#LAB Price Monitor

[chemanalystdata]

Linear Alkyl Benzene (LAB) Prices Index: Market Analysis, Trend, News, Graph and Demand

In the first quarter of 2025, the global Linear Alkyl Benzene (LAB) market demonstrated varied regional trends, reflecting the dynamic interplay of demand fluctuations, feedstock cost volatility, and macroeconomic pressures. LAB, a critical raw material used primarily in the production of biodegradable detergents, faced a mixed pricing scenario across North America, Europe, the Asia-Pacific (APAC), and the Middle East and Africa (MEA). The market’s performance was shaped by seasonal factors, changes in downstream consumption, logistical developments, and geopolitical influences, all contributing to shifts in price trends.

In North America, LAB prices began the year on a softer note, with January witnessing a noticeable decline. This early dip was attributed to seasonally weak demand from major sectors like detergents and household cleaning products. Cold weather conditions and an oversupply of inventories further pressured market sentiment. Even though benzene, the primary feedstock for LAB, experienced a rise in prices, producers struggled to pass on these increased input costs to consumers due to lukewarm demand. However, as the quarter progressed, the market gradually stabilized. February and March brought signs of recovery as demand from both domestic and export markets improved. The LABSA segment, which directly uses LAB in sulfonation processes, showed increased buying interest. This, coupled with better weather and increased industrial activity, supported the slow rebound in prices. By the end of March, LAB FOB Louisiana prices registered a month-on-month increase of 1.2%, although Q1 prices overall were still down 8% compared to the previous quarter, highlighting the market's cautious trajectory amid broader economic uncertainties and inflationary pressures.

Get Real time Prices for Linear Alkyl Benzene (LAB): https://www.chemanalyst.com/Pricing-data/linear-alkyl-benzene-lab-14

In the Asia-Pacific region, the LAB market mirrored similar early-quarter weakness. January and February were marked by sluggish downstream consumption, primarily due to the post-holiday demand lull and high inventory levels across the region. Exports, especially to China, remained muted, which further weighed on pricing. Despite rising benzene prices, LAB manufacturers were unable to increase their prices significantly due to weak purchasing momentum. Seasonal weather patterns and reduced industrial output contributed to the downward pressure. However, by March, the market began showing modest signs of recovery. Domestic demand improved, particularly in markets like India and Southeast Asia, and LABSA consumption remained stable, offering some price support. Additionally, logistics costs in the region fell, and a slight pickup in export activity helped ease supply chain pressures. Benzene prices also softened in March, reducing production costs and allowing producers to maintain output without sacrificing price competitiveness. LAB FOB Busan prices in South Korea rose by 0.7% in March, although Q1 prices were still 6% lower compared to Q4 2024, reflecting a cautiously optimistic outlook amid external economic and geopolitical headwinds.

In Europe, the LAB market faced a complex environment shaped by both regional and global factors. January saw prices drop due to reduced demand after the holiday season, excess supply, and low downstream activity in the LABSA sector. Despite high benzene costs, oversupply and declining transportation rates contributed to bearish market sentiment. However, beginning in February, the market began to rebound. A combination of increased feedstock costs and a resurgence in demand from the detergent and surfactant sectors helped lift prices. Supply tightness in certain areas and a pickup in industrial production further supported the recovery. By March, prices had stabilized, with downstream sectors maintaining steady procurement levels. While currency depreciation and ongoing inflation added complexity to the market, improved demand from both domestic and export customers and easing logistical costs helped restore balance. LAB FOB Hamburg prices recorded a 2.5% rise in March, but average prices in Q1 were still 6% lower than in the previous quarter, underlining the ongoing pressure on profit margins despite a more stable supply-demand environment.

In the Middle East and Africa, the LAB market also started the quarter on a weaker note. January and February were marked by lackluster demand from key end-use segments, including household and industrial cleaners. Regional oversupply and low export demand, especially from Asia and Europe, further weighed on prices. As in other markets, higher feedstock costs could not be translated into higher LAB prices due to the weak demand environment. March, however, brought a moderate turnaround. Anticipation of higher summer demand and improved domestic consumption provided some support to prices. Export activity remained limited, but better internal market fundamentals helped slow the rate of decline. LAB prices in the MEA region rose by 0.7% in March, although Q1 prices still closed 4% lower than Q4 2024. The market remained cautious, facing continued challenges from volatile feedstock costs, inflationary pressure, and uncertain demand trends across global markets.

Overall, the global Linear Alkyl Benzene market in Q1 2025 was marked by initial softness followed by a gradual and regionally varied recovery. The interplay of feedstock dynamics, seasonal consumption patterns, economic sentiment, and logistical conditions defined the price trends. While some recovery is evident across key markets, ongoing inflation, geopolitical tensions, and demand-side uncertainties are likely to influence LAB pricing in the coming quarters. Stakeholders across the supply chain are expected to maintain a cautious approach, closely monitoring cost inputs and demand signals to navigate a market that remains sensitive to both regional and global developments.

Get Real time Prices for Linear Alkyl Benzene (LAB): https://www.chemanalyst.com/Pricing-data/linear-alkyl-benzene-lab-14

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[honeygrahambitch]

"An arrest warrant was issued for Hannibal Lecter." Jack informed Will as soon as he picked up the phone.

It was six a.m. and Will was not sure whether he was still asleep. Many dreams of his started like that.

"What? How?"

He had indeed kept pushing everyone while he had been in jail but Hannibal's gameplay had been too immaculate for them to see. Why make a mistake now?

"I had dinner with him last night. I asked to take the leftovers home. We tested them and it turns out you were right all along, Will. He really is the Ripper."

Will's lips parted in shock and confusion. This was very much unlike Hannibal.

"I'll be there in an hour." He said as he jumped from his bed. "Did you find anything else on him?"

"We are currently analyzing everything in his freezer but so far we found livers and kidneys that do not belong to pigs."

"I'll call you back." He said as he hanged up and immediately dialed Hannibal's number.

He started debating his own actions. Why tell him to run? Hasn't he always dreamt of this? Wasn't this what he had been struggling to convince everyone?

"Will?"

"They know."

"Who knows what?" The answer came after a few slow and silent seconds.

Really?

Can't he put two plus two together?

"What could they know, Hannibal? Just maybe go on a trip." He suggested as vaguely as possible. If their calls were monitored, he needed to be careful.

"I've been thinking of Sicily lately...you know, during this time of the year the wisteria is blooming."

"Hannibal, maybe do something instead of wasting time on the phone." He said and hung up.

The drive to the FBI had possibly been the longest he had ever had. Had Hannibal escaped? This was for sure part of his game. He just needed to figure out the meaning behind this move.

Then besides this, there was the anguish that Will couldn't place anywhere. He and Hannibal had become quite close since he had decided to continue his therapy sessions. The idea of losing him and seeing him confined in a prison cell did not bring him any comfort. Yes, he was the man who was the Ripper. Yes, he was the man who had framed him.

But he was also the only man who has ever understood him.

What are you if you lose the only person who is able to see you?

His heart was racing when he parked his car.

The elevator was taking too long to come. He decided he was not ready to see Hannibal wearing a prison suit as he raced up the stairs to the seventh level. Maybe he had time to escape. Maybe he was already gone.

Maybe...

He entered the lab, trying not to think how the sweat spots appeared through his shirt. He felt drenched.

"W-... What is going on..." Will couldn't even intonate the question properly as he stared at Jack, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller...and Hannibal.

Hannibal was not handcuffed and not wearing a prison suit.

"Happy fool's day." Jack said. "In my defense, I needed you here for a crime scene and the higher ups have given me hell for making you work during your days off. Brian suggested we could do something creative."

"Don't put this all on me. Dr. Lecter agreed too."

Will was not amused. And he was not angry either. He was relieved.

His gaze locked with Hannibal's. Hannibal was the only person in the room who knew that not Will was the fool that day. The others were for not realizing that their joke was very much the reality. Being part of this, was very much like Hannibal. The others were part of his prank, he was not part of theirs.

Will identified something else in his eyes. Was it appreciation? He had probably not expected Will to call him to run. That was probably the only thing that Hannibal could have not predicted that day.

"Hilarious." Was all that Will said. "Very mature."

[sunnieray]

Bait

(or)

Your biggest regret just completed a patient intake form.

4.7k words

Pairing: Johnny MacTavish x f!Cybernetics Specialist!Reader, slight mention of ghoap(you'll have to hold a magnifying glass to it i fear)

Tags: non/dub con, dry humping, sci-fi au where advanced bodily augmentations are a thing, post-soap's headshot, AFAB reader, sci-fi terminology

You flip through the patient’s file for the third time, drawing curious stares from the 2 doctors stealing lollipops from the kiddie bowl. The yellowed, flickering lights cast a depressing hue over the main office. The murmur of the tail-end of the mid-day rush recedes from your periphery. What the hell… 

“Something weird about this… John MacTavish?” Startled by the voice too close to your ear, you press the clipboard to your chest and whip around. “Woah. Jumpy. I just wanted to see what was holdin’ you up. Your 2 o’ clock is ready to see you.” You level the new receptionist, the clinic director’s nephew, with a silencing look.

Unaffected or perhaps powered by the ignorance of youth and nepotism, he continues. “Special, then? He’s got some pretty unique Addendums. I didn’t know Mensa made civilian-grade, well, anything.” His voice lightens into a whisper. “Also, he doesn’t seem very… present by the smell of him. It must’ve cost him an arm and a leg just to get the base cerebral." He looks at you with a gossipy smile. You lick your fingers and flip through the papers again. 

His hair’s grown out. Dark locks frame darker lashes and light eyes. You take in his lopsided, toothy smile and recognize it as one that’s surely hurting his cheeks to fake. At least he looks healthy. Your lips twitch up before you internally reprimand yourself. Your focus returns to the conversation at hand. “Mensa took a military contract after Amend bought them out years ago. They used to specialize in cosmetic and somatic addendums. Also, please remember to keep comments on the patients’ financial situations to a minimum. If any of them hear you it could discourage them from seeking the aid they need.” You glower at the receptionist. Your flat tone kills the topic. The other doctors shift uncomfortably in their seats.

“Is Mr. MacTavish still in the waiting room?” You say it as more of a statement than a question.

“Yes.” 

He grunts when you shove the clipboard into him. “There’s plenty of servicing clinics licensed to work with Amend’s subsidiaries. Which I should remind you, we are not. He can find somewhere else easily.” You brush past the stunned man who smells faintly of flowers and head to your office. Your measured steps quicken into an almost jog, lab coat whipping behind you. You burst through your office and quickly lock your door. 

