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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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Today, Tomorrow, Always [Frankie Morales x F!Reader]

Summary: The nights were restless without Frankie by your side. He had left for South America a little over a month ago, promising he’d come back with more money to support your family. You didn’t want him to leave in the first place, but there was no changing his mind. You miss him. You’re worried about him. You just want him to come home. [Set after the events of Triple Frontier. Like, right after.]

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3000>

Masterlist

Reblogs appreciated coz this isn’t showing up in tags and I’m too tired to figure out why. xx

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

The love of your life. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and in that exact moment, you swore there was no statement truer. He’d been gone for a month and three days, your Frankie. You’d been shamelessly counting down until his return. No cell service in the jungles of South America, he’d warned you. He told you he’d be gone for two weeks max, and that you shouldn’t worry. He promised you he’d be fine.

But he was gone longer than two weeks, and you had no way to contact him. You were terrified, unable to help yourself from thinking the worst. Everything reminded you of him; the family photos scattered around your house, his cheap, tangy beers in the refrigerator, waiting to be drunk. Mostly though, your daughter. Maria was a newborn when he left, but now she was nearing two months. As you cradled her, your heart swelled with love. Same eyes as her father. Holding Maria only made you miss Frankie even more.

Religious or not, you would’ve prayed every night regardless. You prayed for his safety, and that he’d come home. You missed his warm hands and broad chest. You missed the way he’d tangle his fingers into your hair, and the faint smell of his musky cologne. Sometimes when you laid in bed, at night, you could still feel the ghost of his touch. Not a second went by where you weren’t dreaming about your Frankie.

This wasn’t the first time he and the guys would get involved in shady business. You wished he wouldn’t. He knew your feelings on it.

“I’m doing this for you and Maria.” he reminded you the morning he left. He took your hands and pressed soft yet chaste kisses across your knuckles. Everything he done, it was always for you and Maria.

Ever since Frankie had his piloting license revoked, things had been difficult. No job, no income. You had a job waitressing throughout your pregnancy but once you entered your third trimester, you were left with no choice but to take maternity leave. You, Frankie and Maria had been living out of your savings. And the savings were rapidly running out.

You knew better than to ask questions, but it was blatantly obvious that he’d accepted the mission in South America for a monetary reward. Or else, why would he go?

On a Thursday evening at around 7:30pm, the phone rang. You’d just put Maria to bed and you were sitting on the sofa, cradling one of your favourite fiction novels. Your eyes flicked towards the wall clock as you took a mental note of the time, wondering who could be calling you at this hour. Three more rings and you got up, padding towards the phone on the coffee table and picking it off the hook. The second you pressed it against the ear, you heard him.

Frankie.

“I didn’t get the money,” he announced over the phone, the line crackling slightly with the distance. No ‘hello’— no ‘how are you?’— just ‘I didn’t get the money.’ You were speechless. Not because of what he said, or what he didn’t say, but because he was alive. And safe, you assumed. Tears welled in your eyes as you processed the familiar sound of his voice. You hadn’t spoken to him in over a month, and so the low octave of his words were like the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. “I’m sorry.”

The guilt was eating him alive. He had to let you know in case you were expecting the money upon his return. He was so anxious, picking at his fingernails and anticipating your response. He had one job and he couldn’t even do that right.

He was broken. He’d done all of this, risked his life, just so he could earn a little cash to help support you and Maria. He’d left you for a month, and soon, he’d be returning with absolutely nothing. If you left him and took Maria with you, he wouldn’t even be surprised. He’d failed you. He’d failed Maria. He’d failed himself.

“Frankie,” you whispered, your shaky fingers curling around the plastic coated phone wire. He took a few breath, waiting for the worst to happen. “I’ve missed you so much.” you choked out, feeling your heart contract in your chest at the mere sound of his voice. What he was saying didn’t matter. No money? You couldn’t care less. Just the fact he was alive, speaking to you, was enough. All of Frankie’s nerves were immediately put to rest.

“I’ve missed you too.” Frankie confessed, his voice equally as soft as yours. As he marched through the freezing temperatures of the mountains and stormed through the humid temperatures of the jungles, he’d thought of you. When everyone else was camped out and sleeping by the fire, he couldn’t settle. He yearned to hold you, to kiss you and to love you. His month away from you only confirmed the feelings he’s been having for a long time.

“Where are you?” you sniffed, wiping away your tears and taking a deep (albeit shaky) exhale. You had to remain composed.

“Hawaii,” Frankie replied. “I’m calling from a public phone box and I think it’s gonna cut me off soon, but I’m catching a flight home first thing tomorrow,”

You smiled ecstatically, giving up and letting the warm tears free fall down you cheeks. Tomorrow? You were seeing him tomorrow? “I’m coming home, baby.” he confirmed, and you gasped out a sob over his good news.

“I love you so much,” you cried. “I love you Frankie. I— I love— I love you—“

“Don’t cry,” you heard him say. “I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. Is Maria okay?”

“She misses her daddy so much. Frankie, we’ve missed you so much.” you revealed, your smile now aching your cheeks. But you didn’t care.

“My two girls. I love you. I love you today, tomorrow, always. Wait for me, hermosa, I’ll see you soon.” Frankie promised before the line went dead.

He muttered out a curse word and kicked the phone box in frustration. Frankie jumped slightly, feeling Santiago rest a comforting hand on Frankie’s shoulder. He’d somehow manage to shift into the phone box to be alongside Frankie, needing the privacy. “You sure about this, bud?” Santiago quizzed, presenting Frankie with a velvet ring box. Frankie took the box and slid it into his jean pocket.

He managed to hit a jewellery store just an hour ago before they had all closed. He picked out a diamond ring, just for you. It was simple but elegant (or so he hoped. Frankie didn’t have the greatest judgement when it came to jewellery and what looked good or not). He was drawn to it because it was similar to the only other engagement ring he’d ever seen. The ring that belonged to his mother. If you didn’t like it, he’d be fine with returning it until you’s could afford a better one, but the ring was more than just something to make your finger look pretty.

It was a symbol of promise.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.” Frankie sighed into admittance.

Santiago nodded, his heart blooming over the fact his best friend had finally found happiness. Frankie had been through a lot, but you’d saved him, in every sense of the word. Santiago knew that better than anyone else.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

Frankie called you that morning from the airport, just before he caught his plane. You barely slept a peep that night, excited to finally see him again. The love of your life. Your Frankie. You had a rough idea as to when he’d return; maybe 5 or 6ish. That’s what he’d told you. And you believed him because, well, he was a pilot. He could judge these kinds of things.

‘5 or 6ish’ gave you plenty of time to plan a little something for Frankie. It was hard, but you refrained from texting his family and calling your friends because you knew they’d all want to see him. As selfish as it sounded, you didn’t care, you at least just wanted one night alone with him where he could be all yours. No one else to fuss over him, just you. You deserved that much.

You could cook his favourite meal, pick out his favourite record, blow up some balloons, light some candles and dress in his favourite set of lingerie.

You wanted to make everything perfect.

Frankie came home at 2pm, and shamefully, you were still in your pyjamas. He’d told a little white lie about what time he’d be home because he wanted to surprise you. And you were definitely surprised. When he stepped through the front door, clean shaven with glazed eyes, it was like your feet were glued to the floor and you couldn’t move. It was strange, really. You’d always envisioned this moment where you’d run into his arms and give him a big, passionate kiss, but that’s not what happened at all.

Just a few days ago, you were thinking you might never see him again, but here he was, standing before you like the angel of your dreams. And the first thing you said...

“You shaved!” you cried out accusingly, your eyes going comically wide. Frankie chuckled and your heart clenched in your chest.

“What do you think?” he laughed, walking towards you and putting his bag on the floor. You raised your hands to cup his cheeks and feel the softness of his skin.

“Oh Frankie,” you whispered, a single tear slipping down your cheek, but Frankie was quick enough to catch it and wipe it away. “It’s really you. You’re really home.”

“Yes my love, I’m home.” he said, pulling you into a warm bear hug. His big arms squeezed your body tight. If he’d gone any harder, he might have crushed you, but you wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

“Being away from you for so long made me realise something. Home isn’t a place, it’s a person. It’s you. Any doubts I once had are now completely diminished and I know, for sure, I love you. I love you today, tomorrow, always. And I want to promise that to you, so, if you’ll let me...” Frankie dropped down to one knee and reached into his pocket, bringing out the velveteen ring box he’d purchased in Hawaii. “I promise to never leave your side, or Maria’s, ever again. You two are everything I could ever need. Any difficulties we encounter, I know we’ll be okay as long as we have each other, and I promise to swear my life to our little family. So, my love, would you do me the honour of being mine forever? Will you marry me?”

His brown eyes were so warm, they burned you. This was a moment you had only pictured in dreams. Without even taking a second to think about it, you already knew the answer. You’d always known the answer.

“Yes,” you nodded ecstatically. “Yes Frankie, I’ll marry you.”

And the grin that plastered his face was like nothing you’d ever seen before. He was absolutely delighted and he didn’t think he’d ever been this happy in his life, apart from, maybe when Maria was born. He was pretty damn happy that day too.

Frankie slid the diamond ring on your finger and it fit perfectly. It looked good too. Maybe Frankie had a better eye for jewellery than he’d though. “Do you like it? Because if you don’t, we can save up and get it exchanged.”

“It’s beautiful,” you gasped, eventually tearing your gaze from your fiancé so you could admire the way the diamond sparkled under the lights. “I don’t want to get it exchanged. I love it. It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” he cooed, swaying backwards and forwards. When you looked back up at him, his cheeks were flushed an adorable pink.

You crashed your lips into his and wrapped your arms around his body.

“I love you so much Frankie Morales.”

“I love you too,” he replied softly, his warm breath fanning over your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Today, tomorrow, always.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years ago

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Irreverent Drabbles: Perils of Realization

Title: Irreverent Drabbles: Perils of Realization Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: G Words: 6078

A/N: This takes place chronologically between chapters 28 and 29.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You went on a date.

You realized that you were in love with Hotch, and your first instinct was to go on a date with someone else.

In all respects, it was a relatively good decision. Hotch was your boss and despite the close relationship you enjoyed with him, any romantic relationship between the two of you was impossible.

Miles Burton was a Senior White House Advisor whom you'd run into during your social obligations as a member of the Women in Service organization who had persistently flirted with you at the Griffiths fundraiser and had made it a point to say hello at the following two events you'd both been in attendance for.

Once you'd come to the fairly life-ruining conclusion that you were head-over-heels in love with Aaron Hotchner, you made sure to actually flirt back the next time you saw Miles Burton. That was how you found yourself on the date that had you questioning ever having harbored an attraction to men - dinner and drinks accompanied by a rendition of the 101 Life Accomplishments of Miles T. Burton.

This was hell.

After dinner, Miles had insisted on driving you home, and you cursed yourself for having taken a cab to dinner in order to avoid the lack of parking options in downtown. For some reason, he'd gotten it into his head that paying for dinner entitled him to having your mouth wrapped around his cock while he was parked in the street overlooking your house. You'd extracted yourself from the situation with as much contained outrage and dignity as you could muster, and having closed the front door, you find yourself leaning against it with only one thought in your head – Aaron Hotchner would never.

*------------*

"Rough night?"

You look over at Derek as he peers at you over his coffee mug, his eyes filling with amusement, no doubt having already taken in your slightly puffy face and the extra large cup of coffee you're carrying. After Miles had driven away - you'd watched from your window just in case - you'd needed a drink, which had turned into two drinks and ultimately falling asleep on the couch. You'd woken up late and having rushed out of the house - sans makeup - had arrived at work just in time. Hotch may no longer be upset at you being five minutes late, but he's still entirely stringent about punctuality and you hate to disappoint him.

"Bad date," you respond, dropping into your chair and whipping out the little compact and concealer from your bag so that no one else sees you looking like this.

Emily perks up at that, walking over to perch herself on your desk, the beginnings of a grin already forming on her face. "You finally went out with Burton?"

You look up at her, slightly shaking your head in disapproval at her glee. She'd warned you against him. Something about bad vibes, but since it hadn't been anything concrete, you'd impulsively gone against it. You should've known better. Emily's gut, when it came to men, was impeccably accurate.

Pursing your lips, you make sure your face no longer bears the telltale marks of having fallen asleep, drunk on your couch, before you look up at her and Derek once more. "He tried to Lewinsky me," you tell them ruefully, a scowl making its way onto your face as Emily unsuccessfully stifles a snort.

Derek's eyebrows rise in question. "It's fine, I'm okay," you assure him, before looking back at Emily. "You were right. He's an arrogant creep."

"I'm sorry," she tells you, scooching up further onto your desk and swiping up your coffee before you could stop her. "Everyday I continue to be attracted to men feels like a waste."

"Tell me about it," you mutter, careful to not allow your eyes to slip up to the landing where his office was.

"Oh come on, we're not all bad."

Both you and Emily turn to Derek with looks that say exactly what you think about that particular statement.

"Geez, tough crowd." He raises his hands in surrender, turning away from you both and back to his screen, no doubt to message Pen and fill her in on everything.

"I'd make a good lesbian."

You look up at Emily, who has a contemplative look on her face as she continues to take sips of your coffee. Your coffee. Your hot, perfectly sweetened and foamy latte.

"You would," you agree with her, reaching out for the cup, which she thankfully hands to you, before her eyes flit up to the landing. You turn and follow her gaze, eyes coming to rest on Hotch.

He's wearing the navy blue suit with the nice red patterned Gucci tie that you'd helped Jack pick out for him on Father's day. He has a folder on his hand and his brow is already furrowed, straining under the weight of the world far too early in the morning. His eyes move from the papers in his hand to all of you looking up at him, muscles tensed and breath held tight.

"Briefing. Now."

It takes only two words from him to get you all scrambling from your desks and rushing upstairs, his tone telling you everything you needed to know.

It was going to be a bad one.

*------------*

Five girls missing, three bodies found. Based on the pattern, it's already a foregone conclusion that the fourth girl was also dead. Not that you'd tell her parents that. Not until there was a body. All of your efforts were concentrated on girl number five.

You've felt the eyes of the entire team on you ever since the third body was found and Caroline Geller, lucky contestant number five, had been taken from the parking lot of a grocery store after work. All five girls were around the same age, pretty, low-risk, and had no connection to the unsub that you'd been able to work out.

You look up from the notes you'd taken while talking to Caroline's friends from work to see Hotch looking at you. When your eyes meet his, he's quick to look away, turning back towards the screen in front of him. You know why they're all concerned. While all of the girls are roughly the same age as you, Caroline Geller looked like you. Same hair color, similar features, comparable build – at first glance one might mistake her for you.

She taught ballet at the local dance school, volunteered at the soup kitchen every week, and had recently gotten engaged to her fiancé, a beautiful and heartbroken man who had planted himself on a bench outside the precinct and refused to leave his post.

You'd been at their home, combed through their life, seen the wedding invitation pinned to the refrigerator, held her pointe shoes in your hands as you looked around at everything left behind.

Your eyes stay fixed on Hotch's back as he continues to assess the screen of suspects and look at the evidence board, as though willing something to fall into place. He seems more affected by this case, this girl's disappearance, more than any other in recent memory. There's this childish, naïve part of you that's hoping against hope that it has something to do with you. Because she reminds him of you. More likely, it's the fact that he's had to walk past her fiancé, every time he's left the precinct. Hotch had been the one to speak with him, and the poor man had broken down into tears right in front of his eyes. It was enough to affect even the coldest of hearts and Hotch hardly fit the bill of a cold-hearted man, despite any misconceptions made based on his reticent exterior. Aaron Hotchner was one of the kindest and most sincere people you've ever met – devout father, responsible team leader. His very aura commanded the sort of respect reserved for those men, the kind of men everyone looked up to and knew they'd never be.

