#but it started to absorb moisture

[frogshunnedshadows]

This is your friendly reminder to check those cabinets that you hardly ever use / never use / other seldom-accessed storage spaces for, say, a sealed / boxed container of something that might have been left there a while ago, and is now expired, or possibly leaking, or whatever.

[lyncotek]

Introduction

This article will discover How Commercial Outdoor Entrance Mats Can Improve Safety. In industrial environments, retaining costs under control and visitor and worker safety paramount are crucial issues. Strategically setting outdoor entrance mats is one often-not-noted method that efficiently addresses both troubles. This mattress reduces the cost of maintenance and overhaul by preventing falls and spills by preserving the environment around indoors for longer

Understanding the Diversity of Commercial Outdoor Entrance Mats

There are numerous types of business outdoor entrance mats, each made to fit unique situations and necessities. Options starting from absorbent mats that take in moisture to scraper mats that successfully dispose of debris from footwear are to be had to meet any need. Aesthetic choices, weather, and foot traffic quantity are only a few of the factors to recollect even as choosing the correct mat.

Enhanced Safety with Commercial Outdoor Entrance Mats

The primary purpose of outside entrance mats is to improve safety by using reducing the threat of journeys, falls, and slips. This matting drastically decrease the hazard of mishaps by using imparting an extra traction-rich floor, particularly in damp or slick circumstances. They also keep footwear from being tracked interior and developing problems by collecting moisture and particles from shoes.

How Commercial Outdoor Entrance Mats Reduce Maintenance Costs

Over time, you may store quite a little cash on protection by investing in great outdoor front mats. These mats protect indoor flooring surfaces from dust and moisture at the entrance, increasing their durability and decreasing the want for common cleaning. By doing this, exertion fees are decreased and the demand for expensive cleaning resources and gear is reduced as nicely.

Factors to Consider When Choosing Commercial Outdoor Entrance Mats

When deciding on access mats for commercial locations, there are a few matters to not forget. These include elements together with placement and length to guarantee top-of-the-line insurance and efficacy, sturdiness to face up to sturdy foot visitors and awful weather, and customization selections to meet branding specifications.

Installation and Maintenance Tips

To maximize the use and durability of outside entrance mats, proper installation and maintenance are crucial. By using the counseled installation techniques, you could lessen the hazard of journeys and falls by ensuring the mats are firmly and flatly hooked up. Moreover, frequent upkeep and cleansing, such as vacuuming, shaking, and washing, contribute to their persevered efficacy.

Cost-Effectiveness and Return on Investment

Good entrance mats may be steeply-priced up the front, but in the long run, the benefits heaps outweigh the price. These mats provide corporations a robust go-back on funding because of the reality they minimize place and tear on interior surfaces, decrease the want for ground cleanings, and avoid injuries that could cause pricey legal responsibility claims.

Environmental Sustainability

Eco-friendly access mat solutions are developing in reputation as sustainability will become an extra considerable issue for companies. These mats, which might be lengthy-lasting and products of recycled substances, help business sustainability objectives in addition to making indoor space purifiers.

Future Trends in Entrance Mat Technology

It is anticipated that future developments in entrance mat generation will concentrate on improving effectiveness and overall performance. Mats with superior dirt and moisture retention and much less complex protection will quit result from material and design enhancements. Real-time mat overall performance monitoring and management also can be made possible via integration with clever building systems.

Conclusion

Commercial outdoor entrance mats play a crucial position in improving safety and decreasing preservation prices in business spaces. By preventing slips and falls, minimizing dirt and moisture access, and defensive indoor surfaces, those mats provide a cost-effective approach to commonplace facility management demanding situations.

FAQs

How do outdoor entrance mats improve safety?

Can entrance mats really reduce maintenance costs?

What types of materials are used in commercial entrance mats?

How often should outdoor entrance mats be cleaned?

Are there any regulations regarding entrance mats for commercial spaces?

[wachi-delectrico]

I don't know who came up with the idea of paper straws but I hope tragedy and evil falls upon them

[tenseparatist]

watching enhypen do the whisper game and AUGHHHhggg jungwon im warning you stay tf away from my hungry ass. the sound effects his pretty eyes his cute NATURAL teeth the way he starts jumping and popping when he finally gets one right his cheeeeeks !!!!!! im hungry asfk now !!!!!! when he was trying to guess bambi boy and they edited an ACTUAL biting sound effect wheeeew. i actually had to click off and go eat something it got too intense... thank god they will never set foot in my country bc this will be me the second he gets off the plane

[tkbrokkoli]

:3

[reasonsforhope]

"When a severe water shortage hit the Indian city of Kozhikode in the state of Kerala, a group of engineers turned to science fiction to keep the taps running.

Like everyone else in the city, engineering student Swapnil Shrivastav received a ration of two buckets of water a day collected from India’s arsenal of small water towers.

It was a ‘watershed’ moment for Shrivastav, who according to the BBC had won a student competition four years earlier on the subject of tackling water scarcity, and armed with a hypothetical template from the original Star Wars films, Shrivastav and two partners set to work harvesting water from the humid air.

“One element of inspiration was from Star Wars where there’s an air-to-water device. I thought why don’t we give it a try? It was more of a curiosity project,” he told the BBC.

According to ‘Wookiepedia’ a ‘moisture vaporator’ is a device used on moisture farms to capture water from a dry planet’s atmosphere, like Tatooine, where protagonist Luke Skywalker grew up.

This fictional device functions according to Star Wars lore by coaxing moisture from the air by means of refrigerated condensers, which generate low-energy ionization fields. Captured water is then pumped or gravity-directed into a storage cistern that adjusts its pH levels. Vaporators are capable of collecting 1.5 liters of water per day.

Pictured: Moisture vaporators on the largely abandoned Star Wars film set of Mos Espa, in Tunisia

If science fiction authors could come up with the particulars of such a device, Shrivastav must have felt his had a good chance of succeeding. He and colleagues Govinda Balaji and Venkatesh Raja founded Uravu Labs, a Bangalore-based startup in 2019.

Their initial offering is a machine that converts air to water using a liquid desiccant. Absorbing moisture from the air, sunlight or renewable energy heats the desiccant to around 100°F which releases the captured moisture into a chamber where it’s condensed into drinking water.

The whole process takes 12 hours but can produce a staggering 2,000 liters, or about 500 gallons of drinking-quality water per day. [Note: that IS staggering! That's huge!!] Uravu has since had to adjust course due to the cost of manufacturing and running the machines—it’s just too high for civic use with current materials technology.

“We had to shift to commercial consumption applications as they were ready to pay us and it’s a sustainability driver for them,” Shrivastav explained. This pivot has so far been enough to keep the start-up afloat, and they produce water for 40 different hospitality clients.

Looking ahead, Shrivastav, Raja, and Balaji are planning to investigate whether the desiccant can be made more efficient; can it work at a lower temperature to reduce running costs, or is there another material altogether that might prove more cost-effective?

They’re also looking at running their device attached to data centers in a pilot project that would see them utilize the waste heat coming off the centers to heat the desiccant."

-via Good News Network, May 30, 2024

[rileyslibrary]

The elderly lady who owns the convenience store in Simon’s neighbourhood needs help with a faulty fridge. You tag along with Simon and discover more about him than you ever expected.

A/N: Fluff. Cosy read.

———————————————————————

“It’s right there,” Simon says, pointing down the street. “Just need to take care of something quickly.”

You follow his outstretched arm to a convenience store nestled on the corner. Furrowing your brows, you glance back at the street you had just walked down, spotting Simon’s house. It’s very close, you think to yourself. Maybe a three-minute walk away.

That’s weird. You’ve taken that same road to and from Simon’s house many times, yet this is the first time you’ve noticed the store.

Turning your attention back, you look closer at your destination. No wonder you never paid much attention to it. The store seems old and rather inconspicuous, blending into its surroundings seamlessly. Everything is understated, from the building to its decor—if you could even call it that. To the left of the entrance, there’s a stand of old magazines, and on the right, a table with two chairs catches your eye. You glance up at the sign above the entrance.

“Mary Mart,” you read aloud.

“That’s right,” Simon confirms, opening the door and triggering a bell to jingle. “Mary should be inside.”

He holds the door open for you, yet his gaze remains fixed on something inside the store. You step in and follow his line of sight to a lady holding a newspaper up to her face. That must be Mary, you presume.

“You alright, Mary?” Simon asks softly.

Yup, that’s definitely her. The newspaper covers most of Mary’s petite frame as she sits behind the counter. She seems so absorbed by her reading that she didn’t hear you come in.

Simon sighs and shakes his head. He gently taps the back of the newspaper to get her attention. Mary lowers the paper to her nose, and her face lights up immediately at the sight of Simon.

“Didn’t see you there!” Mary shouts, lowering the newspaper to the counter. “You alright, my dear?”

“Yes, Mary,” he murmurs, “neither did you see nor hear us.”

“What?” Mary asks, letting go of the newspaper and cupping her ear.

Simon taps his own ear, indicating that Mary needs to adjust her earpiece. Mary’s eyes widen, and she quickly follows Simon’s lead, turning her earpiece on. She gives him a nod.

“Better now?” Simon asks.

“Much, much better,” Mary confirms, then turns to you with a broader smile. “And who do we have here?”

You politely nod, introducing yourself to Mary, but Simon interjects before you say much.

“So tell me, Mary,” He says, glancing towards the back of the store where the fridges are, “which one’s acting up?”