“What the hell. What the hell. What thee hell.” you whisper-scream. You wrack your brain for any logical reason why your (very well kept, thank you very much!) past decided to schedule a walk-in. The only words you two shared were in one-sided cognition tests. He wasn’t even conscious! He’d purposely mislabeled his mods to suit the clinic's requirements. The excuse you gave to pawn him off was flimsy at best. It was an open secret that you’d work on any Amend product for the right price. It’s what keeps the clinic’s lights on. Your frantic eyes catch on the various obsolete models of metal limbs that hang from the ceiling frame. Just do your job. A voice that’s not yours rattles through your head. As much as you hate the one who said it, they’re right. You’ve got to fit a few limbs to their owners before you can afford to take a break. The mechanical equipment needs to be maintenanced. Next, you need to call around for a decommissioned rotator so Mrs. Egwin can bend down again. Then, you’ve gotta organize a queue of people that gets longer and longer as augmentations advance. The wall monitors displaying cybernetic diagrams hum in your ears. Inhaling the lingering scent of metal polish and rubbing alcohol, your mind settles.

 Fuck this job.

-----

You finish the day out anyways. 

Your body aches as you lock down the clinic. You don’t imagine the director would care if you were to take a quick nap on your treatment table. Today involved a lot more energy than usual. Manual fixes and pre-chip models are a lethal combination. You were able to relax a bit when the receptionist told you MacTavish left without a fuss, though. It doesn’t sit well that he’s found his way to you. If your old boss is looking to fuck with your career for a third time you’ll actually kill him.

A familiar rhythmic metallic tapping hits your ears as you near your lightless office. The maintenance program you were running on the equipment must’ve hit a snag! For the second time that day, you find yourself rushing into your office, it’s door falling shut with a soft click. If you were a bit more focused, you might’ve remembered that the program finished perfectly just an hour ago. You might’ve smelt the lingering scent of a perfume you hadn’t worn in ages. You might’ve paid more heed to the nostalgic melody rumbling just low enough to make your hair stand on end. Instead, you see a pod speaker on the floor and the enshadowed form of the man you know everything and nothing about.

Your pulse spikes but you find yourself rooted in place. Instead of running, you manage to evenly say, “Mr. MacTavish.” The humming stops.

“Mrs. MacTavish.” he replies. You see his muscles shift under his black, long-sleeved shirt as he bends to cut the noise. His huge forearms rest on his thighs, the speaker cradled in his rough hands. He levels you with an expectant look. 

Your lips purse together, cheeks heating at the title. “Johnny, then.” you correct yourself. His body shifts up in the chair, coming to attention.

“Doctor.” As your eyes adjust, you can make out that too-wide smile and light eyes dancing with desperation and unadulterated glee. How could you let yourself think that was fake.

“Johnny, I am… gladdened to see that you are in good health.” you think you see him shiver. You continue after a beat. “It is my hope that you’ll accept our earlier reject–”

A sharp sound of amusement cuts you off, making you jump. “You cannae talk like a person when you’re nervous. Just like I thought.” His eyes drag up your body and settle on your warm face.

You take a step back and his face goes hard. “I wouldn’t do tha’.” The pod speaker in his hands starts to feel a lot more menacing.

You raise a hand. “Calm down, Johnny. I’m just getting a seat. You took mine.” Keeping your voice soft, you point to the corner to the right of the door.

“Ah.” He visibly relaxes, an easy smile gracing the sharp angles of his face. “Looks like I cut the cameras for nothin’, then.” At that, you’re officially the second-most scared you’ve been in your life.

You pull the seat over, leaving a reasonable distance between you two. Not reasonable enough, unfortunately. When you sit, his steel-toed boot hooks around the chair leg and slowly drags you closer and closer. The squeaking of aged metal stops as your knees touch the edge of his seat. Toned thighs spread to accommodate the seat’s new spot between his legs. They're long enough to cage you and the chair between them. He moves with a grace you thought you’d never get to see. His breath is slightly unsteady as he studies your face. You lean back, partially at the intensity of his stare but mostly because the flowery scent of the perfume you used to wear is wafting off of him in heavy, saccharine waves.

You clear your throat. “Like I was saying, I’m sure the receptionist told you we specialize in discontinued civilian cybernetics. A military-grade Addendum should be handled at an Amend-partnered practice. They’ll have the proper facilities to avoid any unfortunate accidents or botched jobs. I’m not sure you need me, specifically. I’d be happy to recommend some places I trust.” You suggest, powering through even when his head falls into his hands and he begins to mutter harshly under his breath. “I’m sorry but there’s little I can do beyond that–” 

“Don’ lie to me.”

“I’m not–” Your voice is strained.. 

“I know you are.” His face whips up to look at you and he presses his index into your sternum. “You need to take responsibility for what you did to me.” His voice wavers with exhaustion through clenched teeth. All at once you notice the bags under his eyes and stress rings in his irises. When you’ve seen someone at their worst, any improvement makes them look perfect.

“‘Did to you?’ You mean resurrect you from the dead?” you say with unrestrained derision. “If anyone owes you anything, it’s the men that signed off on the procedure. I don’t even work for them anymore. If I touch one line of code, the security system will brick the entire augmentation. You’d die for good.” Exasperation laces your tone by the end and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t have the tools or the license to take responsibility for anything having to do with Amend or you. I don’t understand why you’ve come after me.” You force the anger to leave your voice.

He stands abruptly, desk chair clattering to the floor. His hand shoves the long hair covering the left side of his head back, the other tearing at the false skin there. The silicone peels back, revealing the unassuming metallic face of the most complex augmentation in the western hemisphere. And you'd be the first to know. 

“Because you’re the one who put this fuckin’ thing in my head!” His booming voice silences any retort. Regret flashes over his visage and he quickly lowers his volume to a whisper. “I can’t sleep, I-I can’t think. Only thing that works is my body, but I’m too exhausted to put it to any good use. Please, I need someone that knows what the hell they’re doing. These doctors– they just play in my head. The first few ‘tweaks’ were fine. They said they were necessary and I believed them. But the more they ‘fixed’ the worse I got. I ended up going back one more time, my old CO took me and spoke to the doctors for me. After that, I was walking on clouds, until I wasn't. The pain came back worse, and the doctor was more interested in how I was feeling than how she could help me. ” He grips your shoulders and sinks to his knees. “I can feel them fucking up your good work. I’ve already gone to everyone I could, you’re the only one that can fix this.”

Your chest goes tight at the misery in his voice but satisfaction blooms with it because he’s right. You’re the only one on this planet that can put him back together. The pride that got you blacklisted is revived with a vengeance. “Ok. I’ll do it.” Your hand delicately brushes his dark strands away to get a closer look. Your thumb presses into the model number, MX - 00. You feel confident enough in your decision. Relief washes over his features and he leans in. You think he’s going for a kiss… 

Until he buries his nose in the crook of your neck and takes a deep whiff. 

Immediately, his weight sinks into you, tension fleeing his muscles. “What are you–” you start before you feel the familiar vibrations of your childhood lullaby. Ohhhh. Now how do I explain this…

“When you hear my voice, how exactly do you feel?” his pulse quickens as you speak.

“Right. I feel right.” he says absently. His lips brush the fluttering vein of your neck. A warmth sparks between your legs. Focus! Do your job!

“Come.” you say, quickly extricating yourself from his hold.” Let's get you on the table.”

-----

 

You adjust him so he lies flat on the treatment table. Your foot presses into a gap in the chair’s platform. A gust of cool air brushes over your feet as a metal rack rises from the temperature-controlled, hidden compartment in the floor. An assortment of sleek tools hang from the bars. It’s a mix of what you were able to sneak from Amend before your termination and a few lucky finds from shiftier channels.  

“I knew you were the lying type.” He chuckles. You shift to hooking him up to the monitors.

“You’ll feel a slight sting.” you say as you fold his ear up to plug the port hidden behind it.

His body jolts, shaking the exam table as you do your best to hold him steady. A fresh layer of sweat gleams in the blue light as his skin pales. When the episode passes his chest heaves.

“You call that shit slight? The fuck happened ‘do no harm’?” he says through gritted teeth.

“I had to send the connection through your natural brain so it wouldn’t trip the firewall.”

“That sounds.. easy to fuck up.”

“It is.” You hope he misses the exhilaration in your voice. “One wrong move and your grey matter would be goo. It’s a good thing I’ve spent hundreds of days learning all about yours, specifically.”

Johnny smiles up at you with a level of fondness you struggle to categorize. It’s strange and a bit foolish in hindsight. In all the time you spent rebuilding his psyche, you didn’t consider that he’d remember you anymore than one would a dream. You try not to think about why you’re glad he did, opting to look at the flashing monitors behind you.

You watch the lines of code run down the screens, most of it’s familiar. There are some irrelevant changes sprinkled throughout. Nothing raises your alarm bells until you reach the section of code that controls the more nebulous parts of the mind. An old anger flashes up your gut. What did they do to your baby? Months of work hacked apart with juvenile precision. It looks more like a group brainstorm than the polished tapestry you left it as. Notes between the various editors, most are names you recognize but there are some you don’t, suggesting an assortment of modifications. “Keep deleting. Find the bare minimum he can function with.” The most recent reads. It’s dated three months ago. Your brows pinch. 

There’s a lot wrong with this. Enough that you’re sure you’ll need a good month to clean it all up. It’ll take even longer when you add in your shifts at the clinic. As ready as you were to help, you’re not sure you can handle being around him that long. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish may be your greatest achievement but he also embodies everything negative that you’ve tried to tamp down. 

“I’ll be able to get you feeling better by the end of the night. After that, I ask that you leave me be.” If they’ve followed the treatment plan you wrote up, he’s overdue for another check-in with Amend. The more delicate work will have to go unfinished. With a build as rare as his, too many changes will alert the next tampering hand of your interference. 

 You right your toppled seat and roll it over to your desk. “I’m sure you know the drill. Just remember to keep answering my questions as best you can.” Your fingers fly as you begin to restore your magnum opus.

“So, I have a vague idea, but I’d like to hear from you how you think you’ve managed this long.” Your mind falls into a familiar space. Hundreds of hours were spent just like this, except he was a husk and you were a promising new face in your field. 

“Don’ think that's a question, pretty.” His voice carries a humor that’s cowed by his earlier pain. 

“Adapt to the implication, Johnny. I worked very hard to make sure you could.” You click your tongue as you come across a particularly egregious function.

“It helps.. when I use the gifts you left me.” At least he can still follow instructions.

“You mean the lullaby and the perfume.” you see him nod the corner of your eye. “Words, Johnny.” 

 He sucks in a harsh breath. “Yeah. At first I only knew that I liked the smell of one of the nurses.” Your typing slows but regains its speed soon after. 

“Is that right...” you’d beaten yourself up for losing the last of your custom scent. It was disgustingly time consuming to make. Seems it wasn’t lost at all.

“She was helping me with physical therapy. Real nice ass, that one.” You hear the teasing smile in his voice. “I spent the night at her’s after I was discharged and snagged the bottle. When I met up with her again it just wasn’t the same.” 

“From there,

“That must’ve taken a while.”

“Wasn’t doing it alone. A friend helped me.” You don’t miss the slight hesitation before he says friend. Deep brown eyes and a hulking form flash in your mind. You can barely imagine that behemoth holding an egg, let alone mixing scent notes. You smile inwardly.