Somehow, he's permeated your entire life without you realizing it. Ever since the two of you had made up, it felt like things were back to normal, even more than before he'd left. You had dinner with them as often as possible. Both him and Jack slept over at least once a week when there wasn't a case going on. The sight of Hotch in pajamas, disappearing into your guest bedroom was becoming a familiar one. It's beyond normal coworkers, beyond a normal friendship – you can finally admit that to yourself.

How it had happened though - how the two of you had allowed it to happen - still remained a mystery. It had been innocuous enough in the beginning. Accompanying Jack and Hotch to the Zoo or the Smithsonian. Relieving Jess when Hotch couldn't get away and she had to go home to her own family. Keeping him company late nights at the office because you hated seeing him be the last one there.

You can feel a lump rise in your throat as your eyes stay on his frame, watching as he points out an additional factor for Reid to consider in his geographic profile. You didn't deserve him. You didn't deserve someone like him, even if he were to give you the time of day.

You've already thought through how it would go if you were to tell him. Blocked out what you'd say and how'd respond. The initial shock of your revelation would catch him off-guard. He'd falter ever so slightly. It would be quickly followed by a professional and kindhearted rejection. You were his subordinate. You were too young. He's sorry if he did or said anything that might have led you on. Of course, he understands if you need some time and space to gather yourself and make your peace with the matter. Of course you'd still see Jack, he'd never deny you his son again. And he wouldn't. He'd stay true to his word.

But you'd never be the same again. You'd never be able to look at him again and feel anything but the sting of that rejection. The confirmation – you weren't good enough. It didn't matter that you'd changed everything. It didn't matter that you'd tried and tried to atone. You weren't good enough. You never would be. Not for that. Not for him. Slowly, you'd start to withdraw. You wouldn't be able to help yourself. It would hurt too much, just being near him. Without meaning to, you'd lose him.

*------------*

Samuel Nolen, age 45, a landscaper who'd worked jobs around each of the women's workplaces in the weeks leading up to their disappearance. He'd been the only common link Garcia had been able to pinpoint and he fit the profile exactly. Older white male, non-threatening demeanor, rotating job that gave him the freedom to watch his victims uninterrupted. Grew up with a single father, mother left the family when he was nine years old and was never heard from again. Garcia had found out that she'd moved out to Vegas and had a relatively successful career as a cabaret dancer.

He was sat in the interrogation room with both Rossi and Reid talking to him while the rest of you watched from the other side. There was something almost gentle about how he held himself, how he shied away from Rossi and leaned more towards Reid, whom he perceived as non-threatening. The guess was that he'd lured in his victims under the guise of needing help, and based on the man in front of you, you could see how some women might fall for it. He seemed nice. If there's one thing this job has taught you, it's that men don't ask for help from women. If a man is asking you for help, run.

Neither Rossi nor Reid were having much success with him. You could all see the twitch in his fingers as they curled around something imaginary. All of the victims had died via strangulation. The hope was that you'd captured him before he'd managed to get back to Caroline and subject her to the same fate.

Derek and JJ had been the ones to pick him up, and as Derek had marched him past you, through the precinct, Samuel's eyes had caught yours and they'd lingered, sending a chill racing down your spine. He might be able to fake it long enough to lure those women to their deaths, but there was no hiding that look in his eyes. The look of a predator.

"I want to talk to the female agent. I'll only talk to her."

It was the first thing he'd said since the interrogation had started half an hour ago. You feel yourself tense, the eyes of the rest of the team on you immediately. None of you needed to ask which agent. From the corner of your eye you look at Hotch beside you. He isn't looking at you, still glaring at the unsub through the mirror, but you can see that his jaw is set tightly.

When Rossi and Reid exit, Rossi immediately looks to you before his eyes go over you and to Hotch. You don't have to turn to see that they're engaged in a wordless debate about the right next move.

You can't help but think of that lovely empty house. The despondent man still seated outside. Those satin shoes that had just been broken in. They deserved to be worn.

"Hotch," you turn to face him, making up your mind as you do. You're going in. You're going to get answers.

He's already looking at you and you can tell that he doesn't like it at all. His forehead is already wrinkled and you can literally see the dissent on his mouth. He's incredibly protective of the team and everyone knows that you're being asked for because you look most like the victim. His ritual has been interrupted and he's going to be eager to resume it. With you as proxy.

"I have to go in," you tell him, before he can say anything to dissuade you from the notion. There was no point in waiting. Every second you waited, your chances of finding Caroline worsened.

His eyes bore into you, silently speaking his every concern into existence. You didn't have to do this, there was always another way. You look so much like her. You look too much like her. If you go in there, he won't see you. He'll see her.

It is a tense minute as you and Hotch look at one another. He's giving you the chance to back out despite knowing that's the last thing you'd do. Finally, a nod comes from him.

"We still have the personal effects that were found in her car?" You're already walking out to the main office as you direct your question to Emily, who is quick to follow you. She guides you to a box of items, among which there's some pieces of clothing. Grabbing the box, you go back to the office overlooking the interrogation room. If he was going to think you were Caroline, then you'd play into it.

Quickly, you shuffle through the clothing in front of you, selecting a well-worn seeming crewneck with her alma mater on it. Slipping your blazer off, you pull the sweater over your head, adjusting so it hung off of you in a manner reminiscent of how Caroline wore it in the photos you'd seen. You shuck off your heels as well, finding a pair of low flats in the box, which you don instead.

Behind you, you can feel the eyes of the team on you as you slowly transform yourself. For the final touch, you take your hair out of your usually prim updo and let it down. Your hair was a little bit longer than Caroline's, but, as you part it down the left side just as she did, you figure it was close enough.

Turning finally to face the unsub, you take your first breath as Caroline Geller.

*------------*

Aaron watches, fists bunched tightly together, thumb itching to move, to do something that would accomplish something larger simply watching and waiting.

They all knew what you were doing - playing up the similarities between yourself and the victim to draw out whatever it was about these women that played to the unsub's compulsions. Prey on his weaknesses just as he'd preyed on them. It was a good tactic – one he could feel forming in your head as you'd searched through the evidence box in search of props for your scene.

You're good in the field, there's no doubt about it. But here, in the interrogation room, that's where you really shine. It was one of the hardest taught skills and it was the one that you had outperformed in beyond imagination from the very start. Your methods unpredictable and out of the box, but highly effective. Out of them all, you were always the best at getting inside the heads of the unsubs and finding that one little thing that made them break.

He's seen it before countless times now, been witness to each spoken word, well placed emphasis, timely pause. The interrogation room was a stage and you were always the star.

It had been the topic of some conversation between himself and Rossi – how you'd managed to convince some of the toughest unsubs to crack under the pressure of your presence. Aaron, personally, chalked it up to your childhood and upbringing. When your entire life was a performance, you know how to play your role.

Now, as he watches you, he sees how you've managed to mimic the mannerisms of Caroline Geller from the home videos you'd seen of her – the slight tilt of the head, the fiddling with the ends of your hair. Your voice has shifted as well, a slightly higher and happier pitch, more like what one might expect of a dance teacher with students in primary school. You've done your homework on this one, that one is easily clear. However, it's the slight pause you have as the Unsub addresses you as Caroline, the nearly imperceptible tension in your shoulders as the Unsub mocks Caroline's desolate fiancé whom Aaron hadn't the heart to look at. This one had gotten to you, and you wouldn't be able to deny it. Not to him.

At long last, you get what you're searching for. The docks by the east river.

The answer came at a price – twenty five long minutes with just you and the Unsub as he poked and prodded at your psyche just as you did to him.

The confirmation from Garcia, of a heat signature at the given location, comes within the minute and Aaron is quick to rap his knuckles against the glass, signaling your curtain call.

*------------*

You can't save them all. That's the one lesson every new agent learns at their own pace.

You can't save them all.

She'd suffocated before you could get to her. You'd been too late.

JJ hadn't let you see Caroline's body, dragging you back and away from the dock containers when Derek had emerged with a somber face, slowly shaking his head.

Your gun feels heavy in your hand, and it is only out of sheer rote habit that you manage to disarm and reholster the weapon. JJ stands with you as the flurry of people begin to process the scene, lit only by the red and blue flashing lights of the police cars.

You'd failed. You'd been too slow to extract the location, too slow to get there. You'd been too damn slow.

You've lost victims before. Everyone has. But you lived in this girl. You'd worn her clothes, her shoes, taken her name. You'd walked like her, changed your voice to mimic hers. It was as though, by pretending to be her, you'd taken in a part of her that now yearned to reunite with the rest of its whole, but it wasn't able to. So now a piece of Caroline Geller rattled inside of you, sobbing and crying out for the rest of itself.

Hotch and Emily finally emerge and you follow JJ to join them as Hotch assigns everyone their roles. One of the policemen interjects and informs him that Caroline's fiancé had insisted on coming along and was now waiting with a deputy by the barricades. You see Hotch nod, his eyes briefly moving towards the direction of the barricade, before refocusing on the team and instructing Reid to assist with the evidence logging.

As everyone starts to disperse, you can feel a lead ball drop into the pit of your stomach, knowing that Hotch now had the task of informing the fiancé that Caroline Geller was dead.

"Hotch," you begin, his name coming out full and heavy, sitting in your mouth like warm air.

He halts at your voice, turning back towards you. He'd already given you your assignment, so he has to be wondering what you could possibly have to say to him.

You look up at him. It's just you, him, and Emily left now, as she waits for you to help her with processing paperwork on the unsub that Hotch had tasked you both with. "I – ," you falter as you meet his eyes, and you can barely see a hint of him behind them. He'd already donned his mask to go face the fiancé.

"I'm sorry," you manage quickly, jaw tight and heart clenching at the awfulness of the job that he now has to do. The job he always has to do.

The only acknowledgement you receive that he had even heard what you said over the din of the police and ambulance sirens, was the barest of wrinkling to his forehead. The ever so slight slippage of the mask during which you thought you might get to catch a glimpse of him, but he catches it far too quickly and keeps it in place. As if it never happened. Not even nodding, he turns away and walks towards the barricade.

It's a miserable few hours for Emily afterwards, you're sure, as you monotonously follow her back to the police station and begin the task of coordinating with the local office to handle the case and subsequent prosecution.

Emily likes to talk while the two of you work together. Rarely ever do the two of you work without talking, however she seems to pick up on your mood fairly well and the two of you quietly go through all of the required processes.

"You know what your problem is?"

You look up at Emily, who had finally broken the silence, her sharp voice cutting through the small storage room that the two of you inhabited, gathering all of the files that would need to be sent off to the local office.

You swallow, bracing yourself for the worst. At your slight nod, she proceeds, her voice a calm fury like you'd never seen before. "Even after everything you've done, after everything you had to go through, you seem to harbor this delusion that you're not supposed to be here."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. Apologizing to Hotch. You think you don't belong here. That you aren't good enough. You think that girl dying today was your fault."

You scoff, shaking your head. "It was my fault," you retort, grabbing the box you'd just finished packing and making your way to the door before you're blocked by Emily, preventing your escape.

"No, it wasn't. The only person responsible for that girl's death is the guy who's going to rot in prison for the rest of his miserable, fucked up life."

You sigh, shuffling your weight from one foot to the other. "If I'd gotten – "

"You can't save everyone," she interrupts, barreling onwards. "We're going to try. We're going to try our best every single time. But we can't save everyone. None of us can. Not you, not me, not even Hotch. But that doesn't make it your fault."

Emily stares down at you, reaching out and grabbing the heavy box out of your hands and setting it down on the floor by your feet. You look away, up at the ceiling, tears pricking at your eyes, causing them to burn. Your chest feels tight and you take a shuddered breath. The lure of wanting to believe her was so very strong, struck against the waves of dissonance it posed in your head.

Emily softens her voice, reaching out towards you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders as she easily pulls you into her chest. "Hotch isn't blaming you. He doesn't think you have anything to be sorry for."

*------------*

The plane ride back was a somber affair, everyone on the team off on their own. Spencer was reading a new book whose title had caught your interest, Rossi was tucked away in a corner with his eyes closed but you're not sure if he's actually asleep. Both Emily and JJ were sitting close together, quietly sharing a bag of Cheetos while JJ worked on her presentation to Henry's class for Career Day and Emily bided the time alternating between reading the trashy romance she'd found left behind in her hotel room and staring out the window. Derek sat across from you with his headphones on, leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. Across the way, you can see Hotch diligently working on his report for the case, the only sound emanating from his faint taps against the keyboard.

Emily's words still play in your head, now competing with that churning voice that you'd had in your head for the past few weeks – you would never be good enough for the likes of Aaron Hotchner. Her words were starting to put some minute cracks in the foundation of that particular statement, and you had no idea what to make of that.

You hear the tapping of the keyboard stop momentarily and watch as Hotch turns up to look at you, your eyes meeting for a long second, before he breaks his gaze, returning back to the screen in front of him. From your seat, you can barely make out a slight crinkling of his forehead as his hands hover above the keyboard, as though faltering in typing out his next words. You have to guess that he's arrived at the part of his statement around the interrogation. You turn away, following Emily's lead and staring out your own window, while unbeknownst to you, his eyes can't help but return to you countless times more.

It felt as though you'd thought of very little besides Hotch, since that day that your mother had visited. She'd left in the wake of one of the few times you'd seen him lose his cool with someone, and having it be done on your behalf, in your defense, had somehow unveiled this entirely ridiculous truth that you'd tried in vain to deny.

You were in love with Aaron Hotchner.

You had no idea what to do with that.

Dating other people hadn't worked out so well.

Trying to simply get over it had been an exercise in vain.

You've run miles in your own head, trying to make sense of it. The question begged itself – why Aaron Hotchner? If you merely wanted a husband and kids, you've no doubt you could have that with anyone you got along with well enough.

Your mind had briefly flitted back to that final date you'd had with Cedric Kensington. It had been highly promising, you'd finally felt it heading in a definite direction and you could see it. You could see yourself being with Cedric, marrying him, having children with him if you were so inclined. Had you not gotten the call from Garcia, informing you that Foyet was back on the grid, who knows what could have happened. Maybe you could've had that with Cedric. Having that perfect life with someone else was not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

You'd thought of John. How it had never been the right time when it came to the two of you. Then finally, when you could conceive being something real with him, you'd faltered. You couldn't go through with it. It hadn't been the right time to choose him. It hadn’t been the right time to choose anyone but yourself.

It had taken you some time but you think you've finally come to the right conclusion of why it was Hotch and no one else – the possibility of losing him was terrifying. Even when the two of you had been on the outs, you hadn't been able to leave, staying anchored to him despite being furious with him. Seeing him had been torture. Not seeing him had been so much worse, and you couldn't bring yourself to endure that again.

Given the absolute fact of the matter – you being in love with Hotch - there were really only two paths forward that you could see. Ignore it and hope it goes away, or tell him and pray you didn't lose him in the process.

The Pro/Con list to that second option had begun, unbidden, the week prior. Your mind going rogue and dreaming up ridiculous and absurd scenarios of you confessing your truth to him.

Pro: You're absolutely, unshakably, madly in love with him.

Con: There's a fairly good chance that he does not and will never reciprocate those feelings.

Pro: Aaron Hotchner was loyal to you. You had always felt he was, but your conversation a few weeks back had cemented that. He would do anything to help you, no matter what.

Con: He's twelve years older than you and has a kid.

