#tree cover map

[grasshoppergeography]

Tree cover map of the Arctic.

High resolution tree cover map based on the analysis of satellite data, with specific sensors made to detect and recognize the reflection from vegetation.

Read more and buy prints here. Ko-fi | RedBubble | Etsy (digital prints)

[articskele]

Guys the yearning….. gguys……..

[handgiven]

currently in the process of thinking about emmanuel making snow angels. about emmanuel standing outside in one spot in a dark coat with arms stretched outward in front of himself so he can watch as snowflakes fall upon them and show off their wonderful shapes. about emmanuel with his tea that puts steam in his face when he opens his thermos. about emmanuel going for long walks in the snow and returning home with little ice crystals frozen to his hair.

[burning-thistles-bt]

another friendship map! this one of the current (ch.134) apprentice group

SPOILERS! mostly just for one minor plotpoint, which is why i left it in... oh and i guess there’s a more major-ish plotpoint but its a canon plotpoint so eh

characters in some kind of order: Feathercloud, Brackenfur, Cinderpelt, Thornpaw, Brightpaw, Bramblekit, Cliffpaw, Lizardflight, Cloudpaw, Swiftpaw, Tawnykit, Snowkit, Elderpaw, Fernpaw, Tulippaw, Mistlekit, Perchpaw, Ashpaw, Lynxpaw, Dustpelt, Rowanpaw, Lavenderpaw, Reedpaw, Primrosepaw, Swampfur, Turtlepaw, Dawnpaw, Pikepaw, Woodpaw, Blossomtail, Robinpaw, Badgerfang

alright! just like last time, here’s the “main groups” expanded:

Feathercloud’s Friend Group

Cricketheart (sister, deceased), Graystripe (former best friend, former crush), Ravenwing (former mates, crush), Gremlin (distant/former friend), Scraps (distant/former friend), Brackenfur (best friend, crush), Storkpaw (distant friend), Barley (close friend), Airleap (friend), Runningbrook (friend)

Lizardflight’s Friend Group

Cloudpaw (brother), Cliffpaw (adopted sister), Cinderpelt (best friend, crush), Perchpaw (best RiverClan friend), Primrosepaw (friend, crush), Reedpaw (distant friend), Dawnpaw (distant friend), Woodpaw (distant friend), Robinpaw (considers him a friend), Pikepaw (NOT a friend)

Cliffpaw’s Friend Group

Cloudpaw (adopted brother), Lizardflight (adopted sister), Storm (adopted  brother), Night (adopted sister, not close), Oat (adopted brother, not close), Elderpaw (best friend), Fernpaw (friend)

Night’s Friend Group (not on tree)

Storm (brother, former best friend), Cloudpaw (brother, annoyance), Cliffpaw (adopted sister, more tolerable annoyance), Oat (brother), Scourge (mentor, close), Claw (mentor), Gremlin (close friend), Scraps (best friend, crush)

Lynxpaw’s Friend Group

Swiftpaw (brother), Longtail (half-brother), Cherryfur (half-sister, not close), Bramblekit (half-brother, not close), Tawnykit (half-sister, not close), Dustpelt (one-sided best friend, crush), Swampfur (close friend)

notes: Lynxpaw hangs out with Swiftpaw’s friends too, but would consider herself “not really their friend” (she’s a “fake friend” type basically. Swift, Dust, and Swamp are the only ones she cares about)

Swiftpaw’s Friend Group

Lynxpaw (sister), Longtail (half-brother, mentor), Cherryfur (half-sister), Bramblekit (half-brother),  Tawnykit (half-sister), Dustpelt (friend), Brightpaw (best friend),  Ashpaw (close friend), Tulipaw (friend), Thornpaw (distant friend), Fernpaw (distant friend), Swampfur (mate)

Dustpelt’s Friend Group

Ravenwing (brother, not close), Frostfur (sister, formerly close starting to drift), Brindleface (sister), Longtail (half-brother, best friend), Cherryfur (half-sister, not close), Lynxpaw (former best friend, still close friend), Swiftpaw (friend), Darkstripe (mentor, best friend), Ashpaw (apprentice), Fernpaw (friend, crush), Fireheart (growing respect)

Tawnykit’s (future) Friend Group

Bramblekit (brother), Swiftpaw (half-brother), Lynxpaw (half-sister, not close),  Mistlekit (best friend), Snowkit (close friend), Sorrelkit (friend), Sootkit (friend), Rainkit (friend), Elderpaw (distant friend), Fernpaw (distant friend), Lavenderpaw (close friend), Turtlepaw (close friend), Rowanpaw (friend, crush)

She will also possibly be friends with: Rumblepaw, Quietpaw, Cedarpaw, Nightpaw, Wildpaw, Snakekit, Smokekit, Aspenkit, Fangkit

Robinpaw’s Friend Group

Dawnpaw (sister), Woodpaw (brother), Primrosepaw (former close friend, now distant), Perchpaw (close friend, trying to make distant), Reedpaw (former friend, now one-sided rivalry/hatred), Pikepaw (best friend, but not overly close), Lizardflight (hates, crush), Featherkit (jealous), Stormkit (future friend)

notes: Dawnpaw and Woodpaw are a “trouble duo” that stick together at the hip, which often leaves Robinpaw feeling left out. Dawnpaw has a very “silly” personality (hopeless romantic in a tame way, enjoys life for what it is, jokester) and Woodpaw is more mellow/duller (not the brightest bulb but also enjoys life for what it is). Dawnpaw and Woodpaw are both still prone to prejudice (ex.: against Lizardflight), though, like Robinpaw

Badgerfang’s Friend Group

Blossomtail (best friend, mate), Swampfur (friend), Oakfur (distant friend), Applefur (former friend, deceased), Littlecloud (friend)

notes: Badgerfang is very out-going and so is his mate, Blossomtail. The two of them are friends with most every cat in the clan, especially those of the younger generation (ex.: their app-group like Wetfoot, current apprentices like Turtlepaw, or in other clans, like Ravenwing, who Badgerfang met once but thought was cool/nice, or Gorsepaw as well)

Swampfur’s Friend Group

Blossomtail (brother), Oakfur (brother), Applefur (sister, deceased), Badgerfang (friend, growing distant), Lynxpaw (close friend), Swiftpaw (mate)

notes: Swampfur has always had an interest in the cats outside of her clan and their lifestyles, and finds it easier/more interesting to be friends with cats not from her clan (including that of Tigerclaw’s followers). This has also caused her to grow less closer to her family/formerly close friends, due to the secrets she keeps.