“What about the lullaby?”

“When I woke up, I already knew it. Felt more like myself when I hummed it.” You hear him shift and the heat of his gaze warms the back of your head. “When you do it, though, I feel human again.” Your typing falters as a tingle of shame squirms in your gut. 

-----

By the time you’ve finished, the evening has bled well into the night. You pivoted to less personal questions after the intensity grew too much to bear. Hours of innocuous queries didn’t stop Johnny from bringing the focus right back to your effect on him.

“I’m going to run it with my edits now. Ready for another sting?” you rasp, already losing your voice, eyes glued to the monitor. Your palms have gone clammy and your posture has caved in a way that warrants scolding.

“Whatever happened to ‘do no harm’?” he grumbles before giving you the go-ahead. You initiate the altered program. You’ll have to get him a lollypop. Sitting for hours in stasis is one thing, being fully conscious is another. 

Johnny?” You turn to see his body tensing off the table as it works to accommodate your modifications. The initial jailbreak should’ve been the worst of it but it seems that few things are going to plan today. 

You’re at his side in a flash moving around the platform to see both him and the program’s progress. Veins bulge from his neck and forehead as he releases a strangled exhale. His hand shoots up to rip out the cord connecting him to the equipment and it takes both of your’s latching to his wrist to stop it. 

“If you need something to hold onto, use me! But don’t you dare touch that cord!” At that, his other hand wraps around your back with such force that it sends you both to the tiled floor. You do your best to angle the fall and manage to keep him connected at your hip’s expense. You let out a moan of pain as it bears the brunt of both your impacts.

As Johnny’s body writhes in your arms, you somehow manage to adjust so that he’s cradled to you. Your left arm wraps supportively around his upper back as your bent legs act as a cushion for his lower torso. Your right hand is clamped in his and you swear you feel your bones creak. His left fists the back of your coat, ripping a seam.

Your gaze flicks back to the monitors. Interrupting the run now would cause him more harm. You grimace as you watch the completion meter slowly tick up in percentage. Johnny’s huffs and groans of pain overlay the mechanical hum of the room.

Without thinking, you angle his head into the crook of your neck and begin to sing the full lullaby. Just as you knew it would, his body sags into yours once more, shaking with the remnants of it’s earlier pain. The grip on your hand loosens but doesn’t pull away completely. You shiver as his other palm slides up the line of your spine and rests on the back of your neck, index pressing into the vein.

His eyes remain closed and his breathing is haggard by the time the program completes. His pained expression slowly dissolves as you finish out the song.

“It would seem I’m out of practice.” Your throat aches with overuse. The man snorts at that and then coughs. “If it weren’t for your reaction to the lullaby, the update couldn’t have pushed through without ample damage.”

His eyes peek open. They struggle to regain focus as they land on you.

“You were made to save me.” His quiet words settle on your skin and they feel wrong. He looks at you, again, in that way that makes you nervous of his expectations. 

“No, Johnny, I Pavlov-ed you.” you say flatly, hoping to shake off the feeling. “That tune was one I hummed while I worked on you. I had to sit by your bedside for weeks on end, singing it helped me keep my own company. Your body associates your rise to consciousness with not me, but the consistent elements you could smell and hear. Like that nurse–”

“Don’ care. If I'm a dog, least I’ve got a master that knows what she’s doin.”

A cheeky grin stretches across his face, boyish red starting to beat away the pallor of his cheeks. You groan, the exhale tinged with a mix of relief at his recovery and exasperation at his stubbornness. "I already have a dog, and she doesn’t need a playmate.” You draw back but don’t make it very far.

The hand he’d placed at your nape turns to hot iron as it holds you in place, thick index burning into your rising pulse. His playful eyes darken with heady intensity. A look so striking it sends a violent flinch wracking through your body, settling in your core. Even if you could perfect his mind in one night, he wouldn’t leave you be. He’d keep coming back until you forgot what it was like to be without him. “Then make me your man. I can take care of ya. You’d never want for anything.” his voice goes lower and lower until it settles at a panting rumble  “I’d make you so happy.”

Your arms wobble, unsettled by the sudden change in him. “Johnny, you’ve done very well, today. Why don’t you–” He uses your lapse to slam your lips together, your teeth clack painfully against his mouth. His grip on your nape turns bruising as he switches your positions, flipping you both around until his arms could lock your body to his. One secures your arms to your sides while the other slinks around your head to press a rough finger into your mouth, pushing it open. You clamp down hoping to break more than skin, your teeth meet the unforgiving sting of metal instead. They grind painfully and uselessly against his synthetic thumb. He coos into your lips when you let out a pathetic whimper, forcing it deeper until saliva pools and spills from the side of your mouth. He chuckles running tongue along your clips, catching any spit, before unceremoniously shoving it back down your throat. Your thighs squeeze together as your tongues marry, wet and embarrassingly loud. Flashes of hot and cold surge though your core and make you squirm. Your vision blurs as he sucks and nips at your swollen lips. 

Above you, Soap grunts and shifts his hips. You find yourself moaning absently at the feel of his hard length through both your jeans’. You’re nearly consumed by him. The feel of his tongue fucking your mouth removes all your needs save for the most carnal. Then adjusts himself so he’s slotted between the curves of your ass. That first hard grind against you tears a highpitched mewl from you that mingles with the string of needy, wanton pleas falling from his mouth. His hips start to rut into your backside, the force of them knocks you out of your kiss fueled stupor. Your hips shoot off his lap, running from the sudden, direct assault on your overly sensitive clit. A long whine morphs into a frustrated growl as he chases the exquisite heat of your clothed cunt. All the air runs from your lungs as he shifts his full weight onto your back, trapping your ass between his pelvis and the hard floor. He finally breaks the kiss, removing his fingers from your mouth. Not that it matters. You can’t formulate a sentence let alone a word. The pressure on your body lightens as he braces on his knees. His hands travel up your sides possessively, tracing the backs of your arms, then your hands, and finally lacing their fingers with yours. 

“Don’ run, pretty. Don’ run from me.” He says in a whimpering tone, it’s the only warning you get before he resumes rolling his hips into you. His cock catches at a point that makes you gasp, causing him to focus his efforts as his hips pick up their frenzied pace. His sweat-slicked forehead nuzzles into the crook of your neck, stubbleed chin dragging over your skin. You feel the heat of his panting breath hit your ear. The force of each thrust pushes you into the ground and leaves you aching for more. More friction. More of him. You let out a frustrated and defeated noise. You barely recognize your own voice. Fuck it. You find yourself pushing into him before you can think better of it. The sensation of relief floods your body as you move in tandem with him. The groans that spill from his lips are threaded with pure joy and exhilaration at the small victory. Your slick has surely coated the outside of your jeans. The pressure in your gut builds as breathlessness overtakes you. Tears well in your eyes, pleasure reaching a fever pitch. They squeeze shut as bliss washes over you in waves. Your stock-still body carried through the feeling by Johnny’s uncompromising pace. When the pleasure turns to overstimulation you whimper and hazard a hazy glance at Johnny. At some point, he must’ve moved back to watch you lose your mind and any semblance of restraint along with it. Lust-darkened eyes immediately burn onto yours. And the fucker cums with your name on his lips. 

As you come down from your high, a cool wave spears through your veins. All the feelings that lust fogged sink into your bones with grim reality. The sting of bruises forming on your arms, hips, hands, and the base of your neck. The uncomfortable chafe of wet denim against the soft skin of your inner thighs. And most pressingly, embarrassingly, humiliatingly, the unerring pulse of dissatisfaction. A craving for everything he had coupled with the understanding that he’d give you exactly that. 

Without question. 

He smiles and runs his tongue across his teeth. 

“Johnny,” You say, voice hoarse but steady. His eyes flutter at the sound of his name. “You’ve done very well, today.”

He blinks. “Ah well,” His hands release yours and move to your waistband. “I do try my best.” 

Your hands clench into fists. “Take a rest.” You say through your teeth, anger spiking. His eyes sag with exhaustion. 

“...what’s…goin’...?” is all he manages before his body tips to the side and hits the floor, fast asleep. At least he had the decency not to land on you. You push up to a seated position and crawl over to the treatment table, leaning into it. The cool feeling of the metal on your forehead helps settle your thoughts. After a few steadying breaths you look over at the crumpled form of John MacTavish, resisting the urge to kick him in the ribs for sleeping so soundly. 

The clinic will open again in a few hours and the warm embrace of sleep won’t find you until you can deal with him. It was a hunch, but it looks like he still follows your commands like he did when he was in stasis. You run a hand down your face and wince at the blooming bruise on your cheekbone. The director’ll be mad at you for calling out on such short notice but you’ll have to risk it. As you close your eyes and try to decipher your next move, a familiar thought crosses your mind.

Fuck this job.

[flow2024]

18 or 20, JoeNicky (especially if it’s from the AU where Joe is the eldest and has just lost their immortality)

your wish is my command anon . how about BOTH. could work as a missing/alternate scene to this

18: "Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!"

20: "Get away! You're hurting them!"

Nicky does not have time to register what the blood on Joe's side means when he and Booker are brought into the lab, nor can he process what Booker's admission of I killed him means to say, because Quynh begins to scream at Booker as soon as she realises it, and Joe lies down on the table beside him, letting his eyes fall closed as the doctor starts to tend to his wound - he keeps an eye on her the entire time, to make sure that is what she's doing - and it is all more than he can handle all at once. It is too much blood, and too much gauze needed to staunch the bleeding, and too many machines and IV drips and monitors that they attach to Joe, for Nicky to be able to understand. What it means is unthinkable, impossible. Joe is the foundation Nicky's entire world is constructed upon.

"Leave him," he says to Quynh, who bristles but does. He wants to scream, too. He wonders whether Booker knew, when he shot him in the side, or whether it was chance that he didn't kill him instantly, forever. Whether it could still be his death, if infection Nicky can't treat sets in. He's not that good of a doctor.

Joe, Yusuf, Nicky's soul, keeps staring at the ceiling and doesn't say a word. He is exhausted to his bones. How long has he known?

The doctor finishes whatever she is doing with Joe's wound - it looks satisfactory, to Nicky's eye, but he is no expert - and pauses, looking between them.

"One of you had it, and now it is gone," she says, with a look in her eye that makes Nicky test again the strength of the restraints holding his wrists down. He has a little movement but not enough: if he could get to the scalpel-

The doctor whistles to her assistants. "Take this one to room 2," she says, gesturing to Joe, and Nicky's world goes suddenly, abruptly quiet. There is only the movement of the assistant preparing to move Joe to another room, where Nicky will not be able to see him, where they could do anything to him and he will not heal.

With the right twisting motion his thumb breaks easily. There are too many guards in here for him to make a real chance at escape, but what he can do is work his right hand out of its restraint, grab the scalpel and pin the doctor's assistant with his free arm around their waist, the blade of the scalpel pressed to their femoral artery. He can do a lot of damage, very fast, and the doctor knows it.

