#Town Water Supply Tanks

[harshdakadam]

Glass Fused Steel Tanks: The Ultimate Water Storage Solution

Glass Fused Steel (GFS) tanks have emerged as one of the most durable and versatile solutions for water storage across industries. Combining the strength of steel with the corrosion resistance of glass, these tanks are engineered to withstand the most demanding environments. Whether it's for sea water reverse osmosis (SWRO), sewage treatment plants (STP), or industrial applications, GFS tanks offer a highly efficient and long-lasting solution. Let's explore how GFS tanks and other innovative storage options meet the diverse needs of industries around the world.

NSF61 Certified Water Tank Liners

One of the critical features of these tanks is their use of NSF61 certified water tank liners. These liners ensure that water stored in the tanks meets safety and health standards, making them ideal for drinking water and other sensitive applications. Industries that require the highest levels of safety and sanitation, including the pharmaceutical, food, and beverage sectors, trust these liners to provide reliable, contamination-free storage.

Sea Water Reverse Osmosis (SWRO) Water Tanks

SWRO systems are essential for converting seawater into potable water. GFS tanks play a crucial role in this process by providing a durable storage solution that can withstand the corrosive nature of saltwater. Their glass coating offers superior protection, ensuring that the tanks remain intact even in harsh marine environments. Whether used for desalination plants in coastal areas or remote islands, these tanks help provide fresh water where it's needed most.

Sewer Treatment (STP) and Effluent Treatment (ETP) Water Tanks

Both sewer and effluent treatment plants require robust, corrosion-resistant tanks for the safe storage of waste and treated water. GFS tanks are ideal for these applications because their glass coating resists chemicals and aggressive substances found in wastewater. These tanks are essential in helping industries and municipalities manage water efficiently while protecting the environment.

Industrial and Commercial Water Tanks

From manufacturing plants to commercial establishments, GFS tanks are widely used to store water for various purposes. Their high durability and ease of maintenance make them perfect for both industrial and commercial environments. Whether it's for process water, cooling systems, or emergency water supply, GFS tanks offer a cost-effective and reliable solution.

Steel Bolted Water Tanks

Steel bolted water tanks are designed for flexibility and quick installation. These modular tanks are easy to assemble on-site, making them an excellent option for areas with restricted access or projects requiring a fast turnaround. They can be customized to fit specific storage needs, whether for municipal water supply, firefighting, or irrigation.

Town Water Supply Tanks

Town water supply systems require dependable and large-capacity tanks to ensure a constant supply of water. GFS tanks, with their high storage capacity and long lifespan, are perfect for municipal applications. Their glass coating prevents corrosion and extends their lifespan, making them a popular choice for towns and cities around the world.

Epoxy Coated and FM Global Water Tanks

Epoxy-coated tanks offer additional protection against corrosion, making them suitable for storing both potable and non-potable water. FM Global-approved tanks, on the other hand, meet stringent safety and quality standards, making them ideal for fire protection systems and other critical applications.

Colorbond Steel and Zincalume Steel Water Tanks

Colorbond and Zincalume steel tanks offer a combination of strength and aesthetic appeal. These tanks are not only durable but also visually appealing, making them perfect for residential, commercial, and industrial use. Zincalume steel, in particular, provides exceptional resistance to harsh environmental conditions, making it a popular choice in areas prone to corrosion.

Raw Water Storage Tanks

Raw water, whether sourced from rivers, lakes, or wells, needs safe and reliable storage. GFS tanks provide the perfect solution for raw water storage, offering high capacity and resistance to the elements. Their versatility makes them suitable for agricultural, industrial, and municipal applications.

Glass Fused Steel Tanks in India, Indonesia, and Kenya

GFS tanks are widely used in countries like India, Indonesia, and Kenya, where water storage needs vary greatly due to climate, infrastructure, and industrial requirements. These tanks are particularly valued for their long lifespan, low maintenance, and adaptability to different environments. From rural water storage in India to large-scale industrial applications in Kenya, GFS tanks provide reliable and efficient solutions.

Conclusion

Glass Fused Steel tanks are the ultimate water storage solution, offering a combination of strength, durability, and resistance to corrosion. Whether you need NSF61 certified water tank liners for safe drinking water, robust storage for SWRO or STP systems, or aesthetically pleasing Colorbond or Zincalume steel tanks, GFS tanks can meet your needs. With applications spanning across India, Indonesia, Kenya, and beyond, these tanks continue to set the standard for water storage in various industries.

[harmlessghosty]

the Touchstarved LIs and the shenanigans they would commit at a pool/beach (nsfw or sfw whatever u wanna do, I'm just obsessed with the idea of them being sillies)

Not me being from total beach-town and sitting here like, “Mm, yes, what does one do at the beach??”

Just a few little headcanons with a little spicy here and there. Nothing more vulgar than what’s implied in the game though!

***

Kuras

- Very much conservatively dressed—total rash guard over his arms and legs and conscious of sunburns.

- In fact, he’s so cautious that he brings extra sunscreen and offers to reapply it for you every time you get out of the water or every couple of hours when it’s most washed away by sweat. Definitely takes extra time massaging it into your skin, using the excuse that he’s just being sure but really wants to touch you more.

- “I certainly don’t want to have to treat burns. I’ve seen more than my fair share of those.”

- Ties up his hair into a loose bun when he gets in the water. It just takes so long to dry that he doesn’t want to soak it down.

- Sneakily will dunk you beneath the water (assuming you haven’t told him firmly not to do it) by caressing your waist from behind before plunging your body under or throwing you away from him so that you go under. Gives a clever smile and swims toward you to lift you high enough that your shoulders are out of the water and he can nuzzle your nose. (He’s so tall……)

- “You’re soaked. Perhaps I should towel you off sooner rather than later.”

- Is secretly eyeing your body from behind a textbook he brought to read while sunbathing. If you catch him, he makes the excuse that he’s just looking for any signs of concerning spots or redness, but really his eyes are wandering.

***

Leander

- How little clothes is he required to wear at the beach or a public pool? Is a thong okay, or must you insist he covers his pride more than that?

- Sincerely forgets that other people are around and blares music or speaks so loudly that others will turn his way. He’s lucky he’s so attractive because, with little more than a grin and a flirty apology, no one cares. He’ll offer them a nice drink or a sandwich, and all is forgiven.

- Brings all the supplies you could possibly want. What should you do first? What if you play volleyball, or maybe you can build sandcastles, or bat a beach ball back and forth? Everyone around you can join in too, if they want!

- “The more the merrier! Oh, you’re not very good at this. Well, practice makes perfect. Don’t give up just yet!”

- Doesn’t want to reveal the scars across his chest, but doesn’t mind if it’s around strangers he won’t ever see again. If it’s with friends, he’ll wear a tank top to cover most of them, but overall, he won’t mind too much. If anyone dares to push asking about them, a little frown is all it takes to shut them up.

- Gets bored easily if he’s not moving around. If you just want to lie there and sunbathe, expect an arm around your waist or him plucking at the elastic of your suit.

- “It isn’t often we get to visit such nice water. We should swim while we get the chance. Besides, I wouldn’t want that pretty bathing suit to not get used.”

***

Vere

- Immediately flirts the moment he sees you in your bathing suit. Eyes narrow. Smirk widens. He saunters up to you and slips sharp nails around your waist as though threatening to rip it off of you, which he very well might do the moment you’re away from any prying eyes.

- “Why don’t you take a dip to cool off? I wouldn’t mind seeing you dripping wet.”

- Doesn’t like going in the water much, but will hang off your arm or lift you into his lap and carry you around if he does. As a Monster, he’s more than strong enough to carry you outside of the water, but this is much less effort on his part…and more slick too.

- “Nude beaches are more entertaining than this. Perhaps next time, I’ll be able to see all of you spread out before me. I can already imagine the sun glimmering off of your…delicate…skin…”

- Are you nervous to show off your body? Expect him to be a hype man, ready to shower you with compliments until you’re blushing from more than just the heat of the sun.

- Wears the most expensive bathing suit, and the most glamorous. After all, if he’s not swimming very much, then what does it matter if it’s got glitter, metal, or velvet? He looks handsome enough to eat, doesn’t he? Consider humoring him later.

- Is very cautious of keeping his tail and ears free of sand. It’s uncomfortable and hard to rinse off.

***

Ais

- Will absolutely lift and throw you into the pool or the waves. Sorry, but it’s cute to see you resurface all annoyed that he got you wet or that the water is cold.

- Watches others with suspicion if they happen to look at you. It’s not that he’s super overprotective, but he doesn’t want anyone to get the idea that you’re available. If someone starts making conversation, he makes it clear that they’re not welcome.

- “Sun’s pretty hot, but the breeze is cold. Should really get closer if you don’t want to freeze.”

- Spends more time in the water than anyone else. It feels like a second home to him, for several unusual reasons. Don’t ask.

- Carries you around in the water and burrows into your neck with hot breaths. Who cares if someone thinks he’s being too touchy? You’re his. That’s all there is to it.

- Will easily get mad if there are too many screaming kids around, but has a soft spot for ones that are playing quieter games, building sandcastles, or collecting shells. Thinks about finding hermit crabs to give those shells to.

- “Didn’t think there’d be so many people around. Guess I can’t convince you to show me any tan lines, huh?”

***

Mhin

- Wears a loose t-shirt and shorts, not trying to cover themself much but being careful not to show off too much of their body.

- “Why is everyone so loud? It’s public. Have some respect for others.”

- Too proud to ask for help with sunscreen, but expects you to notice that they’re struggling to reach their back. When you do start to help them, they close their eyes and lean into it, then pout slightly when you’re done before offering to help with yours.

- Probably falls into a hole some jerk didn’t fill up and face-plants into the sand. It’s not that they’re uncoordinated, but sometimes they just aren’t that lucky. Curses way too loud about it and gets some glares, but they glare back just as hard.

- “Get in the shade. You’re sweating like a whore in church. Why don’t you try harder to protect yourself? Geez, here’s some water.”

- Sits beneath an umbrella most of the time, but eventually wanders into the water and swims around with you using a single pool noodle. It’s just nice to be next to you in the water, quietly enjoying floating around.

