#face mask market size

[amr-jayprakash]

Face mask is a type of protective mask that serves to protect against airborne diseases like COVID-19, influenza, chickenpox, mumps, and measles. It is a half face mask which protects the nose, chin, and mouth. Furthermore, the outbreak of respiratory infection based pandemic diseases like H1N1 and COVID-19 fuel the demand for face mask among frontline health workers such as first responders, nurses, and medical practitioners. 

[faesdreaming]

Yandere Fae - Temptation

he just wants to know your name, that’s all. he promises.

tw: yandere themes, possessive behaviour, reader is lowkey okay with it, implied murder, unhealthy relationships, stockholm syndrome (?)

“Come now, darling,” he croons, so very sweetly, “it’s just a name. I promise I won’t tell.”

He leans his cheek against your arm, gazing up pleadingly. You sigh as you feel your resolve waver. He— the fae— Lucian, he says his name is but you don’t know if he’s telling the truth.

Fae can’t lie, you’d been told as a child. The people of your town nary spoke of the faekind, save in warning tales. They’d told of weaknesses, of iron and salt. Lies. Falsehoods born from ignorance. Fae could lie, could weave truths of honeyed poison sweeter than any ambrosia. One thing you did know was not to tell one your name. Your grandmother had told you. She was the same woman who warned you of the dangers, who thwarted the ignorant claims of the fellow villagers

“Please.” Lucian all but whines. You can’t help but giggle in amusement. For such a powerful creature, he’s acting as though he were a puppy. “It’s just a name.”

But it’s not just a name. Name’s are powerful. They hold history, stories, one’s very being. So, you’ll refuse him once more. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Lucian tilts his head. The slightest hint of venom tinges his tone. His slit pupils are dilated double their size, like a predator catching sight of its prey. “Tell me your name.”

Lucian’s been persistent in his efforts. Ever since you moved into a cottage deep within the forest. Unable to bear the repetitive, noisy life of your village, you left. He’s been following you ever since you moved in. He’s bound, tethered to the place. To the land. Through magical means you don’t understand. Lucian adores pestering you with questions, and inane conversation, that you’ve grown to enjoy. But above all else, he seems determined to get your name. Not that you plan to give it to him.

He makes a frustrated noise, a pout forming on his lips. “You’re so stubborn.” Lucian complains. “Just tell me. I won’t tell anyone else, I swear.”

Liar, you think fondly, It’s cute, really, the effort he puts in.

Biting your lip, you briefly contemplate your sanity. Should others find themselves in this situation they wouldn’t be as calm. They’d panic. You should panic. You should probably run for the hills. For it’s not his status as a fae that forebodes danger. He’s— Lucian is complex.

The good-natured mask he wears is just that. A mask. One he wears for you. Your relationship with Lucian is multilayered. Surface level, it is a give and take. What he gives and what you take remains unclear. Surface level, you’re companions. But that implies trust. You don’t trust him. You’re smart enough not too.

“I’m heading out to town.” You tell him. “To the market.”

Lucian huffs. He storms off like a petulant child, intelligibly whining and a pout on his face. You roll your eyes. Gathering a basket and pulling on a cloak, you step out of the cottage. The way to town isn’t marked by a path. You memorize trees and large stones. Landmarks. You trek through the woodlands, thoughts of Lucian occupying your mind.

You hold a certain fondness for him. For the little game you two indulge in. It’s an odd affection, a tired, old one. He makes you cook for him, bemoaning your atrocious mortal cuisine as he eats all of it. He follows you around the cottage with seemingly no concept of personal space. He lingers around you, as if he were a ghost and you his haunt. He entertains you. With tall-tales spun from silk. He offers you gifts in the form of odd trinkets, flowers, nuts, sometimes gems.

Lucian perplexes you. Because despite the casualness of your relationship, you’d be a fool to not be aware of the power imbalance in between the two of you. There’s something dark, dangerous. An ancient, primal magic tethering him to the cottage. To you.

You shake off your wonderings as you reach a clearing. Down, to the left is a quaint little town. It’s sparsely populated, everyone knows everyone, at least everyone who inhabits the area. Locals are wary of travellers, yet they are not so foolish to deny potential patrons business. Their market, tavern, and inn are what’s to be expected of a place such as this. It’s sufficient for your needs, though. Far be it for you to complain.

You stop by the market, examining items being sold by the vendors. As you take an apple in hand, trying to determine whether the produce is worth it’s price, a hand reaches by you. Curiously, you sneak a glance to the person it belongs to.

You’re met with the appearance of a rugged, rogue. Weary from his travels, if you’d have to guess. He gives you half-grin half-smirk that makes your insides flutter. Normally, you’d offer him a flirtatious smile. Perhaps he’d ask to take you out for the night, to the tavern. You’d drink sweet mead and suggest stopping at an inn for the night. Spend it together. Alas, the sanctity of your normal ended upon your meeting with Lucian.

“‘Scuse me, love,” he says, voice a rough timbre. It’s so different than Lucian’s smooth, honeyed lilt. You like it. “You ain’t from ‘round here, eh?”

You nimbly step aside, appreciating the view. You should leave, you know the consequences if you stay. “No.” You tell him. “I live a little ways away.”

He smiles at that. A small little grin that’s almost a smirk. What a dangerous thing, he is. He starts chatting you up. You know what he wants from you and you’re quite certain he knows what he wants from you. You should be beyond such inhibitions— but it’s been so very long since you’d indulged in a bit of fun. So you let him take you back to his inn, slip something in his beer so when he’s done and your sated, he’ll slip right off. The moment he does, you slink away, trekking through the woods back home. Most people wouldn’t, scared of the dangers lurking. But the forest knows that the true danger resides within your home, guaranteeing your safety.

The moment you make it back, Lucian appears, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Entertaining night?”

His tone is frigid and cold, almost the same as his usual indifference. But you know him better than that. “Very.” You hum. “And yet, I’m here with you.”

“Yet you’re here with me.” He parrots. The shift in his demeanour is almost imperceptible, a change so subtle it appears meaningless. You watch as he slinks away, the satisfaction of his tone lingering throughout your mind. The affirmation, to both him and you, that you were here. That you came crawling back to him. That the pull, the tether he held on your being remained tight as ever.

That you were—

Not his. You were still your own being. You let out a shaky sigh and head up to bed. You’ve had too much to drink, you tell yourself. The next morn, when you awaken, groggily blinking, something immediately feels off. After living like this— after living with him— for so long, you’ve come to understand to trust your intuition while ignoring the warning bells ringing in your head.

You head down the stairs. Your body is heavy from your hang over. It dulls your senses. You know you need to be on guard, lest Lucian have his way. Speak of the devil, you muse, as he leans on the kitchen island smugly. “Rough night?”

“Don’t.” You warn, grabbing a pot and filling it with water to boil. Lician laughs. His laughter sharp and smooth. “Forgive me, lovely.” He croons. “I do not intend to rouse that temper of yours.”

You eye him suspiciously. Of course, you’re always suspicious in regards to him, but this behaviour is odd. Odder than usual. He usually demands you cook for him, asks for your name, then huffs when you rebuff him. It’s routine and Lucian isn’t one for breaking routine. You rake over his handsome, pointed features. He sports an usual grin. Self-satisfied and almost victorious. Then, you spot a crimson splatter along the underside of his throat.

“Is there something wrong, lovely?” He inquires, tilting his head almost as if to show you the blood stained on his neck.

Don’t give in. Don’t pay attention to it. You learned early on giving in only worsens his behaviour. “No.” You answer firmly. You avoid his question, evasive and ignorant. Your ignorance serves as a shield. “I ought to make something, barely ate yesterday.”

Lucian’s eyes flicker with both annoyance and pleasure. “Make me some too.” He orders, before sauntering off.

It sends a shiver down your spine, your compliance. Barely able to deny him, yet unable to give into him. It irks him. It also pleases him. It’s a game between the two of you. One neither of you can quit. You tow the line each time, out of selfishness. The desire to be free. To be as it was. It ends in his possessive fits, with blood shed, staining your hands crimson. Yet you continue. His attention is intoxicating. As addicting as mead. It drives you mad, tantalizes you, taunts you. But you don’t give in fully. Can’t. At least, not yet.

“Come now, lovely. I know you wish to fall into temptation with me.”

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 2

Poly!141 x chunky!reader tw: little creepy at the end, stalking vibes

By the time the other three members of Task Force 141 made the drive to Ghost’s hometown, he had already determined where you were living by following you from the market and was back in his own flat, swirling a glass of whiskey. The team sat down to make a game plan, almost treating you as if you were one of their missions while sitting around Ghost’s beat up old dining table. You’d be theirs, one way or another. 

A Week Later, Saturday. 

Bleary weather had plagued Manchester for the last few days, gray clouds hovering overhead while you attempted to find your motivation for your job. It wasn’t helpful that you’d received news from your mom that your cousin and Kit would be getting married soon. A brick settled in your stomach at the news, ending the call with your mom quickly as you forced down the tears you refused to keep crying over him. 

In an effort to cheer yourself up, you headed out of your flat and down the street to the sweet little flower shop you’d found your first week in Manchester. The owner, Magda, was a kind, gentle old lady who essentially took you under her wing when you had trouble finding your footing in the new country. She’d been a boon to you, telling you the best shops for everything from groceries to clothes. You’d helped her find her cat when the mangy thing had slipped out the back door to fight the stray living behind a neighboring shop.

The bell chimed above your head, banging against the worn wood. You were immediately greeted by the scent of the most beautiful flowers and Magda’s voice talking a man through the best choices for an apology bouquet. You caught her eye over his shoulder and waved, a soft smile on your face as your eyes drifted to the back of the man’s head.

He easily stood a foot and a half taller than the elderly owner, cropped mohawk adding to the already egregious height difference. His shoulders were broad, though not quite as broad as your masked man back in New York. Why were you thinking about him all of sudden? You shook your head, clearing your mind like an etch-a-sketch and headed straight to the hyacinths and lilacs, wanting the sweet scent of your favorite flowers to brighten up your flat and completely missing him turning to take you in.

“Pretty flowers. Almost as pretty as you.” A low voice startled you out of your reverie, spinning on your heel to face the man Magda had been helping previously. Now, you could see that his eyes were a shocking blue and the lopsided smile he provided you made your heart stutter against your ribcage. But the size of him was what intrigued you. 

