#but better that than my clothes absorbing it and feeling wet

[gestippeldedieseltreinworm]

Not to complain about the cleaning people but why clean the chairs at 9am and not at the end of the day so they’re dry the next morning

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Setting Him Free || LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x gf!reader Summary: You are given a once in a lifetime opportunity and accepted into an elite programme but the price is that it is on the other side of the world - far from where your boyfriend lives. Warnings: 18+ only, angst, implied smut, break up WC: 872 F1 Masterlist || Setting Him Free || Meant To Be || Yours, Always

The letter in your hands trembled, the only sound in the house coming from the crinkle of the paper. Your mouth was dry but your cheeks were wet. This moment had been months in the making and you had thought of every possible outcome, but now that it was here it was harder than the worst that you had imagined.

“Well, what does it say?” You tore your eyes away from your future written in the ink to look at Lando. He already knew, the truth showed in his misted eyes, but he needed to hear the confirmation from your lips.

“I got in.”

The quiet words were absorbed by the apartment you had shared with Lando for three wonderful years. You had thought the day you left this apartment would be when you outgrew it with the future you had planned together. But life was funny that way, when a once in a lifetime opportunity came your way everything changed.

“Congratulations.”

You tried to smile but, like his tone, you couldn’t fake feeling excited in this moment. “Thank you.”

The next week passed slowly as you both tiptoed around the subject of your departure, neither ready to have the conversation that hung like a guillotine above your heads. Lando noticed the small changes around the apartment; the spaces on the walls where pictures were framed, the gaps in the wardrobe where clothes hung, the lack of bobby pins he always complained about. He could feel you slipping away.

“It’s only for a year,” Lando murmured in the dark as you perched on the precipice of sleep. “You’ll come back, right?”

“A year is a long time, Lan.” You reached for the lamp and illuminated the room before rolling over to face him. Dark bags hung under his eyes from the hours he laid awake watching you, wondering how many more opportunities he would get to do something so simple. “I want to say yes, but I don’t know where this opportunity will take me next.”

He rolled onto his back and stared at the shadows in the ceiling. “You could have just lied.”

“You want to play pretend?” you asked softly as you reached for his cheek. “You’re my best friend, Lan. You know me better than anyone.”

He cupped your hand against his face and memorised the way it felt, the warmth that radiated from your skin. “You’re more than just my best friend, and you’ll always be more. We don’t have to pretend that.”

“We do tonight,” you whispered. “Tomorrow…tomorrow is it, I’m going and I don’t want either of us stuck in limbo. A year is a long time, you might fall in love with someone else and I don’t want you to feel guilty for it because I’m not there.” The idea was a heavy weight on your chest and the words tasted bitter in your mouth but it was the truth. “I don’t want you to wait for me.”

Lando took your hand and draped it over his shoulder so he could pull your body closer until you were chest to chest. You could see the promise about to fall from his parted lips but you couldn’t bear to hear it, so you stole the words with a kiss.

Neither of you brought attention to the tears that dampened your cheeks, or that taste of salt on his lips. Neither of you broke the charade of lovers embracing in the small hours of the night.

Dawn came without the call of the gulls in the mariner or the colourful shades of yellows and oranges that usually greeted Monaco. Dawn came in a wash of grey that darkened along the horizon with a gathering storm.

“Aren’t you scared?” he asked, his voice breaking under the strain of the night.

“No, I’m not scared, Lan. Are you?”

He closed his eyes at the lie and just held you tighter as a tear escaped from the corner and hit the pillow loudly, breaking the heavy silence. You thought you were all out of tears, but the well was unending as you felt your own eyes burn once more when he too lied, “No, I’m not scared either.”

You swallowed the words that would make goodbye even harder, but you tasted them thick and sweet like molasses on your tongue. I love you, Lando, and there is some fundamental part of me that will always love you. “I should go.”

You kept a hold of his hand as long as you could while the distance grew, slowly slipping away from each finger as he stretched for you. Curling his fingers, he caught your pinky and held on as long as he could without hurting you, but it too was taken from his grasp. The sound he made when his hand fell limp into the warm space you had left in the bed would echo in the empty chambers of your heart long after you left.

“This is really goodbye isn’t it?” he asked quietly as you froze by the door. “What if I never love again?”

“You will, because you deserve it.” You swallowed the choked sound that threatened to fill the room as you opened the door. “Goodbye, Lando.”

Click here for part two.

[aikaterini-drag]

Past And Present PART 3

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Summary: You think back to how you and Rafe first met and all the memories you’ve shared. You get emotional but Rafe’s always there for you.

Warnings: lots of fluff and sweet moments, soft Rafe, brother’s best friend, memories.

This belongs to the ‘Loving You Series’. Find it here.

It was a lovely morning.

The sun streamed through the windows, warm shafts of light kissing your skin. Rafe had already left for work but since you were feeling a little nauseous you stayed home. You were in your 2nd pregnancy month, feeling lightheaded and nauseous all the time. Rafe made you a light breakfast and refused to go to his company. But you were fine and Rafe had a very important contract to negotiate that day. It took a hell of an effort to convince him to go. He insisted you take your prenatal medicine and lie in bed. You also promised to text him every fifteen minutes to reassure him.

Satisfied that you had the day to lie down and relax, you stretched lazily in bed, a small smile on your face. The nausea was fading and you lovingly rubbed your still-flat stomach. Your life felt good, precious, and joyful. You were about to marry your childhood sweetheart and were expecting your first child.

Rafe Cameron had been in your life since you were a child. He was your brother’s best friend, his presence constant in your family house.

You vividly remembered being 8 years old and Rafe being 10. You smiled at the memory. It had been a sunny afternoon and you were playing tea-time in the backyard with your dolls, completely absorbed in your own little world. Rafe was playing video games with your big brother inside, your parents were at the supermarket.

“What are you doing, little squirt?” Rafe had asked, pulling you from your game.

“Don’t call me that,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Go away.”

Rafe laughed and walked over to you, crouching down to your level. “Having a tea party, huh? That’s for babies.”

Rafe inspected your tea set and your small pink chair and table. He chucked as he held up a tiny plastic teacup. Then he picked up one of your dolls, Miss Sparkles, a new Barbie with silky long hair and a pink dress. He held it up before you could stop him.

“Hey, do you think dolls can fly?” he asked in wonder.

You frowned. “No, dolls can’t fly.”

“Wanna bet?” he grinned, and before you could protest, he tossed the doll into the air. The poor Barbie soared in the sky before landing in a mud ditch with a soft splash.

You gasped. “No! Rafe, you’re the worst!”

You ran to the mud pile and gently grabbed your doll, now covered in mud and filth.

“Hate you, hate you, hate you!” you mumbled, ready to cry.

“Nah, don’t start crying now,” Rafe ran to you, his face tight. “I didn’t mean it!”

“Why do you always ruin my stuff?” You sniffled, tears in your eyes. “You are the worst!”

“Take it back!” he said. “I just thought it would be funny!”

“Miss Sparkles is covered in mud. How is that funny?!”

Rafe sighed. “I didn’t think she’d land in the mud.”

“Well, what’s done is done now. You ruined her.”

You turned to move away, but he stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. Eyes on you, he took your doll and rubbed it messily on his hoodie. Your eyes widened. That was his favorite hoodie, a Christmas gift from his dad. Without flinching, Rafe cleaned the face of your doll, ruining his perfectly white clothing.

“Whoa…” you muttered, your mouth going slack.

“There! Your doll’s ruined, my hoodie’s ruined too. Now stop crying.”

“You could just clean her with water, you fool,” you said, your tears stopping. “Not ruin your hoodie.”

“I had to do something! That’s what came to mind. An eye for an eye,” Rafe said, handing the doll back to you.

You dropped the doll to the ground. “Leave me alone.”

And with that, you ran into the house.

Later that day, you found your favorite Miss Sparkles outside your room, sparkling clean and in better condition than you’d ever seen her. Your doll was wet but no longer smudged, her hair untangled. A note was tucked at the bottom of the box, saying “I’m sorry”. You smiled and secretly thought that Rafe Cameron was not such a bad boy after all.

Ever since then, your interactions with Rafe grew less and less animated. When he came to visit, he was polite and discreet. He hung out with your bother a lot and you remembered the sleepovers and the late-night talks you’d overhear about the girls they liked. For some reason, you didn’t like it when Rafe talked about other girls.

Sometimes, Rafe would pick you up from school when your parent;s or brother couldn’t. You would walk together, barely talking. Rafe would buy you ice cream but you watched him warily, fearing he might prank you again. But he never did. He never pranked or teased you ever again.

And then you finally started trusting him again. You were friendly to him and you could swear his eyes lit up whenever he saw you.

It was 4 years ago when your relationship turned intimate, your feelings molding into something deep and intense.

Rafe had been 26, and he had started a small real estate company with the help of his father. And you, at 24, worked at a library and volunteered at a local history museum. The position wasn’t a large one like the prestigious museums you’d dreamed of, but you were patient.

On that sunny afternoon, you were busy setting up a new exhibit on local folklore. You’d been working non-stop and you seriously needed to take a break. As luck would have it, your phone buzzed. It was Rafe.

“Little squirt?” he teased, his voice deep and warm.

“Will you stop calling me that?” You laughed affectionately.

“It depends. What are you doing?”

“I’m at the museum.”

“Are you free for lunch?”

“Sure,” you replied, smiling. “I could use a break.”

“Wait for me. I’ll see you in twenty.”

Rafe arrived five minutes early, sauntering into the museum in his fine linen shirt and dark blue trousers. You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat or two. His blue eyes sparkled, and he looked even better than all the art around him. He’d grown into a handsome man, tall and fit, his once-boyish features now chiseled and mature.

“Rafe,” you said, a smile spreading across your face.

“Hey there, Miss curator,” he greeted, pulling you into a warm hug. You felt the firmness of his body against yours, goosebumps awakening on your while body.

“Hey yourself, Mr. CEO,” you teased back, inhaling his clean masculine scent. You wished he’d hug you more, but he stepped back.

“Let’s grab a bite, hm?”

You hummed in agreement.

You settled in your favorite Italian restaurant, sitting in a small table outside. The place was bustling. Rafe sat next to you, the seat and table a little too small for his long legs and tall frame. You secretly laughed as you watched him try to make himself comfortable but once you sat beside him, he went silent. Your thighs brushed gently as you moved. You tried not to be affected as you chatted about work and life while eating.

“How’s the new exhibit going?” Rafe asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“It’s great,” you replied. “I’m focusing on local folklore and I’m honestly amazed at how many stories and traditions are out there. I can’t wait to show it off to everyone.”

Rafe smiled, his arm casually draping over the back of your chair. “You are incredible. You’ve always been.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling the warmth spread across your cheeks. “And how’s the real estate business going?”

“Pretty good so far,” he said. “We’re closing on a big deal next week. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

You grinned. “Remember when we were kids, and you used to tease me without end?”

Rafe chuckled. “Don’t remind me.”

“You are all mature now but back then, you were such a troublemaker.” You smiled. “Yet you always made it right. Like the time you ruined your favorite hoodie to clean my Barbie doll.”

Rafe looked at you, his expression softening. He didn’t reply and you both fell into an emotionally charged silence, watching each other. His blue eyes held yours, occasionally shifting to your mouth.

His hand, the one resting on the back of your chair, moved to cup your neck. Your breathing picked up, your heart rate increasing.

“What have you done to me?” he drawled, his voice dark and silky.

“Rafe?” you trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. You’d done nothing.

“Want to kiss you,” he said, his eyes caressing your lips.

You swallowed hard, a little explosion going off in your head.

Rafe wanted to kiss you.

Rafe wanted to kiss you.

Rafe wanted to kiss you.

Damn… your heart was somersaulting.

You came out of your high when he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his eyes dilated.

Before you could think rationally, you did the unexpected. You cupped his face and pressed his lips to yours. He froze for exactly one second, then moaned and responded, his moist, firm mouth claiming yours. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the wine he’d been drinking.

The kiss started slow and thoughtful but soon turned deep, with him crushing you to his chest, the calm shattered with his tongue. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, fast and strong. He possessed your mouth, his tongue tracing the soft fullness of your lips before slipping inside. Shivers of desire raced through you as you gave yourself freely to him.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. Rafe’s lips were rosy with your lipgloss, deliciously kiss-swollen. You wanted to kiss him again. Your own lips felt mumb from the heady sensation of his lips.

“Wow,” you whispered, wetting your lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he drawled, his eyes sparkling.

“Really?”

“Hmm…” His lips brushed against yours as he added, “You’ve ruined me.”

“Likewise,” you muttered in between slow kissed. “I’ve been wanting this… wasn’t sure if… if…”

His mouth covered yours hungrily.

“You’re mine.” He gazed into your eyes.

