#soil pulling away from foundation

[repairfoundation]

Understanding Foundation Slope: Key Considerations and Solutions by Foundation Solutions

Foundation slope is a critical aspect of a building’s structural integrity. It refers to the angle or gradient of the ground surrounding the foundation. An improper foundation slope can lead to a range of issues, including water drainage problems, soil erosion, and even foundation damage. At Foundation Solutions, we understand the importance of a well-designed foundation slope and offer expert services to address any slope-related concerns. In this blog post, we’ll explore the significance of foundation slope, the common problems associated with improper slopes, and the solutions we provide to ensure your property’s stability and safety.

The Importance of Proper Foundation Slope

A proper foundation slope is essential for several reasons, primarily related to water management and soil stability. Here are some key benefits of maintaining the correct slope around your foundation:

Effective Water Drainage: A properly sloped foundation ensures that water drains away from the building, preventing water accumulation around the foundation. This is crucial in preventing water infiltration, which can lead to basement flooding, mold growth, and foundation weakening.

Soil Stability: A correct slope helps maintain soil stability around the foundation. Poor slope design can lead to soil erosion, undermining the foundation and causing settlement or shifting. Proper grading prevents soil displacement and supports the foundation’s integrity.

Preventing Foundation Damage: Water accumulation and soil movement due to an improper slope can cause cracks, bowing walls, and other foundation damage. A well-graded slope minimizes these risks, extending the lifespan of the foundation.

Enhanced Property Value: A property with a well-maintained foundation slope is more attractive to potential buyers. It indicates proper maintenance and reduces the likelihood of costly repairs in the future.

Erosion Control: Proper slope design helps control erosion, which can wash away soil and destabilize the foundation. Erosion control is particularly important in areas prone to heavy rainfall or with loose soil conditions.

Common Problems Caused by Improper Foundation Slope

An incorrect foundation slope can lead to various issues that compromise the safety and stability of your property. Here are some common problems associated with improper slopes:

Water Accumulation: A slope that directs water toward the foundation can lead to water pooling around the base of the building. This can result in hydrostatic pressure on the foundation walls, causing cracks and leaks.

Basement Flooding: Poor drainage due to an improper slope can lead to water seeping into the basement, causing flooding and water damage. This is a common problem in properties with negative slope (a slope that directs water toward the building).

Foundation Settlement: When the soil around the foundation becomes saturated with water, it can lead to soil expansion and contraction. This can cause uneven settlement of the foundation, resulting in cracks and structural damage.

Soil Erosion: An incorrect slope can lead to soil erosion, where the top layer of soil is washed away. This can destabilize the foundation and create voids under the foundation, leading to further settlement issues.

Landscape Damage: Poor slope design can also affect landscaping, leading to waterlogged lawns, plant damage, and erosion. Proper slope management enhances the aesthetics and functionality of outdoor spaces.

Solutions for Foundation Slope Issues

At Foundation Solutions, we offer a range of services to address foundation slope issues and ensure the stability and safety of your property. Here are some of the solutions we provide:

Foundation Grading and Regrading: Our experts assess the existing slope and make necessary adjustments to ensure proper grading. We create a slope that directs water away from the foundation, typically at a minimum slope of 5% (6 inches of fall per 10 feet).

French Drains and Drainage Systems: We install French drains and other drainage systems to manage water flow around the foundation. These systems collect and redirect water away from the foundation, preventing water accumulation and potential damage.

Soil Stabilization: In cases where soil erosion or instability is a concern, we offer soil stabilization services. This includes the use of retaining walls, terracing, and other methods to prevent soil movement and support the foundation.

Basement Waterproofing: To protect against water infiltration, we provide basement waterproofing solutions. This includes sealing cracks, installing vapor barriers, and applying waterproof coatings to the foundation walls.

Foundation Repair and Reinforcement: If the foundation has already suffered damage due to slope issues, we offer comprehensive repair and reinforcement services. This includes crack repair, underpinning, and the installation of helical piers or other support systems.

Landscaping and Erosion Control: We provide landscaping services that complement foundation slope solutions. This includes planting vegetation, installing erosion control mats, and designing drainage-friendly landscapes.

Why Choose Foundation Solutions?

Foundation Solutions is a trusted name in the industry, known for our expertise, quality workmanship, and commitment to customer satisfaction. Here’s why you should choose us for your foundation slope and related needs:

Experienced Professionals: Our team consists of skilled professionals with extensive experience in foundation slope assessment and correction. We use advanced techniques and equipment to deliver precise and effective solutions.

Comprehensive Services: We offer a full range of services, from slope grading and drainage installation to foundation repair and waterproofing. This makes us a one-stop solution for all your foundation-related needs.

Customized Solutions: We understand that every property is unique, and we tailor our services to meet your specific requirements. Our solutions are designed to address the root cause of the problem, ensuring long-term results.

High-Quality Materials: We use top-quality materials and products to ensure the durability and effectiveness of our solutions. Our work is backed by warranties, giving you peace of mind.

Transparent Communication: We maintain open and transparent communication throughout the project, keeping you informed and addressing any questions or concerns you may have.

Competitive Pricing: We offer competitive pricing without compromising on quality. Our estimates are detailed and transparent, with no hidden costs.

Case Study: Successful Foundation Slope Correction

A recent project involved a homeowner experiencing water accumulation around the foundation and basement flooding during heavy rains. Our team assessed the slope and found that the ground sloped towards the foundation, causing water to pool around the base. We regraded the slope to direct water away from the building, installed a French drain system, and waterproofed the basement walls. The result was a dry basement and a stable foundation. The homeowner was extremely satisfied with the outcome and appreciated our professionalism and attention to detail.

Contact Foundation Solutions Today

If you’re experiencing foundation slope issues or need professional assessment and correction services, contact Foundation Solutions today. Our experienced team is ready to provide you with reliable, high-quality solutions to ensure the stability and safety of your property.

At Foundation Solutions, we are committed to delivering top-notch foundation slope solutions that exceed your expectations. Trust us to handle your foundation needs with expertise and care, providing you with a solid foundation for years to come.

Tagged Foundation Repair, Foundation Slope, Foundation Solutions

[foundationsolution]

Understanding Concrete Flaking And Its Similarities With Spalling

Concrete, which forms the integral structure of many modern buildings, is renowned for its durability and strength. However, despite its robust nature, it is susceptible to natural wear and tear, harsh environmental conditions, and poor construction techniques, all of which can result in damage over time. Two of the most common problems that afflict concrete […]

[mysteria157]

Chapter Three

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Slight Angst (mentions of death), Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: ~5k

Summary:

Suffering from haunting dreams and a raging cold, you find solce in Toji's challenging yet comforting presence.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting so patiently! It took me weeks to finally get out of my perfectionist mindset and just...write so everything flows together. This chapter is shorter than my usual, but to me little moments help with character development. And this is going to be a very, very slow burn lol.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

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Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

***You***

The cold air is deceptive; it nips at your skin, raising goosebumps despite the warm inviting appearance of your surroundings. Tall trees—oaks, hickories, and basswoods—clutter densely, forming a barrier that shields the land from the outside world and cages bittersweet memories of the past. You’ve followed your father through these woods before, navigating rocky hills and leaping over thick, ingrown branches to reach another unmarked spot for exploring.

Deep purple hues of the twilight sky cast elongated, eerie shadows over the forest, and they fold over the tall grass like dark, unnatural fingers. This definitely isn’t real. Everything around you right now brings painful memories—but they’re are not as sharp as what you feel in reality.

In reality, the ache is persistent, pulsing weakly in your veins, flaring up with every fleeting memory of your father—his infectious laugh, his hands putting you on his shoulders as you walked to football games, or the early mornings spent huddled together, his hand guiding your binoculars to focus on a bird in the distance.

This is definitely a dream.

You know it also from the feel of the grassy meadow beneath your toes, the blades soft and ticklish against your ankles, the usual worry of ticks far from your mind. Vivid wildflowers—yellows, pinks, and blues—sway in a nonexistent breeze. The dirt path that once led to your father’s house has vanished, taken over by the soil and grass, erasing years of footprints.

The house he dreamt of building, a two-story structure crafted by his own hands, now stands as nothing more than a decaying skeleton. There is no roof, only stretches of drywall reaching towards the twilight sky, as if trying to reach the heavens and falling short.

As you walk further across the foundation, the environment shifts around you, the air folding in on itself and twisting like the patterns in a kaleidoscope. Your fingers trail along the phantom walls that spring up, and your feet glide over the conjured glossy finish of hardwood floors. This empty space is a blueprint nestled deep in your memory: bedrooms that will give privacy, a living room that will host family gatherings, a fireplace that is now roaring in orange and yellows.

“There you are,” a familiar voice calls to you, sending a jolt through your heart that tightens your chest as if you’re about to cough. As you turn the corner, reality morphs once again, unfolding into a meticulously designed kitchen with forest green cabinets adorned with brass knobs, a deep porcelain sink and shiny stainless-steel appliances. The surreal surroundings are dizzying, blurring and swirling in your vision. But the figure you know—his broad back turned to you, shoulders stretching and pulling as he wipes something in front of him—that grounds you, preventing you from drifting away.

“It finally came in, take a look.”

He radiates an intense warmth as you stand beside him. Even with your arms barely touching, the heat feels suffocating, instantly causing you to break into a sweat. Just being next to him makes your throat constrict, choked and searing, it’s nearly impossible to speak. But with each stroke of his hand on the new granite counter top, sweeping a fiberglass cloth, his love and comfort are palpable in the stiffing heat, settling on your skin to relax you.