"What is your name?" he says, calmly.

The doctor has both hands raised. "Meta Kozak," she says, drawing herself up to her full height, as if to say, I will not be intimidated.

"Listen to me, Kozak," Nicky says coolly. "I would like to make one thing clear to you. Where he goes I go. If not, I am older than you can imagine. I have broken out of restraints much stronger than these. You will be the first I look for, and your death will not be quick."

For all her earlier bravado, Kozak is unsettled. She gestures to another assistant to move Nicky's table as well, and to readjust his restraints, tight enough that they will probably cut off his blood supply eventually. It will be very unpleasant later, but it is a small price to pay.

He and Joe are wheeled to the same examination room down the hall and left alone for a brief moment, presumably so that Kozak can prepare Booker for torture as she had Nicky, Quynh and Andy. He tests his restraints again, but he will not be able to pull the same trick.

"That was dramatic of you," Joe says. It's the first thing he's said to Nicky since he was brought into the lab, and immediately Nicky's head snaps to the sound.

"I had no choice. I could not have let them take you somewhere I could not see you, not..." He doesn't look down at Joe's wound, but it is close.

"I think you've given that assistant nightmares," Joe says.

Only Joe could make him laugh, now, and it isn't even funny. Nicky laughs anyway. It puts a small smile on Joe's face, even if it fades after a moment. Before Nicky can say anything to him, ask how long and how do you feel and how much does it hurt and what do I do now what do we do now, Kozak reappears, a tray of instruments rolling along with her.

"Let us begin, then," she says lightly, and produces a wickedly long needle. It is the same kind she had stuck between Nicky's ribs earlier. With no preamble, she lifts Joe's shirt, wipes an area of exposed skin with an alcohol wipe as, presumably, a gesture towards civility, and jams the needle in.

Joe doesn't scream, though Nicky knows how much it hurts. He doesn't quite manage to keep himself from making a sound. Nicky considers, half hysterically, how much force it would take to detach his hand from his arm entirely, if that would let him again get to a scalpel again or manoeuvre his own table or at least bleed on Kozak enough to make her stop. He makes a solid effort, lunging towards Kozak as far as the restraints will allow.

"You're hurting him," he snaps. "We will heal, he will not. We still feel pain. The least you could do is anaesthetic. Or is there something wrong with your head or your heart, that you seem so eager to do this and call it science?" He's running his mouth, he knows that, and through the pain Joe gives him a warning look, but Nicky doesn't know what else to do, almost never does this, prefers to sit and wait but he's tied down and helpless and the most he can hope for is distracting Kozak long enough that she'll leave him alone. "Whatever gives us immortality, you will not find it from him. Or me, or any of us. Do you think we have not looked? I have been to medical school seven times over" - lie - "and I have never found anything. We have not died because it is not our time, not for something in our genetic code that you could find and replicate. And if there is something you will not find it in him. Get away."

Kozak pulls out the needle. Joe takes a deep breath of relief. Nicky will burn this place to the ground.

"Your defence of your friend is admirable," Kozak says. "But anaesthetic could compromise the testing."

Nicky wants to scream.

She adjusts Joe's IV. The next needle is not as large, just taking a blood sample, even though he has already lost what must be a dangerous amount of blood, because she cannot see him as a real person who can die. Perhaps she thinks he is somehow faking it, or that his mortality is temporary. Or she does not care that the tests she has already put the others through could kill him.

She doesn't put him whatever poison she'd put the three of them on before, which is a blessing, merely finishes taking her blood sample and leaves the lab. At some point Joe has closed his eyes, his head lolling to one side, and the second the door closes behind her Nicky starts to talk again.

"Joe. Yusuf. Hayati. Wake up." There is no answer, no movement: he is still breathing, but shallow, or is he? This cannot be it, it cannot, Nicky cannot lose him this way- "Wake up," he repeats, in every language they've ever learned together, "I said wake up."

Joe does, with a gasp. Nicky has never felt more relieved in his long, long life. He manages to smile at Joe, though he knows it isn't convincing. "You scared me," he says.

"Sorry," Joe says quietly. His eyelids droop, sparking panic in Nicky's chest again.

"Don't fall asleep," he says, soft. "Talk to me, my love. Don't fall asleep."

"I'm tired," Joe says. He is not just talking about physically. After Morocco, he had been so exhausted - if it had not been for Nile, Nicky would have called for another break, an easier job where they didn't have to die for a little while. That reminds him.

"Tell me about Nile," he says. "I have barely met her."

It's like that, slow and steady, that he keeps Joe from slipping away into sleep. The IV seems to do its work: he seems to grow slightly less tired as they talk, but Nicky keeps going. He cannot help but wonder. How long can he keep him awake for?

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Keep the Memories of Who I Was Before

Jayce and Viktor were found alive after the Machine Herald's defeat. Viktor doesn't remember anything of Hextech.

I recently participated in a writing challenge/gift exchange where we we got to choose the trope and relationship type but not the fandom that our gifters would write for us. I got assigned to write an M/M fic for the trope "Amnesia - A has lost memories of painful event; B fills in the blanks even though it hurts them both". I was still reeling from season 2 when I got my prompt, so naturally I filled it with jayvik.

If you want reading music for this, I suggest "The Line" by Twenty One Pilots, "Imperfection" by Evanescence, and "Achilles Come Down" by Gang of Youths.

I'll post a preview here, and the rest is available on AO3!

~

Jayce preferred the hospital to his lab. Not in general, no, but waiting for Viktor to wake up was infinitely more preferable when he could hear the steady beep of the heart monitor. There was a heartbeat. Viktor was alive. He was alive and stable instead of being stuck in the goo cube, instead of a rapidly cooling corpse on the table of their lab as Jayce fused him with the Hexcore.

They were both in bad shape when Ekko had found them, but Jayce had woken up first. It had been in time to see Mel off. She had given him a gold bracelet with the instruction to break it if he was ever in danger. She would come racing back to him as fast as she could. Jayce wore it where he used to wear the runic bracelet. At first, he thought it would have hurt where the Rune had once been fused to his skin, but instead his wrist was mostly numb there. He still couldn't fully move the fingers on his left hand. The doctors weren't sure if he would ever fully regain mobility in his hand or still-healing broken leg. There was something wrong with his breathing as well.

It was a small price to pay for saving the world. It was a small price to pay to save Viktor.

(But it also didn’t quite make sense, not by science alone. “Were you caught in the Grey? Because this almost matches the damage sometimes caused by prolonged exposure.” one of the doctors had asked. And while the air hadn’t been pleasant in the Ruined Zaun, Jayce couldn’t say he had been. The damage to his lungs was inexplicable, not something he could dismiss as his body rebelling against the abuse he had put it through, fighting the Machine Herald instead of healing.)

Other than his wrist, Jayce didn’t see any scars from the Arcane on his own body. If Viktor had died, and somehow Jayce had found the strength to live, he would have been devastated by this, by how he didn’t bear scars in the last place where Viktor had touched him. Now, Jayce was sure that the lack of fingerprint scars on his forehead was why he was allowed near Viktor.

Mel hadn't given him a ring. Maybe she had known he would find another magical bracelet far more comforting than another thing to make his nerve-damaged fingers clumsy. Maybe it was because one of their last conversations.

“I don’t know when I’ll come back, assuming I don’t need to come save you,” she had said to him. It had gone unsaid that she didn’t know if she would come back. She had inherited all her family’s holdings in Noxus, and she had to manage them. And that wasn’t counting the danger that awaited her in Noxus. If Viktor was well enough to travel (not that he had ever been truly well for as long as Jayce had known him, but perhaps the fresh air of Noxus would have helped his breathing), if Jayce had the strength to fight and hold a hammer, he would have insisted on going with her. “But I want you to be happy, not waiting for me to return. Maybe, if you and your partner are up for it, we can pick things back up when you and I can stay together for good. And if not, I’ll still be glad to be your friend.”

The first day Jayce had spent at Viktor’s bedside, he had spent it sewing up the blanket from where it had been cut off of Viktor. Had it been medical expediency, or had it been an attempt to destroy the last bit of armor that Viktor had from the cold?

Afterwards, all he could do was sit and fiddle with Mel’s bracelet.

The heartbeat monitor changed its tempo, faster than it had been a minute ago, and Jayce glanced up from the bracelet. Viktor was just as still as he was however many minutes ago that Jayce had become distracted twisting the bracelet around his wrist. Just as still except for the movement behind his eyes, like he was having a dream.

As far as Jayce knew, Viktor hadn’t dreamt when he was in the cocoon that the Hexcore had made for him in their lab. Why would he have dreamt? The Hexcore lulled people into dreamless solitude.

Why wouldn’t Viktor have dreamt? Jayce hadn’t been able to keep his eyes on Viktor’s face at all moments, no matter how much he had wanted to. And the Hexcore hadn’t been controlling Viktor then, not yet. Not fully.

Jayce couldn’t remember if Viktor had dreamt during the long nights in the hospital. He should have paid more attention to him back then.

And Viktor gasped. He gasped down air like a drowning man. It took a moment for Jayce to realize that he had never heard Viktor breath so deeply before, not even when he had been hooked up to oxygen tanks with medicine for his lungs flowing through an IV drip feed. Jayce found himself grinning.

Viktor’s eyes opened. They were the same amber color that they had been before Viktor had died, not the washed-out cosmic yellow with iridescent streaks. Not the cold eyes of the Herald, nor the iridescent and exhausted eyes of the Mage.

Viktor’s gloriously amber eyes looked around the room, blinking. Those eyes turned to Jayce, and the confusion in them didn’t clear. “Do I know you?��

Jayce felt the grin slide from his face. “Viktor, it’s me, Jayce, your partner.”

“Oh. I must be having a reaction to whatever medication I’m on,” Viktor said. The doctors were kinder than Jayce had expected. Giving Viktor pain medication was the humane thing to do, but Jayce was still surprised that Piltover doctors really treat the man who had tried to transmute humane to arcane with compassion.

Viktor smiled softly at him. “While we wait for the medication to wear off, could you remind me how I managed to get such a handsome husband?”

Jayce tamped down on the fluttering feeling in his chest. Like Viktor had said, the medication was really doing a number on him. “We’re not married.”

Viktor looked away from him, embarrassment clear on his face. “Well, don’t expect me to plan the wedding until after I can think clearly again.”

“We’re lab partners. What, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Viktor’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. “I had received news of an explosion set off during a break-in. I had been asked to check it out since it appeared to be some sort of research lab. At least, that’s what the enforcers told me. I didn’t see it. Was there another explosion?”

“No, there wasn’t.” Not thanks to the break-in, anyways. Not directly, even if it had been Jinx – Powder – setting it off just like she had sent her bomb to the Council. “You came to the lab, and, Viktor, that was almost eight years ago.”