Your heart warmed. You nodded. “Only if you’ll be mine.”

“Baby, you squeezed my heart the day you cried after I ruined your doll. I thought I was just pitying you, but as I got older, it fucked me, turned into so much more.”

“So you fell first, Rafe Cameron,” you said smugly.

“Hmm… I fell hard for you, little squirt,” he said, kissing the pulsing hollow at the base of your throat.

“My brother’s going to kill you,” you said and felt his smile on your skin.

“I’ll take it. For you, I’d take anything, baby.”

And he kissed you again.

From that day on, everything changed.

He was no longer just Rafe, your brother’s best friend. He was Rafe, the man who shared your passions and dreams.

*Back to the Present*

The sound of your name being called out anxiously brought you back to the present. Wiggling on the bed, you sat up against the headboard and muttered a clear and loud, “I’m here.” Rafe dashed inside and knelt beside the bed, taking your small hands in his big ones. He was completely overwrought; his tie was askew, and he was panting, his face pale with worry.

“Rafe?”

“Hey, baby,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I was a fool to leave you alone. I can’t focus with you being unwell. How are you, love?”

“Rafe,” tears gathered in your eyes. You struggled to hold them back but the memories of the past and seeing him now, so worried and loving, made you emotional all over again.

“Damn, damn it all,” he said, his expression going even more concerned. “I am an ass. Shouldn’t have left you.” He cupped your face and kissed you softly. “I’m here baby. What’s wrong? Should I call the doctor? We can go right n—”

“I’m fine.” You sniffled, hands clutching the lapels of his shirt. “Just emotional.”

“Emotional?”

“Hmm… I was thinking of how you teased me when we were little. And then of our first kiss at that Italian restaurant.”

“But you’re crying,” he said stubbornly. “I can’t take it, can’t take seeing you like this.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “I know. It’s just… I was thinking of how good you are to me and the memories just came flooding. The tears, too.”

“Truly?” he asked tensely, a big palm spreading protectively over your stomach. “You are not unwell? The baby?”

“We are both alright. I promise. Hold me, please?”

“I’ll hold you all day and night, baby.”

Relief washing over his features, he crawls into the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. He kissed away your tears and you greedily enjoyed his body’s warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing your frayed nerves.

“I’m here. Always will be,” he murmured into your hair seconds before you fell into a deep, pleasurable sleep.

Reblogs, follows and any other kind of support are greatly appreciated. Sending hugs!

[am3ricanh0rrorwh0re]

The Other Woman | Stan Bowes

stan bowes x fem!reader

(inspired by Lana Del Rey’s The Other Woman)

warning: nsfw with little plot, protected p in v, semi-public sex

a/n: so actually please don’t mind if i’m not being super canon with this. i watched like one or two episodes of Pose and somehow got mega ballsy and apparently possessed the confidence to write this super cliche fic. but i hope you enjoy it anyways and i could be at least semi-canon with his personality n stuff !!

Stan was your sugar daddy. You were his mistress. Simple as that. You two were infatuated with each other after one hook up. So much so that he rented you your own apartment, bought you nice clothes, nice decor, and other things. It was better than living on the streets. Anything was better than living on the streets. Sure, you both felt some semblance of guilt, but you were too caught up in each other to care.

Stan was currently taking you out on a shopping spree. Anywhere you wanted to go, he'd take you. And you picked a lingerie shop. Of course. New York's a big city, so there's no way he'd run into his wife, right?

"Okay, how about this one?" You ask, stepping out of one of the dressing room stalls in black lace lingerie. It fit your body perfectly, not too much skin exposure so there was nothing left to imagine, but also just enough to make a man horny. Stan was sitting on a bench, genuinely entertained by watching you shop around, which wasn't normal for men.

Stan's jaw hung open slightly, his eyes wide. His dark and now wide eyes trailed up and down your body, undressing you mentally. You smiled at him, your hands on your hips.

"Do a spin," He smiled, bouncing his leg as he sat, still staring at you. His cheeks flushed a soft pink as you did a spin, showing off the lingerie. He nodded, chuckling softly.

"That's my favorite out of the three i've tried," You said, motioning to the other pink, white, and red sets you've tried on. You haven't gotten a reaction this intense from him since you two walked into the shop.

"That one's nice...they're all nice," He said, smiling slightly.

You grab his arm, pulling him inside one of the stalls in the dressing room. Stan being Stan, almost falls directly on top of you, pinning you to the wall, his face red as a tomato.

"Hi," You smile, cupping his face. Your fingers ran through his hair, which still had gel in it from work. You kick the stall door closed with the heel of your stilettos, making him jump slightly when the door slammed. He was never this on edge back at the apartment.

"Hey," He smiled.

Stan started fumbling around for his wallet. He grabbed the small leather wallet, pulling out a condom that was in yellow and white packaging. You smile as he slips the small plastic pack between your lips, lifting your leg with one hand. He pulled it open with his right hand, kneading your thigh with his left. You spit the plastic onto the floor while he dropped your leg roughly, trying to undo his jeans.

"Hey-!" You protest before the push of his lips against yours stops you, while almost falling over from the sharp force of your leg hitting the ground.

Stan kisses your top lip, practically trying to absorb you. He pulled back, panting as he pressed his forehead against yours. He pushed down his jeans and boxers, slipping the condom onto his hardened cock. You kiss his cheeks quickly, leaving small, wet pecks across his face as he picks you up, cupping your ass as he holds you. You take a deep breath, readying yourself for the feeling of the rubber. You hated how he always used condoms. You wanted to feel him, not the rubber. Not like you were gonna baby trap him, he already had 2 little kids with his wife.

Stan finally pushed deep inside you, pulling out almost halfway before pushing himself back in just as deep. You felt that long, hard shaft pumping deep inside you, hitting all the right spots. Stan panted, groaning occasionally as he hovered his lips over yours.

"please-" You begged, trying to crane your neck up so your lips could reach his. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades, destined to leave some marks for his wife to find. It wasn't too big of a deal, though. Stan would just gaslight her into thinking it was herself that did it and not another woman. Just like usual.

His lips slammed down onto yours as he pumped his hips forward, his length sliding between your slick folds, that were already starting to leak. Your mouths opened and closed, sucking on each other's lips as he continued pushing into you.

"G-Goddamn," He panted, giving one last deep thrust before nuzzling inside of you. Stan let out a loud groan, pushing his forehead against yours, panting.

"How 'bout we go buy you that lingerie..?"

taglist: @fear-is-truth @dangeroustaintedflawed @newwavesylviaplath @slutforgarlogan @nickrhodeslittledarling @cultw3b @lacucarachapisser

divider by @/enchanthings

[hesbambi]

attention.

❝ beg for it. ❞

pairing; mark lee x (f) reader

genre/warnings; pure filthy smut, profanity, daddy mark,mark teasing you, you being desperate (the usual), finger sucking, thigh riding, making out, hints of sadism (?), dry humping, mark calling you good girl

summary; mark is not the saint everyone paints him out to be. you’re surprised at his reaction to your need of his affection. 

word count; 980

authors note; i know i said i wouldn’t be writing… i didn’t! this is something i’ve had for a while that just needed some freshening up! hope you all enjoy ;) if i have any misspellings it's bc im editing this at 3 am....

YOU LOVED ATTENTION.

it was a natural thing for you to yearn for. what you didn’t really expect was for you to beg for it. while meeting mark, you underestimated the power he has over you. unintentionally, his charm and charisma lured you in unexpectedly.

mark is sweet, kind, and well-rounded. never would you have assumed that “tease” would be a word to describe him.

you sat on his lap, arms around his neck and teasingly biting his lips. ceasing your makeout session at random times to tease him even further. your knees squeeze closer around his waist while his hand's sliver down from your hips to your thighs. he grunts every time you scoot closer to his crotch, his visible hard-on pressing against your clothed core.

breaking your lips apart from his, you rest your hands on his knees, leaning back to catch air while closing your eyes. slightly panting at the intensity of the contact of lips. mark opens his legs wider, hands back on your waist. squeezing your hips with the desperation to be in you, he sits back more comfortably while he rests back against the couch.

his hand slivers up to your throat, bringing you face to face with him. the last thing you hear is a gravelly “god fucking damn,” before your body buzzes again. mark brings your lips against him, smothering you in his taste. closing your eyes you feel nothing but a dopamine rush throughout your veins and your pussy pulsing to have mark on you. your body seems to be burning every second mark touches you. his hand lays against the back of your neck, somehow pushing your lips even further into his. teeth clash into one another but neither of you pays no mind.

you don’t notice the whimpering noises in your throat– not so subtly made– or your core trying to push against mark’s jean-clad cock. you do though– notice mark's tilting smirk that edges you on further to let him roll his tongue into you. a guttural groan breaks the thin air. “fuck baby,” mark breaks away after noticing the way your hips try to push against his cock even more, almost like you were instinctively searching for him.

“more mark p-please more,” you exclaim while gripping his static hands on your hips. you needed him, and badly, desperately, like your brain or body is unable to function without his dick in you. heat rising from your tummy while waiting for mark to take you to his room.

“beg for it.”

startled at the way he sounded, demanding and absorbed in his own arousal. he doesn’t wait for your response, only moving you onto one of his thighs.

“know how much you like attention baby, better give me a good show.”

you say nothing other than whimper at his command, too desperate to at least feel something, even if it were his thigh. your underwear is nothing but a shield against his rough jeans. huffing at the difficulty to get off– even if you were still being stimulated– it wasn't enough. you needed mark. “please please mark,” you beg, hand scratching against his abs while the other tries to touch his hand.

“you better get off my thigh or you’re not getting anything at all,” mark swats your hands away and settles his hands on your hips once again. tears form from the frustration. mark knew, no matter what you tried to do, you can’t get off without him. he says nothing after, only leaning back and observing you in amusement and need. wetness seeps through your panties and onto his thigh, making the air thicker between you two as you both glance and acknowledge your wetness.

mark was on edge. he loved seeing you this way– desperate, trying to get off with no avail. he was edging himself along with you, palming his achy and leaking cock. groaning, he couldn’t wrap his head at how beautiful you looked. tears dampening your eyelashes, cheeks heated up and legs tense from the frustration.

he says nothing as he tenses up his thigh, enjoying the way you throw your head back in relief he's giving you something. you rock your pussy against him faster, almost bouncing on him, gripping his shoulders as mark traces your lips. spending a few seconds circling, entering his pointer and middle finger into your mouth to make you gag.

becoming breathless from not only the intrusion but the euphoria you feel head to toe. fastening your actions, bubbling in the excitement that you finally get to come. at least, that's what you think until you hear mark utter, “don’t come yet.”

you’d be embarrassed to see yourself in your haze of arousal, begging more than you would ever admit. sucking on mark’s fingers like it was the actual object you longed for, letting him gag you with his fingers and spanking you heavy-handedly.

“say thank you,” mark states, gripping your chin to bring your face closer to his. his fingers still in your mouth, you moan at the heat rampaging throughout your body, tingling all the right nerves for release. impatiently, he lets go of your chin and slaps your behind again, urging you to say the words. you don’t waste any more time, knowing his command is all you need to let go.

“thank you, daddy, th-”

“good girl. let go for me baby,” mark utters breathily, teeth clenching while watching you shake on his lap. moans spilling out, increasing in pitch as you cum. laying flat against his chest, catching your breath, and wiping away the tears from your eyes. mark kisses you on your forehead, resting against you.

“did so well baby, feelin’ okay?” he asks. nodding your head, you slither your hand against his bulge. mark groans out in surprise, giving you a questioning look.

“thought i’m supposed to give you a show, daddy?”

[rommahh]

[not me writing for Eddie. Its been so long since ive written, please bare with me.]

TW/ consumption of bad things and an overd0se.

He’s sitting on the bed, eyes low, head pounding. He’s in for the worst knowing he’s done something wrong. There's an overwhelming sense of fear that he's going to disappoint you.

He doesn’t want to disappoint you ever.

The door creaks open, rusty hinges giving away any intruder with a loud sound. The gross studio apartment is small; one bed in the corner of the room, three counters next to a stove and fridge, a tiny table where you shared dinners, a bathroom, and a small thrifted couch.

You don’t even notice Eddie’s sluggish form on the bed as you untie your laces and settle your suitcase. The long weekend away visiting your parents gave you the rest that you didn't realize you needed. They worried for you everyday. They thought you moved too fast with Eddie- too enamored by the big dreams and nice smile.

“Eddie the record store we used to go to got the coolest things in this weekend you should go with me next time…” Your voice trails off when you finally meet his body.

The room is too warm. Eddie is sweating under your gaze. The drugs all sit on the bedside table. Baggies open, lines have smeared on the old wood. An open can of whatever’s cheapest accompanies the pills.