Pro: You love his kid.

Con: Between the two of you, your past trauma could be its own wing in the Library of Congress.

Pro: You're both good at getting the other person to talk.

Con: You work together and workplace romances are frowned upon. He was your supervisor, and dating him would no doubt lead to rumors and malicious gossip, which would follow you the rest of your career at the Bureau. It could tarnish you entirely and it could also hurt him.

Con: You would not be alright if the two of you didn't work out. You know that you weren't even together, but the idea of ending things with Hotch, after knowing what it was to have him – that would break you entirely.

Con: He was going to say no, so it was all a moot point.

Towards the end, you'd run out of items for the Pros to balance out each Con, and as of now, the Cons were definitely in the lead.

*------------*

The two of you are once again the last two people in the office. Emily had been the last to leave, leaving her book from the plane on your desk, having already put sticky note bookmarks in all the right spots. She'd winked as she left, encouraging you to skip the rest of the book and skip straight to the good stuff. You had to smile at her attempts to cheer you up. Some friends bought you a drink. Emily Prentiss curated sex scenes that she thought you'd enjoy reading.

You glance up and see that Hotch's door is shut, the orange blush emanating through the glass windows, alluding to the fact that he'd given up on using the overhead lights. They were too bright for him and gave him headaches, so despite the strain on his eyes, he preferred to read by the glow of his desk lamp. With Jack away at sleepaway camp for Cub Scouts for the week, he's unlikely to leave early.

You grab your finished report and head up the stairs to his door, stopping and knocking before hearing his permission to enter. As you open the door, your eyes go immediately to his desk, however he's not seated behind it. Instead, you're greeted by a most unfamiliar sight.

Aaron Hotchner is seated on the brown leather couch in his office, a glass of amber liquid in his hands. You don't think you've ever seen Hotch not working in his office. Sure, he'll take a break here and there when you interrupt, but the image of him outright sitting on the couch, not a report in sight, was entirely foreign to you.

It feels as though you're intruding. Like you’ve stumbled upon something entirely private, because Hotch doesn’t strike you as the kind of guy that makes a habit out of drinking in his office by himself.

You could imagine this was something he did with Rossi on occasion, the two of them sharing a drink after a rough case or catching up and reminiscing about the so-called good old days, before the team had a plane on call.

"You can set that on the desk," he tells you, his voice deeper, made warm by the liquor. He doesn't look up from his glass, eyes fixed on something in the far off distance.

Unsure how to react to the sight in front of you, you quickly make your way across his office, setting your file on top of the already tall stack at the edge of his desk.

Turning around, you quickly walk back towards the door, eager to not bother him any longer than absolutely necessary. When you get to the door, you hesitate, turning back to face him. Before you can stop yourself, you can feel the words tumbling out of you. "Hotch, are you alright?"

He looks up in your direction, his expression entirely unreadable. He nods slowly, and you can see a deep sigh work its way through him, before he finally meets your eyes.

"It was a rough case. Telling the families isn't something I'll ever get used to, I think."

You nod sympathetically. It wasn't fair that it always fell on him.

"I'll be fine, though. Just need to be alone after some of them."

You nod again, not trusting yourself to say much. As you turn to leave, taking his words as your cue, he speaks again.

"You can stay."

You turn back, your head tilting in some confusion as you meet his eyes once more. He looks at you for a second longer, before reaching over to the side table and grabbing a second glass. He pours from the bottle of good scotch that Rossi had given him last Christmas while you watch him.

Proffering the glass in your direction, he beckons you forward. "You're easy to be alone with."

Somehow, in a slight daze, you manage to walk back towards the couch, reaching out and grasping the heavy crystal glass in your hand. He motions for you to join him and you sink into your usual spot, tucking your legs underneath yourself.

His eyes stay on you as you settle in and take a sip of the scotch, feeling it burn your lips, the tip of your tongue, before blooming into a subtle smoky sweetness in your mouth, settling into your stomach like dying embers.

"Are you alright?" he asks, watching you carefully.

You try not to squirm under his inspecting gaze, unable to offer much beyond a shrug. "I will be."

It's quiet for a moment as he continues to look at you and you distract yourself with a stray thread in the cushion stitching.

You hear him clear his throat, shifting slightly on the couch so that his leg bends at the knee as he turns his body to face you, arm stretched out on the back of the couch, fingers grazing the top of your shoulder. "You did everything you could."

You feel that heavy tug in your stomach, unable to look at him, knowing that your face would betray you entirely.

He says your name, soft on his lips, gentle with every part of you. He waits until you look up at him, meeting his brown eyes that held the warmth of an everlasting hearth.

"You did."

You nod slowly, because who were you to disagree with him. Because if Aaron Hotchner said you did everything you could, then maybe it was true.

Not much more is said that night, as the two of you sit side by side.

Pro: You could be alone with Aaron Hotchner.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries

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swissmissficrecs · 5 years ago

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Favorite fics of 2012

2012 was when things really started happening in earnest in the fandom. There was a veritable explosion of fic, and many of the absolute classics were posted. I have something like 15 pages of bookmarks from that year, and as such, it was incredibly hard to narrow things down to a manageable number for a rec list. Here are the ones that I felt are the must-reads, that have stuck with me the longest and strongest.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (81K, E, Johnlock, John/OCs) They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (52K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

Across the Sky by Mazarin221b (23K, E, Johnlock) Top Gun AU. After an accident that nearly cost the life of his previous RIO, Lieutenant John Watson (Call sign Doc) has grown reckless and arrogant, but an even better pilot than he was before. A heroic maneuver and complete chance sends him and his new RIO (call sign Copper) to Fallon, Nevada, home of Top Gun. Problem is, the ghosts of John's past could cost them more than just the Top Gun trophy—it could also cost John a chance at happiness.

An Avalanche Of Detour Signs by gyzym (56K, M, Mollstrade) In which Molly Hooper gets a job, gets a degree, breaks a heart, has her heart broken, falls in love, keeps a secret, saves a life, runs a morgue, falls apart, pulls it together, and finds exactly what she didn't know she was looking for--not necessarily in that order.

Applications and Practices of Basic Arithmetic by 1electricpirate (128K, M, Johnlock) After Reichenbach and in order to 1) Keep Sherlock alive, 2) Keep John alive and 3) Get Sherlock home to England as soon as possible, Mycroft devises a plan that will not only incentivise John's continued sanity and survival but force Sherlock to come running. It is a perfect plan, though perhaps less than ethically sound. He has no doubts that using frozen samples of your younger brother's sperm to create children for his husband to care for falls deeply within the realm of socially unacceptable behaviour, but it is efficient, and that is what matters most.

Ava Watson verse by keeliethompson1 (347K, M, Johnlock) Five year old Ava Watson's life is changed forever when her Daddy's old friend comes calling.

Be Here Now Universe by Todesfuge (181K, M, Johnlock) John Watson was already fighting demons when he and Sherlock met. With Sherlock's suicide, it all comes flooding back, forcing Sherlock to intervene before he's solved the persistent riddles of Jim Moriarty and his game. Together they find that something darker lurks behind Moriarty, forcing Sherlock, John, and Irene Adler into an even deadlier game with a much more dangerous foe. Begins six months after the events of The Reichenbach Fall.

Burn Down & Reignite by augustbird (20K, E, Johnlock) When love isn't enough.

Castle and Sand by grey853 (158K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock and John both have difficult pasts that affect their evolving relationship. When John prevents a mugging, it sets off a dangerous chain of events that not only impacts him, but his whole family. In the end there's a wedding and a honeymoon, but will there really be a happy ending?

Cinnamon series by lbmisscharlie (150K, E, Johnlock) When Sherlock invites John to live with him, he fails to mention that he's a single father to a four-year-old girl.

Collared by VelvetMace (83K, E, Johnlock, John/Sarah) In a world where the British Empire is still strong and slavery is her economic backbone, John has become a terrorist for the abolitionist movement. He is caught by Mycroft, enslaved, and given to Sherlock for training. The goal: To test a new kind of slave collar with the power to break even the strongest willed fighter. One that will make even John learn to love being a slave.

Common Grounds by couchbarnacle (66K, M, Johnlock) John Watson is working at Holmes Manor for the summer and is caught up in the whirlwind that is Sherlock Holmes. Teen AU.

Electric Pink Hand Grenade by BeautifulFiction (67K, E, Johnlock) "If Sherlock's brain is a hard drive, then these attacks are an electro-magnetic pulse." Sherlock Holmes does not do anything by half, not even a migraine. It falls to John to witness one of the greatest minds he has ever known tear itself apart, and he must do his best to help Sherlock pick up the pieces.

End of the Story by kres (53K, E, Johnlock) Post-Reichenbach. The return, the fallout, the pieces you pick up.

Equilibrium by augustbird (12K, M, Johnlock) At Baskerville, John is infected by a virus that turns him into a genius. But when the infection progresses into neurodegeneration, it's a race against time to save himself. Flowers for Algernon fusion.

Given In Evidence by verityburns (97K, M, Johnlock) Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

Hearts At Home series by yalublyutebya (74K, M, Johnlock, Viclock) A series of stories chronicling the intertwined lives of Father John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

Just a Kiss by emmagrant01 (19K, E, Johnlock) Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real.

Limping Forward series by bendingsignpost (58K, E, Johnlock) As the newest instructor at St. Bart's, John has been explicitly warned to never do Sherlock Holmes any favours. Too bad the sex is so good.

More Things Than Are Dreamt Of series by 1electricpirate (37K, E, Johnlock) In which John is (reluctantly) a wizard, Mycroft is (apparently) omniscient, and Sherlock is (surprisingly) oblivious.

Murderous Imprint by MojoFlower (52K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock should be focusing on the series of brutal vivisections Lestrade has brought to him. Instead he's distracted by a most amazing and unexpected experimental opportunity from the basement apartment of 221C. Will he figure out the one in time to stop the other? And does he need help in order to do it?

Renegades by augustbird (39K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes takes down Moriarty’s syndicate. He also takes John Watson with him.

School For Scandal (orphaned) (222K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock lusts from afar. John tries to fool himself. (Boarding school AU)

Spectrum series by thisprettywren (95K, E, Johnlock) In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

Stranger at the Gate by bendingsignpost (85K, E, Johnlock) As far as initiation rites go, kidnapping a human doctor from a defended town ought to seem extreme. When James Moriarty offers him the challenge, Sherlock never considers saying no. (Fantasy vampire AU)

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (95K, E, Johnlock) Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes.

Our Brave Boys by unknownsister (29K, E, Johnlock) John worked himself to the bone to get into military school. He meets Sherlock Holmes, who doesn't want to be there at all. Sherlock simultaneously insults him and turns his curiosity up to eleven, in mind and body. As if John doesn't have enough to deal with.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (32K, M, Johnlock) The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Tennis series by Jupiter_Ash (216K, E, Johnlock) John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything?

The Bone Fiddle by htebazytook, Vulgarweed (61K, E, Johnlock) Appalachian AU! In November 1973, Vietnam vet John Watson returns to his family's old home in Arthel County, West Virginia, deep in coal country. His low expectations include recuperation and boredom. Instead he finds a ruined landscape, a series of grisly murders, and one of the world's weirdest neighbors.

The Brave and The Cunning series by thequeergiraffe (95K, E, Johnlock, Adlock, Sarah/John, Sheriarty) This series will have one fic per Sherlock episode, with series one being set in John's 6th year (and Sherlock's 5th) and series two being set in John's 7th and final year at Hogwarts. Fics will have similar (but nowhere near identical) plots to the actual BBC Sherlock episodes, with most locations being replaced with HP-universe settings. This series is set well after the Second Wizarding War and involves next to none of the HP characters, instead using Sherlock characters and the occasional minor OC.

The Fabric of Life (orphaned) (156K, E, Johnlock) The fabric of life rearranges itself around the re-emergence of Sherlock.

The Good Morrow series by greywash (216K, E, Johnlock) My post-S2 series where everyone has a lot of feels about everything and plausibility is stretched unto breaking. Also: fucking.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (58K, E, Johnlock; John/OCs, Sherlock/OCs) John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

The Green Blade by verityburns (72K, T, Gen) As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

The Iceman Cometh by Polyphony (60K, M, Johnlock, Viclock) An intriguing puzzle tempts Sherlock to accept Victor Trevor's invitation to the French Riviera, but all is not what it seems. Frustrated by the case and increasingly concerned about an absent John, Sherlock uncovers far more than he was meant to and is forced to become a fugitive, pursued by those on both sides of the law, as he fights for his freedom and the lives of all those around him.

The Making Of by emmagrant01 (58K, E, Johnlockstrade) In the aftermath of Sherlock's death, John Watson and Greg Lestrade take comfort in each other. But of course, Sherlock isn't really dead, so this is all about to get complicated.

The Paradox Series by wordstrings (98K, E, Johnlock) In which what's in Sherlock's head is never going to get any better, and John is nearly thrown out of his flat.

The Prize by Trillsabells (101K, E, Johnlock) On 29 January 2010 an unknown Event wiped out 98% of the population. This is the story of the survivors, four months on.

The Quiet Man by ivyblossom (157K, E, Johnlock, Warstan) "Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?"

The Sustain Stories by maybe_amanda (151K, M, Sherlolly, John/Sarah) "So now you're behaving like a six year old 'cause he didn't take you along on his honeymoon?" Lestrade said. "Grow the hell up."

Through the Looking Glass by obsidienne (106K, M, Johnlock) When you chase criminals over rooftops, death is always a possibility. We woke up in 1889 instead. Which is not a place two men in a relationship want to be.

To Light Another's Path by BeautifulFiction (128K, E, Johnlock) Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John's care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.

Watches 'Verse by bendingsignpost (66K, E, Johnlock) First, he is shot in Afghanistan. Second, he wakes to a phone call in Chelmsford, Essex. Third is pain, fourth is normalcy, fifth is agony and sixth is confusion. By the eighth, he's lost track.

#rec list #best #post-reichenbach

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lemongams-blog · 3 years ago

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Butterfly

Part2

Opportunities will justify desires

Night. Quiet, calm, summer and warm, as if embracing every person who decided to take a night walk. But on such nights, the most high-profile events occur , the woman was walking along a quiet street turning into dark, narrow alleys did not portend good events. An elegant thin body calmly passed in such a narrow place, bumping into an iron door from behind which sabbath ladies and loud club music could be heard. Having said the threshold at the entrance, she entered the brothel overcoming the guards, the red light pressed on her eyes , and the screams and moans of the girls excited the imagination. The administrator girl ran up to the woman, in her hands was a folder with a dossier on girls and guys who worked for them.

- Hello.. again, you asked to collect a dossier on all our moths and butterflies. If you want to take someone off, you can go to the reception. I hope you will be satisfied with our service. - it was clear from the head that the girl was worried, officials or just rich people often came to them. But they rarely worked with the mafia and there was no trust in them. The woman took the folder and quickly flipped through it, examining the biographies. She handed it back and said calmly

- I buy everyone-her voice was calm and self-confident, the administrator opened her mouth slightly from these words and immediately came closer and asked

- what? Did I hear right ? Can you please repeat it ? - beads of sweat began to appear on her forehead, she realized that this could ruin her business

- The lady may be deaf, but I will repeat. I want to redeem all the people that you have - The woman put her hand on the administrator's shoulder, the tall person's eyes were hidden by black round glasses, and one wrist was hidden by a leather glove. On the second hand there were several rings and a bracelet. She didn't want to argue with the girl , but just take everything that is

- You understand that it will cost you very much and our business will collapse, maybe you will think Miss ... - the girl tried to get out of the tight grip, but her attempts are even.