- Doesn’t bring their dagger, but keeps a close eye out for any creepy people who look like they’ll cause trouble. Quickly moves you and your stuff away from the crowds if they sense a weirdo around.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (2)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sweet Baby (see previous or series)

Summary: 'Grant' becomes comfortable enough to tell you who he is, and you get comfortable enough to show him the kindness he deserves.

Warnings for description of minor blood/injury and light smut (mentions of morning wood, dry humping, hair pulling, praise kink? maybe coached orgasm?). This series is 18+ only. MINORS DNI. There is plenty else for you youngins to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 2.6k

Warmer months are for updating the rooms, so they are on a rotation of renovation. There are really busy times and really slow times based on events in town, but there’s an understanding with Grant’s ‘party’ of friends that, if needed, they can stay in the room closed for repair. It’s not as if any room is uninhabitable when they need a coat of paint and some plumbing tune-ups.

Clark doesn’t remember you told him about this—you used the excuse that Grant ’s company are handymen (and women) who come in between other jobs,—so the front desk kid calls you while you’re out running errands one day.

Two ‘dudes’ want to stay in room eight on the end. So? Let them. Those are the people who fix things. Clark just says “kay.”

When you pull into the lot hours later, you don’t expect to find Grant sitting on the curb, filthy and exhausted in some gym clothes, a plastic bag set at his feet.

“Wha’ch’a waiting for?” you call with the window down, hoping his spirits can lift easily.

Grant peers up at you through long lashes. He’s had a knock-down drag-out with a field of bramble…or something. That’s when you notice dark, dried blood in the grime stuck to him, and he lets out a long sigh.

“Sa—Tom used all the hot water,” he huffs, “so I’m biding my time.”

Their room’s water tank, the one due for maintenance, is going to take an eternity to reheat, and it’s the worst luck that there really are no other rooms available.

“Hop on in. You can use the bath up at the house.”

He looks just as startled as you by the invitation, but in no simple terms can you express how bad it is to have a huge guy covered in blood hanging out in front of your rural motel. That’s horror movie bait.

You know Grant. You trust him. All he needs is to clean himself up.

He checks behind him again. The same mix of seeking approval or seeking the cover of ignorance returns to his pretty features, and he trots over to the passenger seat of the car, plastic bag in hand.

He helps you bring in the groceries and supplies from town even though you point him in the direction of the upstairs bathroom immediately. There’s a big jacuzzi tub in there, and he is welcome to soak for however long he wants. You’ll even wash his clothes in the mean time, if he’d like.

Grant seems hesitant to accept or argue.

You press on.

Showing him where everything is in the bathroom takes a minute. You fish around a cupboard for the muscle-relaxing milk additive, explaining it may help him…if needed. You don’t know what’s happened, so you’re flying blind for options.

When the tap turns off ten minutes later, silence descends, but he never handed you stuff to wash. You knock and try the door, just to crack it open so he can hear you.

First, you notice the color of the water. He used the milk bath alright, but whatever washed immediately off him has saturated and soured the clean white into a rusty tan. Second, you pick up the pile of clothes and find more in the plastic bag, except…it’s a suit with a star decal half-ripped and dangling from the chest. Third, you realize you can’t see him in the water at all, not his feet, not his head, no bubbles, so you rush in and shove your hands beneath the surface.

He shoots up in alarm, gasping and sloshing to a different wide, rounded corner of porcelain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you shriek, hands out and spread wide. “I just thought—I don’t know—I didn’t know if you’d—sorry!”

He rubs his hands down his face and over his dripping hair. He doesn’t even speak; he just waves for you to stop apologizing and clears water shot up his nose.

You have to collapse to the fuzzy rug and hold your heart before it beats right out of your ribcage. You still repeat “sorry” a few more times and then manage an impressed “wow, you kept all the water in.”

He thunks his head back to the lip of the tub and props up one leg, his knee cresting the surface. “I have a talent…”

The dirt, despite how much clearly came off already, is smeared grossly across him.

He looks so tired.

“May I—“ you grab the shampoo bottle all the way at his feet “—help?”

Defeated in more ways than one, he nods through the same concerned and confused gaze that’s become his signature. He maneuvers nearer you while you carefully wet your hands, starting a lather. His head stays down, spine exposed, as you massage at the base of his skull.

His eyes shut.

Your heart now swells with accomplishment; you gave this man a moment of peace.

Fingers gliding over the sinewy, tight bands beneath soft hairs, you press circles around and around his scalp. He cranes backwards while you move up and over the crown of his head, and by just above his ears, he’s laying his full weight in the water, lax against the rim.

You keep going long after his hair is strictly clean, though you’ll recommend he rinse after soaking because the water is too foul to count on.

He remains quiet, so you dip your hands in the water at his shoulders, shake them about, and move on to scrubbing his face clean, too, working down from the hairline and over his beard.

Somewhere around his throat, the man sniffs.

He sniffs again, raising a hand from the water to stop yours.

“My name isn’t…” His eyes open finally, only to stare blankly at the ceiling. “My name is Steve.”

“Okay,” you say, abandoning the washing to sit back on the mat again. “Do you want me to call you that or Grant?”

He turns, brows furrowed, and in the most authoritative voice, he replies, “you can’t tell anyone.”

You rest your chin on the lip of the tub, too. “I know. I won’t.”

Eyes locked, you two stare at each other for a long beat.

“The Captain America suit kinda gave it away though,” you whisper, and to your surprise and delight, Steve flicks water at you in retaliation.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “handle yourself in here while I go start the laundry.”

You stretch and almost—almost—kiss his forehead because, for whatever reason, that feels right, but at the last second you tuck your head down, acting like you were just standing up. You can’t bring yourself to look back at him while gathering the clothes.

You keep busy downstairs, scrubbing at a few spots of caked on muck, trying not to listen to the sounds of splashing, the squeaking as he moves around, the rush of the draining bath, and the tap turning back on to rinse him again. You scramble to find the biggest t-shirt and pair of pants you own (although, come to think of it, Steve’s got fairly small hips, so you grab some stretchy sweats) and hand them through the door when realizing he has nothing else to wear.

He emerges with several visible cuts and scrapes but dismisses your offer to treat them.

“It’s not worth the effort. They’ll be gone by morning.”

You’ve decided something: if he doesn’t bring it up, you won’t either.

Whatever he wants to tell you, whenever he wants to tell it, you don’t ask. You are used to keeping guests’ confidence—not that anyone tells you deep, dark secrets, but you refuse to gossip about cleanliness or things in the trash—and ‘Grant’ will be no different.

You can, however, still tease him.

“Ready to share that queen bed with Tom?” You give his beefy arm a playful punch.

Steve groans.

“Kidding,” you beam. “I’m not making you walk that path in the dark right now. An elk could get ya!”

He pinches tired eyes, a ghost of a smirk realigning the hairs of his beard. You imagine that on any other day, he would put up more of a fight, but he’s fought enough.

“Yeah, okay. As long as I won’t scare the daylights out of your parents by being on the couch in the morning.” Steve steps over to the landing at the top of the stairs.

“They’re at a hospitality conference. I run the place…mostly. Besides, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you a bed that fits you?” You dramatically bow and indicate your room. “This way, please, sir.”

Good thing he has no fight left in him. His eyes narrow adorably, but he doesn’t budge.

“I should let Tom know.”

“There is a phone in there, too. I’ll dial room eight.”

You get him some water, hanging his clothes to dry, offering as much privacy as you can in an old house with thin walls.

“Yeah, hi, it’s…yes, yes, I’m… Yeah, I know. I know, Sam, just—you don’t have to laugh about it. She let me use the bath, is all. You’re the one who—Well, don’t take all the damn wa—hello? Hello?” Steve is staring at the receiver of the land line when you appear in the doorway. “Uh, he…gets it.”

He sits on the edge of your bed, glancing around your neither childish nor sterile room. You put the glass down on your side table instead of handing it to him.

“Okay, I think you need rest,” you add, sweeping your hand down his bare arm.

You marvel at how the edges of his cuts are already shrinking, knitting back together in near-realtime. Your fingertips trace around the skin like an interactive roadmap.

First heal this, then he needs this, and this is deeper here.

You wonder whether he feels pain the same as everyone else. Is it dulled? Does he just have to ignore how much and how frequently he hurts because it goes away sooner? That’s a sad thought to you. Just because he’ll be okay, doesn’t mean he should suffer more.

He’s a miracle. As Grant, Steve, Cap, or nobody at all, he’s still a miracle.

“You don’t have to go…”

The last of the evening blurs as you wake, but you remember Steve needed this. He asked you to stay.

Spooning is the only way to fit on the bed together. After finishing your own bedtime routing, you began behind the giant man, curled tight, lightly scratching over his broad shoulders and arms. He fell asleep so quickly, and you don’t recall how long after that you both turned over. You had to drape Steve’s awkward arm around you, show him he could hold you close, assure him he can be as comfortable as he likes.

Whichever way he settled is infinitely better than falling off the bed, and you’re grateful he’s accommodating in a small space. You suppose he has to be. Though, for a man as dense as a brick wall, he is shockingly pliant around you. 

Shame you have to stretch, ruining the picture of fitting puzzle pieces you’ve become.

Arms out and legs long, you roll, restless on the one side for too long in the night. Steve shifts around your moves, laying his head on your arm instead of the pillow. His arm that was your pillow wedges down by your waist instead.

Your knees knock his, so even in sleep, he lets them slot through, legs entangled and…his erection laying over your thigh, the tip poking your hip.

Your body tenses for a split second, the muscles of your leg brush harder against his cock, and Steve groans softly, the arm draped over you pulling your body closer.

He’s still asleep, breathing easy, his features totally relaxed.

His golden hair shines in the early light, and he’s so, so beautiful.

You move stray locks from his face, enjoying how he nuzzles and sighs as you play. Quiet, lazy touches.

His hips nudge forward for friction. His fingers grab at your nightshirt. One of his shifts angles his length to drive against your mound instead, and you gasp involuntarily, having smothered your excitement for too long.

He stirs, a heavier, longer breath followed by Steve's whole body going rigid and his eyes squeezing shut. He tries to bury his face in your arm, and you can’t help it. You hope he’ll continue.