“Looks good huh?” He’s proud, and even though you don’t have the strength to look up at his face, you know he’s beaming. “Once it all comes together, it’s gonna look beautiful.”

His words stir a deep-seated guilt within you, so fierce it makes you want to scratch at your own skin, as if to physically scrape away the emotional turmoil the festers beneath the layer of your dermis. You press your toes into the hardwood, cross your arms and dig your fingernails into your arms. It’s hotter now—god you’re burning up. Your body prickles with beads of moisture as you watch him tirelessly wipe over an already clean surface.

It’s incessant, and with each swipe the guilt rises further, urging you to flee from a conversation that will never happen. You don’t really know about an afterlife but if there is one, does he know what happened? Is he rooted in the present, watching you occasionally to see what you’ve failed to do? Is he disappointed in you?

Maybe if you focus on his steady motions, close your eyes, and just breathe, you might find yourself back in your room when you open them again. After all, none of this is real—it will never be real. This kitchen, these rooms, the wooden floorboards, and the beautiful roaring fireplace. The remnants of all of this are written on a blueprint somewhere, collecting dust for the last two decades.

He calls out to you again, his voice oddly distant though he stands right beside you. He sounds weary, as if he’s struggling to breathe, and when you glance at his hand moving across the counter, it’s no longer vibrant and almond-brown but ashen, marked by blown-out veins. Lifting your eyes, you meet not the father you remember, but his final, frail image—his sunken skin, his life slipping away too soon, anchored to the world only by the fragile thread of a nasal cannula.

“You okay, honey?” he croaks, concern etched in every syllable.

You open your mouth to speak, but fear grips your entire being, squeezing you like you’re a piece of fruit to be juiced. The terror is paralyzing, and you find yourself unable to face him any longer without crumbling into tears. A deep, ragged breath cuts through the silence, rasping painfully in your throat as you stammer, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t—“

Your eyes snap open, sticky and heavy with exhaustion, wincing against the harsh glare of sunlight that peaks through your maroon curtains. The embers of your dream fade into nothingness and unforgiving reality slides into place with ease. The heat of the dream is replaced by a chilling dampness; the sheets cling to your sweaty skin, and the fiery soreness in your throat reminds you of your still raging cold. When you swallow, it feels like sandpaper across raw flesh.

It’s been almost a year since you’ve dreamt of your father. It’s not that you don’t like to dream about him; actually, you cherish every memory, even the painful ones. But dreaming of him in the house—his house that has remained untouched since his death—it consumes you with regret for the role you’ve been unable to fulfill. You don’t have the time. You don’t have the money. All things that are out of your control but still hold you by the throat.

It’s too much for your mother, and you don’t blame her. The love she has for your father never really left. It lingered in her second marriage and came back full force in her divorce. So she stays away from all things related to him when she can.

Your eyes wander to the corner of your office desk where the old property deed lies, rolled up and bound by a simple rubber band. The edges are brown and dusty, much like the blueprints in your dream.

Why do you even keep it there?

Maybe it’s a reminder of him, just something physical you can glance at every day even if it hurts. Maybe it’s there to spur you to make that thousandth trip to city hall—the one that always ends in tears. Maybe, with these next few days off, you can try again. You’ll be stronger this time, more aggressive with the bald-headed piece of shit that always gives you trouble.

Or maybe not.

The flare of your throat is harsh enough to push away any other thoughts. There’s a frustration that always comes with getting sick, it makes simple things extreme when there is no need for it. Your body is too hot and also too cold, your throat burns with every swallow no matter how many throat drops you take, your lungs spasm with the tiniest breath to cough, your nose is so congested that it makes you regret taking breathing for granted. It’s overstimulating as hell.

You wince against the harsh sun again, turning your head further into your pillow before your eyes fall on your nightstand. There’s a tall glass of water and two pills. You don’t remember setting them there, but you sit up to throw them back anyway and down the water quickly. The coolness soothes your throat and with each swallow, the haze of last night lifts.

You know Toji brought you home because your car is out of commission and he refused to let you take the bus. He helped you out last night—literally carrying you up to your apartment because you were so achy and exhausted you could hardly stand. You remember him leaning casually against the brick wall of your complex, that insufferably charming smirk playing on his lips as he watched you go through every stage of defiance for help.

“I’m not getting any younger, princess.”

That name. You hate that name.

It was a taunt that made you eventually give up, too damn tired to snap at him. You gave in to the warmth of strong muscles and the scent of detergent, cologne, and something that’s just Toji. You remember the lack of strain in his neck, the ease in which he breathed as he took step after step like you weighed nothing, and the analytical gaze of jade irises beaming in the night as he took in his surroundings. It almost felt like he was assessing the area, checking every corner when he hit another flight of steps to make sure no one was lurking nearby.

As you think back, your hands automatically press against your cheeks, warmed by the flush of memory as your blood pumps faster in your veins from the rising shock. Toji had drawn you an Epsom salt bath to soak your muscles, rolling his eyes as you feverishly barked at him for privacy to undress. That gruff attentiveness continued as he watched you like a hawk as you slurped down the bowl of canned soup he warmed, and then gently nudging you to bed with a press to the small of your back. Even his firm grip on your arm as he wielded a syringe of cough syrup—which you tried to refuse—is clear in your mind.

“You’re burning up, stop fucking fighting me! What kind of doctor won’t take medicine?”

“This doctor. I would rather lick the floor than taste cough syrup. It’s just a cold. Go away,” you remember protesting, delirious with a stubbornness that has only gotten worse with age.

He had pressed the tip of the syringe to the side of your mouth, eyes narrowed and annoyed. “Open your mouth and—OW, why are you biting people! Girl, what the hell?!”

“Fuck,” you groan now, your hands digging into your eye sockets as the memory plays like a broken record behind your eyelids. You bit him like a fucking maniac. Who does that?! You remember giving in because you felt bad but still…

As a kid, you were the same—so against the taste of medicine that your mother had to pin you down.

But now? At the ripe age of too damn grown? You’re mortified.

Your hands slide down your face as you sigh in the silence, which feels heavier than before. Did he leave last night? You can’t remember anything beyond smacking your lips to get rid of the cherry taste of cough medicine and rolling over to pass out.

Your body isn’t as achy as last night as you climb out of bed. You slip into dry clothes and throw off your bonnet, ruffling the curls loose before you snatch up your phone and leave the room in search of him. The air in your apartment, usually so familiar, now carries a subtle disturbance—a reminder of his increasing presence. Only the distant chirps of cardinals outside punctuate the silence. As you enter the living room, you notice Toji’s black jacket casually draped over a kitchen stool and his car keys abandoned on the counter.

Your fuzzy socks muffle your steps as you approach the counter, where a covered glass bowl sits alongside a small note. You hate the lurch of your heart skipping as you snatch it up, your movements fueled by a mix of dread and anticipation.

Make sure you eat it all.

You can practically hear his gruff voice through the words, rough and serious, a subtle layer of care that’s unique to him. The thought makes you snort softly, relief washing over you with the distant thought that…he didn’t leave. But that relief is a push and pull, it’s frustrating to you because you’re unsure of what you want, even though you want more and moreof it. More of him.

As you pop open the lid of the container, the steam hitting your nose, your phone rings, your eyes rolling on reflex as you look at the caller ID. It’s a work day for your cousin, you can tell by the sleek reading glasses she only wears to comb over legal documents. Her shiny kinky hair is pulled up into a neat bun with not a strand out of place, edges laid to perfection, dark lip liner with a clear gloss on full lips, and she looks professional and uniquely Rene. Dark brown eyes narrow at you, the corners pointed in a cat’s eye with fresh black eyeliner, her expression tightening. Your mind automatically conjures the phrase you know she’s about to say.

“What do I have to do—”

“—to make sure you’re not dead,” she finishes in real time, her voice a blend of concern and familiar exasperation. “I was texting you all night.”

This is a well-worn interaction between you both; you work for days on end and disappear from the world, Rene reels you back in with stern care that rivals your own mother.

Your fingernail idly traces Toji’s handwriting from his note. “It was a rough night. My car wouldn’t start, I had to catch the bus and it made me late, and then work was just a nightmare. I’m sick, everything hurts, and Toji had to pick me up—”

“Why don’t we back up a little bit,” she interjects, elegant eyebrows arching up in wicked surprise, your well-being entirely forgotten because your cousin is a nosy bitch. “Toji was there? Where is he?” You shoot her a glare, irritation flaring because you refuse to give in to her curiosity. She holds up her hands in defense, her full lips curving into a smile. “Damn, a bestie can’t ask a question these days? That’s tough.”

Your gaze holds firm, challenging her. She meets it in a well-known game you both play, her eyes widening comically and it’s enough to break you both, laughter filling the kitchen.

“This is why I don’t tell you things,” you lie, coughing into your elbow. “We are just taking it slow. Nothing crazy. I didn’t need his help anyway. I could have taken the bus and taken care of myself. It’s just a cold.”

She laughs again at your bullshit and you sigh in defeat. There’s no point in trying to sugarcoat things with her. Nothing crazy, you say even though can’t even get your thoughts together when it comes to him. You could easily hang up the phone, but annoying or not, you haven’t talked to Rene in days. It’s nice to hear her voice again. Your mother is overseas often for work so calls aren’t as frequent. As for the rest of your family? You’re just…not as close to them.