- Girl, you seem to have problems with hearing, and it looks like there will be problems with your face soon. I said all your whores are now bought by me, don't worry about the money, I will have them - The woman let the girl go and she quickly ran for the authorities. In the course of lengthy negotiations with booze and cigars, twenty-five prostitutes were bought out as animal goods. The woman left the club and went to her car, simultaneously inhaling the tart smoke of a cigar. A short girl of about twelve was standing near the car, she was swaying funny and waiting for her friend. Noticing the woman, she called out to her and began a conversation in an insanely childish voice

- Sheren, how did it go ? I have always dreamed of living next to a man who knows how to please a girl - with a groovy coquetry, the girl said giggling from her own words

- Sophie, how do you think it went ? Yes, of course it's fucking awesome, twenty-five chicks will live on our huge human farm. It's not bad, it's just that you shouldn't eat them, I will appreciate them as a living family - after saying this, Sheren opened the car and got into it. They sped away, and the black smoke became their companion in the night haze.

***

In the dead of night, when the people wrapped in a warm blanket had long been catching their dark dreams, a man was walking along a narrow street and he was heading to a brothel, not suspecting that he would spend the night not in the arms of a dozen women, but in accepting that his favorite place was being closed. Entering it, he noticed that the guests were leaving, and the moths and butterflies were changing in a hurry, the man went to the administrator who was talking to the guests, apologizing for the inconvenience. Coming from behind, he put his clawed hand on her shoulder, which made her shudder and turn around

- Hello, what's the commotion ?

- Hello, Mr. George, I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but our brothel is closing because we no longer have any staff - The girl chattered in a hurry, she had to listen to a lot of screams from customers today,but she can't do anything about it.

- I'm not blind, I see all the familiar faces, my dear, or did they decide to collectively send your diner and get the fuck out of here ? - with a small grin, the night guest spoke without paying attention to the noise around, in turn, the girl looked away and said

-All our employees were bought out by the leader of the mafia group, cars will soon arrive for all of them and they will go to their new place of work - her words puzzled the man a little, with the second hand he took the girl by the chin and turned her to him, she tried not to look at the face of the client who often came to them.

- Mmm, so it turns out interesting, but not all the staff leaves, you're not going to-his hand, which was lying on his shoulder, gently slid down the girl's back, lay on her buttock and squeezed it. This caused a lot of goosebumps to run through her body. He would have taken her hand away, but her mind had long been clouded, and in her small ,plump hands there was a black, fragrant rose. With his other hand, he grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her into one of their rooms. The room was in muted red tones. There was a pole in the middle of the room , a large bed stood in the middle against the wall, the walls were decorated with plates, and instead of the usual lighting there was a red lamp built into the ceiling. The girl, as if drunk, swayed towards the pole, but the man intercepted her and threw her on the bed, settling on top. Her moans and slaps were heard all over the brothel, soon all the employees left this evil place. The offender was lying contentedly on the bed smoking a cigarette, he thought to find out where a new brothel would open, and who was so rich that he would kill the institution without long proceedings. Getting up, he threw on a raincoat and left the receptionist naked in the room, the man left the brothel, he wandered aimlessly along the night street. A red impala (car) drove by , a girl of about twelve was sticking out of her windows and screaming, an adult woman of about thirty was sitting at the wheel and smoking a cigar. It was strange for the night to see her glasses on, and if the girl was blind, then who trusted her to drive the car ? - the monster pondered, looking after her. At the end of his journey, he went into an old apartment, exposing his body, he went to the bathroom, turned on the water, he began to fill the bathroom and mutter something to himself. Next to her were wine glasses and whiskey, taking ice from the refrigerator, the Offender filled the glasses with whiskey and threw pieces of ice. He was lost in the bathroom and in his thoughts. After all, tomorrow he will visit this blind mouse and her little dog

#art #artist #artists on tumblr #my art #anime girl #digital art #anime #manga anime #i love you #love quotes #Creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #offenderman

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cloudbattrolls · 4 years ago

Text

The Tithe

TW: bugs, worms, mild body horror (nothing heavily described).

Wasps buzzed along the winding rock path.

A solitary figure trudged along it, surrounded on both sides by thick clouds of yellow and black. The insects darted among the yarrow and monkshood, the bluebells and sego lilies, antennae and eyes alert as a stranger to their land passed by.

Nestled in a valley between two peaks, the path led to a town so old it was almost part of the land itself. All its signs were weathered and worn with sun and rain, replaced only when they began to crumble.

The traveler paid the fluttering wasps no mind. They didn’t see the few white ones hidden among the yellow, black, and gold. The white ones saw them instead, faceted gazes following them without pause. These few creatures waited, buzzing among the flowers that braved the growing alpine chill.

The traveler looked over the town before they walked down into it - even the buildings were shaped like wasp nests, roundish wooden structures with hexagonal windows.

Someone certainly had picked a theme and run with it. Maybe the place belonged to some wacky entomologist.

People in the town spoke with accents the traveler hadn’t ever heard, and they had traveled quite a while. The townsfolk said it was because few of them ever left. They never felt the need; they were well taken care of, anything they could want brought to them.

By who? The traveler asked.

The people only smiled. Stay, and you’ll meet her, they assured them.

Golden wasps adorned the doors, gleaming under the light of old-fashioned street lamps. The traveler didn’t ask, hoping to figure it out themself. It was more fun that way. Perhaps this caretaker kept the living ones to defend the place from the rest of the world.

Everyone in town always seemed to have as much food and comforts as they wanted, lacking for very little. Everyone seemed to have someone for company, and as much as they needed without excess. No trash blew in the wind, no houses were abandoned.

Everyone wouldn’t answer any further questions about their caretaker. It was waved away with a smile, with an indifferent shrug. She’d come eventually. End of the month at the latest. No rush.

The traveler was pretty sure something really weird was going on by this point, because they weren’t a complete idiot.

They also felt bad after discreetly drinking blood from a lot of these people (it wasn’t like there was anyone else for miles, and they preferred that to going feral from hunger, thanks). It would be nice to maybe see if there was anything they could do in return for using them as snacks (assuming they weren’t all in some kind of evil bug cult).

If everyone turned out to be too cuckoo to bother with, well, they could always leave.

So, what do you folks most enjoy?

They’d asked one night, feet up on the table. They leaned back in their chair, arms bent and hands cupped behind their head.

Getting piss drunk, one man had said. Another person elbowed him, and a few people laughed. Then a young woman piped up, fingers running over a beautiful amber necklace she wore.

It’s always nice after the tithe. We celebrate, and she brings us presents. It’s a little festival.

A few older townsfolk sighed at that.

It’s not about presents! One scolded. Yes, she’s very kind about it, but it’s our most important duty.

Yeah, yeah, grumbled the young woman good-naturedly. You see how righteous you are when she brings your new stuff.

Their ears pricked, the traveler said nothing, hoping to hear more about the tithe. But no one spoke of it further, the conversation turning to other things.

Well, that didn’t bode well, yet they were morbidly curious to see how this would all play out.

There was a big fountain in the center of town (guess what lived there? More wasps) that they liked to sit on the benches near and work on repairing or designing clothing at. They’d mended some things for the people who kindly let them stay, baffling in of itself that they were so trusting. How did they survive, honestly.

When a fleet recruiter came to town trying to drum up soldiers and did not even get to open his mouth a second time before wasps ate him alive, shedding a bit of light on that particular question.

The bones were picked clean so white there wasn’t a scrap of meat left, collected by townspeople who acted as if they were merely picking up some trash blown in the wind. Townspeople who merely shrugged and rolled their eyes as if it was all quite routine.

Which left the traveler with a fairly obvious question: why hadn’t they been attacked?

Not that they could bleed, of course, their skin and outer appearance a facade for their parasitic insides. Did the predatory wasps recognize something they couldn’t eat, and thus let them pass? Were they intelligent enough to be security guards? They certainly didn’t seem to harm the locals.

Though they certainly followed them everywhere. No one walked without a wasp or two trailing them, and they’d seen them crawling in the buildings. No one ever commented on this. Flowers grew in abundance, treated reverently, and people polished their little door wasps as reverently as if they were being paid to do it.

Okay, so the town was there to serve the wasps, probably. But why? Who put them here, what were they protecting? Was there something worse than them around, demanding some sort of tribute for their services in the form of this ‘tithe’? That’d be depressing. On the upside, the ensuing fight would be fun and guilt-free.

It was a cool, brisk night with the starlight sparkling off the fountain stone when the whole town gathered around it.

Only the stone. The water had been drained.

The traveler was really not looking forward to what that meant or why everyone was holding a small knife engraved with a wasp in their hands, looking eager.

Hey, so, what happens for the tithe? They said, trying to sound casual and like they didn’t have a loaded gun, smoke bombs, and explosives hidden in case they needed them.

You’ll see. It’s such a small thing, really, our way to give back to her.

Her. Doesn’t she have a name?

She’ll introduce herself when she comes. She’s very nice.

The traveler was placing their bets on just who and what she was when people started slitting their arms and bleeding into the fountain, blithely lining up and walking away when done, chattering about nothing in the meantime.

One by one by one.

Even as a parasitic blood drinker, the traveler was alarmed as the fountain filled with drops from obediently slit veins, bandaged up afterward by those who had already gone, or were waiting.

Why did they do this willingly? What could possibly make this worth it?

It had to be another vampire; they hissed in anger at the thought. Definitely worth fighting, at least. If they could kill them, even better - one less was better for everyone, and this one was clearly far worse than they were.

This tempting smell was almost overwhelming despite their own feeds -

Oh god. Had they weakened their victims too much to bear the cost of the tithe? Out to lunch as these people might be, the traveler didn’t want them dead. They’d probably been brainwashed their whole lives.

One fell over and was caught by their fellows. Another fell as well. A third.

The traveler felt a tug of guilt at their writhing insides, no matter how useless and contradictory that feeling was. There was no changing what they were, and they’d had no idea this was coming.

The blood in the fountain steadily rose, lapping and staining the fountain’s edges, and a hot wind cut through the cold air.

A low buzzing surrounded the gathering as the last local made their cut.

Everyone fell silent, and every person that could turned and bowed.

The traveler crossed their arms, annoyed.

A woman stepped up to the edge of the crowd, who parted for her like water, moving back from the stranger in their midst so that they stood alone. She wore an old scuffed hat in the style of a cowherd. Her long legs were half-covered by boots with silver spurs, a poncho over her shoulders and dust on her worn jeans.

Her eyes were covered by a faded tan bandanna, but she seemed to stare straight at them as she put her hands on her hips.

“I see you’ve been swipin’ at my supply, sugar cube. That’s just plum rude. How would you feel if I did that to you?”

They threw a smoke bomb at her and went for her throat. If they could just -

Wasps covered them mid-leap, stingers poised around every inch of their body, a great buzzing prison surrounding everything but their face.

The woman waved her hand, and more wasps came to fan the smoke away with their wings.

“I don’t need to see you, honey. I can feel you. I’ve felt you since you rolled in here, and I know something ain’t right. Something’s different about you, even for your kind.”

The traveler snarled, as they'd about had it with all this idiocy.

“Face me like an adult and stop hiding behind your pets.”

The smoke fully cleared, and the woman stood with hands on her hips, smiling.

She opened her mouth and white wasps poured out.

The traveler stared.

“No.” They whispered. “No. It can’t be.”

All throughout the shell of their body, their own white worms shuddered. They had always thought - always hoped - they were the only one of their particular type of blood drinker. The only thing of such wretchedness in the entire world.

Bugger to that, apparently.

They watched, immobilized, as the woman’s swarm flew to the blood-filled fountain, drinking much of it, but not all. After they went back into the woman, townspeople came and collected the rest, reverently placing it in refrigerated coolers.

The traveler looked at their fellow monster.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Rhyssa. Now who are you?”

“Tuuya.”

“Well, Tuuya, how’re you gonna pay me back for that blood you nabbed? Don’t be a pill, we can still settle this proper like gentlefolk. Hell, I’ll even let you stay for the festival! It don’t gotta be like this.”

The vampire stared, still suspended by the buzzing swarm.

“How are you going to pay these people back for deceiving them into being your willing smoothies for their entire lives? I don’t owe you anything.”

Her face twisted into a scowl.

“Y’don’t get it. I take care of them. They’re my people, I protect them, Protect them from the likes of you.”

They rolled their eyes.

“Oh, how absolutely genial of you to - ”

All their limbs were ripped from their body at once and they screamed, worms flailing as they were exposed to the air without warning and stung by the pitiless insects. The squirming white invertebrates died by the dozens, helpless against the scourge.

Then it stopped.

Nearly blind from pain, they looked up blearily to see Rhyssa putting her hands over her mouth, rigid in what they could only assume was shock.

“I’m - I’m so sorry - no, no, how can this - no, you’ve gotta be a fake - ”

Tuuya wasn’t in a state to do much more than groan.

The wasp drinker pulled on her long hair in agitation, walking up to them and kneeling down on the grass.

She whispered a word, a name they barely heard as their worms struggled to repair themselves from the onslaught. Hlayos. Who or what was that? It probably didn’t matter. They were going to die here, to some obnoxious wasp woman who didn’t have the right.

Then...they felt themself healing. The wasps crawled over their body, somehow mending the worms they’d stung, helping them regrow or fuse back together.

They saw more wasps healing those townsfolk who’d fallen from blood loss and injured themselves, but that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be. They had to be hallucinating from pain. Parasites couldn’t mend. Theirs couldn’t.

The townsfolk retreated, taking the coolers of blood with them. The yellow and black wasps departed as well, none left buzzing around the fountain.

Its water began to flow again, washing away the stains. In the deep quiet broken only by the trickle of liquid, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

The worm drinker couldn’t see the woman’s eyes behind the bandanna, but her shoulders shook as she held herself, rocking gently.

“It’s you. It’s really you...except...no. You died.”

Her words were empty nonsense. Tuuya waited until they healed further, their limbs re-attached as worms knitted together, and they pushed themself up.

They couldn’t fight her. They knew they had been spared for some reason beyond their comprehension, and didn’t feel like pushing it. Something about being ripped apart and stung repeatedly made a person a little tender.

Rhyssa’s head tilted, seeming to look up at the other vampire.

“Don’t go.”

A quiet, desperate plea. Tuuya turned, ignoring it, walking away quickly before breaking into a run.

“Don’t go!”

A desperate cry, followed by a word they fled from, a word that spurred their strides into leaps, scrambling away in such desperation they nearly fell on the rocky path leading out of town and back down, as far away as they could get.

A single, terrifying word that couldn’t be true, but settled in their head and wouldn’t leave. It sunk into their every thought, dragging them down, tearing apart the truth of their life.

A word that must have been what saved them, yet damned them in the same breath.

Sibling.

#cloud writes #etuuya vannyn #rhyssa #and so we kick off #the children of ozyrel

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thewritewolf · 5 years ago

Text

Eating Habits Chapter 5: The Storm

The gang goes to a Jagged Stone concert and everybody gets a little more concerned about Marinette.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

The roar of the crowd helped to drown out the sound of Marinette’s heart pounding in her chest. It had been ages since she had gotten to go to a concert. There had always been something going on to stop her, whether it was akuma attacks, studying, or helping at the bakery. And while she was sure there was probably something she should have been working on, what was she going to do? Tell Jagged Stone, ‘Sorry, can’t go. I’ve got some embroidery to finish a week ahead of time. I’m sure you understand.’

And Jagged probably would have too, but he’d also have been sad, and that was the last thing Marinette wanted. It would have been a poor way to repay him after he had helped Nino get his internship with his production company.