You shush him, carding through his hair to soothe him as you did in the bath.

There’s nothing wrong.

He can feel good.

He should feel good.

You want him to feel good. Hell, you don’t say it, but you need to make him feel good.

Steve still won’t face you. He leans closer, shielding himself with your chest, but he doesn’t pull his hips away.

You can hear him thinking through his options groggily, and in your nervousness, you pull at the fistful of hair in your hand.

Steve whimpers and juts his pelvis forward.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Did you like that? Does that feel nice, Stevie?”

His abs flutter with a spasming exhale, but he says nothing. His rough hands dig into your back while he desperately seeks more friction.

You let him—you encourage him—to keep going.

“Whatever you need…it’s okay.”

He pants into your skin, making you sweat while he dissolves into a mewling mess of shame, taking what he deserves.

He bends his leg for leverage, the sole of his foot pressing flush to your calf. You feel his thumping heartbeat along all of your skin that touches his. He swallows moans which sound hollow and deep where they die in his chest before Steve grunts and stretches, the whole underbelly of his cock rubbing your inner thigh and baiting your clit mercilessly with almost-contact.

You release his hair, asking “do you want my han—”

But it’s too late.

Steve seizes you in his last moments hard before he stills, palms so wide you’ll feel the marks over an entire shoulder blade and the breadth of skin from your ass to your ribcage.

You yelp, the nails of your trapped hand clawing at the sheets around you. It’s a good pain. It’s worth it to witness how his body melts into yours after he comes. He’s lax and heavy, pathetic convulsions of ecstasy subsiding.

You’re only just starting to feel the wet fabric on your thigh when he peels away and rushes to the bathroom.

The best thing for him is to act normal. It is normal for him to be hard in the morning, to want contact and satisfaction, and the truth is it’s perfectly normal for you to dream of providing that for him. You want that contact with him. You are satisfied when he is satisfied.

That's scary because it's a secret as hidden from you both as his identity now, but you won't talk about it. If he doesn't ask, then he doesn't want the answer. It's better that way.

So that was okay, and this is okay.

It's okay, and you tell him when you bring his gym clothes back to the door. You repeat it as he walks out of your home unable to look you in the eye, his partially-destroyed past life wadded up in a fresh plastic bag.

At the bottom of the porch steps, he turns, still focused on the ground.

“Thank you for the…the bath.”

You can’t tell anyone about him—about how you feel for him—not even him. It wouldn’t be right. He doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad you feel better, Grant.”

A/N: Google, Play 'Hopelessly Devoted To You.' *starts weeping some more*

[Next Part: Sensitive Boy, Part I]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

[hometoursandotherstuff]

On another page, this house in a remote area of Lincoln, Montana gave us serial killer lair vibes, woodchipper and all. 3bs, 1ba, $385K.

No one for miles and look at the road. Just a path. It looks like it could grow back.

This looks very lonely. I'm always fascinated by homes in the middle of nowhere. I saw power lines outside, but "a propane fireplace, as well as a wood burning stove, provide dual heat sources."

I don't know what's on the TV, but there're 2 satellite dishes.

There's a dining area and spiral stairs to a 2nd level.

It does have a full kitchen with a washer/dryer.

Odd placement.

I thought this was a dishwasher under a window, b/c that's how it looked on my laptop. Then, when I looked at it on my phone, I saw that it's the fridge opened up! Everything is so much more vivid on the phone. How disappointing.

What is that bowl?

B/c there's a sink on the left. With romantic candles. The cabin has a septic system that was installed by a local installer, and a bank of water storage tanks for ample storage.

Well, that's good, b/c there's just a trickle in the creek.

Stairs are so close to the counter.

The listing says 3 bds., so I'm guessing that they're up here, but there wouldn't be any heat up here. There are only 2 sources and they're downstairs.

Sheets of faux tile on the walls & ceiling. Unusual choice.

Would that count as a closet?

Extra supply or empty propane tanks and a spare toilet.

There's a porch on the front of the cabin.

Well, there's a generator. The listing says that the owner planned to put in sloar power, but never got around to it.

So, I guess that this considered a road.

I don't know, maybe this finger is pointing to an alternate route. The sign indicates that there's a town up the mountain to the left. Note the power lines.

I'm guessing that you come down here from the property and get on a paved main road.

20.57 Acre lot, so there's quite a bit of land.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/Nhn-Cadotte-Creek-Rd-Lincoln-MT-59639/2055954790_zpid?

[cavalierzee]

SatanYahu On His Genocidal Rampage

SatanYahu Lied about:

The beheaded israeli babies,

HAMAS raping women,

HAMAS murdering israeli civilians in the towns surrounding Gaza.

When in actuality is was israeli pilots and tank personnel that opened fire on their own people.

The War Crimes SatanYahu accused HAMAS of perpetrating, are the very War Crimes and Crimes Against Humanity, the Israeli government and its military are committing against the defenseless and innocent Palestinian population of Gaza, like:

Bombing civilian neighborhoods.

Bombing hospitals.

Bombing schools

Bombing civilians fleeing to Southern Gaza after they were instructed by the Israeli military to travel down certain roads.

Denying food, water, fuel, electricity and humanitarian supplies to the besieged enclave of Gaza.

[dumpstermaster]

Hi. I don't usually speak up about these issues mainly because I don't exactly have a following, and I'm pretty sure only mutuals will be able to see this post.

But—

Let's open our eyes to what's going on for a second. Let's take a break from consuming things that distract us from reality. From what's been happening across the sea. From the tides that are ebbing and flowing with the blood of the innocent. From the cries of children, mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters stripped of their home and of their lives.

From the people who are desperately reaching out to us for help.

I have been privileged enough not to wake to the sounds of bombs mere miles from where I'm sleeping. I have been privileged enough to wake up and not smell sulfur and ash in the air. I have been privileged enough not to live in cramped spaces that breed disease, lacking food or clean water.

The people of Palestine need you to amplify their voices. They need you to scream for them now more than ever.

Rafah is currently being bombed and invaded. The border between the Rafah to Egypt crossing is currently being lined with tanks.

I know that it all feels hopeless, but please do not give up. There will be another opportunity. There will be another opening. While the invasion of Rafah is currently taking place, a ceasefire resolution is still being negotiated as we speak. Do NOT give up hope.

I didn't want to make this post without supplementing it with something that is actionable, but as someone with little means to help monetarily, I understand if you cannot directly donate to the links provided below. However, please do not underestimate your voice. Being able to spread this to someone who is able to contribute funding is equally as important.

So what can you do?

The simplest thing you can do is share these resources. Share them to as many people as you can. Amplifying the voices of the disparaged means that more people who are able to give aid can be reached. Research any local movements, any protests happening in your city or town, and attend them if you can.

And when your voice is hoarse from speaking, from screaming. When your legs hurt from the march. When you aren't able to reach as far as you can, as you want to, as you need to, the next thing you can do is listen. Keep updated on what is happening. Keep your eyes open. The more people mobilize and direct their efforts to help, the more people come up with new ways to give aid. There is always a next step.

Avoid supporting companies who are supporting or are compliant to Israel's genocide. There is a useful app called Boycat that you can scan the barcodes of products with so it can tell you, using its ever-expanding database, if its brand is compliant to ethical standards. One of the current campaigns it's supporting is that of Palestine.

For folks who are able to donate funds, here is a list of charities and fundraisers you can donate to:

eSims For Gaza makes sure that people in Gaza are able to maintain communication with their families overseas, and allows journalists to secure more visibility on what is happening on the field.

The Gaza Sunbirds are a para-cycling team focusing their efforts and resources to helping their community by routing supplies to families in the Gaza strip.

Gxza Health provides telemedicine to the people in Gaza in need of medicine and healthcare. They are partnered with UNRWA to get medication delivered to patients.

Palestine Red Crescent Society is a part of the Red Cross and the Red Crescent and helps facilitate aid to the people in the Gaza strip.

Sulala Animal Rescue is an organization focused on rescuing, treating, and feeding strays in Gaza City, with hopes of possibly opening a permanent shelter with international support.

Medical Aid for Palestinians supports Palestinians by providing medical aid to those who need it.

Anera provides warm meals and facilitates medical aid for refugees in Palestine.

Baitumaal provides emergency aid and poverty relief to communities that are under-privileged, including a service to sponsor children who have been orphaned.

If you want to directly sponsor a Palestinian family, a grassroots movement called Operation Olive Branch is currently working hard to amplify the voices of Palestinians who are in need of funding to escape their current predicament. You can find over 800+ families in the spreadsheet that they maintain, with gofundme campaigns operated by the families themselves. OOB also heads the Perinatal Project, a project that specifically caters to people in need of urgent prenatal, postpartum, and infant care needs.

I will make new posts as time goes on and the more resources I am able to gather, but for now that is all. Please share as much as you can.

From the river to the sea.

Free Palestine

[ID: a digital drawing of a hoopoe bird holding a large watermelon slice in its beak. The watermelon is dripping red, and the bird’s face and front are likewise covered in red: it could be watermelon juice, but it looks a lot like blood either way. The background features smudges of black and red behind the bird. /end ID]

(Art by me. Image description by my friend @quaxorascal)

[etraytin]

Just a note to let all the moots and buddies know that my family and I are safe and well after several days completely incommunicado after Helene. I admit to a certain amount of personal arrogance before the storm; I spent all of Thursday working a Red Cross shelter in Swannanoa (Western North Carolina was flooding even before Helene made landfall) and went home to sleep, confident that I would be largely unaffected there and come back to help the actual damaged areas after the storm. I didn’t even fill our goddamned bathtubs, what the hell, past me?

In any case, the storm hit us like the fist of an angry god, and while I was incredibly lucky that my home was spared, the winds caused a huge amount of damage to the power grid, which in turn wiped out water (all wells in my area!) and communications. We were still better off than other more low-lying places, where they got the wind and the water both, to devastating effect. I picked my way carefully back to Swannanoa on Saturday because my entire Red Cross chain of command was a black hole of no comms and this was the last place I’d seen them, but the shelter had been closed and moved because the damage was too extensive. I had to drive around a huge car shed that had been set down in the middle of the highway and past a sinkhole bigger than my van just to get to the place, so it was understandable. The weird thing is, Swannanoa had cell signal so I sat in the parking lot of a closed and washed-out gas station for about an hour just to call our loved ones and try and figure out what had happened to us.