You’d accepted that this was the way you were now. Despite doing months of working out and eating well, your body hadn’t changed much from when you’d left the States. The cleaner food of England helped you feel better though, breathing a little life back into you after everything you’d dealt with. But that also meant that men weren’t as courageous in approaching you, their bravado faltering in the face of society's expectations. So when an attractive man approached you, blatantly flirting, your first response was to think it was a joke, snort and walk away, effectively blowing him off.

A gentle hand on your shoulder a few minutes later had you whipping around to ask what the guy's problem was, but was greeted by Magda instead. Immediately, you looked around for the mohawk guy, but he was nowhere to be found and you could have sworn the bell hadn’t dinged against the door. Weird. Bringing your gaze back to the elderly woman, you raised a brow at the scrap of paper in her hands. “That sweet young man paid for your flowers and left this as well,” Magda handed you the piece of paper with a number and a messy name scrawled at the bottom. 

Johnny. 

You’d gone home with your overly expensive bouquet and the scrap of paper after, staring down at it as if it would burst into flames at any moment. You took a deep breath, telling yourself “Why the hell not?” as you punched the number into a new message chain. 🪻: Uh, hi. Is this Johnny?

🧼: Ay, it is, Petal.

🪻: Petal? 

🧼: Well, I don’t know your name, do I?

He made a good point, making you sigh as you released your own name to him in spite of your reservations. But maybe, just maybe, you could manage to make a few friends if he ended up not being interested in you.

The next few days were spent lounging around your flat, going to work, and texting Johnny. What you didn’t know, though, was that he was reporting everything back to his boys. It had only taken Simon’s word and the one picture to have each of them wagging their tongues and readying their arms to protect what they now saw as theirs.

By the time you were winding down on Wednesday night and brewing tea that Johnny had insisted you know how to make, you were smiling at your phone that lit up every few minutes with his messages. The two of you had discussed everything from your favorite color and food to what had brought you to England. When he’d heard the details of that night, sans your interaction with Ghost, and paired it with Simon’s recollection, he’d been furious. His fingers tightened around the phone to the point that Price had taken it from him in an effort to not have to buy another replacement.

Simon had been in the same boat as Johnny, opting for stomping out of the flat to walk off his rage and guilt, feeling it gnaw at him for not stepping up before and then abandoning you after. His feet carried him to your building, watching from the ground as you paced around your space. When your pacing brought you in front of the window, you paused and looked through the glass, heart hammering as you saw a dark shape of a man standing on the sidewalk. But the light of the lamp posts made one thing stand out very clearly,

the white skull painted on his mask. 

I didn't want to offend any Scots with trying to type out Johnny's accent. I have a feeling this is going to turn into some long winded fic, so buckle in if you're ready for that.

Thank you so much for your support!

[jenroses]

Hey! Please feel free to ignore but you did say to ask you about masks :P the ones I've found that are multiple layers for max protection are really stiff, which squishes my face and leads to gaps. Do you have recommendations? Thanks!

I know that there's a lot of noise about elastomeric masks but for me they're a nonstarter because of the stiffness you talk about. I think it's important to understand that most of the 94-95 standard masks that actually meet that standard are going to be plenty good enough where most people are concerned. Is it possible to catch Covid with a mask on? Yes. I've done it.

Is it likely? No. I'm immune compromised. This isn't data, but our experience has been that a combination of masks, reasonable common sense and good filtration are enough that despite having a school-aged child, a husband who travels for conventions, and me, immune suppressed, with a college student living in our house, I have only had covid twice, the first time was an unfortunate collision of me going to a store at the wrong time where a clerk had both covid and the flu and gave them to me, and the other one involved a family member not using a mask at a public event while eating. Even then, when I caught covid and the flu at the same time and isolated immediately with filtration and everyone coming into my space being masked... not one other person in our house caught it, and when someone else caught it a year later, the only people who caught it were sharing sleeping spaces. Our roommates did not catch it, and everyone was masking from the moment of the first positive test. When my kid got half-assed about masking at school, he immediately got flu and strep at the same time. I pointed out that his lack of care about it could mean a lot of missed school for him and serious health impacts for both of us, and he started wearing a mask again, and did not get sick for the rest of the school year. He HATES the masks that go behind the head and wears Armbrust kn95 masks exclusively (dark blue, lol) And it's pretty clear that without the masks he was getting sick a lot and with he just...doesn't. He is wearing them all day except for lunch through full school days, so that says something. Armbrust will send little behind the head doohickies to keep them off the ears but he never uses them. At $2ish per mask they're not the cheapest but he uses one mask for multiple days so it's not too bad overall cost wise. They have kid sizing, but he's in the regular adult size now at 11. Now, I'll talk about Armbrust for a minute because I really like the company. On pretty much every mask they sell you'll see a video of one of their people reviewing the mask and going over testing data... but they ALSO have reviews of almost every other mask on the market, bad, good and in between, and if you find a mask on Amazon or something and want to know more about it, search the mask name and "armbrust" and the youtube video and product data page will pop up. I've found several special masks for very particular needs by looking through their database for combinations of breathability and shape that weren't even masks they sold. So if you are struggling, take a look at the database, eliminate "failed" masks, look for the ones that meet your needs and then watch the video to see what he says about them first. There are some VERY inexpensive masks out there that work very well, and some masks that are incredibly breathable or incredibly high filtration and a few unicorns that are both.

Now Hubby is okay with the same KN95 masks that our son likes but he exercises and his lungs get a little touchy sometimes so he needs maximum ease in breathing, so using that database I found Dr. Puri masks. Here's the Armbrust review. Here's the listing I found them on. Hubby LOVES them. He also prefers behind the ear. About $1.50 each.

I *hate* behind the ear with a hot hate, they bug me. But I can't just use one type of mask all the time because I have EDS and neck issues so pressure there can be awkward, plus I get short of breath sometimes anyway (history of pulmonary embolism that long predates covid) and I have sensory skin issues.

Bar none the most breathable mask I've ever tried, which also does not fog my glasses, is the Drager mask. These are soft, extraordinarily easy to breathe through, and have a unique strap that makes on/off very easy, and lets you pull the top strap and let it hang around your neck if needed. Unfortunately it has a VERY snug fit across the nose and leaves marks on my cheeks, or it would be perfect, but it's a good option, and possibly someone with a smaller face would have an easier time. These are possibly the best filtering and most breathable masks on the market, so for high risk situations this is the mask I would use. They filter 99.7% in testing. They're a little more expensive at about $1.25 per when I checked today. For a good intersection of fit and comfort, but a little less breathable, are the ACI N95 surgical respirator duckbills. These do not leave marks, don't fog much, good seal around the face, and the single most comfortable head strap I've ever seen. The fabric is very smooth, it is sensory good, but the breathability is not as high. It's not hard to breathe through, it's just not as easy as Drager or Dr. Puri. But... They could probably pass an N99 standard by Armbrust's testing, as they filter >99.4% of particulate, where the standard is 95%. These are also incredibly cheap. If you get their subscribe and save discount (you can do every 6 months) you can get 50 for $25, so 50 cents apiece.

All of these masks are pretty soft, easy to wear, and very good at what they do.

The TL:DR though.... The important thing is to find a mask that you will wear consistently and correctly every time you need it. A mask that hangs on your face and slips is not a good mask for you. A mask you hate so much you make excuses not to wear it is not a good mask for you. A mask that breaks easily or makes it hard to breathe so you end up taking it off is not a good mask. If what you have isn't working, there are LOTS of things that might.

Last Armbrust plug: THEY HAVE A SAMPLER PACK. You can buy a pack of a zillion different types and styles of mask and try a bunch! And order the one you like best! If you aren't sick, one sampler pack can be tried by the people in your household so everyone can figure out what works for them!

Also, I used to get sick very very often and now I just...don't. Not from contagious viruses, anyway. I don't understand why people are so cavalier about it. I've been sick less since 2020 than in any given six month period in my entire life. Despite being on immune suppressants.

[velvetures]

Vulnerable pt.1?

A/N: A not-so-little thing I've had for a few weeks, and wanted to see if a part two was something anyone would be interested in reading. If so, please let me know. Summary: You try and get Ghost to relax after a harsh mission and find a bit of a quiet moment. T/W: not proofread :)

Bad intel led to you and your Lieutenant being nearly hunted down and killed by a not-so-small group of arms dealers who caught on quickly to the pair of foreigners lingering just a little bit too close to their sheltered storage garage right in the middle of a market district in the South East. The task force assumed sending in an entire squad would be overkill just for some simple recon information and decided that you and Ghost would be the perfect pair for the job. ‘In and Out…’ Price had said quite offhandedly, sliding the prepared information in two files across the table to you. Only Price’s sources hadn’t double-checked if the area was secure enough for them to enter without full backup on standby. Not necessarily a lethal kind of mistake when bringing you and the Lieutenant into the equation, but there were too many close calls and stray bullets that were clearly heard for either of you to feel super confident in getting away unscathed.

Your only savior was a small farmhouse that had been recently abandoned due to the illegal and dangerous activity that had been surrounding the small city. Modest in size with two bedrooms and running water. Perfect for a makeshift safe house to keep the trackers off your asses until an extraction could be arranged and put into motion. Contrary to belief, the 141 didn’t have the bottomless pit of resources everyone believed they had at their disposal. Which included access to evac and trained air-support teams. This wasn’t a big mission that had a lot of working parts and multiple organizations involved that had enough liquidated funds to through out for a helo and heavy gunners to rescue two operators from the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where.

That means with busted equipment, inoperable comms, hardly enough ammunition to fight out of a wet paper bag, and zero way of knowing when and if you’d be rescued, there was nothing left to do but try and relax in one of the most difficult predicaments. It left you searching through cabinets for maybe some kind of food to keep the both of you while Ghost did one of his favorite things. Pacing the house from window to window looking for the slightest bit of movement. The trouble being, there wasn’t anything for at least two miles in any direction. The people who owned this place were farmers of some sort, and had placed their home right in the middle of crop fields that gave a very advantageous sightline. While that information gave you quite a bit of comfort, it was not effecting Ghost positively in the slightest.

Your relationship with the Lieutenant was complex, to say the least. When you were first introduced it was for a succession of short co-op missions that were nothing if not brief and very impersonal leaving you with more questions than answers about the man who stayed hidden under the mask. Through some talks that you hadn’t been privy to being in the room for, John Price decided that your skills would be more useful to Task Force 141 than for the U.S. Division of Clandestine Service and offered you a position that you couldn’t possibly decline.