As she flashed her VIP pass to the security guards standing at the backstage, Marinette smiled. At least this wouldn’t be like attending just any old concert. Jagged Stone had made sure to give them only the best seats in the house and backstage passes besides. He always liked when she visited before the show started. Something about her being his lucky charm. If only Jagged knew the half of it…

Marinette lead the four of them through the ordered chaos that was the dimly lit backstage, straight for the source of the ordered part of the chaos.

“Hi, Penny! How are you doing?”

“Marinette, honey!” Penny wrapped her in a hug. “Now I know tonight is going to go smoothly, with you around.”

Marinette giggled. “Jagged finally get to you? Trust me, I’m not as lucky as he thinks I am.”

“Don’t confuse lucky and clumsy, sweetie,” Adrien said beside her. “You’ve got plenty of both to go around.” He kissed the back of her hand that he was holding while she huffed at him. Alya and Nino snickered behind them.

Penny smirked. An assistant rushed up and whispered something urgently in her ear. She cursed in English. “It was great to see you, but I’ve got to get back to it.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder. “My hubby is over there if you wanted to say hello before we get started.”

“Thanks, Penny!” Marinette said to her retreating back. She guided them over in the direction Penny pointed them in, descending into the basement of the building. Once the roar of the crowd was dulled by the walls, it was easy to follow the sounds of idle strumming. It was never hard to find Jagged Stone once you were in ear range of him.

Marinette knocked on the door that had his name on it before gently pushing it open. On the other side, Jagged was checking himself out in the mirror while Fang slept on a nearby chaise. He noticed her arrival in his reflection and quickly turned around, a big grin on his face.

“Hey, love! You made it after all. And I see you brought me my tune master,” he said while fist bumping Nino. “Enjoying your day off, my dude?”

“You know it, boss man!” Nino finger gunned at him. “Decided to listen to some quality music tonight, ya know?”

Jagged chuckled. “And I bet the free seats from the little lady helped too, huh?” He looked past him to Adrien and Alya, who he quickly wrapped up in one armed hugs. “You must be the better halves, yeah?”

“Well,” Adrien said with a light blush, “I wouldn’t say that, but-”

“Hell yeah I am,” Alya grinned.

Still smiling, Jagged turned his attention to Marinette. His smile vanished, replaced by naked concern. “Woah, love. You’re looking less rock ‘n roll than usual. Are you sleeping? Maybe had a bite to eat in the last week?”

Marinette grimaced. Maybe it was to be expected - her friends had certainly been babying her recently, even if they were trying to be subtle about it. Jagged had always acted like a caring uncle to her, something that had only gotten more pronounced after Penny gave birth.

Plastering a smile on her face, she said, “Oh, you know. Uni has been pretty rough, but I’m hanging on. But I’m here to forget all that by rocking out!” She threw up metal horns and Jagged’s grin came back as he returned the gesture.

“Rockin’! But remember to take care of yourself, love. I’d like to keep my best concept artist in one piece.” He winked at her. “It’s been way groovy to see you all, but you’d better get out there if you want to be ready. I’ll make sure this performance is nothing to miss.” He strummed a power chord on his guitar.

“See ya later, boss man!”

Jagged grinned and nodded his chin at Nino as they walked away. The sound of his solo still audible through the door.

Marinette pouted as they made their way back to the concert area. It was irritating that he’d singled her out like that, but before long they were back in the crowd near its front. Being back in among the excited energy of the throng made sure that her irritation didn’t last long. They were playing some tunes to get people distracted, turning the crowd floor into a dance floor. Naturally, Adrien pulled her close as they rocked out to the music together and soon the only thing going through her head was the beat of the music.

It was pretty jarring when the placeholder music pumped out through the speakers stopped, but only for a moment as the real concert started. The experience of dead silence as Jagged Stone appeared on the stage in full Rock and Roll glory, only for the moment to suddenly break as hundreds of voices began screaming all at once… it was something that Marinette never got used to. The only problem?

Marinette was very short.

Even up in the front, it was starting to hurt her neck to stare up at the stage and peer between the few people in her way. She silently stamped her foot in frustration, plotting to find a better vantage point.

At least until Adrien caught her wrist. He motioned her towards him as he turned his back toward her and crouched down. Even without words, Marinette picked up on what he was trying to say and climbed on. While she’d certainly been in more dangerous situations before, rising up on her boyfriend’s shoulders and breaking above the crowd made her uneasy and she gripped his head to keep her balance.

She only hesitantly let go when she felt his strong hands gripping her bare thighs, an electric tingle rushing up her body at the touch. She was suddenly very glad that she’d chosen to wear shorts for this concert. Hoping to repay him a little, she ran her fingers through her wonderful boyfriend’s hair before turning her attention back to the show and her new vantage point.

The music pounding in her ears, the roar of the crowd that she could now see over, the feel of Adrien below her… it was all intoxicating. For just a few hours, she let herself not have a care in the world.

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

Naturally, the cares really snuck up on her the following morning. She jolted awake a few minutes before her alarm went off, which was the least ideal time for her to wake up. In her panic she threw herself out of bed and rushed to get ready for university. If she wanted to catch up on everything she needed to do, she’d have to skip breakfast… and get greasy fast food. Even in her frantic state, she scrunched up her nose at that. The sacrifices that had to be made for art.

She burst into her living room and smelled something cooking in the kitchen. There was no wall between the two rooms, so she could easily see the source. Her thoughts came to a grinding halt when she saw Adrien laboring shirtless over the stove. As she froze, the floorboards creaked underneath her and he turned around, spatula still in hand.

“Oh!” His smile was dazzling, especially given how early it was. “Good morning, bugaboo.” His eyes swept over her hungrily. “You’re looking pawsitively stunning. Care to join me for breakfast?”

“Morning, handsome.” She crossed the space between them and snared his lips with her own, her fingers dancing across his bare chest. “And I can’t stay, I’ve got to go into class.”

His eyes were dragged downward just as his eyebrows rose. “...That so?”

Confused, she glanced down, only to let out a mortified squeak when she realized she had forgotten to put on pants. She struggled to pull her shirt down to cover herself, managing a glare when Adrien chuckled.

“You know I saw way more of you last night, right?” He waggled his eyebrows and gave her that cheshire cat grin that she had so thoroughly associated with her partner. It was hard to believe their identities had been a secret at some point. “Butt hey! If this is the latest fashion trend, then who am I to argue?”

She huffed and turned around to storm back into her room, which conveniently hid the smile she had cracked at his pun.

“Breakfast is waiting for you, sweetie!” He called after she shut her door.

After digging through her clean clothes pile, she fished out a serviceable pair of leggings and stepped back out into the kitchen. He looked her over and gave her a thumbs up. Deciding she didn’t want to waste the food Adrien had made for her, she took a seat across the table from him. His chin propped up on his hand, he watched her with an amused smile.

“Can you lock up behind you when you leave, Adrien?”

“I’m heading out at the same time you are. I’ve got a shift at the bakery today. I might be a little late today with all this excitement but…” he winked theatrically. “I’m in good with the bosses, so I think they’ll let it slide.”

She snorted. “You and your nepotism.”

“Aw, come on. I got in on talent alone! Who else would smile and bat their eyes at the customers like I do? And get them to buy a lot more pastries than they might have otherwise?”

“You’re a dork,” she said with a smile as he walked around to stand behind her.

“Your dork, maybe.” He kissed her cheek and kept walking to the refrigerator and pulled out a little lunch box like she might have had in lycee. “Anyway, I know you’re busy so I packed a lunch for you while I was at it.”

She blinked at the box. “...How long have you been awake?”

“You know I wake up early,” he said nonchalantly. “I like to see the sun rise.”

“Well… anyway, thank you. This is super helpful.”

He bowed. “I’m glad to be of service, m’lady. Are you ready to start the day?”

To her surprise, she was. It was the first time in weeks that she hadn’t felt desperate or like she was running out of time. They walked out of the apartment, hand in hand, sharing a kiss after they had to part ways outside the building. Marinette went to class with a spring in her step, excited to face the challenges that the day would bring.

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

“Tikki!” Marinette whined as she failed to get the stitching right again. “I hate design!”

From her vantage on the couch behind her, Tikki giggled. “No you don’t, you’re just tired and frustrated.” She floated forward and landed on Marinette’s shoulder. “I know you want to get this done, but I’m sure the person who commissioned this won’t mind if it isn’t finished by tonight. That deadline you gave was soft for a reason.”

“I know, but I can finish this tonight. If I just try a little harder...”

“It’s alright to take a break, Marinette. Maybe grab something to eat…?”

Marinette threw her hands up in frustration. “Now you’re starting to sound like Alya and Adrien!” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Tikki and pointed a ruler her. “You aren’t in league with them, are you?”

Tikki watched her and raised an eyebrow. “Well, if being on their side means talking sense…”

“Hey, I’m not a child! I’ve been taking care of myself!”

“You forgot to eat that nice lunch Adrien made you and then accidentally threw it in the garbage.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Marinette buried her face in the dress in progress. “It smelled so good… so briefly…” She sniffled and her stomach growled at the memory of the destroyed pasta.

“See? Your stomach agrees with me. Go get something to eat, Marinette.”

Irritation flared up. She was doing just fine on her own, not matter the hints they were giving her. Stupid overbearing boyfriend. Stupid overbearing best friend. Stupid overbearing kwami.

Grumbling all the while, Marinette dragged herself away from where she was working and opened her refrigerator. She was nearly brought to tears when she saw that there was an even bigger container of Arrabbiata pasta, her favorite, in the front. On it was a handwritten note by Adrien, which she read through grateful tears.

‘Missing you lots, wish I could be there to make this for you in person! I hope this is good enough! [badly drawn heart]’

She giggled at the poor sketch of a heart while hers was warmed by the gesture. While she heated up her pasta, she silently forgave Adrien. His heart was in the right place, at least. And if that meant she got more of his constantly-improving cooking… then so be it.

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

A few days later, it was time for patrol.

At this point in their superhero careers, it probably wasn’t necessary. There weren’t any miraculous unaccounted for anymore and they hadn’t fought an akuma in over two years now. But somehow, it felt right. If they could keep the streets a little safer at night for the average citizen, then so be it. Even if most nights all they did was run across the rooftops, wind in their hair, the city open beneath them, and their worries left far behind them.

...Okay, so maybe the patrols were helpful, if only for their mental health. Marinette had tried to get out of a few of them to get extra sleep, but Adrien quickly realized she was just going home to work more.

Maybe it was because her thoughts were already being pulled in a dozen different directions at once. Or maybe it was because it had never gotten this bad before. But it didn’t occur to her that maybe such physical activity wasn’t best performed on an empty stomach.

Either way, she suddenly felt faint and would have collapsed to the street below if Chat Noir didn’t catch her just in time. The panicked worry in his emerald eyes was enough to pull her back fully into consciousness.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He took an extra moment to set her down somewhere relatively comfortable and out of sight. After a few minutes, he returned with a bag full of croissants.

“How’d pay for this?” She asked groggily.

He shrugged. “I threw a fistful of euros at them and hoped it was enough.” He shook his head and put a croissant into her hand. He patiently waited while she worked her way through a couple pastries. “When did you last have a proper meal?”

She was feeling better now that she had food in her, which meant that she was fully aware of the vaguely disappointed tone that had slipped into his voice.

Bashedly, she replied, “...When did you leave that pasta for me?”

He took a deep breath and sighed. “We’ll call patrol off for tonight.” He got to his feet and helped her up. “Looks like I should make you dinner more often,” he said dryly.

“...Fine, fine.” Not that she wasn’t looking forward to more of his cooking, but she didn’t like to admit she needed the help. Especially over something like feeding herself. There was no way she’d be able to talk him down after tonight.

“And remember our date for next week.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m glad to hear it. Goodnight, lovebug. I love you.”

“I love you too, kitty.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Adrienette #Alya Cesaire #Nino lahiffe #DJ Wifi #Penny Rolling #Jagged Stone #Tikki #ml fanfiction #my writing #Eating Habits #The Lucky One series

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neargaztambide · 5 years ago

Text

Stan and Ford Pines: A Melancholic Story (Chapter 2)

Prologue, Chapter One

Words: 3.549 approximately:

2: Happy Birthday!

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It is a beautiful day. Outside the birds sang. The sun illuminated everything it touched. It was a perfect day, with a nice breeze, an ideal climate. Little by little, one of the brothers opened his eyes, finally being able to enjoy the benefits of the morning.

Stanford pulls the covers aside as he feels the warmth of the sun settle on his eyes. Stan is still sleeping. The boy gets up and looks at the beautiful clear blue sky, with hardly any clouds in the afterlife, with the people of the district strolling, going to work or taking advantage of the first hours to go shopping. “Wow. Stanley, wake up: you should see ...” He stopped talking. Ford erased his smile. Out of the corner of his eye he began to perceive that in microseconds the sky turned gray, dark clouds making shadows in his room. Laughter, teasing approached his head. Stanley was white as a sheet, his chest full of blood. His corpse was completely violated, as if a true beast had devoured him without contemplation. He was going to scream: Ford was going to scream, he already had it about to do it...

“... Ford, c'mon, wake up. Guess what day is today.” Stanford quickly opened his eyes. He felt cold for a few moments, like he was still in that nightmare. Stanley was alive. It was just a bad dream. "Wake up, Sixer, today’s our birthday!" Saying this, Stan punches his brother in the face with a pillow. Without opening his eyes, Ford searches for his glasses on the nightstand. Upon finding them, they are quickly put on. “You know what your gift is, don't you?” Stan asks in a mischievous tone. Ford leans against the head of the bed. He didn't ask his brother for anything; would it be a joke or something? He remembers absolutely nothing, not even the slightest hint that he wanted something on specific.

Stanley sits on the edge of the bed, putting his hand on Stanford's hair and ruffling it to finish waking up him. Ford is finally ready to listen to Stan, who looked certainly happy. He was looking expectantly at Stanford's possible reaction. He bent down and rummaged under the bed, placing a red paper-wrapped gift in Stanford's hands. –Yup, there is no reason to thank me. Enjoy it. - Ford smiled. The mere consideration made the gift something perfect. He didn't know what to say. He was stunned. -Hey! What are you waiting for?: open it! - Stan shakes Ford's shoulder a little to cheer him up. Ford breaks the paper with force, leaving the paper that was taking out stacked. The result was to bare a case, which when opened revealed a necklace that Stanford took. It was an owl, of tyto breed. He spread his wings like he was going to take flight. It was highly detailed on the head up part. The body disintegrated into a metal vine that firmly held a small capsule of non-translucent plastic. He even had his little legs made down to the last detail. “A few months ago I saw that you were really interested in this when we were passin' by Crab Avenue.” And I thought it would be a good gift.” Stan approaches the curtain to close it.

Suddenly, the owl's body began to flash a soft green light. Shining and accompanying the little darkness that was thanks to the curtain. It was peaceful and calming to see the light illuminate the room. It was as if something was accompanying them. It was weird, but it's as if someone was watching them closely. They couldn't feel it, but a strange presence was with them, watching. The light in seconds went out. “Wait, are you kidding me?” The effect of the necklace stopped working. Little by little it flickered and the light faded. Stan grabbed Ford's necklace, and tapped it a few times to try to activate it again. It didn't work. “Oh, hell. Sorry, Pointdexter: it's just a trinket.” Ford didn't care. Anyway, he��liked the gift. He smiled and said: “It doesn't matter, Stanley. I will repair it. I'll find out how. Oh, right- Stanford got up and went behind the nightstand. He gave Stan his gift. The package was slightly larger than Stan's (it was decorated with blue paper). Stan ripped the paper, leaving a photo frame on his legs. It was flipped. "Um… thanks?" The little Ford did was sneak roll his eyes while smiling. He couldn't believe that his brother was unintuitive. Stan finally turned the frame over, only to stop smiling at the photo.

