldiers were on his side, smuggling drugs and victims where they were needed, just like El Sin Nombre as she had her puppets on a short string ready to be snapped in half. Price, like the captain he was, threw in suggestions on how to capture him.

Those ranged from front assault or using snipers, the map used was faded and old, all red from pens scribbling on it. Time couldn't be wasted and as minutes passed, the possibility to get information was slimmer than ever.This was a possibility that couldn't slip away as this guy controlled even a good part of drug smuggling in Mexico and they had to inform their Las Almas brothers ahead for any potential threat of new routes being created.

The portable computer on the table was left on hold as they waited for el coronel y el sargento mayor to come in line. “Are you sure they can do something about this? I have a bad feeling about this type o’ shit…” Delta spoke.

Usually to make him worried the world had to end, maybe it was not going to be one of the best moments of your lives, his tone, although uncertain and full of distrust, also had that faint layer of sarcasm covering it. You couldn’t blame him, he saw much more than you and he knew his fair share of experience,

“We have no choice but to intervene, we need to cut him entirely out or we are dead” laswell commented back looking straight in his soul. That was all it took to make the hacking expert scoff and cross his arms.

After some moments of silence, Rodolfo and Alejandro came online and the whole team started talking, only you and the other sergeants were left out, not by choice but because even if you three passed hell, you just didn’t have the experience needed.

“You sure we are going to get out of this alive Garrick?” you looked down, it was full of worry. Your leg was twitching, a typical sign of stress and Kyle picked up on that. “I can’t make promises, you know that too but we all will try”. Love was prohibited in the military and loving physical touch too, all he could do was to lock your pinky with his and hide it between the wall and your figures.

“Yeah no shit these bastards have information about Makarov, we cant let them pass” a voice broke the chatter. You didn't really pay attention to it, only having your hand holding Garricks and spiraling down in your own thoughts.

“Kids…” “KIDS!” Delta yelled out enough to sound like a disappointed father. “You two with us or what?” yeah…disappointed.

The plan was desperate but needed. There weren't many options. Snipers? Good luck to find the target among the tall buildings covering all the streets! Scouting? Too many troops surrounding the area, Front Assault? Given the fact that the building needed only a few troops scattered around, cutting short their communication and bombarding the place with grenades and bullets was the only way the mission could have concluded swiftly.

Yeah…swiftly…

🜸

“They are gathering around the exit point and they don't seem to go back to where they came from!” Ghost yelled as he threw a grenade to the forces dealing small to no damage. He ran back behind the concrete barricade just in time before a molotov was thrown into his earlier post.

“Those fuckers really are guarding the place like it’s their damn last stronghold!” Soap shot back while aiming and pressing down the trigger only for a bullet to pass through his mohawk. That was enough for him to retreat back behind the steel reinforcement on a vehicle truck.

You took your gun in your hand and aimed towards a cartel member, you didn’t get them in the hand but at least on their shoulder was no use. The fight was taking place on the ground, going for the high ground could be a good option to free the passage. The tiny street filled with walls and rusty cars gave the terrorists a better advantage, they knew their way in and out of their city as well as all the streets.

“These mutherfuckers don’t want to die!” a guy in a shamak yelled in is native language to the others.

“Cap, ‘am gonna take the high ground in that empty apartment and see if I can shoot ‘em down!” you were quick on your feet, you didn’t want to waste any more time. Your friends covered you by blowing 2 smokes giving you the advantage to not be seen.

You climbed your way in the empty and abandoned building by stepping on the cars and the tiny wall separating the buildings and by grabbing the iron bars of the balcony where you now stood.

No one could expect what happened next though. These bastards didn’t shoot at you, instead, as you took out your gun everything seemed to fall into slow motion. You looked at the “leader” taking out a detonator.

The bullets stopped and before you knew it, the “Retreat!” or ”Fall Back!” from Price was covered by the explosion setting off in the middle of the battle field.

Your ears didn’t ring, they hurt. you remembered a series of explosions was set near your location but you weren’t reactive enough. Soon you found yourself launched in the air. It happens to you too quickly to process what has happened.

Now in a building, you regained consciousness. Your hands hurt, your back felt like it had been filled with shards for the sheer amount of blood seeping out of your broken uniform. What the hell was going on?

Answers, you needed answers. Your eyes focused on one thing, the form of the now non-existent window…“I must’ve broken it when I was yeeted in the air”.

“Come on..get up!” on all fours didn’t work, your legs were now jello, crawling was then…your arms could do the work. You looked at your surroundings, exactly the ones your team and you had memorized a while ago in that crappy room.

Unrecognizable, the computers and high tech equipment were dusty and scattered on the floor like some sort of junk. You dragged yourself from the corner to the still half functioning monitors. “Fuck me, these actually do work”, an half laugh escaped your sore throat.

With the help of the chair nearby you sat down with great effort, groaning and whimpering while your lungs didn’t even try to help you one bit.