Living in a communications blackout is very interesting and strange. You’d think it would be like rocketing back into the past, but it is not. People had ways of communicating before the internet that have not survived the internet. Radio stations are so rarely local now, and how many of them are actually good at relaying emergency information anymore? The most infuriating of our local stations would offer bumpers promising news and wither, then directing people to their website which we of course could not access. Nobody has landlines anymore to talk on the phone. Even people with “landlines” have digital phones through their cable service, not real telephone lines. Ham radio operators are rarer than hen’s teeth. When I got back from Swannanoa, I walked up and down the very steep hill that is my street, visiting my neighbors and telling them that I had gone to visit the internet and come back with news!

My trip did provide us with an action plan and a route out of town, at least. Only one major road out of Buncombe County was open, and it was the one furthest from us, but we hoped we could do it. Both cars had a third of a tank of gas left, so we picked the one that got better mileage, packed up and crossed our fingers. The evening before we left, we invited all the neighbors over and grilled all the meat in our freezer, now thawed and on the edge of ruin. They brought stuff too and we had chicken, burgers, brats, hot dogs, salmon and shrimp. It was really nice and didn’t break up until dusk when we all had to go home by flashlight. In the morning, we left as soon as it was light, hoping to avoid traffic, and with no maps and a vague idea of where we were going, headed for Charlotte and the modern world. It took us about four hours to go what would have been ninety miles on the normal route, including time waiting in a very long line for gas, but we got to my sister’s house where we got showers and cold drinks and basically just fell into bed.

So that’s how it stands now. We are safe, we are out, we are going back soon even if the power doesn’t come back. The Red Cross still needs me and our house is going to get very yucky all closed up to mildew in the post-storm humidity. We are taking this time to rest up and stock up on supplies and batteries, then it’s back into the void. Please send good wishes our way, and maybe donate to the Red Cross or other orgs working out here because it’s a huge, huge job.

[winterwandersland]

This is another idea that I've been working with. It's been in my documents for like two months now. This is also unedited, but I do want to make it another story. If I do choose to extend it to a full story, I will revise this chapter. Just trying to see how much traction it may get for rn.

Simon Riley x Black!Fem!Reader Call of Duty x The Walking Dead x The Last of Us? Word Count: 2k cw: shooting, blood, being handcuffed It just started out as a pandemic, but then the virus began to mutate. The dead was now living, well, sort of. Sane human beings craved food, but those things...they craved people and any living creature they could get their hands on. You found a farm during your travels to safety and have kept shelter there ever since. One day while hunting for food, you come across a group of men that you are sure were going to kill you, but as you continue to be in their presence, you aren't so sure. Will they take you with them and protect you like they do in the movies you used to watch as a child or will they put you through a hell worse than the world you now lived in?

It was the dead of summer, meaning that the walkers were more sparse, some of them moving in herds across the land. You had been alone for many months now, unable to contact any friends and family. Quite frankly, you hoped they were dead. Then, they wouldn’t have to face the ugliness of the world.

It was hard to find clean sources of water, many of the water sources being tainted with walker blood and guts. The CDC had suspected a virus in the water tanks, advising everyone to ensure their water was being filtered properly. A small town had had a few suspicious deaths, no one knowing what caused it. A few deaths turned to hundreds and hundreds turned to thousands. Only a couple of states had declared martial law before the rest of the country followed suit. Within a few weeks, the country was at war, along with other nations. The only content was the news broadcasting of the dead coming back to life. At first, you scoffed, but that was until you witnessed it yourself.

You almost died when you were up against your first walker, but the few self-defense classes you took in your teenage years had paid off. Now, it had been months and nearing winter, and over half of the world population was undead—dead, but alive enough to still have basic needs like hunger. Two months had passed since you had seen another live human being.

The end of the world had brought about a side of you that you didn’t know existed. A will to live that you thought you had lost a long time ago. Actions you would have considered disgusting and vile now became part of your survival’s guide. Thanks to the books you found in the untouched library, you could stack up on some hunting manuals and more books to keep you entertained. You dreaded the coming of winter, but you did everything you could to stock up on food and supplies, staying at a farmhouse further in the country. To your surprise, no one had come that far and from the amount of walkers, anyone who did seemed to not have made it too far.

Animals were almost extinct. Everyday, it seemed harder to find food to eat. The farm had been beneficial for growing crops and having clean water. You dreaded the day walkers came across it and it was you against them, but you tried not to think about it too much.

To venture south was a suicide mission by yourself. As much as you wanted to check if your family was alive, you knew it was better to keep the idea of them alive than to have the knowledge that they were dead. Outside, the farmland was almost pure woods plagued with the undead. Occasionally, you’d scour them to see if any source of food was left. There wasn’t. Birds hardly flew past the window anymore and you were never fast enough to catch them, your hunting skills not being up to par with flying prey.

It had been a few weeks since you’d checked the woods for food, so you figured you’d give it a go given the herd of walkers seemed to be migrating. You crept around the trees, watching every step to make sure you didn’t do so much as step on a twig. The crunching of the leaves was loud enough. Learning to use a gun would have drawn the walkers to you, so you spent your months mastering the art of the blade. You weren’t an expert quite yet, but you were much better than you were a few months ago.

You hid behind a tree and used a tree spile to collect water rather than carrying the weight of a bottle with you on your runs. Your body stayed steady, using minimal movement to angle your head below the spout as you drank the water.

Leaves shuffled behind you, startling you enough to quickly collect your spile and bring out the military grade knife you found at the tactical store not too far from your old neighborhood. You had emptied it out as much as you could before it was overrun by walkers and other survivors. Knowing the evils of mankind from apocalypse movies, you made sure they didn’t see you leave, and if they did, they couldn’t catch you once you entered your vehicle.

You caught a flash of movement and tracked it as best as you could without being noticed. Staying quiet and keeping low, you tread softly towards the movement to identify what or who it was. A squirrel. Before it could move anymore, you threw your knife at it, striking it in the head. It had been almost a week since you had eaten. Your stomach felt like it was eating away at itself.

A squirrel was a delicacy nowadays. Any meat was. You dug in, cutting just past the skin layer to peel it back, revealing the flesh hidden beneath it. Cutting past the ribs was the easiest part and once it was done, you practically ate at the squirrel like it was meat on bone. The smells no longer bothered you and the blood on your face was an afterthought. You’ll clean up once you get back to the farm.

“I see another one!” a deep, accented voice yelled. You turned your head to try to identify the direction of the voice, but your ears rang from the bullet that grazed past your head. “Fuck!” you shouted loud enough for only you to hear. You stayed low, dropping the squirrel and running deeper into the woods.

  A few more shots fired in your direction, one grazing your non-dominant arm. You ran as fast as you could away from your home. One man turned to two and two turned to three, and three turned to four as you heard more running towards you. Another shot fired and you fell to the ground, clutching the side of your head. Your hand filled with blood as you applied pressure to the wound, but your vision became blurry as you pulled yourself to the nearest tree. The voices came closer, and you drew your knife, again, but your body became too weak for you to hold it up. Everything moved slower than your eyes moved.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you heard a deep, very British, accent say before your vision was no longer light and only darkness.

***

“She’s still alive,” one man said as he placed two fingers on your neck to feel for your heartbeat. You opened your eyes to see four men surrounding you and immediately tried to launch yourself at the one with the mohawk, but your wrist was viciously pulled back by the handcuffs that kept one of your wrists attached to a familiar pipe.

“Calm down. We aren’t gonna hurt you,” the man with a boonie-style hat said. You scanned the men who you knew could pin you down at any moment. One had on a skull mask, ahead of season for the fall time, and the upcoming Halloween holiday, the only holiday you once enjoyed celebrating. He lurked over everyone else. He was the biggest of them, followed by the man with the beard and hat. The other two weren’t much smaller, but their difference was noticeable.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You tried to release your hand from the pipe, but it only drew more blood and made your hand ache even more. Your screams echoed as you used all of your force to try and pry yourself out of the handcuffs. Your feet were planted on the wall, trying your hardest to release yourself.

“That won’t do you any good,” the mohawk man said. “Fuck you!” You continued to try and rip your hand out of the cuffs, but the more you did, the more blood that trickled down your arm and into the crease of your elbow.

The large man with the mask knelt down beside you and his fingers pressed into the sides of your face as he grabbed it. Your lip quivered and a tear dragged down your face as he roughly turned your head to face him. To avoid his piercing stare, you closed your eyes, more tears streaming down your face.

He didn’t say anything as he pulled out a cloth that clearly had not been cleaned in a while. You could feel the pressure of the cloth on your face, wiping away at the blood that you forgot stained your face. His hand was warm, the first physical contact you had in nearly a year. While he was rough when wiping your cheeks, his touch became more gentle once he moved towards your lips. His touch became light and slow, the most gentle he had been.

He momentarily let go of your face to dump some water from his canister onto the cloth. You opened your eyes for a split second and closed them again once his hand was back on your face. He was rougher now, applying more pressure to cure your stained lips. You didn’t say anything and allowed him to clean your face to satisfy whatever sick and twisted needs he had. His grip on your face loosened and he used his thumb to gently wipe at the salty water drops that made their way down your face and into the palm of his hand. “Shh, we aren’t gonna hurt you.”

The other three had left you and the man alone to ransack the kitchen, leaving you more scared than you were before. You turned your face away from him, shaking even more than when the men first arrived. The adrenaline kept you from feeling the pain of the flesh wounds along your arm and head. “This is my house. You can’t have it.”

“So you do speak.” You tried to kick him, but he grabbed your foot, throwing it back at you. “This really your house?” You nodded your head, keeping eye contact with the brute man. “We’re not here for it. Just food. You can keep your house. Let me clean your wounds.” He reached for your arm, but you pulled away, not being able to go far because you were still cuffed.