It was Filbrick. He had two lumps in his arms (it looked like his brother and he when they were babies), smiling. Smiling like never before. Smiling at the camera. The blue frame was full of beautiful decorations. For example, some colored crystals stuck in some corners. In another was a pretty seashell. “Stan... do you like it?” Ford asked with a certain tone of regret when he noticed that Stan only stared at the frame without an apparent smile. But, Stan only lunged at him to give him a big hug. “I-it's the best gift you could have ever given me ...” Ford sighed inwardly, and welcomed the hug. “-I'm glad you liked.” Stanford thought. The two separated. “Are you crying?” Stanford asks quickly, to which Stanley raised a fist to his eyes and began to wipe away: “No: asbestos entered my eyes.”

The brothers left their room feeling hungry and after thanking each other. They were in the living room: nice and comfortable. It is years old, with soft yellow wallpaper. Her television was on top of a library (filled with various things: horror books, science fiction in the right dose, comics painstakingly collected by Stanley, and music. Lots of music). In the kitchen was Caryn, who was busy cooking something. They both go to the dining room, and wait for their mother. She is wearing a football shirt, with the number 04 on the back. In addition to pants of different scales of blue. “Well, who's having a birthday today?” Her mother finally looks up to say good morning. Stan thinks: his mother has slightly reddish eyes. Maybe she fell asleep with tears still on her face. Why haven't she told them how she was feeling, or at least to someone else? She must have been the most emotionally charged to deal with. He felt very sorry for his mother. Is she trying to pretend that she is supporting herself for them?

“So, what’s the breakfast?” Asked Stan when it comes out of his musings when they were starting to bother. Her mother tells her that they are going to eat waffles (which they ended quite quickly). Stanford was engrossed in seeing his new possession. “Ford, where did you get that necklace?” Asked Caryn when noticing his son. He said that it was Stanley’s gift. Their mother looked at her children: they always take care of each other, no matter what. It is a relationship of real mutual affection. Stan's light went on and he went back to his room. “–Where is that dwarf going? -” Caryn wondered mentally when the boy left and returned a few minutes later. He gave her Ford's gift. His mother had almost the same reaction as Stan when opening the gift: she was left for a few moments with absolutely nothing to say, and then moved. “Ma...” Stan said suddenly, who looked at his mother, who was already starting to have watery eyes. “Look, boys: I'm going to go get some things for the cake” Caryn says to her children to explain what they could do. “. And so that you don't get bored when you're locked up, why don't you go to the beach? Let's see if you get some color, pair of vampires.” Caryn makes a graceful movement to grab the nose of Ford, who smiles at the little joke. “Do it, or I’ll make you carry all the bags.” After a while, the twins walked out the front door. Stanford stood for a few seconds at the door before following Stan. He turned to see his mother. “Ma...” “What's the matter, honey?” “Are you okay?” Caryn was silent for a few seconds. Her smiling didn’t change. Caryn replied, after shaking her head almost imperceptibly to react: “Of course I am, Mousy. See both sides before crossing the streets, fine?” With this, Ford gives him a bigger smile, and finally, he leaves.

Caryn is undaunted. Sharpen her ear to know if her children finally left home. She finally hears the twins when they close the door. Caryn erases her smile, ceasing finally. She couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to pretend, but she should. Caryn did not want to worry his children. She ... she honestly tried to be good, to try to be fine for them. But acting like a happy mother was tearing her apart. I really needed to tell them that she ... Caryn sighed. She took a deep breath before getting up. She needed an escape. Caryn went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of wine. A cup, and then she returned to the table. Caryn poured herself a good squirt, and took a sip. For a few moments, she saw her husband's photo. She just couldn't stop thinking about Fil. It was catching her. She wanted to continue: she couldn't stand it anymore because it was too painful for her to remember the facts. But it was constant comings and goings that her own memory used to torment her with the fact: “-Filbrick is dead, and now you are alone.-” With certain bitterness, the widow remembers how her story with her Fil, with her man began. And it was, at Glass Shard beach.

It seemed like a déjà vu: one of the most important places for Caryn was the beach. From that day on, that place took on a kind of magical importance after she saw him, and that same interest for the beach was conveyed to her children in the same way. Caryn took a drink to accompany herself to confront her memories a little better. It was exactly the day she left work. Caryn resigned from The Drunk Clam. Caryn barely received less than acceptable pay for her services -other than that the bar was a dump that preached a bad death.- She walked near the edge, barefoot. She could feel the salty waters of his feet. Caryn was stunned, thinking of one thing: “-now what?-” She walked and walked, until she collided. She hadn't realized it. Caryn immediately demanded: “Hey, don't you see where…” Caryn couldn't finish her complaint when she saw Filbrick: he was there, looking at her. May a lot of people don’t believe that love at first sight exists: it seems to them an invention worthy of tales like Cinderella , Snow White , or any story that wasn’t written by Carlo Collodi. Although, Caryn didn’t care at all that millions thought about the subject: she believed from that moment that this type of affectionateness existed.

After that day, Caryn was only dreamed of by that man: he looked perfect. His body, his broad shoulders, his well-tanned features , all of him incredible for Caryn's taste. For a week, with what can be described as a kind of not-so-healthy obsession, she searched as best she could for the number of that stranger, or at least something that could get her to see him again. She was able to hear from him little by little: he was working in a construction as just another little helper. Caryn more or less knew where to locate him, and when she saw him, Caryn asked if he could make a date with her. To his surprise, Filbrick accepted. They confirmed the day and hour, and separated at the crossroads. When she was alone, the woman jumped for joy: she did it, dammit: she did it. It should be clarified that Filbrick only accepted for one reason; which was that for one day he wanted to escape his tedious routine. He admitted that Caryn was pretty, although the date could help clear his mind. But hey: that, or having to carry concrete bags to the mixer with hot sun stalking. The expected date night came, and they both went to a karaoke bar. Before that, they went to dinner. Caryn was damn nervous: it was her first time on a date since high school, and she didn't want to screw up. Filbrick concealed his boredom as best he could. Between accepting the date, or having an arduous workday, he preferred the latter.

By the time they reached to the bar, the two of them went to a room so they could be alone (Fil, despite being on the point of falling asleep from the bluntness, he had enough chivalry to invite drinks from his own pocket ). Caryn approached the screen. Filbrick looked completely neutral, but to himself he said: “-I'm sure this girl is one of those people who think they sing amazing, but they are a complete junk.-“ “Have any preference?" Caryn asked , and turned around. Filbrick replied quickly: “Whatevah you want.” Caryn felt overwhelmed: she felt Fil's discontent. She quickly searched for a song she might know. And she did find it: Maybe , by Janis Joplin. The woman's eyes flashed upon finding her. She selected it, and began to listen to the beginning of the song.

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It all started with that hippie rhythm, the typical rhythm of the late sixties. Trumpets were quickly introduced after strumming a guitar. There, the song became much faster. Filbrick prepares for disaster, seeing Caryn imitate Janis in her smooth, wave-like movements. But, inevitably, Caryn opened her mouth to barf the words: “Maybe ... Oh, if I could pray, and I try, dear, you might come back home, home to me.” Filbrick opened his eyes. His surprise was huge when he saw Caryn sing, but not regular , but incredible. Her voice wouldn’t be the most appropriate for the blues genre, but she was setting the nail in every way: Caryn was feeling it, understanding what each word meant, and taught it with her voice and movements. “Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, dear, I guess I might have done something wrong, Honey, I'd be glad to admit it! Ooh, come on home to me! Honey, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe yeah!” For God’s sake: she seemed wild, rude, and strong, she had an almost unreal authenticity. She contorted with almost every part of his body: neither arms nor feet were indifferent to the emotion . She looked like a reincarnation of Pearl. Caryn just let go. It looked like a lioness.

Caryn flew to the following verse: “Please, please, please, please, oh won't you reconsider, babe, now come on, I said come back, won't you come back to me!” And there, in the final part of the penultimate strophe, the presence of the Texan girl known as Janis Joplin in Caryn Pines was felt for a few seconds: that same essence, the same characterization was in her for a while. “Maybe, dear, oh maybe, maybe, maybe, lemme help you: show me how. Honey maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, yeah! Ooh!” The song decreased. It went out, but the spark was still felt in the twist movements of the feet as it turned slowly off. Caryn just felt weightless at the time. She had done the best she could. Caryn stopped playing the dead character, to turn to see her date. Which was applauding her. They were not ironic applause: they were authentic. They both left after a while, and walked next to him. “Wow: you have talent.” Caryn muttered a somewhat shameless "thanks". Filbrick was looking across the street . "So… did you have fun?" Caryn asked. Well, it was the moment of truth. “Well, yeah, of course. It was fun… it wasn’t” Caryn stopped. She thoughts he had ruined it. “: I must admit that I was ... bored.” Caryn's soul fell to her feet, and she began to apologize. Fil interrupted her.

“It wasn’t fair to you: I noticed that you tried your best. I'm sorry that I didn't recognize that. ” Caryn was speechless. So: was it a disaster or not? Caryn was confused as she needed time to swallow those words. Now that Filbrick think about it, he partially enjoyed the date. “But... how do you know how to sing so swell?” Filbrick asks. Maybe he was trying to remedy his pedantic attitude. Caryn replied that she had taken singing lessons as a child, and the talent was completely natural to her. Filbrick listened. Throughout the date, he had not paid as much attention to his companion until that moment. "And ... do you see hope on this?" Asked Filbrick; without wanting interrupting Caryn. And like a lightning, Filbrick was embarrassed by that question. Caryn, however, didn't mind at all. That phrase had a very special meaning, a special intonation. The reason for that question was to introduce them to a moment full of palpitations and excited hormones. “W-what do you mean?” The woman asks stupidly, since her feelings make her completely drunk with confusion. "I mean" Filbrick had started to blush. His ears flushed with his cheeks. “, you are ... pretty, you have talent, and...” Between each word Fil was blushing at every step, and Caryn laughed at the nerves, the emotion ... the feeling of ridiculousness, discomfort -and to be frank- the kitsch of silence that was presented. This is love, this is how it works: it is as unpredictable as the victory of a paraplegic over a professional runner in the hundred-meter-flat . “Well, this is getting awkward...” Caryn joked poorly. Filbrick agreed with her on that point, shaking his head quickly. “Yes it is.” “You asked if this was going to ... work. Why are you sure about it?” Caryn muttered, nervous. Her heart was going to be catapulted out of her chest in a daze. She tried to chill, without success, as Filbrick tried the same. He thought for a few seconds. If it would work, effectively? They barely even had a date, but they could both have some chemistry together. “We… could make it work it out.” He dropped it like a bomb: that melted the woman's heart, and her eyes lit up. There was a simple moment, when they just they drowned in each other's eyes. Some showed true love. Others showed a certain spark that gradually became a powerful flame. It was a silent moment of tension, not of discomfort. The silent between them were so fragile, that it could be cut it by a knife. Filbrick see her. Filled with something.

And it was Filbrick who took the first step. The date perfectly could have been a complete fiasco. It could all have been a terrible mistake, where Caryn could have been smashed. By pure luck he rectified. Caryn's voice and Filbrick's reflection caused them to be given an opportunity. There could have been an awkward silence in the car because of the failed date: so much that it would have been worthy of comedy for misfortune. But, Filbrick made the first step with Caryn. How?: he kissed her. It was a delicate, nervous, fragile kiss. But Caryn liked it: that kiss was full of poesy, full of no enough words to describe love, the great passion. And Filbrick, ridiculously started to blush one more time. His kiss was an action driven by desire, by the pure feeling of a blossoming romance. But, who cared about it?: they were happy. Filbrick noticed it: he loves Caryn as a singer loves the music. She felt like the most pleasant woman in the world: she didn't seem to care anymore. The least possible love, the least realistic love was being fulfilled. With those last memories, recalling the sweet memories, Caryn got up, not without taking another sip of a sweet wine. She was shedding tears. She stroked her husband's face in the photo. Every second seemed to be an ordeal, a very painful burden. Caryn saw the cup: she hardly touched it. She walked away, and left the photo on the nightstand. Caryn remembered that she had to buy to make a famous meal, and… she needed to collect the grades. Oh, the school grades: the executioner of almost any student.

Caryn got ready (she did what she could to hide her dark circles with her makeup), took the car keys and drove away. She drove, and she drove. Caryn had something in mind, but would she be able to do it? Could be, for real? She couldn't go on. Filbrick was like a part of her body she lost in an accident: it was phantom pain that haunted her. She, with all her might, despite everything, misses him ... for every single saint thing in this world: she miss him as a slave miss his freedom, as a flower miss the sun when it gets dark. She miss him. And there was –for her- not enough words to describe that feeling.

So tell me: did you like it? If so, leave your Like, and comment. I plead you, please. XD. If you see a strange word, I apologize. Inform me of that and I will correct it myself (just because I don't have a good command of English it doesn’t mean that I leave a job with mistakes of grammar, however small it may be). From the bottom of my heart, I hope you liked it, and remember to clean your hands, keep your distance, greet like the people of Wakanda, and have your vitamins on hand! Salvete ignotum est a terra.

#young stanley pines #young stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls au #my fics #My writing #Stanley Pines #stanford pines #stan and ford pines: a melancolic story #reblog if you wish

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ohgoddard · 4 years ago

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Fist of Fire.6.

Jade had been going to Reverse’s afterschool activities for around seven weeks now, and it has been hell. Especially after the first meeting. It was like a switch was flipped in Reverse’s head, and Jade had no idea why. But, all of a sudden, training had gotten infinitely harder. And I fucking hate it, Jade thought during one such practice. She had been subjected to miles of running, flights of stairs, and tonnes of weight. And that was just the general training, the specialized training was far more grueling. Reverse, in an act of surprising intelligence, had begun putting Jade into refrigerators and telling her to, “make yourself warm.” Usually this was said with a quick smirk, or a joking look. But ever since that first practice day, Reverse had been anything but cordial and happy.And, for some reason, just to her. He has been so much more serious and pushy to her in her training than to any of the others. So, as Jade sits in a freezing room, she thinks to herself. I wonder what the hell happened to him.Why does he hate me all of a sudden?..I wonder if anyone else is getting it this bad.

Riley was currently being chased by someone whom she considered unable to do such a thing. Her arms were pumping in tandem with her legs and she was moving at peak speed. Yet..

“Not fast enough.” Riley looked to her right and saw Reverse there, running at what looked like a leisurely jog. Then he winded his left arm back and threw a jab for her head. She ducked instinctively and as a result tumbled forward onto the ground, stopping completely. Reverse stopped mere feet away from her, and started slowly walking towards her. “This is the farthest you’ve gone with me on your tail,” he said while taking out a phone,” and I dare say your best time yet. 200 miles in 7 minutes? Nowhere near Whirlwind’s, but you're making good time. However, your reactions are garbage and you slow down too easily. You have to be able to take as many hits than you can give, if not more.” Riley slowly got up and dusted herself off. They were miles away from the city of Atlanta, somewhere in the mountains surrounded by trees and forest for all the eye can see. She looked around at her arms, which had gotten decidedly bigger and more defined since Reverse’s training, and saw the many bruises on them. “Riley, you are making great progress on your speed but running is only going to get you so far. You also have to practice attacking. I want you to do 150 reps of those distance punches we’ve done before.”