Speaking made your lungs feel worse than they already were, you could guess adrenaline made the situation much more tolerable by inhibiting the pain that was shooting from your body.

“Suicidal much, willing to kill their own to achive their goal” you slowly reached for your pouch and extracted a 10 TB memory stick.

You were panting like never before but the mission couldn’t be accomplished by itself, instead you gathered your energies to open the terminal and stick it in the USB port. “Come on beautiful, do your job”. You waited for the little ‘’ping’’ that signaled the successful connection before, with one hand, typing the rest of the necessary code.

Your vision was coming and going, you were in and out of consciousness but you had to hold on. Everything depended on this little USB key.

Information about traffickers, moles and maybe even Makarov (That was the only thing you guys weren't sure about). Your fatigues felt heavy and warm with blood, your face covered in dust and deep cuts.

50%…60%…80%…90%…the slow numbers lighted the flashing screen. Too much, too many energies spent. All you could do was fall on the ground as you tried to the data drive back in your hand.

All you heard were faint shouting voices.

“Here! I found the Sergeant!” It was your captain’s voice, filled with smoke as always. Your sitting form was giving up, staying awake was too much of an asshle, maybe sleeping was much better.

“Don’t you dare to die on me son!” He lightly slapped repeatedly your face as he crouched near your legs. “Oi, you will not leave me! I don’t want to hear Garrick whining about you all day long!”

🜸

It felt liberating. Someone could describe your situation as a much needed sensory deprivation, free of all those senses that made you stand on attention 24/7. You opened your eyes and all you could see was a pitch black dome tattered with tiny white dots. “Strange” you thought, you couldn’t feel anything and yet here you were seeing the whole milky way…

Those dots quickly transformed into a beautiful purple and light-green stripe hugging the whole vault. It didn’t cast any kind of light on you but it did make you feel warm. You were laid down in dark water reflecting that beautiful sky. But soon the scenery changed, you were on the edge of a cliff, seagulls' calls echoed in the distance as their forms were gently pulled by the cold breeze of a sweet dawn.

Your feet planted on the grassy and lush green ground, you remember this place, MacTavish and Garrick spoke to you about it and honestly…it was much more magnificent than expected despite you not ever even having visited it.

Caring winds and the roaring sounds of the crystal blue water colliding with the dark brown rocks at the bottom. You felt a sense of belonging there, something that lacked for too much time.

You had a lung full of the pure air, expanding your chest and exhaling not long after. This sure was a place to visit yet you felt that moment was coming sooner rather than later.

‘’You know..” you started, the lump in your throat made it difficult to speak; “I had a dream while in the coma…” Now that caught his attention, his distant look was replaced with one of curiosity. You swore you could see your reflection in those dark brown eyes. “Yeah?”

You sighed and then started on the setting sun, “I dreamt aboug the grassy cliff you said could be a good resting place”

Kyle then looked like a kid that got caught stealing candy. He half coughed “I wonder if your subconscious was thinking of leaving me” he laughed.

“No no! I would never do that!” you smacked the back of his head before pinning him on the grassy ground, “I will only rest when we have finished our career here and bought a nice cottage!”

“I sure hope you do! After the scare you got me I ain’t making you leave without permission” he barked back

Now you understand. Dawn was the best time of the day, the only instant in which you could have a moment for yourself. Maybe it was tied to the fact that he confessed his love for you in that same part of the day.

Who knows, you two just know for sure that problems are arising in Mexico, your brothers there, Alejandro and Rudy needed help catching a bastard directly tied to Makarov.

“Can we have another moment here, the world can wait to fuck itself up tomorrow. Tonight though you are mine”

You huffed, sure as hell your boyfriend was one hell of a subject. But he was right, the world could wait, right now all you cared about was to jokingly fight with him until you two rolled down the lush green hill and until the mood casted direct light at your back as you promised to win.

“Look at those two little shits” the older man grumbled as he took a drag of the cigar and watched as the two men rolled on the grass like two kids “Reminds me of someone” “I wonder who” the other smirked as he stole the captains hat, “surely I wasn’t the one who stirred up fights” he put the hat on his head and snatched the cigar away from John’s mouth.

“Let’s give them those moments of peace, they deserve it” he sat back on the humid wooden bench.

John was quiet. “Are you sure everything will be alright? I have a feeling things might go downhill from now on and you know I am a somewhat optimistic person at times” he sat too crossing his arms. Honestly, he didn’t want his ‘’kids’’ to be separated again, they were too young to even dare to continue down this path.

“I don’t know John, I really don’t know” Ryan took the cigar in his hand and looked at it. From the black ashes, small quivers of embers were caught by the gentle breeze before going extinct in a small puff of grey smoke.

🜸

“You know, I think we may not be done for the time being” the office chair creaked “You honestly disappointed me but don’t worry about it, I still know many ways you can be useful to me”