By day-in and day-out contact with Ghost, you got a lot more comfortable with him and learned much of his little idiosyncratic behaviors. Maybe a little too well…. He didn’t particularly act much differently towards you in the grand scheme of things, but something in you felt like trust had been developed to where he could depend on you when the situation called for it.

“Go hit the rack, I’ll take first watch.” He called gruffly from the living room where he had moved a chair from the kitchen to sit facing the front door head on with his MP5 resting lazily on his chest.

You couldn’t help but notice just how damn tired he looked under all that gear and through the black smeared around his eyes. He couldn’t be carrying less than one hundred pounds on him right now; even sitting in that chair with it wasn’t a good enough solution. Let you take a moment or two for yourself, stripping out of your tac vest and heavily weighted gear to drop it on top of the kitchen counter with a little grunt. Two days ago you both got the luxury of sleeping, and since then it’s been nothing but being on the run.

This would be the safest place for you that wasn’t in the belly of an evac bird, and the thought of Ghost not taking the time to sleep sat in your mind like a lead sinker. Leaning against the doorway and watching him for a long moment, you start having thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Ones that normally wouldn’t surface if you’d been able to separate working with Ghost from the more personal aspect of literally sharing almost every part of your life with him. Thoughts about how you could make him feel better… even if just for the night. That no one was around for miles and whatever happened could safely stay between the pair of you.

By utter carelessness of your position with the team or lack of fear about how the Lieutenant might respond, you walk into the living room and kneel down right in front of him with your fingers reaching out to unlace his dusty boots. Off instinct alone, you expected and watched as his foot flinched away from you. His whole body jumps and stiffens at the contact and sight of you kneeling on the floor. He quickly pauses and collects himself, taking several moments before his gravelly voice breaks the silence.

“What’re you doin’ Sergeant?” His eyes grew heavy and showed more expression than the rest of his massive body as they flashed with confusion and a little swell of anger. That aloofness didn’t hide that slight guardedness of something that made him uncomfortable in one way or another.

“I’m perfectly capable of takin’ care of my fuckin’ self.” He adds with zero discernible sign of either offense or gratitude. You can’t help but smile tiredly, feeling like you’re attempting to soothe a feral wolf into letting you pull it’s paw out of trap.

“I never said you couldn’t L.T.,” You reply gently, reaching back to start unhooking the laces from their claws on his left foot. “Just thought you couldn’t use some affection.” Smirking to yourself, you can’t help but think something this small being considered ‘affection’ didn’t fit anyone save for Ghost. He was just too hard to approach. Walls so thick and tall that it would take someone with patience beyond that of a human to break through and see what rested behind all of that brash posturing and icy disposition.

“You know affection is something I’m averse to,” he utters, watching yet making no effort to stop you. “What you’re doin’ is unnecessary.” A small sound close to a growl escapes from behind the mask when my hand reaches to the back of his leg to help aid my effort of pulling his boot off.

Chuckling softly and sitting the boot down at your side you respond, “I know you don’t like affection,” You’re already working on the other one, purposefully moving slowly as not to overwhelm or spook him. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, L.T..” You can’t help but look up at him almost exhaustedly yet still trying to be reassuring.

“M’fine without it.” He spits out quickly, looking away from your face back down to your progress on the laces, his masked face otherwise unreadable. “Didn’t ask you for this shit, Sergeant.” Tinged with an undercurrent of irritation his deep voice sounds near the bridge of turning to anger.

“Mothering me isn’t in your best interest.” He growls low and threateningly in your face as he bends down to grab the boot sitting next to you and giving it a quick look of observation before sitting it back down closer to him. You just finish taking off his other boot and sit it down next to the other without much more of a verbal fight and put a hand on his thigh to steady your sore legs as you get back up to your feet.

“I’m younger than you Ghost, I can’t mother you.” You reply, holding out your hand for him.

He doesn’t make note or stop you from using him to help yourself up, however, Ghost follows your movements carefully… closely. He’s doing everything in his power to hide his emotions, but there’s still a faint twitch of his lips when he looks down at his boots sitting at his side. You’d done something very unusual, and he knew berating you was what he should’ve done. Yet a flinch of a smile was what really moved Ghost’s mouth. It’s gone before it even surfaces, pushed down by the sight. of you holding out your little hand in front of him. The sounds of his deep breathing fill the quiet house as you both sit there unflinching of each other. The Lieutenant shifts in his chair, readjusting his rifle on his chest.

“Go to bed. It’s late.” His repeated command felt softer now. Wavering a bit with you hand still held out and your fingers wiggling a little.

“Come on,” You hold steady and patient.

Reward comes in the form of feeling Ghost’s heavy and large hand falling into yours and gripping just hard enough to allow you the phantom sensation that you’re actually helping him up from the chair, hearing a short grunt as his back straightens up. Without explanation, you lead the Lieutenant through the small house back towards the only bedroom in the house with an actual bed left behind by the owners, pulling him to the center of the room and turning around to face him.

“Put your arms up for me.”

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s frown can be heard from behind the mask. Despite his apparent bewilderment, he hesitantly obeys, extending his arms above his head with an exhale of a tense breath, looking down at you with dark and questioning eyes. “What are you doing now?”

You just smile and hum to yourself softly, reaching out to begin unclipping and unzipping the sections of his tac vest holding it on his upper body and the multiple ammo belts. Carefully draping them over you shoulder as you release his body from them one by one. Seeing the way Ghost’s body sinks into itself with the weight being pulled off after days without rest. You feel his eyes scan over you, over your hands finding ways to take off his gear for the first time in your life, feeling your way through sunch an unusual yet careful act.

“Bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous…” He growls, covering up the feelings of not being so concealed by barking at you a little.

“Shhh.” Your hush does enough to stop his quiet and brooding complaints.

Long enough for you to kneel back down at his feet and work at the thigh straps over his pants and even remove the ankle holster you’d left alone while taking off his boots. He doesn’t resist this part, just watching you undress him bit by bit with half a mind questioning just what had happened for you to start acting so strangely. You’d always been sweet. Much nicer than your job allowed for. Yet even this was quite off the edge of the character Ghost had built for you over the years. This felt downright intimate for just two operators to be doing.

Then again your shared situation wasn’t exactly one of professionalism at this point. You’d been improvising for nearly a full day just trying to stay alive. Once back on your feet, you take hold of his hand again, this time with a little less caution since you’d already touched him there, and begin pulling at the fingertips to slide his sand and dirt-cakes gloves off. Even seeing his bare skin under his gloves be seen in the dim lamplight of the house, Ghost doesn’t do more than flex his fingers once you’ve rid him of the stiff material.

Purposefully avoiding his mask, you get Ghost down to nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt, even with his help at certain parts without him growling more or acting like you were irritating him. While he still gave off a feeling of all-around grumpiness and more than a little confused as hell, you paid it no mind as you led him towards the edge of the bed and pointed to it with a short yet polite command for him to ’sit’. Right away you noticed his hesitation and the way that his shoulders and arms tensed, his attention solely on you, flashing between your eyes and mouth like he was trying to reassure himself that he’d heard you correctly. But with one small tug on his hand, he turns around and sits on the bed with his feet resting on the floor and his arms braced on both sides of him a little stiffly.

“Now what?” His voice held a bit of rasp to it as he tracked your movement from his side, seeing you climb up into the bed and position yourself on your knees behind him. The close proximity didn’t go unnoticed by the Lieutenant as he cleared his throat, once again interrupting the calm silence in the house. His tension filled the small space between you, heating the gap of air, almost electrifying it.

“Just relax Ghost.” Easily touching his shoulders, you begin working your palms flat against the slopes of his muscled neck.

Purposefully but gently rubbing at the stiff cords of muscle and introducing the sensation to him as easily as possible in the case that it was a bit too overwhelming for him all at once. You knew you’d pushed the boundaries with him much further past anything you’d expected to achieve in one night. But now that he was sitting here in front of you, it was hard not to smile brightly that he was trusting you so much. Allowing your hands to be on him. Accepting that you had positioned the both of you in a very vulnerable position that could lead to a lot more violent options than affectionate ones. Torture and nightmares had given more than a fair share to Ghost, yet he was patiently staving off his own clear hesitation so that you could play out whatever this was turning out to be.

Your command went unacknowledged just like all of Ghost’s from earlier had; His breathing steadily slowing down into a deep and rich, relaxed sort of rhythm. Power of your hands and calming attitude worked faster than you anticipated, leaving the massive man sitting between your thighs begin to release. Tension falling out of his body not only under your hands but by sight of his jaw loosening. You’re even lucky enough to spot him trying to take glances at you from the corner of his eye, only to look back ahead since you were in quite the blindspot. Taking your thumbs in a sweeping motion from the edges of his shoulders inward, you apply pressure on the back of his neck and experimentally reach higher up under the hem of his mask. A dangerous game to play. Rumbling sounds of appreciation filling your ears are better than any sort of medal you could earn or bet you’d ever cash in. His head rolls back slightly with each small circle of your thumbs and fingers, pushing against you. Silently asking for more pressure.

“Feel good?” You ask at just a whisper, not wanting to disturb the warm sort of feeling the room has right now by speaking too loud.

Under the safety of his mask, Ghost’s mouth curves into a smile hearing you. He rolls his head back again, arching slightly to accommodate your small hands struggling to find good purchase to keep working at the intensity he’d been hinting at. A much less controllable sound escapes his mouth when you begin working at a very sore spot he didn’t even know was present right at the base of his skull.

“Keep going,” His sleepy-sounding mutter makes your chest ache.

Grinning at the feeling of his harsh accent and sudden domestication you work away diligently down his back carefully and methodically so as to not miss a single thing. And while it’s not necessarily going to help him much, you go ahead and use your fingernails to gently scratch up and down. It’s then a groan interrupts your focus and you see Ghost shift on the edge of the bed. Believing you’d found the end of your time, you leaned back on your heels and expected him to get up and leave you in the bedroom alone. Watching him tug at his t-shirt and pull it over his head to toss it somewhere across the room was how you were told that Ghost did indeed want more. Only his shirt was getting in the way of something he wasn’t getting.

Hearing him give a deep sigh when your fingertips returned to his now bared skin gave you a rush of adrenaline and nearly caused you to wiggle happily that you’d been able to share this with Ghost. He leans back into you a little more, letting your hands and arms take more of the weight as he groans out;

“You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but not for a long time.” You answer, eyes smoothing over the muscles rippling as your hands work at them.