“What’s your name?” You stayed silent, only keeping eye contact with the man, hoping he would go away. Only a small huff of breath left your lungs while you still caught your breath from struggling with the cuffs and pipe. “Don’t speak then. I don’t care. Give me your arm.” He tried to grab at you again, but you pulled back, making him more upset. “Let me help you and then we will leave.”

“You shot me…twice.”

“Did you see the way you were eating that squirrel? We thought you were one of the dead.”

“I ran away.”

“Some of them aren’t that bright. Thought you were one of them.”

The other three men came back into the room, halting you and the skull man’s conversation. “There’s no food.”

“Yea. It’s her house,” the man with the mask said.

“If we had known that, we wouldn’t have come here. She speak, yet?”

The masked man looked at your pleading eyes and returned his gaze back to the team. “No.”

“A shame,” the man with the funny hair said. “Sorry for shootin’ ya. You eat like one of the dead. When was the last time you had a meal?” You continued to just stare at the man, your silence answering his question. “That long, huh?

You tried not to look any of the men in the eye and only turned your body towards the man with the mask. “Why didn’t you clean her wounds?”

“She wouldn’t let me.”

TO BE CONTINUED

[harshdakadam]

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[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter twenty seven

close to home | chapter twenty seven

plot: the reader throws herself into work to keep her grief at bay, and helps get everyone ready for their journey north

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 2,496 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd, A/N: thank you for reading!!!

It had been two days since Beth’s death, and every day started out the same. You were okay when you woke up, then you remembered, and you wanted to cry. Then you were busy with the day and were able to get through it. Then, you lay down to sleep and remembered all over again and cried. Then it would repeat itself. 

You learned about Rick’s plans on going to Virginia for Beth, and you immediately agreed to it. You wanted to honor your little cousin in the only way you knew how. You wanted her death to mean something. If you got Noah back to his family, his home, then it would. 

But the group had things to do before the big move. You needed better transportation, and you needed supplies. So on the last day before you left, you were all busy getting ready. 

Two supply groups were formed and would head in opposite directions. You’d travel twenty-five miles, see what you could get, and then come back. You were all due before sunset, and if you weren’t back, the remaining group would come looking. 

You were with Michonne, Carol, Rick, and Daryl. Glenn, Maggie, Rosita, Sasha, and Tara would be the second group. Carl, Eugene, Tyreese, and Abraham would stay back at the campsite with Judith and Tora, and would wait. Rick wanted you to stay back, but you couldn’t. Besides, you were feeling better. Physically, at least. 

Your group took one of the cars, the other group took the other car, and the campsite group stayed with the truck. It would offer the most protection in case something happened. 

You were sitting in the backseat with Michonne and Carol and had been for a while now. The road was mostly clear, and after about fifteen minutes of Rick’s crazy driving, you approached a town. 

“I’m thinkin’ we divide into two groups. We need food, water, and gas. We need stuff for Judith, too.” Rick said as he parked the car. “We also need some cars. The van will hold a decent amount of us, but we’ll need two more cars. I don’t think this one is makin’ the trip, and I’d rather not get stuck on the road with it.”

You climbed out of the car, your hand gripping your machete as you spotted a lone walker. You waited a second before approaching it, taking it down quickly. The rest of the group was taking out some supplies the group had scavenged the past few days--which was nearly nothing, though Rosita scored big when she found some empty gas containers. 

“Michonne and I will look for food. You three try and get your hands on a car. Meet back here at midday, and we’ll reassess if we want to go back in for more.” Rick said. 

You all nodded and made the journey into the town. It mainly seemed deserted, with a few walkers here and there that were quickly taken out. Soon, Michonne and Rick bid their goodbyes, and the three of you were left to scavenge. 

Twenty minutes later, you were breathing deeply and covering the sore wound as Carol took the last walker down. It’d only taken a few minutes but it felt like more. 

“There’s gotta be keys inside the shop,” Carol said. “You two pick a car, and then we’ll try and figure it out from there. I’m going to try and siphon some gas. Hollar if you need help.”

The three of you split up as you searched the small car dealership. When you’d seen the logo of a common car manufacturer, you felt like it was a sign from God. The lot was pretty full, and most car dealerships had cars with full tanks. 

You returned to where most of the SUVs were, Daryl, walking slowly behind you and making sure nothing was around. Your gun was heavy and solid against your thigh, and you drummed your fingers against it a few times as you walked. 

Your eyes scanned the few remaining SUVs, and you smiled when you saw the biggest one. It was an old Acadia, and it reminded you of the one your mom used to drive. You walked up to the door, wiping dirt away with your hand and then wiping your hand on your pants. 

“This will hold seven of us. We got seventeen, including Judith….” You trailed off, checking to see if the door was unlocked. It was, and you stuck your head into the car. “Seems like it was pretty new.”

Daryl walked to the passenger side door and looked in the glove box and visors. A pair of keys fell out, and you smiled at Daryl. He handed them to you, and you started the car. It took a second, but it started, and you sighed with relief. 

“Tank is full, which is a relief. You might want to check the engine. It's been here since the start. Imma look for another seven-seater.”

Daryl nodded, “Shouting distance,”

You rolled your eyes but nodded before leaving. It was quiet, and the dealership seemed mostly untouched--which you were thankful for. You glanced back at Daryl, watching him sort through what was probably a dusty engine. You paused momentarily, watching the muscles in his arm contort as he looked through the machine. 

Shaking your head, you looked across the lot to Carol, who was siphoning the gas from a car. You then walked around, looking for another bigger car to hopefully get you all to Virginia. Unfortunately, the rest of the SUVs weren’t worth trying, so you helped Daryl get the car out of the spot and park it at the front of the lot. Carol met up with you with a full container of gas, and after setting it in the trunk, you drove the car off the lot. 

“Okay, so we got a car and some gas. We just need food and water. I think we should see if we can get some clothes. I’ve got blood on here that’s so old and stained that nothing gets it out.” You said as you drove. 

“There’s a Goodwill; looks like a coffee shop next to it,” Carol said, leaning into the front and pointing. 

“We should see if we could get Judith some clothes too. Maybe a car seat, too, if we could. I’m sure Rick would love that,” You said. 

After parking, Carol went to the coffee shop while you and Daryl checked out the front of the store. A few walkers dumped into the glass, and you and Daryl worked carefully to kill them. It wasn’t a very big store anyway. 

“Smells like shit in here,” You said, looking around the store. 

He snorted, “Ain’ like it always smells.”

You nodded in agreement and walked down the aisles of clothes. You started at the pants, grabbing a few pairs the group's women could use and stuffing them into a bag you’d found at the front of the shop. You weren’t sure what everyone’s sizes were, and everyone being nearly starved didn't help. You did your best to fill up some clean shirts, too, even a few sports bras you hoped would be good. 

You found a few things for yourself to change into, and after making sure Daryl was across the store, you quickly changed.

A few more minutes of searching later, you approached Daryl. He was grabbing a few plastic water containers in the kitchen area. “Here, I found these for you. Will these fit you?” You asked, showing him the clothes you’d found for him. 

“What?”

“You need new clothes. Those ones are disgusting. Go, try them on. I’m going to look for Judith. And don’t argue with me.”

You handed them over to him and went to the baby area without another word. You quickly grabbed a few onesies, shorts, and shirts that would fit her, with room to grow. You grabbed some socks and shoes that looked right. Unfortunately, there was no baby food, but this was something. You even found a car seat, and added it to the growing pile of supplies you made in the middle of the store. 

When Daryl met you, he had changed into newer clothes. They were just a pair of dark pants, a shirt he’d already torn the sleeves off, and his vest. But he looked better. 

“Did you grab some stuff for all the guys?” You asked. 

“Huh?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “We should grab some shirts for the guys. So they could change too.”

“I ain’ doin’ all that,”

You rolled your eyes and walked to the men’s section. It took about ten minutes for you to find stuff that would fit them all--since they were all different sizes. But you had enough shirts for them and wouldn’t even bother trying to guess pants sizes. At least all the women in the group were similar. And you had no idea how to look for men’s clothes. 

After adding them to the pile, you walked towards the employee door and slowly pushed through, checking the small break room before entering. There were some dusty tables and two vending machines in the back. You started laughing when you saw them. They were still nearly full. 

“Daryl!” You yelled, grabbing your machete. 

The door swung open after a few seconds, and he came in with his bow raised but lowered it when he saw your face. 

“Food,” You said, “Help me?”

Daryl looked at you, of course, unspoken on his lips. So he nodded and took the arrow out of the crossbow and then used the butt of it to break open the glass. 

“Careful,” He said quietly as you reached in, pulling out everything and shoving it into one of your bags. 

“Mhm,” You hummed, grabbing candy bars, bags of chips, pop-tarts, and granola bars. It wasn’t the healthiest of foods, but it was more than you had. You grabbed a blueberry pop-tart and ripped it open. It was stale when you took a bite, but you moaned at the taste anyway. “Oh my God,” 

Daryl shook his head in amusement as he busted the other vending machine and pulled out all the water bottles. 

“Here, eat,” You said, handing him the other pop-tart. He tried to refuse, but you forced it on him. “You gotta take care of yourself, too, Daryl. Hand me one of those sodas.”

“They probably taste like shit,” He said. 

You shrugged, taking the soda from him and sitting on one of the tables. A meal of stale pop-tarts and flat soda wasn’t what you had in mind today, but it was like finding a little slice of heaven in the hell you’ve been in. 

Once you finished your food and made Daryl drink, you went to grab the bags. The one with the water bottles was too heavy, and you barely lifted it off the ground. “Ugh,” You groaned. “You take this one.”

Daryl laughed quietly and you looked over at him. Hearing him laugh was a rarity and you loved when he did. 

“C’mon, Carol’s probably wonderin’ where we at,” He said. 

It took you two a good few minutes to load up all your supplies in the trunk, and you were sweating and aching when it was over. The truck was packed, and you tossed the car seat in the back. Before Daryl closed the trunk, you swiped a bag of chips. 

“It’s our reward for all the work we did,” You said, opening it up. Before you could even take a chip, Daryl swiped it from you and took some himself. “Asshole,” You said. 

He laughed again and handed the bag back to you after taking a few more. 

“Bags are mostly air anyway, so you owe me,” You said. 