Oakfur’s Friend Group (not on tree)

Blossomtail (brother), Swampfur (sister), Applefur (sister, close, deceased), Badgerfang (distant friend), Littlecloud (best friend), Wetfoot (friend), Brownclaw (friend)

notes: Oakfur had been very close with Applefur until she left the clan (then died). He has always been more distant from his family (ex.: Blossomtail, Swampfur, Dawncloud, Copperleaf - of which he is closest to Swampfur) and more willing to get to know Finchflight. He gets along better with the “bad crowd,” and often hangs with Tigerclaw’s followers

Other Friend Groups

WindClan’s Youngest Generation: Gorsepaw, Storkpaw, Quailpaw, Tawnykit II, Robinkit II, Rushkit 

(Storkpaw has friends outside the clans, also close to her mentor’s friend group)

ShadowClan’s Youngest Generation: Turtlepaw, Rubblepaw, Quietpaw, Rowanpaw, Lavenderpaw, Cedarpaw, Nightpaw (formerly Niko), Wildpaw (formerly Wild), Aspenkit, Fangkit, Smokekit, Snakekit

(Turtlepaw is friends with Badgerfang’s friend group; Rowanpaw is more of a loner while Lavenderpaw is welcoming to the newcomers/younger cats)

Bubbles’s Situation: She is growing closer to Tallpoppy over time, and would so far only consider her a friend/ally.

[tovaicas]

unreasonably annoyed that the existence of massive floating islands in the sea of clouds and churning mists has no real ecological effect on the land below, ie. the dravanian forelands

[todays-xkcd]

The secret fourth kind is 'we applied a standard theory to their map of every tree and got some suspicious results.'

Three Kinds of Research [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[A single panel with three separate drawings.]

[Caption above the drawings:] The Three Kinds of Scientific Research:

[Cueball is pointing to a scatter plot with a best-fit curve.] Cueball: We applied a standard theory to novel circumstances and got some surprising results.

[Miss Lenhart is pointing to a similar scatter plot.] Miss Lenhart: We applied a novel theory to standard circumstances and got some intriguing results.

[Hairy, with leaves in his messy hair and on his body, is pointing to another chart that is covered in random dots and unidentifiable shapes, while having both arms raised.] Hairy: Finally, a map of every tree.

[deception-united]

Online Writing Resources #2

Vocabulary:

Tip of My Tongue: I find this very helpful when I can't think of a specific word I'm looking for. Which is often.

WordHippo: As well as a thesaurus, this website also provides antonyms, definitions, rhymes, sentences that use a particular word, translations, pronunciations, and word forms.

OneLook: Find definitions, synonyms, antonyms, and related words. Allows you to search in specific categories.

YourDictionary: This website is a dictionary and thesaurus, and helps with grammar, vocabulary, and usage.

Information/Research:

Crime Reads: Covers crime and thriller movies, books, and TV shows. Great inspiration before writing a crime scene or story in this genre.

Havocscope: Black market information, including pricing, market value, and sources.

Climate Comparison: Compares the climates of two countries, or parts of the country, with each other.

Food Timeline: Centuries worth of information about food, and what people ate in different time periods.

Refseek: Information about literally anything. Provides links to other sources relevant to your search.

Perplexity AI: Uses information from the internet to answer any questions you have, summarises the key points, suggests relevant or similar searches, and links the sources used.

Planning/Worldbuilding:

One Stop for Writers: Literally everything a writer could need, all in one place: description thesaurus, character builder, story maps, scene maps, timelines, worldbuilding surveys, idea generators, templates, tutorials... all of it.

World Anvil: Provides worldbuilding templates and lets you create interactive maps, chronicles, timelines, whiteboards, family trees, charts, and interactive tables. May be a bit complicated to navigate at first, but the features are incredibly useful.

Inkarnate: This is a fantasy map maker where you can make maps for your world, regions, cities, interiors, or battles.

Miscellaneous:

750words: Helps build the habit of writing daily (about three pages). Fully private. It also tracks your progress and mindset while writing.

BetaBooks: Allows you to share your manuscript with your beta readers. You can see who is reading, how far they've read, and feedback.

Readable: Helps you to measure and improve the readability of your writing and make readers more engaged.

ZenPen: A minimalist writing page that blocks any distractions and helps improve your focus. You can make it full screen, invert the colours, and set a word count goal.

QueryTracker: Helps you find a literary agent for your book.

Lulu: Self-publish your book!

See my previous post with more:

Drop any other resources you like to use in the comments! Happy writing ❤

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[yandere-wishes]

જ⁀❤ ︎ Yandere! Orion Pax x Reader VS Yandere! Optimus Prime x Reader

જ⁀❤︎ Old Friend by Mitski (Sped Up) and John Wayne by CAS

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ Orion Pax ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion is sweet, saccharine, bright. His smile holds nothing but promises of hope and luster. Sometimes you forget to breathe when he stands too close. Sometimes you forget just how easily the sun burns.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ He's all too luminous for a mech all so small. And yet, between his soft rays and even softer words, you can't help but wince at the prick of his abnormal obsessions. An obsession with a buried past, an obsession with a truth too shrouded to see, an obsession with you of all things...

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You notice the radiance and desperation when he holds your hand. Metalic digits scraping yours as he walks you through the mines. You can almost see how badly he craves more. A desperate need to do more, understand more, to be more. You see it again when he's pulling Jazz from the rubble of a collapsing mine, see the too-blue flicker in his optics as he shoves rocks and debris.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion is too shy to kiss, too shy to ask for attention. He smiles and looks away, optics burning holes into the Energon veins. You wonder what he sees? If all the information he's rapaciously absorbed bleeds from his optics into the world around him. What does Orion see? You need to know.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You're always blinded by his light. Maybe it blinds him too. You feel a little too powerful for a second as you pull him into a kiss. Quixotic little robot trying to conquer the sun.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You taste Cybertron under his tongue when you kiss him. Idealistic, perfect, too foreign to be true. One too many puzzle pieces too lost and fractured to understand. When he places his servos on your shoulders, you swear you feel the warmth of Cybertron's core melting into you, burning and thawing all in an effort to love.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ He's so desperate to save the world, so sure he can do it. He's so tiny you think as he runs his hands over the hologram map. So small and innocent. For such a big cruel world.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion's obsessions only grow after his transformation. The T-cog only feeds his mania, feeds his flawless hope. His light is getting more blinding now. Burning like the sun, he's going to destroy himself you think as you reach out for him...

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion dies. The little rowdy hopeful mech you always knew is thrown into the world's core. You scream after him, cry after him. Back then it had never occurred to you that he may have been better off dead. It's Optimus that reemerges from Primus's domain, Optimus not Orion. The light has reached its nuclear apex. You can't even look directly at him. Optimus is an angelic blur of hope and luster.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You're starting to miss Orion...

・┆✦ ʚOptimus Primeɞ ✦ ┆���

ᯓ★ You still taste Cybertron when he kisses you. Sugary and sweet like weeping tree sap. He's seen the world end more times than he cares to admit. You've watched him rip his own spark out more times than you care to admit.

ᯓ★ He still bleeds light, radiance glowing from scratched blue metal as he walks along the overworld wreckage. Only now...now you cover your eyes, the light has become too smoldering, suffocating. Just like the precious prime himself.