“Oh, I can’t remember, dear, but it’s hard to miss it,” Mary replies, sighing. “It’s the one with the towels underneath. Keeps dripping water.”

Simon nods, his gaze still focused on the fridges. He begins heading towards the back of the store, and you instinctively follow behind him.

“How lovely of you, Simon,” Mary’s voice sounds from behind you. “Bringing me some company while you take care of that fridge.”

You stop in your tracks, and Simon does, too. Point taken, Mary. You glance towards Simon, and he gives you a nod.

“She’s harmless,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “And a pretty nice lady.”

“Don’t be long.” You whisper back. “We still need to go get some breakfast.”

Simon nods and continues to the back of the store. With a sigh, you return to the counter where Mary is and settle into a nearby chair.

“Anything newsworthy?” You ask.

“Nothing much, dear,” Mary replies, adjusting her newspaper. “The weather’s terrible, the economy’s getting worse, and people won’t stop killing each other.”

“Oh...” you murmur, “yeah, that’s bad.”

“Well, at least Boots has 20% off on all moisturizers,” she announces, slightly more enthusiastically than one might expect for moisturizers. She picks a pair of scissors from under the counter and starts snipping the voucher.

With Mary on a mission to get that 20% off of that newspaper, you take the opportunity to peek at Simon. He’s kneeling in front of the fridge at the back of the store, focused on the appliance. Occasionally, his brow slightly furrows as he inspects the faulty machine. Then he pauses, nods, and grabs tools or shifts his position to get a better look at it. You, on the other hand, have no idea what he’s doing, nor do you care. You are hungry and caffeine-deprived. You’re pretty sure Simon feels the same way.

Meanwhile, Mary has finished cutting through the voucher and returned to her reading. She often flips through the pages and snaps the newspaper to straighten it and remove wrinkles. Sometimes, she hums, acknowledging her current read. Other times, she clicks her tongue disapprovingly at whatever news she comes across.

And you? Well, you’re bored out of your mind, so you begin scanning the shelves and displays, taking in the assortment of merchandise neatly arranged throughout the store. Your eyes briefly pause on various items—a stack of magazines, a display of snacks, a row of household essentials—before finally settling on an old photograph hanging behind Mary.

In the photograph, a young man wearing a military uniform stands confidently. He appears to be in his late twenties and sports a well-kept moustache. Rather than looking straight ahead, his gaze seems to be directed right behind you. He looks confident. Strong. He feels present, even if he’s not here.

“Handsome, huh?” Mary asks, peering over her glasses before turning towards the picture behind her. “That’s my Walter right there.”

You clear your throat and nod. “Very handsome indeed,” you confirm. “Is he your husband?”

“Was,” Mary corrects with a wistful smile, her eyes drifting back to you. “My very first and last one.”

“Which war?” you ask, gesturing towards his uniform.

“You mean which war he served in or which war he died in?”

“Both,” you shrug.

“Served in too many,” she says proudly, lowering her gaze to her newspaper. “But the war my Walter lost had no guns or weapons.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Mary looks up from her newspaper, meeting your eyes with a tilt of her head and a warm smile.

“Coffee?” she offers but doesn’t let you respond. She has already turned her back to you, brewing a fresh pot.

“No, thank you,” you reply. “We intend to grab some on our way to breakf-”

“I don’t think Simon will finish anytime soon, dear,” she interjects.

“Then yes, please,” you reply, then mouth a silent ‘shit’ to yourself so that Mary doesn’t hear you. You peek once more at the back of the store where Simon is.

“He’s handsome as well, isn’t he?” Mary states, with her back still turned towards you.

You blush at Mary’s observation and look down at the gum assortment in front of the counter. “Yes,” you agree, nodding with a smile. “Yes, he is.”

“Met at the base?” She asks, pouring you a cup of coffee.

“You know where we work?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It takes one to know one, dear,” she says, turning towards you and handing you a cup of coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” you reply. “So you also served in the military?”

Mary’s expression shifts, her face lighting up as she lifts her index finger.

“Serve!” she exclaims, “Silly me; I forgot to serve the biscuits!”

She retrieves a plate covered with tin foil from below the counter and uncovers it, pushing the platter towards you. You politely decline, thanking her for the offer. But Mary insists.

“I made them myself,” she tells you warmly.

“And I’m sure they taste lovely, but-”

“Take the biscuit,” Mary commands sternly, yet still smiling.

You look up at her, and without looking back at the plate, you take a biscuit. You don’t know which one you picked, what flavour it is, or if there are any allergens in it. Mary’s assertiveness is enough to make you pop it right into your mouth.

Her smile widens. “Good?” she asks.

The biscuit is indeed good. Very good. But even if it weren’t, you wouldn’t dare say otherwise—not only out of respect for Mary’s age but also because something tells you she might have more experience than the convenience store owner she portrays herself to be.

“They are amazing, Mary,” you reply and swallow.

“Simon likes those too,” she states proudly. “I often bring some over when I bake them.”

“So you live nearby?” You ask, swallowing another bite of the biscuit.

“I’m his landlord,” Mary reveals, nudging the plate of biscuits closer to you, “help yourself to another.”

You oblige and take another biscuit, and Mary continues once you take a bite.

“So,” she begins, blowing the steam off her coffee, “I’ve seen you plenty of times in my neighbourhood.”

“I, um,” you lift one shoulder and idly pick up a pack of chewing gum from the assortment in front of you. “I do come by often.”

“I know,” she replies, sipping her coffee. “You’ve been passing by my store a lot lately.”

You subtly turn your head towards Simon’s direction, letting your hair fall to the side of your face to conceal your blushing cheeks from Mary’s view. Yet she doesn’t seem to let go.

“He’s a good lad,” Mary states. Always there when neighbours need him, ready to lend a hand.”

“Indeed, he’s very good with his hands.” You reply.

“You know best, my dear,” Mary remarks, smirking.

“I meant with fixing things!” You say, widening your eyes. “He’s good with his hands when it comes to fixing things!”

Mary chuckles knowingly. “He’s also quite popular with the ladies—both the single and the taken ones,” she continues.

“Oh, is he now?” You respond in a high-pitched voice, narrowing your eyes. You turn your body towards Mary, placing the chewing gum package back in its original position.

“Yes,” she confirms, leaning over the counter. “Simon never rejects the attention, being such a good-looking lad, but at the same time, he never reciprocates.”

“How do you know he doesn’t reciprocate?”

“Oh, you’d be impressed what people say in front of an old lady who, allegedly, forgets to switch her earpiece on.” She says, winking at you.

“So, women flirt with him, huh?”

Mary throws her head back and chuckles, flicking her wrist at you. “Oh please, my dear,” she says in between chuckles, “I would have practically done the same if I was fifty years younger and Walter wasn’t around.”

“And he doesn’t flirt back?” You ask.

“No, not really, but he used to be friendly with them.” She explains, tilting her head toward you. “And then something changed.”

You shift in your seat and lean forward. “What?” You ask, intrigued. “What changed?”

Mary leans closer, sliding the biscuit platter toward you.

“Mary, I should probably lay off the biscuits,” you say. “We’re supposed to be heading out for breakfast, remember?”

“Make it a brunch, dear, or whatever you young people call it nowadays,” she replies. “Simon won’t be fixing the fridge anytime soon.”

“How do you know?” you ask. “You just said he’s great at fixing things.”

“Not when there’s nothing wrong with the fridge in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, furrowing your brows.

“I detached the defrost drain to simulate water leakage,” she explains. “It’s an easy fix, but you can oversee it quite easily, especially when the fridge is as old as I am.”

“You tinkered with the fridge on purpose?” you ask, eyes wide with surprise. “Why?”

“Oh please,” she sighs, rolling her eyes, “I had to bring you both here somehow.”

You glance at the cookie platter. Understanding that you won’t get any more information from Mary unless you indulge, you grab another cookie and pop it into your mouth. Mary, the ‘insert-biscuit-here-to-continue’ lady, takes the cue and continues.

“And then, as I was saying, you began to visit more often,” she explains, glancing over at Simon. “And his reaction to all the attention shifted.”

“You need to elaborate a little bit more, Mary,” you press. “How exactly did it change?”

“Girlfriend!” she exclaims in a hushed tone, widening her eyes at you. “He says he has a girlfriend!”

You widen your eyes, just like her, and point at yourself. She nods and points back at you.

“And then there’s the toothbrush,” she continues. “He bought two! A green one and a pink one.”

“He gave me a pink toothbrush when I stayed over for the first time!” you whisper. “Said he’d bought it ages ago and forgotten about it!”

“He bought a pink toothbrush as a spare for himself?” She asks, and her eyes narrow. “Nonsense! It wasn’t too long ago, and I have the receipts.”

“You keep receipts for these things, Mary?”

“No, silly,” she shakes her head. “It’s for tax purposes.”

“Right, so, I’m the girlfriend apparently,” you murmur, massaging your temples. “But why are you telling me all this?”

“Simon isn’t much of a talker, dear,” Mary explains, her tone softening. “Not to mention the horrors he’s been through. Sometimes, you might even misunderstand him because of it. But I’ve known him for a long time. He’s like family to me. Sometimes, when words fail him, I feel the need to speak on his behalf.”

“So you’re looking out for him,” you conclude, slowly nodding.

“Like the child I never had,” Mary confirms with a warm smile, pouring another cup of coffee. “And I can see how much he cares about you. But he’s not always good at expressing it. That’s why I thought I’d give you a little hint.”

