#sleeping bags manufacturers

[screambirdscreaming]

One time on the bus I sat next to a visibly very stressed and exhausted middle-aged woman and, upon offering basic social niceties, recieved an absolute deluge of information about everything that had gone wrong with her day

During the course of which I was gradually able to put together that she worked in middle-management / marketing (?) for a candy corporation (?) and had spent the day at a fair in which candy was marketed *to be marketed* (???)

Like. The attendees of this fair were candy corporations, presenting new candy-brand ideas, and grocery corporations, deciding which of these new candy types they would stock at their stores. Which she did not tell me, exactly, so much as rattled off a bunch of incomprehensible things about trends in candy marketing which I was somewhat able to put together were not about *customer* marketing, but about marketing to other corporations about what you thought their customers wanted - or rather, would want, once you'd made other entirely different marketing campaigns to convince them they wanted it.

There was however a person-sized standee of an m&m. Not an insignificant portion of rant time was devoted to logistical problems involving the standee.

She had with her a grocery bag full of candy which she ate pieces of, semi-compulsively, between sections of the rant. She did not offer me any.

I guess it's not that hard of a job to describe, but, it tops my personal charts for "job I would not ever have been able to predict existed," and also "job for which I cannot begin to imagine the day to day work experience". And also for that matter, "job which I can't really see the point of having exist", although that last one is a pretty hotly contested category.

[knesleepbag]

Colour Beautiful Double Sleeping Bag

[byzerodigital]

Casa fashion is one of the best Sleeping Bag. We have our own manufacturing unit in india for Sleeping Bag manufacturing and we export best quality Sleeping Bag products

[fairuzfan]

But the other images I had was like a mass refugee camp. So basically at that point in time, two months ago, about 20,000 people had sought refuge both in the hospital and outside the hospital. And these weren’t tents. They’re still not tents. They’re makeshift shelters with bed sheets or plastic bag sheets. The ones outside sleep on the floor. They’re lucky [if] they get a carpet or a mat. There was one bathroom at the time for about 200 people that they have to share. And inside, the hallways of the hospital were also made into shelters. There was hardly any room to walk, and there’s children running around everywhere. It’s important to remember all these people were not homeless. They all had homes that were destroyed. They’re all displaced people that took shelter in the hospital.

So that’s the kind of mass chaos that I encountered initially, and then I was told that every time there’s a bomb, give it about 15 minutes and the mass casualties come. That was the other thing that at the time shocked me: What we’d been seeing livestreamed on Instagram, on social media or whatever, I actually saw myself and it was worse than I can imagine. I saw scenes that were horrific that I’d never witnessed before and I never want to see again. You have a mother walking in holding her 8, 9-year-old, skinny — because they’re all starving — boy who’s dead, he’s cold and dead and [the mother is] screaming, asking for someone to check his pulse and everybody’s busy in the mass chaos. So that was kind of my initial welcoming scene when I entered Khan Younis the first time.

{...}

What I saw — I’m an eye surgeon, an eye plastic surgeon, and so I saw the classic, what I penned “the Gaza shrapnel face,” because in an explosive scenario, you don’t know what’s coming. When there’s an explosion, you don’t go like this [cover your face], you kind of actually, in fact, open your eyes. And so shrapnel’s everywhere. It’s a well-known fact that the Israeli forces are experimenting [with] weapons in Gaza to boost their weapon manufacturing industry. Because if a weapon is battle-tested, it’s more valuable, isn’t it? It’s got a higher value. So basically they’re using these weapons, these missiles that purposely, intently create these large shrapnel fragments that go everywhere. And they cause amputations that are unusual.

Most amputations occur at the weak points, the elbow or the knee, and so they’re better tolerated. But these [shrapnel fragments] are causing mid-thigh, mid-arm amputations that are more difficult, more challenging, and also the rehabilitation afterward is also more challenging. Also these shrapnels [are] unlike a bullet wound. A bullet wound goes in and out; there’s an entry and exit point. Shrapnel stays there. So you gotta take it out. So the injuries I saw were — I mean, I saw people with their eyes blown apart. And when I was there, and this is my experience, I treated all children when I was there the first time. It was kids that [were aged] 2, 6, 9, 10, 13, 15, and 16, and 17 were the ones that I treated. And their eyes unfortunately had to be removed. They had shrapnel in their eye sockets that I had to remove and, of course, remove the eye. There’s many patients, many children who had shrapnel in both their eyes. And you can only do so much because right now, because of the aid blockade and because of the destruction of most of Gaza, there’s no equipment available to take shrapnel that’s in the eye out. And so we just leave them alone and they eventually go blind.

{...}

I was on the ground, I toured the refugee camps, I went around Rafah, I saw, and if there’s an Israeli invasion, I can’t emphasize enough how catastrophic it’s going to be. It’ll be mass killing, mass destruction, because all these figures come in, 50 dead, 100 wounded. But what people don’t realize is, being wounded is a death sentence. Being wounded in this environment with no health care system, completely collapsed, is a death sentence. And the wounded often will lose everybody, like all family members, so they have no supports, especially children, have nobody left to take care of them, not even aunts and uncles. It will be catastrophic. I don’t know what to say to the world to stop an impending invasion. You’ve got to rein this prime minister of Israel in. You got to do something to stop this stupid invasion that he still wants to do, because it’ll be catastrophic.

{...}

I had one young man, about 25 years old, he lost one eye that I took out myself. He spent about five, six, or seven years, basically spent thousands and thousands of dollars in IVF treatment because he got married young and they wanted to have a child and they couldn’t have one. So he spent years on IVF treatment and finally had a baby that was 3 months old. And there was a missile attack by Israel at his home. He lost his entire family, including his baby and his wife and his parents and family. He’s by himself, single guy. I took his one eye out, and he has nobody in this world. He just kind of walks around the tent structures, just kind of walking around with no home and trying to sleep wherever he can.

[vexwerewolf]

Showrooms of LANCER Manufacturers

IPS-N

IPS-N showrooms are what you'd get if you slammed a truck dealership, a hardware store, a camping gear shop and a sports bar together in the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid. We're talking row upon row of shelves stocked with the most precision-engineered engine parts you can print on one side of the floor, and on the other, durable, hard-wearing survival gear. Camping stoves you can run off of your mech's coldcore, sleeping bags that'll survive a HEX charge, automatic camo cloth, the works.

Right down the middle, you've got the mech floor. They've got the Tortuga. They've got the Blackbeard. They've got the Drake. They've got the Lancaster and the Kidd. They've got the Vlad (they put a chain-link fence covered in DO NOT TOUCH signs around that one after the infamous CFO's 10-year-old Incident). They've even got the Raleigh, kinda tucked away a little bit behind the water feature, but it's there!

Everything on the shop floor is ruggedized to the point that you could take a mech's fist to it without leaving a dent - and they sometimes do that to demonstrate the engineering quality. There's a giant screen hanging from the ceiling displaying constant advertising for the mechs and IPS-N in general, usually striding purposefully through idyllic Diasporan wilderness or doing hard, honest work like starship loading or construction. There's a mixtape of the most famous bro-country hits playing 24/7.

Smith-Shimano Corpro

In a word: bespoke. Everything in this place is custom. Each and every desk is individually built according to the height of the salesperson who sits behind it, and manages to be a unique art piece without disrupting the overarching aesthetic of the showroom. Whenever there's a change of staff on the sales floor, they rearrange every single desk so that they're still in ascending order.

All of the salespeople are inhumanly pretty, by the way. This atelier has its own fully-staffed makeup and wardrobe team. You're part of a work of art when you work for SSC. Everything and everyone gleams. Even the most chic visitors might feel underdressed in the midst of all this splendour.

The mechs aren't just there to be sold, they're there to be part of the experience. You might see a Monarch holding up the ceiling like the titan Atlas himself. A Mourning Cloak might be posed provocatively like a nude statue. That Swallowtail - is it in a slightly different position every time you see it, or is that just its camouflage decals? How does it always manage to be just inside your line of sight, even when you're looking somewhere else?

They have a catwalk, like you'd see at a fashion show, but it's sized for mechs. If they really think you might make a purchase, they'll queue up the entire performance for you, and you'll get to see a Viceroy strut.

The mix tape for this showroom is a seamless mixture of complex jazz, psychedelic ambient and classical piano music. It's sophisticated and mysterious.

Harrison Armory

Imagine if America could be a showroom. Harrison Armory mech outlets are part dealership, part museum. Every mech is in its own diorama, depicting some heroic event in the Armory's glorious history. A phalanx of Sherman Mk. Is holds the line against some Diasporan slaver-tyrant's army. A Saladin fends off Karrakin hordes during the Interest War. The Genghis Mk. II? Oh, that diorama isn't open right now, it had to be closed for *coughcoughcough* and *coughcoughcough* but let's move on shall we heh heh

Everyone who works here has been in the Colonial Legion at some point, and knows every specification of the mechs they sell off by heart without even looking at their slate. If possible, the Armory tries to employ people who have actual combat experience with the mechs they're selling; people who can speak to the efficacy of their technology first-hand. It's one of the many programs which the Armory has open for retired veterans; it's easy work for decent pay, good benefits and it looks great on your Social.

The music here is a constant loop of patriotic Armory anthems. If you've ever heard the music from Starship Troopers, or the Outbreak of War from Star Ocean, you'll know what I'm talking about.

HORUS

Being a decentralized omninet collective with no official branding or even consistent manufacturing standards, it should come as no surprise that HORUS has no showrooms.

ERR:CONNECTION_INTERRUPT

CartesianWhisper: P55555t CartesianWhisper: Ignore that 5hithead CartesianWhisper: They don't have any idea what they're talking about CartesianWhisper: You want a mech, kid? CartesianWhisper: And I'm not talking the tra5h the Purv5 try to 5ell you CartesianWhisper: Or that overpriced garbage 55C want5 you to mortgage your genetic5 for CartesianWhisper: Or the macho trucker bull5hit IP5-N i5 trying to hawk CartesianWhisper: I'm talking about the REAL DEAL CartesianWhisper: The PROPER 5TUFF CartesianWhisper: Log on to rgx0582.node-7.c4l.omni CartesianWhisper: I'll 5how you what true power mean5 >:]

[thatbitchyoulivewith]

Playing Store

Franky, scaning items: That'll be $157.48.

Anya: Why so expensive?

Franky: Inflation.

Anya: *grumbles as she pulls out some money*

Franky, counting: This is $30 and a piece of lint.

Anya, getting upset: I DON'T HAVE THAT MUCH MONEY!

Franky: MAYBE YOU WOULD IF YOU DIDN'T GRAB 50 JUMBO BAGS OF PEANUTS!

Anya: A LIFE WITHOUT PEANUTS ISN'T A LIFE WORTH LIVING!

Franky, exasperated: ... Do you have a coupon?

Anya, digging through her pockets: Here!

Franky, inspecting the coupon: Anya, this coupon EXPIRED 30 YEARS AGO!

Anya: HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?

Franky, pointing to the coupon: THERE IS AN EXPERATION DATE AT THE BOTTOM!

Anya, on the verge of tears: WHAT'S THE POINT OF COUPONS IF THEY DON'T LAST FORVER?!