The space around the bed is filthy. You could tell more than a few guests were over while you were away.

Eddie’s disgruntled at best. His shirt has a small vomit stain, hair is greasy, and his skin is pale. He was still your Eddie though. He looked just like you remember him to always be- the same boy from highschool with the biggest dreams.

The sight of him makes your chest cave in.

Eddie’s sniffles brake you out of your reverie. “Oh! It’s ok Ed! We can fix this.”

You’re rushing to his side ready to aid him in any way but he flinches away from you. The movement startles you. Dropping to your knees in front of him you search for his eyes.

“It’ll all be ok Ed’s. We can fix this. We can call my friend from the hospital again.” You’re naive to the situation, maybe too scared to actually absorb the weight of it. Eddie had gone too far this time. He didn’t need his girlfriend doting on him with a wet wash cloth. He needed real help.

“I cant do this anymore,” Eddie whispers. His hands shook on his lap. His favorite rings long gone from how much he’s slimmed down.

You shake your head staring at him. “I hear you. We will go down to the hospital right now, I’ll call Wayne to meet us.”

You’re on your feet in seconds. Eddie can hear you finding a duffle to fill with overnight essentials. He lets you have a moment, one optimistic moment. The moment doesn't last long enough.

“No,” he croaks out. He can’t even look at you.

“No?” You’re looking at him. His collarbones are visible. Had it always been this bad? Were you this oblivious to what was happening in front of you?

“Y/N I can’t do this anymore with you.”

You feel as if you heard him incorrectly. The room getting smaller, your lungs getting tighter. Maybe you’re dreaming? Maybe you’re the one on drugs?

“Eddie I don’t think I’m understanding you.” You’re slow to walk back over to him. Kneeling once again with his knees in your face.

“I cant keep doing this to you. You-you don’t need this,” he spits out. A spark of anger ignites in you.

“You don’t get to decide that," you softly scoff.

“I do…this is about me and what I want. I want to get better and I want you to live a better life without me dragging you down.” Despite the nature of the situation, you’ve never heard a more cohesive and honest statement from Eddie like this before.

“So what? You’re breaking up with me?” Your nose goes hot, it tingles. The back of your throat goes tight.

“I have to. Please don’t be mad,” he’s begging you. His eyes finally meet yours, red ablaze and teary.

There’s a silence. All you can hear are his deep breaths and your sniffles. Somehow your world was crashing down around you and you're the one who made the sacrifices to be here.

“I’ve already called Wayne…he’s on the way to get me. Told me he was able to get me a spot at that rehabilitation center.”

You fake a smile while shuffling back from him. The carpet is rough against the palms of your hands as you push yourself off of the ground. Your apartment felt smaller than it was.

This was all too much. For the past five years Eddie engulfed your life. You moved to a new city for him, took care of bills while he tried to make it with his music. You watched him get high and then hit his lows. You did everything for him. If you could sacrifice everything in your life for him, you would.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. Please don’t be upset at me. I’m so sorry for this.” He’s blubbering now. You cant help but feel bad for him- maybe it was a force of habit. He seemed like a child who just scraped their knee on the pavement.

Eddie wants to reach for you but he doesn’t. He thinks a hard end will make the pain less hurtful.

“It’s ok Eddie. I don’t understand it right now but…I’d do anything for you,” you pause, “if this feels right for you, so be it.” It was always about Eddie for you. Eddie couldn't watch the way that you tried to smile with quivering lips. With shaking hands you re-tie your shoe laces and grab your suitcase. There's a slight hesitation before you grab the door.

"I'll always be here for you Eddie."

The door slamming shut behind you rings in Eddies ears. Vomit crawls up the back of the throat and not because of his shot immune system. You consumed Eddie's entire life more than drugs and he let you go.

You enabled Eddie without even knowing it and he couldn't let himself enable you any longer.

[dadsbongos]