“Thank you, Mary,” you say. “I appreciate you looking out for us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she says, handing you the extra coffee. “Now, how about you go over there and tell Simon to take a break? You can use the chairs outside while I go and reattach the defrost drain to the fridge.”

“Sure thing,” you reply and grab the coffee. “I just have one more question.”

“Go ahead,” she says.

“If Simon asks me what we’ve been talking about, what should I tell him?”

“Tell him I was rambling about the weather, the economy, and the 20% voucher from Boots,” she suggests, winking. “You’re a smart girl; that’s why he picked you. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

———————————————————————

[flawseer]

On Mudwing Culture

My last deliberation on Seawings and their eccentric insult vocabulary seemed to be well-received, so here is another one of my headcanons:

Mudwings are seriously into food.

I know, pretty revolutionary take when there is only a handful of named Mudwing characters, and two of them love eating so much that it either almost or entirely eclipses their personality.

But Clay and Ochre are not what I am talking about. This isn’t about a love of eating (though many Mudwings admittedly do have that). I’m suggesting that, out of all the tribes from Pyrrhia, Mudwings are at the forefront of food preparation and culinary innovation, to the point where a large part of their culture revolves around it.

The State of Food Preparation on the Continent

Pyrrhia as a conglomerate of different cultures largely sustains its populations through hunting and gathering. The average dragon, when the hunger pangs set in, will make a hasty trip into the nearest forest, cave, or scavenger den and round up some prey animals. In most cases, this prey will go straight from the talons to the mouth, or, if the hunter is a bit more forward-thinking, into the pantry, and then from talons to the mouth.

There are a few variations of this practice; Skywings may give the carcass a quick roast on an open flame before eating it, Sandwings may dry the meat out so the excess moisture does not upset their internal water balance, Rainwings will prefer fruit over meat. Icewings will nearly always consume their prey raw and unseasoned, as their extremely delicate palate is easily overwhelmed by intense flavors that may be released through cooking.

More complex forms of food preparation seem to exist mostly outside the scope of the general populace. The practice of “cooking” appears to be limited to the ranks of aristocracy, with dedicated cooks only found within the court of a queen or in private households of other high-born individuals. It creates a sharp divide between commoners and social elites, between the wealthy and (as Sea Queen Coral once put it so succinctly) the “eel-eating masses”. All exemplified through the differing standards of food.

And yet somehow, standing in stark contrast to everywhere else on the continent, nearly every Mudwing-- from the most low-born runts of the Diamond Spray Delta to the most decorated head advisors in the Queen’s palace --knows how to cook, and will do so regularly.

Why is that, and how did it happen?

Historical Benefits of Cooking

Most things that form the backbone of a culture usually start with some ancient practice that was useful at some point in time and then, as people kept doing it, eventually got absorbed into public awareness and became “the way things are done”.

Mudwings face a unique challenge compared to anyone else, as they are the only tribe whose combat prowess is significantly affected by their environment, specifically climate, weather, and temperature. Sure, you can take any dragon, drop them into an unfavorable climate, and they will generally perform worse than under normal circumstances. But the unique weakness of Mudwings is that they lose their breath weapon when they get too cold. Place an Icewing into a burning room and they will still be able to use their frost breath. Pluck a Sandwing from their dry environment and drop them into the humid, sweltering hell of the jungle, their natural weapons will still function. But make a Mudwing cower between two piles of snow for a while, and their internal fire will go out quickly.

As you might imagine, this is a bit of a liability when you have to defend your territory from Skywings hiding and scheming among the frozen peaks bordering your country.

So the ancient Mudwings had to figure out a solution to their conundrum, and what they came up with was this: They got a large pot and filled it with water, threw in all manner of meats, plants, and herbs, whatever they could find where they were holed up, then boiled it until it was good and filling. The hot food in their bellies helped them stay warm even at high altitudes and allowed them to stand their ground against the northwestern invaders.

Soon it became tradition for troops to share a hotpot the night before battle, and a rich variety of hearty broths and stews developed from there, as these were simple to make from scraps and could be reheated easily. The practice became so popular, the Mudwings kept doing it even during peacetime. Soon, in addition to the hunting of prey animals that was commonplace, Mudwings began to cultivate vegetable gardens to have access to a more stable supply of ingredients. Eventually, their growing understanding of agriculture allowed them to grow rice, which was especially well-suited to the abundance of wetlands found in their territory. Everyone was cooking now.

The Role of Food in Mudwing Society

If you ask several Mudwings which core values represent their tribe best, many would likely put forward some variation of “camaraderie”, “family”, or “loyalty to your sibs”. They are a very social people who form deep bonds with those whom they grew up with, and one of the most direct ways to grow close to someone is to share your meals with them every day. As such, the preparation and consumption of food is a vital part in maintaining cohesion between members of a Mudwing sibling group.

Every one of these groups will have a “Bigwings”, which is understood to be a combination of a leader and caretaker role. The Bigwings is aware of all of their sibs’ culinary preferences and needs and has all of the troop’s recipes memorized. When mealtime approaches, he or she makes the call on what kind of dish will be prepared and delegates roles and tasks to the troop. This is a daily exercise that builds the Bigwings’ authority and communication skills, and reinforces trust and familiarity between all siblings.

Next to the Bigwings is the Gatherer, which historically was a role assigned to one or more troop members who foraged for wild vegetables or hunted more prey if the previous communal hunt did not yield enough. While this is still true today, many Gatherers also maintain a garden or wet patch to source fresh vegetables or grain for meals.

And lastly there is the Communicator, which is a role usually assigned to the most social and charismatic sibling. The Communicator is vital for coordinating battle strategies with other troops, which, while very important, is not really all that relevant for this deliberation. What is relevant however, is the role they fulfill during peacetime, which is to set up joint meals between two or more sibling groups. This practice is critical for maintaining morale, as doing this regularly helps expand the troop’s palette and keep their Bigwings inspired. That way the troop’s collection of recipes stays fresh and innovative instead of turning stale and rigid.

Of course how much each troop values culinary exploits varies between individuals. Some Mudwing groups are outspokenly passionate about cooking and advancing their craft. They might view their work as an expression of art and get very upset or offended if you indicate that thinking about food is unimportant or a waste of time. Some extreme cases may even get angry at you if you waste ingredients or refuse to elevate a dish to its fullest potential by not seasoning it well or doing something else to ruin it. Other groups may be more relaxed and casual about food preparation, and a few might even not think about it much at all.

If a Mudwing invites you to dinner, it is paramount to figure out which of these groups they belong to beforehand, so you may get an understanding of how much of a threat this outing may pose to your health, especially if you are an Icewing or Seawing with a limited palate.

Is there any evidence for this in the books?

To my knowledge, there isn't much. Mostly because there isn't much about Mudwings and their culture in general. Across all the books, only one of them has a Mudwing protagonist, and the vast majority of it is spent in the Sky Kingdom, so his roots don't get a lot of exposure. Then whenever another Mudwing comes into the story, they tend to exit it very quickly after, without being able to share more.

I made this theory for myself largely in response to Mudwing culture being such a big question mark. I initially came up with it when I saw a Mudwing gardener in Escaping Peril and thought "That could be a cool direction for the tribe." The guidebook that released recently gave me some additional pointers with regards to a few of the looser points of this theory.

I'm hoping it is interesting, or at the very least entertaining in some way.

[hooksbooks]

This is the first of two books I bound for @renegadeguild's Tiny Books Bang.

The story is (don't) take this the wrong way by @delimeful and was typeset by @little-cat-press for the Tiny Books Bang. It's a mermaid AU of Sanders Sides (Web Series), which I had never actually heard of before. But when I saw that it was a merperson AU, this idea popped into my head and I knew I had to try it, especially after I read the story and really enjoyed it.

The inspiration is medieval girdle books, which are books whose covering material (typically leather) extended past the book to a knot that was both used as a handle when reading the book and could be tucked into the girdle when the book was not in use, thus the name.

Where my book is much smaller (it's a sextodecimo, about 2.25" by 2.75") it isn't designed to tuck into a belt/girdle, but rather is attached to a bracelet and dangles from the wrist when not in use.

When I think of mermaids, some things that come to mind are fish, treasure, and tridents, and I wanted to incorporate all three in the design. The book is covered in blue bookcloth, and then covered again in crocheted netting that was meant to bring to mind fishnets. I crocheted the netting from cotton-poly sewing thread doubled up. I incorporated a trident into the filet crochet, which is repeated on both the front and back covers. I blocked it on a piece of blotting...board? paper? It's soft and thick and meant to absorb moisture and came with my book press that started life as a flower press.

I then sewed the netting to the bookcloth covering the boards with teeny tiny stitches. It probably took twice as long to crochet the netting as it did to the rest of the binding combined, but I really like how it turned out.

The bracelet I picked to attach the netting to is gold-colored to invoke the idea of sunken treasure. Rather than attaching the netting from one end to the other, I folded both ends to the middle and attached it like that so when you have the book open it lays more nicely.

The design of the endpapers looks like looped thread, and also reminds me of netting. I secured the bookmark to the bottom of the text block and let it hang from the top, which works better when the book is hanging from the wrist and doesn't get caught in the netting. I also sewed a little starfish charm to the end of the bookmark.

Technical details:

Sewn-on endpapers

Rounded but not backed

No headbands (I think I intended to, but forgot and then decided it didn't matter enough to try to pull the cover back off)

Things I liked about this bind:

I really like the girdle-book-on-a-bracelet design, it came out almost exactly how I had envisioned it.