Franky: IF EVERYTHING WAS SOLD ONLY AT DISCOUNTS THEN THE MANUFACTURERS WOULDN'T BENIFIT FRO-

Loid, from his room: IT'S 5 A.M., GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP!

[malk1ns]

december 7 @ canadiens, 9-2 win.

woah mama that's a lot of goals!

the penguins took a train from montreal to ottawa today because they're a bunch of cuties. i'm feeling sentimental and happy about our little guys, so here's a sappy little thing that reflects that.

Sid wakes up the morning after the Habs game wondering if he imagined the entire thing.

He’s been sleeping poorly for about a week, a side effect of the heavy-duty cold meds he’s been on to keep himself in the lineup. He’s had some extremely odd dreams too, and dropping a 9-spot in the Bell Centre would definitely qualify as one of the stranger ones.

A quick check on ESPN confirms that no, it really happened. Sid shakes his head.

Geno’s still sprawled out next to him, snoring gently into the pillow. Sid watches him for a while, considers letting him sleep in until practice but, well.

Geno’s not happy at first when Sid shakes him awake, but Sid makes it worth his while, and when he gets up to shower, Geno’s still lying flat on the mattress, panting and covered in sweat.

Geno follows him into the shower and gets his own back. They’re both late to practice.

—

It’s the best practice Sid can remember in years, maybe since before the Covid pause. Not to say it’s been miserable the whole time, of course not, but a game like that, in a place like Montreal…the whole team is on a high.

Sully does his best to keep them grounded, remind them that the win only counts for two points and they have a long way to go, but after a while even he gives up and lets them spend most of the practice playing around.

The light atmosphere carries into the locker room and on the bus to Central Station. Normally, this would be the point where everyone starts settling down, to rest or catch up on social media or call home, but the novelty of taking a train instead of a plane keeps them all energized.

Sid settles into his chosen chair next to Geno’s card game to watch the snowy landscape roll by, but he soon gets distracted.

Geno’s loud, teasing Karl and Kris and cheating outrageously, and Sid settles back in his chair, resting his chin on his fist and watching.

He looks good, hamming it up for the cameras and putting on a little show for the guys. The season hasn’t worn him stick-thin yet, and he’s still somehow clinging to the remnants of his summer tan.

When the train pulls into Ottawa, everyone’s calmed down, and the boisterous roughhousing from the morning has settled into quieter jokes and muffled laughter as guys grab their bags and make plans for dinner.

There’s not much in the way of romance to be found in the Ottawa train station, especially not in the grim early days of winter. But Sid grabs Geno anyway, pulls him to the side before they troop off the platform, tugging his face down and kissing him in the manufactured privacy their reserved car and a delayed deboarding affords them.

When Sid finally lets him go, Geno’s smiling. Sid smiles back, taking Geno’s hand and tugging him inside.

The whole team is waiting, ready to catcall them. Sid can’t find it in him to even pretend to be annoyed.

He’s too happy.

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels Pt 18

Description: Miguel deals with Todd, and has a late night visitor—you.

Pt 19

The purr of car engines overhead, the slight rattling of the bridge, the coos of pigeons and the soft lapping of the waves fills Miguel's ears as he stares down at the waterlogged corpse at his feet.

“Lyla, how many people know about this?”

“About the mauled body of your new girlfriend's ex-boyfriend?” Lyla smirks, her heart shaped sunglasses low on her nose as she observes the scene.

Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Lyla, please just answer my question.”

“Just a few displaced people along the river, the Swedish shipping vessel that reported the sighting, and the Coast Guard has the call record, but since you got lucky with the currents and since I made a few more urgent calls to the Coast Guard, they haven't set eyes on him yet.” She tells him, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Thank you.” He says as he zips up the body bag and tosses it over his shoulder.

“So, what are you going to do with him?” She asks, flickering in and out of his masked vision.

“Acid.”

“Acid? Lame.” Lyla huffs.

He snorts. “It's quick, efficient, and less likely to leave a trace.”

“Yeah, but wasn't he like a total dick to y/n?”

He grunts in response as he swings through the city until he finds the disposal grounds of Janson Inc, the manufacturing company you mentioned Todd works for.

“I mean, I thought you'd go way more psycho than you did.” She says, laughter on the horizon of her tone.

“Lyla” He warns, as he heaves the body bag containing Todd into the acid, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as the fabric, flesh, and bone dissolve.

“Ok, ok, I'm just saying, I think I know you pretty well and-”

“I want him forgotten, I want y/n to forget about him.”

Lyla says nothing for a moment, then sighs heavily. “Miguel…you know it doesn't work like that. You might have been able to easily replace this universe's version of you, but that doesn't mean you can just as easily replace Todd.”

Miguel turns from the acid, the surrounding area bathed in a sickly green glow. “I know.”

“And you know y/n's different from Ana, Xina, Dana, and even Tempest, she cares about you, about Gabi. She really cares about Gabi. She's not just going to jump you now that her ex-boyfriend is gone. She's going to weigh the consequences.”

A smirk tugs at his lips, and for a moment his mind supplies him with the memory of you begging for him, his name on your lips like a fervent plea as you fall apart on his thigh. Of the way your eyes linger on his lips, how you reached for him in the doorway of your apartment.

He grunts in response. He knows you, better than you know he does, better than Todd did, perhaps better than anyone else in the world. You'll weigh the consequences, but that doesn't mean he can't try to lighten the load.

“Okay, Mr. Stupid and Silent, don't believe me. It's your funeral.” Lyla huffs before her form flickers out, and he's left alone in the dark.

Miguel unlocks the door to his apartment and silently pads through the quiet space.

Gabi's asleep, he knows this. You're asleep, he knows this. He should also be asleep, but he's filled with a nameless emotion--an anxious energy raging against the edges of sleep that are threatening to creep in on him.

He sits at his desk, flipping through security feeds, ensuring there's no record of him. He's clean, there's no trace of him or Todd.

He was smart, made sure no one would see when he broke into Todd's apartment and knocked him out.

No one noticed as he carried Todd's unconscious body to an abandoned warehouse, and no one heard Todd's screams as he tore into him, leaving him a mangled mess that Miguel finally dangled him off the bridge.

He watched unflinching as Todd plummeted. The sound of Todd's body slamming into the water echoed off the banks, and Miguel waited until he sank to return to his apartment.

No one would ever know. He got away clean.

“Hey Boss? Y/N's here.” Lyla says, her words hitting him a millisecond before he hears your soft knocking on his door.

He bolts up, running a hand through his hair and checking his appearance in the hall mirror before he swings open the door to see you. Perfect, perfect you.

Your hair is loose, hanging free, and you're clad in fuzzy socks and an oversized sweatshirt.

Are you wearing pants under that? Shorts? Is this a seduction tactic? Because it's working.

“Hey, I'm sorry, I know it's late, but I just...” You wave your hands helplessly, your nails are pink, a pretty pearlescent pink.

He reaches out to catch one of your hands in one of his, squeezing it slightly. “Don't apologize, I’m more than willing to help, whatever it is.”

You give him an embarrassed smile. “Okay, so, it's a new apartment and I swear I keep hearing all these noises, and I know it’s childish but...would you come and take a look? Make sure there's nothing there?”

He's in love with you, fully, completely, unreservedly.

“Of course, y/n, I felt the same way when I moved in. The building is a bit older, there are lots of creaks and groans.”

He follows you to your apartment as he says this, and you look back at him in surprise. “You were scared?”

He chuckles sheepishly. “Actually, Gabi was, I just wanted to make you feel better.”

You smile and duck your head. “I appreciate the effort."

You hold the door open for him, then stand in your lit kitchen, your arms wrapped around yourself. Your bare thighs are exposed by the rising fabric of your sweatshirt, and he averts his eyes. 

He strangles his desire to sink to his knees and grip the soft flesh of your thighs, to wrench them apart and bury his face between them. To watch you come apart on his tongue as the sounds of your pleas and moans fill the air.

“I feel like I heard something near the balcony. You say, tearing him from his thoughts.

“I’ll go check.” He tells you, making his way towards your balcony, his senses on high alert even though he knows there's nothing.

It's an older building, Gabi was scared when they first moved in, that much is true. But there's nothing to be scared of, he's ensured that. In fact, this building, this block might be the safest in all of Nueva York.

Miguel throws open your balcony door and makes a show of checking every inch. He's rewarded by your soft laugh.

“All clear?” You take a half step forward, a smile playing at your lips, the lingering traces of sleep still gracing your expression.

“All clear. Anywhere else you want me to check?”

You nod towards your bedroom. “I swear I heard shuffling in my bathroom.”

He waits at your door, looking back at you. “Through here?”

You breeze past him and sit cross-legged on the edge of your bed. “The door on the left.”

He pushes the door open and flicks on the light. He's seen this room already, through your necklace, but standing there, on your plush, pastel purple bath mat, looking into your mirror, the mirror he's admired your bare body in, sends him into a tailspin.

“You see anything?” You call softly.

He shakes his head. “Nothing, no monsters lurking in between your towels.

“I didn't think there were monsters." You mumble, padding over to him, your scent hitting him like a freight train.

Has it always been this strong, or was it because he's in your home and everything around him screams y/n?

He inhales deeply, his fingers curling around the edge of your sink, his eyes closed as he fights to calm himself.

“Miguel? Are you okay?” You ask, placing a hand on his bicep.

He pulls you forward, pressing your back against the sink, his arms on either side caging you in.

You look up at him with an adorable expression of surprise, as if you hadn't seen his agility when he was disguised as Spiderman. “Miguel?”

He steels himself, even as he feels the plaster of your sink give beneath his fingers. He'll fix that later.

“Pancakes or French Toast?”

“I'm sorry?” You ask stunned.

“For breakfast, cariño, which would you prefer?” He forces the words out, prays they're smooth and unassuming.

You smile up at him, and he feels his stomach flip. It's a childish thing, for a small smile to affect him this way.

“Oh, pancakes please, and I can help you cook if you need.”

You're so sweet.

“No, no, mi vida, I'm cooking. All you need to do is keep me company.”

Your eyes follow the movement of his lips, and his nostrils flare when he smells the arousal wafting off you.

“Are you sure? I really don't mind.” You insist, palms resting against his chest.

He leans down and presses a fleeting kiss to your forehead. “I'm sure, now goodnight y/n.”

Then he leaves you there and heads back to his apartment, his head spinning, your scent still lingering around him.

Taglist: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars

[knesleepbag]

Grey Warm Children’s Sleeping Bag

[byzerodigital]

Casa Fashion is a manufacturer of baby products like Baby Bibes, Baby Cloth Diaper, Burp Pad, Baby Play Bed, Baby Set, Swaddle Cloth, Sleeping Bag, Swaddle Wrapper, Nursing Pillow, Changing MAT in India. Explore premium quality cotton baby garments products in india.

[sgiandubh]

Caitriona didn’t mention Tony. Seems the ‘reporter’ utilized Google. 😂

Dear Didn't Mention Anon,

It's always a sarcastic pleasure to see tension climbing for literally nothing across the street. Some other Brazilian Anon, just like you (best way to convey your thoughts was, in proper English, 'the reporter used Google' - not the Portuguese semantic calque 'utilized'...), even speculated we must be hiding this shattering press article, since no reaction and/or discussion happened as of yet.