ᯓ★ Optimus's spark beats in rhythm with yours. You feel his every pulse, feel the Martix's weight bleeding into you. Optimus likes to keep you close, too close. You feel his warmth until you can't breathe. Until his essence is pulsing around you keeping you grounded as it seeps into your frame. It's such a strange thing to feel a spark crack and bleed every single day. To feel as he annihilates himself over and over again, leaving you to writhe in agony.

ᯓ★ Optimus is always gentle, he treads you so tenderly it almost hurts. He feels like everything he touches starts to break. D-16, Cybertron and finally you. That's why his kisses are feather-light. His digits slide tenderly up and down your frame...funny he used to be bolder when he worked in the mines.

ᯓ★ Sometimes when Optimus kisses you, you can feel him feeding you information. Small balls of light exchanged between tongues all harbouring promises of a light-drenched Cybertron, of a victory parade. Of Optimus holding you so tightly in his arms for as long as he's online

[gwarden123]

There’s nothing better in the world than looking up a book you hated, especially a history/science-y book, and finding out that it has been received negatively by academics in the field. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks it’s fucking sensationalist!

[grasshoppergeography]

Forest cover map of Thailand.

High resolution tree cover map based on the analysis of satellite data, with specific sensors made to detect and recognize the reflection from vegetation.

Read more and buy prints here. Ko-fi | RedBubble | Etsy (digital prints)

[vegan-kaktus]

EA's leaves are kind of dull, and I personally think TNW's are too bright, so here's my spin on a leaf default + a new mod :-D

Leaf variety mod

There are 4 different leaf textures in the game files but only one is used. I talked with @shastakiss some years(?) ago and she mentioned an unfinished mod Neder started working on to make the leaf use different textures. Unfortunately, Neder couldn't get it to work. Shasta kindly sent me said mod and I handed it over to @lamare-sims last year who of course managed to fix it (thank you so much once again, you're a legend!!)

Note #1: worth mentioning, this mod will only affect leaves that spawn after you've installed the mod! the same goes for my mesh fix included in the default below. Note #2: if you already have this mod in you dl-folder, delete that file and use the one from this download if you're planning on using my default (otherwise my uv-map and texture edit will not work).

Defaults

Replaces all 4 leaf-textures with new, more colorful and less blocky textures. I also edited the "effect"-textures of single leaves (the ones falling from the trees). This default can be used without the mod mentioned above, but then only the "original" texture will be used - see second image.

The leaves that spawns under the tree (the one sims can't rake), it was impossible to make it look good with any of the four textures, so I re-mapped it and gave it it's own texture (256x256px). There's also an optional default for the rake included, I edited a tiny error in the mesh and gave it a texture makeover. I made a separate LOD90-default for the leafpile (meaning: the mesh in neighborhood view) and instead of replacing the textures I repo'd them, meaning that the LOD90 default works with any leaf texture default you might use (it will only be showing one texture in neighborhood view).

Texture sizes are all the same as EA's:

Leaves: 512x512px x4 (my default +1: 256x256px)

Rake: 128x256px

Leaf effects: 32x32px x3

Edited leaf-related cc

I edited Sophie-David's leaf pile pet bed (the mesh) and repo'd it to leafpile_txtr, meaning the mesh will now pick up my default (or any other default you might have for leafpile_txtr, and if none - EA's original texture). The mesh now needs seasons + pets, since it's repo'd. Their recolors are not included, so be sure to download them from the link above if you want them and replace their mesh with mine!

I also edited Shakeshaft's leaf cover mesh (warning T$R) , I repo'd it to one of the leaf textures and made recolors - also repo'd - to the rest of the textures. This mesh and recs now need seasons, this also means that the mesh and recolors* can be used without my default.

*with the exception of rc4, which is repo'd to my custom leaf texture, found in my leaf default.

Recommended mod

I recommend simler90's Gardening Rake Leaf Pile Mod or jfade's leaf pile fix (I have no idea what the difference between those two mods are, they edit the same thing so choose one of them).

Nothing in this download is dependent on each other* so feel free to pick and choose what you want :-) remember you can only have one default for the leaves, meaning that if you have any other default (1, 2, 3, 4) or Shakeshaft's/Sophie-David's original meshes, make sure you remove them before installing my files. Everything has been compressed to reduce file size, as usual. Do let me know if I messed up anywhere!

*with the exception of rc4, see above.

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MTS

Credits: Neder, @lamare-sims (many many thanks!!), @shastakiss, Sophie-David, Shakeshaft and lasty EA.

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

[lepospondyl]

glowworm cave stratum

If atlus won’t give us EOVI then we have to make it ourselves. In the rbs put your ideas for plots, new classes, labyrinth concepts, and more!! Have fun or smth idk

[alexlwrites]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Alpha! Hyung line x Omega! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty."

OR  

The one where you find your fated alphas, but they can't find you.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, ABO, Soulmate AUs.

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: Should I be writing another fanfic when I have not finished a single one of my works? No. Does my brain understand that? Also no.

Anyway enjoy, like and subscribe and ignore any mistakes as english is not my first language and i dont proof read anything in my life.

P.S: This is heavely inspired by the book Pack Darling, so shoutout to that duology give it a read, yall!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This is a 18+ work! Minors, please do not interact. Also, there will be mentions of violence and abuse.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi if you enjoy my work <3)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

You didn’t know how long you had been running, nor how far you’d gotten. The skies had darkened and then lightened again since the moment of your escape and you assumed you had a few more hours before your absence was noticed, but you didn’t have it in yourself to stop, steps only briefly faltering from exhaustion but still fueled by fear.

You had to keep going. No amount of distance was enough between you and what you had left behind.

Still, there was only so much your body could take in its malnourished state and after a while your legs slowed down on their own, feet too hurt to continue carrying your weight. Yet you stumbled forward through unknown woods, watching trees and shrubbery blurr past you as you dragged yourself towards what you hoped was west - towards the coast.

You had never left the walls that surrounded your family’s home, but had seen the maps that covered the walls of your father’s study enough to remember the outlines of the charted land and the sprawling expanse of the coastal city near the territory you lived - the closest and the only one you could get on foot, even if you were unsure what your next step would be once you got there.

Adamas - the capital of diamonds - laid hopefully ahead of you, filled to the brim with marine vessels and royal ships that you could maybe sneak in and let yourself be carried far away from the claws of your family, running until you found somewhere quiet and reclusive where you could spend your days alone and free from your own status and its implications.

But that dream seemed further and further away as your body shivered and withered, unable to continue your journey, faltering until you gave out and found yourself lying atop a pile of leaves on the cold forest floor.

You sighed, a tortured breath escaping your exhausted lungs. Maybe it was the best you’d get - not the solitary cottage you yearned for, but the swift death by the hands of nature. Still an escape, death. Still freedom from that was always expected of you, from the destiny that awaited.

You closed your eyes and waited, giving up on the weight of consciousness. Any moment now, you thought. It would all be over. As the edges of your mind started to become hazy, your tired lungs pulled one more labored breath and with it a scent that reached out to the deepest parts of your soul with a calming, friendly touch and released the tension from your body.

This is heaven, you thought, and allowed yourself to sleep.