Things I'd like to change/improve for next time:

I wasn't 100% pleased with how trimming went on these. It wasn't terrible, but I probably need to come up with a different solution than just a utility knife and a straight edge.

Crocheting the netting really did take so long. I'm not even done with the netting that's going on my copy yet, which is why all the pics are from the typesetter's copy. Probably would not want to do netting for anything larger than this one was.

Overall feels: Loved it! I enjoyed the story, the design came out pretty much exactly how I envisioned it, overall I'm well pleased.

[theambitiouswoman]

Skincare Routine and Product 101 🧖‍♀️🫧🧴💕

Morning Routine:

Cleanser: Gently cleanse your face with a mild cleanser to remove sweat and oil.

Toner: Apply a alcohol-free toner to balance your skin's pH levels.

Serum (Optional): Apply a serum with antioxidants or specific skin concerns (e.g., Vitamin C for brightening).

Moisturizer: Use a lightweight, non-comedogenic moisturizer to hydrate your skin.

Sunscreen: Apply broad-spectrum SPF 30+ sunscreen to protect your skin from UV rays.

Evening Routine:

Makeup Removal: Use a gentle makeup remover or cleansing oil to remove makeup and sunscreen.

Cleanser: Cleanse your face again with a mild cleanser to remove impurities.

Exfoliating (1-2 times a week): Use a gentle exfoliant to remove dead skin cells and promote cell turnover.

Toner Apply toner to balance your skin after cleansing.

Serum: Apply a serum with ingredients like hyaluronic acid or retinol (if suitable for your skin type).

Eye Cream (Optional): Apply a lightweight eye cream to moisturize the delicate skin around your eyes.

Moisturizer: Use a slightly thicker night cream or moisturizer to deeply hydrate your skin.

Descriptions:

Cleanser:

Purpose: Removes dirt, oil, and impurities from the skin's surface.

Types: Gel cleansers, foaming cleansers, cream cleansers, oil cleansers.

Toner:

Purpose: Balances the skin's pH, preps for other products, and provides light hydration.

Types: Hydrating toners, exfoliating toners (with AHAs/BHAs).

Serum:

Purpose: Concentrated formulas targeting specific skin concerns (e.g., hydration, brightening, anti-aging).

Types: Hyaluronic acid serums, vitamin C serums, retinol serums.

Moisturizer:

Purpose: Hydrates and seals moisture into the skin, creating a protective barrier.

Types: Gel moisturizers, cream moisturizers, oil-based moisturizers.

Sunscreen:

Purpose: Protects the skin from UV rays, preventing sun damage and premature aging.

Types: Physical sunscreens (with zinc oxide or titanium dioxide).

Exfoliant:

Purpose: Removes dead skin cells, unclogs pores, and promotes cell turnover.

Types: Physical exfoliants (scrubs), chemical exfoliants (AHAs, BHAs).

Mask:

Purpose: Provides a concentrated treatment for specific concerns (e.g., hydration, acne).

Types: Clay masks (absorb excess oil), sheet masks (hydrate and soothe), sleeping masks (overnight treatment).

Eye Cream:

Purpose: Hydrates and addresses specific concerns around the delicate eye area (e.g., dark circles, puffiness).

Spot Treatment:

Purpose: Targets individual pimples or blemishes with concentrated ingredients.

Makeup Remover:

Purpose: Effectively removes makeup, sunscreen, and impurities from the skin.

Cleansing Oil:

Purpose: Gently dissolves makeup and sunscreen, leaving skin clean and hydrated.

Micellar Water:

Purpose: Cleanses and removes makeup using micelle molecules, requires no rinsing.

Essence:

Purpose: A lightweight, hydrating step that prepares skin for subsequent products.

Ampoule:

Purpose: A highly concentrated serum for intense treatment of specific concerns.

Facial Oil:

Purpose: Nourishes and adds extra hydration to the skin, especially for dry or mature skin types.

Your skincare routine should be tailored to your individual skin type, concerns, and preferences. Start with the basics and gradually introduce new products to observe how your skin responds.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Thirst for Sunshine

Pairing: Sorcerer!Gojō x Teen!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Bottomline is, Gojō Satoru was a jerk.

Warning: angst, unrequited love, suggested misogyny, jujutsu society stigma, arranged marriage, age gap

Word Count: 1183

2 of 9

It was not everyday that you were allowed to get out of your estate house to visit modern society.  You have been preparing for the day for weeks.  Your hand maidens helped you with your milk and rosewater baths.  Lathering your skin with the most nourishing of products and sealing the moisture with the finest shea butter.

You were like a dream.

With the brightest smile you can muster, you step out of your family car and step into the gates of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College alone.

Your betrothed, Gojō Satoru has been absorbed by the school as a staff the moment he graduated.  You hear that he has been thinking of working as a teacher in the school.  You are not certain how to feel about that.  Your fiancé is nothing short of a child, how would that turn out for his students?

Still, you wonder how he will manage.  It is a good opportunity for him.  To change his pace, mature a little.

You are glad to find out that the school has not changed that much.  When you were younger, your handmaidens accompanied you to watch Satoru in the Goodwill Events against Kyoto jujutsu high.  He always came out as the victor, much to his schoolmates' annoyance as he does not miss to make every single opportunity all about him.

He was too proud sometimes.  Charging alone when it was supposed to be a team effort, not that he loses. In fact, it makes him shine brighter.  Still, you worry that it might be that kind of attitude that will cause his downfall in the future.

To your right, you hear students yelling at each other as they train.  They were older than you but by the carefree smiles on their faces, you know they were only neophytes in the jujutsu society.  How you wish you could be one of them.  In a few months, you will be old enough to enroll in the school.  But your family would never allow it.

They prefer to keep you at home, training you in the arts of house making.  Including how to keep your husband happy and satisfied.

You shake the thoughts away, lest your face erupts to a wild flush.

You take a deep inhale to help in clearing your thoughts and you walk forward to Gojō’s office, with the box of blueberry cupcakes heavy on your arms.

The other staff in the school bow upon seeing you and you dip your head slightly to acknowledge them.  Your geta sandals softly clack against the wooden floor as your kimono swishes against the breeze.  Your family insisted that you wear traditional clothing wherever you go.  You cannot wait to wear ones that are in the colors of the Gojō banners.

As you turn the corner, you hear the rambunctious laughter of Gojō Satoru.

You hear no other voice inside his office and you can guess that he is on the phone, talking with someone.

Halting in your steps a few feet away from the door, you take a deep inhale.  Your hand is flying to your hair to straighten any stray strands.  You fan your face to get rid of the moisture after your long walk from the gates.

You made an attempt to straighten your kimono to check for any crease when Gojō’s voice startled you.

“You coming in or are you gonna stand there all day?”

It was incredibly foolish of you to not announce your presence, knowing that the man you are about to see possesses the six eyes.

“P-Pardon my intrusion.”  You say in a quivering voice.

Gently, you slide the door open and there Gojō was, lounging on his sofa, tapping away on his phone as his right leg was perched above the other, looking so carefree.

“Uhm…”  You hesitate by the door.  Awaiting his acknowledgement so you can enter.  But the man was still grinning at his phone, despite his eyes being covered by bandages.

Quietly and patiently, you stand there so still, the weight of the cupcake was starting to strain your arms.

“Gojō-sama?”  You call softly.

He hums, still not looking up at you.  “Sit.”  He nods at the sofa in front of him.

With much reluctance, you step in and close the door behind you.  Disappointment slowly replaces your excitement.  But you will yourself to sit in front of him.  You look up to find him still on his phone, a grin playing on his lips.  You nervously twirl at the band that kept the wrapping of your gift.

After a long moment of silence, Gojō sighs.  “You can put that by the table and you can take your leave afterwards.”

You look up from your lap, your brows now forming a frown.

“How…How have you been?”  You are desperate to lengthen your stay, trying to stretch it as much as you can.

He scratches at his head as he places his phone by the sofa.  “I’m well.”

You try to smile at him but it comes out a little forced, with your spirits already dampened.

“You can report back to your family that our chat went smoothly.  I’ll tell mine the same thing.”  He says in a matter that made you realize that your presence is not exactly welcome.

“Certainly.  I am terribly sorry for bothering you.”  You rise from the sofa, clasping your hands together to keep them from shaking.

Gojō gave a curt smile that did not reach his eyes.  “‘S fine.”  He made no effort to disagree with you, making you feel more awful.  He is a busy man, being the strongest sorcerer and all.  And here you were, taking up his rest time.

At least he was kind enough to open the door for you.  “Thanks for the snacks.”  He said rather flatly.

You were about to reply when loud footsteps heading your way echoed around the room.

“Gojō Satoru!  How dare you take the credit for my mission!”

An angry woman in miko clothing marches to the room, her hands gripping the door angrily.  She is covered by bandages and scratches.

What surprised you was the change in Gojō’s voice.  “Huh?  Can’t you just be grateful that your knight in shining armor saved the day?  Again?”  It was the most playful you have heard him speak.  You almost wanted to stay and watch them banter.

But the woman lunges at Gojō who uses his infinity to keep her away, yawning mockingly before he grins at her.

You cannot bear to stay another moment.

Quietly, you slip away and head towards the gate.  Your kimono held tightly in your hands to keep you from tripping.  Every step felt heavier and heavier as your chest tightened with every breath you take.  Soon enough, tears cascaded down your well powdered cheeks. 

Your handmaidens and guards that waited by the car felt the same sympathy for you and nothing but loathing for your fiancé but to save you from embarrassment, they spoke none about the events.