till death do us part

772 words / warnings - gross sex like grimy, dubcon, mentions of blood

summary - desperate to live, you and Cahara make love.

~~~

Just as you’re certain nothing could possibly get worse, the dungeons of Fear and Hunger have a clever way of proving you wrong.

You’d sacrificed a bear trap to escape one of the hulking prison guards on the previous level, but nonetheless Cahara is gushing blood through his palm from blocking a meat cleaver. Even experienced mercenaries can fizzle into petrified adolescents down here.

His injury aside, your food supply has dwindled vastly. Herbs and vials soon after. Only enough for one person.

No cloth binds to stop his bleeding nor even alcohol to burn away the germs.

“It’s… a long shot. We won’t,” you reread the excerpt from Studies of Syvlian, “We won’t be ourselves in the traditional sense,” you turn towards Cahara, he’s got his fists cupped as if he could keep his blood from spilling over the floor, “I don’t know what’ll happen to our minds, but our bodies will be done for as we know them.”

Cahara stares at you. Boyish and sweet in a way unbefitting of a mercenary. Unbefitting of this dungeon. He nods and lets his fingers go lax, the pooled blood dribbles down his lithe fingers and blots the floor below, “Yeah, okay,” he hisses as he wipes the blood from his hands against his pants, “Let’s do this, then!”

“You’re sure?”

“Let’s go!”

“Cahara, I don’t want to make you- “

“Oh, dollface, I know what I’m doing. Die while trying,” his gray eyes swim with more blue than steel, “Let’s do this while we’re kicking, yeah?”

His tender certainty makes you more hesitant.

Cahara slips off his vest quickly, trousers soon to follow as he smarms, “There’s not many who could rival my skills in this line of business, you know?”

Protest is trapped in the back of your throat, despite this being your suggestion, until Cahara stands directly before you. His hands are softer than you’d expect, soothing over the knots in your shoulders and grazing his fingertips under your blouse. It’s matted and blood-stained, now an unsightly russet overtakes the pillowy white. You can hardly remember why you wore such a lovely thing to these dungeons.

He slides your blouse off as you undo his trousers, then slipping off his chest piece.

Freezing stone floor jerks goosebumps from your whole body, Cahara notices the jitter and rolls you on top -- he braves the uncomfortable so you can focus on slicking his cock with spit. You’re not wet, and Cahara can’t delude himself into thinking he’ll be able to change that, not with how you’re constantly looking over your shoulder.

He sighs quietly once he’s buried inside you: you’re warm, at least. Very warm. Squeezing hands fasten your pelvis to his, hips bucking into you and punching quiet huffs from your chest. Cahara smiles up at you, squiggly and shivering as sweat glistens down the column of his throat.

Guilt gnaws up the rungs of your spine, gulping your brian stem, and chomping through your brain tissue -- guilt for this suggestion, guilt for him doing all the work, guilt for your sounds restricting to groans and grunts. Cahara deserves better, Cahara should live, Cahara brings a hand to the back of your neck.

Spreading blackened joints along your nape, Cahara lulls you to hunch over his chest until you’re smashing lips together. His brows are furrowed, he pecks the corner of your lips and whispers,

“Can I have your tongue? Is that okay?”

Nodding shyly, you scrape your knees against the floor to spread wider for his thrusting and open your mouth. Tongue lolling to skim Cahara’s -- his breath hitches and his other hand rises to cup your cheek. Without the grounding, your body jumps with each rock of his hips and you’ve decided to grind back down, hoping to coax Cahara’s finish quickly.

He whines, you suck his tongue as if to taste the sweet sound and absorb the pleasure.

Miraculously, it seems to work.

Suddenly, you feel wet. So wet. Warm. Thighs suctioning against Cahara’s waist: the impression of his cock long gone, but you maintain the motions as if it's still there. Preserving a sense of normalcy in manufactured frenzy. Molten bubbles bursting in burning veins.

Burns hot. Hot white. White blisters meld your skin to Cahara’s.

Cahara’s moans swerve into growled screams as your teeth clench so hard you feel them shatter and slice into your gums. Gummy flesh folds into flesh, yours and Cahara’s skulls colliding -- soft mushing where there should be loud clacks. Clacking lanterns and soft hums echo from priests as your eyes flutter, vision blackening.

Black.

Black.

Black.

Eyes open. The marriage is consummated.

[letsquestjess]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could write a crosshair x gn!reader where the reader gets frequent nosebleeds and gets dizzy sometimes? (I’ll be going to an ENT soon to figure out what’s going on)

Hi there! Thank you for the request! 💜

I’m sorry you haven’t been well. I can relate to the dizziness, it’s an awful feeling, but I hope you’re doing better now 😊

Little Wobbles (Crosshair x GN!Reader)

Summary: After finding you during a dizzy spell, Crosshair does everything he can to help you.

Word count: 776

Warnings: Mentions of blood.

-- -- -- -- --

It only took a few seconds for the well-known wooziness to wash over you. Gripping the navigation panel tightly, you let out a groan, cool metal grounding you in a meagre sense of stability. It’ll pass, you told yourself encouragingly. Give it a minute. 

The ship’s floor seemed to sway, mimicking the sensation of being propelled into hyperspace, yet you hadn’t moved since arriving on the charming planet, opting to prolong your stay to enjoy the captivating environment. 

Your nails scraped the console as you fought to steady yourself, reminding yourself that the ship was stationary and so were you. It was a fleeting dizziness and it would subside. 

This had been happening more frequently recently, a sure signifier of your decreasing stress levels. It was a common occurrence after stressful situations, that surge declaring its departure as it left your system. It was a momentary flare up, a wave crashing against the shore before shrinking into the serene ocean. 

Breathing in and out, you centred your balance and allowed your body to adapt, regaining your full height. As you readied yourself to move again, you winced at the tickle in your nose as it transformed into the unmistakable wet trickle of a nosebleed. Your hands fumbled through your pockets, and it quickly dawned that you had forgotten to replace the empty pack you had used up a few days ago. 

With a muttered curse, you turned towards the bunks, managing to keep the surprised squeak trapped in your throat as Crosshair’s intense stare bore into you. His toothpick landed in the bin with a satisfying plink, and he approached with a curious tilt. 

“What happened?” he asked. “Have you been training with Wrecker again?”

“Just a nosebleed,” you sighed. Your effort to sniffle away the droplets of blood only prompted more to collect above your lip. 

As another bout of vertigo took over you, Crosshair caught your elbows and guided you into one of the hazard seats. Crouching, he snatched a tissue from his belt and wordlessly got to work blotting the red beads. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The dizziness faded, and you observed the nervous sheen in his eyes as they darted from your easing nosebleed to the rest of you.

“I’m fine,” you interjected, cutting off any opportunity for him to voice his worries. “It happens sometimes.” 

“How long has this been going on for?” he questioned. He grabbed a water bottle from the side and dampened a fresh cloth to removed the stubborn splotches that refused to budge without some persuasion. 

Although you wanted to assure him you were fine, he seemed so absorbed in his concern for you that you were hesitant to disturb him. “A while. It comes and goes, but there’s nothing to fret over. Little wobbles.” 

Once he had discarded the bloodied cloth in the sink for washing later, he cradled your face, encouraging you to remain still while he inspected you with great care. Despite being cold, his fingertips provided relief from the heat of your dizzy spell. “The bleed has stopped, and I don’t see any more blood on you. We caught it before any got on your clothes,” he murmured, as though ticking off items on a mental checklist. “How are you feeling?” 

“Still a bit off, but better than I was a few minutes ago.”

“I’ll handle your tasks today,” he said, dismissing your objections with a firm shake of his head. “Get some rest.”

“You don’t need to do that, Cross,” you replied. “Once I’m back on my feet, I’ll be okay.” 

“If you keep arguing, I’ll tell Hunter.”

His mischievous threat lingered in the air, and you stared, daring him to follow through on his words. He lifted an eyebrow, rising to your assertion.

“You wouldn’t,” you said. 

“Try me,” Crosshair challenged. Using his thighs as leverage, he straightened and extended his hands towards you. “Reckon you can get up?” 

Accepting his help, you managed to stand. The dizziness diminished little by little as Crosshair directed you to the back of the ship and aided you onto the edge of the lowest bunk. 

He disappeared for a moment, and you heard the distinct sounds of rummaging as metal tubs were shuffled and wrappers rustled. Upon his return, he set a cannister of cold water and a tray of snacks on the shelf next to the bed. “Rest,” he insisted. 

“Thanks, Crosshair,” you said, picking a mini cookie from the top of the pile and popping it into your mouth. 

“In this squad, we look after each other,” he replied, dimming the lights for your comfort. “Including those who get little wobbles.”

[bagofshinyrocks]

Rooftop Rendezvous

Prompt: Feeling kinda down, you stop by your boyfriend's place.

Featuring: Miles Morales (Earth-1610) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: reader is struggling with school/family stressors; shite white kid spanish (i took it in high school, so if there is a blaring inaccuracy or idiocy, please comment/message me, i beg you)

Are you busy rn?

Nah, what’s up

Not feeling great. Can I come over? Don’t wanna be alone rn

Yeah of course. Couch or roof

Roof. Heading over now

Be safe. See you soon

Miles frowned at his phone and started getting ready for your visit. Some snacks, some drinks, and some beach towels to sit on. There should still be some lawn cushions up there, too, as the other folks in their building treated the roof as a communal area with communal items.

You visiting him was no rarity. You two hanging out on the roof wasn’t either. But it had been a hot minute since you had come over for a reason other than “i just missed you :(”

Instead of paper towels, he grabbed the box of tissues that sat on the coffee table.

A prickle at the back of his neck. The familiar sound of your footsteps on the stairwell.

“Hey, baby,” he called from the little sitting area he had prepared for you two.

You looked tired, but the tension seems to lift from your shoulders upon seeing him. You quickly make your way to him and fall into the cushions and beach towels with a big sigh.

“Hi, Miles. Missed you.”

He pulled you in and hugged you tightly. Your fingers dug into the clothes on his back and you both squeezed. Squeezing like if you squeezed hard enough you would become one person. 

Despite your best efforts, he heard you sniffling.

Your boyfriend pulled back and looked at your face. The tell-tale wobble of your lip. The welling in your eyes. The tension in your body. One tear betrayed you, then a whole flood of them as you crumpled up. Face shoved into your knees and hands clutching your head.

“Oh, babe,” he sighed, pulling you back into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Miles. I didn’t mean to-”

He shushed you and ran his hand up and down your back, slowly coaxing you into sitting upright and holding him back. Your head rested on his shoulder, tears wetting his jacket. Your fingers rested on his hips, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and gently touching the warm skin beneath. Reminding you that he was real. And right here with you.

“I’m sorry that you’re sad, cariño. Anything I can do to help?”

You hummed and shook your head. “No… just sitting here helps.” A beat of comfortable silence. “Thank you.”

“Por supuesto, bebé. Uh- Si hay alguna cosa que quieres, dime.”

Your eyes flicked up to him, and your tear-stained face crinkled up in a smile.

“Your mamá see your examen?”

He huffed quietly. “Sh- cállate. I just need to get back in the groove.”

“¿Necesitas practicar más?”

He shut you up with a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then to your cheek. Then a gentle thumb rubbed where he had kissed, either making sure it absorbed into your skin or trying to wipe off the tears.

“I love you,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

He smiled, that sweet expression that always made you smile back.

“A lot, mi venadito, my little deer. You’re a really good boyfriend.”

Miles puffed out his chest and made a bunch of self-congratulating sounds that faded into gibberish. He was really bad at taking compliments.

“Seriously.” 

Your hand squeezed his face, forcing his lips to pucker and him to stop talking for a minute. He leaned in and gave your cheek a kinda gross kiss, which made you wrinkle your nose. You let go of his face and he gave you a better one on the other cheek.

“I love you, too, baby. And I’m trying to be a good boyfriend for you.”

His arms wrapped around you, and pulled you further into him. One hand rubbed up and down your back, the other sat assuredly on your flank. Nothing handsy, just keeping you close.

"You are a good boyfriend, Miles."

Things were nice and quiet. Gentle wind through the laundry lines. The humming of cars and air conditioning units. Music from a party below. Miles began to hum along, rocking you two back and forth. Whispering one third of the words, and mumbling nonsense for the others.

Breath was steady. Heart beats were calm and synced. Eyes comfortably shut.

“You wanna talk about it, cariño?”

“Mm.” You raised your head up and took a deep breath. “I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now. School, work, family, friends. Just… so much.”

Miles nodded.

“I just feel that – you know how I feel. Trying to do both things, you feel like you can’t do them both right. You half-ass both of them.”

“I know the feeling, baby.” 

He knew it so well. Usually, you were the one comforting him over this distress. Juggling them all, you’re told to let one or two of them drop. Drop the ones that aren’t as important, the rubber balls, so you can keep the prioritized ones, the glass balls, up in the air. But you can't drop anything when it seems that everything you juggle is a fabergé egg. It's not easy when you need to pick between being a good son to parents who love you and saving Brooklyn from the villain of the week. 

“And I feel that by failing at any of these, I fail the others. How can I be a good kid if I’m not getting good grades? How can I be a good friend if I’m stressed and venting to everyone and bringing down the mood? Ya know?” Your voice cracked and Miles squeezed you tight as the tears started again.

“I know, baby.”

“And there isn’t a lotta stuff I can do to fix it. I can’t take any of these off my plate. So like, there isn’t a way to fix this except to keep my head above water and keep treading. And just-”

“Wait for things to get better.”

You nodded, then burst into another set of tears. “But I can’t just sit around and wait. I need to actively work towards my future. I need to actively work towards bettering things.”

He gently shushed you, squeezing and rocking to calm you down.

“Breathe, breathe first, baby.”

You caught your breath and gulped down the water he offered you. Gentle hands blotted your face with tissues.

“Baby, you keep working yourself up.”

“I know, I know.”

“I know how you feel. Of all people, I know how you feel.” He kissed your temple. “And you are doing amazing.”

“I love you, Miles.”

“I love you, too, baby. Let’s just sit here for a while.”

“Mkay.”

You settled your head on his shoulder, the two of you looking out over the city. One of his arms were slung around you, holding you close and occasionally poking you in a ticklish spot, giving you a kiss as an apology. And the other hand held yours. Settled over his chest. Squeezing occasionally. And you two took turns kissing the others hand.

Burdens weren’t so oppressive, or all-consuming, when you’re with someone you love.

Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)

Posted: 2023 Dec 13

[caitlynskitten]

https://www.tumblr.com/caitlynskitten/753123473025613824/have-you-seen-my-favorite-shirt-wednesday-asks

Hope this is alright

Wednesday smirks accepting the challenge.

“You better lie on your bed then.” Wednesday commands.

Enid does as she’s told and settles comfortably on her pink bed. Wednesday drags a chair by the foot of Enid’s bed and sits there with clear intent to enjoy the view.

“You’re always such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Enid visibly shudders at the praise. Honestly, she should’ve known better than to challenge an author to make her cum using only her words.