Rene’s still running cackling keeps your mind from wandering again.

“Alright, it’s not funny anymore,” you snap as you grab a spoon from a kitchen drawer, turning back to Toji’s leftover food with a frown.

“I’m sorry! Really! But come on, it’s just classic you—the baddest bitch I know, but here you are, refusing any chance of help even though you want it so bad. Hard-headed as hell,” she chuckles, her voice warming with the years of friendship between you.

You pause, spoon in hand over the steaming bowl of soup, struck by the truth in her words. Stubbornness is your armor and you rarely let it slip, only few know what’s behind it. Even though she teases, it hurts. It hurts because it carries history—reminders of every instance you’ve pushed help away. It wraps around those jabs from your family, from the men you’ve been with.

Mean because you demand respect so you can weed out those who aren’t worth your time.

Defensive because you’ve been hurt too often.

Uncompromising and fierce, and that’s anyone who tries to get too close—never stays.

You clench your teeth together. “Rene, I’m not—” you start to protest, but the latch of the front door opening makes you raise the spoon in alarm.

It's Toji.

He walks into your home as if he owns the place, his presence so commanding it seems to fill every corner, snuffing the lights and sucking the air from the room. His gaze sweeps through the space, and when his emerald eyes finally settle on you, you feel the weight of his attention.

His shirt is stained with grease, and raven locks, messy from the July humidity, sticks to his forehead and sides of his neck.

“You won’t get far if you’re trying to stab me with that,” he teases, nodding towards the spoon in your hand. Though his tone is light, the underlying seriousness suggests he’s not entirely joking. He’s strong enough to disarm you and you wouldn’t mind a big man like him trying to—

The spoon clatters against the granite counter top as you slap it down and force your mind to shut the hell up.

He takes only two steps before he’s standing in front of you, analytical eyes scanning you in seconds—a look so intense that it feels like he’s trying to memorize you and understand hidden layers you’d rather keep concealed. Alarmingly thorough and you’re still trying to process him being this close, his proximity bringing an electricity you feel even before his lips press a soft, almost possessive kiss on your cheek, like he’s been waiting—itching for contact.

Rene’s startled cough cracks through the phone, mirroring your own internal shock. Toji is making your fever worse because it’s hot as hell now, the hairs rising on your neck as you gape like a fish.

“W-what are you doing…” you begin to ask, but the words die in your dry mouth when he pulls back. His eyes linger close to yours—too close and sliding across your nose, your cheeks, your lips. He still smells like cologne, but now there’s sweat and a muskiness of exertion and outdoors that makes your head swim with dread and desire.

“Where’s your toolbox?” he asks, putting a leash on your thoughts before they run away from you.

You clear your throat and step back, trying to reclaim your space, to fortify your defenses, do anything so you don’t fall apart. “Um, coat closet down the hall. Top shelf.” Your tone is steadier than you feel, pointing mechanically to your hallway.

You look down at your phone when he walks away, exhaling a breath you don’t realize you’re holding. Rene’s watching you with an amused, knowing look, eyebrows rising and falling suggestively. You can’t stand her because you want to laugh and groan at the same time.

“Girl,” Rene chimes, voice dripping with insinuation and not low enough because she doesn’t care who hears her. “I’m sure if you take him for a ride again, you’ll feel a little better.”

“When she’s not sick,” Toji calls from the hallway, your eyes widening at the implication of him listening in. “That kind of ride takes a little work.”

You gawk at the empty space of your hallway. Rene hollers and you hope to god she gets written up for being too loud.

“I know that’s right, Toj—”

You hang up and slam the phone down with more force than necessary.

Toji returns with the toolbox, smirking and completely unphased by his remark and just how unsettled you look by it. He motions with his head to the bowl of soup in front of you.

“Eat.”

It’s a command, gentle but firm, and you bristle not just at the directive, but at your own conflicting impulses—to bare your teeth and snap at his attempt of care or to melt under his attention.

Toji doesn’t wait for an answer, just studies you a moment longer, seemingly satisfied with what he sees, and disappears out the front door. The quiet buzz of the cardinals outside fills the silence he leaves behind.

You’re left standing there, a hand squeezing your phone on the counter like a vice, your mind struggling to remain upright in a storm of emotions that he stirs up within you. Unsettling and soothing, your chest fluttering like butterflies wings against your rib cage. Maybe it’s just a heart palpitation, this intensity—this feeling. Nanami can do an EKG when you return to work in a few days. And he better be there, because he’s the very reason why you had to pick up so many shifts in the first place.

Rene’s giggles still echo in your ears as you exhale a shaky breath and grip the metal spoon in your hand again.

***

“What are you doing?”

Your question cuts through the ambient city hum and the rustle of trees surrounding the parking lot of your complex. Toji is hunched over the hood of your car, hands deep in it’s guts, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The summer sun beats down on you both, yet you’re wrapped in Toji’s jacket to cover your exposed legs. It was the first thing you grabbed when you rushed out of the apartment but it’s too big, the hem brushes against your knees, the sleeves dangling past your hands. You push them up again, feeling simultaneously protected and vulnerable under his gaze as he turns to face you. The jacket feels like a shield, but also a reminder of how much space he’s beginning to occupy in your life.

“Your starter is bad,” he grunts, showing you a car part smeared with oil. It looks expensive, way more than an oil change, and panic flares in your belly briefly as the numbers fluctuate in your mind. If it’s too much, it’ll probably be weeks before you can take your car to the shop.

You’re a doctor, but doctors don’t start making good money for…awhile.

“How much do you think it will be for a new one?” You sigh, mentally calculating the number of zeros the mechanic is going to throw at you. At least Toji saved you some money for a diagnostics test.

“I already ordered the part.”

The admission hits you like a truck.

You gape at him, fumbling and overwhelmed. “You didn’t—I could have done all of this myself. I don’t need your help, Toji.”

The words taste bitter as they drip from your tongue, a defensive reflex from years of self-reliance. Of course you’re grateful, but the frustration that he’s seen a need you hadn’t voiced, that he’s filled it without asking, that’s what stirs the deep discomfort. It’s not just the help—it’s the intimacy of it, the presumption that he can anticipate your needs.

The weight of his jacket on your shoulders no longer feels comforting.

His reaction is immediate, a flash of annoyance flickering over his features, the scar on the side of his lips twisting as he frowns and snatches a rag from the hood of the car.

“So, what, you were going to trust some corner-shop mechanic to rip you off?”

His accusation is justified, and almost instantly, that phrase parrots in your mind.

Let me be nice to you. Let me be nice to you.

“Yep, that was the plan,” you retort, your voice lacks conviction, weak and drowned out by the steady thump of your own heart as he walks closer. He drags the rag between his knuckles, collecting the dirt in the seams.

“You want me to let some old fuck tear your shit up? Even though I know what I’m doing? Not happening.”

His assurance should be overwhelming, but you find yourself irresistibly drawn to it. He moves closer, and instinctively, your muscles tense, your toes curling inside your fuzzy socks and blue Crocs. With every inch that disappears between you both, your mind fires with mixed signals: go back to the safety of your apartment or surrender to the magnetic pull of him. God, you’ve only been awake for two hours, but the emotional whiplash just might knock you back out.

“You told me to earn you, so I am. You need to let me.”

His directness, unyielding and raw, hits you harder than you expect. It’s not just his physical presence that’s imposing—it’s the sheer force of his will, loud and insisting that you realize he’s not leaving anytime soon.

Your reactions and reflexes are not completely intentional, but it isn’t easy to just change who you are. The defenses around you are lined with hard-learned lessons. Your armor and shields to keep yourself safe are all you know. Letting go is like disarming a trap designed to protect you—it requires careful, gentle hands. And you’re terrified that Toji’s large, scarred hands will be too rough.

But you recognize that you can’t tell him to try, and you not do the same. That’s not fair to him, or to whatever this dance is that you are both trying to learn the steps to.

As Toji wipes the sweat from his brow, he unwittingly smears a streak of grease across his forehead, drawing your attention. “If you really feel like you need to repay me, then I don’t know—spend a day with me.”

You lift an eyebrow, surprised at his suggestion. “A whole day?”

Toji nods. “When the part comes in and you’re feeling better. No long ass shifts. No PI cases. Just you and me.” He offers a half-smile, white teeth glimmering in the sun and the look is as disarming as it is dangerous.

Your interactions with Toji, even limited, have always been charged with an intensity you’ve avoided and craved. The meaning behind the car repairs and taking care of you, it’s not just surface level. There’s more to it…he’s trying. So now it’s your turn.

You sniff through a congested nose and clear your rough throat, grabbing the rag from his hands and standing on your toes to reach his forehead. You don’t get very far, but Toji leans down so his forehead is closer to you, holding back a snicker at the height difference. You wipe the grease away, locked on the task because you can feel his stare.

“An entire day with you sounds…ominous.”

“I’ll make sure to feed you,” Toji responds, a comforting rumble that unexpectedly makes you laugh. A small smile blooms across your face and the tension in your stomach eases. You feel a little better, still on a tightrope but you can see the other side. With the grease now gone, you sink back to your slightly achy heels, unable to look away now that you’re both eye-level. “I’ll throw in a thirty-minute lunch break.”

“Make it an hour. Don’t try to short change me,” you challenge, playfully. His eyes, emerald and sharp, scan your face with open curiosity, and you wonder if you’ll ever get used to his intense focus. You press the rag into his white shirt, deliberately looking to the dirt on the fabric to ground your thoughts. “How’s your finger?”