“Eight years?” Viktor began to move his hands, like he was going to check his face for wrinkles or – no, he wouldn’t be checking his hair. Jayce had resisted the urge to run his hands through Viktor’s hair, to see if the white steaks were at all a different texture than the brown since they were lasting scars from the Hexcore’s transformation. But if Viktor didn’t remember the last eight years, then why would he remember his transformation? “That doesn’t sound right, how could I have forgotten –”

Viktor was cut off by the sound of his handcuffs pulling taught against the hospital bed. Confusion, no, fear, filled his eyes. He tugged again as if to confirm, more forcefully this time.

“Why am I in handcuffs?” Viktor looked down and began to tremble. “What’s wrong with my hand?”

His right hand was flesh once more, but there was an iridescent, sinuous pattern cast upon it, fading as it traveled up his arm. The same scars were strewn across his cheekbones and jaw, where his flesh had connected to the purple metal of his body. Jayce suspected that his leg was covered in the same scars, though he hadn’t lifted the blanket to check, nor had he asked the doctors who had transferred Viktor out of Jayce’s blanket and into a proper hospital gown.

“Don’t worry,” Jayce said, feeling useless. “It’ll…”

The door opened and one of the orderlies walked in. “You’re awake. I’ll let the enforcers know you’re awake. Mr. Talis, I’ll need you to leave the room while I examine the patient.”

Jayce would fight everyone who dared lay a cruel finger on Viktor, but he also knew he had to conserve his strength. “Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

“Doctor’s oath I won’t,” the orderly said. “You’ll have to talk to the enforcers for the rest.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[pocket-watcher]

“It’s interesting, with a power set so vast you must have some weakness just as broad to balance you out.” The scientist said as they poked and prodded you.

You laughed nervously. “What? No. That’s ridiculous. I don’t have any weaknesses.”

And you believed that, of course. Fire resistance, high pain thresholds, and you no longer had your fear of heights! Turns out saving people 20 stories up really helps with exposure therapy!

“Biologically speaking, everything has a weakness. Predators have blind spots, they’re scared of noise, they can’t conceal their blood like prey can. So… what’s your weakness?” The scientist mused once more, not asking you specifically but more as if asking the universe.

You took a deep breath and tried not to panic. This was one of the top scientists in the country, here to help you, not to take you down.

“Are you okay?” They asked, innocently.

Too innocent.

They looked up as you looked down. Nose to nose.

Your head shot upwards to avoid their stare.

“Yeah! I-I’m fine. Just… you know…” You rocked your head slightly trying to think of another topic to talk about. “So… what do you think my weakness is?”

Their eyes lit up.

In a flash they rounded up a box and began showing your data.

Despite your enhanced intelligence your brain couldn’t keep up with the speed at which they spoke.

“-and if you look at this graph here, you’ll find what’s really interesting is the activity in your prefrontal cortex spikes! At the same time your right medial temporal lobe starts working overtime, like a forceful relaxant. It’s like somehow a specific combination of lights and patterns overrides your brain like a giant helping of melatonin!”

Um.

“What?”

They blinked at you. “Aha… got a little excited there. Maybe a demonstration would help?”

You began to agree as they span you into a seat and wheeled you through the lab.

Dear god these scientists were fearless, you thought.

When you came to a stop you were hooked up to several wires, a heart-rate monitor, some strange-looking device holding your head in place (and possibly scanning it too?) and your arms pinned down… not that those restraints could do much. You’d bench pressed a 747 before lunch.

“Okay. So, I want you to listen to the voice coming out of the speakers and to watch the screen. Okay?”

You nodded, still unsure, but that unsureness seemed to disappear instantly once the screen began flashing.

The colours were too fast for you to register. The voice was repeating words that both you couldn’t understand but also rewrote your brain.

You felt your mouth hang open and your body go limp. You were vulnerable, incapacitated, all within a single minute of this scientist hooking you up to the machine.

“It’s just as I thought! How do you feel?” They asked, lifting your limp wrist and dropping it down before scribbling more notes.

You couldn’t have answered even if you wanted to.

They checked your pupils for responses and studied the data, whilst you sat there staring at the screen. Listening to the constant flow of unintelligible words.

“Okay! We should probably get you outta there, huh?” They said as they flipped the machine off.

It took you a while to fully come to your senses.

“…What was that?” You asked, incredulously.

“That was your weakness. Theorised, and now proven.”

You didn’t know what to do. You’d never been made to feel so small. So at the mercy of someone else.

“You had no right.”

You stopped. The safety of the world was at stake. If this information fell into the wrong hands…

“Woah there, we’re the only ones here! I won’t tell anyone. I promise…”

You felt an “if” coming.

“If you let me run more tests like that? We can work together, see if we can find a way for you to resist it.” The scientist smiled kindly.

You felt scared for the first time in a long time. Scared of what someone could make you do. How they could make you feel.

“Fine. If that’s the price to keep you from talking, we can run more tests.” You settled.

“Great! I promise you won’t regret it!” The scientist waved you out of the room. Once you were out of earshot they typed out a message:

It worked just as you said it would. I’ll start working on the conditioning pronto. You sure I shouldn’t have tried turning them now?

A phone pinged back a moment later:

No… slow and steady wins the race my friend. Great work.

Somewhere, a villain smiled at her phone, dreaming of a subservient hero.

[itacats]

Part 6 - Price’s Gift

FT: Price x Reader (Detective AU)

Warnings: Mentions of poisoning, neurotoxins, hospital settings, stalking, psychological manipulation, implied violence, and intense themes of betrayal and mistrust.

Word Count: ~ 2,300

SUM: A routine day at work spirals into chaos when a trusted friend and mentor becomes the prime suspect in a poisoning attempt. As you piece together clues amidst betrayal and danger, a sinister figure from your past emerges, pulling you into a deadly game of manipulation.

A/N: Plot twists, betrayals, and a deadly game of cat and mouse? Buckle up, folks! 💼🔍 This one’s packed with suspense and emotional rollercoasters, so grab a cozy spot and prepare to dive in!

Love Kills Masterlist

The day began like any other: the relentless buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, a stale cup of coffee forgotten on your desk, and the daunting pile of case files that seemed to grow instead of shrink. Hunger clawed at your stomach, a sharp reminder of the breakfast you’d skipped in favor of rushing to work.

By mid-afternoon, the gnawing emptiness became unbearable. That’s when a courier arrived, placing a neatly packed lunch on your desk. The scent of roasted chicken and herbs wafted from the box, making your stomach growl involuntarily.

“Delivery for you,” the courier said, his tone matter-of-fact as he placed a small card on top.

The handwriting was unmistakable:

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up. Enjoy! —Price.”

You smiled faintly, the first time in days. Price always had a way of showing up for you, even when you didn’t realize you needed it. You peeled back the packaging, allowing the comforting aroma of the food to wash over you.

You ate without much thought, your mind tangled in the mess of the case. Every bite tasted comforting at first, but then came a subtle bitterness, something acrid that lingered on your tongue. You paused, swallowing hard.

The room began to tilt, your surroundings blurring as nausea swept over you. Panic set in as your vision narrowed, edges darkening like an encroaching storm. Distant voices shouted, but the words dissolved into static.

Your knees buckled. The cold, hard floor rushed up to meet you, and the world spiraled into black.

When you came to, the sterile brightness of an ICU room greeted you. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung your nose, and the rhythmic beeping of monitors punctuated the silence. A dull, burning ache flared in your chest as you tried to sit up, forcing you to sink back against the pillow with a frustrated groan.

The door creaked open, and Detective Morgan stepped inside, his face set in a grim expression. His presence was familiar, almost comforting, though the look in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. Morgan wasn’t just a colleague; he’d been one of your first mentors at the precinct alongside Price. Years ago, when you were a rookie stumbling through your first real cases, Morgan had been the one to pull you aside, guiding you through the chaos with a steady hand and a wealth of experience.

“Good, you’re awake,” Morgan said, pulling up a chair beside your bed. His tone was calm, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed his concern. “You gave us a hell of a scare.”

“What…what happened?” you rasped, your throat raw and dry.

He passed you a cup of water, waiting until you’d taken a few sips before answering. “You were poisoned. The lab confirmed it was a neurotoxin—fast-acting and dangerous. You’re lucky we got to you in time.”

The words hit you like a blow. Poisoned? You tried to piece together your last moments of consciousness, but everything felt foggy. “Poisoned by what?”

Morgan hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands—a tell you knew all too well. He wasn’t just your mentor; he was someone who had seen you through your worst and had learned to soften the blows when he could. But now, the weight of his hesitation made your chest tighten.

“The lunch you ate. We traced it back to the station—more specifically, to Detective Price.”

Your stomach dropped. “Price? No. That can’t be right. He—he wouldn’t—”

Morgan held up a hand, cutting you off gently. “I get it. You trust him. But right now, the evidence points in his direction. Until we sort this out, he’s off the case and under internal review.”

The air seemed to grow heavier with every word. Price, your partner—the person who had been by your side through everything—was being accused of trying to kill you?

“There’s more,” Morgan added, his tone darkening. “We found another name connected to the delivery order: Mark Reynolds. Do you know the guy?”

The room seemed to tilt, your vision swimming for a moment as the name sank in. Mark. A ghost from your past, someone you had worked so hard to leave behind.

Morgan’s voice softened, breaking through the storm in your mind. “I know this is a lot to take in, but we need to figure out what’s going on. Was Price set up? Is this Mark guy involved? Right now, it’s all speculation, but someone’s gunning for you.”

He leaned forward, his familiar presence grounding you for just a moment. “Look, I know you. You’re sharp, and you don’t miss a thing. But this is different. Someone’s playing a dangerous game, and you’re the target. Focus on getting better—we’ll handle the investigation.”

You nodded weakly, your mind racing. Morgan had always been someone you could count on, a steady presence in a storm. If anyone could get to the bottom of this, it was him.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you stared at the ceiling, the weight of his warning pressing down on you. Someone you trusted had betrayed you. Now, it was up to you to uncover the truth—before it was too late.

Days later, another knock on your hospital door startled you from your restless thoughts. You turned to see Morgan entering, his expression somber but resolved.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he said, stepping aside to let Price in.

Price looked haggard, the weight of suspicion clearly etched into his face. His tie was loosened, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. He wasted no time, his voice low and urgent.

“I didn’t send that lunch,” Price began, his words rushing out. “You have to believe me.”

You straightened, the accusation from days ago still fresh in your mind. “Price, it had your handwriting. And with everything going on—”

“It wasn’t me,” he interrupted, his tone sharp but imploring. “I’ve been set up, and I think I know who’s behind it.”

Morgan lingered in the corner, his arms crossed as he observed the exchange. “Price came to me with some information. I thought you should hear him out,” he said evenly.

Your chest tightened. “Who? Mark?”

Price nodded grimly. “Yes, but it’s more complicated than that. I’ve been combing through your notes—the ones you thought were hidden at home.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You went through my things?”