“You’re good,” He grunts, closing his eyes and zeroing in on how to focus his attention between your small hands working so efficiently and the conversation he’d begun. “How’d you get so good at it?” His head turns a little, trying to get at least one good look at you. He keeps shifting now, allowing him to keep you just in the edge of his periphery.

“Had a good teacher for a few years,” You answer, working in tight circles over a large ball of muscle fibers all collected just at the edge of his shoulder blade, earning another growling sound from the Lieutenant.

“Teacher? When?” He asks, giving a slow release of a deep breath giving a short indication that the muscle you’d been working to release was getting a bit uncomfortable. Pulling back for a moment just to give him and your hands a break, you hear him make a noise then lean back a little further, pressing his back against you almost like a dog wanting to be pet more.

“Don’t stop.” He requests in a husky tone. You chuckle aloud, returning your hands and taking a less aggressive approach by smoothing your palms over him in less-than-planned patterns, just enjoying feeling his tattooed and scarred skin under your hands as you think about how to answer him.

“A woman in London taught me,” you start, using your nails again on his skin softly. “In the year or so between my U.S. military discharge and acceptance into the task force with you.” You see the effect of your touch on Ghost as it takes him longer to respond and the way he keeps leaning more and more weight back into you, unable to keep himself from subconsciously trying to get closer. Wanting more whether he’d ever admit it or not. There’s no mistaking it between either of you, he’s enjoying this.

“I assume she was special to you.”

It was your neighbor just across the hallway from you. An older woman named Sarah. Eccentric in modern times, you’d always believed she must’ve been a force to be reckoned with when she wasn’t hindered by an aging body and an even more ailing mind. A massage therapist by trade, and a pianist by heart there wasn’t much that Sarah could accomplish without someone helping her once she became limited in movement living on the eighth floor of the apartment building you shared. Back then you didn’t have much in the way of contacts after leaving the country, and it led to a friendship with the old woman living across from you. Sharing stories, eating dinner together, grocery shopping together when she felt like going out, and trading some skills between each other. After telling Ghost this much with your fingers tracing out letters and shapes over his back, you can sense he’s listening carefully. And Ghost is feeling a slight fuzzy sensation building in the back of his brain, spreading out in a warm wave down to his fingertips and toes.

“She taught me massage since at the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life.” Your head falls to the side, examining how the lamplight shines on ghost and deepens the already significant definition in his physique.

Ghost falls against you even more, and this time he lets his head fall back against you. Trying to counterbalance his weight and keep both of you from falling backwards with just him limp he’s becoming, you wrap on arm around his neck and hold his head in the bend of your arm. He gives another sigh, and settles against you heavily. He. looks at you in silence out of the corner of his eye listening to your explanation.

“Why was she your only friend?” You can’t help but chuckle at his question, resting your chin on his opposite shoulder and bringing your other arm under his to begin scratching and rubbing at his chest, feeling deep and puckered scars littering nearly every inch of him.

“I didn’t know anyone else. And you know me well enough to know that I’m not exactly extroverted.” You smile, tracing lightly up and down his well-defined arm. Ghost couldn’t be more comfortable laid against you.

“Sorry to hear that.” His voice low and husky with his mouth so close to your ear. “She must call or ask about you…”

You shake your head. “No. She died just before I joined you all. Her mind was… failing her. And there was some kind of accident in the middle of the night The police told me she was likely trying to get to the bathroom and fell. She apparently died on impact… they didn’t say what, but I think her head hit something.” You explain quietly. “And you and I both know that means lights out. So she didn’t suffer.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he answers as softly as he can manage after hearing the darker part of your happy memories. “How did it become… intimate, like this?” He asks, nodding to the way you were leaned up against his back with your hand tracing over every inch of him that you could reach. The longer you’ve both let this go, the more boundaries get pushed further out of reach, making it hard for either of you to really know where it could end.

You smile with a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks, thankful you’re somewhat hidden out of sight. “This isn’t really what she taught me,” You mutter a bit quiet. “When i was massaging you… yes. That I got taught. But this, it’s… just me.”

Out of your sight Ghost’s face flushes slightly as well, his cheeks a warm rose-color. You’re touching him in a way that he’d never expected. But hearing that you’re not just doing it for… relaxation, it’s a heavy but welcome thought. And Ghost can’t help that his body reacts to it with chills raising all over his skin despite the house being perfectly warm. He lets out a deep breath focusing on your words, repeating him over just to ensure that you’re not saying it one way and him interpreting it differently due to your hands being all over him, making him feel so good. Mind racing, heart pounding, he truly realizes just how vulnerable he is under you at this moment.

“I can stop if you’d like?” You offer, preparing to move away from him.

“No,” His hoarse voice gives away his sudden dry mouth. No matter how much your touch is affecting his body, he’s not willing to stop you right now. You’ve crossed into a level of trust that he can’t think to make you abide by anymore. It’s a foreign feeling for him, but he wants to push through it. Hoping he can feel more of you if he just holds on a little longer to this.

“Don’t stop."

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated <3

[buckyalpine]

Could U PLZZZ name the Reader Isabel!! plz some smut, bucky barnes, choking kink, kinda innocent... mainly winter solider look!

PRETTY plz it would mean SO muchhhh

Okay but imagine you have an up and coming mission which requires you to take on a new identity. Isabel Rosa, the young daughter of a business man, looking to buy art in the black market. You're to attend a gala hosted by an investor so you can get some intel on the target but you're nervous because you've never done this before.

To make sure everything goes well, you're given a "bodyguard" to ensure no one messes with you or tries anything when you attend that night.

And the plan works perfectly because no one dares look at you twice when you stroll into the event dressed in your pretty pink dress with the 6ft+ winter soldier attached to your arm. There isn't a soul in the room who doesn't know who that is. Dressed head to toe in an all black suit, his dark chestnut hair framing his face, piercing blue eyes enough to make everyone look away. He wears his mask as he escorts you and you can feel all the weapons he has strapped to him when he puts his arm around your waist.

"Relax bunny" He whispers when you shiver nervously, plucking a flute of champagne for you. "it's gonna be fine. No one can touch you as long as I'm here"

You silently nod, taking a small sip while he scans the room, guiding you to the target so you can get closer. He knows his job is to focus on keeping you out of harms way and he does that with ease but he can't help get a little distracted each time you nuzzle further into his side. He loves the way you tightly cling onto him each time you introduce yourself to someone. Its hard to ignore the way you make his pants feel too tight and his composure starts to falter when you both go to an office room to grab a flash drive.

He locked the door behind him while you crack open a safe, pocketing all the contents inside. You gasped, suddenly feeling him right behind you, his tall form towering over you.

"Isabel" He purrs into your ear while you bite your lip nervously, his gravelly muffled voice making your heart race. "Such a pretty name, bunny, y'know that"

"James, we have to go" You squeak, ignoring the throb between your legs while he shakes his head, grabbing you and plopping you onto a large wooden desk.

"Shhh" The rough, hard material of his mask brushes against your shoulder as he continues to whisper, "Don't think I can't smell you bunny"

He gathers the skirt of you dress up, shamelessly shoving his hand into your panties, letting his fingers gather your slick before playing with your sensitive clit.

"Look at you Isabel" He teases, pushing a finger in without warning making you cry out. As soon as a sound slips out, his metal hand grabs your throat, softly squeezing the sides. "Quiet, before all your little investors hear what a whore you are"

You instantly shut up while he continues his slow torture, loving the way you whine and whimper for more.

"What's wrong love" He cooes at your glassy eyes, pressing his erection against your dripping cunt.

"Please soldier" You quietly beg and who is he to say no to such a perfect doll asking for his cock. He legs go of you for a second to undo his pants and pull his length out, pumping it while you gape at the size.

"Never seen a cock before, bunny?" Bucky smirks, using the head to flick at your button a few times, guiding you to look down at the way his pink tip leaks, making your clit sticky with his arousal. "Gonna fill you right up, doll, don't worry"

He hasn't forgotten the mission, his eyes still glancing at the door, ears still sharp for footsteps but he's not about to let this opportunity go. He slides in, shoving his cock in all at once, grasping your neck again before you could scream. He starts to pound relentlessly while your arms and legs cling onto his body, silently sobbing from pleasure.

He growls feeling your cunt squeeze him making his cock throb, smacking your thigh when he feels you clench. He knows you want to scream so bad, the quiver of your lip driving him insane. He takes his mask off, shoving it in your mouth.

"We're gonna be here a while Isabel, better he quiet"

[thebigbadbatswife]

Day 13 - Size Difference

Pairing - Jason Todd x F!Thief!Reader

Warnings - 18+ content, if you're under 18 leave immediately! Size difference, rough sex, enemies with benefits.

Summary - During your late night heist, you run into Red Hood and he’s not going to let you get away so easily. Not that you want to escape anyway.

Red Hood is a mountain of a man. He towers over almost everyone that he meets and is complete made of muscle. Just the sight of him can easily intimidate a person. Not you though. Never you.

Despite the fact that his doesn’t typically deal with cat burglars, his main targets being crimelords like Black Mask, you and him have done this dance before. Yet, somehow, whenever you break into somewhere, he shows up. How he knows it’s you responsible, you don’t know. But you’re always happy to see him and he’s clearly happy to see you too with how he lets you escape. He’s completely pussy whipped and that is something you will happily use it to your advantage each and every time.

Like tonight.

The museum has a rare and exquisite gem on display. According to your research on the gem, some people believe that it has magical properties. Whether it does or not doesn’t really matter to you. What does matter is that it’s going to fetch a killing on the black market. Perhaps even enough to send you into early retirement.

You only have hold of the gem for a few seconds before he shows up. 

“Put it back.” His voice is commanding. If you were anyone else it might actually make you listen to him. But you’re not just anyone else and you’re certainly not going to listen.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” You look over your shoulder at him and give him a wink.

You dart off, but not with the purpose of escaping. Just making it look like you are. You know the layout of the building well, you’ve been studying the plans for weeks. You know where the exits are, as well as the dead ends. Purposely you had for the latter and before you know it he has you cornered and you couldn’t be more excited. He stalks toward you and you can feel heat spreading through you. 