His laughter vibrates through him, a melodic bark that makes you bite the inside of your cheek, and you watch his abdomen tighten under his shirt from the motion. Toji’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the rag from your hand, his touch making your heart jump. The scars on his knuckles catch the sunlight, and you’re struck again with the curiosity of how they got there.

“I’ve had worse.”

You can’t tell if that’s a joke…or if he’s serious, but you don’t have time to ask because his lips press against your cheek, stealing another unasked kiss that leaves you momentarily off-balance. You swat at him in reflex as if he’s a fly in your ears, swallowing a stuttering response that you’re glad doesn’t filter into the air.

“You’re burning up. Go lay down,” he murmurs, almost gentle now. “I’ll finish up here and head out.”

You can stay.

It’s what you want to say. The words are on the tip of your tongue, pressing against the back of your teeth, but you curl the muscle back and purse your lips, offering a tight nod before you turn and walk away.

Your Crocs squeak against the concrete, your pace quickening because you can feel Toji’s eyes on your back, watching you. You’re burning up from the summer air and the jacket that’s around you. But there’s an underlying, electrifying warmth that pulls a small smile on your face, your hands rising to your cheeks to quell the heat flush that you know is not from your fever.

Thanks for reading!

[eyesteeth]

imo every water metaphor people throw at faulkner gets better when you remember he can't swim. “stories are currents, and he plunges headlong into those rushing waters, time and time again" yeah and he can't swim. he's drowning in the narrative he's making for himself. "speak now of the man you will leave behind, the man you have been... drown him in the river’s depths" yeah he's been trying to. he kinda always is, a little bit, just by virtue of being there.

it just speaks to such a fundamental incompatibility in my eyes. he's still scared - he ran out of the hotel when he sainted the hotelier in season one and he runs away from the angel he summons in s3e6. it seems like he can only partake in violence through abstraction - it's just water and symbols until someone's dead or changed in front of him, and then it's real. the withermark is a holy triumph until he counts the houses and the people inside, and then it's something no one should ever have. sacrifice is foundational to all faith in this universe. this isn't something he can avoid, even if the upcoming schism lets him steer his part of the faith where he wants.

(and, to tangent, someone telling him that they finally killed her in some distant town isn't real because he didn't see her face when she hit the soil. if that happens then she's just someone who's not there anymore and he can keep on missing her like he's been doing. i am convinced this is why he gave the shoot on sight order.)

it’s mentioned that he's left alone in his room at the gulch for hours at a time, just like when his father would neglect him and his brothers and leave them to their own devices. he wants a real and genuine love like family, but instead gets worship and idolatry from one hand and schemes to kill him from the other. he keeps climbing the ranks, distancing himself from the potential of gaining the closeness he craves, all in the hope of getting closer to the god he's losing faith in. he's crawling towards the river and he can't swim.

he is trying to love something that wants to drag him under. even if there wasn't a god in the river, the water would greedily swallow him anyway. river currents do not care about your love. he is putting the sunk in sunk cost fallacy. he’s participating in reverse self-immolation. he is drowning in deep water and has only just learned how to keep his eyes open without goggles. he needs to reach the surface but he still can't fucking swim. he is going to die thrashing in the river he loves so much, trying to get out once he realized it wasn't ever going to love him back the way he wanted.

and if he can’t learn how to swim in time, he’s going to need the help of someone who can to pull him out.

[vvxgs]

°˖✧˚ WARNINGS: light angst. ˚✧˖°

"I'm calling you for the twentieth time!", Charles shouted as soon as he spotted his teammate. "Where have you been?"

"Doesn't matter. What happened?"

"Y/N was here about an hour ago."

"What?", the Spaniard inquired.

"I was surprised too. She seemed off, but left something for you. A letter."

That's when he realized that the fuse had been lit. Y/N was the spark leading to his ignition. Now it was a matter of whether the Spaniard could prevent the disaster from happening in time.

When his fingers touched the paper, he knew what he was about to read would irreversibly change his life. For a brief moment, he even had the urge to tear the envelope into pieces and deny himself the chance of knowing its contents.

Dear Carlos, Is this how I should start this letter? I have no idea. The last letter I wrote was about seven years ago. I addressed it to Santa Claus. But I figured you deserve more than two sentences, more than just a regular text or email.

My plane has probably already taken off, so stay where you are. Don't throw everything away trying to catch me. It's too late for that.

Maybe I'm acting selfish, giving only one of us a chance to explain, but I'm sure that whatever would come out of your mouth wouldn't change anything.

I'm learning not to dwell on our parting. I'm learning the way one learns to walk. I might stumble a few times, but then you won't even notice, and I'll cover that distance with a run.

We're too different. If I decided to stay and try, it wouldn't be healthy. This poison spreads too fast. It's unstoppable. And the antidote? It doesn't exist.

Someone once said that life is like a puzzle. The picture can be complete and perfect when all the pieces are in place. Why do we try to force a piece into a space when it doesn't fit? Don't look for me. Don't try to force me back into your life.

I understand you want to explain a lot to me, but keep it to yourself. It's the only way I won't start hating you.

Goodbye Carlos."

Carlos stood still. His muscles were relaxed, his head slightly lowered. The Spaniard was one of the indestructible. Of course, someone had chipped away at his fortress a few times, but never enough to make his castle crumble. The foundations were strong enough that despite many attacks, his body didn't resemble ruins. But that day, everything indicated that Carlos Sainz had given up.

He stood like that for a while. The letter and the white envelope slipped from his fingers, and he watched as the white sheets turned gray from the still-wet soil.

Finally, he twitched. He turned around and started walking toward the garage, not even glancing at his teammate standing there. But Charles observed him very closely.

His face was stone-like, hot and salty drops flowing down his face, leaving a trail of sorrow in their wake.

"Where are you going?", Charles finally managed to utter a question as Sainz was about to pass him.

He put his hand in his pocket, pulled something out, and moments later released pieces of paper from his hand, immediately snatched by the wind.

Sainz heard the sounds of engines. He looked up. Among the clouds, a plane soared, leaving behind a white trail.

"To hell,", Carlos exclaimed, still walking in the chosen direction, his pace quickening. "Because without her, there's no heaven."

[obsessedwhim]

Sweet Treat

Quick footsteps paced through an empty town late at night, arms tight around you as bitten lips rolled and split to take in deep uneven breaths.

Doing everything in your power to stop your mouth from falling into a painful arch. And with you out in the open like this, you were hopeful that it would strengthen you from having a terrifying breakdown.

So focused on the twister of emotions within, your vision blurred perfectly enough that it was hard to take notice of the oncoming bench.

And just like the fanny you believed yourself to be, you bent your knee so perfectly wrong that the hardwood of outdoor seating spliced through the gap of the right knee's patella and tibia.

An exemplary sweet spot for instant pain.

An entire torso's worth of muscles strained at the attack. Your throat clenching to smother a monster of a scream.

Your bones collapse as you attempt to breathe in only once, you just can't take it anymore. One hand slapped across dry lips as the other squeezed if only to bring you a short moment of peace. The throbbing knee. Both legs had been shaking from the awkward squat you found yourself in.

Tears finally fell and escaped their swollen barriers, easing you for a second before you realized what was happening.

"God... why" you sobbed, falling to the cold concrete below with the grace of a cardboard cutout and leaned into the scene of the crime. Wounded knee kept at a bend to not anger its soiled joint.

The other knee came up with a quiet creak and you bowed an aching scull, arms raising to his your pitiful cries from the world. Teeth grit to contain the machine flesh raging from within. Fuming at the unluckiness of it all.

You tried so hard to not let it all get to you, but the human body could only contain such powerful emotions for so long, and you had yet to fully cry at your current losses.

A Partner of Ten Years, ten whole fricken' Years! And you introduce him to one best friend who had just moved back into town and Boom! Like a bad joke none saw coming, he left you. Dust in the wind, off to be cradled in her romanticized touch.

As if you were never anything to him in the first place.

Good thing he left you without notice, lest you lose yourself and try to claw out his perfect eyes.

For a second, your shoulders slumped in your pile of pathetic clutches 'Why even care? Why should I be upset when I did nothing wrong?'

'BECASUE?? YOU LOVED HIM?? Gave him everything you had, even!'

Shoulders raised, fingernails dug into your one working leg, scratching away at the jean fabric covering your shin. Until your fingers grew heavy and you wanted your limbs to fall apart.

'I mean... sure yeah I- but it's not like-' Much like Jenga, you wished you were a bunch of blocks because board games dont have to deal with life-shattering realities.

'Shut up, shUT THE FUCK UP. SHUT. UP. STOP!'

Your strength came back in muscle-breaking waves, and you were sure you could break this bench if you tried hard enough 'Dont let some... M A N rot you from the inside because that's TO EASY, YOU DON'T DESERVE EASY!'

A black shadow peaked from a rooftop, watching as you constricted and loosened. 'That can't be healthy' the spectator thought, only noticing you after a strange squeal echoed from a nearby park and bounding over a handful of buildings, there he saw you curled before the unoticable criminal that halted your late-night walk.

'Are you really gonna let your foundations collapse just because of one bump in your timeline?'

You sniffled, using a damp sleeve to wipe away tears that refused to let up. This was the beginning of the end, you thought. It was hard to not allow any of your cracked sobs to pass through your clenched throat.