Brazilian Anons would certainly have made better use of their time and grey cells if they simply presumed that in another time zone people really have other (simple and boring and prehaps even endearing) things to do. While Brazilan Anons were probably sleeping or having breakfast, someone else was just about to end a shorter Friday work schedule, buy Chinese takeaway on the way home, have a light lunch, take out Baby the Lab for a short pee stroll around the block. And mercifully collapse in flannel sheets for a blessed siesta, waiting for the first snowy day of the year. But enough about me, Anon, you are not here for this: you are here for that article - https://www.mindfood.com/article/caitriona-balfe-looks-ahead-to-life-after-outlander/

It is also an amusing factoid that C's PR and/or *** very often seem to favor second-tier media outlets in order to keep spreading around the Narrative Word. Pinoy regional gazettes, borderline clickbait/gossip websites and now Mindfood, a vanity/hybrid press magazine based and edited in New Zealand and Australia by McHugh Media Group, which main activity, at least in Oz, is (🥁🥁)...paper mills and paper manufacturing - of course.

[Source: https://www.dnb.com/business-directory/company-profiles.mchugh_media_australia_pty_limited.6ded585ed8e21b347589059682b44143.html]

Within that group, the Mindfood project is but an apparently lucrative subsidiary ('integrated media company', LOL), despite some dire client reviews ( 2 out of a resounding global 3, how odd!) on Google:

'Rank amateur's' [sic!] (...) What sort of magazine publisher doesn't have a manned office? (...) They'll go broke very quickly like that.' '(...)pretty shabby treatment of a customer.'

😱😱😱

But let's assume I am twisting again the plot (I don't, I do not need to). Let's assume I am evil like that and I give credence to two very negative (but brutally clear, too) user reviews only. Perhaps I am wrong, you might say. So, let's also have a look at some company figures, shall we?

Nay contest, it's them.

[Source: https://rocketreach.co/mchugh-media-profile_b5d2097af42e3bbb]

Now, my lovelies, how can I put it without offending anyone? What we are looking at, here, is a small company with 5 (five) employees, few web hits (164.480 hits is ridiculous, when we are talking about press/media!), but a comfortable revenue (7 million AUD - about 4.5 million USD). May I remind you that a company's revenue is roughly its gross income, before subtracting operating costs, wages and taxes. But given they have only 5 employees, wage expenses & operating costs must be marginal and taxes are rather friendly in New Zealand, where their HQ is (to the point there was, three years ago, an ongoing debate in order to determine if the country was a tax haven: https://thespinoff.co.nz/business/06-10-2021/is-nz-a-tax-haven-for-the-rich-and-dodgy-the-pandora-papers-reignite-the-debate), you do the maths. Therefore, how can this rather substantial profit be explained, otherwise than by a very friendly editorial policy towards paid and/or sponsored content and product placement galore (Lifestyle, anyone)?

Its immediate competitor is a supermarket chain in-house bulletin/leaflet, Campbell's Cash & Carry. The kind of thing that always lands somehow in your shopping bag and then directly in the kitchen trash:

This is enough to show their real reach and place on the market, I believe.

All this for what, Madam Knife? All this to say that paper is probably paid by the talent's PR/***. I will not go into useless detail, because there is very few new-ish/relevant information (e.g.: 'With a long season seven concluding in January, the Outlander epic will close out within the next 18 months, taking the episode total to 101. '). But I will, gleefully even, point out two tiny details, all of you patiently read this long rant for, in fact.

As always, McGill doesn't even deserve a quote, only reported speech that is, in fact, snowballing prior reference (this is exactly where copy/paste comes in very handy, you see). And a clumsy one at that, sugar on top - hence the copy/paste certainty and this is so, so rude, I could cry (nope...):

But... but... such a nice, thoughtful touch for her Stans, who spent DAYS in a row proving he was not a music producer, but the Night Media Manager (and I have to say, delivered actual quotes - still No Face, No Name, No Number, though):

[Tait rhymes with hate, alright - I know, darlings, it pisses you off to no tomorrow 😉.]

Copy paste/Goes to waste. Finally, I had to snort (not a pretty, nor feminine sight) when I realized Mindfood takes its readers for complete, amnesic idiots:

So she became 'a mother in August of 2021', but she did film 'the sixth season of the drama while pregnant'. Granted, this paper is written for casual OL viewers, the kind of people who did find C interesting/beautiful/clever/extraordinary, but who don't remember her name when prompted on candid camera, for example. The kind of superficial audience who will never do the maths and never question the fact a pregnant actress was filming beautiful (but steamy) scenes with her... ahem... with her co-star she is now 'consciously uncoupling' from.

ROFLMAO.

Not even sorry for the length, Anon. There you go, let's say good bye with a merry little song - I am told I have the best tunes on Tumblr (SMH). Really, Mindfood's client could have curated and tailored better the Retconning Operation - but perhaps even PR has trouble taking that man and his narrative role seriously?

[being-addie]

Online aesthetics and the effects of social media trends

Let's talk about this.

How it can affect young teenagers

Open Tiktok or Instagram and everything on my For You Page now shows "How to achieve a Clean Girl Aesthetic"', "Old Money Aesthetic Hairstyles", "Cottagecore Hobbies", "How to be a Femme Fatale"

It never ends. Trends keep popping up left and right and it's inescapable.

As a young, impressionable teenager, I was, of course, naturally going to be influenced by these ever-changing trends. I'd constantly change my room aesthetic, buy new clothes, and I was never satisfied with my appearance. Why? Because I didn't look like the girls on screen.

News flash. You're never going to look like them. All that content they produce which gets 100k likes is done with excessive attention to detail, expensive lighting and sound equipment, and top-notch editing software. OF COURSE, you can't look like that. It's completely manufactured. It's heartbreaking to see young girls develop body image issues because of the constant bombarding of these "aesthetics" which are basically different beauty standards and stereotypes all wrapped up in a neat little package that is labelled "personality and style". I don't have anything against the concepts of aesthetics. I love how Dark and Light Academia is centred around learning, and how Cottagecore is all about relaxation and not conforming to being part of a 9-5 and just living life. I like how the Clean Girl is focused on being healthy and productive. What I don't like is how all these healthy things, which normal functioning humans should be doing are now turned into "trends" and you must "choose" between them.

Why it's so harmful

Fashion: Since aesthetics keep changing, you're going to find multiple that appeal to you. What happens when you discover you really like cottagecore, but your closet is filled with dark academia tweed? You turn to fast fashion. It's cheap and stylish. But it's horrible for the environment and that floral dress you're wearing was made by a woman in a sweatshop in Bangladesh, while fashion giants like Shein pocket the money.

Makeup: It's always there. Always. You cannot find a "how-to" post regarding aesthetics and makeup is not included. Its always how much blush to apply, why mascara is your best friend, blah blah blah. You know what I want to see? An aesthetic which promotes a clean, fresh face. I do wear makeup, not saying I'm perfect(yes, I wear lip tint and sometimes eyeliner), but it's the ridiculous notion that there's a specific makeup look for each aesthetic, and they say it's not very heavy, but really is concealer, foundation, blush, mascara and lipgloss light makeup?

Other: Then comes the things you should own, the bags, the shoes, the jewellery, the house decor. Did you notice to achieve the look, we're spending money bit by bit? Then you don't even realise it's made a dent in your savings.

Mentality: I hate this part about aesthetics so much. A while ago, I was really interested in Dark Academia and how it was centred around learning and studying. But everything was gloomy and dark and said I should be tired and bitter to achieve this. I'm not a serious person by nature in the first place, but here were blogs telling me to be "mysterious" and how I should be getting only 4 hours of sleep to be true Dark Academia? What is this dystopia? There's this weird obsession with how someone should behave if they like an aesthetic.

Online trends are all consumerism based. It's all to get you to blow your money on things that don't even benefit you.

There's a reason I never include and never will include tags like #clean girl or #pink pilates princess in my posts because it sort of reduces you to a certain aspect. Why confine yourself to these barriers? Wear what you want. Read what you like. The one "aesthetic" I believe in, is "that girl" which in reality is different for everyone, but boils down to being educated, well-mannered, and considerate. I will make a post on this. Being educated and kind is such a flex, not wearing one flowy white dress and "thinking" you're in a meadow. Break out of the pattern of being influenced by algorithms. Don't restrict your identity because of FOMO and the urge to be trendy. You've got this.

<3

[wooahaeruby]

Chapter 13: Sky Walking

Chapter Word Count: 5,435

TW

1) Mouse has Trauma 2) Use of drugs. Smoke weed everyday. Leafblower Special. 3) Mouse disassociates for a while 4) Mentions of ODing / Childhood Trauma / Cops suck in this story. (read at your own discretion) 5) Mouse and Someone else in SVT trauma bond. 6) At the beginning, Mouse goes through the numb depression motions.

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You didn’t get a single moment of rest. Each time you closed your eyes, the feeling of dried blood that you knew wasn’t there clung to your hands and the image of Mingyu’s body on the table as you gave him CPR flashed. The continuous beating line on the heart monitor gave you reassurance as the time passed. 

Just as Jeonghan said, Jihoon and him switched off duties of coming to check on Mingyu and change out bags of saline when the previous one was finished. At some point you gave up counting how often they came, staying curled up in your seat, glad to have the blanket wrapped around you in the cold room. Both had asked if you needed anything and each time you shook your head, falling deeper and deeper into your thoughts. 

He was going to be okay, you had a good feeling in your chest about it. He’d wake up and try to play everything off and act like he was fine when he was in a lot of pain. He’d complain that everyone’s cooking was subpar compared to his but would eat every last piece of it to make them happy. Maybe he’d let you cook for him and show off what you thought were pretty good cooking skills to give him well rounded meals during his recovery. Mingyu would need all the rest he could get before even stepping foot out of the house, knowing they’d take him back to the house to recover comfortably in his own bed. 

When the door opened next, you turned, thinking you’d see Jeonghan since Jihoon had checked in last, but Seungcheol stood at the doorway with a paper bag in one hand and a tray with two coffee cups in the other. He had changed from the suit he had on last night into dark jeans and an oversized gray sweater. Sitting up, you gave him a curious look but didn’t voice any question. He lumbered his way to the seats still across the bed from you and slid into one, placing the items he brought on one of the other chairs. 

“It’s six in the morning.” His deep voice was full of fatigue, the bags under his eyes dark. He didn’t look like he slept. “Seokmin grabbed your coffee order and a bagel.” Seungcheol lifted the paper bag and pulled one bagel out before handing the bag to you. Once the bag was in your hand, he took the coffee cup and passed it over. Hesitantly, you released Mingyu’s hand, you didn’t let go of it once throughout the night since you sat down. 

The hot cup felt amazing against your cold fingers. Taking a quick sip, it burned your mouth but it was too good to stop. The warmth spread through your limbs and your shoulders relaxed. 

“Seokmin put in that you both were sick and needed a few days off. Wonwoo manufactured some doctor’s notes.” 

“Thank you.” 

He grunted in response, drinking his own cup, letting his eyes land on Mingyu. “Anything?” 

With a quick shake of your head, you pulled your knees to your chest, using one hand to move the blanket around you. “Nothing. He’s breathing fine, he took two units of blood in total, heart rate hasn’t faltered all night.” 