***

There was an unconscious omega in his lands and King Namjoon was unsure on what to do.  

Omegas were rare within the wolf genes - they were the smallest of the packs, the caregivers and kindest diplomats, made to become nursing figures within each family dynamic and bring balance to the usually violent and short fused nature of alphas, despite their positions as providers and leaders. But omegas, gentle and fragile omegas, were far and few between and from a very young age Namjoon had been taught to treat them with the utmost care. 

With that being said, Namjoon was also taught to be wary of trespassers and this tiny, wounded omega was somehow within his borders. 

How did you get there, he wondered. There were no roads leading to the back of the castle where he usually strolled through in the early mornings, only thick woods that would be almost a day on foot before you got to any sort of path.

In the end, his instincts spoke louder, dynamics drilled into his brain and pulling him towards the tattered frame on the ground. With all the kindness he could muster from his large frame, he gathered your body in his arms, gently cradling your form.

As he walked, he let his eyes access you: small, disconcertingly thin, with hollow cheeks and dark circles marring your lovely soft features. You had no mating mark on your neck and no distinguishable scent - and that was what confused him the most.

When an omega reaches maturity, their scent would evolve into something unique that would eventually be used to attract a mate and potentially even identify a fated scent match - a partner made by the heavens, your perfect half.

But despite looking past the age of maturity, you smelled clean, neutral with just a hint of sweetness to classify you as an omega.

What on earth could have happened to you, he wondered, worriedly scanning your bruised body and jutting bones.

And what on earth would he do with you?

***

Sometimes Hoseok couldn’t understand his leader.

He watched as Namjoon paced up and down his office, heavy steps echoing around as he stomped in contemplation.

From the day they met, decades ago, when they were both babbling toddlers, Hoseok had accepted  the younger man as pack. Both sons of monarchs, born in allied families, they were thrown together in royal play pens as soon as they could hold the weight of their own heads.

Hoseok always considered it a privilege to watch his brother in arms grow into his  position - a natural born leader, a king. And Hoseok never once doubted his ability to rule fairly and successfully. 

But every so often he couldn’t help but question his friend’s common sense.

“Namjoon” he called to his still restless friend “You cannot possibly be considering throwing the omega in the dungeons?”

“She is technically trespassing” his friend argued stubbornly.

“She’s an omega!”

His own mother being a rare omega, some rules had been drilled very early into Hoseok’s young mind: omegas are to be treasured, his father had said, it is your job as an alpha to protect them should you be blessed enough to find one.

He hadn’t actually seen the omega. He had barely woken up when a maid ushered him to the king’s office where Namjoon had asked for his council while burning a hole through the carpet. 

“She could be dangerous. Some sort of trap, maybe?”

No threat could scare Hoseok more than the idea of his father finding out he had allowed some poor omega to be thrown into their underground cells and so he pleaded “Put her in one of the guest rooms and set my guards in the exits. When she wakes up, I’ll interrogate her myself.”

Namjoon considered the offer for a few seconds, examining the face of the captain of his guard and one of his closest friends. At last, he nodded and settled down in a nearby chair, calling a guard to give the order to move you from the infirmary to the guest aisle of his castle as soon as possible.

Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, Hoseok asked his shaky leader after a few seconds of silence “What is she like?”

There was a gleam in Namjoon’s eyes Hoseok couldn’t explain and doubted his king could either “Small,” he let out quietly “black and blue all over, all skin and bones like she hadn’t seen a plate of food in days”. Hoseok closed his fists on an impulse and had to force his fingers to relax. Could he blame this sort of reaction on his instincts? 

He thought Namjoon wouldn’t say anything else, but after a few more seconds of silence his king continued “Pretty” he said softly at last, almost like an afterthought.

Hoseok couldn’t help himself, having never met another omega besides his own mother, and asked “And… The scent?”

“Clean.”

Hoseok blinked “She’s a child?”

“No. Full grown. Can’t be more than a couple years younger than us.”

That’s odd, Hoseok thought. From what he was taught, a healthy adult omega should have developed a signature scent - like his mom, with her easily recognizable roses and clear meadows.

Right as he was about to ask to see you, his fascination with the idea of a scentless omega getting the best of him, a maid rushed into the room to announce your awakening.

Both men rushed out of the room, elbowing each other to leave first through the door, impatient to get to where you laid, barely avoiding toppling the poor maid on their way.

The infirmary was a wide room with tall ceilings and large windows that let in the morning light from most angles. That same light illuminated your figure as they walked in, eyes drawn to the only bed occupied in the room.

Oh. You were in fact pretty, Hoseok concluded, watching you blink owlishly at the sunlight invading the space. You had a soft looking kind of beauty that was barely overshadowed by your debilitated state that caused a stirring of protection in both alphas. Who could’ve left you like that, he wondered, and how quickly could he wrap his hands around their necks and twist…

“You’re awake” Namjoon pointed out, catching your attention.

That seemed to be the wrong course of action. When your eyes landed on where the men stood by the door, they widened to the size of saucers. Something about their presence sent you scrambling out of your bed, falling onto the ground with a dull thud as you rushed to put some space between yourself and the imposing males.

“Hey, hey, hey” Hoseok raised his hands, palms facing forward to indicate his intention to cause no harm, your terrified expression keeping him far “Be careful, little lady.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept cowering further and further away until your back hit a wall and you winced in pain.

“Stand up and get back to your bed” Namjoon commanded roughly and Hoseok could see your fighting against the urge to submit to the alpha’s orders, causing him to elbow his friend “Please” he added “You are hurt and weak and shouldn’t be out of bed’ he continued in a much gentler tone. 

Slowly, you moved yourself back to the mattress, shuffling to hide under the blankets, bringing them over your nose and leaving only your panicked eyes visible.

The last thing Hoseok wanted at that moment was to interrogate you when you were so clearly distressed, body shaking under your burrow. But he had duties to uphold and your presence raised questions that just staring at your disarmingly cute face wouldn’t answer.

“What’s your name, little lady?” he asked.

You mumbled your name so quietly he almost didn’t catch it, the sound stifled by the fabric covering your lips. When he did hear it, he did not recognize it.

“How did you manage to get into the castle’s grounds?”

You gulped. “The castle?” you repeated in a whisper. 

“Do you know where you are?” Namjoon asked and you shook your head fearfully “Do you know who we are?”

Sinking deeper into the safety of your blankets, you shook your head once more.

“I’m Jung Hoseok, head of the royal guard” and just when Hoseok thought your eyes couldn’t get any wider, they did, panic seeping further into your gaze “And this is Kim Namjoon” the words had your face paling until devoid of any color, yet he continued “the King of Adamas.”

Both men watched your face for a reaction, seeing you gape in shock, eyes rolling back to your skull as you promptly passed out.

***

You woke up to a churning stomach and a pounding headache, both hunger symptoms that you were very familiar with. How many days had it been since you last ate? You couldn’t tell, the night sky outside the windows of the empty room signaling the end of another day. And at that moment, your starvation was the least of your problems. 