"Uh.. hey there"

You yelped, the loudest noise you had made all night. Your head turned with a tilt as your soiled vision rose past purple appendages. A green coat topped with strangely bright hair pulled you from the inner voices continuing on with their rants about current events and how you shouldn't let your horrible pathetic self fall apart.

Cold night air refreshed your tired lungs and you blinked a couple of times as the stranger moved to take a seat next to you, his bending legs missing the bench and sitting on the cold ground with an arm's length between the two of you.

"Yooou... okay?"

"Yeah, just... a rough day at the office y'know?" You snorted through a blocked nose, shrugging as sleeves wiped away at the water barriers between your eyes and the stranger's features.

"Don't you work in a sandwich shop?"

Taking in a stifling breath once more, you turned to meet the pinched features of a familiar ginger. "Oh, it's you. Hello Mr. Customer" You turned away quickly, why did such an attractive customer have to find you in such a state at so late of a time? You must look like such a weirdo.

Ichigo frowned, he wasn't used to seeing you in any other state than unbearing cheeryness. Even from a whole building away, Ichigo was able to recognize you.

He thought about how strange it was to see you out of your regular setting, how much smaller you looked despite baggy clothes hanging from you. Ichigo sighed with a saddened look in his eyes.

The next few minutes were filled with awkward conversation. It's not like Ichigo knows how to comfort someone he's barely talked to, and he doesn't even really know what's upset you in the first place.

You cackled at something he said, your dry laugh filling the empty street till your hand slapped over your smiling mouth. Voice lowering to a hushed giggle "Oh god, that was so loud"

Ichigo stifled his own laugh, but you pointed out how his face strained at the act. He breathed out the funny and did his best to keep his composure. You really were loud.

------------

Ichigo waited for you on a street corner, hazel eyes glancing over a shoulder at his reflection for only a short moment but the ginger huffed and fixed his shirt for the third time since he'd arrived. Fingers rinsing and raking through his orange hair to perk his spikes up just right. You mentioned how you liked his hair slightly messy one morning.

He took in a deep breath, and a grip around the sunflowers that he had brought grew sweaty. A great icebreaker and gift, Ichigo was sure you said sunflowers were a favored plant.

"Hey gorgeous"

The male spun on the spot, quickly turning to meet your raised vision and his face nearly exploded with blood.

God, you were cute, it was almost too much. Ichigo's heart clenched but he hadn't yet realized you took notice the flowers.

Your hand covering his circling grip and lips pressing against the corner of his jaw "How's the most wonderful man in the world doing today?"

Okay, now he was definitely about to explode. Stream rising and ears turning red. Lips wriggling as he did his best to welcome you.

---------------

Ichigo had been making his way through some paperwork he brought home, but it was way past noon and you knew he hadn't even attempted to head to the kitchen for some food.

It was too nice of a day to spend locked away in his office, not when you were out here.

You sighed from said kitchen. Leaning on the doorframe with a hand pinching at your chin.

What should you make your beloved for his lunch? You wondered with a hum and turned to head into the sun rays stretching from the front window.

Though Ichigo was deep in concentration, it was hard to miss a bowl of spicy karashi being set in the middle of the dinner table.

Ichigo eyes shone at the familiar bright yellow goo and glanced up at you with hope in his tired gaze "Are you... making Mentaiko?"

"Sure am" you glowed like some sort of beautiful food angel "I've cut the fish, just waiting on the rice now" and you walked away as if it were nothing, but secretly, deep within your heart lunged at Ichigo's adorable features.

You hoped he'd be okay with you joining him for lunch because there was simply nowhere you wanted to be more than with him, even if it was just for lunch.

-----------------

Though most of your morning was spent canoodling with a more cuddly than usual ginger, you stood before a till and kept yourself busy with customers, cleaning, and restocking.

It was a nice day of sunshine and music filling the small business from a random radio.

A coworker had come from the back kitchen and asked if you'd like to take a break, and you were never one to decline lunch.

You hummed and sparkled as you constructed the perfect sandwich and picked out a slice of strawberry and chocolate cheesecake. Your work pal snickered at your sudden shift to favoring strawberry desserts, and there wasn't one bone in your body that would disagree "I guess he really is the Love of My Life" You smiled down at the slice of berry garnishing your dish "I miss him!"

"Get over it already, the fanny's probably on his way to see you right now" They waved a dramatic hand "Shout on me if there's a customer would ya, I gotta get some stuff from the back"

"Sure thing!" You made your way to a favored booth, with enough room for two.

The door to the cafe rang and a wide body came through with a scanning stare.

~

Ichigo found his steps were quicker than usual. He got a little too caught up at work, and translating took a lot of concentration.

Thank goodness for his Hollow Hunting habits, keeping him fit and speedy. Though there were a few handful times of nearly running into some poor pedestrian but he was so close!

Just one more corner and Ichigo would make it to your place of work, of course, slowing to fix his clothes before stepping through the shiny glass door.

The bell rang and his ember gaze found you quickly, but you hadn't noticed him yet. You're attention taken away by a large being kneeling before you with a strong grip keeping you from retreating farther into your booth.

"Please Baby, I miss you so much. I always loved you y'know?" the stranger's voice was padded and sweet "It was always you" but his grip slid from your wrist to your forearm and there was no way Ichigo would let those grimy fingers gain another inch.

He was close to yanking the fiend away but said fiend screeched and cried and screamed for his dear hand where an unused fork splintered from his skin. Popping from the shallow wound and ringing against the hardwood floor "What The HELL?! You Crazy BITCH!"

"Don't Make Me Use My Knife!" you held up a rather threatening butter knife, meant for your sweet treat but some would say revenge may be even sweeter.

"You Shithead! You Better Leave Right Now!"

Ichigo knew about what this Ex had done, how he'd treated you, and stepped to the side as- you named him perfectly- Shithead stumbled and winced in his rush to leave the establishment.

"Ah! I'm so sorry everyone!" you apologized to local patrons with a deep bow and red face, but a few of them clapped at the experience "Dinner and a show, well done young lady," A customer told, others soon agreeing.

You sprung from your bow, and tears inked at the side of your eyes. The regulars were very in the know-how about their servers.

A smile split through your hot cheeks, almost at a melting point as Ichigo came from behind with a curve in his brow and a gentle hand on your shoulder "Are you alright?"

You didn't know if you had any teeth left to bear. Leaning in with a hand covering his, you said "I am now, everything's just perfect"

[on-a-lucky-tide]

We most certainly need more Wyll/Halsin content. Can I suggest 'bearlock' (since Wyll is a warlock) as a ship name? Though 'hornbear' is funny as hell, I agree.

I agree.

Halsin combines two of his favourite things: honey and Wyll.

CW: erotic use of food, oral sex, domination.

"Come closer. I'll take your mind off your devil."

Looking back, perhaps Wyll could have done more to resist such a sultry promise, but the rumble of Halsin's voice had a way of cutting down to a man's core. As an earthquake shook the ground, so did Halsin's voice shake a man's foundations; deep inside, where all his baser instincts and desires lurked.

Wyll had sat on the edge of the camp, nursing his mead, as Shadowheart had joked with Tav about 'conquering Mount Halsin', and while Wyll never dared to dream he would be anyone's choice of lover, and certainly wouldn't begrudge anyone the warm comforts of a strong and kind hand, he had been somewhat relieved when Tav had snuck off into the shadows with the pale elf.

Halsin had appeared not half an hour later, politely declining the offer of mead, while he settled down at Wyll's side with a sheath knife and a chunk of wood he had salvaged from the logpile waiting for the campfire.

Their conversation had drifted good-naturedly at first, steering towards humour and stories, but finally onto the issue of Wyll's quest. Halsin appeared intrigued by Wyll's story, particularly how he had ended up at the Grove, helping the Tieflings. All the while Wyll watched Halsin's hands work, his lips form in broad smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkle with mirth, his camp shirt barely laced at the front, teasing the firmness of his chest. Wyll wanted to trace every part of him; the red swirls of his tattoos, the edges and curves of his body. To have Halsin, to possess him, to be possessed by him.

Wyll had almost convinced himself that the fire in his belly and the tingling beneath his skin was part mead, part loneliness, part touch-starved and knowing no one would ever touch him again now that he bore the mark of a demon. His desires had to play second fiddle to his greater mission.

And then the offer had been made.

Wyll had looked up sharply, meeting those keenly intelligent eyes, edged with a golden light Wyll had come to associate with Halsin's fearsome Wildshape. Fierce, wild and staggeringly beautiful. He had swallowed, the words choked in his throat, and then Halsin's broad palm had brushed his cheek. Wyll hadn't pulled away. He couldn't. He was rooted as solidly to that moment as one of Halsin's great oaks was to the soil.

No, he had leaned in, desperate, needy.

Wyll didn't really recall how they had made it into Halsin's tent. A fevered fumbling of belts, buckles and cloth, overwhelmed by the sensation of hands and lips on his skin, his trepidation numbed a little by the warm buzz of mead in his blood and a desperate need to feel the full extent of Halsin's desire. Wyll gripped onto Halsin's shoulders as teeth and tongue roamed his throat and chest, his knees pressed to Halsin's hips, the wet, ruddy head of Halsin's thick cock brushing the inside of his thighs, his own desperate prick, whenever he leaned forward to taste more of Wyll's body.

And then Halsin drew away.

Wyll felt the absence of his warmth in a rush of fear. Had he done something wrong? Been too loud?

"I hope you can forgive me, but there is something I have desired for some time, and the way you wriggle with my tongue on your skin..."

"Anything."