“Did you get any sleep?” 

Pausing, you were going to answer but closed your mouth, chewing on your bottom lip. “I could ask the same of you.” 

“Touche…”

“Did anyone else?” You asked, sipping from your cup once more. 

Seungcheol sighed out a heavy breath. “Most of them passed out from exhaustion. Seokmin fell asleep in a chair, Soonyoung was curled up on the floor with all the couch pillows with Chan knocked out last I checked. Vernon took Seungkwan back to the penthouse once they left so hopefully they got some sleep. Joshua, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Jihoon are all passed out on the couches we have up in the office. I think Minghao and Junhui went back to the penthouse too, but I doubt they got any sleep.” 

“Does this…” You didn’t know how to word it. “Does stuff like this happen often?” 

“What, getting shot? We try not to make it a constant thing.” A smidge of humor was in his tired words. “Last one was Jihoon about a year ago. He was helping break up a fight in Ruby and the asshole had a gun and it misfired in the struggle.”  

Forcing out a breath, you nodded, shaking the mental image away. You thought of Jihoon in a similar situation as Mingyu last night and your already lost appetite was gone tenfold. Trying your best to mask the discomfort, you drank the coffee and focused back on Mingyu’s breathing. It seemed Seungcheol was doing the same, nibbling on a piece of the bagel he got and sipping his coffee. It wasn’t often you two ended up in the same place alone, usually someone was accompanying you at the house. 

“Oh-” You just remember that he literally had you brought over last night to speak with him. Seungcheol perked up. “Why was I needed last night?” 

Blinking a few times, his face contorted, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed together, and a confused look on his face. “Uh- Oh! Right, I was going to inform you about the Gala. It’s in a month. Jeonghan said he had some things planned and would handle everything before you were brought to the house to get dressed before we all leave.” 

“I feel like I should be scared of whatever he has planned.” You snort out a quiet laugh. 

“Personally, I would be scared.” 

You both shared a short laugh that mellowed into silence again. Though you never touched the bagel, you continued with the coffee, hoping it would keep you awake as long as possible. 

Many of the guys visited throughout the day. Seungcheol had left, saying he had a few things to get done upstairs and to call if you needed anything. Jeonghan only came in once to change a saline bag and push a few vitamins to aid in the healing process. He said he’d be back later and ruffled your hair like he did the previous night. 

First it was Chan and Wonwoo who mostly sat with you and brought up stories that Mingyu was in. Chan spoke about him like he was part superhero and Wonwoo played along, making the story out bigger than it probably was. They stayed for a good hour and you enjoyed the company to fill the void that was building inside of you. Chan had given Mingyu’s hand a big squeeze and smiled, but his voice wavered when he asked for him to wake up soon, that it was getting too quiet without his loud, boisterous personality awake. Wonwoo had kept any comments to himself, but you saw him bow his head in prayer before leaving with Chan. 

Seungkwan and Vernon only stopped in for a bit, clearly exhausted but dressed for whatever they needed to get done for the day. These two were relatively quiet in their visit, asking if you got any sleep which you brushed off and they didn’t give that straight of an answer when you asked in return. Vernon made a comment that they’d visit once they were done later in the day. Both had asked you to give them a call if anything was to change regarding Mingyu’s condition, which you easily agreed to. 

The largest horde was Soonyoung barging in in the afternoon, followed by Seokmin, Minghao, Junhui, and Jihoon, but the last man was really coming in for his given task. Junhui had made food for everyone earlier and brought extra for you, saying he heard from Chan that you were staying until Mingyu was awake. Though you took the container of food, you only placed it aside, letting it join the bagel bag from earlier, saying that you’d eat it later when you got hungry. It was the best white lie you could tell at this time, not wanting to worry them too much. Many of them were dressed in what you assumed was their ‘ dark side’ attire, thick boots, dark clothes, all the works.

Seokmin was eyeing you a good majority of the time he was there but he didn’t say anything if you looked bad. You more than likely did look disheveled, your lip was bitten to the point it bled earlier but it dried over and hurt. He only said he’d come back later to keep you company, giving you a side hug before they slipped out one by one. 

Then it was quiet again. You were left alone again to your own devices and thoughts. Truthfully you couldn’t think straight, images and memories bounced around your mind, they were close to sending you into a downward spiral but you willed away the mental torment to the best of your abilities. You didn’t feel hungry, at this point you didn’t even feel tired. Your limbs were numb and no matter if you tucked further in the blanket, you were still cold. 

You didn’t even realize Jeonghan was in the room until he placed his hand on your shoulder and you snapped back to reality, flinching at his touch. 

“Ay- Wow, it’s just me, Mouse.” He pulled his hand back and slid a chair up beside you. “Did you not hear me come in? I said hi.” 

“Sorry- Sorry…” Sighing, you placed a hand over your chest, feeling the fast pace of your heart. “I was zoning out- I- Sorry.” 

Jeonghan leaned in, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face. His fingers were warm against your cool skin and you couldn’t help but lean into the feeling. Gently he held your face, watching as your eyes fluttered closed and you sighed out a soft breath.

“You should get some sleep, Mouse. He isn’t going to be gone when you wake up.” 

Those words had your eyes snapping open and you straightened up, shaking your head. “I can’t- No. I can’t fall asleep.” You pushed the words to come out, digging your nails into your palms. You couldn’t fall asleep. You wouldn’t let yourself rest until he was awake and coherent enough to understand what was going on. 

Jeonghan sagged in his seat, stretching his arm over your shoulders to bring you close to his side. “Will you at least eat then? Just a little? I think ‘Gyu would be a little mad knowing that you didn’t eat because you wanted to wait up for him.” 

You whined and rested your head on his shoulder, a pout on your lips. “How dare you use manipulation and guilt tripping on me.” 

“Ah~ But are you going to eat? Junhui makes really good spicy noodles. Even lowered the heat intensity since he doesn’t know your tolerance.” 

“...Fine.” 

Reaching for the container, you pulled it into your lap, glad he provided some utensils, and under Jeonghan’s watch, you ate. It was good, really good and the spice was able to warm your frigid body enough. You let Jeonghan hold onto you, sapping the warmth he provided and listened to his quiet humming. Though at some points it was hard to eat, you swallowed enough down to satisfy the man beside you before closing it and placing the rest aside for later. 

It was nice having Jeonghan beside you. He provided a peaceful lull in the ache in your chest and settled the unruly thoughts that plagued your mind. He didn’t seem like one to judge you, maybe only when teasing you did he feel the need. Though annoying at times, his presence was enjoyable and always entertaining at the end of the day. He was already ready to listen when you complained over text and seemed like a shoulder to cry on when needed. Weird to think, but he was one of the people that felt like home along with Seokmin. 

The two of you sat, side by side, Jeonghan kept you close, letting himself take moments to rest his eyes. For what felt like hours, no one disturbed the stillness here. All that was heard was the sound of Mingyu and Jeonghan’s breathing and the occasional beep from a machine. Jeongahn was definitely asleep on your shoulder - not that you minded, he worked hard last night – and your eyes were getting irritated from no reset. 

Your eyes were focused on a pulled thread from the blanket Mingyu was tucked in with. Pulling it was a dumb idea, but the itch under your skin begged you to just tug it and rip it off. For a second you thought you were going to lose it, it had been too long since you stayed up all night, you weren’t a teenager anymore. 

While staring, you swore you saw Mingyu’s hand twitch. Refocusing your attention on the man, relief flooded through you when you saw his eyebrow twitch. Quickly you started to pat at Jeonghan’s leg, brushing his arm off your shoulder to stand and lean over the bed. Jeonghan was quick to react, bleary eyes blinking away any sleep that he could in case it was an emergency. He groggily voiced some concern but you didn’t hear anything. 

Mingyu’s eyes were starting to peel open, grimacing at the harsh lights of the room bleeding in through his cracked open eyes. You took his hand in both of your own, your heart beating so fast it might have you pass out. 

“Hey…hey, bud…” You said so softly, brushing some hair from his face when he turned his head. Tears were threatening to pour out of your eyes. A sound grumbled out of him and you cooed at him, a wobbly smile spreading across your lips. “It’s okay, ‘Gyu…”

He cursed when he tried to move some more but you quickly soothed him, placing one hand on his clothed chest to settle him. When his eyes fully opened, he took in his surroundings properly, sighing out a complaint of pain through his nose. Jeonghan had gotten up to round the bed and view Mingyu from the other side. 

“What-” His voice was hoarse and he tried to clear his throat but it didn’t help much. “How long have I been out?” 

“Almost twenty-four hours,” Jeonghan’s voice was just as soft when answering, a tight lipped smile was holding back the emotions he wouldn’t let spill over. “You scared us all half to death.” 

“ ‘M sorry.” He murmured out, but you only laughed, pushing his hair back. 

“No need to apologize, as long as you were here, that’s all that matters.” 

You stayed until he was coherent enough to ask for food and complained that beer was the best medicine. Both you and Jeonghan called everyone and they dropped everything they were doing to rush to Mingyu’s bedside. When he was in loving, safe hands, you asked Seungcheol for someone to drive you home, preferably not any of the guys since they wanted to be beside their brother. 

When you entered your apartment, you crashed hard. You couldn’t be bothered to change before crawling into the confines of your blankets and passed out. It was one of the best-worst sleeps of your life, you were happy to be asleep but terrified of the ongoing thoughts that haunt your dreams. You slept for twelve hours, it startled you when you saw the time on your phone. Seokmin and Jeonghan had sent text messages that only increased in volume the longer you didn’t reply. As you stared confused at your phone, a call came in from Jeonghan and you swiped to answer. 

“Hello?” 

“ Jesus, did you just wake up? You left over twelve hours ago, I was worried something happened.” 

Rubbing your eyes with one hand, you curled up on your side, yawning. “Yeah, I passed out once my head hit the pillow. I guess I was more tired than I felt.” 

“ Hmm, well Mingyu wants you back here to keep him company. If nothing changes by tomorrow night, he is begging to go home so we might take him back up to the house.” 

You nodded but remembered he couldn’t see you, and verbalized your ‘ okay’. He went on to say he’d be there in half an hour to pick you up and said goodbye. 

Jeonghan was true to his words in allowing Mingyu to go home. You were thankful he was alright despite the tremendous pain and eager to sleep in his own bed that was big enough for him and his long limbs. That’s how you found yourself seated in the back of Minghao’s SUV with Mingyu’s head on your lap. Seokmin had called shotgun and now it was the four of you hearing the injured man complain each time there was a pothole or bump in the road. Many of the others had work to tend to and would meet up back at the house later. You messaged Wonwoo to let him know you guys were on the way so he was prepared to help lug Mingyu to his room upon arrival. 

Really, getting him into the car was easy somehow, but getting him out of the car? He was whining like a baby and protesting whenever someone moved too fast. It was his stupid idea to lay across the backseats, it would have been easier to drop the backseats and lay him flat in the back with some pillows and padding to make it easier to get him out. When he was finally standing and huffing out tired breaths to compensate for the spent energy, it took Seokmin and Wonwoo to slowly walk him through the house and get him into bed. 