“I had to,” Price admitted, his frustration evident. “And it’s a damn good thing I did. There’s a pattern—a connection between the killer’s messages and Mark. This wasn’t just an attack on you. It was about silencing you.” 

Morgan leaned against the wall, adding quietly, “What he’s saying holds weight. The evidence lines up.”

“But there’s something else you need to know,” Price took a deep breath. “Mark. Liam. The killer. They’re the same person.”

The revelation hit you like a physical blow, though deep down, a part of you had always suspected.

“Mark and Liam were always so… similar,” you murmured, your voice trembling as the memories began to resurface. “The way they talked, their habits, even their tempers. I thought I was imagining it—projecting my fears from one onto the other.”

Price pulled a folder from under his arm and laid it on the table beside your bed. “You weren’t imagining anything. Look at this.”

He flipped through photographs, records, and handwritten notes. The evidence was damning. Mark and Liam had never existed in the same place at the same time. Their timelines fit together seamlessly, like puzzle pieces deliberately arranged.

“He played both roles,” Price said, his voice tight with anger. “Two identities, crafted to manipulate and control you. And now, he’s escalated.”

Morgan interjected, his tone steady but grave. “This is bigger than just you or Price. He’s been working in the shadows for years, and now he’s making it personal.”

Your mind reeled as the truth sank in. Mark’s charm and possessiveness, Liam’s intensity and volatility—it had all been one man. The man who had sent you flowers and threats. The man who had watched you from the shadows.

And now, he was closer than ever.

“We need to take him down,” you said, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and fury.

Morgan stood by the window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “We will,” he said, his voice calm but resolute. “But he’s careful. He’s been ahead of us this entire time. If he knows we’re onto him, he’ll vanish.”

Your hands balled into fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. “So what do we do? Just sit here and wait for him to make the next move?”

Morgan shook his head. “No. We gather everything we can to box him in. We force him to make a mistake—but on our terms. He’s playing the long game, and we need to outlast him. This isn’t just about catching him; it’s about catching him right.”

The days that followed stretched endlessly, each one heavier than the last. Confined to the hospital room and with little else to focus on, you poured over every shred of evidence, every memory of your interactions with Mark—or Liam. The knowledge that he was out there, watching and planning, left you feeling both enraged and vulnerable.

Morgan entered your room late one evening, a folder in hand. He set it on the bedside table and pulled out a grainy surveillance photo. It showed a man—Mark or Liam—slipping an envelope under the windshield wiper of your car. His hood was drawn low, obscuring most of his face, but the curve of his jaw and the tilt of his head were unmistakable.

“He’s taunting you,” Morgan said, his tone grim. “But look at this. It’s sloppy. He’s not as controlled as he used to be. He can’t control himself around you the way he did the others.”

You stared at the photo, your pulse quickening. “Why now? He’s been so calculated until this point.”

Morgan shrugged, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe the pressure’s getting to him. Or maybe…” He trailed off, his expression darkening.

“Maybe he wants me to know he’s losing control, like he’s building up to one horrific finale.” you finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

Morgan nodded. “It’s possible. Whatever the case, we’re going to use it. Sloppy or not, this gives us a crack in his armor. We’ll hit him where it hurts.”

But the next move was his, not yours.

That night, you stirred awake in the dim hospital room, disoriented. The steady beep of the heart monitor was a familiar, almost comforting rhythm, but something felt off. The air seemed heavier, and then you heard it—a faint creak as your door eased open.

Your pulse quickened, and you strained to see through the darkness. A shadow slipped into the room, silent but deliberate. The figure lingered near the door before stepping closer, illuminated by a thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the blinds.

“Hello, darling,” a voice murmured, low and familiar.

Your stomach dropped as Mark—or Liam—stepped into view. His expression was eerily calm, a faint smile playing on his lips. His tailored jacket seemed out of place against the sterile hospital backdrop, but he wore it like armor.

“I told you I’d always take care of you,” he said, his tone almost tender as he approached the side of your bed. “But you just couldn’t follow along, could you?”

The scent of his cologne—woodsy and sharp—made your skin crawl. Your hand crept toward the call button, but before you could press it, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. His fingers were cold and unyielding, the pressure almost numbing.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. His eyes locked onto yours, the warmth in his tone belying the menace underneath. “I didn’t come here to hurt you. Not yet.”

Adrenaline surged through you, but his grip held you firmly in place. “Mark, or Liam, or whoever the hell you are,” you spat, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound defiant. “You’re going to slip. You’re out of control with yourself. They’ll catch you.”

His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, his gaze hardened, his pupils narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey. He laughed then, soft and guttural, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“You still think you’re the hunter in this game?” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “No, my love. You’re the prey. You always have been.”

He leaned in, his face inches from yours. The warmth of his breath on your skin was suffocating. “But don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice almost gentle. “I’ll make sure this ends the way it’s meant to.”

With that, he released your wrist, and you pulled your hand back, cradling it instinctively. He straightened, smoothing the lapels of his jacket as if nothing had happened.

“Sleep tight,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he turned and vanished into the shadows. The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving you alone with the sound of your own ragged breathing.

The panic hit like a wave, your hands trembling as you fumbled for the call button. Minutes felt like hours until Price burst into the room, his eyes scanning the space for danger. 

“He was here,” you choked out, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “Mark—Liam—whatever his name is. He was here.”

Price stepped closer, his expression dark and controlled, though you could see the tension in his jaw. “What did he do? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, your voice cracking. “No, but he’s tormenting me. He knows everything—my patterns, my fears, my weaknesses. He’s playing with me, Price.”

Price pulled up a chair, his presence grounding in the chaos. “Then we’ll turn this on him,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll let him think he’s in control. But next time, we’ll be ready.”

The fear lingered, curling in your stomach like smoke. Mark—or Liam—wasn’t just a killer. He was the embodiment of every nightmare you’d tried to leave behind.

But as the first light of dawn filtered through the window, a steely resolve took root. He may have made the next move, but the endgame would be yours.

Want to see what's up next? Click here!

Posting Schedule Update

[jinxxangel13]

Phantom of the Night

Chapter 2

This will be a 141/female oc, with possible variations down the line depending on the route I take with a pairing.

Thank you everyone for being so patient with me! This story has been a struggle for me to get going because I have so many ideas in within the plot but had no idea where to begin. A close friend recommended some ideas, and I think it's finally starting to come together.

[To help with the setup of kit's office, I spent a few hours throwing ideas around before I settled on this layout, but don't worry about the measurements!]

Hope you enjoy!

~Masterlist~ -Prev- -Next-

The first few days went by with no problem as Kit made herself scarce anywhere except in the medical bay, where she reorganized the whole wing to best suit how she works. Throughout the time spent setting up, she helped with the minor injuries from training missions on and off base, which helped to keep her fairly occupied.

Her new office was fairly large, bigger than she thought she'd need but it would come in handy for all of the tasks she’d taken over. Two bullet proof glass windows stood at the back of the room behind her desk, the glass starting at the middle of the wall and allowing natural light to brighten the room during the day. Her desk was an L-shape in a deep mahogany color, 2 monitors next to each other, and a multitude of files across the side of it. There were a few filing cabinets in the back corner of the room, nearest the desk to hold any extra medical files that hadn't made it to archive before Kit got on base, but she would get to it eventually. The only other things in the room were a few empty bookshelves on the right wall with a single coffee maker, a small coffee table next to the door with a couch against the same wall, and a minifridge with a double sink next to it. 

Everything was falling into place how she liked it, and it was coming along nicely.

It was a little bit after midnight on Kit’s 5th day at the new base and she was just finishing moving her files and papers around her desk when she heard a knock on her door.

“Come in.” Kit called out, not even looking up as she continued her filing, rearranging her new teams’ files to a separate smaller drawer that she locked just as her office door opened.

She heard heavy footsteps walk into the room, and upon not hearing the door click shut, Kit looked up to see none other than Captain John Price.

“How can I help you, Captain?” Kit straightened up her posture instinctually, fixing her lab coat to not be as bunched and wrinkled as it was previously.

Price tilted his head slightly as he looked around the room, letting the door softly click shut behind him.

“Just comin’ to see how you’re settlin’ in the new office. It looks nice.”

Kit smiled at the man, crossing the room to the coffee maker on the bookshelf and picking up two mugs.

“Thank you, sir. It’s a process, but I enjoy it.” She handed him a mug, not adding anything into either of them before going back to her desk. “Fresh pot, by the way.”

He thanked her before sitting in the chair across from her desk.

“Did you need something, Price? I’d have thought you’d be in bed by now with how late it is.”

He chuckled, the gruff sound causing Kit to give him a gentle smile.

“No, don’t need anything, kid. Just been a while since I’ve seen you, Vera.”

Bright silver eyes clashed with knowing blue ones, conversation being passed between the pair without a word being uttered. Kit sighed as she looked back down to her coffee mug.

“I know. I’m sorry about that, John. Been busy for Laswell for the past few years, you know how it is with her.” Kit shrugged as she looked back up to Price. “You look good, John.”

“You too, Vera. It’s good to see you again. Glad Laswell finally took me up on gettin’ you on the task force, been beggin’ her for a few years now” John set his now empty mug down on the desk in front of him.

She let out a soft laugh, placing her mug down and crossing her hands on top of her desk.

“Why did you ask for me? Out of everyone you’ve met, why me?”

Kit was genuinely confused on her transfer. She had been content being a solo operator for Laswell for the past few years, working without a team most times unless being lent to a task force or other Military group. This was the first time since meeting Laswell that she had been signed on for a permanent spot on a task force.

“Cause we need ya’ here with us. The missions we’ve been workin’ on lately are your expertise, Vera. I need your help.”

“But why sign me on? You know just as well as I do that this is new for all of us; me on a force, and you with a field medic.” Kit tightened her grip on her own hands before relaxing them.

“Look, Kit. We’ve worked together many times, and I like to think we work well together. I trust you to do this job, and I trust you with my team. Why would I get someone else when you’re here?” Price had leaned forward, elbows on his knees to try to get her to understand.

“What am I even doing here? The only thing I know of is that you tracked down General Ghorbani a couple months back and got rid of him.”

Price sighed, running his hands over his face.

“Which is why I need your help. One of his men took up the mantle. Majar Hassan Zyani.”

Kit’s silver eyes widened before she closed them, rubbing her temples roughly.

“Shit.”

Price hummed in retaliation.

“Shit indeed. We gotta find ‘em.”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and covering her face with her hands.

“This isn’t going to be easy, but I’ll do what I can. Got any updates on his whereabouts?”

John Price handed a manilla folder to her, one she didn’t even realize he had in his hand-probably from lack of sleep.

She took the folder and started flipping through it, her mind automatically running through the words and translating the multiple languages across the pages. The details weren’t great, but it looked like Laswell was able to track his movements over the past few weeks.

“For old time’s sake, isn’t it, John?”

“Al Mazrah.”