“I’m having second thoughts if I want my shirt back. You look so good in my clothes, mi lobo. Makes you look like you’re mine.” Wednesday takes in the sight of Enid as she said that.

“You don’t even need me to touch you when you wear my clothes. I bet you can feel me all over you. You can smell me all over you. Just like when I fondle your breasts the way you like it.”

Enid almost seems like in a trance listening to Wednesday’s words. She didn’t notice she had already placed her own hand under the shirt to touch her breast exactly the way Wednesday does when they’re intimate. She brushes her own thumb across her nipples and a soft moan escapes. Wednesday’s smirk turns into a closed smile. As much as she wants to touch Enid herself, she’s enjoying the show just as well. Enid’s eyes are closed as she imagines Wednesday doing those things she describes.

“Don’t forget to breathe, mi amore.”

Enid inhales deeply and Wednesday’s scent from the shirt enters her nostrils causing her to whimper. Just as Wednesday predicted. Enid closed her thighs as if she’s uncomfortable. Wednesday knows why.

“Look at me, mi lobo.” And she does. “Good girl.”

Enid whimpers louder as her other hand reaches between her thighs as she looks at Wednesday. She looks at her hand when she touches herself under her shorts and underwear that has become wet.

“Don’t take your eyes off me, wolf.”

Enid snaps her attention back to Wednesday’s face but doesn’t remove her hand. “Keep looking at me as you touch yourself. Imagine that’s my hand on you, in you. Obviously, it’s not but you’re more than aware of the fact that you know how to pleasure yourself better from me. That I’ve given you pleasure in ways you didn’t think possible. You’ll always think of me. You’ll only be able to think of me.”

Wednesday’s eyes are filled with lust as she watches Enid speeding up her fingers. Her clothes are in the way but Wednesday can tell what she’s doing. She’s done it to her multiple times after all. Enid, like the good girl she is, kept her eyes on Wednesday even as she pants and sweats even with the shirt still on. Her moans slowly grow louder as she goes faster.

“You look like you’re heating up, darling.”

Enid gasps which causes more of the shirt’s scent to enter her nose. She’s close but she needs something else, something more. She doesn’t know what. Wednesday does. Enid closes her eyes for a second and snaps it back open when she smells a stronger scent. Wednesday has stealthily positioned herself on top of Enid without touching her. She leans down and Enid thinks she was gonna kiss her but she goes to her ear instead. This allows Wednesday’s neck to be closer to Enid’s nose.

Wednesday’s scent is stronger this close and combined with her body heat is pushing Enid further to the edge.

“You’ve been so good listening to me all this time, Enid. You deserve a reward.” She whispers into her ear. “Go ahead and cum for me.”

And just like that Enid shakes and moans loudly. Wednesday pulls back just enough to see Enid in bliss. Enid pants heavily, her sweat getting absorbed by Wednesday’s shirt.

“What about we get you out of those dirty clothes, hm? And I’ll give you a replay of what you just showed me.”

Enid couldn’t be faster and removed all her clothes almost like she forgot about her dare. She grabbed Wednesday’s face and fiercely made out with her. Thank God for werewolf stamina so she can go for round 2. Wednesday never felt more of a winner.

Jesus CHRIST. I literally don’t know what else to say but that was incredible oh my god. Holy shit.

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 27: Misery is a Butterfly

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: Sometimes people aren't worse off alive. It's at your lowest where loved ones hold you most close.

Author's Note:

Major content warning for disassociation. That's more or less what this chapter is about.

The song for this chapter is Misery is a Butterfly by Blonde Redhead, and it was suggested by my dear friend Moonfly (@mabzerie) as something that reminded them of the performer. I think it's perfect and ever since hearing it (around the posting of chapter 24, oddly enough, which featured a butterfly) I knew it had to be in the story. I think it's gorgeous and I appreciate so much being exposed to new music I wouldn't know otherwise.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dearest Jane, I should've known better

But I couldn't say hello, I don't know why

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The darkness swallowing them is both vast and so very, very compact. Down, down down...a little hole in the ground, maybe. Not a cave; there is no stone.

“You’ll be okay.”

Material around them too soft to echo this assurance, instead absorbing the sound. She wonders, then, if it too keeps her from hearing more up and outside. He’s on top of her, the smallest drip of light raining down from above slicking the sides of a fiery mask. As hard as she can look— which is admittedly not very— there is still no hint of an eye in that black circle. It mirrors her own, layering over the one she was afraid to lose, the one that in turn had once been turned black with an attack just before she met the Akatsuki.

Just as when they tumbled in the grass and weeds, he keeps her pinned down now, too, hands interlocked with hers with his body blocking as much view as possible, whatever little there may be. A racing heart begs her ears to listen, to hear if there are the breaking of more spinal chords, the spilling of viscera just outside of wherever it is Tobi has taken her to hide and wait for it all to be over. Knuckles curl so hard grabbing his fingers, a necessity when the stranger is so, so afraid. Her bottom eyelids are sore and wet, and it moistens the musky soil beneath her head once done trailing down her face. To keep from screaming, lest they be found, she bites her lip until it punctures, and the scent of blood makes her sick. Blood, blood, blood. She has caused so much blood.

“You’ll be okay.”

The word “you” is on purpose, she knows, no promise of an “it” being okay to be found. Though his hands cannot move, his body clad in clothes as shadowy as this place moves in closer, his chest against hers. He can feel every shake in her diaphragm as she struggles to control her breathing. It seems as if each time her lungs tremble, his assert— a strong, calm, even breath trying to put hers back in rhythm. It is so...perplexing. Even in her panic, the woman is surprised that Tobi, too, isn’t hyperventilating just as she is. Her eyes struggle to stay open with it being so dark, exhaustion asking her to sleep once more, even as things are. But he, poignantly, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Where her expression likely fails, she tries to convince with her voice. “I’m scared.”

So softly, a voice much less silly than she’s used to, serious as the grave. “I know.”

“Tobi…” she tries to explain her deepest fears, “I need to stay awake...”

He doesn’t answer. She listens again, searching for shrieks of pain and shouts of agony. The absence of them is even worse. That means that she will not know when it is over. Her eyelids grow heavier.

“Tobi…” But nothing happens. Maybe she isn’t explaining it right; maybe he just doesn’t get it. Blood and tears wash into each other, staining the roots and ivy with her soul. “Tobi...help me stay awake…!”

But nothing happens. He presses closer, that rhythm forcing hers to slow. As they curl around each other, his fingers stroke hers.

No...he wants her to fall asleep.

The eye that mirrors hers is briefly lit by drifting moonlight. It is blood red. Just after that cold, orange ceramic presses a mouthless kiss onto her bleeding lips, and she is gone.

...You’ll be okay.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But now I think, I think you were sad

Yes you were, you were, you were

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She hasn’t talked in two days.

A name it is for Hidan and Kakuzu, but it is still more befitting for her: a zombie. Her eyes are half shut and she wobbles even when seated. Even in the safety of her home once again, told all is well and there is nothing to fear, she has become so small that it’s almost like she isn’t there at all.

But she is. She can never make herself so tiny as to not exist, even by withdrawing completely. And the absence of her spirit makes the presence of her body so much bigger to the Akatsuki. Some of them don’t get it at all:

“Hey!” Hidan folds his arms. “Didn’t you miss me?!” It’s a far welcome from the last time they reunited. It isn’t until he says anything that she so much as looks at him, let alone throw herself at the fellow Jahsinist. It takes everything in her to just nod, a reaction so light that it makes him grunt in confusion. “You sick?!” She shakes her head no, and his brow furrows over eyes narrow in frustration; he has forgotten the chemicals so soon. “Then what’s wrong!”

The reaper is so annoyed, and yet she can’t say anything at all to make this better. With the remnants of fading will, she walks into him and lets Hidan do the rest, her arms wrapped to her sides within the thin blue sweater she’s using as a swaddling blanket. His violet eyes widen and another vocalization rumbles in his throat, pitch heightening alongside his alarm. A hand grips her shoulder to shake her awake and she tries to ignore the weapon on his back. How many people has he killed with it? How many that him asking one from her meant so little?

And yet she does not leave the comfort of his bare chest, the triangle of his lord pressed on her skin.

“Takara? Angel?!”

She says nothing. It is the first time Hidan has ever really felt sick in his stomach since becoming a full grown adult.

Some others are afraid to do more harm:

“Hidan.” The named man looks over her head, locking onto Kakuzu as he walks back in the door, returning from the mission. The stitched one, in turn, is staring down at her; there a softness in those eyes that the Jashinist has not known. “Don’t bother her right now.”

The silver demon sputters. “Bother?!” Even as they fight, the woman does not flinch; that is the real sign something is very wrong. “She just came up to me!”

“Then let her stay until she’s done. Don’t keep her.”

“Why?!”

She hears a silence, vision steeping in the black and red cloak that folds near her face. There’s nothing left in her to flip in anxiety. If she feels the bounty hunter still looking, she cannot bring herself to care. Apparently this silence means something to the two immortals. After some minutes of laying down while standing up, she takes a step back and they leave. Hidan gives repeated, reluctant glances over his shoulder as he observes her own hunched, a frown towards the floor and eyes that don’t seem to see. Kakuzu presses a palm on Hidan’s back to urge him to keep going. He’s never touched him that gently before.

Some of them are concerned for her health:

“You should sit back down, un.” An unknown amount of time later, the stranger finds a hand with a blue ring guiding her back to the couch where she was. Another of his needs to grip her arm, too, lest she plop down haphazardly instead of gradually fall. Deidara’s brow curls and he tilts his head. His smile never wavers in position but does so easily in meaning. “You sure she doesn’t have a sickness of some kind, my man?” he asks the next person walking in, worry tinging the usual lax attitude.

Some of them don’t know how to say they’re sorry:

“No. Nothing’s wrong with her,” Sasori answers, a front of unfeeling defensively about him. “This is of her own doing.”

“Technically it’s your fault, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“But you—”

“But nothing.” She doesn’t have enough prior knowledge to know that, surprisingly, it is rare for Sasori to interrupt when Deidara argues. The man protests too much; he is, indeed, more antsy than usual. The blonde was too light, though, he wasn’t going in hard enough, someone else will say.

Her eyes shut and open. Day becomes night.

“I don’t understand.” There’s a shake in Sasori’s voice, as he crouches in front of her alone. A ring is on his thumb; she is finding no one shares the same position upon the hand. She sees it twitch and her arm raises forward to him, palm up to beseech, and it's as if it isn't even her doing. His unblinking eyes are so very wide, less like human and more like those of a doll. “There’s nothing wrong. You came back without a scratch. Why?” She doesn’t know if he’s asking for answers from her or himself.

He reaches forward, too, ever so slowly like a puppet trying not to show its strings. His palm comes underneath the back of her hand, flesh of his soft yet cold, almost rubbery. It slides and smooths and flutters around across her skin, and it sends electricity up her arm and down her spine. Gradually, ever so slightly each passing second, the weight of her body grows. Futilely, her limb goes limp as it becomes abundantly clear she will not move on her own. He looks with those wide eyes at her hand like it's a toy he cannot fix. A sin, this is...and somehow it isn't one of hers. “Why? Why are you doing this...?”

She’s sorry, so she closes her eyes and the world once again moves its people in and out of her sight. The scorpion's touch is gone.

Some of them feel they have failed:

“I cannot believe you let this happen!” Yet another unknown length of time later, the blue one is here, leaning all of his self into the unflinching space of a redhead. They are standing in the entryway of this living room, and it is still dark out, her a mute witness with no one to tell. Sasori regained his hooded gaze and Kisame’s eyes even so small and far away clearly are as big as possible. They may be reddened, too. It’s hard to tell. “I’ve expected this from the other two but you couldn’t just leave my low expectations well enough alone, could you!?”

A tsk and nothing more. This may have been going on long enough that Sasori is finally tired of giving retorts.

“Give me one reason Samehada shouldn’t shave that wood of yours off slice by slice like the teensy twig you are—”

“Kisame.”

Some of them...know better.

Itachi out of the corner of her sight— so close, he got so close without her noticing; she has enough wits about her to know this lack of awareness should scare her, but not enough energy to care. The Uchiha steps in front of her, the familiar black and red that haunts her life blocking half her vision. She can’t see the scorpion who had stung her in fear, but she can see a shark’s teeth grit as if he’s taken a bite of her flesh and is afraid of what he’s done.

“Itachi-san…” Less that these are words spoken and more that she can read his lips. Kisame’s glance twitches back and forth, presumably between the Uchiha’s face and hers. “I’m sorry,” he backs down submissively to the former. Fish eyes go down to the space on the couch. “I’m sorry,” he repeats just for her. The most she can give is a blink. Concerned, he steps forward—

“Kisame.” The voice that gave her peace now gives this named man dread. “Come back later.”

Despite himself, the kiri-nin knows this is for the best if his partner has deemed it so. Itachi, after all, knows him better than he knows himself. He feels his mouth stretch to show more teeth, unsure himself if it’s a grimace or a pathetic, apologetic smile. And even though he knows his partner will, Kisame still begs: “Take care of her, Itachi-san.”

And he may or may not nod in reply. Seeing Sasori stare back in silence, her lids shut before Kisame can finish turning his back, and when they open again the man with two sets of eyes blink their dark gray as he leans in front of her from where he sits, most likely right next to her. Are they touching sides again, as they did some time ago? She can’t tell.

“Takara-chan…” he whispers. He’s never called her that before. They are alone, no Kisame nor Sasori. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Takara-chan…” He seems to be contemplating something. “I’m going to help you sleep now. Don’t be afraid.”

She wants to scream at him to stop, but the red eyes raise to bring darkness upon her. Lids shut once more. She feels a press against her forehead and a few strands of hair drifting upon her skin that aren’t her own. He kisses her sweet dreams, sweeter than those he can have for his own.

A small reprieve. The weight of being alive in an unmoving shell loosens, shackles dropping from her wrists. She stands at the ocean and an arm with a crimson ring holds her from behind, a chin on top of her shoulder.

The woman named Takara wonders if he may know these waves, too.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What I say, I say only to you

Cause I love and I love only you

Dearest Jane, I want to give you a dream

That no one has given you

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“She’s still like this…” It’s hard to miss him, and not just because the sheer size of Zetsu can only command attention. He tilts his shoulders forward and she remembers the corpse dangling down from tall, jagged spikes. He saved her, though… Saved her from what? What does it mean if the Akatsuki have deemed she is not better off dead?

“She can hear us,” the deeper voice observes, lips speaking without movement. Brighter returns: “Ghost?” White Zetsu prods.

G h o s t …