“Looks like you caught me.” You’re already slowly pulling down the zipper attached to the front of your suit, letting your breasts spill out. You can’t see his face, but you can see the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. His eyes not doubt running up and down your body. 

“Yeah, it does.” He crosses the space between you quickly. His hands settling on your hips and pulling you against his body. You can feel his cock pressing against you through his combat trousers.

The first time you saw his cock both of you didn’t think that you could take him. Thick and long, he was certainly bigger than anyone else you had shared a bed with. But you are a stubborn and determined person. It took awhile, but you eventually worked up to fitting every last inch of him inside of you.

He strips you of your suit and undoes his pants, freeing his cock from them. You hook your leg around his hip and gasp as he finally starts to push inside of you. You’re already dripping, the thought of tonight enough to make you slick, letting him easily enter you.

You would never say it outloud to him, or anyone for that matter, but you love the feeling of him filling you up and carving you out. He always fills you to the brim, leaving you whimpering, moaning and creaming around his cock. And you open yourself up to him willingly, wanting him to bottom out inside of you before loosing all of his control and shooting his cum deep inside of your cunt. His grip on your hips is harsh and you know, if he truly wanted to, he could easily break you, but he won’t. You know he won’t. This game you both play, it’s too much fun and though he will never admit it, you know he enjoys it just as much as you do.

Especially when the two of you finally end up on the floor. You can’t see his face, his helmet stopping you. But you can feel it in the way he holds you and drills his thick cock into you. He thoroughly enjoys seeing you ride him, your breasts bouncing and your fingers playing with yourself as you lose yourself to the pleasure. The once silent halls of a museum locked up for the night filled with the sounds of moans and skin against skin.

And once you were done fucking each other, you’ll remove yourself off of him and gather your stuff. The gem included. Then you’ll disappear into the night, leaving him behind. Ready to do this dance again another night and certainly looking forward to it.

[biosimulates]

https://introspectivemarketresearch.com/reports/cloth-face-mask-market/

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (22)

The second section is NSFW. Sexy times where they're both still figuring it out.

***

It's surprising how quickly word of their new market spreads. The alcohol sells – the bottles of wine that the mess hall never stocks, the clear spirits that smell like paint remover to Vander – and the gas masks sell so well that Silco's keeping a waiting list for their next two orders.

Clothing is harder. It's too hard to know what size of clothing will sell, what style or colours. The uncut fabric still takes up a lot of space and requires someone able to sew.

"And we'd need somewhere to store it," Silco complains as they look through the captain's stock. He keeps running his fingers over the fabrics, fingertips grazing over anything smooth or shiny.

"Our place?"

"Somewhere I'm happy for other people to come and see the goods," Silco replies. He firmly believes the safest approach is to make sure no one knows where they sleep.

"We should ask Babette." Silco gives him a doubtful look, so Vander explains, "Her workers are probably the only ones who are going to pay just to look good. If we asked what they want, maybe we could get a selection and take it to them?"

"The captain's docked here overnight. We'll go now, check with Babette and come back."

Babette's working on the riverside this week, in a small fisherman's cottage with the tents set up behind it. They end up sitting in the front room, surrounded by scantily dressed women, waiting for Babette to be free. Vander's trying not to stare at cleavage and high cut skirts, but Silco's actually chatting away to a couple of girls in the corner, nodding and taking down notes.

He's relieved when Babette returns and leads them to a tiny kitchen out the back, with a small but serviceable table. Babette uses a small step to climb onto the chair.

"Vander," Babette says warmly, "and who's your friend?"

"Silco," Vander says, ten futures to face Silco's unimpressed expression. "I grew up on the riverside. Babette's been here as long as the bridge has."

"Longer, dear." Babette ashes her cigarette into a glass bowl. "I came here when they were building that. I remember you running wild in the streets, ten years old and trying to pretend you were grown, pouting when Callie wouldn't let you in the front door."

Honestly, Vander didn't think anyone would remember that but him.

Leaning an elbow on the table, Silco looks at him. Silco doesn't smile but there's amusement in his voice. "You tried to sneak into a brothel at ten?"

"Only to pickpocket my clients. Really, if you're not good enough to lift a wallet on the street, you shouldn't be dabbling in petty theft." Thankfully, she doesn't go into any further details. Vander has no desire to let Silco know about the time he had to run from a potential mark and hide in a barrel of chum for twenty minutes. He stank of fish for days. "Now, how can I help you boys? You didn't seem too interested in another companion."

Now, Silco smiles. "We have a business opportunity for you."

They make a list and go back to the ship. They find what they can and pay for it, and then return with their pile to Babette's back door. There are lots of flimsy fabrics, things that shine and sparkle in the candlelight. Lots of strong, bold colours.

They spread the rolls of fabric over the table and haggle good-naturedly over the price.

***

Vander's grown used to sleeping in beds that are only just wide enough for his shoulders. He's used to turning in bed very carefully, so he doesn't roll out of it by accident. The new bed that Silco buys them is double the width of the company bunks. With a thick wooden baseboard and headboard, with curves etched into the wood. It reminds Vander of the Piltover bridge, the combination of square lines and curves, a mix of practicality and beauty.

"Are you going to keep running your hands over that or are you going to get into bed?"

Vander looks over his shoulder. Despite the sharp words, Silco doesn't look annoyed. He's been sharper than usual tonight, but Vander mostly put that down to the frustration of taking the bed apart to fit it through the fissure entrance and then getting it to fit back together.

It's good and sturdy now. Vander gives the frame a little shake and it doesn't budge. "Nothing wrong with admiring a job well done."

Silco rolls his eyes and starts unbuckling his jacket. They've made the bed with a piece of cotton as a sheet and a few blankets. One pillow each, purchased from the company store. Vander wants to jump straight into it but it's probably better to strip his clothes off first. It'll be smudged with coal dust soon enough.

"You said," Silco says calmly, hanging up his clothes for tomorrow, "you wanted to fuck me when we got a bed."

Vander jerks in surprise, and then hears his shirt seam tear.

"Damn it. Remind me to fix that in the morning," he says reflexively. "And, yeah, I remember saying that. Why?"

"We now have a bed." Silco sounds fine about it but his knuckles are white as he unbuttons his pants. He slides them down and then shakes them out, hooking them on a loose nail in the wall. "So we might as well."

Vander grins to himself. It's such a practical way to approach sex – he doesn't know what else he expected from Silco.

Vander leaves his own clothes folded messily in the corner. "Have you done this before?"

"Have you?" Silco counters.

"There were a couple of girls on riverside. More fumbling than anything else." Vander shrugs. "But I haven't done… exactly this."

Silco fetches a small glass bottle from his jacket pocket. It's orange in a tall pyramid shape. "Babette suggested oil."

"You talked to Babette about this?"

Silco folds his arms across His scrawny chest. "She seemed the most reliable source of information."

Vander wants to tease him but Silco might take it personally and call the whole thing off. "Okay. Did she suggest anything else?"

"That it might be easier to relax lying on my stomach. Remember to use the oil. That the first time was bound to be uncomfortable," Silco admits, watching the bottle in his hand rather than meeting Vander's eyes, "but it would feel good by the end."

Silco presses a perfunctory kiss to Vander's mouth and pushes the bottle into his hands. Then he walks over to the bed, pulls back the blankets and then lies face down. He pulls a pillow under his cheek, and then sides his knees apart. "Are you going to stand there watching?"

"It's a very pretty sight," Vander says earnestly and Silco snorts. Vander isn't any kind of artist, he couldn't explain it if he tried. But there is something breathtaking about The warm lantern light on Silco's white skin, the shadows caused by the curve of his spine. It's something about the vulnerable backs of his knees, the long stretch of thigh, the curve of his ass. Silco likes to sleep with his hair pulled into a messy bun, but there are dark strands escaping, curling around the nape of his neck.

"You really are beautiful," Vanser says, crawling onto the bed and kneeling between Silco's legs.

Silco glares over his shoulder. "Hurry up, Vander."

The stopper is a little tricky to get free. It takes Vander an extra moment to work it out of the bottle and he has to ignore Silco's very judgemental, "Do you need assistance?"

It doesn't smell like engine oil, like diesel and machinery. It's thin and pale, and barely has a smell at all. Out of curiosity, Vander licks his finger but it doesn't taste like much either. Silco is still watching him over his shoulder, but at least he doesn't say anything.

Vander slicks up his cock first, a stroke or two to take the edge off, and then he smoothes the oil over Silco's hole, feeling it tense and relax under his fingers. He pushes two fingers inside to spread the oil, Surprised at the resistance, and Silco hisses into the pillow.

"Okay?" Vander asks, and Silco makes a muffled uh-huh noise, face still pressed into the pillow. Vander adds some more oil, hypnotised by Silco's hole stretched around his fingers. He pushes deeper and his knuckles disappear inside Silco.

Silco gasps, shoulder blades tensing as he holds tight to the pillow. Vander pushes in deeper, and he feels Silco clench around him, how hot and smooth Silco feels around his fingers.

Vander pulls his fingers out and lines up his cock. Silco is hot and smooth around him and tight. So tight. It's like fucking into a vise. "Relax, will you?"

"I'm trying," Silco snarls back at him. "Give me a minute."

Vander tries to stay still, to stop his hips from hitching forward. He presses his palms against the mattress, to either side of Silco's waist and tries to think of anything but how hot and tight Silco is around him. How he can feel Silco clench around him and then relax. How desperately he wants to bury his cock in deep.

"Silco," and it's a whine because Vander's going out of his mind. "Can I–"

"Yes," Silco says and Vander thrusts the rest of the way in. He takes a breath, tries to give Silco a moment to adjust and then he has his hands on Silco's hips, holding him steady as Vander pulls back.

He thrusts back in, fireworks skating up his spine and Silco's moan ringing in his ears. When he pulls back, Silco whines into the pillow. It's obscenely loud, the slap of skin against skin, the grunts that Vander can't stop making, the gasping whines ripped out of Silco. It drives Vander on, makes him thrust harder and hold on tighter, fingers digging into Silco's hips.

It catches him by surprise how close he is, has Vander scrambling to reach under Silco and get a hand around his cock, to jerk him off as Vander chases ecstasy with every thrust. He's desperate and clumsy but Silco is sobbing for breath, dragging in deep, wet gasps.

Then Silco freezes, clenching beneath him and around him. He comes with one last, low groan and Vander's only a few thrusts behind him. He comes deep inside Silco and then collapses onto his elbows, breathing open mouthed against Silco's back.