Riley hopped to her feet. “Sir, with all do respect, “ she said while taking huge breaths, “I could attack you right now. I was just confused about the drill we were doing. That's all.” Reverse’s face did not change at all at the challenge. Neither did Riley’s, keeping a stone cold gaze the entire time while staring into the face of her teacher. But…

Oh my god why did I say that?! Riley's head was now exploding with terror. He is going to work me even harder than before. Why didn’t I just take the original workout? I'd be done quicker oh no oh no no no - “Really?” Reverse’s singular word cut through RIley’s train of thought like a knife. Riley was keeping her complexion the same, but she had no doubt he looked right through her. He’s going to kick my ass. He’s going to do it right here, right now. Im dead. “Hm. Well then , I have a bet.” A BET??! AM I GONNA- Riley slaps herself in the face. All thoughts are gone, all of a sudden. “Oh yeah? What's your bet?” Reverse started doing stretches, and started to explain. “We’re going to have a race. Back to the school. You win by getting there first, or punching me. Whichever is easier. I win by just getting there first. Sounds stacked in your favor, don’t it?” Riley was eying up the boxer,her arms now crossed and her eyes slit in suspicion.

“What's the catch?” Reverse looks up, and a nasty grin crawls across his face. “You win, you go home for the day. I win? We box until you fall from exhaustion.” Riley’s whole body began to feel numb. The mere thought of going to toe-to-toe with one of the biggest hand to hand professional heroes was suicidal. Reverse has sent more than enough people to the hospital, and about an even amount to the grave. She was going to have to win this..or else. “ Ok, I take your deal.” And with that Riley instantly started running. Well, running isn’t the right word. More like skating on air. She was already 50 miles out from Reverse when he caught up to her. “Nasty trick you pulled, but it only gave you the head start. Not the victory.”

Riley pumped the brakes a small amount and got behind Reverse. He turned behind her in confusion. Why is she slowing down? What is she doing with that rock? Oh no! I'm about to be hit in the head by a rock!...That’s probably what he’s thinking at least. Riley’s thoughts tended to get in the way of things. She positioned herself a bit to the back right of him, and dropped a rock. When she did, her foot came around and kicked it straight at him. Reverse skidded for a bit, tripping over the rock. Riley sprinted farther ahead, only 100 miles left. She looked behind her and saw Reverse gone. Did I trip him?! She turned her head to the front and-

“Peek-a-boo”. Reverse let loose a right hook right into her temple, and Riley almost tripped forward again. But.. this time she caught herself before she made the full fall. And in a moment of inspiration..

Reverse suddenly tripped over his feet and lay face first on the ground. When he looked around, he saw no sign of Riley. And when he looked at his feet. “That clever bastard!” His shoes were tied together. Reverse began laughing.

Back at the school, Riley stumbled into the classroom, exhausted. She walked to her desk and collapsed.”Need something?” Riley slowly lifted her head from her arms and looked in abject horror as Reverse was sitting at his desk, drinking a bottle of water. “How..how!? HOW!” was all Riley could say. “I have to admit, I did like your trick. You pulled one on me. Looks like those legs aren’t the only fast part about you. I’ll have to augment your training.” He stood up and walked over to her, and she noticed his beat up ...feet? “I took off my shoes. Actually makes me run faster. Ain't that something?” He set down a cold bottle of water on her desk and began walking back to his desk. “No boxing for us today, sadly. You did a good job today, and pulled one over on me. Hitting isn't just about pure strength, you know. Go home.” As Riley began to sit up and walk out the door, she turned around. “Was I the only one who showed up to practice today? You only really attended to me.” Reverse looked at her with a preposterous look. “Only you? During our training today I got to every single one of the team member’s training. I took breaks from running to go see them, then I would catch up to you, scare you a bit, then went to go check on another.” “Oh..I see.” Riley walked down the hallway, knowing that at any point today Reverse could have overtaken her, and only chose not to because he had other things to do.

Jade was still in the Refrigerator. And was covered in flames. Up to her collar in it. I did it! I could do it! I can create flame in extreme cold. I just needed motivation! Reverse walked back to the door, swinging a ring of keys in his hands. He peeked his head in the freezer. “Good job.” He then had to immediately duck back out as a blob of fire was thrown at his head.”YOU LEFT ME IN HERE FOR THREE HOURS!!!!!!” Jade screamed as she charged the door. It was closed, but it didn't matter as soon it melted away from her incessant pounding. “I did not expect you to make this much progress.” Reverse said from down the hall. He walked towards her with his hands clasped behind his back. Looking quite smug. “THREE HOURS.I ONLY SWEAT BECAUSE I'M MAD AT YOU!” Jade began to charge him again, but not before he whipped out a long red object and-

Jade was now covered in a towel. The Fire Extinguisher,now spent, rested in a corner. While Reverse was talking over the phone to the Dean, Jade shot daggers at him. He put me in a freezer for three hours today, left me in the south of Georgia for three hours another day. It's like he's trying to make me sweat anywhere. That's when it hit jade. Oh..He doesn't hate me. He is just finding the extremes I work at. He could have at least told me. “Jade there is something I have to tell you.”

Reverse stood up from his desk and started walking over, taking his wallet out. He pushed around receipts and other papers before he found the one he was looking for. He handed her a worn looking photo that had writing on the bottom. “Laurens SHS?” Jade read aloud. She looked at the photo and saw a bunch of people she kinda recognized. She remembered them as the people from Reverse’s ‘quirk assessment’ lesson. And a few other faces, like Huntsman and Meteor, young Reverse(“Wow you used to have a mullet?”), a scratched out face. And also..

“My dad? What's going on?” Why did you show me this?” Reverse took the photo and gently placed it back in his wallet. “Because something is going to happen to all the people in that photo. And, I'm afraid, all those related.” Reverse sat down on a desk next to her.

“Your father Victor, better known as the hero Helios, ran a private hero business called Laurens SuperHero Service. I'm not sure how much to already know so I'm just gonna say all of it, so bare with me. Anyways,” Reverse cleared his throat, “he ran this business. He started small, just himself, and quickly found out he was outmatched. So, he began to look for people to work for him. He could only pay for food and shelter, but for some that was enough. Including me. Before I met your father I was a street rat stealing to make up money for hospital bills. A lot of similar stories from the other people there. Remember Huntsman and Meteor? Your father saved them from a trafficking ring. Tapout was picked up from an orphanage, snowthrone an abusive house. Your father did a lot of good, just getting us out of there. We owed him a lot.”

Jade sat there, listening. She did not know much about her dad. Her mom never talked about him after the accident, not a word. So hearing all this, it was eye opening. My father was a saint.

“However,” Reverse continued, “the jobs we did were tough. We were bouncers at high-class parties,escorts for politicians, bodyguards at international conferences. We had our fair share of big fights, such as Nucleus at the START conference and Quantum at the WHO meeting. And we also had a fair share of fights among ourselves. Usual quarrels,nothing to get into really. Except one. Your dad and one other fought the most. His name was Quentin. You might know him as The Planeteer.” Jade was confused. “The Planeteer? That guy who could ‘talk to nature’?” Reverse chuckled. “Yes, the very same. He and your father would fight often over everything and anything. It got pretty ugly. But, the biggest fight was the one before the D.C. Job.”

Reverse took a deep breath, and took several gulps. Jade could see that talking about this was very uncomfortable for him. She would offer to stop, but she knew he would turn her down. She also had an interest in her own development though. “I remember it clearly. We were at the house, and Huntsman and I were cleaning up after dinner. I was cracking jokes, flirting(I didn’t know she was gay then), when I heard a huge crash. Huntsman and I took a look and saw Planeteer had thrown a chair out the window of the living room. He was pointing at your father and was yelling, ‘you could never take me seriously! You could never listen to me and my plans, my creations! I’ll show you what I can do! I’ll show you what i’ve built!’. After that, he stormed out the door.”

Reverse’s hands began to grip the desk, and Jade was afraid that it might break. “I think i know what happens next. My dad goes to D.C. and dies to the villain San Andreas after she creates a magma flow. You don’t have to explain it to me.” Reverse looked up at Jade, and she was taken aback. The most serious face she had ever seen was looking at her. “Your father would not have lost to San Andreas. Your father was killed and betrayed by Quentin Gaius. Otherwise known, as the Planeteer. And he recently killed Tapout, a member of the Laurens SHS, as well as his family. You are in danger. So, I hav-”

Jade interrupts him.”Tell me what happened. I hate being lied to, tell me right now.”

She stood up, towel falling off her. What she thought was angry sweat on her face was actually tears rolling down.”Tell me what really happened in D.C.”

#FoF:og #writing #creative writing #creative #original writing #original #original female character #original character #original story #superhero #superhero story

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icuambulanceservice · 2 years ago

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ambulanceservice12 · 2 years ago

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Ambulance service

An ambulance service is a type of exigency medical service that provides rapid-fire transport and medical care for people who are injured or critically ill. Ambulances are staffed with trained medical professionals similar as paramedics, exigency medical technicians( EMTs), or other healthcare providers who are equipped to give medical treatment en route to the sanitarium.

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walriding · 6 years ago

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🤗 / safefromsin

nonverbal starters || accepting

🤗 Pull my muse into a hug

Radios are a necessity in Hope County. Not just for music, but for tuning in to local happenings – the broadcasts from both the cult and those resisting them. It makes sense, considering the spotty-to-non-existent phone service in the area, but that doesn’t mean Miles has to like it. It seems like an awfully inefficient means of communication, especially when the frequencies vary from region to region. But he’d bartered his way to acquiring one anyway – when in Rome, as the saying went.

He’s fiddling with it at the kitchen table when, through the garbled static that is liable to give him a wicked headache, there comes a voice. The tone is fairly distinctive even buried under all the white noise, though Miles is trying to pay more attention to what’s being said than who’s saying it. Picking up a nearby pen, he jots down the words he’s able to make out. Somewhere in the middle of his rough translating, Sara enters the kitchen. She pauses with her hand about to pull open the refrigerator door, and from the corner of his eye Miles sees her knuckles turn white. He’s never pressed her for more information about her experiences with the other members of the Seed family, and now doesn’t feel like a particularly good time.

The broadcast pauses, then loops back to the beginning. Miles sits back in his seat. Sara, still frozen fast, asks “What was he saying?”

“Something about an escape attempt down in the valley.” Tapping pen to paper in a nonsensical rhythm, Miles tries piecing together his haphazard notes. “I got “tunnel” and “collapse” out of that. Must’ve been something big, though, if there was a broadcast about it.”

The skin on the back of Sara’s hand turns impossibly paler. Miles’ brow furrows.

“I guess we could go check it out?” he offers.

She nods, slowly, eyes fixed on some faraway point that Miles can’t see. If she knows anything about what he’d heard from the radio, Sara doesn’t specify. But Miles has a funny feeling that she’s withholding something, even if it’s just a gut feeling.

The drive is long and silent. Miles flips back and forth between all two available music stations for a solid fifteen minutes before he gives up. He tries once or twice to initiate conversation, but Sara is all tensed muscles and stony expressions in the passenger’s seat, so he eventually throws in the towel on that, too. As the winding road carries them into the rolling expanse of Holland Valley, Miles keeps an eye out for what they’re looking for. He tries a few routes and side roads to little avail. Just as he’s about to call the whole thing a bust, they come to an intersection punctuated with yet another bleached-white wooden church at one corner, where a perpendicular road veers sharply towards the county’s border. It seems about as promising as could be hoped for on such a blind expedition, so Miles turns the car down it.

At the end of the newly truncated road sits, as promised, the remnants of a tunnel. Even from a distance it’s obvious that something was detonated in order to bring down that many tons of rock. Cars are dotted around the mouth of the tunnel, like picked-over carcasses at the threshold of a beast’s lair. Miles pulls the car over to the side of the road, parks it at what he thinks to be a safe distance away. Sara is leaning forward in her seat, magnetically pulled towards the destruction ahead. He gets out first, but waits for her to follow suit before proceeding.

The cars are empty husks. Refuse is scattered about the site, the trash littered in patterns that suggest objects being pulled carelessly from the vehicles. There’s blood in places, too – the occupants of the cars likely got the same treatment as their belongings. But there’s no immediate sign of life, nothing but a slight breeze to scatter the lightweight junk and blow a curl of hair into Miles’ eyes. The one body he does see is already done up in Hope County’s signature fashion – gutted and stuffed with those sickly white flowers, trussed up and left to hang – and therefore very clearly not alive. In the hunt for clues, he spots and grabs one piece of paper in the rubble that looks fresher than the others.

Here hangs a sinner by the name of–

He hasn’t been paying much mind to Sara, and he might not have noticed her position at all had she not sobbed. The sound is thick and harsh and wounded, wet with tears and heavy with a primal sort of horror. Miles’ head snaps toward the source of the noise, instantly worried that she’s hurt. What he sees instead is Sara standing under the hanged body, head tilted back with her hands pressed over her mouth. “Sara?” She stumbles back a step, eyes wide with shock. Still holding the note, he moves towards her, hoping to catch her before she trips. “Sara?”

When he’s behind her she turns and damn near falls into his arms. He catches her roughly, shifts to adjust his weight before she takes him down. Her face is pressed into his chest and his shirt is instantly dampened by her tears. Sara’s shoulders shake and she’s holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping her standing. It’s both the first time he’s touched her and the first time he’s seen her cry since that day in the woods, and there’s no present reason why. Over her shoulder his attention returns, briefly, to the paper in his hand. He skims is as though it might provide an answer.

Here hangs a sinner by the name of Alex.

Fuck.

Glancing upwards, towards the keystone at the apex of the tunnel, Miles can just barely recognize the corpse now that he’s paying attention.

“Fuck.”

Sara’s arms are around him and her fingers clutch desperately at his shirt and he knows that in that moment he could be anyone – it’s not his comfort she’s seeking, just a presence in a world that somehow managed to turn itself upside-down. He drops the note and rests a hand at the middle of her back, at a loss for how best to respond. Offering condolences feels paltry so he just stays there, holds her, tries to ignore the faint taste of bile creeping up the back of his throat every time a wayward white petal drifts past on the breeze.

Time slips by unnoticed, but eventually her tremors are reduced to shivers. She pulls back and he lets her, allows her to reclaim her space and her dignity but he stops her when she goes to look back. He catches her when she tries, a gentle hand on the side of her head. “Don’t–” she grabs him roughly by the wrist, the pain in her features melting and re-solidifying into something far harsher. “It’s not worth it, I know. I’ve seen–” Lynn. He’s thinking of Lynn. Of her body, bloated and wrong, at Temple Gate. Dead before he could save her. He’d seen her alive so many times before that but that’s the image that sticks, the version of her he sees behind his eyelids no matter how badly he wants to forget it. “Not like this. You don’t want to see him like this, alright? Trust me.” She’s already looked, already seen. A second scrutiny won’t help.

Her expression crumples around another breathy whimper but she nods, fingers slipping away from his wrist. “Go back to the car.” She looks at him from a place of hurt and confusion as he lets her go completely. “I’m going to try to– I’m going to get him down, okay? We won’t leave him, I promise. But I think you should wait in the car.” For once he trusts her not to go anywhere in the absence of his watchful eye.

Before she does anything else, Sara pulls him into an uncertain embrace. The gesture warms when Miles returns it, and it slips into something almost natural, affectionate, before she breaks away to return to the car.