“Let’s go check on Carol,” He said. 

You followed him as you ate handfuls at a time. You’d been starving since yesterday, and you couldn’t stop yourself from eating the shitty chips. 

The coffee shop was small, and Carol was inside. She’d found a decent amount of supplies in here. She’d found a few jugs of vegetable oil, cornmeal, and grains. An industrial size thing of oats. There were two can openers and some lighters. Nothing that you’d all be able to just open and eat, but it was better than nothing. 

“I found you some clothes,” You told Carol, grabbing some of the supplies. 

Carol smiled at you, “You’re my new favorite.”

***

By midday, you were waiting in the new car with all your supplies at the meeting point. Michonne and Rick weren’t back yet, but there was still time. You were sitting on top of the front of the car, leaning against the front window. Daryl had gone off into the woods to see if he could do some hunting for a few minutes. 

Carol was pacing back and forth on the road. 

“They’ll be back. It’s Rick and Michonne.” You said. 

Carol nodded, “Yeah, I know. I hope they found water.” 

You sat up and squinted in the sunlight. “We’ll figure it out if they didn’t.” 

Carol turned back at you. “You told Daryl.”

You knew exactly what she was talking about. “I needed to… needed to tell someone, you know?”

She nodded and crossed her arms. “I understand. I’m glad. He asked about it. It was nice talking to someone about it.” She admitted. 

You were about to lean back when you heard a car and watched as a car sped over the hill toward you. You didn’t need to even attempt to worry about who it was--Rick’s driving was a dead giveaway. 

The car slowed as they approached, and when Rick put it in park, they both got out. They looked like they had a bit of trouble but were okay. 

“How’d it go?” You asked them. 

“We found a small apartment building. Probably only ten units. Single floor.” Rick said, “We only cleared a room before heading back. There are probably two dozen or so walkers there. Where’s Daryl?”

“He went to see if he could catch anything. He’ll be back soon. He said he’d be gone for twenty.” Carol said. 

“Did you get stuff from the apartment?” You asked. 

Michonne nodded, “Yeah, they had a decent amount of food.” You knew exactly what that meant. Whoever it was, they killed themselves early on. 

You slide off the front of the car, ignoring the slight ache on your side. “So you wanna clear it?”

“I’d like to. We have the time. How did you guys do? I see you got a car.”

“We found a decent amount. Oh, I got some clean shirts. Michonne, even got some pants.” You said, “Not for you, Rick, sorry.”

“I’ll take a shirt. You won’t see me complaining,”

[emo-nova]

Instability of a Dollhouse

Written for this Prompt, know that there is mentions of a child being thrown into water to learn how to swim very early on! For the wonderful @plyerice27 :)

_______

Steve didn’t like the house he lived in. He says it’s just the house because it’s not his, never will be with the rate he’s going at, and the conditions put on to kill him. Though it sounds dramatic, it is possibly true. His parents could get up and leave in an act of deep rooted grief and let his body fester in a uncaring town in the middle of nowhere. A part of him knew that he would deserve it. His parents, especially his father, preached that he should be able to move around the house and know what to do and fix and clean after himself as well as know how to budget for his own future. 

The way they taught him is similar to how his father taught him how to swim when he was younger. Throwing him head first into the pool and letting him figure it out from there and once he knew how to float it was quick for him to know how to swim. It took a minute but he figured it out. But then he was terrified of being in water and his father sent him to become part of the swim team to make him get over it. 

So when he was thrown into this situation when he was eight, it was for two weeks, and he learnt the hard way that it was difficult but it was easy to figure it out on the first day. That being with the amount of money that he has for the period and having it stretch out for the time he was left alone, then came the housekeeping skills and then came the inspector. He met the inspector, a lovely lady called Kathy who didn’t speak much and arrived just after four-thirty on the twentieth of each month to ensure that Steve still had time to finish up the house, before inspecting the place to tell his father how he is doing with the house in his care.

Steve thought it was normal. A normal open secret that anyone with similarly money-pinching parents as him. That cold showers were mostly the norm, even in the winter, and that some days he had to skip lunch to allow himself to get some cleaning products that he was running low on or to get a certain pair of shoes that he had been eyeing for a while. 

He guessed it was normal and carried on. Because that’s why Steve didn’t like living in that house. It was an ice-cube because his father wasn’t there or it was secretly holding the desert as it would be a waste of money to have heating as  well as heating while he was living there on his own. 

Steve had long since been used to switching off all the lights when leaving the house, making sure that the washing machine was finished and the tumble-dyer was also done before leaving. Making sure that there was plenty of supplies for cleaning under the sink, counting how many scoops of detergent, dishwasher salt and dish soap he had for the month before another piece of allowance was coming in. Steve was used to it. 

Used to the cold house. Used to the colder showers. Used to the constant watch of the pantry dwindling with each dime being watched. Used to not having the right clothes for certain occasions as the ones his mother sent him weren’t exactly fit for school. Used to making sure that gas in the car was enough for the week, and the emergency tank in the garage he got when his parents were home from a few months ago. 

School was it’s own issue with people trying to get a taste of the house, his parents money as his was going down the drain even as he watched it, his ‘perfect’ life. Which, he could see as that, with little to no pestering parents and little to no worries of when they would come back. But Steve missed that. Missed it when his mother would nag him for details over certain things in school, always happy to hear of his social standing. Missed it when his father would look at him with this small fraction of a glow of pride when he hears of his winning in swimming.

Today, however, was becoming worse by the minute. Steve could feel a cold coming on and he didn’t have nearly enough cold medicine to stave it off until his bonused allowance came, as it was his birthday was coming this month. The cold shower he had most likely made it worse as there wasn’t a fever yet. And then there was Tommy H. Carol wasn’t in due to some kind of family emergency that was most likely a vacation in disguise.

Tommy H, being stoked into a jealous rage about Carol being unfaithful for the tenth time this month, pleaded, “Just at your place! It’s, like, the perfect place to show up this guy!” Happily trying to butter up Steve to use the house when the Kathy would walk the halls of his house in two days time, as if being ‘King of Hawkins High’ would get him off in this department. “C’mon, Carol would be amazed by what I could do to fuck up this guy, I’m serious.” 

Looking at him. Firm and certain, “No, I need to sort out things for the house, and I don’t have the time to clean up a wrecked up house,” Steve denied him, watching Tommy deflate and it never filled him with so much joy. As the person who would be getting beat up would be Tommy H, he didn’t have much social standing as he could only be used as a one-trick pony in basketball and was friends with Steve for years. Meaning he always got out of a fight scot-free when Steve would be the one pulling the punches for him.

“I could help,” Tommy said after a moment, hope in his eyes. Steve fiddled with a ball as he had to skip lunch to buy detergent and a couple other cleaning supplies for the day.

“I said, no. And that is final.”

“Oh, c’mon!”

Screech! Thud!

Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was standing on the table. Long limbed and wearing plaid as his hair was still growing out in waves and curly dark brown. His wide eyes were set on Steve. As if the mere sight of him insulted Eddie. “Most rich-folk won’t understand in their perfect pearly ivory-towers, my dear friend! Where they have not a single thing wrong with their home,”

Tommy muttered something about Eddie being a weirdo or a freak. Eddie was making a well-practiced march across his table, “Where they would have an endless supply of warm water for a shower and wouldn’t have to worry about using it all or that it would cost too much!” His eyes moved from Steve, as Steve sat statue-still. “Where they wouldn’t skip a meal as they decided to pay more for clothes or where they wouldn’t understand the need to pinch-pockets to make sure there is still food in the pantry and fridge,” Eddie was loud, expressive as he have moving hands and contort his face into the most unhappy face he could. Steve’s jumper, slightly itchy and outdated by two years, felt like it was made of iron as he remembered how he had a shopping list written on his wrist.

“In their little world, they don’t know the meaning of a cold home because the heating was costing too much that year or that the budget needed to use some money for your birthday to make sure that you survived.” Hopping off the table to land on his chair, eyes flashing around the room to land on Steve. To watch and peer at his face as he said, “You wouldn’t know that, instability if it hit you, in that delightfully lil’ dollhouse, Harrington. Would you?”

Steve knew what that was like - what? No, he had a nice house. A nice pool. A roof over his head. Parents that were gone most days nowadays. Staring. Wide-eyed and strangely seen. Steve sat there.

Everything he knew crumbling. Crumbling and falling like boulders on top of him. Steve tried to use that practiced, painfully fake smile as he nodded. He had an appearance to uphold. 

Steve carried on shifting the ball from palm to palm. Waiting for the clock to click to the next class. As wide-eyes pierced Steve. 

Even when the ground stayed where it was. Steve felt it shake and tremble under him even in that damn house. He always hated that house he lived in. 

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

The New York Times backs up Israel’s assertion that Hamas is stockpiling food and fuel in the Gaza Strip, keeping it from residents who are in desperate need.

Arab and Western officials tell the outlet that the terror group has amassed stores in its vast network of tunnels.

“Hamas has hundreds of thousands of gallons of fuel for vehicles and rockets; caches of ammunition, explosives and materials to make more; and stockpiles of food, water and medicine,” the report says, citing the unnamed officials.

A senior Lebanese official tells the newspaper that Hamas has enough supplies for the terror group to sustain fighting for three to four months without a need for resupply.

The officials spoke to the newspaper on condition of anonymity so as not to reveal their sources.

Earlier this week, the IDF issued photos it said showed fuel tanks in the Gaza Strip, asserting it had information that half a million liters of fuel were being kept there by Hamas.

Israel, which usually provides fuel to Gaza, halted all transfers following Hamas’s October 7 assault on the country, when the terror group abruptly launched a ground, air and sea assault. Under the cover of a barrage of thousands of rockets, over 2,500 gunmen crossed the border and rampaged murderously through southern towns, killing more than 1,400, most of whom were civilians. Over 230 more were taken hostage.

Israel has barred the entry of fuel into Gaza after imposing a complete blockade on the coastal enclave in the early hours of the war. However, a number of aid convoys of food, water and medical equipment have been allowed in via Egypt.

[orangetintedglasses]

a real space western reunion // @forgivenpunishment

Months. It had been months since the Third City fell-- months since the last time he'd seen any of his companions, months since the nights with the four of them all crammed into the truck, and months since...