Halsin smiled and dropped his eyes. He traced the inside of Wyll's knee in gentle circles, replacing his fingertips with his lips for a delicate kiss. "You must wait to hear the terms before you throw yourself in so readily, my heart."

Wyll swallowed. The term of endearment made something tighten at the base of his spine. "Then tell me."

Halsin leaned over, a hand braced at Wyll's side while the other sought something above his head. When Halsin moved back, it was to trace Wyll's lips with fingertips coated in sticky sweetness.

"Honey," Wyll said through a breathless laugh. He knew instantly he had stepped wrong, because the big druid retracted his hand and looked away, the glitter in his eyes dimming. Wyll recalled a conversation he had overheard, how Halsin's love of honey had been a subject of ridicule, and he reached out to take Halsin's hand, bringing it back to his lips for another gentle lick. "If you wish to spend the night kissing honey from my lips, then I will see it as a night well spent in excellent company."

Wyll watched the tips of Halsin's ears flush, and then that uncertain lilt of his mouth transformed into a truly devilish smirk. "When there is so much more of you I wish to taste?"

Wyll's prick twitched against his belly, still full and fat, and he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth with a soft groan. "You will be the ruin of me, druid."

Halsin hummed as he collected the deep bowl containing his precious store of liquid gold, and Wyll gasped as the first drops touched his skin. Halsin used honey to map his journey over Wyll's body. He started at Wyll's throat, leaving a trail down to the crest of his chest, and circled his nipples in lazy swirls before descending to the soft valleys of his stomach and the sharper angles of his hips. Halsin's path finished at the eager head of Wyll's cock, the slow spread of honey teasing the headier promise of Halsin's mouth.

When the bowl was empty, Halsin cast it aside with a feral urgency. His eyes had blown wide, his thick chest heaving, that golden hue ghosting over his skin, the beast barely contained in roiling muscle. Despite the threat of wild abandon, the first touch of Halsin's mouth was torturously slow. Halsin gripped Wyll's horns to pin his head back, and licked a long, indulgent stripe up the curve of Wyll's throat.

The bone deep groan Halsin let out rattled Wyll to the core, and he found himself clinging on to Halsin's wrists if only to bare himself fully to the druid's hunger. "Hals--yes, yes, please." He begged, and moaned, and gasped, body arching as Halsin's tongue circled over his chest and around his nipples, savouring every delicious drop of honey on Wyll's skin. "Please, please."

Wyll had expected to be supped like a pup cleaned by its mother; sweet, funny, playful. Not this. This slow, torturous devouring that held him at the aching brink, stripped him of his senses, left him as a shaking, whining mess beneath Halsin's mouth.

At some point, Halsin's hands had left Wyll's horns, but Wyll kept himself pinned back and spread, every muscle pulled taut and shuddering. The moment Halsin swallowed his prick, taking it to the base in one effortless swallow, Wyll almost spilled down his throat. The deep, guttural growls rising from Halsin's chest rippled up Wyll's spine, following the pulses of pleasure with each ripple of pressure from Halsin's mouth and throat.

All Wyll could do was cling on for dear life, his shaking fingers knotted in Halsin's braids, his thighs squeezing those elegant ears. He teetered on the edge, Halsin seemingly an expert in longing out his lover's pleasure until they were driven insane by it. But it was as Halsin pulled off, his tongue tracing the delicate seam of Wyll's sack to the intimate skin behind that the coil in Wyll's body released.

Wyll arched into Halsin with a wretched cry, light exploding behind his eyelids, his limbs flooded with warmth as he unspooled so completely.

In the soft afterglow, Wyll could barely keep his eyes open, but he did, if only to see Halsin's face. The effort was worth it; the druid's pupils were blown wide, his face a mess of honey and Wyll's pleasure, those large fingers tracing his own lips in search of every last morsel. He looked so thoroughly satisfied, that Wyll could almost have forgot about the straining erection arched up to Halsin's belly. So big, Wyll was surprised that Halsin had enough blood in his body to support it.

"Forgive me," Wyll rasped. "It's impossible to resist your ardour, give me a moment and I will attend to you before we retire."

There was that smirk again, and a renewed heat began to pool in Wyll's stomach. When Halsin spoke, it was with the lazy confidence of a predator with his prey trapped firmly beneath his paw. "The night's young, and it will take far more to sate my hunger for you. I shall be gentle," Halsin leaned over, knees easing Wyll's thighs apart once more, dark, hungry eyes tracing down Wyll's body, "well, I shall try."

[country-corner]

Greetings and Salutations from the Middle of Nowhere

I know it has been a while, this is the first time I have been able to get on line. Have to use wifi right now so limited in time I have on line

Update on our home sale and purchase of new place:

A young couple with a pre-teen boy, purchased our old house. And since (so I have been told and confirmed with my own eyes) has proceeded in cutting down all the trees, the Saskatoon blueberry bush, pulled the table and Oregon grapes out and cut out all the blackberry vines back to the property line. They also have 3 cars in the old garden area sitting on blocks. The old neighbors have told us they want us to move back. Sorry, not happening.

Regarding our new place; we have a larger place. It is a mix or basalt, jack pines in sandy soil and some really nice soil. Put in 500ft of driveway (cutting trees, pulling stumps and dragging the "road"). Now the power company will come out and give us a bid to bring in the power (less than a quarter mile from nearest transformer).

Did have a bid from a well driller, but they wanted the driveway in first, now they are not answering their phones. So we are contacting a different driller tomorrow.

Telephone company wont put in a land line. since we are "too far away from the main road". 1 mile long private road, that nearly everyone on the road wants to have a land line due to spotty cell service (closest towers are over 25 miles, as the crow flies, away, with a few hills inbetween as well. Closest telephone pole to my place is a little over 1/4 mile as the crow flies, and found out the telephone company does have legal right-away up to my property line, coming from the East across country.

The previous owners refuse to release the perk test they had done or the name of the engineer they had do test and septic design. Since no permit for a septic system was ever requested, the County doesn't have a copy of the test, engineer name or septic plan. So we are going to have to have that redone.

And finally, the Post Master refuses to accept the address the county gave us for the property for mail delivery until (in his words) "There is a proper house with a foundation on the property and he has confirmed it with his own eyes." Despite the fact the address has been accepted and used by both State and Federal offices. And in this state a tent or camp trailer is considered a legal residence if placed on your legally owned property. So we are getting our mail delivered to our daughter's place, 35 miles away.

Despite all of that, we are having the time of our lives out on our new property. Enjoying the wildlife and the peace and quiet of being out there. Laying out the food plots for the deer. Using the native basalt to build the raised garden beds. We have even started digging the trenched for the root cellar and fuel storage sheds. And not a day goes by when I don't see wild turkeys or a deer on the property. Did miss seeing the black bear that came through, running from the wildfire on the other side of the river, we was in town getting supplies.

Well that is all for now. I wish you all peace, happiness and a great upcoming week. Be safe and take care.

[voorice-corp]

A Dinoverse Creation Myth

(in three parts)

before we start - I am highly aware that what I put below is largely irrelevant to the "present day" stories of the Dinoverse games. however, though most of it was pulled out of the ass, at its very foundation the following is based on one-off mentions of what is likely a mythos for the world that the games take place in, despite it otherwise being very much sci-fi with no fantasy to speak of... perhaps a relic of a bygone era of superstition?

and if you know me, I am an enthusiast when it comes to mythology, from both real cultures and fictional worlds - though tenuous, I did notice some parallels in the excerpts from the games and a certain creation myth from real life - uncannily matching in what is literally stated in the first part, and while not as literal with the third part has some corresponding themes about the nature of humanity and destiny. both of these are from Phantom Of The G4, the translation of which you can read HERE (specifically at the bottom of page 4, and the middle of page 10).

(note: one day I might attempt my own translation, as Chinese is my second language since childhood)

the second part, meanwhile, is directly explained in VTSOM's chapter 4... albeit referencing real life a little too much. now this is probably intentional if VTSOM is set in a future Earth, but I doubt it (I mean, I can't find anywhere the g-districts match up with geographically)... and besides, it takes away all the fun of making up new lore! anyways, HERE is a chapter 4 playthrough (spoilers naturally abounding) with the timestamp where this piece of lore is discussed.

anyway, enough rambling, let's get to the proper writing I did...

I In the beginning, there was simply a vast nothingness. From this nothingness were born the light and the dark, still diffuse; it took many aeons for the light and the dark to coalesce, and become encased in an egg. And it was from within this egg that the Great God awoke, with a honed blade in hand. He sliced a boundary between the light and the dark, to create the heavens and the earth, and stood in the gap between to fully separate them. But still the world was an empty one, and the Great God knew that the only way to fill it was to use his own body. And so, facing the light, with his back to the dark, he abandoned his body to become a spirit that moved across the heavens. The place upon which he died became the Mount Arrat, where others after him shall ascend the same way. His bones became the rocks, and his marrow, precious ore; his flesh, the soil, and his hair, the plants; his blood, the rivers and seas; his left eye the sun, and his right eye the moon, still and forever keeping watch upon the world in both the light and the dark.

II From his remains, the spirit of the Great God could will new life, populating the land, and the seas, and the air with living creatures of all shapes and sizes. Among them was the great sea-serpent Liveiataan, or Leviathan; and she had become powerful and fearsome, with teeth like swords and eyes like the dawn. Her power and her ferocity made the spirit of the Great God wary, for it was only meant to be him who could create, and bestow, and change, and remove, and destroy. And with her heart like unbreakable stone, and her mouth that could not be shut by any force, Liveiataan did not submit to his will. Thus, the spirit of Great God took his sword and slew Liveiataan, and from her dead-flesh also willed new life; from it came gods shaped like men, but with the tails of serpents. And the spirit of the Great God found it good that these were now under his control.