The king - the fucking king - was your mate. And so was the head of his guard. 

When you first opened your eyes to sunlit room, regaining consciousness after Gods knew how long, their scent hit you like a brick to the face, sending you flying off the bed on the brink of a panic attack.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. You were so close!

You looked for their reaction, trying to gauge if they were feeling what you were - this life changing pull in your core, this prickling feeling underneath your skin, fingers twitching at your side to reach for your alphas.

But there was nothing, not a flick of recognition, only wariness and mild concern.

These were not your alphas - these were your king and his most trusted guard. And you were just an omega on the run, worth only the money you could be sold for.

You remembered the first offer your father had received once the neighboring towns heard about his siring of an omega. Up until then your father had never seen much value in your existence. Before you, he had only had alpha boys - three, to be exact - older, stronger and meaner than you, built for leadership roles and bringing his legacy to another level.

But you? What use did he have for small, needy, whimpering you? None, he had told you many times over. Your father had never been afraid to remind you of your place in the household: the burden.

Until you became the pot of gold.

You weren’t sure how, but someway or another the news of your existence reached the next town and then the next town over, and so forth until your father was reminded that even though he saw no value in housing an omega, the rest of the world did. 

5 million. That was the first offer he received, when you were only fourteen.

And for a moment you believed that could be your way out of your father’s cruel claws - get yourself a husband far away and live happily ever after, pampered and taken care of by some alpha knight.

But those daydreams died soon enough when you learned from the maids what happened to sold omegas.

Imprisoned. Trapped. Breeded. Discarded. Rinse. Repeat.

There was an audible crack in your heart, a rift in the fragile rivulet of hope you had for a future of better days. Since then, the only thing you could hope for was an escape. You daydreamed of far away lands and open fields with no civilization for miles, only an ivy covered cottage for you to hide away from the world.

Alas, that dream seemed further and further away as you got older. You knew your father was just waiting for you to present, hoping that whatever scent you developed would up the price with its enticement and your late blooming was a constant reason for his frustration. Your development was the only thing between you and your sale to the highest bidder.

And if you had any say in it, you would never present. In order to do so, your body needed to be healthy - and you just never were.

Starvation, overexhaustion and overworked muscles had been your saviors since you realized they could delay your maturity. So from the day you turned 16 - about the age omegas started presenting - you began restricting your meals to about one every two days. You ran around the property’s grounds until your feet screamed in agony and your knees gave out. Your sleep schedule was messy and insufficient and so your body remained fragile and unchanged.

And that worked up until your 22nd birthday when your father got tired of waiting.

And so you ran, climbing on the back of a supply carriage that you had visited one day and letting it carry you as far as it could. And then you sprinted, like you had been doing for years.

And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty. You were, as your father always pointed out, too small, too weak and too soft to carry on a legacy, a kingdom. 

You had to get out before your ticking bomb of a body turned against you and distanced you once more from your peaceful cottage dream.

You just needed to figure out how.

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

[encasedinobsidian]

smalltown shit

Charlie Swan x fem!reader [explicit, 18+]

Summary: "You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asks, and it isn’t with a scowl but it’s something of the sort, a narrowing of his eyes and a dryness to his voice. It’s no better than a scowl anyway, his skepticism like a concrete wall between the two of you under the dim lights of the bar where Charlie is stuck with you, just where you want him. Warnings: 3.4k ish words. Porn with minimal plot, implied age gap, unprotected PIV, oral sex, truck sex, alcohol, pining, no use of y/n. This was written a bit fast lmfao A/N: This is my first ever Charlie Swan fic! It started as a joke (just like they all do), but I thought it might be fun to do something different. In case you enjoy my writing and want to see more, here are links to my ao3 and to a heavily Charlie inspired Narcos fanfic I wrote recently :)

Wearing a man down takes a while. It takes patience, a steady effort, bit by bit, like the thick clouds covering the sky above the evergreens only letting down a single drop of rain at a time. Charlie doesn’t notice them at first — the little droplets of water he’s too used to from living in Forks, rain that might let up for a little while in July but comes back every time, like something he can count on if nothing else in this world.

They land on his jacket, on his badges, on his nametag — C. Swan in yellow lettering — on the black strands of his hair. One by one, they seep in, quickly forgotten, followed by more until the windshield wipers on his police cruiser push away the onslaught of rain that’s inevitable at this time of year, on a foggy, hazy October evening when the headlights of the car light the way to his house, and he’s already drenched when he makes his way inside and changes out of his uniform.

They land on the thick flannel of a jacket that always hangs in his hallway, the house empty when he locks the door behind him and runs to his truck. The rain gets on his jeans, on his hair, it gets on the Mariners sweater underneath his jacket. The lettering across his chest reveals itself when he takes off the flannel and hangs it over the back of the chair he sits down on, nodding towards his friend at the bar. 

His eyes scan the room from corner to corner, lazily combing through the other patrons of the bar until he spots you and you lock eyes. And you’re frozen, your friends’ voices becoming a buzzing murmur next to you as you try not to move, try not to startle the man whose attention you’ve pathetically yearned for, for so long, longer than you’ll ever admit to the girls at your table, or even to yourself. 

You have it now, for a moment that stretches like a ring in your ear, long enough for your lips to part, for you to swallow tightly around the fizzy, sweet sip in your mouth, to lick the drop that slides down your bottom lip. His gaze is as intense as it is dark, piercing through the crowd of people in a small bar in a place that nobody can place on a map, where you think it must just be a hallucination or that he’s looking at someone behind you. 

But behind you is a window, and behind the window is nothing but a cover of trees, and his eyes flash open for a split second before they narrow, then trace down, only a quick glance at your torso before they slide back up. He clears his throat, swallows, and averts his eyes, attention caught by the beer set down in front of him. He nods and says something, then takes a sip, a little hastily, inhaling deeply before he leans back. 

And then, there is nothing to do but to look and to wait. 

Nothing to do but wait until he begins to feel those drops of attention, of glances and gazes from your end of the room. He’s not chief Swan under this roof — he’s Charlie, he’s a man in his early forties, he’s a single dad whose daughter came to stay with him recently. He’s a man with dark eyes and dark eyebrows, with a thick mustache and a gorgeous smile you know he hides. Maybe it’s rude to spy, but you’ve had no other real option — a chronically good girl from the start, never acknowledged by any of the Forks PD officers, scurrying away from house parties at the first flash of a blue light, out through the yard and home to your parents’ house. 

You haven’t gotten any attention from him since returning to your hometown either, coming back after nearly a decade away, still a goody two shoes through and through who doesn’t leave the house after darkness settles in the streets. So all you have is random encounters, one-sided as they’ve all been, random sightings in bars and across the street, at a restaurant next to his daughter. And he’s always quiet, always observing his environment without interaction. 

Until now, when it all seems to shatter in an instant, and his usual, calm demeanor is replaced by something flustered, maybe even nervous if you dare to think so. He takes to laughter a little too quickly, he smiles too much, nods along too enthusiastically when Billy speaks to him on his left.  