He can feel Silco's shuddering breaths. Can feel Silco's shoulders hitching as he forces his breathing under control again.

Vander pulls out and rolls off him, and Silco is out of bed, straight over to the flask of water and rag they use for cleaning up. He keeps his back to Vander as he washes his face first. He wipes himself down, front and back, but the whole time he's silent and keeps his back to Vander.

Silco dislikes going to sleep dirty – for any reason – but he usually has no modesty when washing and spends the time complaining that they don't have hot water.

"You okay?" Vander asks, sitting up. He stays in bed because he knows Silco doesn't react well to being cornered.

"Fine," Silco says quietly, facing the wall. He wipes down his chest again, and then fiddles with the rag, wringing it out and then laying it over the flask. "It's fine."

Silco turns the lantern down to a low glow and then comes back to bed.

Vander frowns, worried he might have got carried away. He's usually careful around people, has always had to be, but he forget around Silco. Silco would laugh at him for holding himself back and it's easy to forget the reasons Vander should. "You'd tell me if I hurt you, right?"

"It's not that," Silco says quickly, which proves it is something.

"Did you not like it?" That doesn't feel true, not with the noises Silco was making, but he's to ask.

"It's not–" Silco gives a frustrated sigh. "It was fine. It was good, it just…"

Vander rolls to his side, curves a arm around Silco's waist. He can make out Silco's familiar profile in the almost dark. "Tell me."

"I don't like the way it made me feel. Flayed open. Overwhelmed." In the dark, Silco takes a deep breath. "I don't want to do that again."

"Okay."

"Don't placate me! This was something that you wanted and now I'm saying no. You should at least be honest with me if–"

Shutting Silco up with a kiss feels like a good solution, especially when he kisses back. "I want you. However I get to have you."

"You mean, you like me on my knees sucking you off," Silco clarifies, confident enough to tease.

"I really do."

***

[wonderlanddreamer]

Busy Being Shelbys.

[1919] Garrison Lane, Birmingham.

In the shadow of giants, six year old Lydia Shelby proves that courage comes in all sizes.

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

The cobbled streets of Small Heath were alive with the sounds of a bustling day, a cacophony that painted a vivid picture of daily life in this vibrant part of Birmingham. Market vendors bellowed their wares from behind wooden stalls, their voices competing with one another in a bid to attract customers. Freshly baked bread, ripe fruits, and an array of colourful fabrics were just some of the treasures on display. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh produce, roasted meats, and the occasional whiff of coal smoke from a distant factory.

Children darted through the maze of adults, their laughter ringing out like the sweetest music. They played games of tag and hide-and-seek, their joy unburdened by the worries of the adult world. The rhythmic clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages added a steady beat to the day's soundtrack, while the faint clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation drifted from the open door of the Garrison Pub, where patrons sought respite and camaraderie.

Among the children was Lydia Shelby, a striking figure with her bright blue eyes and unruly dark hair that framed her face in wild, untamed waves. She was a miniature replica of her older brothers, though her features still retained the softness of childhood that had long since been etched away by the harsh realities of life for her siblings.

Lydia was lost in her game of hopscotch, her delicate leather shoes tapping out a rhythmic pattern against the uneven cobblestones. Each leap and skip seemed to lift her further into a world of her own making, where the only things that mattered were the chalk-drawn squares and the simple joy of play. Her giggles rang out like tiny bells, echoing down the narrow street and adding a layer of innocence to the otherwise gritty surroundings.

The market's vibrant noise began to fade as an unspoken tension gripped the air. Conversations stilled, and the clatter of commerce dulled to a murmur. Heads turned and eyes widened as a sleek black car, polished to a mirror shine, rolled to a stop in front of the Garrison Pub. The vehicle, an imposing presence amidst the horse-drawn carts and pedestrian traffic, seemed to absorb the light, casting an eerie shadow over the cobblestones.

A hush fell over the street, the silence broken only by the creak of the car door as it opened. Billy Kimber emerged first, his sharp suit impeccably tailored, accentuating his lean, muscular frame. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept across the scene with the precision of a hawk. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew he commanded respect, his very presence a silent threat.

Behind him, his men followed, each one a mirror of their leader’s predatory demeanor. They fanned out, creating a semi-circle that seemed to cordon off the area, their eyes scanning for any sign of the Shelbys. Kimber's face was a mask of determination, his jaw set as he prepared to confront his rivals. The air seemed to thicken with each step they took, the tension rising like a gathering storm.

Lydia, oblivious to the shift in the atmosphere, continued her game. Her small figure, clad in a simple dress, darted from square to square, her laughter a stark contrast to the growing unease that enveloped the street. She was a picture of pure, untainted joy, her world still untouched by the darker elements that lurked in the shadows of Small Heath.

Kimber’s gaze landed on Lydia, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Lydia looked up from her hopscotch grid as the long, dark shadows of Kimber and his men fell over her game, casting a chill despite the warm day. Her bright blue eyes blinked up at the unfamiliar faces, her expression more curious than afraid. Her unruly hair bounced as she straightened up.

Billy Kimber, sensing the girl's defiance, allowed a slow, amused smirk to spread across his face. He crouched down slightly, bringing his sharp, predatory eyes level with Lydia's. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "A little girl all alone."

Lydia’s eyes narrowed slightly, her stance shifting as she planted her small hands firmly on her hips, a stance that was unmistakably Shelby. Despite her tender age, there was a steely resolve in her gaze, a flicker of the same fire that burned in her older brothers. She tilted her chin up defiantly. "I'm not alone," she said firmly, her voice steady and clear. "My brothers are inside."

Her unwavering gaze unsettled some of Kimber's men, their eyes darting between the girl and their leader. But Billy Kimber was not so easily intimidated, especially not by a child. He crouched down to her level, his eyes narrowing to scrutinize her more closely. "Do you know who I am, little girl?" he asked, his voice a low growl that usually elicited immediate submission.

Lydia nodded without hesitation. "You're Billy Kimber," she stated simply, her tone devoid of the fear that usually accompanied his name. "You run the races."

Kimber's smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "That's right. And do you know why I'm here?"

Lydia shrugged, a gesture so casual it bordered on insolent, her small shoulders lifting and falling as if to say that his presence was of little consequence to her. "You're probably looking for my brothers. But they're busy."

One of Kimber's men chuckled, but it was a nervous, hesitant sound, the laughter of someone unsure whether to be amused or alarmed. Kimber's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of irritation. He was accustomed to fear and respect, not this calm defiance from a mere child. "Busy with what?" he asked, his patience thinning, his tone sharper now.

Lydia’s eyes met his unflinchingly, her voice carrying an edge of pride. "Busy being Shelbys," she replied, as if that explained everything. And in a way, it did.

Kimber's eyes darkened, his amusement giving way to a simmering menace. He extended a hand, intending to ruffle Lydia's hair in a gesture meant to assert his dominance rather than convey any genuine affection. His fingers, adorned with rings that gleamed ominously in the daylight, reached towards her.

But before he could make contact, Lydia took a deliberate step back, her eyes locked onto his with a mixture of defiance and warning. The movement was subtle, yet it spoke volumes. Her small frame seemed to grow taller, her presence more commanding, as if channeling the collective strength of her family.

"You shouldn't touch me," she said softly, her voice steady and clear. The softness of her tone contrasted sharply with the steel in her words. "My brothers wouldn't like it."

Kimber's hand hung in the air for a moment, frozen by the quiet authority in her voice. He slowly retracted it, his fingers curling into a fist at his side.

At that moment, the door of the Garrison swung open with a force that made the hinges groan in protest. Out stepped Thomas Shelby, flanked by Arthur and John, their presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the vicinity. The three brothers moved with a lethal grace, their expressions murderous, their postures taut with barely contained fury. The atmosphere grew dense with a palpable tension, forewarning of the storm that was about to break.

"Kimber," Tommy began, his voice slicing through the air like a blade of cold steel. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Each word was enunciated with an icy precision that sent shivers down the spine of anyone within earshot.

Billy Kimber straightened up, attempting to reclaim his swagger now that he was facing adults. His sneer was a thin veneer over the unease that gnawed at him. "Just having a chat with your little sister, Tommy," he said, his voice carrying a faux lightness that did nothing to mask the underlying threat.

Tommy's gaze turned to ice, his eyes narrowing with a deadly calm. He took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. The intensity of his stare was enough to make even the bravest of men falter. "Keep away from her, get back in your fucking cars, and leave," Tommy said, his tone a low, menacing growl that left no room for misinterpretation.

Kimber laughed, but it was a hollow sound. He knew better than to push his luck with the Shelbys. "I'll see you soon, pikey," he said, but there was no real conviction in his words. With a sharp gesture, he signaled his men to follow him back to the car.

As the car sped away, its engine roaring and tires screeching, a cloud of dust hung in the air, slowly settling back onto the cobblestone street. The square, which had been a tense battleground moments ago, began to return to its usual hustle and bustle, though an undercurrent of unease still lingered.

Lydia stood frozen for a moment, watching the black car disappear around a corner. The adrenaline that had surged through her tiny frame started to ebb, leaving her legs shaky and her heart pounding in her chest. Her earlier bravado was giving way to a wave of relief.

She turned and ran to her brothers, her small feet making soft, rapid taps against the cobblestones. Tommy, Arthur, and John watched her approach, their expressions softening in unison. Tommy crouched down just as Lydia reached him, and with a gentle but firm grip, he lifted her into his arms. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his chest.

"Good girl, Lydia," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the tension that still clung to the air. "You did us proud,"

Lydia's lips curved into a small, proud smile as she wrapped her arms around Tommy's neck, seeking the comfort and security that only her brothers could provide. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "I know," she said confidently, her voice a mix of lingering fear and newfound courage. "I was brave, just like you."

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting an amber glow over Small Heath as Tommy took one last vigilant sweep of the streets for any lingering danger. Satisfied, he turned and carried Lydia towards the Garrison, Arthur and John close behind. As they stepped inside, the familiar scent of whiskey and smoke enveloped them. Lydia, nestled in Tommy's arms, exchanged a glance with John, who walked just behind them. She smiled, a mix of relief and affection, and John responded with a warm grin, ruffling her hair gently. Inside the Garrison, with the comforting hum of conversations and clinking glasses around them, the weight of the day's tension began to lift, leaving them with a fleeting sense of tranquility.