Gojō Satoru.  You are running out of excuses to stay in love with him.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[ivysangel]

Honey clings to your fingers, viscous and sticky, stringing every time it touches itself. Lines of liquid gold run down the curves of your hand, streams of goopy liquid pooling in your palm and flowing down your wrist in a few collective lines. You plunge your thumb back into the honey pot, the thick substance clinging to your skin instantly, and you bring your hand back up again, the honey only stagnant for a second before it starts its descent down your arm.

A large hand, strong and veiny, grabs your wrist. An unrelenting grip bringing your hand forth to him. He presses your thumb to his lips, smearing the sweet substance to and fro, to the corners of his mouth and back, leaving translucent liquid behind when he catches your thumb between his teeth, grazing the appendage and scraping it clean. A guttural groan sounds in the back of his throat, and you know that means he likes it.

"'s good, huh?" you watch the way his eyes flutter as he lets the rest dissolve in his mouth, ecstasy written all over his features. An emotion he only exhibits when he's eating good food or fucking you. "Yeah, really good." His voice is hoarse as if the honey absorbed all moisture from his larynx and left him in need of a glass of water, ironic given its effectiveness in soothing sore throats. "Thirsty?" you hand him a cup filled with cucumber water, a palate cleanser. "Real sweet," he says before tipping his head back and downing the drink. "But I liked it. What's next?"

Your eyes peruse the board of half-eaten sweets and treats in front of you, searching for one that was untouched. The beech wood board, previously a nice light beige, is stained a multitude of colors. Splotches of deep reds and purple form puddles where you had put the berries, frosting is streaked across the entirety of the board from the multiple unfinished slices of cake, chocolate chips and sprinkles from cookies lay scattered on both the countertop and floor, spoons and forks that were only partially licked clean can still be found near their designated desserts. Cubes of angel food cake half-dipped in chocolate and tooth-rottingly sweet marshmallow squares sit on napkins, drying out more and more by the second while long-forgotten brownies soak up various fruity jellies and jams, having been discarded with no regard for keeping flavor profiles separate.

It was a nightmare to look at, an even bigger one to clean up, and if anyone else had been the cause of this mess, you wouldn't have even begun to entertain the idea of letting it get this bad, let alone cleaning it up. But it wasn't anyone else, wasn't just some random stranger; it was Jason, and to you, spending weeks curating the perfect Valentine's gift to satiate his sweet tooth was a testament to your love for him. Who cares if you have to break out the good cleaning supplies.

"Hmm," you do one last once over, nothing catching your eye that hadn't already been touched, "I don't think so." unintentionally, you start to clean up, collecting dirty forks and spoons for the dishwasher, stacking empty bowls on top of each other to toss in the sink. "What a shame," he mumbles, appearing beside you seemingly out of thin air and taking the utensils from your hands before setting them down haphazardly right where they started. You look at him with confusion, silently inquiring about his undoing of your work, and you open your mouth to verbally ask but are stopped by the wolfish grin adorning his face and the way he begins to lift the hem of your shirt up. "d'ya think we got anythin' else," he asks, moving in closer, eyes locked on you like a predator with prey. "I'm still hungry."

[halfricanloveyou]

i use As I Am brand dandruff shampoo. the problem with dandruff shampoo is that it really strips the fuck out of your hair. so it’s fine for straight hair but if you have curly hair that needs product to maintain moisture and hair health you’re fucked. i haven’t really found anything else out there personally that didn’t also dry the fuck out of my hair and basically make it a frizzy, dry, unhealthy mess.

Anyone else got chronic dandruff who has good tips on managing it? Coal tar has been the only thing to work for me (not zinc sadly) but i also have thick hair that needs hella moisturization so I'm trying to balance hair that needs to be washed a lot with less product to collect (dandruff) and hair that needs to be left alone with extra product (curly hair) god help me

[pacifierpuppy]

There’s just something so, so special about diapers. I mean, I love every aspect of being babied, but diapers are the most important part.

When you first put them on, when they’re so crisp and pristine and brand new, they feel good. They feel clean, and safe, and cozy. The padding sliiiightly spreading your legs apart, the cushioning on your butt when you sit down, the crinkles to remind you how little you are. The thick padding helping absorb sensations, you can just start rubbing yourself and humping and it just…. There’s nothing like it. It’s like humping a pillow, but it’s attached to you. Just rubbing and rubbing and rubbing in bliss as you hear the crinkles telling you how futile it is. If this were the end of it I think I’d still love wearing them because they just start out so perfect.

But that’s not where it ends. Diapers were made to be used, and no matter how you choose to fill them, it’s always soooo much fun. When you’re holding your bladder to the point of failure, rubbing your crotch and the pressure and sensation make you leak a little bit. The warmth soaking up into the padding, surrounding your crotch as you leak more and more until you just give out and let it allllll flood into the diapers, swelling around you, the new thickness forcing your legs apart as you are forced to either waddle or crawl. The warmth surrounding you, unable to escape it as you feel the new, squishy texture all around your sensitive bits, easily conforming into the perfect shape to cradle them.

You can also just let go whenever, no holding at all, going whenever you feel the slightest twinge in your bladder. It’s freeing. You don’t have to care about stopping whatever your doing to use the restroom, you can just let it all slowly dribble out as your diaper ever so gradually inflates, until it’s eventually undeniable that you’ve been using it. Sloooowly leaking your warm pee until it’s that wonderful, squishy padding that you love.

Once it’s full, you can REALLY start rubbing it, feeling it squish around your crotch, when you hump into the squishy padding it’s like you really are fucking something, I’ve seen ppl cum hand free by just humping the air in their wet diapers, feeling the squishy padding move up and down along their shaft, perfect conformed to it, until they reach orgasm. It’s almost like a wearable fleshlight. But even if you don’t have a penis, or don’t like penetration, it still feels amazing to have that slick, slippery, warm padding rubbing against you. As you slowly get wet, leaking pre, that doesn’t get absorbed by the padding, in fact, the moisture from your accident helps keep it perpetually wet and slick, so it’s always just sooooooooo slick, sliding nicely around your most sensitive parts as you hump your brain away on your favorite plushy, or someone’s knee, or another cutie’s diaper.

Even when it slowly, slowly starts to grow cold, the cool, wet, squishy padding is exciting in its own way. It makes sure you can never forget what you’re wearing or what you’ve done. Maybe you leak more, briefly warning the padding around your crotch, but the cold can almost be refreshing in its own way,,,

And then you get to take it off, feel the cold air against your skin that’s been trapped in your own mess for so long. You get feel the cold baby wipes getting into every little area, making sure you’re nice and clean, before you get a new diaper slid under you. You’re tickled as the sweet smelling baby powder is applied, and it starts all over again as you’re wrapped up in fresh, new, crinkling padding.

Who wouldn’t want that?

[nanamis-bigtie]

heat

↬ kusakabe atsuya & afab reader ↬ jjk masterlist // ao3 version

cw: no gendered pronouns, no detailed body descriptions for reader, reader has a vagina (addressed anatomy), pwp with a sprinkle of feelings, coworkers with benefits, hidden feelings, kusakabe is hairy (good for him), outdoor sex (with a sprinkle of exhibitionism), oral sex (reader receiving), piv sex, creampie (reader is on pills) word count: 5.2k summary: heatwave, repressed feelings, longer break from sex - and a big hand against the back of your neck. what can do wrong? a/n: happy server exchange @clumsyraccoon (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ i feel i strayed a little from the prompts you gave for it, i have to shamefully admit that this text slipped out of my control, just did what it wanted to. and it wanted to be horny i hope you will enjoy it! ( ◕▿◕ )

For the umpteenth time, it has started with his hand against the back of your neck.

Your senses are blunt from the heatwave and fatigue, you haven't sensed his presence, even though he had to linger behind your back for a while before he made up his mind and approached. He could, if he wanted to, stalk like a ghost cat, but he has always respected you enough to not do that to you, you're sure of that. Your absent-mindedness is yours and your only fault, but you don't even have power nor time left for blaming yourself for it.

Anyone but maybe Gojo Satoru would be wooly-minded by the given conditions.

The heat and humidity stuck to your skin as soon as you left your apartment early in the morning, stayed with you throughout your job, bothered you in the assistant's car even after you changed into a fresh shirt. They followed you to the Jujutsu Tech Facility, forced you to give the maintenance buildings a wide berth, having you settle in the shaded area by the outdoor training grounds. It was still hot there but at least bearable, and with a bottle of cold barley tea you snatched from a vending machine on the way, you could finally lower your guard and let the afternoon numbness swallow you whole.

You had nothing to do for the rest of the day, after all. Excluding a possibility of an urgent call, your schedule contained only a commute home, a quick grocery run, and a blessed shower and AC at your little, cozy place. The initial plan even called for staying here, but the assistant who had picked you up promised he'd drop you at the train station after he'd be done with the papers, so you gratefully accepted the favor. Jujutsu Tech was like a second home to all sorcerers, but it couldn't provide you the intimacy of your own home.

It felt almost like it though, for the moment between parting your ways with the assistant and Kusakabe's hand gently scooping the back of your neck. It was empty and silent, and only the steady buzzing of the vending machine hidden behind the nearest nook reminded you that you were in a public space. You're paying the price now for pushing it behind the wall of consciousness; your heart is fluttering like a startled bird, producing even more warmth and spreading it all over your body, in no time dragging you back to the sweaty and overheated state you've barely managed to escape.