III Among the gods born from Liveiataan's remains was the Serpent Woman; while her brothers took to the heavens, she remained on the earth, and grew lonely. Thus the Serpent Woman pleaded with the spirit of the Great God for companionship, which he understood, and gave her permission to create new life. From clay and fertile earth she molded the first humans, and showed these to the spirit of the Great God, who found her creations worthy to rule the world. From the heavens he called down the Serpent Woman’s twin, the Bright One, who taught the humans to hunt, fish, and tame the other living creatures whose world they now lived in. Though the Serpent Woman wished to create even more humans, the way she had previously made them was far too difficult, too time-consuming, and drained her of her power. And so she found a simpler method, by dragging a cord through the mud; and while this produced many humans, their quality was mediocre compared to those she had molded with her hands. And neither the spirit of the Great God nor the Bright One favoured these humans, who had to be taught by their predecessors. Thus, the people born from the mud, of which there is a great abundance, are forever destined to be inadequate, unable to ascend Arrat and join the gods; and the people shaped by the Serpent Woman’s hand and taught by the Bright One destined to lead and illuminate the path to the future.

now, an explanation of the inspirations for this story - as well as some extra thoughts not included in the story itself, left out for others to figure out later.

this tale is largely based on Chinese mythology - elements of which seem to show up elsewhere in the Dinoverse, possibly because Dino themselves are Chinese, and that I will touch on another time because of how fascinating mythological motifs are to me.

the Great God is based on the creator deity Pangu, who just like the "god" mentioned in POTG4 created the world from various parts of his body, down to the sun and moon being his eyes. however, instead of an axe, his weapon of choice is a sword as per his description in VTSOM.

the Serpent Woman was more or less original on my part, and based on the goddess Nüwa, creator of humans using different methods for nobles and commoners (which parallels the "some souls forever destined to be inadequate" thing in POTG4); and the Bright One likewise, based on her brother Fuxi. (it seems that for many of these ancient Chinese gods, their mark of divinity was having a serpentine tail/lower body, hence the Serpent Woman's other, unnamed brothers, who may be significant in another story.)

and while Liveiataan bears some resemblance in role to the aforementioned twin deities' parent Huaxu, she is based more on the Near-Eastern Leviathan as well as its forerunners Lotan, Tamtum, and especially Tiamat, who some have noted similarities with both Pangu and Nüwa. the odd spelling of "Liveiataan" is intentional, by the way, to avoid confusion with the real-world Leviathan.

speaking of Liveiataan - in-universe she is described as "a symbol of power, and perfect government" fitting as she was the only creature powerful enough to pose a threat to the Great God. Myers was certainly onto something to have a poster of her in their basement, doubly-so one with the image of the Great God cropped out, as Vincent discusses how they wish to achieve godhood and create a new world order.

interestingly, they do this with their cyborgs, and to create such, they infuse the bodies of the worthy - the ones created by the Serpent Woman - with (presumably?) metal - the refined bone-marrow of the Great God, if we are going by the myth...

now again, this is all p much pulled out of the ass and written at around 3am of last night, so forgive me if it is all very unhinged. but I had fun writing and analysing, and would like to hear thoughts.

[ase-trollplays]

To the Sea (Part two)

Maeron casually stepped out of the bathroom, steam and moisture pouring out of the open door, and stopped short when she noticed her moirail, Cavler, waiting for her.

"Pardon my interruption, Miss, but you missed several calls while you were showering. I also wish to inform you dinner is almost done. I prepared chicken almondine," he informed her. She adjusted her towel slightly and gave him a soft hug.

"Thank you for letting me know. I won't be long," she said and continued onward to her bedroom. Rather than get dressed right away, she walked to the nightstand where her palmhusk was charging to check her missed calls. To her shock, there were eight of them, all from Sonja. With a groan and a roll of her eyes, she grudgingly hit the callback button. Only his Comedy side would be this annoyingly adamant even after she ended her friendship with him. The phone only rang once before he picked up.

"Listen here, I told you we are not friends. I don't entertain abusers and liars," she started with an annoyed hiss in her tone.

"Wrong one," came the voice on the other end sounding completely and utterly defeated. Maeron blinked in surprise as Sonja's Tragedy personality wasn't the type to spam call, not even in emergencies. "May I request your presence. I... I need someone."

"Well, I have plans tonight. Can't you call Sefalo? You sound terrible, and--" The sound of Sonja's breath hitching followed by a pained sob on the other end caused Maeron to stop dead in her tracks.

"Please."

"Messiahs... I'll be right there," Maeron answered, and with that he thanked her and hung up. She couldn't throw on her clothes and apply her face paint fast enough. She tied her still damp hair in a ponytail, grabbed her palmhusk, and started hurrying toward the front door.

"Miss, is everything all right?" Cavler asked from the kitchen after hearing her rushing through the hive.

"I'm sorry, Cavler, but I have to go right now. I don't know how long I'll be gone, so just eat without me and wrap up the leftovers."

******************************************************

Maeron impatiently knocked on the door of Sonja's hive and waited what felt like an eternity. In reality it was only about a minute, but to her anxious mind it might as well have been an hour. WHen he finally opened the door, Maeron gasped at the sight of him. His hair was completely unkempt, eyes puffy and wet with deep umber sclera, and trails of tears down his cheeks. His foundation was horribly smudged from wiping his eyes, and he stood slumped over in despondence.

She immediately grabbed him and pulled him forward into a tight hug, and he was quick to wrap his arms around her as racked sobs forced their way out of him. After several moments embracing, Maeron lifted him into a princess carry and walked inside the hive closing the door behind her with her foot.

The inside of the hive was just as messy as Sonja looked. Books, magazines, and small plants were strewn about the living space as though a tornado went through it. Maeron could only hazard a guess as what must have happened for Sonja to be so emotional. She took a seat on the couch with him in her lap as he cried.

"Sonja, what happened?" she asked in a sweet but concerned tone. She took out a makeup wipe from her sylladex and handed it to him, and he gingerly wiped off his messy foundation revealing a face full of freckles. She took the soiled wipe from him and tucked it down the front of her shirt to throw away later.

"Sefalo's gone. That... That thing taking over her mind took her away, and I couldn't do anything. I just let it happen," he said with his voice wavering and cracking. Maeron vaguely remembered him saying something ages ago about a horrorterror infiltrating her mind and threatening to take Sefalo.

"Oh, Sonja, I'm so sorry," Maeron said in sympathy and pulled him close. His body shuddered as he cried once more, and she slowly rocked him and hummed much like she would for Cavler when something triggered him and caused a breakdown. She could feel her own eyes start watering.

"I couldn't do anything. I just-- just let her get taken away! I couldn't even mercy kill her so she wouldn't spend the rest of her sweeps enslaved to that monster! I'm a failure of a moirail," he lamented between sobs.

"You're not a failure. There's nothing you or anyone could have done to save her. It's not your fault," Maeron said and ran a hand through his ponytail. He didn't respond and only covered his face with one hand while he continues crying.

"You're gonna be okay, Sonja. Just let everything out. I'll be right here."

[talldarkandroguesome]

19th of Second Seed, Sundas

No sooner had I returned from my trip with Sildras, than I was informed that the Council had a mountain of tasks for me to complete.

And as if that were not enough, as soon as I am nearly done with one of those tasks, I get a hurried missive about a supposedly more pressing issue for my consideration that requires an answer or response by the end of the day or first thing in the morn.

Even this morning, the one day I am usually free of obligations from the Council, I was asked to work on another project. All as if I had not been given one to complete near on midnight and had to stay up to work on.

I have a nice bottle of brandy to fortify me this evening. I am a bit sore after I threw myself into the renovations we are underway in the garden. Even after having tried digging out all of the toxic materials and salting that Urtisa did to our garden and crop lands. WE had thought everything was out, but with all the rain, things that must have been buried deeper than we had thought imaginable. For much of the land has started to sprout strange weeds and many of our plans seem struck with diseases that we have not encountered ever before.

I helped the grounds keeping crew with ripping out all the awful, bizarre weeds. We dug down to a point where we needed ladders to get in and out with the buckets of soil.

Three days we have been toiling away. Finally we have either gotten it all out, or have come close to. Any further digging and it risks the foundations of the manor. Urtisa would fetching love knowing that. The foul alit deserves worse than she--no.

On second thought, Nabine gave her something that even I was unable to stomach. I cannot even be sure that anyone deserved that sort of death. I mean, of course she was an evil woman. Look at how months and months after her death we are still working to repair all the damage she left in her wake.

Yet, there is a part of me that finds it hard to feel wholly satisfied with her end. Perhaps it was just too close to my own fears. Or too close to the way the Thalmor treated me when they wanted to get information from me.

May both. I could not say. I do not dare think too much on it.

I miss when things were simpler. Those days on the run in Skyrim suddenly do not feel so bad. I sing and fuck for room and board. I kill when I need to. I was mortal, but my responsibilities were only to keep myself alive. I could pursue those beautiful moments of connection with people as I went and leave when I fell under suspicion. Then I could return when I wished to continue that relationship I had.