[amr-jayprakash]

Face mask is a type of protective mask that serves to protect against airborne diseases like COVID-19, influenza, chickenpox, mumps, and measles. It is a half face mask which protects the nose, chin, and mouth. Furthermore, the outbreak of respiratory infection based pandemic diseases like H1N1 and COVID-19 fuel the demand for face mask among frontline health workers such as first responders, nurses, and medical practitioners. 

[covid-safer-hotties]

I have two (mostly) unrelated mask questions.

Firstly, given the phrase I keep hearing recently that covid "spreads like smoke," is it a sign that my N95 isn't working if I can smell someone's cigarette smoke or vape mist through it?

Secondly, if one wanted to switch from disposable N95s to an elastomeric mask for the purposes of daily wear at an in-person job, how do the protocols for filter reuse work? Can you use the same filter multiple days in a row? Can you do the brown-bag disinfection thing and swap in a different filter each day? Do you need to clean the mask somehow in between each use?

Thank you for any info you may have, I appreciate it.

You can smell things through a mask because many smells are caused by vapors. If you wanted to block vapors, you'd need a P100 elastomeric with specialized cannisters. Covid (and other viruses) spread via aerosols, which are small particles, water droplets that are ~micron sized. Those are caught in the tangled, electostatically charged mesh that makes up a quality mask.

Elastomeric fikters really vary in reuse depending on design and use, but they all typically last much longer for airborne disease prevention than, say, construction work (what they're often rated for). And they all last longer than disposable KN- or N95 masks because the filter media does not make contact with your face, reducing contamination from sweat and skin oils. I've never changed the filters in my MSA elastomeric because it uses splash-proof cannisters, and they still look as clean as the day I got them inside. My flomask, however, becomes visibly dirty after two or so days of extended use, and I change the filter then. If I'm just going to the Asian food market or something quick like a doctor's visit, I can usually reuse that filter for weeks on end, changing it when I see any spots begin to form from spit, sweat, dirt, etc. You should always wipe down your elastomeric after use and clean it with a mild disinfectant if you wear it daily ever couple-few days depending on how sweaty/oily you get. There should be instructions for cleaning included with your elastomeric. Each uses different materials, so the cleaning instructions will vary.

[neonscandal]

What are your satosugu fav moments? And what are your fav personal headcanons about them?

Those sweet, egotistical, baby angels. 🤍🖤

For an insane retelling of their whole deal, I kinda talk incessantly about it. I also kinda did a little head canon exercise with a template before? but wasn't sure what you might be in the market for. In any case, roll the tape!

HEAD CANONS

Gojo has been spouting nonsense all his life but Geto was the first person to try to understand it, even when he couldn't. I'm not going to fault Geto for not being able to catch up on all that Digimon lore. But for the most part, he'd make it a point to ask clarifying questions or brush up on topics Gojo mentions in passing just to keep up with conversation.

In fact, they hated each other when they first met but bonded over one off the cuff comment Gojo made about a band, book or something and, suddenly, they found common ground. After that, they bonded over making Yaga and, later, Nanami's lives interesting ✨

Gojo is the prankster, Geto is the watchman/getaway driver. No one suspects Geto's role in Gojo's tomfoolery. Stealing Maki and Nobara's uniforms with Inumaki and Panda was a rewash of a stunt he pulled when he was in high school (with Geto's help). He fashions a lot of the pranks he pulls as a teacher off the hijinks he and Geto used to get away with. He wears a mirthful smile for his students but the modern times don't hold a candle to the good old days.

They were only children and both of their parents sucked. Actually, maybe Geto had a sibling who was either significantly older or younger (hence how he learned to be so considerate) who passed. Subsequently, Geto's parents were emotionally distant/neglectful starting when they got creeped out by the inexplicable things he could see that they couldn't. It's why he jumped at the chance when he was scouted for Jujutsu High, why he was triggered when he saw the twins, and why he always sought family elsewhere. Gojo's parents seemed to dote on him but didn't bother to get to know or nurture him, just placate him.

They make it a point to tease and call Ieri the little sister they've always wanted... though she is the oldest in the trio. Even so, they spoil her (to the best of Gojo's ability obviously). Example: if her feet hurt on a mission, Geto is giving her a piggyback ride but Gojo's goofy ass is trading shoes. Never mind the comical disparity in shoe sizes. They'd just be clopping around together much to Shoko's faux chagrin.

The three of them would absolutely bed rot together. It may have started with Gojo slinking into Geto's room for attention but they wouldn't leave Ieri out, even if it was a twin size bed. Just listless days between missions and classes where they would languidly ignore the weight of their responsibilities. Some days all contorting to fit on the bed, other days strewn about the room. It was always in Geto's room, Ieri almost always brought face masks (at Gojo's insistence).

Gojo, quite literally, did not understand the concept of personal space when it came to Geto (or Ieri, really). But, most specifically, with the way he'd casually and absently be all over Geto. Arms over his shoulders, tilting his head inward when addressing him, leaning on him during respites in the day, elbowing him in the side to punctuate a joke.. he just never became conscious of it. That is, until he was no longer around. Geto was always like second skin until he wasn't. In addition to the absence of his company, Gojo felt that physical absence so painfully that he used Limitless more and more to distance himself from the idea that anyone had ever been so close.

When Haibara and Nanami come along, Geto takes his role as a senpai really seriously because the stakes are high at the school. Gojo? Does not ✨ but he does force Nanami to use proper honorifics because he knows it drives him up a wall. He makes it a point to tell Haibara to call him whatever, right in front of Nanami. For the record, Haibara does not obey him but still.

Gojo has a name for all of Geto's favorite or most commonly used curses. The same way girls will refer to their crushes with silly little code names, almost. Like Geto knows that the Rainbow Dragon curse is "Rainbow Dash" or "My Little Pony" whereas other curses might have silly names like "Garfunkle" or "Steve" for no other reason than Gojo felt like it, but he's consistent. So once a name is bestowed, Geto refers to them accordingly. He, of course, never approaches them with fear and he's just as endeared to them as he is to Geto.

Before Gojo got the hang of how to optimize his cursed energy, overuse would leave him... not weak but just not agreeable. Clearly cranky and suffering the drawback, Suguru clocked the difference and that's actually when he started to pamper Gojo. It's also the only reason Gojo ever articulated the downsides of his CT to anyone. I don't know if Geto ever told Gojo the extent of his discomfort with his technique. He either felt like he was being burdensome/ungrateful in sharing or he was embarrassed about what it would say about him (re: regularly ingesting things that tasted like vomit). It's one of the only things he remained furtive about when it came to Gojo though he always wondered if Gojo already just knew.

Supported by canon, but, Suguru absolutely carried candy for Satoru (and a lighter for Shoko) because he's just that considerate. Mans was swallowing vomit rags and still concerned about appeasing Satoru's sweet tooth.

Without realizing it, this gesture inspired a Pavlovian effect and made Gojo super clingy. He associates sweetness with Geto and, in his absence, always overdoes it. Especially after he left the school for good. Nothing fills the void.

We know Gojo became a teacher because of Geto but... Geto would have been an excellent teacher.

You see it in the way they raise kids, Gojo makes sure Megumi and Tsumiki don't simply die. They have lavish accommodations but he has no idea how to parent. I love the Papa-Gojo agenda but know he was out of his depth. He was more like a "cool" but irresponsible (read: unstructured) older cousin if anything, not a father figure per se until maybe his late 20's which was a little too late. I think Geto specifically raised Nanako and Himiko like "normal" kids (ironically, humans) instead of the in the misogynistic, classist way of traditional jujutsu society because they deserved a lifetime of young revelry after everything they suffered. It cost them their lives so maybe everything Geto touched was meant to crumble.

As a fandom, I think people like to think they met up in those ten years of separation and I do too? But, realistically, I think Gojo just kept a forlorn bead on Geto and his whereabouts, too uncertain to go to him. 10 years of absence didn't change how he felt about him though.

FAVE MOMENTS

I'm sorry but every single time Geto's Japanese voice actor purrs "Satoru"? Does that count? Allow me to do a cartwheel on a bed of nails because OH MY GOSH they nailed that. You feel the teasing, the intimacy.

Gojo acting a fool on the beach with Riko in Okinawa and Geto looking on affectionately. Geto really allowed space for Gojo to be a kid and gave him some of his youth back.

Every time Geto's facade of calm relaxed or broke entirely because something was going on with Gojo. Like checking in in Okinawa, when Toji initially got the drop on him, when Toji announced he'd killed Satoru Gojo. Every time you see what writhes beneath the surface.

Geto, in a sea of despair and perhaps a sprinkle of bitterness, still thinks to ask Haibara to bring back something sweet to share with Gojo. Attentive to a fault and crazy how Gojo still manages to occupy his thoughts in that way, even then.

Every tantrum Gojo threw for Geto. Gojo was literally stabbed and didn't break character. Gutted and killed but showed nothing until he comes back an overconfident mess. But just hearing about Geto's crimes, confronting him on the streets of Shinjuku and he's shaking with rage and disbelief. Not so confident then.

Realizing that Gojo saw the day he confronted Geto as a dark and mournful day when, in actuality, it was a perfectly normal, sunshine-y day.

The moment after Geto's dramatic ass is like "I could never smile from the bottom of my heart in this world!" and Gojo says something to immediately recant that by making him smile so genuinely. Just going to do The Worm across a busy highway.

Geto defying all reason to strangle Kenjaku despite hundreds of years without a fight from a host. Just as Gojo never forgot Geto's scent, Geto's body never forgot it's inclination to protect Gojo. Even if only for a moment.

⚠️ Spoiler warning through JJK chapter 236.

Geto's face being the last face Gojo saw before he was sealed and the first face he saw upon being freed. Then agreeing to fight Sukuna on the anniversary of Geto's death because he was sentimental right until the very end.

At the close of Gojo's life, imagining an afterlife where he sees Geto and all of the people he cares about during the point when he was the happiest. After all that time, more than a decade later and he still reflects so happily back on that era despite how grisly part of it was. Not only that but, in a perfect outcome, he imagines full blown cult leader Geto congratulating him because he would take Geto in any form over not having him around at all.

[seastarblue]

Full Moon Festival: Part One

under the cut!

“Come on, Kaids, we’re gonna miss all the good stuff!” Felix huffed, fixing his raven mask over his face.