The sky is bright outside, color flooding in from either dusk or dawn; she is guessing the latter. She feels her head bob and lips part, but that’s as far as the frayed connection between mind and body allows. She hears a crack and it reminds her of the bones. The flytrap is lowered and cloak on the ground, and arms reach to hold her hands as she can offer no dance. Zetsu kneels on the floor in front of where she is frozen upon the couch. Black...white...how does he work? Do they take turns in control? Do they both have to move at once, independently? The dark hand grips so tight it hurts while the light strokes a thumb upon her knuckles. What could he want from just a little ghost...? 

“You’re a funny one,” the softer voice whispers. She thinks he is too.

Just as soon as he came, he is gone with others in the spy’s place. Her stomach hurts and is making noise.

“How long since she ate?” Deidara frowns from one chair as she sees an amber ring on blue fingers come around to hold her side.

“Too long, I’m sure.”

“How long is it that civilian types can go without doing that?”

“Not this long, I know.” There’s a huff of Kisame’s breath in her ear as he lifts her up, carrying much the same way that star ninja did who was just like her. “Come on, princess, let’s try something else…”

Orange soup is in front of her on the kitchen table. A spoon is put in her hand. Her reflection is in the liquid and she doesn’t think that’s what she looks like. Encouragement from the sidelines, someone yellow and someone blue— rings opposite that— ahead of her in other seats:

“Itachi-san made it just for you,” Kisame says, and he resorts to something he normally does not for she who takes things so seriously: guilt-tripping. “You can’t disappoint him, now can you?”

Deidara rolls his eyes with a growl. “Hardly a reward!” He fans himself in a self-aggrandizing way. “Takara-chan, you finish that bowl and I might just paint your nails again.”

“Might? Hardly a reward, yourself.”

“I mean, of course I’ll do it, un!”

They bicker like this, as her stare swims in the dish, half-closed eyes lost in a vegetable soup. The pieces within bob ever so slightly up and down, trailing past the reflection of her face. It begins to look less like it’s supposed to be her and more like she’s just fucking staring at a bowl of soup. That’s a good thing.

As the sound of her friends fills her vacant mind, it is easier to find her senses reconnecting. Her fingers twitch the muscles under skin and on top of bone, and she manipulates it ever so slightly into a hold better suited to eat. The clock on the wall behind her two guests says it’s about half an hour until she’s done. They really sat there that long…?

...Well. Granted Deidara needed the aid of having something for his fingers to do and Kisame looked pained the entire time. But still, very nice of them to be so patient. She drops the spoon into the bowl to indicate it is done. The swordsman sighs as if he’s been holding his breath.

“Good.”

Deidara is a man of his word, opening his polish as they sit on the floor where they’ve had their few prior “sleepovers”. He demonstrates again how to stretch out your fingers and she manages to replicate, letting him hold in place with a gentle, precise touch as the scent of paint sharply fills her nose. She blinks more in these minutes than she has in the past few days.

“See, Takara-chan? No more chips!" The artist is exerting more exclamation than usual, making it seem like a grand achievement. "Perfect match with me again, un.”

...

...

And it is finally his turn to exhale a breath Deidara did not know he was holding, as he sees her wiggle the fingertips at him in the meekest show of excitement he’s ever witnessed. It puts a grin on his face, a satisfaction much like seeing his work explode. That reminds him— 

“Oh— Don’t go ruining your nails over it, but…” The tongue on his face sticks out as he reaches into his pocket. “I finally finished this, un.”

The lips of a palm close as he couldn’t have helped but gave one last finishing touch, the little statue she’s seen him working on since the day they met. It is a girl in a hat wearing a dress and holding a bag over her shoulder. Does she look like that? The thing is cupped in her hands, the amount of detail helping her eyes twitch more and more to take it all in. Blink, blink, blink. It feels like her vision is more in focus than before, edges not quite so fuzzy.

It takes a while for the sculptor to realize that she is returning it to him, the way it’s so slow and gradual how she pushes her palms back in his space. “No, no! That’s yours to keep, un.” But she gets even closer to him; Deidara hums in confusion as the gift is taken back; he twists the thing in his fingers, looking for flaws. “What? What’s wrong?”

Bright blue eye twitched back up with a hum as her index finger unfolds to point at him. “...You want me to keep it for you,” he guesses. The barest of nods, but the point continues. “What?” Continues. “What about me?”

…

Oh. He smiles wide, not the sort he puts on— cool, collected, angled ever so slightly to the side on purpose— but one big and toothy and unabashedly sincere. If this is still a performance, somehow, then it is one that deserves his applause. Even without a voice, what a powerful siren she is.

“You want one of me! Don’t you?” And for the first time since she came back, she smiles too, and Deidara feels like a butterfly. She accidentally closes her eyes...— 

“The hell are you doing out here?”

The sky is dark again by the time Hidan arrives, his own cloak missing just as Deidara’s is. However, the latter is wearing his green pajamas and holding his chin up with pointed elbows on the floor, kicking his legs like the slumber party it is. Apparently Hidan just sleeps naked. She doesn't feel her cheeks prickle pink, but figures they should be.

“I could ask that of you, really. Would it kill ya to put on some pants?”

“Yeah it fucking would!”

“And in front of the lady, no less.”

“Who cares? She’s not like…awake. Or whatever.”

“She isn’t comatose, un.”

She feels Hidan’s stare on her as she lays sideways on the couch; it is even more distracting than his uncovered body. He’s frowning. “Then what is she?”

“Traumatized, I think.”

“Hilarious—”

“I mean it, though. That’s what Sasori said, too.”

“Traumatized by what? She fucking survived!”

“Sasori no danna said that we can’t necessarily pick what makes this happen, if it happens to us. Easier for a civilian than a ninja, too. Why don’t you cover up your dick and come back, if you don’t plan to leave alone. She still has eyes and ears, un.”

She can feel him staring still, judging if that’s the case, and does her best to blink at him. Gradually his face gains a color usually reserved for her and he rubs the back of his head, gaze bashfully turning away. “Yeah, okay. Fine.”

He comes back some time later with his bottom half now dressed, a bare arm over that of the couch nearest her head. Hidan is positioned in such a way that she can't see him, but most assuredly he is very, very close; every so often a finger tickles the top of her scalp. “So you can hear me, right?” Hidan asks, though not waiting for a response. “So what’s up, girly? What’s there to be afraid of when you didn’t even get hurt?”

Only this woman would know so well to not assume this is an accusation but a genuine question. It's clearly more difficult now that her voice isn't here to explain it all, how the sickness in her brain works. But as much as she wants to answer...—

“Ask her later,” Deidara butts in, and somehow he says exactly what she means to. “Talking seems to be the hardest part.”

Hidan grumbles, and she hears cracks as he rolls his shoulders. It makes her sad, how stiff he's gotten and it's likely her fault. “Well, that’s a huge pain in the ass.”

“Well, yeah. It’d be a great look on you, though.”

“Real comedian tonight, huh? You’re the one with ten mouths.”

“It’s four, un.”

“Still too fuckin’ many…”

She notices this night that Hidan does not fall asleep. His fingers idly comb through her hair and never stop, not until Deidara begins to stir in the morning. She thinks at one point he may have put a kunai into her hand, grunting in disappointment as nothing happened.

The reaper and the artist leave for their breakfast, and while they are gone Sasori holds her arm over a tub and cleans the cut on her forearm again, speaking to her and blinking, as he does when others are around and he needs to pretend to be human once more. The corners of his lips pull up as she finally reacts, the slightest hiss of pain as alcohol on a cloth slips between layers of flesh, and she notes he has never smiled for her until now. His sting is accompanied by a look from brown eyes so soft she can only compare it to chamomile cotton candy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Remember when we found misery

We watched her, watched her spread her wings

And slowly, slowly fly around our room

And she asked for your gentle mind

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Numb hands grip Kisame for balance as he takes her for a walk, tired mind suddenly much more aware of the vastness of the forest around them, even as the trail remains only on her property. Is all of the forest technically hers, though, or the Akatsuki’s now that they’ve claimed it…?

Hard to own a house if you don’t know where the deed is, though.

“You shouldn’t worry so,” the knight says to his ward, feeling her tension; he is helpless but to, of course, as he acts as her anchor trying to keep a balloon from floating off into the space she's from. “Everything is in place now. Those Hoshi shinobi were all taken care of. We made sure no one got away.” He misunderstands why she is uncomfortable, assuming it is only the threat of others and not also the threat to them. The man exhales. “Here.” Slowly, step by step, they approach one of the overgrown rose bushes she has adopted. The leaves are speckling yellow with various degrees of green still remaining, the petals opened wide and beginning to brown at the tips. “We should take some before they begin to rot. Put them in your flower press, perhaps?”

And at first Kisame’s heart flutters as he sees the princess reach forward, but it quickly drops as sharp eyes recognize she is more than ready to pinch right into the thorns in order to get it—!

A clasp. As has happened before with these two, at first it is tight in panic but soon recognizes its power, and the grip grows less forceful. His hand is so warm as it holds hers, even if it’s to take it away from further harm.

“Here...” Something steeps in his voice as his free arm reaches in the woman's stead, navigating cutting . If she had more wits about her, she’d assume the worst. But now? It might sound something like love.

She does love him, too, after all.

Blue fingers twist the stem so no thorns are left to be found as the flower detaches. It is put into her palm. Just as they did before with Deidara, cupped hands offer the gift back to Kisame, too. He smirks, chuckling. “No, that’s for you.” The red rose retracts to be held closer to her chest, and he wonders in what beautiful way those big eyes are drinking something so simple in.

“That’s...for me…”

And his heart stops beating entirely, having no idea he could miss her voice even more than he thought he did.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Misery is a butterfly

Her heavy wings will warp your mind

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Reluctantly, Kakuzu puts in his own effort with the good news. Giving her something made her talk again… She’s seen him come and go in passing, just to check in, but the hunter’s never stayed until now, gift in his hands. Miser he is, he’s playing smarter and not more expensively.

Off his shoulders and then over hers go the strap of the guitar. “Figure you missed this.” She looks at it dumbly as it rests upon her lap, nothing said, and he sighs. Of course it can't be that easy. “You didn’t forget, did you?” How did it go again…?

With struggling patience, hands wearing a dusty turquoise ring help rearrange her own to hold the instrument properly, taking guesses until it looks right, same as the many nights they spent at a bar together. One hand on the strings, other on the neck. And like a fish to water, soon as his touch retracts, she strums.

Dum...dum...Dum…

He blinks. Okay. Well...it isn’t nothing. Maybe she’ll get back into it, do more than just pluck a single note over and over.

Dum...dum...dum…

Dum…

Dum…

Dum...

…

...

Dum— 

This is getting old fast, actually. “Play a chord,” he half suggests, half demands. The scarred bottom lip purses ever so slightly, and then her wrist winds back to strum proper—

“Takara!”

The front door slams and the treasurer’s partner flings himself in, expression plastered upon his face as if he figured out how to solve world hunger. (Or...err...solve world heathenism? It is very smug, is the point). Kakuzu’s head whips to the sound, glaring daggers so hard his eyes twitch, but Hidan has brought zero fucks to give. What he has instead...—

“I got you motherfucking fish!”

Indeed he did. Upon the coffee table, out of a bag, one after another, is one form of seafood following more, uninterrupted as she merely stares with the guitar in her hands. It's granted her reaction may have been the same even if she had all her senses. Bento box of sushi. Fried crab. A whole fish. Grilled shrimp. A whole fish. More sushi. A whole fish. A living fish—

“HIDAN!”

Forceful hands reveal stitches as that last one comes out, a flopping, wee thing that a fishmonger sold overpriced to a fool who didn’t know better. Her still glance locks onto the creature as Kakuzu knocks his idiot partner into a wall, squabble starting:

“The hell are you doing!” she barely hears out of sight. Flop, flop, flop, gentle but desperate knocks onto wood where the tiny beast was unceremoniously placed. That can’t be comfortable for the fish. It’s kinda small...maybe she can...—

“She told me she liked seafood!” Running water. For some reason these actions are so easy— no, “easy” isn’t the right word. It’s like she’s on autopilot, not even having to think. Maybe it’s because it’s for the betterment of something outside of herself.

“You are the biggest buffoon I have EVER—”

Plop!

“...Eh?” the reaper asks.

In the middle of Kakuzu holding Hidan up by the collar, both look over at once. Kakuzu speaks next, and though it says little, it concedes much: “...Huh.”

Drop. Hidan sinks to the floor, but his fists raise in success. “HELL yeah!” She stands next to the fish in the bowl set upon the coffee table, hands folded in front of her lap as it swims within. It must be happy! Or at least doing better now that it isn’t suffocating. ...How did it get this far without water, anyway? “Well. Not what I expected to happen,” Hidan notes, “But it worked!”

“What worked?”

The silver demon shoots him a look like it's the ragdoll who's from another planet. “She moved, dipshit!”

“Hidan, I—” Kakuzu stops in his tracks, to his dawning horror. That...is the point. He has never exhaled so loud and long in his life, pinching his brow. Idiocy has saved the day. “...Goddammit.”

Her hands politely raise to clap in congratulation, bright smile and closed eyes to match, and Hidan allows himself to feel joy even with no such thing explicitly permitted by his lord Jashin.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

With her small ugly face

And her long antenna

And her black and pink heavy wings

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The performer should have asked herself sooner where on earth her mimic had gone. It’s so strange to have not noticed his absence, the way Tobi always inserts himself into every conversation. Where had he been? She sees his orange mask for the first time since he wrapped around her deep in the ground, guarded her from further harm. How long has it been, a week, perhaps? Time has always been hard to keep in this universe, no appointments to maintain and whatnot, and so it is as elusive as grains of sand blown in the wind nowadays. Tobi faces more towards her while Itachi faces more away. Nodding, talking. It lacks all of the usual mime-like flings of arms and jumping of feet that her rescuer usually puts on. Itachi eventually passes by and leaves.

Quiet. Chickadees twitter somewhere outside. Is the window open? Part of her hopes so, to feel a nice moonlit breeze. Part of her is afraid, as it means another way for someone to attack.

Ever so slightly, the spiral shifts its angle, gaping black hole pointed right at her. The figure in shadow wearing a long, green scarf otherwise stays still. What is he doing? And then…

Step, step, step. He holds his position standing over her for a long moment before ever...so...slowly...crouching down. She thought it was a mistake before— maybe just coincidence— but now it can’t be denied:

Covering where his lips should be, the curve of a spiral bumps against her mouth, about as tenderly as icy stone can. He will be a different person tomorrow. It’s only fair that if she can’t wear her mask, he can set his metaphorical one down, too.

How long until the act slips, the performance fumbles or he bows for the curtain to fall? It is inevitable, but Obito at least knows it won’t be now. His mouth for the sake of her safety will ache in the dark for just a little bit longer.