You can’t hear anything, regretfully — the rain drums on the window beside you and slides down to obscure the view of the forest that the bar is situated on the outskirts of. Your friends talk about something, something about nothing about guys or work or God knows what it is this time. Your elbows rest on the table and the top of a plastic straw sits between your lips as you slowly sip your drink. 

Sometimes he looks over, following the same routine every time as the hour passes; a lull in the conversation, a polite smile, his eyes sliding down to the table, a glance up, and then his head turning slightly, eyes shifting in your direction until they meet yours and he quickly dodges the attention, straightening his back and clearing his throat. 

Once, and only once, he lingers. 

He lets his eyes narrow, focusing on you while you pretend to look away. And he shouldn’t fall for little tricks like this, silly little girl tricks meant to dupe men much younger and dumber than himself, but he’s only a man, isn’t he? 

So it shouldn’t be surprising that, when his friends excuse themselves to go outside for a smoke or to the bar for another round, he leans back and remains seated. And there is no other time but the present, so without excusing yourself, you suck down the rest of your drink, let the bottom of the glass slam against the tabletop, stand up and walk over to him. 

You take a seat across from him and hold out your hand, your name the first thing out of your mouth and a firm handshake given when he reaches out. 

“Charlie,” he says, and the nervousness you saw earlier must be nothing but an illusion. 

“Charlie,” you repeat, a little softer and a little sweeter, “How’s your night going?” 

“It’s alright.” God, he’s dry. If you were drunk, you’d make a joke about how wet it makes you. “And yours?” he asks. 

“Pretty good. Better now.” 

He breathes a laugh and looks around, presumably trying to figure out where you came from, but there are no answers in a bar full of people looking the other way. 

“Haven’t seen you around,” he says, “Are you from out of town?” 

“Nope, from here. I was gone for, say, eight years getting my degrees, though.”

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow, and you indulge him for a little while, answering questions you can’t tell if he’s asking as a father or a man, questions that come from the same place anyway, things he’d ask a young lady as you bet he’d say, to make small talk when he’s forced to. 

It’s not very interesting, but you can’t scare him off either, can’t plop down into his lap and touch his hair and beg for it. It’s a slow process with a man like him, one that takes patience, and little droplets of attention, a splash of flirting here and there, every question back and forth, about school and work and yada yada smalltown shit. It’s like the raindrops seeping into the fabric of his jacket, unnoticeable until it reaches his skin and he’s soaked, a humidity that clings to him, and fog he disappears in. 

You glance up at the door and see his friends at a different table. 

Time ticks by, and Charlie is dry as ever, regardless of how pathetically you try to squeeze your chest together and lean onto the table between you, regardless of how you try to nudge him with the glossy, heeled boot on your foot. He doesn’t budge, he might offer you a smile in response to a fun story but it’s not getting you anywhere. 

It’s time to be aggressive, and when there’s a lull between you, when the bar is still buzzing with chit chat and the lights are still low, you pounce. 

“Are you seeing anyone these days?” you ask. 

The man looks like he wants to laugh. “Uh—” he clears his throat, “No, not right now.”

“Interesting,” you purr, tilting your head to the side and flashing him a smile. “Best news I’ve gotten all day.”

He huffs. “You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asks, and it isn’t with a scowl but it’s something of the sort, a narrowing of his eyes and a dryness to his voice. It’s no better than a scowl anyway, his skepticism like a concrete wall between the two of you under the dim lights of the bar, and Charlie is stuck with you, just where you want him. 

So you shrug one shoulder and smile, pushing your lips together before they separate, and his eyes are on them so fast that it’s not even funny. “I wouldn’t say so,” you say as you shake your head. 

He almost seems humored, huffing a laugh as he looks around the room and shakes his head. “What about your friends?” he asks, “They don’t miss ya?” 

“Probably not,” you whisper, scrunching your nose at him. “Does it look like they do?” 

You nod towards the table by the windows and his eyes follow, a quick look over at a group of girls all leaning in towards each other in conversation. 

“Guess not,” he says, in the same flat tone of voice. 

He clears his throat again, and his rejection is imminent, you think, so you try again, one last time. 

“You’re very handsome, Charlie.” Your chin rests on your knuckles, head tilted, eyes sweeping over his face like you have nothing to lose, and he might be able to hide his thoughts, but he can’t hide his fluster. 

“Thanks,” he mutters and averts his eyes, looking at nothing in the corner of the room. “You’re not, uh—” He looks up and spins his mostly-empty glass around, “Not too bad yourself.” 

It’s a little bit like pulling teeth. 

“Thank you,” you say, then chew on the inside of your cheek while you try to think up a way to get him out of where he’s stuck, unwilling to make a move. “Could you— could you give me a ride home?”

He rolls his eyes and nods, downing the last of his beer, and he absolutely thinks he has you figured out. His expression seems to default to a scowl, and it’s only then that you realize how cheerful he looked a moment ago. “Alright,” he groans, then mutters something under his breath while he grabs his jacket. “Let’s go.” 

“Thank you, officer,” you beam, jumping up and following him through the bar, heading towards the exit. 

He opens the door and lifts up his jacket to hold it above you, shielding you from the onslaught of rain pouring down when you step away from the awning outside the bar. Golden light shines out from the stained glass window in the door, bathing him in it as he waits for you to take the step you don’t take. 

“I don’t actually need a ride home,” you admit shyly, looking up at him, “I’m just messing with you.” 

He blinks a few times and his eyes shift around as he breathes. “Alright, why did you get me out here then?” 

A laugh breaks out of you as you ask, “It’s not obvious?”

His brows pull together and he begins to shake his head when you roll your eyes, grab the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss. And it could be a mistake, but it doesn’t quite feel like it when his hand finds your hip and he pulls you a little closer, reciprocating the kiss and carefully giving you his tongue. 

He pulls back quickly, looking side to side, “Let’s—” 

“Your truck?”

“Sure, yeah,” he mumbles, and you hurry towards the only red vehicle at the far end of the lot, with Charlie on your heels and the rain beating down on his jacket above you, on his hair and his shoulders, soaking him by the time he steps in front of you and pulls open the passenger door. 

He barely gets inside before you grab the collar of his sweater and pull him in, spit smearing and groans swallowed as you climb onto his lap. He’s hard already, you can feel the thick of his zipper pushing up between your legs, before he even gets his hands on the bunched up fabric of your skirt piled onto your hips, kissing you again. And he lets his palms slide down over it, onto your ass, giving you a tentative squeeze with firm hands, while he grows thicker, harder, little grunts slipping out of him when you roll your hips over that firm bulk, every pass over it smearing wetness into your panties.

Until it’s too much, and the truck is too hot, too humid. You throw off your jacket, toss it into the passenger seat and pull away from him, climbing back into your seat, only on your knees, and begin to work at his belt.