You know it's him even before he sits on his haunches by your side, and announces himself with that characteristic, overdone groan that would rather suit an older, tired man. You know the weight and feel of his hand against your neck in rote. You know the net of scars and calluses left by the hilt of his sword. You know the dry warmth of his palm, as it refuses to absorb any moisture, even against the gallons of hand cream he borrowed from you.

It's been...long, six months at the very least. And you still know.

"Hey." A lollipop stick clatters at the corner of Kusakabe's lips as he speaks. "Haven't seen you around for a while."

All the "Was busy", "I needed space" and "I had a few long missions away from Tokyo" wouldn't be lies or excuses but they all taste equally pathetic on your tongue when you try to speak, so you let the screaming cicadas fill the silence in your place.

"You could at least text me or something, damn it." And he's good at reading meaningful silence, too. "People die too easily in this job."

"Yeah, should have," you mutter, your throat painfully tense. You're more taken aback than nervous but the heat exhaustion takes its toll even here. A hearty sip of tea brings a temporal relief, but it prolongs the silence to its awkward limits. "I'm sorry."

You feel him staring but you can't bring yourself—not yet—to return the favor. Instead, you wipe the beading moisture off the bottle and use it to cool your sweaty forehead down. Your hand trembles on the way and you can't blame that on the heatwave anymore. You're nervous—and what's worse, you're nervous because you're starved and caught red-handed on it. It's always his hand against the back of your neck, no matter when and why and for how long it has been since the last time he used it against you.

Six months... Enough time to forget, if only you wanted to, enough time to find another pair of arms to wrap around your middle and pull you close. But you didn't.

"You better be now apologizing for that." Kusakabe's hand appears in the range of your vision now and taps at your bottle. "It was the last one."

"I'm...sorry?" You repeat yourself, this time as thrown as amused.

"You left me with coke and energy drinks and sparkly soda for teenage girls. No one here thinks about us, dinosaurs. They could at least spare us canned coffee." He leans to your side as he fishes a wallet out of the back pocket of his pants. Coins clatter around his fingers as he counts under his breath. "And do something with those archaic machines that don't accept cards. Can you lend me 200 yen?"

Now it's your turn to dig in your pockets. You offer him money on open palm, still feeling uneasy at the thought of looking straight at him; the contact is short when he collects it but it's enough to have the same familiar shiver running under your skin. Six long months of denial are crushed right in front of you with two brushes that barely can be called touch. How pathetic of you, how pathetic of this summer for lowering your guard and tearing your resolve into shreds.

"For the amount of sugar you consume, does it really matter if you add one coke to the count?" You earn some space when he walks away for his drink, so you finally manage to grab your spirit and yank it back to its place. You get up and dust your pants off as coins rustle in the machine behind your back. A can falls with a loud thud, drink furiously sizzles as soon as it's cracked open, Kusakabe curses, sipping the turbulent drink straight from his fingers.

"Don't want diabetes to kill me before curses do." Finally, he marches into your field of vision. "Or to kill me right after I retire. That would be a waste of a perfect plan."

Even through the peak of the heatwave he's wearing trousers and shirt. At least the latter has short sleeves and is on the finer side, almost transparent thanks to its white color. It catches you off-guard when you spot a shadow underneath; it's only logical a thin white shirt would let the body hair stand out but... Kusakabe isn't hairy. Or so you always thought. And given the number of times you fucked has crossed fifty, you've been pretty confident in your knowledge about his body.

"What?" He follows your gaze, straightens the shirt with a free hand. "I got coke on me?"

"No, but your chest—" You weigh words on your tongue. It feels...inappropriate to ask so straight forward. It feels stupid in the first place, it's obvious he just must have been shaving it all off and all this time you just missed the natural windows.

"I'm not getting it all off when it's so hot." He answers the never asked question. "Tried once, I thought I was gonna peel my skin off."

Trying to avoid staring at all costs before, you just can't avert your eyes now. Kusakabe has scraped the barely scarred over wounds and rubbed salt into them with that shameless presentation. Your senses and needs are howling for an update, not only due to six months long break but in majority because his natural body and all the promising combinations your imagination is already pushing into the right places of your mind. How would it be to feel those familiar muscles when they're covered by hair? At the first glance it seems thick and soft, and you're dying for a sample, if only from stealing an accidental touch of his forearm, now as fuzzy as his torso.

You know he wouldn't mind being touched, not after all those hours spent in each other’s embrace. But you don't want him to get a wrong idea, not when you're...not sure what you want from this accidental meeting. You fell out of contact at the behest of yourself, when your comfortable workplace fuck-buddies situationship started gaining colors and drowning in the maze of complicated feelings. The break has just proven itself to be ineffective, just sharpening the problems you tried so hard to avoid.

You need space, you need time. You don't want them. You want him.

Kusakabe has always been good at reading what you couldn't put into words. He finishes his drink and gives you one last dose of space for making up your mind before he approaches and brushes invisible dust off the nape of your neck. Harsh shiver betrays your thoughts and intentions, not the first time on the bumpy road of your relationship, always an opening for question and almost certain promise of consent.

"Are you free now? Or later, tonight?" He throws casually, not even looking at you, as if it could take the weight off your shoulders. You're already feeling a different kind of heat creeping on you, and you know how it is going to influence your decisions.

"Depends? I don't want to stray around the city for a free love hotel."

"I meant something like... a picnic?" That catches you off-guard. "A nice and calm place. Hopefully cooler than here."

There's something so immature and rushed about the whole venture. Car "borrowed" from the facility, a blanket stolen from one of the guest rooms, ramune and sandwiches bought in the neighborhood konbini. It wouldn't be the first time you sneak out for an outdoor sex but the first you remember when the both of you at least try to pretend you have a different goal than catching up for those few months. 

The stiff and awkward atmosphere eased in the car, ac and music filling the silence when needed lifted your mood. You even started bickering, as if the "break up" never happened, and you were just friends or lovers on the way for a spontaneous picnic. You were ready to play this role, as long as it kept the ball rolling and led you to a promising direction. Even if you still weren't sure how exactly you want to name it.

Kusakabe drove you to one of his fishing spots, a secluded and somewhat cozy glade by the bank of a river, conveniently located in the dead telecommunication spot, free of service and thus: any possible emergency calls.

"I like it here," you sit the closest to the water possible, nibbling on your sandwich. It was better in the car, but the closeness of the river still helps with the temperature. On the other hand, it's the fatal blow for your heatwave excuse. Whatever reaction your body and mind pull on you now, you can blame it only on yourself.

You're chatting but the words are slipping past you. Instead, there's the timbre of his voice and closeness and chest hair poking out the casually unbuttoned top of his shirt. Kusakabe doesn't try to keep any distance, casually sprawled by your side, his head inches from resting in your lap. The urge to play with his hair or to pull him close is strong. The urge to run fingers through the fur on his torso is even stronger.

"You hated coke but you're chugging ramune as if there was no tomorrow," you tease when he finishes with his stash and steals one of yours.

Kusakabe pops the glass ball in, swirls it playfully before he takes a hearty sip, "Coke tastes like diabetes and disappointment. Ramune has flavor."

You finish yours too and gather the cool moisture off the bottle. Stupid impulse, the teenage atmosphere has rubbed on you in the weirdest way possible: you drag a cold hand against the back of his neck. He jerks up, surprised, but the groan he lets out has nothing to do with a protest against unpleasant sensation: it's too sharp and too feral and heads straight to the part of your mind responsible for the most stupid and horny of your decisions.

One moment your lips are pressed to the bottle neck, the other he turns to you and puts his hand at the back of your neck again, guiding you closer, until you meet mid-breath and clash against each other in the accompaniment of glass thudding against the blanket. He's harsh and insatiable, full of the sharp and sweet flavor of fruity ramune. Having you trapped between his muscular arms, he's supporting your melting into submissiveness body and feeling you through your clothes all at the same time. Your head spinning, lungs short of air, you paw at him with the same eagerness. His chest muscles tense under your ministrations, thick hair standing out under his shirt with ease and soon brushing against your palms as you finally give in to your fantasies and force your way in. Buttons almost sputter underneath your fingers, some rip out for sure, but you don't care; if only you had enough power to rip it to shreds, you would end the poor shirt's life right here and now.

"Holy shit..." You mutter between desperate drafts for air. His torso looks even better than you imagined from the teasing shadow, dark hair spills from his pecs into a thick line leading down, to his pants, and gradually thickening.

Kusakabe follows your hungry gaze, swallows audibly, perplexed, "And here I worried you might hate it—"

"Don't ever shave it again, do you hear me?"

You fumble on the blanket, trying to find the best position and peel yourselves off sweat-drenched clothes. Kusakabe's shirt and belt are first to go but soon after he pushes your hands out of the way and positions himself between your legs.

"What if somebody sees us—" There's a gleam of sanity when he gets rid of your pants and pulls your underwear down to your knees, but Kusakabe only scoffs and yanks it harder, almost ripping the frail garment at your ankles.

"I don't care." He smashes lips against yours again, rough, and feral, in no time shoving all your scruples out of your mind.

When he has a certain goal in front of him, nothing can possibly stop Kusakabe—and his lone mission now is to sate his hunger for you. You barely recognize him through groans and whimpers, once feral, once pathetic, when he kisses, licks, and gnaws on your chest. He sucks on your nipples right to the painful limit, leaves them wet and sensitive for his calloused fingers and travels further down, sinking teeth into the soft skin of your tum. He would leave harsh, dark hickeys on his way if he hadn't broken the contact earlier to moan and rush towards another spot, closer and closer to your aching cunt.