The two of them make eye contact; furrowed brows, stressed frowns and exhausted expressions mirrored one another. This was not going to be easy. It was going to be rough, strenuous, and most likely traumatizing, but that’s what was expected from the job. 

“When do we start?”

Price’s eyes snapped to her, a smile working its way on his face as Kit tried to lighten the mood.

“Come on. Laswell is waiting for us in debrief.” He stood up, holding his arm out to her.

Kit laughs, shutting down both computer monitors and grabbing the file before joining him at the door. She took a hold of his left elbow with her hand after locking her office door behind them, and allowing him to lead her to Station Chief Kate Laswell’s office a few buildings away.

The two of them caught up on some minor details since the last time they had seen each other a few years back: new countries visited, favorite foods in said places, and a few hobbies picked up in their time off. Before long, though, the pair stopped in front of the same meeting room that Kit was introduced to the team in.

Price knocked on the door, waiting for the familiar voice to call back before he entered the room, Kit in tow with him to shut the door.

“Glad to see you both. I’m not going to sugarcoat this; it’s not looking good.” Was the only thing Laswell said before the three of them started going through piles of papers stacked across the oval table.

[drdemonprince]

Hey Doctor Price!

Do you have any tips for how to stay sane while autistic with no privacy? I live in a one room college dorm with a freind and there's literally nowhere anywhere on my campus where I can have even 15 minutes alone without being on edge that someone will come in any second. I'm going nuts and struggling to cope :[

I was in a four person dorm room on a 50,000 student campus and suffered from overwhelm virtually all the time, and I had to compensate by learning to really scope out the places where privacy could be found, so I believe I have some relevant tips for you!

Locate the study rooms or study carrels that can be signed out for individual use, typically in the library. Keep a close eye on them and book them as often and as early as you can, as they tend to be booked up during finals quite quickly.

Scope out the computer labs and study areas in department-specific buildings and get a sense of their busy and fallow periods, especially ones that remain unlocked during the weekends. I worked in the Psychology Department computer lab as a work study student, and they were completely empty on the weekends. The Sociology Department's computer labs were also totally empty most nights and weekends too.

For that matter, find on-campus jobs that can get you some privacy, often lab monitoring or administrative jobs in smaller offices. One summer I worked at the front desk of the student newspaper, which was tucked away on the eighth floor of a massive building, and it got basically no business because it was the summer. I also worked as a Psych Department admin and hid myself away in the copy room and supply closet as often as possible. If a job gives you key card access to break rooms or bathrooms you might not otherwise be able to use, so much the better.

Find the bathrooms that are tucked far away from any heavy activity. Check out the basements, top floors, and down around the corners of long hallways, and near meeting halls that have to be reserved for special events. The Chemistry building had a weird, shitty women's restroom that had been converted from a supply closet across a long walkway connecting two buildings, and everybody hated it. That meant it was nearly always empty. In my old office in the Psych building at Loyola, there was a bathroom off the main hall that was busy, but then another that was up a half flight of stairs near a room that was only ever used for guest speakers. NOBODY used that bathroom. I spent hours in there curled up in the dark vaping.

Learn the rhythms of a building or area of campus so you can take advantage of slow periods. If a building only has one dedicated purpose, such as a massive lecture hall, try checking it out when you know there aren't any class sessions happening. If a building is only used for recitations but those are only on tuesdays and thursdays, check it out on a wednesday. I went to a big football school, so on weekends half the campus was absoultely crawling with sports fans, but the gyms were completely dead during that period.

Stairwells. Sit at the tops of stairwells. If a building has multiple sets of stairs, find one that's far off in a corner and then hike your ass all the way to the top floor. The southwest stairwell of Loyola's Information Commons is a place I've written whole essays in, and even attended Zoom meetings from, it's so quiet.

Learn you roomate's schedule. If you're on good terms, ask them to put their schedule up on a whiteboard where you can see it, and share your own. Both of you will want time alone sometimes, and coordinating can really help. If your'e on good terms you can text as well. If your roommate ever requests alone time to study or to fuck, you get to, too.

Find the totally useless neglected spaces by exploring a little. Some dorm buildings have a shared kitchen in the basement or an activity room with air hockey tables that nobody uses. Laundry rooms are good during off times. Because most campuses are in a perpetual state of construction, there's usually old union buildings or emptied-out department buildings that haven't officially closed down yet but have next to nothing going on in them. There's lots of small waiting areas by professor's offices in nearly every building. Try every door. Duck into available classrooms. You will get interrupted sometimes but the more you learn the countors of the place and its patterns the more mastery you will have, and the less stress you will feel about the possibility of being interrupted.

I know that you said there is nowhere for you to find privacy, Anon, but I promise you that is not true! I have been on 50,000 person campuses, 12,000 person campuses, and for a few years I worked on a 2,000 person campus. I was ALWAYS able to find tucked-away bathrooms, empty classrooms, tops of stairwells, and weird neglected study areas to find some peace in. You can too. Please explore and help yourself feel more in control of this stressful situation! Good luck and let me know how it goes.

[chemanalystdata]

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[ramblings-in-imagination]

Against the Heat (Part 4)

The quiet hum of machines filled the ICU room. Jay sat rigid in the chair beside her bed, his gaze never leaving the ventilator tube that gently rose and fell with each breath it delivered. Matt stood nearby, arms crossed but shoulders tense, fighting to keep his composure.

Will Halstead hovered close, his usual confident demeanor softened by the weight of the situation. He could see the exhaustion etched into Jay’s face, the barely restrained fear in Matt’s eyes.

“She’s stable for now,” Will said quietly, “but it’s a fragile kind of stability. She’s still very sick.”

Jay’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I just want her to open her eyes again… to hear me.”

Matt’s jaw clenched. “It’s hard watching her like this. She’s always been so strong. Seeing her hooked up to all this, unable to fight back…” He shook his head, frustration and helplessness washing over him.

Will placed a reassuring hand on Matt’s arm. “You’re both doing everything right. Being here means the world to her. She can feel you.”

Jay reached up to run a hand through his hair, eyes glossy. “I’m scared, Will. What if this… this thing inside her takes her?”

Will met his gaze steadily. “We’re watching for every sign, and we’re ready to act. Right now, she’s fighting.”

Just then, Connor Rhodes entered, clipboard in hand, his face slightly clouded with concern. He approached the bedside, eyes narrowing at the monitor’s new readings.

“Will, take a look at this.” Connor pointed to the screen. “Her white blood cell count’s creeping up. Temperature’s fluctuating. Early signs of an infection, could be sepsis setting in.”

Jay’s heart sank deeper. “Infection? But… she’s just been through so much.”

Connor’s voice was steady but serious. “It’s common after prolonged surgery and rhabdomyolysis, especially with invasive lines and tubes. We’re going to monitor closely and start antibiotics immediately.”

Matt’s face tightened with worry, but he nodded. “Whatever she needs. We’re here for her.”

Will glanced between the men, sensing their unspoken fears. “You’re not alone in this. We’re a team, all of us. She’s got us, every step of the way.”

Jay exhaled slowly, steeling himself. “Then we keep fighting. For her. Together.”

Matt gave a curt nod, but his voice was soft. “For my sister.”

As the night deepened, the three men stayed close, sharing the silent burden of hope and fear, waiting for the moment she’d open her eyes and let them know she was still in the fight.

The ICU was tense but steady, the soft beep of monitors and the low murmur of the team’s voices weaving through the sterile air. Connor oversaw the antibiotic regimen, adjusting dosages and monitoring bloodwork, while Will stayed close to Jay and Matt, offering a quiet anchor in the storm.

Jay sat frozen most of the time, gripping Matt’s hand when the pain in his chest became too much to bear. “I hate this,” he whispered one evening. “I hate seeing her like this…so helpless, so far away.”

Matt’s eyes were rimmed red, his jaw clenched tight, but his voice was steady. “She’s stronger than any of us. We just have to hold on to that.”

Will pulled Jay aside gently. “It’s okay to be scared. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Jay’s voice cracked. “I don’t want to lose her, Will. Not like this.”

Will nodded, his own heart heavy. “You won’t. We’re all fighting with you. Every hour, every minute.”

Meanwhile, Connor moved with calm precision, scanning labs and coordinating with infectious disease specialists. “The infection’s responding,” he informed the team during a quick huddle. “But it’s going to be a slow process. She’ll need constant care to avoid any setbacks.”

Matt listened to Connor’s update and then looked toward his sister’s still form, tubes and wires marking the price of her fight. “It’s not just her body that’s bruised,” he said quietly to Jay. “It’s all of us.”

Jay nodded, swallowing hard. “I just want to hold her, tell her it’s going to be okay.”

Will stepped in softly. “You will. When she’s ready. Right now, your presence, your love….that’s what’s keeping her tethered.”

The days dragged on, each hour marked by small victories and setbacks. Jay and Matt found themselves leaning on each other, their shared fear forging a bond deeper than words.

One evening, as the sun dipped low outside the ICU windows, Jay whispered to Matt, “We can’t let this break us.”

Matt squeezed his hand. “We won’t. Not now. Not ever.”

And with Will and Connor by their side, guiding them through the medical battle, they held on, fighting for her, fighting with her, until the moment she could fight back.

[femalefemur]

Reset.

18+ minors do not interact!

warnings: mcd, please let me know if i missed anything!

What about 141 who all remember. They all remember going through this before, stuck in a loop of hunting and dying until every last one of them is six feet under. They all try different ways to stop it, Gaz even went as far as to not go to Piccadilly one time, not that it helped, he was dragged into his CO's office, given an earful and handed to Price. Nothing changes their fates, well nothing so far at least.

They learn more and more about each other each time, take pieces of each other and hold them close to their hearts. They start to share mannerisms, Ghost picking up how Soap quirks his brow at a question, Soap picking up how Gaz does a thumbs up before every mission, Gaz picking up how Price rolls his cigar between his fingers before lighting it, rolling pens between his instead.

Price picks up bits of all of them, the way their fingers twitch, the way their eyes narrow, the way they plant themselves firmly on the ground as they stand. He carries those pieces with him as he watches each of them die before him, every single time. He holds their hand in his as they take the bodies back, silently promises to keep trying to save them as he watches their blood seep into the fabric of their clothing.

He watches them work through their own deaths in their own ways. Watches how Johnny takes up hobbies that occupy his hands and distract him from the thought of how the bullet feels as it shatters his skull and pierces through his brain matter. Watches Ghost start reading and lose himself into fictional worlds, far from the torture he'll endure as he's burnt alive. Watches Gaz become engrossed in shows from his childhood that bring him comfort, padding the pain of being stabbed in the heart and bleeding out in the arms of his Captain.

Price himself does nothing, he smokes as always but nothing more. Lets the cigar roll in his mouth and gain little indents from his teeth as he thinks about his own death. It's always the same, he gets within a hair's breadth of Makarov before he's gutted like an animal. Perhaps he is an animal he thinks, an animal stuck in an inescapable situation for the amusement of others. Or perhaps they're lab rats, stuck in a loop as scientists monitor their activities, note down how they try to change their fates this time round before reanimating them.