You trailed behind with a bag full of his things slung over your shoulder that another member brought yesterday. Wonwoo pushed Mingyu’s door open and you stopped at the threshold, not wanting to break the barrier of personal quarters. Jeonghan’s room was the only other place outside of the office in the house that was a more private space. The interior was a mix of black and white, medium-light colored wood as accents to the scheme. His bed was huge, probably a King-bed of some type, it wouldn’t surprise you if it was custom made exactly for him. He had a gaming set up in the corner, a few monitors and you would have laughed at the bright blue dog-ear headset. 

“Mouse, you can come in.” Mingyu called from where he sat on his bed, taking a moment before moving any more. 

“Uh- right. Yeah.” Shifting from foot to foot for a moment, you stepped inside and placed his bag at the foot of his bed. “Do you need anything?” 

With a shake of his head, he smiled and his shoulders shook as he laughed silently. “I’ll be okay. And thanks for everything, guys.” He said to Seokmin, Wonwoo, and Minghao but his eyes landed on you once more. “And thank you, Mouse. You helped a lot from what Jihoon and Vernon told me.” 

Mingyu got into bed with more ease than getting him up from the bed back at the warehouse. Wonwoo pulled the covers over him but you fussed a bit, making sure his phone was placed on his nightstand in easy reach and asking one last time if he needed something. He brushed you off and sent you out of the room with the rest, saying to wake him up when food was made. 

You had stepped out onto the back patio after parting from Mingyu and found solace under an umbrella to hide from the sun but enjoy the hot air. Being here at the house was one of the only times you could enjoy the outdoors without the constant noise of the busy city streets bothering you. Oftentimes you wished you could afford a home outside of the concrete jungle you lived in to have solitude and room to breathe truly fresh air. 

“Oh- Mouse, hey.” Vernon’s voice found its way to your ears and you turned to see him exit the back sliding doors. “Mingyu is home then, good.” 

“Mmm, yeah, he is probably knocked out in his room.” The response hummed out of you. “What are your plans?” 

“Ah-” He paused, mouth wide open and averted his gaze, trying to think of a good answer, but it was clear none came. “Honestly…I was going to smoke a bowl and stare at the ceiling for a while.” 

That sounded amazing after the last couple of days…

“Vernon,” You scratched the back of your neck and puffed out a breath. “Can I join you?” 

He didn’t bother hiding the surprise that spread across his features and one eyebrow raised high. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I think I need it.” 

With one more moment of hesitation, he shrugged and walked towards one of the sheds with a little bounce to his step. “If we get in trouble, it’s your idea.” 

Chuckling quietly as you trailed behind, you nodded. “Got it, I’m just ready to get higher than a kite.” 

As Vernon threw the door open to the shed, he spread his arms wide and spun around, walking backwards until his knees hit the back of the blanket covered couch at the far end of the building and sunk into it. “Welcome to DJ Leafblower’s Sanctuary. Very few are allowed in and when they do get invited, they leave relaxed.” 

It was a pretty small space but it was dark and comforting. It smelled strong of weed but that only added to the hippie vibe. He reached over to hit a button and the small area came to life with different types of colored lights and designs moving on the ceiling. Now you could see why he was going to stare at it for a while, it all made sense now.

“You make this sound like something completely different.” You closed the door behind you and crashed on the couch beside him, kicking off your slides and tucking your legs in criss-cross. “Also- DJ Leafblower? Did you name yourself that?” 

“Yes.” He said proudly and you only shook your head, laughing under your breath. 

“Whatever, let's just get this going.” 

If you tried to count on your fingers how many hits you took, you would have ten- wait…no five…everything looked a little funny. 

You don’t know where in between hits you and Vernon ended up on the cushioned, blanket covered floor, laying opposite directions but your heads beside one another. The light designs that shifted around on the ceiling were mesmerizing in your inebriated state, every time you slow-blinked they changed and you were even more fascinated by it. This was the most relaxed you’ve been in a long time and you didn’t want the feeling to end. 

“You know-” The words came out slow from Vernon, “I thought we lost him there for a moment.” 

Processing the sentence had you closing your eyes for a moment, humming back. “I couldn’t let another person die.” 

Vernon turned his head to you and you maneuvered to lay on your side, able to see his face but too unfocused to see his expression. “Another person?” He asked quietly. 

“My parents.” 

Silence filled the shed. The lights continued to move. You swore you could feel the earth move with how high you were. 

“Mouse…” Vernon sounded so…sorrowful if you had to point a word to it. “Is that why you didn’t sleep?” 

“Mhmm.” You don’t know why you were speaking about it, in your relaxed state it was too easy to just let the sob story – well, you thought of it as a sob story – spill out. “They ODed when I was a kid, like six.” 

“Fuck dude.” He sat up and turned to sit and face you. “That’s horrible.” 

You gave a quiet chuckle and shrugged. “When I saw Mingyu on the table, I had flashbacks to my parents on the floor in the living room, minus the blood and all. I kept picturing their faces on him, how lifeless they looked, how pale they looked. There was fucking needles on the ground beside their bodies. I just-” Sighing, you closed your eyes, “I couldn’t have that same feeling. I needed Mingyu to live.”  

You slowly sat up and everything around you spun for a moment. “What makes it worse? Those bastard cops, the ones that came when I called 911, brushed it under the rug because who wants the fact that a cop ODed with his stay at home wife while their daughter was sleeping written all over your police station and the small town news.” 

Vernon looked like he didn’t know how to respond, but the words continued to spill out. “I told them that I saw the guy's face that sold it to them but they never believed me, saying I was just making it up. Who the fuck makes that shit up? I saw the drug dealer that sold them laced stuff and no one cared. My family, god those assholes too, didn’t want the fucked up kid so I went into foster care, which sucked by the way. I tried to reach out to them but they told me never to contact them again. I bounced around from small town to small town for years after that. I got a scholarship to the university here in the city and I never looked back. I’ve had this fucked up sense that it was all my fault, like they turned to drugs because I wasn’t a perfect kid.” 

There was a smile on your face the whole time like the entire story was some kind of joke. You reached out and lit the put out joint, taking a long drag. “I learned later that they blacked out all and any information that my dad reached out to his commanders for help. The entire police report from the day I found them was blacked out too. Sick fucking bastards.” Every word that left you was said with hate. You took another long drag and handed it over to Vernon who gladly accepted it. He met your eyes, the expression he wore soft and in no way filled with pity. “If I ever see the guy that sold those drugs to them, Vernon…I swear I’ll kill him myself…” 

Vernon’s mind was fuzzy but he nodded, seemingly a mutual understanding of the feeling. “My sister and I…our parents were killed in a hit and run when we were young.” Hearing him start, your attention, while slow to focus, was drawn to him, watching as he stared up at the ceiling. “Because it was local gang shit and the cops were lazy as hell, we didn’t get any justice. We were sent off to our grandmother’s but she was old and couldn’t really take care of us. There wasn’t enough money so I stole to get by. Really I wanted to shield my sister from it.” 

“Is she-?” 

“She is going to college this year. When I joined SVT a few years back, I made them promise to help me pay for her education and I’d do what they needed. Mainly blackmail, weed growing and sales, shit like that. I’m not doing stuff like Chan, Minghao, and them. I’m mainly on Wonwoo’s side with work.” 

You nodded, laying back down beside him, letting your eyes follow the lights on the ceiling. 

“If I knew who those gang members were, I’d kill them in a heartbeat right now and I’m not the most coordinated with a gun.” Vernon let out a small huff of a laugh. “But we always have someone with my sister even if she is just being watched, if anything was to happen to her, I’d have justice as quick as I could. I’d raise hell and heaven to make sure she is resting in peace. I hope you find the guy that did it, it's an eye for an eye at that point.” 

“Thanks for not thinking I’m crazy.” 

“Crazy?” Vernon let out a loud laugh, shoulders shaking to the point where his arm knocked against yours. “We are laying in a shed where I smoke a fuck ton of weed on a property that Seungcheol built and prospered with mainly mafia money. Mouse, we are in a fucking action movie and honestly it gets boring.”

“Has anyone seen Vernon?” Seungkwan called through the living room, frowning. “I can’t find him.” 

The sun had set and almost all of the members were back at the house. He had gone in and checked on Mingyu who was knocked out, tucked snuggly under the comforter. Seungkwan had gone to Vernon’s room to hang out but came up short. He didn’t get any text messages that Vernon was leaving the property. 

“I swear you are usually attached to the hip,” Soonyoung shuffled around the kitchen, laughing at him. “Have you checked the shed?” 

Jeonghan entered the living room, looking at the group of members littering the area. “Have any of you seen, Mouse?” 

“No idea. Usually Seokmin knows where she is but he went back to the city for something. I haven’t really seen her since we got Mingyu into bed.” Minghao was lazied on the couch, a book hovering above his head as he scanned the pages. 

“I’m going to check the shed.” Seungkwan huffed, having a feeling that none of them would be of any help. “I’ll let you know if Mouse is in there.” 

Turning on his toes, he jogged out the back door and towards DJ Leafblower’s shed. He couldn’t see anything inside with the blocked out windows but a quick pull of the door gave him his answer. 

Mouse and Vernon were sitting back against the foot of the couch, heads leaned back as they stared at the ceiling. A blanket was thrown over their legs but the cloud of smoke that left the small building gave him a clear answer to the current state they were in. 

“No, all I’m saying is that if you want a really good bowl of soup, you need to let me cook..” Mouse rambled off and Vernon nodded along, “I make amazing soup, Vernon. I’m telling you.” 

“Nah, nah, I believe you, but soup is so…overrated.” 

Mouse gasped and slapped her hand against his arm. “ Take it back .” 

“You both are idiots.” Seungkwan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Vernon high is bad enough.” 

Both Mouse and Vernon lifted their heads and beamed at him. Truthfully his heart melted a little. They looked like little kids when their favorite person came into the room. 

“Seungkwan!” Vernon waved his hand and motioned for him to join them. “Kwan, Kwan, come tell Mouse the thing you were telling me about. About Jeonghan.” 

Seungkwan slapped a hand to his face and sighed once more. Of course he remembers that now. “No, Nonnie, I’m not going to talk about that while both of you are smoking.” 

“Why not?” Mouse questioned, resting her head on Vernon’s shoulder. “I wanna know the tea on Jeonghan.” 

He stepped inside and shut the door, pulling out his phone to send Jeonghan a text that they were in the shed, and sat down across from the two. “Because the tea shouldn’t be talked about when your head is in the clouds.” 

She whined, pouting. “That’s dumb.” 

“No, you are for smoking whatever concoction of weed Vernon had on hand.”

“The Leaf Blower special.” Vernon laughed.

Seungkwan mockingly muttered the words under his breath but leveled them both with a judgemental gaze. “Are you guys hungry? If you come inside, we can get you some of the chicken tenders Mingyu keeps in the freezer.”

“Tendies sound amazing.” Mouse giggled, “Do you have other trash food?” 

He was going to die by the end of the night because of them. “There are probably some pizza rolls and french fries in there. I think Shua brought home two dozen cinnamon rolls too.” 

“Seungkwan, I’d kiss you right now but I feel like jelly.” Mouse was looking at him like he was a literal god among men. 