"I don't care," he repeats, his voice almost breaking. He looks up at you with eyes so dark and heavy that cold shiver runs under your heated skin. You instinctively close your legs, Kusakabe pries them open with ease and throws them over his wide shoulders, big, strong hands pulling you right into his face. He groans even before he gets the first taste, he even lingers before going straight for it, be it for the views or scent. But eventually he finds his way and buries himself deep between your folds, as if your juices were the only nectar able to sate his thirst amidst this heatwave.

Six long months away from his divine head game. What a fool and masochist you were, running away from the bliss he got you addicted to. Not your hands, none of the toys you purchased to replace him, nothing could compare to how madly he eats you out. It's not just his mouth, he rubs his whole face against you, his nose time and again grazing your clit. He moans when buried in your hole, takes deep breaths of your scent whenever he pulls away for more air, teases the most sensitive crevices of your sex with the strong, nimble tip of his tongue. In no time he has you leaking; obscene, sloshing sounds replace the moans you desperately try to hide behind your hand.

"Hey. Stop that." Kusakabe yanks your hips up, looks up at you over your mound, his face wet and messy with your juices. "Lemme hear you. Told ya I don't care if anyone catches us."

He doesn't wait for your answer, he's already back to reaching his goal, determined to forcefully drag your sweet sounds out of you, if he has to. But you follow his advice, on the verge of suffocating yourself against what your body naturally craves. You could swear he's smirked against your folds when you finally snap and sing for him, with the whole capacity your lungs have.

"F-fuck, Atsuya—" Your eyes almost roll back when he closes lips around your clit and sucks on it. Hand previously plastered to your mouth grabs a fistful of his hair, pulls him closer until he nearly has no place left to breathe. The groan of appreciation vibrates through your sex and alone almost has you flying; if he hasn't yanked his head away for air, you surely would come all over him right there.

"I'm not gonna stop after that." Kusakabe bites at your thigh as he humps the blanket, three sharp and desperate spasms of hips. "No matter how many times you'll come from my mouth, I'm not gonna stop. Fuck— I waited too long. Beg me, curse me, do whatever you want, I'm not going to stop until you cum around my cock."

Keeping you open with his wide frame, he sneaks one of his hands between your legs, traces your wet, tortured lips before he slides two fingers in.

"So tight..." His eyes beam with awe and face reddens but his hold on you doesn't falter, he keeps you in place almost forcefully when you try to buck your hips for more stretching and friction. " Shit, you haven't had anyone all this time?"

"Only... Only a t-toy..." Several toys, even, none of them able to sate your needs.

"A toy? When could you have me any time you wanted?" He scoffs and looks away from your face to focus on your cunt again. Scissoring his fingers, he stretches you a little more, until he's certain he can fit a third one. "Silly bunny..."

Kusakabe hasn't forgotten the map of your body. He knows what he's looking for and aims for it with surgical precision. Before the strongest so far wave of pleasure washes over you, you catch an almost mean smirk on his flushed face at the sight of the expected reaction. He lets your hips rest flat on the blanket so he can hold on them better and pulls you towards his mouth again. With fingers mercilessly sparking your nerves from the inside, he sucks on your clit with fervor, with little to no care of your writhing and spasming in his arms.

You try to say his name, instead your voice breaks and turns into a feral whine. The sensation is so intense it's almost too much, he's turned you into a tense knot, one that's threatening to explode at the slightest touch and yet—is being relentlessly teased. The last coherent thought left your mind a while ago, now your head is full of him—of him and the pleasure he gives you relentlessly, as if catching up for all the lost months at once.

"—ya..." You try calling him again. Orgasm catches you midst exhale, washes over you gentler than anticipated but still strong enough to have your thighs spasm over his shoulders, unable to close around his head. Kusakabe doesn't let it fade, prolonging the sweet sensation with gentler but all the same precise teasing, until your writhing grows sharper and your mewls carry the shade of uncomfortable overstimulation.

Kusakabe lets your legs rest, then lies comfortably between them, head against your thigh, close to the groin. His heavy, hot breath grazes your sensitive pussy, soothing and teasing; with eyes half-closed you watch his shoulders and back heave. He's warm, sweaty and heavy, and mere minutes after a long orgasm you're already longing the strain in your legs, hips and cunt he's always been giving you with his aggressive pounding.

You two just couldn't take it easy when your bodies clashed. Couldn't through hasty love hotel moments, sneaked in between missions. Couldn't during weekends at yours or his place when you almost didn't leave the bed. Couldn't in the back alleys behind night clubs and izakayas, couldn't in the car parked on the side of an empty road, couldn't in the dusty and forgotten rooms of Jujutsu Tech Facility. His hand at the back of your neck was like a curse, draining you both off sanity and any other emotions than blind lust.

You rest yours against his now, at first shyly tracing beads of sweat pearling right under his hairline, then allowing yourself to put a distinctive pressure to your touch. Kusakabe answers you with a content groan, reciprocates the caress against the inner side of your thigh, his fingertips mindlessly tracing the mark his teeth left.

"This is not over," he warns, but the timbre of his voice is softer than the words he chose.

"Good."

He lifts himself on elbows, then sits up and takes care of his pants. You could help—or at least do something with the disarray you left after the first, chaotic clash—but you just watch him, as lazy as excited. You like the way his chest is still heaving hard after eating you out relentlessly for so long, like the impatient trembling of his big, hairy hands, and a distinctive wet spot on the front of his boxers. You may be the one on your back, your thoughts still blurry after orgasm, but desperation is his domain now—and you can't help but bask in it. You love being wanted like this, on the verge of madness, having him equally feral and pathetic.

"You're still on—" Kusakabe reaches for his wallet, starts pulling a condom out of it, grins when you confirm you're protected and taps it back in its place. Wallet is thrown to the side, soon followed by the underwear, and your lover already advances on you again, fitting suit between your open and welcoming legs.

He slowly runs hands up them, feeling your moist skin, the last tender touch before madness overpowers him again. You're offhandedly pulled closer, your ass resting against his strong, hairy thighs. His hard and throbbing cock rests against your cunt and Kusakabe closes his eyes as he steals a few, shallow thrusts along your slit. You mewl and jerk your hips up when he teases your overly sensitive clit, just to have his hands clasp on your hips almost painfully; his fingers dig dip in your skin, surely bruising it. His chest heaves heavier, sweat dripping down the sides of his face, and his cock twitches even harder, hard enough to slightly bob over your soon-to-be union.

"Give me a moment," he whispers, words shaking, and holds on your hips even tighter. Muscles of his jaw tense, he inhales through clenched teeth, struggling against the sensation that's about to tear him into shreds. "Sorry if I— Too early— Fuck, I need you so bad..."

Kusakabe risks another shallow thrust, then finally re-positions himself and guides his cock directly at your slick. You do your best to not budge for even an inch, the hardest battle you fought for a while with feral need blowing you apart as soon as you feel his tip probing at your entrance. But you persevere with it, for him and for the pleasure awaiting once he nestles himself inside and finds the right rhythm.

"Tight..." Kusakabe's voice breaks on the verge of a whine, he shifts on his heels, retracts himself almost all the way out before pushing again, under a better angle. It takes him a few tries and stops before he finally bottoms out and stills, eyes closed so desperately that his eyelids twitch.

You're doing no better, fighting for breath, overwhelmed by him, merciless heat and the fire burning your groin, as sensitive as starved for more. You're both at the limit, hypnotized by each other’s presence. Kusakabe's figure stands against the blue sky, his hairy torso and arms glistens with sweat, its beads trailing down toned, tense muscles, begging to be trailed, begging to be ignored under a threat of exploding as soon as you touch or kiss them. You clench both hands on the blanket underneath, fighting the urge, praying he notices and spares you the ordeal. He only groans when your cunt flutters around him, risks a very slow but deep thrust.

And finally, as if sensing the sparks he's caused by grazing you with his pubic hair, something clicks in Kusakabe and in seconds he's turned from pathetic and overwhelmed into a beast. He yanks your legs up, ankles against his shoulders, and presses forwards until he meets resistance—and keeping you in place with his weight only, he pounds into you relentlessly, fast, rough, desperate.

With knees right by your chest, his cock drilling you deep, you can't do much but mewling his name. You try to hold on his back, then hips, but your hands just slip off sweaty skin; you hold on to the blanket instead, as if it could ease the spasms in your legs and delicious yet overwhelming fire in your pussy. He goes right for the point he tortured before, rather unawares now, in this feral haze, but as effectively as when he was being precise and having you spasm under him even harder than before. Apologizing for a possibility of coming too early? You wouldn't even notice it now, your mind gone in seconds, filled with the white noise of immense pleasure and the familiar feel of a tight, almost painful, knot forming in your abdomen. Squeezed and roughed and pounded you're carried on raging waves of ecstasy, constantly at the edge of orgasm but not quite there, not until he re-adjusts the slippery grasp and slams his fat tip right at the most sensitive spot.

When you cream around his cock, Kusakabe's moves stutter, he pulls you closer, arms sneaking under your back, and pushes his head at the crook of your neck. He whines, almost cries, stumbles over his tongue as he tries to speak what you wouldn't decipher amidst this haze. For you, it's just the strained, guttural timbre of his voice, heavy and hot breath against your sweaty neck, teeth nipping your skin—and his throbbing dick, nestled deep, with no energy to thrust fast anymore.