/ @safefromsin

#safefromsin #(ɪɴᴠᴇsᴛɪɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴀʟɪsᴍ) ;;; ᴀsᴋs #long post

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rgvhaulingjunkmoving · 3 years ago

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Electronics Disposal Service near McAllen TX: E-waste like TVs, cell phones, printers and computers contain hazardous materials like lead and mercury, which can cause serious environmental and health problems when disposed of in landfills., it is illegal for McAllen TX to discard electronics in the trash and could lead to a $100 fine. Instead, McAllen TX are required to recycle, resell, or donate all unwanted electronics. It’s better for the environment, and it’s better for you and your family! ● Electronics to be recycled include: ● Computers, both desktops and laptops ● Computer peripherals, including any permanently attached cables or wiring ● Monitors ● Keyboards ● Mice, laser pointers, and other pointing devices ● Printers, Scanners, and Fax machines weighing less than 100 lbs. ● Tablets and e-readers ● Small scale servers ● Televisions ● Cathode Ray Tubes ● DVD players and projectors ● VCRs ● DVRs ● Digital converter boxes ● Cable or satellite receivers ● Video game consoles ● Digital music players, and other portable devices ● Cell phones

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Tenants must appropriately discard their electronics. It is not the landlord's responsibility to take or mail back items for reuse or recycling.

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Community Recycling Events Bring unwanted electronics to an upcoming SAFE Disposal Event, or a Lower East Side Ecology Center e-waste event near you.

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Donate or Sell The McAllen TX Stuff Exchange is a great resource to find places to donate or sell your working electronics in your neighborhood.

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Waste Disposal Fees Accepts cash, debit, credit and payment on account (please note account application process requires two weeks for set up).See below for fees and charges at the EnviroDepots. Please note the EnviroDepots only accept debit or credit payment for disposal of construction & renovation materials

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What Items are Considered Electronics for E-Waste disposal?

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of-theatre-and-fandoms · 7 years ago

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Talking to the Moon (Kaimaki)

Maki Harukawa was not crazy. Sure, people may have seen her as such for one reason, and one reason only. She talked to the moon. But you see, she had a perfectly good reason for doing so.

Her husband of about three years, Kaito Momota, had contracted some sort of fatal disease, slowly killing him from the inside out. One night, it had gotten especially worse and with that, she had rushed him to the hospital.

She sat with him all night, watching him cough up blood with a pained expression on his face. However, through it all he smiled, though it wasn’t one of his big genuine ones. This one barely even registered as a smile at all really. She knew he was trying for her sake, to get her to not worry so much, but they both knew that was failing miserably.

“H-Hey, Maki, don’t worry about me.. I’ll be fine, promise..!”

Maki had given him a small frown. “Don’t promise things like that.. Especially now. You know you.. You know you can’t promise you’ll be fine..”

“Ah.. I know just.. I guess I’m trying to reassure myself as much as I’m trying to reassure you..” He sighed and forced himself to sit up a bit, patting the small space in the small hospital bed. “Come here..”

“What? But there’s hardly any room—“

“I don’t really give a shit right now Maki Roll.. I want to hold my wife, whats the problem?” Kaito raised an eyebrow, almost in a challenging way. “Would you deny a man the pleasure of being able to hold his wife?”

Maki sighed and climbed onto the bed, snuggling up to him. “Dammit.. I love you Momota..”

He chuckled and held her tightly, trying to hold back a cough so he could at least get the words out. “I love you too Maki.. More than words can even describe.”

“You’re very solemn when you’re dying..” She nudged him, trying to joke around. “You usually would’ve said that in a happier tone..”

“Heh, well, at the moment I don’t really feel like I can be excited.. But I am happy, because I married the most amazing, most beautiful woman in the entire world..” He smiled and kissed her cheek, turning away quickly to cough up some more blood into the bucket on his other side. Kaito could feel that his end was drawing near, and he had the feeling that Maki knew it was coming too. But.. It couldn’t.. Not yet. There were so many things that he wanted to do, especially with Maki. His time couldn’t be here so soon.

Meanwhile, she held his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Though she tried to put at least a fake smile on her face, there were tears threatening to spill down her cheeks at any moment. She never cried, and when she did it had to be something really horrible to make her do so. She was pretty sure this qualified.

———

Maki hadn’t wanted to doze off, but she must have, and when she woke up, the sun was shining in through the small hospital room’s window. She looked down at Kaito, whose eyes were closed and who was.. Still..

“Kaito.. Kaito wake up..” She frowned, shaking him a bit. She gave a sigh of relief when he opened his eyes, but only slightly.

“Hey.. Maki..” He sighed and gripped her hand weakly, his breaths getting shallower. “I love you.. To the moon and back..”

“Momota what are you doing.. Kaito..” She bit her lip, the tears awfully close to spilling as she watched her husband slowly slip away. “Kaito..!”

“Love you Maki Roll..” He sighed, his grip on her hand loosening as his body went limp, and shortly after she heard his monitors going crazy. She was scrambled out of bed as doctors and nurses rushed in, but everything after that was a blur. All she remembered was the doctor pronouncing him dead, though they had done all they could to revive him, it was too late.

And that’s when her world shattered.

———

The funeral was small, it only consisted of their group of friends for the most part. Her and Kaito’s close friend, Shuichi Saihara, stayed close to her side during the whole service, because she wouldn’t admit it, but she needed someone by her side right now. Kaede Akamatsu, his girlfriend, was right there on her other side too, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

Afterwards, when everyone was over at the house, they still stuck by her side like glue. Everyone was giving her sympathetic looks and everyone was giving her hugs or reassuring pats on the back. She hated sympathy and pity, and while she knew they were all trying to be nice, it didn’t mean she liked it. She hated feeling weak, and she hated feeling vulnerable, but maybe.. Just for today, she could allow herself to feel like this.

Later, after everyone had left, (She practically had to kick out Shuichi and Kaede), she wasn’t quite sure what to do. After all, she lived here by herself now. It was weird to think about, but here she was, standing in the foyer of the house, surrounded by the silence.

She wandered around the house for a bit, still unsure of what to do. She tried watching tv, but she couldn’t really focus on it or anything that was going on on the show that currently playing. She tried to eat something, but she merely picked at the sandwich she had made herself, only managing to take a few bites of it before putting it in a container to put in the refrigerator. What? She wasn’t about to waste food.

Eventually she just decided to go lay down, maybe at least attempt to get some sleep. She meandered upstairs and stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, taking a deep breath before entering. She looked around at the pictures of the two of them on the wall, and a photo of him on her nightstand. She picked it up and held it close to her chest, the tears that she had been holding back since the funeral, finally spilled out.

Maki sobbed for a good while, she didn’t keep track of how long she cried, but eventually she calmed down. She looked on the door handle of the closet, seeing his jacket hanging there. Freshly clean, she took it off the hangar and wrapped it around herself, breathing in the scent of him. It was way too big on her, but that was to be expected obviously, and that was her favorite part about it.

She would’ve gone to go lay down again, but at that exact moment the moonlight came shining right through the window and onto her. She looked out the window and looked at the moon, smiling a bit. She and Kaito would sometimes sit and stare at the moon, and he would tell her about the different phases, and she would listen with a fond smile on her face. Good times..

With a sigh, she sat by the window and stared out at the moon, closing her eyes. Was she crazy for what she was about to do? Maybe a little, but maybe this would help keep her sane. So she took a deep breath, and started talking as if she was talking to Kaito himself.

“Hi.. This feels really stupid, but I’m just going to keep telling myself that I’m talking to you.. Even though you’re gone..” She sighed and hugged her arms tightly, beginning to cry again. “Y-You’re gone.. God, I miss you so much.. The funeral was so hard Momota, I don’t think you get it.. Then again, you can’t even hear me, and I’m talking to the moon.. I’m fucking insane.”

Though, despite her thinking it was crazy, she didn’t stop, and this went on for at least a couple more weeks. She’d just sit and talk to the moon. She’d by lying if she said it didn’t help a little, because it did, in a way it gave her a little closure.

One night, Kaede and Shuichi stayed over, because earlier in the day they had been helping her clean out the closet of Kaito’s stuff. They promised not to throw everything out, but then again what would she do with all his stuff?

“I’ll figure it out, just put it in the basement or the attic. Just don’t throw it out.” She had given them both a scary look after saying it, so they figured it was safer to just do as she said.

Later, after they had all sat down for dinner and cleaned up, Kaede sent Maki up to bed because it looked like she hadn’t been getting enough sleep (not technically a lie), so Maki complied.

A while later, after Kaede and Shuichi were settled in the guest room and getting ready for bed, they both heard Maki’s voice from down the hall. Confused, they both went to go and see if she was okay. Who could she be talking to? Was she on the phone? Perhaps she was talking to herself?

Well.. They weren’t too far off from the last one, the door was cracked open and when they looked in, they found her sitting at the window, talking to the moon..? They were tempted to go in, but Shuichi suggested that it’d be best to just.. Leave her be, she was grieving and maybe this was her way of coping.

Even so, this continued on for years and years after his death. Everyone told her that it was time to move on, that this thing with talking to the moon was getting to be too much. He was gone and she needed to accept it.

Though, through all the negativity and the people telling her to stop, this was her way of feeling close to him, and she didn’t have any plans to stop anytime soon.

And this was why Maki talked to the moon. Because whenever she did, it was almost as if Kaito was talking back to her.. Almost..

(Hope y’all like angst :) oh, and this is also based off the song Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars, go give it a listen 👌)

#danganronpa v3 #drv3 #kaito momota #maki harukawa #kaimaki #kaede akamatsu #shuichi saihara #angst #Tay writes stuff

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localaakash · 3 years ago

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Top Germ Hotspots in Office and How to Fight Them

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Germs spread rapidly starting with one individual then onto the next, from stomach-stirring food contamination microscopic organisms like Salmonella, E. coli, Campylobacter and Staphylococcus aureus to infections like norovirus, colds and influenza. Sofa cleaners help in cleaning the sofas of your office.

Miniature living beings like these don’t typically duplicate around your work area or seat without assistance. They don’t move around except if we do. In this way, we’re all answerable for moving germs starting with one individual then onto the next.

To retaliate, beat the germs and assume responsibility for your wellbeing in the work environment, you need to handle the most contacted regions in the workplace

The most effective method to clean your work area

A US study has tracked down that normal telephones are the most sullied thing in the workplace. Dr Charles P Gerba from the College of Arizona found more than 25,000 life forms for every surface. Office cleaning services near me can let you find many online cleaning services available to help you in maintaining cleanliness all around.

Examinations with different reviews uncover that some ordinary work area things could be associated with multiple times more defiled than generally ‘filthy’ things, for example, latrine seats, which frequently stand out enough to be noticed for cleaning.

Along these lines, in the event that you share work area hardware and hot work area, you’ll have more shots at being contaminated by others’ germs.

You will not drop dead by utilizing the telephone, yet you should consider how messy your hands might be in the wake of getting the collector. In the event that you bite pens — and a large number of us do — consider where they have been previously!

Work area cleaning tips

On the off chance that you are hot-desking and utilizing a telephone that others have utilized, have a bunch of antimicrobial wipes helpful to oust microscopic organisms and cold and seasonal infections. Time taken to clean your telephone could mean fewer days off work.

In case you’re eating at your work area, wash your hands prior to contacting food or utilize a hand sanitiser. Move the console away so it doesn’t gather scraps. Utilize hostile microbial hand gel on the off chance that you can’t be certain your hands are perfect when utilizing the telephone. Canister your bundling instead of leaving it in the work area. Leaving food or wreck around could support bugs — another wellspring of germs!

Pen-chewers — attempt to get out from under the propensity. On the off chance that you don’t have the foggiest idea where a pen has been, you could be ingesting microbes or infections left by another person. It might have been in another person’s mouth, gathering dust under the work area or dropped on the loo floor. Give acquired pens a clean with an enemy of a bacterial wipe.

Step by step instructions to clean the refrigerator

You could get microorganisms and infections from contacting refrigerators after partners have put their germs on them, however, there are likewise risks in keeping food past its utilization by date, particularly in a cooler that isn’t functioning admirably. Bathroom Deep cleaning and sanitizing are very important in a pandemic where people are suffering from a very critical situation.

This could expand your danger of contracting Listeria, which can cause an unnatural birth cycle and even demise. Take specific consideration over prepared-to-eat food varieties like sandwiches and mixed greens. Eat them on a date, and keep them below 5°C.

Do you keep your shopping in the workplace cooler prior to returning home? Crude meat and vegetables can be defiled with microscopic organisms like Campylobacter or E. coli. These can even be found on the external bundling. Regard others’ food left in the ice chest and ensure you don’t put their prepared-to-eat food in danger of tainting by putting crude meat close to their sandwiches.

Refrigerator cleaning tips

In the event that you share a work ice chest, request a thermometer — they are extremely modest, and you can get them from any store. Check the temperature.

Eliminate any obsolete food (before it leaves its own)! Start an approach to get the ice chest out toward the week’s end and clean it. Secure your own food by setting it in plastic lidded holders.

Keep prepared to-eat food varieties at the highest point of the refrigerator away from crude food sources. Whenever you have opened a pack it will go off speedier than its unique use-by date — adhere to the guidelines on the pack.

Instructions to clean your console and mouse

One examination discovered in excess of 3,000 miniature creatures for each square inch on consoles and more than 1,600 microorganisms for every square inch on a PC mouse. Comparative numbers were found in another study by Gerber.

You may stress less on the off chance that these are your own microscopic organisms, yet on the off chance that you are hot-desking, others’ germs could be moving onto your hands.

One overview by office supplies organization Viking discovered the microbes Staphylococcus on 60% of work areas.

Console and mouse cleaning tips

In case you’re hot-desking, clean your work area utilizing an enemy of microbial wipe — you or past clients could have a cold and this assists with halting the spread. Utilize against microbial hand gel in the event that you can’t be certain your hands are spotless.

Continuously use it prior to eating at your work area or scouring your eyes. Wash your hands before you eat in your common work area.

In case you’re eating at your work area, wash your hands prior to contacting food or utilize a hand sanitiser. Move the console away to eliminate morsels — and tidy up a while later! Discard tissues after use — don’t leave them in the work area. The best spot is in the canister or in the loo.

On the off chance that you need to hack or wheeze and don’t have a tissue, do it into the hooligan of your elbow. It keeps your hands clean and stops you from giving the germs to another person. The most effective method to appropriately clean a mug

Workplace mugs can look offensive rapidly, especially in the event that you don’t have a dishwasher. What about that form developing on the espresso leftovers in a since quite a while ago deserted cup?

Basic washing may not eliminate an associate’s germs. Furthermore, the external surface of the mug could get debased by their hands. On the off chance that they had a chilly, you could get their germs.

Mug cleaning tips

Utilize the workplace dishwasher in the event that you have one. If not, utilize your own mug. Wash up your devoted work mug in the evening.

Leave it around your work area prepared for your utilization just the following day (don’t share it).

Get a mug and jug for hot beverages in a hurry, with smooth surfaces so they’re not difficult to wash (ideally in the dishwasher). Wash bottles basically once per day since water isn’t sterile, and microbes will develop over the long haul. Try not to let any other individual use them.

Conclusion:

Antimicrobials will kill most microscopic organisms, remembering the supportive microorganisms for our body. Be that as it may, the microorganisms with the benefits can endure and imitate. The safe microscopic organisms can give the DNA changes to their posterity, or once in a while even to one another, to create new strains of antitoxin safe microorganisms. You can forestall diseases through basic strategies, for example, washing your hands routinely, staying away from close contact with individuals who are wiped out, cleaning surfaces that are contacted frequently, staying away from sullied food and water, getting inoculations, and taking suitable meds. Hand-washing.

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