“Please do not,” He started, continuing to talk under his breath but didn’t realize how loud he actually was, “Jeonghan wouldn’t be happy about that.” 

She frowned, confusion twisting across her face. “Why would he be mad about that?” 

Vernon grinned. “Because Jeonghan like likes you, Mouse.” 

“Oh for fucks sake-” 

“Wait- What?” 

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@unlikelysublimekryptonite @iiaweirdo @aurorajoye

[physalian]

Physalian's Top 10 Narrative Pet Peeves

*For now*

In one way or another, these all boil down to “Author took a shortcut and I absolutely noticed”. In other words, most of these stem from Manufactured Sincerity.

All of these come with the caveat of *except when done well*. I’m ordering these from “I’m annoyed but I’ll get over it” to “Nope, DNF”. 

10. Sad times = Alcohol

Everyone drinks when they’re depressed apparently. Only women or fat men are allowed to eat away their sorrows with ice cream and guilty pleasures. No one’s allowed to go on a self-pity shopping spree. No one just goes to bed.

They drink. Or they go shoot something. Or punch a wall. It’s usually out of a flask or a crystal decanter. It’s usually whisky (specifically bourbon) or scotch, or something out of a brown paper bag.

Maybe this is my own bias as someone who does not drink, but writers, please come up with more diverse ways to show your character is mourning someone or something, beyond immediately heading straight for the alcohol. Not everyone likes liquor, not everyone owns a decanter set and crystal glasses.

Let them eat or shop or sleep or get high, or watch their favorite show or a really sad movie or listen to emotional music. Let them cry if they’re bad boys. Don’t make them punch walls.

9. Down time = Sexy Times

This applies of course only to narratives with implicit or explicit sex scenes and what I mean by down time is those situations where characters are either on the run or have some crucial deadline to meet, some race to win, what have you, and the second they get some time to breathe and have a heart to heart, they both let their guard down and ignore impending doom and sleep together.

If you’re in the real world and you are that stressed for any of the reasons above, you’re going to be constantly looking over your shoulder, worrying about what you’re going to do next, wondering if you should even stop to rest, not be dead on your feet but have enough energy to bang.

Obviously if it’s played for humor, that’s different, but in dramas, or especially in environments not suited for intimacy (looking at you fantasy and sci-fi) it just feels ridiculous and particularly gratuitous. Non-aces please tell me if this is a legit thing you would do, I sincerely want to know.

It also tends to happen with near strangers who’ve only known each other for several days, possibly weeks with little buildup, and they also tend to be at each other’s throats bickering incessantly. Save the sex for after you’ve won and can really dedicate all your attention to enjoying it.

8. Pointless Filler Pit Stops

Or ones that last way too long for no reason. I love filler, but only *productive* filler. It doesn’t have to service the plot, but it does have to develop at least one character, a relationship, the lore, somebody’s backstory, or be really funny and/or interesting to sit through.

Usually, it feels like it’s there to pad the run time or slow the pacing, but rarely does anything for the overall story. A fair bit of season one of ATLA is filler pit stops, but even when they go to all these random places for one-off adventures, the story is still showing us the world they live in, making it a teachable moment, introducing important characters, foreshadowing, or is just mighty entertaining to watch.

ATLA has only one pointless filler pit stop: the infamous Great Divide. It doesn’t positively develop any of the main trio, we never see these side characters again, Aang’s story is a complete lie so it doesn’t develop the lore or the world, and, most importantly, it’s just frustrating to watch. Your first job as a writer is to entertain, and this episode is annoying.

7. Fridged Character Motivation

I don’t mind the “fridged lady love” inherently. It’s a quick and dirty way to give your brooding hero backstory and everyone is familiar with it. I’m annoyed at how it’s the only nuance these characters tend to get, like this man’s dead wife/girlfriend/dog is his sole motivation for everything he does in life and all his goals.

I like broody badasses. I don’t like one-note broody badasses. His character existed before he met his dead love interest. Who was he back then? Does he have any friends who hate the man he’s become? Old mentors who’ve lost their faith in him?

This man’s arc is usually not even therapy-via-violence to get over his dead wife, it’s just a ham-fisted excuse to make him mean and short-tempered. Who is he, unrelated to this fridged character?

6. Dumbass Villains

The villain has captured the hero and friends and plans some dastardly torture to break their will. The villain has all their tools prepared and monologues about how easy it’s going to be, and the hero usually says something along the lines of “you can’t break me” or “I can take it,” whatever. And after several pages or minutes of screen time, the hero’s right, and then the villain breaks out plan B: The hero’s love interest, or their parents, who have just been waiting in the wings.

Why is this almost never plan A? The hero can always handle the pain, and always breaks down the second it’s someone else’s health on the line. Why doesn’t the villain, who’s always pissed at the lack of results, start with the proper motivation?

It’s either this or they wait until the perfect dramatic timing to reveal some skill or weapon or ultimatum after precious time has been lost, deadlines have been missed, and money has been burnt. Or they’re in the boss battle and they wait until the hero thinks they’ve won to pull out their secret weapon.

Unless you can give your villain a valid reason to not start with all the tools they have at their disposal, it might as well be a reverse deus ex machina. Even if it’s something as simple as Plan B hasn’t arrived on scene yet.

5. Everybody Has a Somebody

A topic I plan to expand on so I’ll keep it short here. Basically, the story wraps up and every eligible single character has a love interest they’re in varying stages of romance with. No one is spared, or they’re already dead. It’s a race to the finish line to give these characters significant others because that’s just what you do, it’s what audiences expect, there must be a romantic subplot.

Particularly annoyed when it’s an ensemble cast and the entire hero team only has relationships with other members of the hero team and no one outside this unit of 6-10 characters (*cough* Percy Jackson *cough*). No one is allowed to be single, or happy that they’re single. Everybody has somebody, no matter how well developed or plausible this relationship is.

4. Half-Baked Twist Villains

No one likes these characters and I’m not saying anything new here, and yet it still keeps happening. This one comes from just recently rewatching the abysmal Cars 2 (which is older, I know) and just trying to untangle this plot. This plot, that Pixar rinsed and repeated in Incredibles 2, and really thought no one would notice. This plot, where the villain creates a problem that doesn’t exist to make their own agenda look better, whether that’s malignant superheroes or green fuel.

Both try. Neither pretend the story is absent of a villain, unlike, say, Frozen. Both movies have a villain, they just have a hidden identity. The reveal just never hits as hard as the writers expect it to because, once again, they didn’t actually do the work to write a competent villain, they just slapped a “villain” sticker on their foreheads and called it a day. Why? Who cares.

3. Consequenceless Revivals

I love revivals, I love bringing characters back from the dead, love watching it, love writing it, love the drama.

Don’t love it when they’re suddenly back with no explanation or price to be paid. A character death should be a major event, and if you kill a character just to make your audience sad, then bring them back with zero effort, death begins to lose meaning in your world. CW shows are particularly terrible at this, specifically the TVD universe and Supernatural.

In the earlier seasons, when Sam or Dean died and came back, they still experienced character growth by dying and the experiences in hell, the PTSD inflicted, the new emotional battle scars. Even when Dean died a thousand times in the “Mystery Spot” episode, the point wasn’t “ha ha funny Dean dies again,” it was exercising Sam’s crippling codependency on his brother, as Gabriel says. There are consequences, either for the character’s psyche, or a cost for bringing them back to life.

2. Wimping Out on Promised Death

This decision makes me want to throw the book at the wall, or pause the movie and walk away. It’s the penultimate battle, the prophecy is upon us, a character or one of two characters must die to save the day, it cannot be impeded, avoided, or circumvented. We’ve known this is coming since the story began and are prepared for the tears and bloodshed.

Then the magical miracle springs out of nowhere and everyone gets to live. Kill them. Please. Even if it’s my favorite character, I’d rather cry over their death than be disappointed by plot convenience. If this is the tragic, fulfilling end to their arc, then that’s how I want it to end. Rarely do these characters get revived in a satisfying loophole everyone should have seen coming. I just feel manipulated.

1.  Forced Miscommunication

*Picture me walking a stadium hawking Pointless Drama like cotton candy and cans of beer* Cheap Drama! Anybody want some Cheap Drama? Cheap Drama!

In the real world, people make misassumptions all the time and many of us are conflict-averse. We avoid talking about our problems to those who’ve wronged us like we’re polarized magnets. Forced miscommunication doesn’t care about anxiety, which would be fascinating to explore as explicitly anxious characters suffering legit mental issues is under-utilized. No, these instances just have characters eavesdropping or snooping and, out of character, make all these outlandish assumptions, refuse to listen to explanations, and start a fight that lasts juuuuust long enough until it’s magically resolved without consequence.

It doesn’t do anything for the story. It exists independently of these characters’ relationship and has zero impact once it’s resolved. I am 100% down for a single miscommunication causing an emotional outburst so extreme that it has the offended party seriously considering the strengths of their relationship, but it never happens that way.

—

TL;DR: The existence of a trope does not do the job of writing a compelling story for you. If you can look at any one scene in your book and not explain why it matters, what impact it has on the plot, story, or characters, delete it or rewrite it so it does. Even if it only exists to be funny, there should still be something gained from the experience.

[astroboots]

Where does Boa hide these around the house to best fuck with Santi?

BEHIND ENEMY LINES

Summary: Santiago is on a mission to take out your army of freakishly ugly mutant toys that you keep placing on his desk.

Homecoming Drabbles | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

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They're back again.

Santiago stares at the horrifying toy creature. Half husky and half--- penguin? Is that what it fucking is?!

He can't keep his eyes from the small miniature toy, its hauntingly blue piercing eyes and dog-like snout, its two flappy wings held against its protruding belly and standing on two webbed feet.

He doesn't know. Doesn't know where you managed to find this godless toy. Doesn't know what the toy manufacturer was thinking when they greenlit this for production. Doesn't know what kind of hallucinogenic drugs the designer must've been on when he made it.

Only thing he knows, is that it's fucking hideous is what it is.

Narrowing his eyes at the abomination, he glares at it in indignant anger where it sits perched on his desk. He threw this out last week. Stealthily took it out on the day it was Frankie's turn to take out the trash, so you couldn't find it and stop it beforehand.

So he doesn't know how it's back. Or worse, he doesn't know how now there's not only a husky penguin but right next to it there's also malformed sad looking half-tiger, half-squirrel.

He thought there was only the one. But with the appearance of this second one... fuck it can't be.

... Fuck.

You have the whole fucking line up hidden somewhere don't you?

And if he throws these two away... he's pretty sure like the fucking mythical Hydra of Lerna, there's going to be four of them lined up on his desk by tomorrow.

That won't do.

But he also doesn't want to sit here, looking at schematics for his latest consulting project, and having to stare up at these hideous crimes against nature and god. No, he needs to get rid of them...

But there's no way out of this that doesn't end in an escalation until his desk becomes a gathering ground of these horrifying mutant toys... Unless he takes it out by the source. Destroy the nest so that it cannot breed more... Sniff out where you've hidden this mutant-freak toy army and get rid of them before you'll ever see him coming.