"I'm... gonna—" Kusakabe tries to warn but you find some power to sink nails in his ass and pull him closer as soon as you feel him trying to slip out—so he caves in, pressing your legs for the last time before he cums.

He lets your legs fall by his sides and lies flat on top of you, lifeless but the heavy, sobbing breath and weak, almost automatic, spasms of his hips. You have no power—nor desire—to have him roll off you, even if the heat between your sweaty bodies is unbearable and you barely have any air for yourself. Not until this moment of bliss you realized how much you missed this, missed him and the union of your bodies and minds. When you bring yourself to touch, then trace his back, your touch is almost apologetic, for the unfair treatment and months of enforced fasting, even though you don't know if he remained without a single lay like you. 

Kusakabe twitches under your fingertips, sensitive and ticklish, finally decides to break the status quo and frees you of his weight. He kisses your forehead when you mewl in protest, slips out of you, and falls to his side. He's still close but doesn't pull you into him, rightfully deciding you both have enough heat. You would need to cover yourselves from the sun too but the thought of putting anything on all this mess and sweat is awful in mutual agreement. You just rest on your sides, gazing at each other tenderly, and let the shy gust of wind cool you down.

"Don't you ever run away from me again." Kusakabe finally breathes out, as if shaking a great weight off his chest, and finds your lips with a sweet and weak yet possessive kiss.

You want to answer anything, even the simplest "I'm sorry", but nothing that comes to your mind feels right and acceptable for the gamut of feelings swirling around in your chest. He reads what's needed from your eyes, brushes wet strands of your hair off your forehead, then reaches behind you to fish tissues out of the piles of your clothes.

"Maybe we should have gone to that damned hotel," he grumbles as he patiently wipes the wet parts of you, then cleans the mess between your legs. "I could kill for a shower. I must smell like a goat."

"You smell good." You don't lie for the sake of a good vibe. You do mean it. Something about his natural musk just...feels right and comforting. It suits him, suits your naked bodies sprawled by the bank of the river, all natural and free.

"So do you." Kusakabe tosses dirty tissues away, then scoots closer, takes a deep whiff of your scent from your neck, before he peppers a line of soft kisses from it to your lips. "But still. Shower."

You dress yourselves up deliberately, gather your trash, finish your sandwiches and ramune. You linger with getting up, stretched on the blanket with eyes half-closed, face turned towards the river.

"I dread sitting in a stolen car now." You're not quite sure if you mean sweat and your mixed comes—or soreness already creeping up on your groin and overworked thighs.

"First: not stolen. Borrowed. Second, I'll get it cleaned." Kusakabe frowns and reconsiders. "Tomorrow."

You chuckle and scoot to the side so he can lie beside you again. He closes his hand around yours, the first time ever he does so. You tense, expecting the same surge of lust that comes whenever he touches your neck—but the warm feelings that wash over you have nothing to do with the feral needs.

"Your place or mine?" You whisper your confession of love when he brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it tenderly.

"Yours." Kusakabe answers with his, short on breath. "You have AC."

[lovecla]

TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

chapter one:

<next chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: shitty mom.

➴ word count: 2.6k

💌 from me to you: and finally, the first chapter of TYPA is here. i wanted to post this only when i had at least the first five chapters ready so you guys wouldn’t wait too long for updates, so thank u all for waiting. again, i cannot stress this enough: read the story’s warnings before reading the story!!! aaand i love u all!!! (also thank u for 200+ followers? insane!)

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2024, MARCH

YOUR ALARM went off at half past five, and you grunted, smacking it with your right hand, trying to make it stop yelling.

After you turned it off, you laid your bed on your pillow again, sighing. Turning your head to the side, you watched as Bella snored like she paid all of your bills and worked a nine to five everyday. You smiled, happy to see her so relaxed.

You got up, put on your slippers and walked to your bathroom, turning on the lights and regretting immediately after, because your eyes took a long time to adjust to the bright, white light.

You opened the tap, putting in warm water and gently wetting your face, before closing it and grabbing your cleanser and starting your morning skincare routine.

Even though you loved to stay in bed, there was something about the early hours of the day. You could go on with your morning with no one bothering you, just working on the steps of completing your morning routine with ease, while the world was still asleep outside— even though Los Angeles never got entirely asleep.

You can wash your face and apply your moisturizer, before stepping in the shower after letting your skin absorb the products. Then, you can scrub your body and exfoliate it, humming to this week’s top song on Spotify charts. You can dry yourself with your fluffiest towel, smear your skin with your favorite vanilla scented body lotion and perfume.

Then, you can wake Bella up, and force her to leave your bed so you can make it. She’ll growl and bark at you, but in the end she’ll be too eager to go outside to do anything else.

You’ll change into your outfit of the day, something cozy, and grab your keys before leaving the house with Bella by your side, taking her to the dog park your apartment complex has, and let her enjoy the synthetic grass while you stare at her, smiling from ear to ear.

You’ll both stay there for ten minutes, with you talking to her about everything and anything, while she sniffs around the place and answers your yapping with occasional barks.

Then, you’ll call her name and go back to your place, starving for food. You’ll make your breakfast, nothing too heavy— a cup of green tea and a yogurt bowl.

You’ll leave your house at sometime around seven a.m., after grabbing everything you’ll need for the day and saying goodbye to Bella, telling her that her dog sitter, Carly, will be there in just a few hours. You’ll get into the car your agency sent to you, greeting the driver and sitting in the back, checking the texts on your phone. And then, you will feel your heart stop inside your chest, because—

What the hell does she want? You thought, squeezing your phone so hard between your hands that, for a second, you thought you’d actually break it.

You haven’t seen your mom in a year. Or your family, for that matter. Your parents, your brother and Canada felt just like a distant, hurtful memory that you wanted to keep away from yourself, buried deep inside your heart.

After making your teenage years feel like hell, and after making you hate yourself in more ways you’d ever think possible, your mom got you signed at the most prestigious modeling agency in all LA, IMG Models. Some people online talked about how you were only the cover of last year’s VOGUE because you’re basically a Nepo Baby, and even though your social media team did their best to debunk those comments, you knew— everyone did— that they were right: you only reached the top that fast because you are the daughter of the editor-in-chief of Fashion and retired model, Jessica Carter.

Not that you weren’t pretty, no, you were. But your last name opened more doors for you than your face and body ever would.

But at the end, you were grateful to be living a normal life— as normal as it could get— away from Canada. That country held painful memories and people that you would much rather watch from afar.

You didn’t reply to her text, you didn’t need to. She made it very clear that your attendance wasn’t an option. Even at twenty-two years old, your mom would always have the final word.

You arrived on set ten minutes after reading that text, sad to have your good mood ruined. But you still had a long day of work ahead of you, so you should just do what you’re best at: pretending you’re fine.

You spent your entire morning at a photoshoot for Elle, posing for infinite pictures and changing as fast as you could, while trying your hardest not to focus on your mom’s text.

Glad to be working with people who were actually nice, you slipped into your work headspace and when you checked your phone again, it was lunch time.

Grabbing the biggest salad from the agency’s restaurant, you ate with no hunger or pleasure. Thinking of your life back in Canada made you sick.

After lunch, you were sent to another location so they could take more pictures of you, the photographer, Garret, making sure to get the right photos of you.

At six, you were ready to head back to home, but unfortunately, part of your job meant interacting with people on social media. Sometimes answering questions online, making TikToks or even posting on Instagram.

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liked by gigihadid, champagnepapi, darianka and 560,929 others.

madisoncarter @britishvogue 🧸

View all 12,082 comments

user1 she’s just so pretty i cant

user2 looked at my gf and sighed

user3 user4 this yo boyfriend?

user4 user3 EX boyfriend now.

britishvogue Stunning 🤩

imgmodels you never disappoint bbg 😌

user5 i love u thank u for blessing my feed

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“ARE YOU leaving already, darlin’?”

Nicholas’ voice echoed as you bend over to grab your purse.

Looking at him, you smiled, tiredly. “Yes, hum. Actually, I need to talk to you about something,” you took a step further, stopping in front of the man you've known as your boss the past four years.

“Yeah, go ahead.” He leaned against the wall, waiting.

“I need to have Friday off,” you started, biting your lip. “It’s a family thing. Promise I’ll be back on Monday.”

“Madison, you’re literally the only model here who hasn’t missed a work day for an entire year, maybe even more than that,” he laughs, blond hair moving as his head turns around. “If you want to take the entire week off, you’re allowed to.”

A week in Toronto? No, thank you.

“No, I just need Friday.” You replied, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

“You’re free to go, my love. Send kisses to your mom, okay? Tell her to visit us sometime.”

“Of course, thank you.” You kissed his cheek quickly before heading back to the elevator.

On your way home, you thought about all of the things your mom might want of you. Sure, she said that she wanted the family to get together and all of that, but you’re sure there’s more to that. She wouldn’t make you fly to Canada just because she wants to have dinner with you. She’s just not that kind of person.

Entering your apartment, the first thing you did after removing your shoes was go looking for Bella, who had somehow managed to lock herself inside the guest's bathroom, and was whining loudly.

“Naughty, naughty girl,” you kissed her, petting her fur gently. “How did you even do that?”

She just licked you and you sighed, the long hours of work finally hitting you completely. You just needed to shower, drink your daily glass of warm milk and play with Bella for a while before going to bed.

Locking away all thoughts related to Canada, you followed your night routine like you’d usually do, trying your hardest to let the people you buried years ago stay away like you wanted them to.