... well. Since a lot of things, obviously. Some things Vash couldn't even remember, aside from a flicker or two of choppy memories in dreams that were too fuzzy to recall. He'd tried to convince himself that that was for the best, busying himself with little tasks and missions of his own making-- scavenging old scrap heaps to try and find Lost Tech to salvage, since Brad hadn't had enough to make him another arm like his last one, but at least that meant the new one fit under the sleeve of his new coat --but in the end, his mind just ended up wandering back to the bits and pieces floating around in his head, trying to make sense of them.

What had happened? Why couldn't he remember? How did he destroy an entire city...?

A gruff sound from somewhere behind him reminded him he was actually in line for water refills, looking to top up his supplies in a town he'd stopped at. Vash laughed and apologized softly, shuffling forward to the tank and stuffing the mouth of his canteen under the spigot.

Pity there was a Wanted poster with his face on it plastered right next to him on the tank.

By the time he'd gotten his fill, the din of townie chatter around him had evaporated into pointed silence. Pointed silence that pretty quickly erupted into shouts and gunfire as the blond tore out of the refill station and down the road with a scream of his own.

Guess some things never change, do they...?!

[differenteagletragedy]

With the Baxter angst with mc drowning in a riptide, I’m curious as to what Cove’s (and our family in general) reaction is when we’re found and the days/weeks after our death. Thanks, I love your writing

Thank you so much! Here you go :)

"You ok, son?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine."

Cliff watched as Cove came into the house, his arms full of shopping bags. He was most definitely not fine.

It had been a little over a week since you'd drowned, and Cove was just not himself. Not that Cliff expected he would be after such a traumatic loss, but his behavior was becoming more concerning every day and he wasn't sure what to do.

That night you'd gone out for a swim, your moms came knocking on the Holdens' door frantically around 10:00. Cliff had answered the door and hearing the commotion, Cove came out of his room. Pam and Noelani explained how you'd wanted to go to the ocean by yourself, but then you didn't come home and you didn't answer your phone. When they went to check on you, your things were on the beach but you were nowhere to be found.

Both men had set out to help look for you, as had many of the other neighbors. Authorities were called -- it was an unusually chaotic night for the quiet little street -- but by the morning, your body had been found.

Cliff was pretty sure Cove hadn't slept since.

He hadn't been down to the beach, which was understandable, even though it had been a nearly daily activity for him. But he also hadn't showered. Cliff had taken time away from the shop to be there for his son, but when he'd gone out for a quick grocery run one evening, he came back to a pile of sand in the hallway.

"It's time we got this out of the house," Cove had muttered, broom in hand.

Cliff didn't want to be overbearing -- honestly he had no idea how to help Cove through this -- so he'd watched as Cove did an overhaul of his bedroom. He took out his surfboard and tucked it somewhere out of sight, then packed his swim trunks and wetsuits in a trash bag and set them by the curb. Cliff did grab those up and put them away for him, sure that someday he might want to return to the beach, but as the days went on he stopped being so sure.

That day, when Cove had come in with his bags after a trip to town, Cliff followed him to his bedroom. His son didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care that he had an audience. From the bags, he pulled out bubble wrap, a pack of rubber bands and some smaller plastic bags. He left again without a word, went back to his car, and came back with a cooler.

"What are you doing?" Cliff finally asked.

After taking the time to sort out his newly acquired supplies, Cove knelt down and grabbed a box from under his bed. He opened it, grabbed a few more items, then pushed it aside. He used his free hand to grab one of the smaller bags, and that's when he answered Cliff.

"I'm getting rid of the fish."

Cove was expressionless as he began the task of getting each individual fish into its own bag, securing it, then placing it inside the cooler. Cliff was taken aback for a number of reasons, a big one because he knew how much his son loved his pets. Another was that he was taking the fish off, with everything else that was going on, without a single tear falling.

"I think we need to talk," he said at last, but Cove wasn't interested.

"There's nothing to talk about. I don't want them anymore. Some guy in town is taking them, I'm going to drive them down there in a little bit."

"Cove," he said softly, reaching out to grab his son's shoulder. They both stayed silent, then the younger man let out a shaky sigh.

"I can't sleep, Dad," he said, looking at him for the first time that day. "I can't sleep with them in here. The water ..."

He glanced over to the tank, the little piece of the ocean he'd been so excited to have in his own room years ago. But now, since you were gone, it wasn't welcome anymore.

"Is that why you haven't been showering?"

He nodded.

"Have you been drinking?" Cliff asked. He'd known Cove hadn't been eating that much, but if he was developing this deep of an aversion to water, he wanted to make sure.

"I haven't been thirsty," Cove answered.

Cliff sighed, then decided it was time to take charge. He emptied Cove's hands, setting the scoop and net on the floor, then took him in his arms.

Cove started crying almost immediately.

"You have to take care of yourself," Cliff told him. "And if you can't right now, then you have to let me help you."

"I don't want to," Cove replied, his body wracked with sobs. "I don't want to do any of it."

He cried for a long time, sometimes slowing to a a near stop before starting up violently again. Cliff cried too, feeling utterly helpless. But eventually, when he didn't have any more tears, Cove went a little limp. He was exhausted.

"Come in here," Cliff told him. "I'll take care of it."

He moved to stand beside Cove, letting him lean against his side. He took him to the living room and laid him down on the couch, then grabbed the blanket that was thrown on the back of it to cover him up.

"I'll take care of it," he told him again. "Just sleep for now."

He kneeled on the floor next to Cove, stroking his hair until he drifted off. Then he went in his own bedroom, cleared off his dresser, and began the task of moving the fish tank in there.

When he was almost done, he heard a knock at the door. He moved quickly, not wanting to wake Cove, then quietly opened it and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. It was then that he saw Liz standing there stone-faced, a box in her arms.

"Hey, Liz," he said, trying for a smile but failing. "How are you all holding up?"

"Not great," she answered frankly. "Ma won't get out of bed. They're talking about selling the house but they want to think it through."

He nodded, not sure what to say to that. Liz looked down at the box, then back up at him and asked, "How's Cove?"

"About as good as you'd expect," he said.

"That bad, huh?"

Without waiting for a reply, she held up the box to Cliff.

"What's this?" he asked, taking it from her.

"It's ... it's for Cove. I think he'll appreciate it the most."

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Liz excused herself, walking back across the street and going inside. After she closed the door, Cliff lifted the box's lid and took a peek.

Seashells, all different kinds and colors. He remembered you collecting them with Cove when you were younger, how much time you'd spent together on the beach looking for the best ones.

She was right. Cove would appreciate it the most.

He snuck back inside, box in hand, and moved past a lightly snoring Cove. He went back to his bedroom and put the box safely on his dresser by the tank.

Someday Cove would be ready for this again. He'd be ready for the water, and ready to remember you. Until then, Cliff could keep these memories safe.

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚢𝚎

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ P l o t ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Leon and the reader get separated after the events of the RE2 remake.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ N o t e ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ I don't know where I'm going with this so bear with me lmao. I was thinking of turning this into a series, with some time skips to RE4, RE6, and so on. For now, I'm scheduling this for two chapters, but if you like it and want more I can extend the story. I don't write for Leon often, so please tell me if I did it right. Your feedback is really appreciated!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ P a i r ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Leon Kennedy x Reader;

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨T a g s ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ fluff, angst, and a bit steamy at the end.

Ko-fi || Patreon

The train finally stopped at the end of the line after a long and silent ride. Claire and Sherry fell asleep on the bench while you spent the ride in Leon's arms. None of you talked about what happened; you were just happy to be alive.

When you reached your final stop, everyone was eager to exit the train to breathe the fresh air. The morning sun was too strong for your sensitive eyes, which got used to the darkness. Still, all of you were grateful for the warming sensation that caressed your sore bodies.

After a very long walk filled with Sherry's silly and funny questions, you managed to find a gas station. The cashier was weirdly watching all of you, and who could blame him? Everyone was dirty and bloody, with an expression of sorrow and regret on their faces. The only one who seemed relatively normal was Sherry, but maybe she was just good at hiding her pain.

All of you walked around the store under the judgmental eyes of the cashier, trying to find some affordable supplies.

"Do you have any money on you?" Leon was a bit concerned.

"Yeah, I think I can cover the water."

"Good."

A soft smile appeared on his face. It wasn't because of you; no, it was just a simple thing that made him happy. Still, that smile warmed you, and you wished you could've stayed and watched him a few seconds longer, just to make sure you'd never forget it.

"Shit, if I knew that we'd end up here, I would've robbed a few cash registers on the way," Leon said as he picked some sandwiches.

You giggled as you picked up some protein bars.

"That would've come in handy right now."

All of you placed the products on the counter and waited for the cashier to finish scanning. You watched anxiously as the sum increased, exceeding the number you had in your pockets. The total felt heavy, and everyone began to empty their pockets.

"It's all we have, sir." Claire said, after he counted the money and realized it was not enough. He gave you a long stare, but before he would say anything, Leon intervened.

"C'mon, man, we had a rough night."

"Please, mister," Sherry added.

The guy looked at all of them again and let them go.

"Now we need a ride." You said as you walked out.

A random man just came in and passed by you, ignoring your presence completely. He had his convertible outside, probably with a full tank.

"He won't notice it's missing," Claire said as she boldly approached the vehicle. "Sherry, keep an eye."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Leon asked, worried.

"What does it seem I'm doing? I'm getting us a ride."

"Claire no."

"Do you want to walk to the next city?" She asked, ready to hotwire the car.

"I don't know. No, of course not, but stealing is not okay."

You couldn't help but smile because of how cute Leon was at that moment. Even after he went through hell last night, he still maintained some of that rookie innocence.

"Guys, hurry; I think he is coming," Sherry said, alarmed.

"Come one." Leon scoffed as everyone got in the car. Before the man realized it, the car was long gone. His wallet was in there. Maybe luck was starting to be on your side.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　

Sadly, when you got to the nearest town, Claire had to go on her own to find her brother, Chris, leaving you, Leon, and Sherry in a hotel. She took the car but left you the cash and cards you found.