Santiago glances up at the clock. 4.30pm, you'll be home within the hour, he still got time. Pushing his chair away from his desk, he skulks down the hallway to the guestroom where you tend to store all your junk. All the crazy shit you keep dragging back home from the antique stands and farmers market you drag him to at ungodly early hours on Sunday morning. The haunted porcelain dolls, the joke taxidermy--with mice wearing human clothes and squirrels that are in a boxing match-- and the collection of inappropriately sexy Christmas baubles you got in a moving box on the shelf.

He continues to root around, in the empty shoe boxes stored under the guest bedroom. The first one contains--- more sexy Christmas baubles, one that looks eerily alike Michael Bublé that makes his skin crawl. The second--a bunch of old photo albums. The third-- just a bunch of brightly colored socks, that shouldn't be stored there in the first place. He digs around and-- Bingo.

In the very bottom, inside a sealed plastic bag he finds what he is looking for. It's the rest of the pack. A confused looking zebra-kangaroo, a lion-gerbil?! (or is it hamster, jesus-- it's horrifying). And finally a face that will haunts his nightmares until the end of time... The face of a gorilla staring up at him, eerily detailed and accurate, with the body of an elephant.

Actually forget seeing this in his nightmares, Santiago doesn't think he'll ever sleep again after seeing this. He shakes his head as he pulls up the bag pinched between his thumb and index finger, not even daring to clutch it in his hand, as he tucks it inside his sweater, closing the lid before leaving the room and heading down towards the garage.

He's not taking any risks, he's heading straight into the car to the junkyard himself to make sure these things aren't recovered by some deus ex machina intervention.

"Santiago have you been going through my stuff?" you ask.

Santiago doesn't look up from the pages of his book, as he takes another sip at his piping hot coffee. "What do you mean sweetheart?"

He doesn't need to look at you to know the look that will be in your eye. The way you're narrowing your eyes at him in observation, the way a detective would pin down their suspected perpetrator in an interrogation room.

"My stuff in the guestroom," you clarify.

"No clue." He has to bite the inside of his cheeks to tamper down the grin that's threatening to escape.

What follows is your usual morning routine after breakfast. When he says bye by the front porch, you throw him a quick kiss goodbye, but you linger for longer than you normally do. Your eyes squinting down on him, a silent accusation of, "I know what you did."

Santiago doesn't say shit.

Instead he waves you off like a young maiden in an old timey black and white movie waving off their husband to war with a handkerchief, as he turns back into the house, smiling like a loon. The feeling of victory surging bright in his veins.

Santiago practically skips on each steps up the staircase back to his office, humming, and if he could be any happier he would be floating.

He opens the door, the refreshing spring breeze flowing in through his window. The morning sun spilling across the length of his desk when he sees it.

His smile drops.

No.

Fuck no.

You gotta be kidding.

They're back again.

Standing in a neat tidy line in front of his computer screen, the whole family is gathered. Husky-penguin, Tiger-squirrel, Zebra-kangaroo, Lion-gerbil/hamster and the most nightmare inducing of them all... Gorilla-elephant.

He doesn't understand.

He drove them there.

Personally chucked them into a bag and into the junkyard where it can never be retrieved. But...

They're all back... and they brought friends.

He threw away five, and now there's ten....

He stares at them, the whole of the line up. At each ugly, deformed, mutant, hybrid animal toy creature, eyes lingering in particular at the horrifying shark with four slim and graceful legs and hooves.... And he doesn't even know what to say.

He doesn't even know what the fuck this is.

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[darling-i-read-it]

My Dulcinea

Luis Serra Navarro x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,3k

Warnings: re4 remake spoilers, lil bit of angst, canon level violence/zombies, talk of science being used for evil motives 

Author’s Note: hello my love I hope this is what you had in mind! I really wanted to write for Luis and I’m soooo happy I got to. I would be totally open to doing more with him <3 he’s such a sweetie <3 that being SAID i do not speak spanish, my high school teachers were not the greatest. Apologizes if the parts I attempted to do were laughably bad. I hope you enjoy love! 

Requested: by @astupidlover, Luis and the reader are two former scientists at umbrella, their relationship is a little complicated I mean the reader is a quiet and hardworking person while Luis is talkative and persistent, but he is in love with her, after the reader found out about the biological weapon manufactured by the company she quit and worked as a spy in multiple companies, she kept hearing the news of Luis because she could not leave him, but the thunder of the Raccoon City incident disappeared him, but she kept looking for him...She allied with agent Leon Kennedy between rescuing the president's daughter and finding him in the last refuge she has to look for him or surrender...she found him and they had to fix a troubled past between them(if you have a question I'm open to answering):)

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Your lab coat was stained. You noticed it as you looked at yourself in the mirror with bags under your eyes. You had haphazardly tossed it off when you went to bed the night before. Sometimes your hours were neverending, akin to that of a doctor even though you didn’t have any patients. Well, you didn’t have any living patients that is. All of the ones you passed by you were dead or soon to be undead. 

There was a red stain on the wrist of your left arm. Proof of the night before, of the experiments that continued relentlessly. Umbrella’s Europe facility was vast and you often wondered why you had landed there. You were among people who didn’t know what they were researching any more than you did. 

You folded your sleeve up, hoping to ignore it until you had the brain power to deal with it. You left the bathroom and returned to the sterile work area. You made sure your hair was pulled out of your face as you entered your normal work space. It was a medium sized room, housed by you and your colleague Luis. Your personalities complimented each other, despite the severity of them. You tended to quietly work, your head doing all your talking. Luis, while brilliant, wanted to talk through everything. He would ask your opinion and then the banter would begin, even when you didn’t intend for it to. 

“You’re late,” Luis said in a sing-song voice. He was already sitting at his desk. There was a half-drunk cup of coffee there beside him. More than once he’s mixed that cup up with other substances. Today he had the caffeine in a bright red mug so that he could tell the difference. “Sleep finally catch up to you Dulcinea?” You smiled a bit at the nickname. It was apparently one of the characters from Don Quixote. He had told you the story of it as though he wrote it himself but truth be told, you weren’t always paying attention. 

“My bed was just so comfortable,” you promised. He leaned forward, taking off his protective glasses so you could see his eyes. You stood across the table from him. 

“I would love to second that statement. Do you think I could create my own experiment to verify?” You rolled your eyes, though your smile remained. Working with Luis was like this. You were glad not to be stuck with some of the other people in the building, stoic and all business. You wondered what you would look like beside them, if you would meld into their bland personalities. 

Luis kept you interesting. 

“Maybe someday Luis.” 

“I didn’t hear a no.” You narrowed your eyes at him. He had the lovesick puppy look again, the one you adored so much. You saw it at work frequently when you both avoided actually working. These days, the cause didn’t seem so exciting. It never seemed clear. Who were you making this for? 

“Back down dog,” you teased. He chuckled lowly and leaned back down in his chair. He put his glasses back down, looking back at what he was doing. You opened up some of your files and what you were working on the day before. In an instant the mood shifted. Luis could only bring so much light into a room with so much dread. 

The pictures alone sent a chill down your spine. 

The nagging at the back of your head returned. 

What was this worth? 

“Progress was made yesterday,” you said, dryly. You weren’t sure why you were talking about it. It was a Luis move, to talk yourself through something. But you said it anyway. He raised his head. 

“Good progress or bad progress?” When he met your eyes he knew the answer. He nodded solemnly. There wasn’t much Luis Serra couldn’t make a joke of but this was one of those rare instances he was silent. “We could always run away princesa.” He had been nagging at you about it. He was nearing the end of his rope too. 

You thought about the other people in the other rooms. Did they feel the same?

“Yeah,” you muttered. You looked back down to the pictures. “Do you ever just want to go home?”

“Use your vacation days, no?” You shook your head. 

“Just go back home and stay there.” There was something comforting about a place you could return to that had to accept you. The more you starred at the parasite the more you craved something more familiar. What would it have been like if Luis and you had met in a bar instead, careless and free? 

“Valdelobos has never been that forgiving to me,” he admitted. 

“There was nothing good about it?” There was a short pause as you imagined he remembered the good things. He had told you about the death of his grandfather and how much he enjoyed spending time with him. 

“It was too small,” he said. He shook his head and smiled softly, reminiscing. “I used to hunt with my abuelo. He would tell me stories, the most hermosas historias…” He shook his head. “He died when I was young. He would’ve liked you, he liked beautiful women.” You laughed a bit. “I’ll go back eventually.” 

“Good.” You nodded, thinking of your own home. There was a future out there for both of you that wasn’t stuck within these white walls. “Me too.” 

-

Umbrella’s European Facility was no longer the place you had hoped it would be. You were stuck in the neverending worry of dying for a cause you didn’t understand, let alone believe in. 

When you wiggled your way out you did it silently. You did it by slowly packing your bags, by keeping the boxes random, by moving them without suspicion. The last day you went to work you gave no indication that you would never be coming back. 

You felt bad. 

Luis’s eyes were the same as the day you had met him and you didn’t want to leave him behind. His alluring promises of leaving had gotten to your head and you only hoped they would get to his as well. You left him with nothing except a note in your files, all the things you left with loose ends, a small apology note and the imprint of your lipstick on a napkin. You thought he might appreciate it. Hopefully it would curb his frustration to know that you felt the same way about him that he felt about you. 

You worked quietly after that. In silence as you followed Umbrella’s otherwise inconspicuous work. You told people what you knew without leaving your name behind. You promised that you had never meant for it to get that bad, that you never wanted to use science like that. You never wanted to use your brain like that. 

You thought of Luis often. You thought of him when you heard a particularly funny joke. You thought of him when you saw a charming smile or when someone made a pass at you. There was never going to be another Luis Serra. 

Then Raccoon City happened and everything was put under a magnifying glass. Amongst those who had been subpoenaed publicly, Luis was not one of them. You could only hope he made it out of there alive before everything went down. You grappled with your work being done in such a violent manner. 

-

“You ready?” 

Leon’s voice was low. You were looking at the village home in front of you, wondering who had lived in it. It wasn’t the first time you had been swept up in something you hadn’t meant to. You sought out to save the world with science and now you were standing with a gun in the middle of Spain. 

“Yeah. Yeah sorry.” A gun had never been your forte. Your friendship with Leon blossomed as he lived through the Raccoon City incident and you offered insider information on Umbrella. The government sent the both of you through training. You would be physically dealing with your consequences and help Leon make sense of the world around him as you did so. 

He had hardened throughout the years you had known him. This wasn’t your first time you were together on something dangerous and it would likely not be the last. 

“I can’t believe you got roped into this,” he grumbled, leading. He had his hand on his gun, though he hadn’t pulled it out of the holster yet. “This was supposed to be a one man job. Limit as much reaction from the locals as you can.” 

“Guess they just wanted me to keep you in check,” you offered. You found your own voice had lost some of its life as well. How long would you and Leon be doing this? 

Though this time, you weren’t being truthful with him. You had heard him talking about it, briefly, and how he would be going to Spain to find something. You had no idea it was the President’s daughter when you insisted on tagging along. 

Valdelobos.

A place you had only heard of before, one that you had barely been able to find on a map. Luis’s home was a place you had only imagined through his words. You didn’t actually think you would find him here but you would be lying if you said your own agenda had nothing to do with coming here with Leon. 

Your conversation had been scarce leading up to where you currently were. There was so much to talk about but little to actually say about all of it. It just was. Leon opened the door with his flashlight. 