She sees red again where his eye should be, and the traveler is reminded once again that Tobi is a performer too. The sighing waves of water pull her back into dreams, and she imagines what his bare skin may feel like as he pins her down yet again onto soft and airy stardust sand.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Remember when we found misery

We watched her, watched her spread her wings

And slowly, slowly fly around our room

And she asked for your gentle mind

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[undead-merman]

Day Five: Married At Sea

Contains forced marriage, obsessive behavior, dubcon, mentions of death. 

The salt saturated air filled his lungs as he gently held himself up on that rock you loved so very much. It was a good rock, smooth, warm from the sun, high enough to sit on without getting wet during both tides. You always had such brilliant ideas, has such wonderful taste, and you, who was just so perfect, was there on the rock with him as the noon sun shined down on the two of you. His fingers intertwined with yours as the heavenly rays warmed him. 

He shifted then twitched in surprise when you raised your hand to shield yourself, only to laugh when he found out his glamoured scales got sunlight in your eye. His gaze softened just looking over you. Your clothes woven from seaweed were drying yet still clung to your body. Your legs splayed out with the skin soaking up some much-needed sun. Hair was thick with salt spray, but it added to the breathtaking wind blown look you had at the moment. And with how stiff your hair was meant he got to brush it out when you returned to your nest. 

He was the luckiest man in the world, surely. He was with his soul mate and every day was a blessing getting to spend it with you. Simeon let out a contented sigh, reached over and pulled your head against his chest to place a gentle kiss on your scalp. Even your hair was hot, so he let his lips linger to soak in the heat, you could feel his lips part into a smile. 

But while this was enjoyable he craved something more, something deeper than whet you already had, even though that seemed impossible. There was always a boundary between you both, love between both land and sea swelling with adoration, obsession, he could hardly contain himself when you were living on land, and yet even now that you wake up next to each other there's still a film between you that he could not stand. Small but enough to want to pick at his flesh and scales in anxious frustration. 

“Simeon?” Your voice bubbled up from underneath him, melodic and sweet, but he stopped when you repeated yourself. He titled his head down, and his hands were wrapped around you rather tightly. He loosened his grip but, of course, he did not pull away. 

“Apologies my love. I was lost in thought.” His tone saccharine and his eyes just like honey, melting when they look at you. 

You shrug it off. You know better than to fuss. You settle back down as he looks down. He shifts his weight so he can wrap his tail around your side. His tail fin rests on your legs, cold even in the sunlight. Oh, how he wishes to be one with you. 

How joyous it would be, to feel your warm soft flesh on his bones. To know each other's thoughts and love for one another. Yes, that's what he was missing. That was the membrane between you both he wished to snap and crawl out of to wrap around your still quivering form. 

Humans had a rite, a celebration, for just such a desire. A joining of souls that would forever have you as one. Marriage. The name alone was enough to make his heart race with jubilation. 

"Dear, what is Marriage like?" His head tilts like a confused pup.

You know of his obsession. It's why you're out here and not at home enjoying a nice cozy bed, why you're out here soaking in the sun while you can. He's taken you and kept you all for himself. You're not sure why he's asking, but you can only imagine that he's fantasizing about it. So you keep it simple, making sure not to add any flair to intrigue him more than it already seems like he is.

Even with the most basic description he absorbs every detail, even when you mention the high divorce rate. He stares, wide-eyed and unblinking with genuine enthusiasm, hanging on to every word you utter. It certainly not nerve wracking when he asks out of nowhere, no, not at all.

He ponders a way to have a ceremony like that. He’s sure that you would want your family to attend, maybe he could charm them. That way they wouldn’t cause any trouble. Though if they were anything like you, they might be immune to his lullaby. A shame, he would have loved to ask for their blessing. A shame he couldn’t invite them. 

Maybe it could be a private ceremony? Just between you two. His caudal fins flared at the idea. How would he replicate such an experience? His tail gently slapped against your legs. Anxiety twisted in your gut, you know what that gesture means. 

-

Simeon had been gone for most day for a while now. You're not sure to count that as a blessing or not. In the early days you might have thought about running, getting out of this hellhole where all you could do is putz around and mess around with the little toys he’s left for you to occupy your time with. 

And god, you hate to say it, but you miss him. It was a sick mess, you knew what this isolation was doing to you, and yet you couldn’t help how your heart deeply ached with bitter isolation. You’d take the days when you’d scream and sob over being left alone in the cold like this, in this damned dripping cave expanse.

“Sorry I’m late darling.” the water parted over a head of black hair to reveal your captor, his glamour melted away with excitement. He swam up, offering some food for the night while gripping the rock’s ledge with barely contained glee. Your appetite quickly melted away. 

“Once you are finished eating, I wanted to show you something. I’ve had this planned for a while now.” he dragged himself from the briny depths and settled next to you with a blissful smile. He looked over at you and that smile faded. “What’s wrong? Are you not hungry?” his hand found your head, palm feeling for a fever. He didn’t get upset when you pulled away. He never got mad at you for some damned reason. 

A blissful smile stretched across his face, his feral teeth on display contrasting such a warm expression, though you know this is what he really is, something terrifying behind warped intentions. “Were you lonely without me?” His tail slapped the ground like a dog’s tail. “Oh darling, you are so sweet. I promise it’s for good reason.” he gently picked up your chin and rubbed his cheeks against your own, scenting you. 

When you push away your food for a second time he only lets his worry linger for a moment more before his excitement takes over. He takes your hand and slips back into the water. He urges you more and more into the water with his adoring eyes never leaving you. It reminds you of the night he finally stole you away from everything. A disgusting sense of déjà vu. You were on the precipice of something terrible, something you know you won’t be able to turn away from. 

But what else could you do? It’s not as if you could run. Things, things were just easier this way. As you step into the water you feel something leave you. Pride perhaps, but it leaves you feeling hollow, bitterly so. 

-

You hack violently, spewing seawater from your lungs as you're pull onto shore. Falling to your hands and knees, you hack and spit until there's not even air left. Collapsing to your hands and knees, you continue to cough and spit until there's nothing left, not even air. You even had to blow seaweed that was lodged up your nose. His hand was on your back gently patting and rubbing circles, no help whatsoever. 

When you finally get your thoughts straight and manged to rub the blurriness from your eyes. You find a smaller tunnel, only just big enough for you to stand in, decorated from floor to ceiling with shells. They shone with trillions of colors gleaming from the light that just barely managed to filter in from the moonlight. Jewels and big and beautiful as can be, some cut in a way that reflect the light and cast the room in even more colors somehow, a stain glass effect on the rocky damp tunnel. Yet skull and bones however are the main focus of it all. You couldn’t even begin to count the vast amount of skulls. Some animal, some human, some even siren like. All of them picked clean of any flesh or mess like they had been left in the sun to bleach. 

Simeon looked over to you, waiting for your reaction with bated breath. Hope. Something you'd lost a while ago. You offer him a smile despite dying a little inside. 

"I went and listened to stories about humans and their marriages. I'm not sure if I got it completely. But-" He brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss onto your knuckle. “It’s a celebration for us. Us and no one else. I love you.” 

He leaned back, his fingers delving into what appeared to be a freshly harvested human rib cage, grotesquely fashioned into a macabre offering tray. He fished out a stitched-together outfit, clearly crafted from dozens of white cloth, some you suspect from the very sailors he talked about a week ago. It stunk, reeked of iron and mildew and ominously tinged with faint traces of red. You couldn't help but shudder at the unnerving level of precision that came from his obsession. He offered you the abominable frankenstein-like outfit. You hesitated. This was sinister, even for him. Was he truly, and horrifyingly, attempting to bind you in some kind of fucked up pretend version of matrimony, cooked up from delusions of love in his sick little head? 

Plucking out a large silver ring he slid it onto your finger, the middle not the ring finger. It is a large lapis lazuli fitted inside, with intrigue carvings of other lighter and darker gemstones of varying hues of blue. “I love you. I wish to be one with you in both body and soul. I cannot begin to imagine a world without you, my life before meeting you seems so empty and lonely, I never want to experience anything without you again.” 

The ring felt like a cuff, a shackle that weighed a million tons. Yet, what could you do? Even if you protested or yelled, he’d simply wait for you to grow tired and ask again, and again, and again until you finally agreed. He was an expert at wearing down your will, and he didn’t even need to use his song. “Let us become one. Your body and mine, not even nature itself will know the difference.” His fingers snake in into your outfit. 

You settle down against a rock and let his hands drift over your skin. He’s so cold, his finger pads lack of warmth have you pinching with each knew intimate area they come to. Soon they make acquaintance with your thighs touching gently asking for permission with how light they are. You groan, leaning back more to allow him in, deeper. So he followed. 

He took one leg and began to kiss your ankle, disrobing you as he switches back and forth to each one. Soft lips against your talus and trailing up to your - focusing on where the tendons of your leg sit. He rubs his cheek all along the still moist flesh, scenting you more and more as his eyes close from the bliss of having you so close. Then, once he finds your groin, he gives you a tender kiss on your inner thigh before indulging you in the deep pleasures of his tongue. 

Hard adoring licks as if he’s a dying of thirst and your lewd fluids will save him. He’s unrelenting, focusing on your pleasure and nothing else, breath ghosting over your pelvis from his nose while his mouth is busy. You can feel the coil of pleasure in your lower abdomen compressing, getting tighter and tiger with each menstruation of his tongue. He simply did not let up, he drove you high and higher up the skull lined wall as you tried to pull away just to find some footing. His arms wrapped around the back of your knees and yanked you closer, his nose pressed into your pubes as his flaming glaze melts you with its desperate intensity. 

You wrap your legs around his head, toes curling as you find your explosive orgasm. Your moaning turned into yelling as his mouth continues to overstimulate you as you ride out your orgasm. He drinks in everything you give him. He only pulls away as you sink back down, your bones became weak and pliable, easy for him to bed as he wished. 

Simeon dragged himself over your collapsed form, trapping you between his arms and tail, his skin slated slightly, thorns poking out like overgrown roses, and long duel cock of shades of blue twitching with anticipation, they dribble down against your bellybutton as his mouth and tongue find yours. 

You didn’t feel inside your body during that moment, you could feel your block breath, yet everything felt numb. If he wanted to become one, who were you to oppose this? He was loving you. So you brought him into an embrace, holding him as hard as you could against your chest, as if trying to mesh him inside your own flesh.

[witchpussy42069]

Financially Fucked and Dealing with Climate Change (Tips On How To Survive Wildfire Season):

I'm not an expert, I'm just poor and the trees are on fire again❤️. Please reblog/add on your own tips or any information regarding fire safety, smoke safety, health, etc.

Before we get to how to clean the air, let's start with how to keep yourself safe. I can tell you to stay inside and avoid being out in all that smoke, but most of us are selling our souls to corporations and have jobs we have to go to. bummer.

1. Masks

Anyways, the ideal mask for this would be an N95, but a scarf or any kind of mask will also help you a little. Significantly less effectively than an N95 but it's better than no mask. Definitely wear while out and about, and consider wearing inside depending on how the air is in your home. Wash regularly if you're using a reusable mask or a scarf.

2. Washing

When you get home after being outside, take a shower and change your clothes. Wash all those pollutants out of your clothing, wash all the smoke particles off of your skin, and moisten up that air!! You're gonna want the air wet, I'll explain why in a minute. Not so wet that mold could begin to grow in your house though, to be clear.

3. Stay away from chemicals

Your lungs are tired. You've been working all day, breathing polluted air all day, your throat is sore and your head is killing you. You know what WON'T make you feel better? Breathing in the fumes of bleach, Lysol, Febreze, ammonia, etc. when you need to clean, stick to white vinegar or lemon juice, or something else natural, since you can't ventilate the house with all that smoke outside.

4. Honey & Ginger

Inevitably, your throat is sore and your head hurts. Honey and ginger will help you with that. Tea would be perfect. Peppermint tea will help too, any warm liquid with honey in it actually. Ginger is full of antioxidants, honey is full of probiotics, and mint soothes the throat and mouth.

5. Limit Excersize

Isn't excersize supposed to be good for my lungs? Yeah, it is. But your lungs are already working overtime just to survive the smoke with minimal damage if possible. So don't put extra strain on them now. Wait until the air is clear to play any sports or do any strenuous excersize.

6. Water (pt. 1)

Drink sooooo much water. Drink all of the water. And then drink even more water. Your body has this magical way of flushing out toxins and magically healing just by drinking water, and by magical I mean very scientific. I'm not a scientist tho, or a doctor, but its something something about kidneys and the liver idk, just drink water...

7. Public Places

Maybe a window in your home is broken. Maybe the vents don't work. Maybe you don't have a home. Whatever the reason, public spaces are a safe bet if you need somewhere to go with filtered air. City hall, libraries, and malls are all good options. Don't stay by the doors, especially if there's lots of people going in and out and smoke is wafting in. Go find somewhere away from unsealed windows and doors that doesn't smell or look hazy.

Okay, that's all I know about that. I'm not an expert. Now we're gonna talk about ways to clean ur air WITHOUT BUYING AN AIR PURIFIER, BECAUSE SOME OF US ARE POOR GOD DAMN IT. I cannot count how many results on the internet have told me to just buy an air purifier. I am EXTREMELY POOR 😎

Ways to clean the air in your home from wildfire smoke with things you probably either already have or can easily acquire:

Water(pt. 2):

Good ol' plain ol' water. I'm not a scientist, so forgive me for my lack of perfect articulation, but basically water absorbs smoke particles. Makes em clump together and coagulate so they're not just floating everywhere in the air. Also, as the water clings to the pollutants, it cools them down, which causes them to fall to the ground/floor. So unless you're army crawling everywhere, this is something to look into. Just get a spray bottle and mist water everywhere, aiming for just, like, the air and stuff. Or get a bowl of water and leave it to sit out and absorb toxins throughout the day. Maybe don't drink the water afterwards, but you can use it to water your plants. And speaking of plants~

Plants:

plants are your best friends when it comes to cleaning the air! We all know they take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen, but did you also know that some of them absorb mold and smoke particles from the air too? Well you do now! A list of plants that are especially good at cleaning the air include, but are not limited to:

-Aloe Vera

-Rubber Plant

-Any kind of Ivy (pothos, english, etc)

-Bamboo! (Cat safe)

-Snake Plant

-Spider Plant (Cat safe)

NASA on spider plants:

Yeah spider plants are amazing. I want 20.

Baking Soda:

Baking soda works much like activated charcoal in this scenario, what with its ability to absorb so many impurities! And baking soda's best buddy in every 5th grade science project ever, white vinegar, can help you out too! Leaving a bowl of baking soda out, or leaving a bowl of white vinegar out, will deodorize the air; but it's not just making things smell less horrible, it doesn't just mask scents, it absorbs and 🔥ELIMINATES🔥them.

__________________________________________________

Okay now everybody say thank you Tay Tay!! And thank you Mr Bezos!! And thank you to alllll the other beloved private jet owners and billionaires❤️ now I don't have to wear my mittens anymore, teehee🤭

__________________________________________________

Anyways reblog and add on your own tips for fire season safety!

[diaperalex]

Hi! I'm on anon because I'm a little shy. I'm 17 and struggle with incontinence. I relate to a lot of your posts because I am also autistic and incontinent and special needs. I haven't been able to use diapers in my teenage years, sadly. But I have some money right now and can buy my own first adult diapers. Do you have any suggestion for a first adult diaper? A particular brand or something like that? I have heard ABUniverse is good, but I don't have much experience with this and I don't want my experience with it too be a bad one. Thank you for reading and have a nice day!

Hi! I am glad to hear that you can relate to a lot of my posts.

You mention struggling with incontinence. Have you talked to a doctor just to rule out potential underlaying conditions? I understand how you feel about being super shy because I am super shy myself.

Once you ruled out any potential underlaying causes, if you want to wear adult diapers, there are an incredible selection of great products to consider, depending on what you are looking for in absorbency level, plain white or printed ones, and of course, budget.

Plain white: Northshore MegaMax, AM PM Forsite, NRU Str8up, Incontrol, ABU Simple are in my top suggestions. Abri-Form M4 (Medium) or L4 (Large) are affordable and remains a good classic, one generation behind the newest ones with better absorbency and refastenable tape zone.

If you prefer cloth-like diapers, they let the skin breathe more, but many brands have the same issue with the tendency for diapers and tapes to stretch out and make the diaper become loose and more exposed to leaks.

If you are looking for the RollsRoyce for absorbency, I suggest the Trest Elite diapers. They are the world’s most absorbing diapers without any booster pads or stuffers added. They are expensive, but they are lasting much longer, which means using half of the amount of diapers. At the end, they end up being less expensive than most brand. My only advice would be to always add baby powder in those, and not wear them for longer than 12h when wet because it gets hard in the skin, and it’s better to change frequently and keep a healthy skin with proper hygiene.

If you want printed diapers, all the ABU diapers are very good. Most Rearz ones too, NappiesRus (NRU), Northshore Megamax have cool colours too. Forsite is more affordable, but not easy to get in USA as I heard. My favourite ones might not be other’s favourites. But I personally love the Megamax, Rearz Safari and Alpaca, ABU PeekAbu, NRU str8up blue and lil rascals.

If you are looking for pharmacy diapers, they are not necessarily the cheapest due to the monopoly of Tena on the shelves, offering thin diapers that will suit persons with mild incontinence. Tena is offering much better products in Europe and Oceania than what we find here in North America. Pharmacy brands are generally not the latest generation of diapers. They are handy in case of emergency, far from the best. Tena Super is what seems to be their best, cloth-backed only. The Tena Maxi slip are much better, and they are generally not available in the pharmacies in North America, but they can be ordered online at some incontinence supplies stores.

I suggest that you order directly from companies instead of distributors and resellers for better price.

Today, the market of incontinence supplies and ABDL diapers is blooming! There are so many good diapers, I can’t mention all of them here.

I hope my advices will help you choose the right product that you will like, and will suit you well. At first, I would suggest that you buy samples to compare the fit and comfort because there are some differences from one brand to another.

Alex🦸‍♂️

[myeagleexpert]

Decisão

Hello everyone! This post is inspired by @jackplushie's wonderful au that has me intrigued and looking forward to what might happen in the future.

PS: There may be spelling mistakes, English is not my first language. The demon boy is not specified, which may fit everyone.

Decisão

It all started in one night

It was a rainy night and some lightning lit up the master's room.

You had gone to bed earlier because you were feeling very tired, your heavy body had collapsed into the bed that once was so soft now feels agonizing, recently you have been feeling more tired and lacking energy than usual, the weather outside it has also been very heavy and suffocating.

Your beloved demon boys had grown used to this climate.

Chaos and darkness.

They stayed looking out the window watching the rain and lightning, others stayed in a corner absorbing the distressing energy that this weather did and the most responsible tried to do something productive during this period.

They already knew perfectly well what to do at a time like this: When the master wakes up, they will go down the stairs yawning, and hot tea must be served that kept him awake at night, the movie that the master likes so much will be shown on the TV channel 23hrs and like a good demon he can't let you lose him can he?

They had already memorized your entire routine and perfected it, after all, you had been together for a long time for them to know exactly how to take care of you and make you completely dependent on them. The contract has to be fulfilled, right? You who chose them. You took the hand. You wanted company didn't you? Well, you have it now.

A false peace reigned in the place and they couldn't ask for better.

But that is about to change.

With a single dream.

For a moment it feels like all the windows and doors in the room are closed, leaving only you and the dream.

Memories surface giving you different emotions. The first contact with him, when the contract was made, when he pretended to be your fake boyfriend to scare off a guy who was flirting with you, when he was protective, when you told jokes and stories to each other, makes you laugh in your sleep, good moments…

Oh, do you remember that memory? You were sick one day and your dear demon was by your side, he would wipe your forehead with a wet cloth to cool your fever and check your temperature, with a worried look and a gentle smile he said he was going to get your medicine.

Oh master, you was so sick that  just closed your eyes and listened to him coming down the stairs.You didn't see when he found the medicine you needed, it would cure your fever in minutes... but he threw away that medicine and preferred to deliver one of dubious effect, with a certain amount of poison and toxic products that would worsen your condition. He mixed them in a glass of water and brought them for you to drink.

As the liquid burned down your throat, you felt your stomach churn and sweat cold.

Do you remember the severe headaches and how suddenly you were so clumsy and weak? When have you been this fragile?

"Must be the effect of the medicine" he always said when he took care of the scratches and bruises you ended up having.

You never wanted to believe him, you never thought you would trust something that could destroy you at any moment. His smile distracted you from thinking that he would do something so terrible to you, the master himself. Oh, but how predictable you've become, what a wrong choice you've taken~

Like in a horror movie, every important scene was being revealed.

It was them.

All the time.

Taking you away from your friends to leave you alone, smearing your family name, giving you nightmares where you showed how terrible you are, breaking your stuff for them to fix you and you positively associate with them, every gesture calculated to make you trust him entirely, every word studied based on your emotions, every touch to lead to temptation.

A theater set up exclusively to devour your soul.

You got to see lapses of the future where you saw them getting worse and worse, manipulating your emotions to turn you into a void.

A bitter taste invades your tongue and inevitable tears flow down from your closed eyes.

Betrayal, guilt, disappointment,  throat curled into a knot as the chip slowly sank, shattering your heart.

Memories pass faster making you see every tiny detail that already hinted at what was to come, you feel so stupid and confused that you ever believed them. So they were never true? Was it all fake? Did he lie when he said he wanted to be by your side? Your cry feels like a sea of ​​storm drowning you, tears cover your body leaving you breathless...

"Y/N"

A voice comes out of nowhere, and seems to give you the breath you so desperately need.

"I'm here Y/N" the gentle voice is heard in the dream illuminating your anguish, a feather and another blur a vision preventing you  from seeing the owner of the voice

“I can help you” said voice extends its hand.

Vulnerable and confused, you decide you don't want this life anymore, no more being deceived and manipulated by these treacherous beings, no more being a puppet for these demons' base desires, no more being the object of their sadism. This theater ends today.

You take it.

The voice gives you comfort amidst the chaos outside, it wasn't threatening and full of teeth with bad intentions like you were used to.

For the first time in weeks, your bed feels so comfortable that you feel like the sheets are hugging you, your body that used to be so heavy feels like it's floating on clouds, the room has a comforting energy, you smile in your sleep.

You were at peace.

But for the demon boys hell is about to begin.

[portalwalker]

Visiting Graves

It was rainy and dark when Maria stepped out of the portal.

Large, heavy drops fell into her hair and dripped down her clothes, making them wet but not truly soaked. She took a moment to relish the feeling, holding out her arms and tipping her head back as the rain left wet tracks across her face.

While the watery trails left a mark, it didn’t linger; something in her dried the rain seconds after it hit her face, or repelled it from being truly absorbed into her skin and clothes. Humans would notice it on her jacket first, if any came across her, then realize it was happening to her hair and skin and realize she wasn’t what she appeared to be.

If anyone came out this far anymore.

Maria moved her face from the sky and scanned the landscape. Ruined homes with caved-in roofs and collapsing walls lined either side of what was once a road. What remained of the asphalt was cracked and faded back to stone, with weeds growing through the cracks. The civilization here had been all but reclaimed by nature – what little there was of it left.

Even the dandelions had seen better days….

Maria sighed and shook her head, then turned her attention to the collapsed two-story home she’d opened her portal in front of.

The color of the siding had faded a long time ago, leaving it gray and cracked as it fell off what remained of the rotting frame beneath. The front door had been kicked in a long time ago, leaving it barely hanging on rusted hinges. It was amazing that even that had lasted this long. The front porch looked like it was barely standing, and the roof had long since fallen into the floor above, judging by the broken windows, but…it was still here.

Home was still here.

Maria blinked away the faint wetness in her eyes, then shook her head and walked up onto the rotting porch. The wood creaked and groaned dangerously under her feet, but she didn’t pay it any mind.

“Mom, Dad,” Maria said into the rain-filled air. “I’m home.”

She could almost see them, standing in the open doorway. Her mother’s black hair blended in with the darkness of the first floor, but her green eyes were bright and warm. Her father’s brown hair likewise tried to vanish, but the blue of his eyes – a darker shade than her own – carried the same tone in them.

Maria closed her eyes and shook her head. When she looked again, the shades had vanished.

Just a long-dead memory, nothing more.

A shaky sigh slipped out, and Maria ran her fingers across her forehead, as though to ease a nonexistent headache. She hadn’t suffered from one in centuries, but old habits never died. 

“I know you’re not here anymore,” Maria said into the empty air. “But…I hope you’ll forgive me for pretending you are, for just a little while.”

She stepped around the broken front door, carefully making her way into the dark house. The scent of mold and mildew hung heavy in the air, and it was clear by the sound of dripping water that it wasn’t dry in here, and it hadn’t been dry in a long time.

Maria snapped her fingers, and a flickering orb of flame came at her call. Nature-damaged walls flickered in its light, revealing an empty ground floor devoid of furniture or appliances. It looked like this place had been cleared out a long time ago.

The sight made Maria’s eyes tear up again. She could almost see the well-lit living space, her brothers sitting at the couch with their father playing a fighting game, her sister sitting off to the side with a grumpy expression after having lost all her lives in the brawl.

She shook her head again. Just a memory. As much as she wanted that to happen again, it couldn’t. Not after…

…no. She didn’t want to think about that here. Not now.

“I guess I’ll start with where I left off after my last visit, huh?” Maria said quietly. “I’m in Gravity Falls now – you remember that cartoon, right?....”

-----

She spends what feels like hours recounting her recent adventures to the ghost of a house. It echoes with the groaning of the roof, threatening to break through the floor above and finally collapse the entire building, but it holds for as long as she stands in what was once the living room.

It’s only after she leaves, tears evaporating from her face, that the entire building gives in with a groan and collapses.

She doesn’t wince at the sound. If anything, her shoulders seem to droop with more unseen weight than when she’d arrived.

“Guess it’s official, huh,” Maria muttered. She sighed and shook her head. “Got one last place to visit, and then I’ll go. I promise.”

She walked further up the decaying street, to another home that had long since collapsed. There were the remains of a sleek, silver building behind it, now rusting with disuse.

The safe-like front door gave way at her touch, and something dinged in the building. “Spark signature recognized. Welcome, Maria Flare.”

She tried not to wince at the synthesized voice of the young man over the loudspeaker system. She failed miserably.

“I’m just here to fill up on whatever’s left,” Maria said. “Please, don’t report back. They don’t need to know I’m here.”

“Understood.”

Lights flickered on, but sporadically – clearly, it’s been a long time since this place has seen any use. Mechanical tools and similar lab equipment lay on tables and in cabinets, gathering dust. They look like they were laid out for some grand project, and then were left before the mechanics or scientists could begin.

Maria ignores the tools, walking past them to a large tank in the far back. She glances at the gauge.

Energon reserves – 15%

A heavy sigh leaves her again. “Might as well take what’s left.”

She pulls a few metal canisters out from under her orange jacket, similar in shape to large, multi-gallon water bottles, and sets to work. It takes some time, but she’s able to empty what remains in the reserve tank into her own portable ones.

Some spattering drops of the glowing blue liquid are lost in the transfer, but Maria doesn’t feel greatly concerned at their loss.

When she finishes, she stows away the tanks. They vanish under her jacket as soon as she moves them there, disappearing to some personal pocket space. Then she walks back to the safe-like front door.

“Initiate final shut-down,” Maria said flatly.

“Password required to confirm command.”

Maria closed her eyes. “Same old Joshua.” She raises her voice to the ceiling. “Spark’s Call.”

“Password accepted. Initiating shut-down.”

The lights flicker and die behind her as Maria steps out of what remains of the lab.

She notices a pair of headlights on the ruined street through the rain, and hears the calm purr of an engine too smooth to be human-made.

Maria paused on the grass, then snapped her fingers again.

The blue glow of a portal appeared at her feet, and she vanished from that world without a word.

Maybe I’ll come back and speak with them again. But not now. Not today.

Seeing what remains…it hurts enough.