A fleeting thought enters his mind of what happens to his body when he dies. Who cremates him and sends him out over the plains to his boys? Do they even get a chance before before everything resets?

[a3thernet]

ATH 2091-5

or: the Halo/COD AU I started to write after a fever induced day listening to hours of Halo retrospectives. if i've made any errors, or decide to get weird with it (which I def will) don't judge universe inconsistencies - vibes and a small dose of Halopedia ok bye

f!readerxGhost

also it goes without saying but i hate ai, sorry to make you one in this.

Dr. Laswell gives you free reign shortly after ‘waking’ with vague instructions to observe and learn. You transport yourself along cables and systems throughout the base to get a better understanding of the operations, the faces, the data.

The data.

It’s more than a girl could possibly ask for.

It takes only seconds to surmise that you are at the operations center stationed on Onyx. The base is under highest clearance protocols and is home to the SPARTAN III program. Super soldiers, taken in from orphanages that now overflowed with children, as a result of the war against the Covenant. 

You spend less than an hour outside of the lab on your first day. 

“It is unethical, Kate.”

Dr. Laswell is busy monitoring your internal components, you feel her pulling the data you are currently plugged into. You see what she sees. “There is little room for ethics in war.”

You assume the form of a faceless female within the center console of the lab, your arms folded across your chest and your head cocked to the side.

“Does that not make us better than them?”

Kate moves her glasses up atop her head and stares up at you in wonder. “You’ve taken a form. How curious you manifested as a female, I tried not to imprint myself on your in the process-”

“I’d like an answer Kate.” 

Dr. Laswell seems uninterested in posturing about the nature of war and far more interested in your growth.

“Perhaps you can pick the brain of Captain Price about the goals of the program, I was hired for this.” She gestures at you as if you are some work of art, which, objectively, you are. Technological art. 

“Besides, I won’t be partnering you with any initiates, you will be paired with a fully fledged Spartan.”

She gestures to a containment tube near the back of the lab and you cannot help yourself, you spread your ‘fingers’ through the nodes of the system and watch with a satisfied look when the case opens with a hiss. A perfectly functional set of MJOLNIR armor winks back at you. “I did not think Spartan III’s were granted these suits.”

Dr. Laswell leans against the console looking wildly impressed with herself and you. “Not typically, no. But this program has identified a few.. Exceptions. We plan to procure a few additional of these units to outfit them properly.”

“Are all of the soldiers trained here not exceptional?” You blink and transport yourself into an output station nearest the suit where your projected form can run translucent fingers along the exterior. You can hear the hum of the mechanisms in the armor respond to you. 

“Exceptions are expensive.” You answer your own question, Kate is too absorbed in watching the live reports from your neural network.

You fight the urge to roll your holographic eyes at her. The flick of a switch and you return to dormancy, back to waking only in the testing environment. Reality is far more interesting.

“Who will you choose?” You’re curious, of the 87 soldiers on base, only 15 of them are currently fit for commission, if they are able to survive the final assessments - one of which being an actual deployment to a live combat zone.

“I’d like you to choose.”

Now that is an interesting proposition. 

“I’d like you to take a few weeks, observe and report your selection. Whoever you choose will be allowed to deploy wearing MJOLNIR armor with you as their partner.”

“Why grant me so much autonomy, Kate?”

She flicks her eyes up from the screen to meet yours, your form manifesting as a fraction of her size from the console she's manning.

“I created you, I trust you.”

[petrolstationflowers]

Do your sims yearn for the dark embrace of the mines? Obsess over shiny stones, have a collection of hard hats? Why not give the Mining career a go, where they can dig up all the dirt and rocks they desire! This is the last in the batch of requests from Catrillion

This job is available for YA - Elder, and you can join via the Science Lab. No opportunities, uniforms, or books. Please note you will need Ambitions installed as you need the hidden Collecting and Consignment skills.

Three skill tones are available at work, with no boss or coworkers:

Swing Pickaxe (Athletics) Gather Resources (Collecting) Sell Findings (Consignment)

Please note Collecting and Consignment are both hidden skills, which you can track through MasterController. Athletics and Collecting appear at Level 2, but Consignment won't appear until level five. The carpool will also not show up until level 5. This career only goes up to level 8.

Levels under the readmore:

Pet Rock Collector - 10 simoleans p/h, 12:00 - 16:00, M-F Description - You’re down to eating wildflower salads and artistically stacking rocks you find in the park because you can’t afford decor. Times are tough and the grocery store isn’t hiring – what to do? Luckily the old mines have just opened up again and they’ll accept anyone without claustrophobia and enjoys hitting rocks. It’s better than the unemployment office, so get applying! Human Canary - 12 simoleans p/h, 06:00 - 14:00, M-F Description - Nothing quite says “expendable,” like being told to monitor the gas levels lest they get too high. You’ve been given a box with a scary looking radar and a blinking light and told when the box starts beeping, sound the alarm and tell your fellow miners to get out. If you don’t die from carbon monoxide poisoning, there actually might be a career in this! Cart Pusher - 15 simoleans p/h, 06:00 - 14:00, M-F Description - Another unfortunate soul gets to be the canary now you’ve moved on to bigger and better things. Granted, it’s only wheeling carts of coal and mined ore along the tracks so they can be sent to the surface, but you’re getting your step count in and there’s less danger of suffocating. Do a good job and you might actually get to sit down next time you’re promoted! Rock Inspector - 20 simoleans p/h, 14:00 - 22:00, M-F Description - A chair… a coffee machine… central heating… after too long working underground, this is bliss. You’re tasked with sorting the rocks into anything that might be remotely valuable, sorting your pebbles from your coal, your diamonds from your quartz. You’ll need a keen eye to tell them apart and plenty of patience, so stock up on podcasts and polish your magnifying glass. Consignment Carrier - 25 simoleans p/h, 09:00 - 17:00, M-F Description - Finally, out into the fresh air! Your bosses have deemed you trustworthy enough to take the gems and coal to the local consignment store and barter the best prices for them. Strong arms are a must, as well as the gift of the gab – because if you get short changed, it’ll be coming out your pocket. Money Seeking Miner - 50 simoleans p/h, 06:00 - 14:00, M-F Description - Fresh air is great and all, but there’s gold in them hills and you’ve got bills to pay. Since there’s been talk of mysterious yellow eyes in the mine, workers have quit en masse and management are offering big incentives to get back down in the pit. Plus they’ve promised that if you find anything fun, you get to keep it! Gem Seeker - 75 simoleans p/h, 06:00 - 14:00, M-F Description - The mines are lovely, dark, and deep, and you’ve spent so many hours down here, you’re forgetting what sunlight looks like. You’re in the more lucrative veins now, digging out gold and rubies as big as your hand, but you’ve heard of the legendary pink diamond and are determined to find it. Who knows, maybe that’s your ticket out of here? Mine Owner - 250 simoleans p/h, 10:00 - 16:00, M-F Description - You’ve found it, the pink diamond in the rough! After swiftly selling it for millions of simoleans, you’re making enough to take over the mine itself and take over operations! What will you look for? Rainbow gems? Shang Simlan artefacts? Perhaps pull up as many space rocks as you can to try and entice the aliens? On the flip side, maybe you should get back into painting pet rocks with all your free time…

Translations: I've included the English Strings in the file; if anyone is talented enough to translate, I would be incredibly grateful, so please let me know in the comments!

With thanks: To MissyHissy's career building tutorial!

[blueiscoool]

Crater Collapses in Iceland's New Volcano Spewing Rivers of Lava

Iceland's newest volcano, located in the Reykjanes peninsula, began erupting in early July, 2023. Now it's throwing "spatter bombs'" of molten lava.

In Iceland, the world's newest "baby" volcano is throwing a temper tantrum: It's overflowing and spewing "spatter bombs," or blobs of molten lava, into the surrounding crater.

The volcano formed on July 10, when an underground eruption opened a 1.7-mile-long (2.7 kilometers) fissure in the ground of Iceland's Reykjanes peninsula, southwest of the capital, Reykjavík. Leading up to this event, the region experienced a "seismic swarm," during which more than 7,000 earthquakes shook the area starting on July 4, according to a statement from the Icelandic Met Office. Lava trickled from the fracture in the ground, and seismic activity decreased for about a week after the eruption.

On July 18, however, "there was a major shift in the vent activity overnight," according to a post on the Facebook page of Rannsóknarstofa í eldfjallafræði og náttúruvá (the Laboratory of Volcanology and Natural Hazards), a research group from the University of Iceland. At around 11:30 p.m. local time, "the crater filled up to the brim with lava and the fountaining began to throw spatter bombs well beyond the crater rims." Roughly three hours later, a small opening formed, allowing lava to spill over the crater, the post added. By early morning, a section of the crater's rim had collapsed, releasing a river of lava to the north and west. The lava pouring from this crater is roughly 2,192 degrees Fahrenheit (1,200 degrees Celsius), the scientists said.

"The crater became unstable and collapsed," Ingibjörg Jónsdóttir, an associate professor of geography at the University of Iceland and member of the lab, told Live Science in an email. "It had built up quite fast and it was filling up with lava on the inside, causing pressure to the walls. Not unusual as such but spectacular and of concern since there were people quite close by not long before it happened (in a closed area though)."

On the opposite side of the volcano, lava flowing south stalled and eventually crusted over, the post said. The area around the eruption site is uninhabited, and the eruption does not currently post a risk to infrastructure, according to the Icelandic Met Office. Firefighters in Grindavík, a nearby Icelandic town, have already contained the potential spread of fire from July 18's lava spill, and they no longer believe it is a threat, according to the Icelandic National Broadcasting Service.

Scientists will continue to monitor the volcano's behavior because future lava flows could ignite wildfires and reduce air quality in the region, according to the statement. Watch a livestream of the volcano on the Icelandic National Broadcasting Service's website here.

By Kiley Price.

[raw-cat]

Everything in Thisisnotawebsite with updates - part 1 (updates in part 2 cause I ran out of space)

Basically everything I found and how I found it (part1)

"Bill-Hunter's Almanac" page. Click on dagger

Note 1 and 2. Click on book

Get out of death free pass. Click on skulls golden tooth

"Failed portal" message. Click on eye bottle behind monitor.

McGucket note. Click on "McGucket Labs" on top of the monitor

---------------

When you type on the monitor:

"T. J. Eckleburg"

"pines"

"stanley" takes you to brass knuckles or other items on ebay. If you keep inputing the name you will get smth else.

"ford" or "sixer"

"vallies cineris"

"bill"

"mabel" (progressively covers the lab in stickers)

"dipper"

"wendy"

"soos"

"pacifica"

"guideon" (what I assume is him singing?)

"mc gucket" (takes you to Cotton Eye Joe)

"gravity falls"

"waddles" (takes you to pig adoption website)

https://pigplacementnetwork.org/

"portal"

"mystery shack"