You feel a hand at your shoulder, pushing gently. “You don’t—” he inhales deeply as he shakes his head, “You don’t have to do—” 

Your hands pause at the top of his pants and you peer up at him with a pout. “But I want to,” you say, “Can I?” 

His head hits the back of his seat with a sigh, his eyes closing as he breathes in again and nods. “Yeah,” he whispers, “Yeah.”

He helps you with his belt then, undoing it with unsteady hands and lifting his hips when you pull the bunch of his pants and boxers down to reveal his cock, to see the thick length of it, the hair at his base and below his navel. You take it into your hand before he has the chance to say much of anything, and you feel his hand at the back of your neck, brushing your hair away — nothing obstructing his view as you drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft, all the way up to the tip where a bead of precome spills onto your lips. 

He groans then, pushes down the top of his pants a little more and lets you take him into your mouth, his cockhead sliding into the back of your throat while he curses under his breath. Your spit smears over his crown and runs down his length, into the curve of your hand to let you stroke him, and every lick, every pull of your lips, makes him sigh and groan, makes more of his precome seep out onto your tongue for you to taste it, for you to swallow and let the soft wet of your mouth massage him. 

And you think it must have been a while, because you suck and stroke his cock slowly for only a little while before he begins to mumble. “I’m getting, uh— I’m pretty close,” he says, and you pull off of him, still slipping your hand up and down his wet cock while you raise up and kiss the side of his neck. 

He groans then too, grimacing a little. 

“You want to fuck me, Charlie?” you purr, “You want me to ride you?”

He huffs a laugh like he’s surprised. “I don’t have any condoms on me,” he says, his voice flat and dry as it ever was, but a little deeper, raspier, rougher-edged. 

“You could just pull out?” you suggest, licking a stripe up his neck just to feel the goosebumps chasing your tongue on his skin, “I could just swallow it instead.” 

“Jesus,” he breathes, “Yeah... Alright.” 

You pull off one boot and begin to yank at the waistband of your leggings, but he pats his thigh and pulls you back onto his lap. 

“Let me,” he says, pushing his thumb under the soft fabric and the strap of your panties, pulling them down over your leg, only bothering with one and not the other, while the rain hammers down on the windshield and it’s silent for a moment, his hands steady and his gaze focused. His cock is still hard too, heavy as it lays against his stomach. 

You stabilize above him, hovering over where he grabs the root of himself and glides his tip through your folds until he reaches your opening. 

“Down,” he says, and you do as he tells you to, sinking onto his cock with a deep breath, pressing your lips to his so that your sigh is shared, letting the whole thing split you open, taking more and more until your hips are flush with his and he grunts, his cock pulses, you lean back and carefully lift up, then roll back down, slowly riding him, half kissing, half panting into him. 

It’s all slow, deep, squeezing around him, letting him slide out until only his tip stays within, and then taking him back inside and he pushes into your cervix, sure to leave you sore tomorrow. Everything is wet between you, smeared warm and sticky over your inner thighs, his groin, dripping down his shaft and over his balls, soaking into the top of his jeans. 

His cock pushes into the most sensitive, soft part inside of you, over and over, rubbing over it while you reach down to massage your clit, still swapping spit like you’re teenagers and he doesn’t have a decade on you. He twitches inside when you moan for him, groans low and rough when you begin to come and you ride him a little harder, faster.

He grabs your ass, lifts you just enough to get leverage, and starts to fuck you, pushing his face into the side of your neck and grunting into your skin, hot and sweaty at the roots of his hair when your run your fingers through it, trying to find something to hold onto, to stabilize when he hits just the right spot and you feel seconds away from unraveling. And the truck must be shaking, the sounds of your moans are only stifled by the sound of the rain tapping on the roof and sliding down the windows, the dark surroundings of a wet parking lot, the two of you tucked away at the very back while you feel every inch of him filling you, rubbing you, making you come once more. 

Until he grunts a little louder, until he pants, “Fuck, I’m about to come—”

You let your orgasm wane with a few slow rolls, savoring them, so few drags of his length inside that you can count them on one hand, and you lift off, climb over on shaking legs, sticking your bare ass up towards the foggy window and slip his wet cock into your mouth. A firm hand around his base, your tongue licking over his head, you suck him until his breath stutters and he releases hot spurts of come that you swallow while you stroke and tease and take every drop he gives you. 

He’s quiet after that, a careful hand on your back while you lick up the last smears of his orgasm and lay your cheek on his thigh, looking up at him. 

“Did you like it?” you ask. 

“Of course I liked it. Did you like it?” 

“Yeah.” 

He looks out of the window, his cock softening against him while he runs a hand over your hair. “Let me take you to dinner or something,” he says after a minute, “Make me feel less… I don’t know, sleazy?” 

You bite your lip and smile. "Will you drive me home after?”

He rolls his eyes and takes in a deep breath, catching your gaze with a smirk on his lips and something a little softer in his expression. "I was gonna do that anyway."

[mysumeow]

. . . ꒰ TEMPTING

Warnings: afab body and breasts, reader is referred to with you/your only. PIV unprotected sex, edging, prone bone position, thigh job, pwp (plot what plot). This is sort of a continuation of another smut i posted but you can read this without reading the first one.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: uhg. lilia. i love him. i love general lilia. thats it that all i have to say.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ 🌷 . . KOFI | TWST MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS

Whenever a window of opportunity to rest presents itself, you’ll sit on the nearest tree stump or log available, idly watching what happens around you.

You see soldiers' training, sparring, fixing tents, and the general dividing tasks among his subordinates with a stern voice. Lilia’s an example of what being a leader means—not limiting himself to delegating labor, but also lending a hand.

He grabbed the handle of his lithic weapon as he sparred with one soldier; with practiced ease, Lilia unarmed the soldier. The general reprimanded the other fae for losing his footing over a basic movement.

Lilia plans tactics for ambushes furtively, aiming to attack the enemy’s weakness first. Deft and sharp.

Soon, you’d understand that the general isn’t used to docility of any kind. Neither giving nor receiving. A war general shouldn’t allow a margin of error, steps should be given with precision and intent on subduing your adversary.

You recalled your first intimate night with Lilia. You remembered the sensation of him holding back, and even then, he still did a number on your body. You’ve spent enough time with the fae to know that the moment you try to point out any attempt at tenderness on his part, he would deny it.

You couldn’t help but find it endearing. And your curiosity increased the more you wondered about to what extent you could tease him and make him lose his constraints. Lilia’s libido was pretty responsive to what you did or said, so it wouldn’t be difficult to push him in that direction.

The moment the soldiers were already in their tents, you sneaked into the general’s.

“I’m heading to the lake to wash off the dirt,” you said as you entered the tent. You found your fae writing something down on the map splayed across the table.

Lilia acknowledged you with a hum.

You sighed. “I don’t wanna go alone. The woods become frightening the moment there’s no more sunlight, you know.”

Lilia dropped the pencil and looked at you. “A little dirt on your body’s not going to kill you,” he teased.

“You know I can’t sleep like that. I sweated a lot today, too. Baur made me accompany that expedition group to the mountain’s skirt in the morning,” you complained. “I promise it won’t be long.”