Kaiden answered with a grunt as she pulled on her left boot, wolf mask and light brown cloak already in place. “We have all night, Fel, please.” She stayed seated on her stool and crossed one leg over the other to get those pesky laces tied.

“No we don’t! People’re gonna run out of treats! And then we’ll be left with tricks.” Felix huffed, leaning on the doorway, his exasperation noticeable even through his mask. “You don’t want to get a fistful of Mots to the face, do you?”

‘Mots’—a powdery, relatively harmless substance in a motley of colors—were a staple of the Full Moon Festival, held during every night with a full moon during the Tenth month. It was a relatively normal celebration, involving many foods, drinks, fun, and music, but what set it apart from the many other festivals was the fact that all the Moon Market goers donned costumes of every shape, size, and color.

However, what caused the now bouncing half-fairy to be so impatient were the treats that people gave out during this event. It could be anything, really, from small candies to a few coins. But in spite of Felix’s excitement, the young knights weren’t there for the festival.

“We aren’t even using the main roads, remember?” Kaiden said, getting up and slipping two small knives into their sheaths at the small of her back. “We’ve got work to do, stupid. Now let’s get going.” Kaiden dragged the grumbling knight with her when she walked out of the room.

Oh yes, the pair were there to apprehend a serial killer who had eluded the Emerald Guard for weeks now. This murderer—nicknamed the Butcher for their violent way of chopping citizen after citizen up—only killed under the cover of night and the safety of crowds above, and later dragged their victims down into the Bay below the city. The festival was the perfect place for their next stop.

The people were unsettled—and when the people were unsettled, the Azari stepped in.

———

The festival was now in full swing, the crowds of costumed folk gathered around and moved like currents. Music floated over their heads, a sweet lilting breeze over the sea of people.

The two knights were on the opposite outskirts of the crowd—Kaiden on the upper levels of the city, Felix on the lower—needing to stay vigilant for any suspicious activity. A vibrantly decorated stall stood on Kaiden’s right, displaying decroative lunar knickknacks to be sold for the low, low price of three coppers.

The knight leaned against the side of the stall, making sure to stay out of sight from the stallkeep—she didn’t want to be haggled into buying a cheap rune. ‘I—we— need to be focused,’ she thought, ‘and that doesn’t involve partaking in festivities—wait a damn minute.’

Something had caught Kaiden’s eye. She skimmed the rest of the street from her spot, only to facepalm at the sight of her partner-in-justice merrily chatting away with a woman in front of another—somehow brighter—shop.

Kaiden nearly lost her mind right there. Keeping position, she tried to catch Felix’s eye and get him to get back to watching for the Butcher. Felix, being completely engrossed in his conversation, kept talking with the shopkeep.

A shiver ran through her then, and she looked up, causing her to jump at the specter now peering down at her.

‘Spirits in such a crowded place, huh… what’s it doing?’ she thought, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion.

It started to motion to…itself? Or its own …eye…spaces? Kaiden couldn’t tell, considering the spirit’s overall lack of a solid shape. It fizzled, then its shape became much clearer. It was covering its eyes! Kaiden inwardly chuckled at the ghost’s suspicions: there was no way Felix didn’t see her. Or at least sense her impatience, what with the literal soul bind they shared.

‘Well it seems like I’ll have to change that,’ she thought, picking up a stray flyer. Making her way down and across the crowded street—‘staying in position be damned at this point,’—she crumpled the flyer into a tight ball. Felix wouldn’t know what hit him.

———

Felix was immersed in a very engaging conversation with Darla, the owner of a little inn that was almost swallowed by shimmering Moon Festival decor. The elderly woman practically glowed with excitement as she explained all the decorations—and even gave him some Mots and a Combustion rune—in detail to the knight, who was listening while keeping an eye on his surroundings. He had a job to do, after all, despite the many distractions—and his partner’s glare nearly burning a hole in his head.

He had just noticed something—or someone—moving in his peripheral when a ball of paper nearly hit him in the eye.

Grumbling, and turning the flyer into ash with a quick spell, he snapped his gaze to the culprit—now wading across the crowded street. When she arrived, and was in earshot, he started, “The hells was that for?!” crossing his arms over his chest.

Kaiden was not amused, if the scowl that was on her face was anything to go by. “That was for not paying attention, Felix.” she barked, now standing right in front of him. “What would you do if the target passed right here?! Keep yammering with the actual partygoers?”

Felix glanced to where Darla once was, worried that Kaiden’s outburst would tell the woman why the two of them were there. The shopkeeper had left.

Kaiden took a breath, removed her mask and continued, “Really, Fel, we gotta stay alert, you know? This is our first solo mission, we need to get this right!” With the mask off, she still looked annoyed. Her eyes glowed gold, as they usually did when she was upset. A twinge of guilt passed through him—he was also strung up about this task. “…Sorry Kaids. It won’t happen again.” He gave her a sheepish, apologetic grin.

“…”

“Uh—Hey what’s that?” Felix pointed slightly past Kaiden’s head to another flyer, this one plain white, tucked into a crevice in the bricks. That must have been what he saw earlier, he realized.

Kaiden gave him a look. “You’re not gonna run away if I turn around, will you?”

“Whatttt? Nah.”

Kaiden raised an eyebrow but complied. On the wall was a piece of paper completely blank, save for an hastily-scribbled arrow pointing to their left. She made her way over and ripped it from the wall, flipping it to the other side.

Someone had drawn a simple map, directing them to the left and down into the lowest levels of Vespar—the Bay. At the bottom of the map was a X, right next to a…smiley face?

Felix—who had peeped over her shoulder—scoffed. “Is this guy mocking us?”

“I’d guess so,” she replied, tucking the scrap into her pocket. She then turned to the direction the arrow pointed. The dingy alleyway gaped ahead of them, dropping down into near pitch blackness.

“So, there might be a…let’s say a 90 percent chance we get butchered—“ he snickered at his own joke, ”—and tossed into the bay if we take the bait. Think we should go?” Felix asked, suddenly somber.

Kaiden nodded. Something told her this map was their ticket to successfully completing this mission, however dangerous it may be.

“If that’s the case, then,” he unsheathed one of his sais and gave it an artful flip, “let’s catch us a cutthroat, shall we?” He gave his partner a wild grin, nearly vibrating with excitement.

Kaiden responded with a smirk of her own, returning her wolf mask to its rightful place. “We shall.”

“Ladies first~” he gave an obnoxious bow and motioned to the direction the map pointed to.

Kaiden snorted and strided over to the nearest ladder. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, Felix.” 

Before he could reply, she dropped down onto a shabby roof, and then descended onto the road in front of it. Felix followed, and as two knights moved forward, the ornate decor of the festival above faded away into the grime and disrepair of the Bay.

———

here’s part two!

and tagging: @xenascribbles @notyourlocalworm @bunnymermaidwrites

@thebookishkiwi @bardic-tales

[f1shbonez]

💧 Water Under The Bridge 💧

So far the hero shtick was busier and less glamorous than Jinx had imagined. 

Save half of Zaun, nearly die (again), fight off the Big Bad hurting captives and enforcers… One good thing just snowballed to another, then another, until people were looking at you funny for taking a second to catch your breath. To think, under twenty-four measly hours ago she’d almost been dog-chow. It wasn’t like she’d planned to die, clawed to pieces in the deepest depths of Stillwater Hold…but walking free coming home to Isha felt surreal in its aftermath. Like she’d died without knowing and gone someplace else, just for a moment. 

…Maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t died, Jinx found herself thinking in the aftermath of their reunion. Something about the force the kid had collided into her, the gross snivelling- hell, even the way Sevika was keeping her stony gaze averted…would her sacrifice have even been worth it, to them? To anyone? 

Jinx wasn’t supposed to die in the belly of Stillwater. 

Not while The Lanes needed their symbol. 

Not while Vander needed her.

Not while Isha needed her. 

Some issues were bigger than yesterday’s ghosts. Helping people…it hadn’t been so bad, even when she hadn’t cared- or meant to. Gentle fingers teased through Isha’s freshly coloured hair, weaving strands into a neat braid- bringing order to chaos. It felt strange, almost undeserved, seeing how upset the kid had been at the prospect of losing her. 

It was nothing that a morning of nail polish and paint couldn’t stir a little life back into. Was this how Vander had felt, muddling through with a bite-sized Powder all those years ago? A fond smile settled across Jinx’s lips as she worked, seeing every hint of life and security flood back into the child with every hair tie and brush of colour. 

“There,” Jinx murmured, propping a hand on her hip as she stood back to admire the transformation. She’d humoured the requests for blue hair, a little face paint…the basics. But the full Jinxer look? Well, truthfully, before today it had felt a little over the top. 

But it made the kid happy. 

Adorned with her own body paint (tattoos and all), mini blue braids, Jinx-inspired clothes cobbled together from scraps and a couple of smoke bombs, Isha was grinning again. 

It was like looking at Powder. But happier. 

A Powder that believed in herself. 

A Powder that everyone else could believe in, too. 

Sevika’s plan to palm her off to the Firelights had done a number on the kid’s spirits. But the New Plan- the killing two bugs with one boot plan- was one that Isha was quick to jump onboard with. She was keen to be busy again. Keen to be helpful. Jinx could understand that.

The drop point was simple, two blocks west of the lower markets- not far from the very street Isha had plummeted into her life for the very first time. This was where Sevika had planned to hand her over? Hmph. Jinx tasted the irony for a moment as she settled into place, removed from sight in a large shattered ventilation pipe above. This wasn’t the way their jobs usually went. Usually, Isha was the one who played stealth. Not today. Fondly, Jinx watched as the kid came face to face with the familiar shape trudging to the drop point. Mask off. No buddies. Wow, Ekko really was whipped when it came to kids, huh? With a soundless huff, Jinx shook her head, picking at some of the blue paint from around her fingers, blind to the irony. 

“And here I was thinking you weren’t gonna show up.” Jinx’s tell-tale voice drawled lazily from the pipe above, just at the point where Isha had started to look uncomfortable at the prospect of going anywhere with their visitor. Sure, they’d gotten here early to allow time to get into position, but Ekko had been late. Heh. Some things never changed.

Wow. The acoustics in here were great. Very dramatic.

As though the echo of her voice above would be difficult to triangulate, Jinx popped her head out from the mouth of the pipe- a carefree signal to mark her cross-legged vantage point. 

Look- it’s me- hi! Here I am!

“Long time no see, Ekko.”