It was black inside. Your eyes adjusted to the large objects within. 

“Where’d the lights go?” he questioned dryly. 

“Power must’ve blown with everyone’s sanity,” you suggested. You pushed past him to see what was inside. There was no obvious movement. Leon moved around behind you. You had grown accustomed to his footsteps, knowing how they sound on different types of ground. You would never mistake Leon for someone coming to kill you.

As you entered another room, lighter from the sunlight, you saw different science equipment on the table. You squinted as you looked over it. Viles and a microscope had been discarded on the table. Beside it was a picture frame that was face down. You picked it up.

A little boy and his grandfather, from the looks of it. You didn’t want to think it was him but that’s where your brain went. The guitar hanging from the fireplace didn’t help your case. What if this had been Luis’s home? What if this had been the places he told you stories about, the place where he was raised? 

“Hey,” he called. You turned back around, shaking your thoughts. You had to focus. Leon had moved a bookshelf out of the way and was kneeling down. There was a hatch just next to the stairs. He undid it, opening it up. With it came a cloud of dust, as well as the smell of decay. He looked up at you. 

“Ladies first,” you joked as you approached. He kept his expression straight as he stood up. 

“I got your six,” he promised. 

“Always!” you said as you jumped down. You landed with a huff. It was dark, even more consumed with the black now that there were no windows. You could hear a soft movement further down the hallway. Could you even call it that? It was more like a long crypt. You raised your flashlight. A body was moving at the other end, though it was completely wrapped up in some kind of bag. 

“See anything?” Leon called. 

“Yeah. Just one person, tied up. Gimme a sec.” 

“Want me to come down?”

“I’m okay.” 

You approached slowly and with caution. You knelt beside the wiggling person and undid the top rope. A face emerged from the bag, tape over his mouth. 

You recognized each other at the same time as he stopped his muffled scream for help and became uncharacteristically quiet. You ripped off the tape. He groaned out of pain but quickly got over it. 

“Dulcinea?” 

“Luis,” you breathed. You were right. You knew he would be here. 

“What are you doing here?” he questioned. Words stumbled out of your mouth. 

“Looking for you,” you said honestly. His eyes clouded over with some adoration mixed with anger. He opened his mouth to speak again but this time his eyes floated behind you. “Joder, not this guy!” You followed his gaze but was quickly taken out of your senses by a larger than life man. He picked you up by the waist and threw you across the room. 

Pain shot across from you like it was individually searching through your veins. You weren’t able to raise your head. Where was Leon? Your worry became overwhelming and you passed out.

-

Your senses took over before your brain had caught up. You were disoriented, desperately trying to search for the last memory you had. Your eyes opened slowly. Your vision was blurry. You were sitting down, against a hard surface. 

It took you about ten seconds to start to panic. Unable to move your hands was the last straw in realizing what had happened. You surveyed the room in front of you, happy to see that the only people there were Leon and Luis. They were both standing, hands above their heads, connected by some sort of chain mechanism. 

Luis was moving his hands down. Leon was still limp on the other side. You were tied to a support beam with rope. Luis turned to look at you, his face tight with concentration. 

You got a good look at him. 

He didn’t look all that different from what you remembered. You had lunch a couple times when you worked together but you usually saw him in his lab coat. Seeing him in jeans and a leather jacket was a nice change of pace. 

Seeing him at all was a breath of fresh air. You were still reeling that he was alive, in front of you, back home. 

“Welcome to mi casa,” he groaned. He turned his head, a sly smile on his face. “Sorry I didn’t clean, I wasn't expecting visitors.” You shook your head. For a moment you forgot you were tied to a beam and tried to move forward to him. He titled his head. There was something solemn about it. 

“How long have you been here?” 

“Is that all you want to ask me?” 

“Are you okay?” you asked instead. 

“Could be better.” He glanced forward, his eyes shifting. His eyes then remained on yours. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered. “I never thought I’d see you again, Dulcinea.” 

“I’ve been looking,” you promised. “This isn’t exactly the easiest place to find on the map.” 

“You need a magnifying glass,” he said, quietly. Leon stood up straight, waking up with a start. He looked up at his hands and pulled them down. 

“Oh, what the fuck?” he muttered. Luis’s arms pulled above his head. 

“Hey, stop it!” Leon looked around and moved his arms so that he was facing Luis. 

“This yanqui got a name?” Luis questioned, turning around. 

“Leon,” you said. Leon turned to look at you as he started to weigh the options he had with the chain. 

“Why didn’t you get attached to this guy?” Leon questioned as he walked around, surveying his options. 

“Leon, this is Luis.” He stopped, only briefly. He looked between the two of you. 

“You two know each other?” he grumbled. 

“One could say that,” Luis said. “So did we pick the wrong spot to vacation, eh?” Leon moved quickly to the side. “Hey, stop it! You move, I move and I’m beat up enough as it is.” Leon looked up at the wheel keeping them together. Luis raised an eyebrow. “I see you’re thinking. Bet you’ve been in spots like this before, eh?” 

Your natural instinct was to roll your eyes but you couldn’t explain the warmth his sly voice gave you. 

“Lemme guess. You’re here looking for someone?” 

“Luis,” you warned.

“Me perhaps? Or maybe some missing senorita?” Leon stopped pulling. “A young girl?” He turned, ears perked up. He pulled down on the chain, pulling Luis towards him. 

“Talk. Now.” 

“See, heard chatter about moving a senorita.”

“Moving her. Where?” Leon questioned. He let Luis go. 

“Who knows? But later, saw some men dragging someone…to the old church.” They moved to even out the chain. They pulled down together with a grunt. Luis fell but Leon kept his balance. “Mierda.” 

“Woah!” you called, moving towards the incoming violent villager. 

Leon pulled Luis forward and they evened out the chain so that it was wrapped around the slashing villain. You watched, helplessly, as they pulled tightly to break the man's neck. The force knocked Luis and the limp man down beside you. Luis sat up, reaching for the key. You put your foot on it, making eye contact with him. 

“You’re not going anyway,” you argued. “I just found you.” Luis pressed his lips together. 

“Try not to be so eager,” he said. 

“Untie me.” 

“Why, when we could have so much fun with you tied?” You rolled your eyes. His sarcasm dissipated. “Oh my Dulcinea,” he whispered. Leon groaned, moving your foot over to grab the key. Luis moved forward, hands still bound, and untied you. 

“Where’s the old church?” Leon questioned. 

“We’re trying to have a heartfelt reunion yanqui,” Luis argued. You clenched your hands to get the blood flowing again. 

“You can be heartfelt as we walk.” 

“Leon,” you said, sternly. You weren’t often hard with him. He was in charge here, you were reserved to the job you were required to do. This was Luis. 

“We’re on a time crunch,” he retorted. You shook your head and Luis helped you up. He eyed the two of you, wondering why you were truly here. The last he had seen you, you were a quiet scientist, doing what you thought was good from behind closed doors. You were never one to grab a gun and march out into the fight. He imagined your friend was that type though. How close of friends were you?

“Can you take us there?” you asked. 

“It would usually cost a pretty penny, but for you princesa, I’ll waive the fee.” You nodded once, glad to have him back. You had emotions to work through but right now you were taking a page out of Leon’s book. Ignore it until you had a minute to breathe. 

-

The abandoned factory was unforgiving and tortuous. You followed Luis as he led, never quietly, trying to find the safest way to the church. He had gotten good with a gun. Maybe he had always been good. You couldn’t decide. 

Eventually you came to a fork in the road. A key was needed to move further on and that key was quite safely guarded behind an army of infected villagers. Luis was ready for another fight, always excited to be part of the action, but Leon insisted on scoping it out on his own while the two of you stayed back to see if there was another way around. 

If there was, you’d go get him. Easy as that. 

You thought he was just getting fed up with Luis but didn’t want to leave him alone. You couldn’t blame him. Luis would leave the second he could, you could feel it. 

You backtracked to the factory itself as Leon trudged forward. 

It smelled of rats and dried blood. Iron hung in the air from the disregarded projects. It had been forgotten long ago, perhaps longer than the village had been infected. 

“I take it Leon wanted us to have a moment to catch up, no?”

“I think Leon got annoyed with us,” you offered instead. You had been waiting for a moment alone this whole time. You wanted to beg for forgiveness but you weren’t sure where to start. The guilt of leaving him behind was strong. 

You came to a stop in the middle of a larger room. Luis almost ran into you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. Your voice was hard. 

“Lo siento, what are you sorry for?” He took a step back but you were still so close. 

You never thought you would see him again. The desire to touch him was fueled by the delusions you held in your memories. How life could’ve been different if you had met in different circumstances. If you had just met when you were still young and free, without being tied to a traumatic future.

“For leaving you without saying anything. I thought about coming and getting you so many times,” you admitted. As you started you found that your words just continued. They had been wanting to come out since you left him the imprint of your lipstick. “I wanted you to come with me but I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t shake that we were doing something wrong.” You remembered what it was like to be optimistic and young, to pretend that the world was better than it was.  

“Dulcinea-”

“No, please let me finish.” You took a deep breath and straightened your shoulders. “I’ve been looking for you ever since. I was so scared to find you in the rubble of Raccoon City. Leon survived that, as a police officer. I thought helping him and whoever he was receiving orders from, would help you in the end. I just wanted to make it back to you, to make sure you were okay. I’m so sorry.” 

His face had softened. 

There was a deep understanding in his eyes, mixed with something else. Guilt or pain\. You couldn’t put your finger on it. 

“You don’t have to feel sorry for that,” he offered. “Though, you should feel sorry that you only left me with a paper kiss.” You couldn’t help but smile slyly. 

“It’s never too late to fix that one.” He met your eyes, that smug smirk on his face. He was the man you had talked to about your life and your future. How had you two gotten stuck in the middle of doom like this? You could’ve been scientists in a little suburban home, chasing around little ones and the dog in the backyard. 

That was the life Luis Serra deserved. 

He leaned in, kissing you with precision. He had no reserves and didn’t hold back. His head tilted, hand on your cheeks as he held you close to him. The kiss felt like it was a desperate attempt to bring back that life you could’ve had. You threw your arm around his neck and gripped his jacket with the other. 

“I’m sorry I let you go,” he whispered against your lips. An apology that had been hanging on his tongue for years. He should’ve been there with you the entire way. 

“I’m sorry that this has happened to your home,” you countered. He shook his head. 

“I told you Valdelobos was never that forgiving.” He brushed your hair out of your face, just happy to now have permission to touch you. He held your face. He was so handsome, staring at you like you were the world. “You saw my home. Not too shabby, eh?” You smiled. 

“I’m sure it was beautiful once upon a time.”

“What, you don’t like what I’ve done with the place?” 

“I’ve got the key!” 

Leon’s voice carried through the small buildings' rooms. They echoed off the forgotten walls and found their way back to you. 

“So you and Senor Kennedy are amigos yeah? Nada mas?” You rolled your eyes. 

“Nada mas,” you repeated. Hearing you speak Spanish made him want to kiss you silly. You grabbed Luis’s hand and kissed the back of it before heading back. He brushed the back of your hair as you walked before letting you go. 

It took him a few steps to continue on. 

This deal with Ada had to work. 

It had to.