You sensed that he was about to give up.

“And someone could sneak up on me and see me naked.”

That was enough argument for the fae to stand up from his chair and rush to tag along with you.

This was your favorite moment of the day, when you could not just finally go to bed but also freshen up with clean water. Even if the temperature might be a bit chilly during the night, the fresh water was welcomed to clean you up from the dirt and sweat that clinged to your skin.

“The water feels nice,” You hummed as you dipped your toes into it. Lilia was more concerned about making sure no one was near, though, his ears flicked at the slightest suspicious sound.

You began undressing in front of him, as you have done many times before. Even with your back turned towards him, you could feel his stare roaming around your flesh.

You carefully entered into the serene lake until the water covered your chest.

“Lilia,” You called out to him again. His gaze returned to you. “Why don’t you join? You look like you need this, too.”

“You said you wouldn’t take long. I still have work to finish.” He crossed his arms, gripping his lithic.

“Just this once,” You almost pouted. “You’ve been busy these past few days. I miss you already. I’ll even help you wash your back.”

You held Lilia’s stare before he, for the second time today, humored you. Soon, his clothes were untidily placed next to yours.

Beaming with joy, you hugged Lilia the instant he was within reach.

“General, your hair’s getting wet,” You hurried to help him fix his hairstyle in a way that the inconvenience would be resolved. “There. All done.”

Lilia grumbled about something meaningless as he allowed you to scrub his back, washing off both dirt and dried blood and uncovering new lacerations he had gained from recent ambushes. You traced them with your fingers, leaning closer to kiss those scars.

You couldn’t see Lilia’s expression, but you did sense his body’s temperature going up.

“Mm, you’re so warm,” You relished the warmth from the fae’s body. Your tits pressed flush against his back, and your hands roamed around his front—feather-like touches teasing his chest and abdomen. You were aware that your words and actions were leading in a certain direction, so before Lilia beat you to it and followed through with it, you pulled away from him. “It’s getting chilly, though. Let’s head back already.”

In the blink of an eye, Lilia gripped your wrist and pulled you towards his chest. Your backside making contact with something hard and hot, nudging in between your thighs.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Hm? I thought the general had work to finish,” You feigned innocence.

“That can wait. Right now, I need to have you.”

“But we’re in a lake! Someone could walk in on us. Let’s head back to the tent,” Ignoring the evident ache in your body, you did your best to deter him. For fun. To test how far you could make him wait. If not for your determination to uncover the fae’s strength, you would’ve conceded.

Under the promise, the general’s complaint had died for the moment.

Once in the tent, you were preparing to go to sleep, until a sudden force pinned you against the bed. A small squeak left you, and the familiar arms squeezing your waist made you understand that your little teasing reaped an interesting reaction from him.

“Lilia—” You tried to gain some balance by trying to prop your torso up with your hands, but the general immobilized you by further pinning your legs against the mattress with his.

“You little tease, you think I wouldn’t notice what you were trying to do?” He brushed away the hair covering your nape to nip at the sensitive skin there. “If you wanted me to rough your body up, you should’ve just asked for it,”

This was what you wanted, although you didn’t imagine it would be this soon. If this little teasing got you to this point, you couldn’t imagine how he would be if you had done more...

One hand slipped under your underwear while his other hand covered your mouth in time before a moan escaped you. With his index and middle fingers, he began rubbing your clit in circular motions.

“I’ve been treating you with so much leniency you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with,” His breath against your ear made you shiver, and a renewed sense of pleasure overtook your body. “I’ll have to remind you,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You managed to whisper, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible but failing with how he played with your sex. Lilia really did know you inside out.

“You were already wet when I slid my hand under your clothes. Don’t try to act coy now,” He seemed to be amused, above all.

You clutched the sheets as you lost yourself in pleasure, your head falling against the pillow and using it to muffle your voice. You barely register Lilia pulling your pajama pants down and off your legs.

The fae grew eager, having a sliver of enough composure left to discard your underwear, but your uncoordinated and trembling body made the task more complicated than needed. Instead, he pushed it to the side, his fingers not once faltering in stimulating you.

A muffled whimper of his name. Not even a second later, Lilia stopped his movements.

“Noo, what’re you doing,” You protested, not expecting him to halt. “I was about to…”

“Aw, you were about to. What a pity,” He mocked you, momentarily freeing your body from his antsy hands to remove his own garments. Once done, you felt him spread your slicked pussy lips with his thumbs, eyeing you up with a satisfied, complacent grin. “You like being treated like this. You have no salvation, do you?”

Despite not being able to deny it, your face burned from embarrassment. Even if Lilia tended to put your pleasure first and holds back from going all out, the change in that tactful demeanor into a meaner one still excited you.

While holding you open still, he grinded his cock between your folds, using both his pre-cum and your arousal to lubricate it. You were growing impatient, and thus, tried to grind back against him to incite him into already giving in.

Lilia rested his weight against your back, his chest flush against it, weighing you down. Lilia dug his fingernails into your flesh, while demanding that you stay still. His fingers went back to playing with your clit, using your sticky inner thighs to pleasure himself.  

After what felt like forever, the tip prodded inside, taking his time to stuff you with more of his dick. He pulled back until the just head was in and thrust with more strength. The feeling of Lilia’s warm body embracing yours and his thickness stretching you almost made you forget about holding back your voice.

From the very moment you conceived the idea of teasing him, to Lilia not allowing you to touch yourself or him, the buildup to your orgasm approached faster than what you expected. As if both factors weren’t enough, you were still sensitive over the climax you were robbed of prior moments ago.

You mewled, trying to reach behind you and hold his hand to ground yourself.

Instead, the fae grabbed your arms and pinned them against your back, his pace not stuttering for even a minute.

This was what you wanted—for him to be rougher…and within a couple more smacks of his hips against yours, you came hard around him, broken moans of his name escaping from your bitten lips. Lilia quieted himself by kissing your shoulder the moment he released his cum inside.

Sore and spent, your head collapsed forward against the pillow again. You heard Lilia’s amused chuckle, resting next to you while keeping an arm wrapped around you.

“I wasn’t too rough, right?” He muttered after a while in silence, his eyes inspecting your body. “Does it hurt somewhere?”

“My arms, you gripped me too hard,” You mumbled. “I didn’t notice it at the moment because…it felt nice…”

At your confession, he looked taken back by it before his expression shifted into a relieved one and he chuckled. “I should’ve known you like being treated like that. You are quite keen about my fangs, and I’ve noticed how your body melts when I bite you,”

Before you could fawn over the coy visage that took over his eyes for a split second, it faded away with the same ease it appeared as he turned his head to the other side.

“I love it when you’re trying to be gentle, even if you’re not that great at it,” You teased, your fingers brushing his hair. Lilia grunted, suddenly grumpy about you pointing that out. “But I also enjoy it when you’re rough,”

He humphed, still avoiding facing you. You smiled at him, despite it not being visible to him. You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion getting to you.