"Are you sure you want to do this on your own?" You were a bit concerned. After all, you three destroyed an Umbrella facility and survived the mess they created. That will backfire at some point.

"I'm sure. It's my brother; I've got to do this on my own." You hugged her and held her tight for a few seconds. Claire was an amazing person, and you didn't know if you were ever going to see her again.

"Take care," Leon said as he hugged her too. He didn't want her to go, but he couldn't force her to stay either. To be honest, he thought that all of you would stay together to figure out the next move. Claire's leave saddened him a little.

The most affected was Sherry. She glued herself tightly to Claire's body and hardly let go.

"Take care of them for me, ok?" She said it in a brittle voice.

Sherry nodded and joined you and Leon, watching Claire go in the car and drive far away in the distance.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　

Leon thought it would be best to have separate rooms, one for you and Sherry and one for him. He wanted some time alone to cope with everything that happened: the outbreak, the countless deaths, the loss of Ada, and Claire's departure. He didn't know about the destruction of Raccoon City yet.

Leon locked the door behind him and sighed. The room was modest, with orange and yellow tones, a small TV on a table in front of a queen-sized bed, a bathroom next to the entrance, and a cloth hanger. The first thing he did was close the curtains. He wasn't there for the view.

Leon knew he should get some rest, but the events of the previous night kept hunting his mind. The screams, the lies, the blood, and the monsters took their turn to torment the young rookie, who was fidgeting around the room.

Suddenly, a powerful smell hit him and almost made him puke. After a few sniffs, he realized he was the source of the reek, and hurried into the bathroom to take a hot shower. The warm water was a blessing on his beaten skin, and he lingered there hoping that the water would also wash away his memories and guilt. Sadly, it didn't have the desired effect, but at least he smelled nice.

Leon didn't have any clean clothes around but a white bathrobe. Feeling tired he lay on the bed trying to get some sleep. Frustration begins to build up the more he kept squirming in bed.

"God damn it," he said, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. He kept fidgeting until he found a comfortable decision, but his relief was short-lived when his mind started to play with him once more. He needed answers—lots of answers. Who was behind all of this? Why was Umbrella developing all those monsters? And most importantly, what happened to Raccoon City?

Defeated, he got up from the bed and went to the minibar to search for alcohol. A gentle knock on the door got his attention.

"Come in," he said, and a smile appeared on his face when he saw you standing in the doorframe, waiting for him to invite you inside. You wore a bathrobe too.

"Thanks," you said as you closed the door behind you. "How are you holding up?"

"I had better days," he confessed. "How's Sherry?"

"Well, we didn't talk much about what happened. We washed then we watched some cartoons. After that, she fell asleep. The kid was exhausted. I wanted to sleep but I couldn’t…because of…” you paused, trying to ignore all the flashbacks that came to you.

“Yeah, I know…” Leon added gloomily.

“Anyway, I decided to check on you. Figured you weren’t sleeping.”

"How kind of you," he said while opening the small door of the fridge.

"They don't have any alcohol. I checked first thing when I came in the room."

"Damn it. Then why do they have it on the menu?"

You shrugged.

"Beats me. It’s what we get for the money we paid. I mean, the rooms are pretty cheap; it's not like we will get quality service." You said.

"Damn, and I really thought we'd get top services here. I really wanted a valet to park my Lamborghini."

"If a valet is an old security guard sleeping on duty, then you're halfway there."

"Yeah, all I need now is a Lambo."

You both laughed, but the moment lasted shortly, and Leon dragged himself to the bed, where he sat on the edge. Then he rested his head on his palms and sighed.

This drastic and sudden change in his demeanor scared you a little because you knew it was becoming harder and harder for him to hide his pain behind silly jokes. In front of you, there was a broken man who suffered terribly after what happened in Raccoon City and who was now carrying the burden of being one of the few survivors. You sat next to him, and you began to gently caress his back.

"Why did they allow this to happen? Why didn't I come sooner?" He said it in a brittle voice.

"If you came early, then you would've been long dead. And you wouldn't have met me, Claire, and Sherry."

"Yeah, but still..."

"Leon, there is nothing you could've done to prevent this. Please stop torturing yourself." You pressed your body against his and held him tight. One of your arms slid across his chest, while the other went over his back. Leon grabbed your hand and held it tightly.

"I'm sorry; I just don't wanna lose you too."

"Leon..."

He rose, and now you were on the same level. His blue eyes were staring at you, expressing both need and sorrow. He needed you to be there for him.

His palms fell to his knees, and your right hand was still in his gentle and warm grip. You raised your left arm, your delicate fingers brushing away some strands of blond hair from his forehead. Once you started to gently caress his temples with your fingertips, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the pleasure that a gentle touch brought him after so many hours of hell.

"I'm here, Leon, and I'm not going anywhere."

"That sounds so good."

You locked eyes again. His grip tightened, and your palm was resting on his face now, your big thumb caressing his bruised cheek.

"Promise you'll be here for me too."

"Promise."

He closed the space between you, and soon your lips touched. It was a delicate, shy kiss in which you kept pressing your lips over and over onto each other. His hand let go of yours just to move to your waist and join the other one. You cupped his face and kept him close as the kiss became more and more passionate.

Tag list: @shadow-wolf510 @skylar-todd @lunarastrobabe @ravenrune @alewesker @rokurodokuro (if you want to be added dm me����).

Oh and on a small note, the next chapter will be steamy :)

[jeridandridge]

I see you're open to ideas for the college years for melissa x reader! College road trip for spring break or something gets derailed when they get lost bc one of them can't read the map/mapquest right, they run out if gas- like a comedy of errors type of thing with little romantic bits? A happy ending if possible 😁😁 hope you like it. Either way I can't wait to read more!

I had to add a little bit of a joe mention in there to drive the point home. I loved this idea!

Detours

“Red, if you’re not ready in ten minutes I’m leaving without you!” You huff from your bed in the corner.

“Yeah right.” Melissa laughs coming out of the small bathroom. “You wouldn’t leave me stranded here alone. You love me too much.”

You roll your eyes grabbing the keys to your tiny skyhawk that was packed to the brim with supplies for the road trip you and Melissa had planned shortly after she dumped Joe, saying it was for good.

“Cmon, let’s head out.” You encourage slinging your arm over her shoulders as you two move through the empty dorm.

Outside you pull right up to the dorm tossing your backpack in the back as you get in the drivers seat.

“four hours from now we’ll be on the beach with drinks in hand.” The red head smiles.

You grin as you pull out of the parking lot heading for the exit of the college town. As soon as you light a cigarette and relax behind the wheel your eyes go wide when you see the trunk opening in the rear view mirror.

“Shit!” Melissa yells as you slam on the breaks, one of the coolers falling out onto the road. Luckily, no one was behind you.

You groan and hop out to get everything back in.

“Good thing we weren’t on the highway yet, huh?” The redhead calls out from the front.

You playfully roll your eyes and slam the trunk making sure it’s shut tight.

“Okay,” you huff starting down the road again, “no more mishaps.”

An hour into the drive Melissa starts to grow restless. “Cmon, let’s stop at a gas station and grab some snacks.” She pouts.

“We have snacks in the back, Mel.” You hook your thumb over your shoulder towards your backpack.

“You didn’t get any of those gummy fish I like though.”

You glance at the woman shaking your head. “No. Those cute puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna work on me.”

The red head gets even closer resting her head on your shoulder. “Please, y/n?”

You groan and get in the next lane headed for the exit. As you glide down the street to the gas station you can’t help but smile at the proud smirk on your friends face.

A little while later you two come out with junk food acquired, Melissa happy as ever. Setting your huge slushie on the roof of the car, you stand there with your hands on your hips as you top off the gas tank.

“Why do you look so hot pumping gas?” Melissa grins from the window. The spring breeze had pushed her hair back, and the sunglasses she wore made her look even better if that were possible.

Fighting back a grin you shake your head. You loved the woman, but she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. You weren’t that sleazy.

“Eat your gummies, Schemmenti.”

Closing the gas tank and getting back in the car you start it up head move forward, only to have a blue Icy substance splash all over your windshield.

“My slushie.” You thud your forehead against the steering wheel.

“Oh, hon.” Melissa laughs reaching over to rub your back. “I’ll get you a big cup of water ice when we get to the beach.”

You sit up with a sigh and flick on the windshield wipers to push the blue sugary slush away.

“You promise?”

The red head looks over holding her pinky up, and you don’t hesitate to lock yours with hers.

A hour later with your hand in a bag of Doritos you realize the area you’re in isn’t familiar. At all.

“Mel, are you sure you read the map correctly?” You question looking at the small town you’re driving through.

“I know how to read a map, y/n.” She rolls her eyes lifting the crinkled map from the floor. Melissa moves the map around flipping it over with wide eyes.

“Shit, I’m sorry hon.”

You spot a small gas station and pull in turning the car off. “Where are we?” You asks looking at the map.

“We’re right- here.” She points to a city that’s sure to add another two hours to your drive.

“Shit.” You sigh rummaging around for a pen.

Melissa’s head hits the back of the seat and she crosses her arms. As you sit marking the map against the steering wheel you can see Melissa out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey, what’s with the face, what’s going on here?” You ask nodding to the sad looking woman.

“I’m always messin stuff up, just like Joe said.” She laughs sadly.

“What are you talking about, Red?” You furrow your brows. “Don’t even think about that asshole. We’re gonna get back on the road and be by the water before 5 o’clock.” You tell her.

“We’d be almost there if I were holding the map right.” She crosses her arms.

You shake your head and finish marking the map with where you needed to go. When youre done you toss the pen to the back and hold your arm up for her.

Melissa scoots over again resting her head on your shoulder.

“Mel, if I’m gonna end up in the middle of nowhere on the way to the shore I’m happy it’s with you.” You tell her rubbing her back.

You hated when she second guessed herself like this all because of joe. It was unfair. She was normally so tough and acted like nothing bothered her and it bummed you out to see her like this.

Melissa is content against your side, she lifts her head from your shoulder kissing your cheek.

“Thanks, y/n.”

You swallow hard at the feeling her lips left on your cheek and smile at her.

“Any time, red. Now grab the map so we can get to the beach.”