Now I know too much to go back to that. My heart is torn and so tangled int he brambles of my various relationships. Despite my fear and frustration and sadness, my feelings for Nabine remain as strong as ever. And despite how great the distance, my heart still yearns to return to Qau-dar.

And though I have fantasies of pulling away from the House and going back on the road, I cannot abandon my son. Sildras deserves better. And I love him too much for that. And with the House he will have everything he needs for a good life. Further, I still get to see my daughters.

When did everything become so troublesome?

How I wish that Leythen were still alive. I could just pull out a stone and get his advice. I miss when I did not have to be responsible for everyone and everything. When I just could take orders and do my mission and return for my accolades. Damn Nocturnal for her plots. And damn the betrayal of her champion.

You know, it has been a while since I spoke with Naryu. I wonder how she is holding up. I shall have to write to her. Hopefully the city's economy falling has not made it harder for the Morag Tong. They will likely have just moved to other areas.

Still... I wonder if she could put me in touch with someone. Someone willing to train in basics of assassination. My future death weavers could certainly use a dedicated teacher. I fear that for now I am not the correct person.

Once I have my finances back in order, I should look for more opportunities to work on this.

[repairfoundation]

Underpinning Foundation: Strengthening Your Home’s Stability with Foundation Solutions

Underpinning is a critical process for reinforcing and stabilizing foundations that have become compromised. Whether due to soil movement, water damage, or construction defects, a weakened foundation can jeopardize the safety and longevity of a structure. At Foundation Solutions, we specialize in underpinning foundation services, offering tailored solutions to strengthen and secure your property. In this blog post, we will explore the importance of underpinning, the signs that indicate a need for it, and why Foundation Solutions is your top choice for foundation repair and stabilization.

What is Underpinning?

Underpinning is a construction technique used to strengthen the foundation of an existing building. It involves extending the foundation’s depth or breadth so that it rests on a more stable soil layer. This process is essential for addressing various foundation issues, ensuring that the building can support its intended loads without shifting or settling.

When is Underpinning Necessary?

Several scenarios may necessitate underpinning, including:

Foundation Settlement: When a foundation sinks or shifts due to soil compaction or erosion, underpinning can restore stability.

Increased Load Requirements: If you’re adding additional floors or heavy equipment to a building, underpinning may be needed to support the increased load.

Soil Changes: Variations in soil moisture content or the presence of expansive clay can cause foundations to move.

Construction Defects: Poor construction practices, such as inadequate soil compaction or insufficient foundation depth, may require corrective underpinning.

Natural Disasters: Events like earthquakes, floods, or landslides can weaken foundations, making underpinning necessary.

Signs Your Foundation Needs Underpinning

Identifying the signs of foundation problems early can help you avoid more severe issues and costly repairs. Look for the following indicators that underpinning may be needed:

Visible Cracks: Large or expanding cracks in walls, floors, or the foundation itself can signal foundation movement.

Uneven Floors: Floors that slope or feel uneven may indicate that the foundation is settling unevenly.

Sticking Doors and Windows: Difficulty opening or closing doors and windows can be a sign of a shifting foundation.

Gaps Around Windows and Doors: Gaps appearing around window and door frames are a common sign of foundation movement.

Separation of Walls: Walls pulling away from the house or each other can indicate serious foundation issues.

The Underpinning Process

At Foundation Solutions, we follow a meticulous and comprehensive underpinning process to ensure the highest quality results. Here’s a step-by-step overview of our approach:

Initial Inspection and Assessment: Our team of experts conducts a thorough inspection to diagnose the root cause and extent of the foundation problems.

Custom Underpinning Plan: Based on the assessment, we design a customized underpinning plan tailored to your specific needs and building conditions.

Excavation: We carefully excavate around the foundation to prepare for the underpinning process.

Foundation Extension: We extend the foundation’s depth or breadth by adding new support elements, such as piers, piles, or concrete footings.

Stabilization and Reinforcement: We stabilize the newly installed supports and reinforce the foundation to ensure long-term stability.

Backfilling and Restoration: Once the underpinning is complete, we backfill the excavated areas and restore the landscaping, ensuring a clean finish.

Final Inspection and Quality Assurance: We conduct a final inspection to confirm that the underpinning work meets our rigorous quality standards.

Why Choose Foundation Solutions?

Selecting the right company for your underpinning needs is crucial. Here’s why Foundation Solutions is the best choice:

Experienced Professionals: Our team has years of experience in underpinning and foundation repair, ensuring expert craftsmanship.

Customized Solutions: We tailor our services to meet the unique needs of each project, providing personalized solutions.

Advanced Technology: We use the latest tools and techniques to deliver precise and effective underpinning services.

Transparent Pricing: We offer clear, upfront pricing with no hidden fees, so you know exactly what to expect.

Guaranteed Satisfaction: Our work comes with a satisfaction guarantee, giving you peace of mind and confidence in our services.

Case Study: Successful Underpinning Project

A recent project involved a commercial building experiencing significant foundation settlement due to expansive clay soil. The structure had visible cracks and uneven floors, posing safety risks and operational challenges. Our team conducted a comprehensive assessment and implemented a customized underpinning plan, which included installing helical piers to support the foundation. The result was a stabilized structure with reinforced foundation integrity, ensuring the building’s safety and longevity.

Contact Foundation Solutions Today

If you’re experiencing foundation issues and suspect that underpinning may be necessary, don’t wait for the problem to escalate. Contact Foundation Solutions today for a professional assessment and expert underpinning services. Our experienced team is here to provide you with the support and solutions you need to ensure the safety and stability of your property.

At Foundation Solutions, we are committed to providing top-quality underpinning foundation services that exceed your expectations. Trust us to deliver the strength and reliability your property needs, ensuring long-term stability and peace of mind.

Tagged Foundation Repair, Foundation Solutions, Underpinning Foundation

[o-craven-canto]

Extracts from Alan Weisman, The World Without Us, 2007. The book considers the material aspects of human civilization and how long they would last, unattended. If humans were to vanish from Earth, if all maintainance and repairing work ceased, what would happen to what we leave behind?

(The book went on to inspire two speculative documentaries, Life After People by History Channel and Aftermath: Population Zero by National Geographic, emphasizing different aspects of it. They were neat.)

Chapter 2: Unbuilding Our Home

No matter how hermetically you’ve sealed your temperature-tuned interior from the weather, invisible spores penetrate anyway, exploding in sudden outbursts of mold—awful when you see it, worse when you don’t, because it’s hidden behind a painted wall, munching paper sandwiches of gypsum board, rotting studs and floor joists. Or you’ve been colonized by termites, carpenter ants, roaches, hornets, even small mammals.

Most of all, though, you are beset by what in other contexts is the veritable stuff of life: water... moisture enters around the nails. Soon they’re rusting, and their grip begins to loosen... As gravity increases tension on the trusses, the ¼-inch pins securing their now-rusting connector plates pull free from the wet wood, which now sports a fuzzy coating of greenish mold... When the heat went off, pipes burst if you lived where it freezes, and rain is blowing in where windows have cracked from bird collisions and the stress of sagging walls. Even where the glass is still intact, rain and snow mysteriously, inexorably work their way under sills. As the wood continues to rot, trusses start to collapse against each other. Eventually the walls lean to one side, and finally the roof falls in...

While all that disaster was unfolding, squirrels, raccoons, and lizards have been inside, chewing nest holes in the drywall, even as woodpeckers rammed their way through from the other direction... Fallen vinyl siding, whose color began to fade early, is now brittle and cracking as its plasticizers degenerate. The aluminum is in better shape, but salts in water pooling on its surface slowly eat little pits that leave a grainy white coating... Unprotected thin sheet steel disintegrates in a few years. Long before that, the water-soluble gypsum in the sheetrock has washed back into the earth. That leaves the chimney, where all the trouble began. After a century, it’s still standing, but its bricks have begun to drop and break as, little by little, its lime mortar, exposed to temperature swings, crumbles and powders.

If you owned a swimming pool, it’s now a planter box... If the house’s foundation involved a basement, it too is filling with soil and plant life. Brambles and wild grapevines are snaking around steel gas pipes, which will rust away before another century goes by. White plastic PVC plumbing has yellowed and thinned on the side exposed to the light, where its chloride is weathering to hydrochloric acid, dissolving itself and its polyvinyl partners. Only the bathroom tile, the chemical properties of its fired ceramic not unlike those of fossils, is relatively unchanged, although it now lies in a pile mixed with leaf litter.

After 500 years, what is left depends on where in the world you lived. If the climate was temperate, a forest stands in place of a suburb; minus a few hills, it’s begun to resemble what it was before developers, or the farmers they expropriated, first saw it. Amid the trees, half-concealed by a spreading understory, lie aluminum dishwasher parts and stainless steel cookware, their plastic handles splitting but still solid... The chromium alloys that give stainless steel its resilience... will probably continue to do so for millennia, especially if the pots, pans, and carbon-tempered cutlery are buried out of the reach of atmospheric oxygen. One hundred thousand years hence, the intellectual development of whatever creature digs them up might be kicked abruptly to a higher evolutionary plane by the discovery of ready-made tools...

If you were a desert dweller, the plastic components of modern life flake and peel away faster, as polymer chains crack under an ultraviolet barrage of daily sunshine. With less moisture, wood lasts longer there, though any metal in contact with salty desert soils will corrode more quickly. Still, from Roman ruins we can guess that thick cast iron will be around well into the future’s archaeological record, so the odd prospect of fire hydrants sprouting amidst cacti may someday be among the few clues that humanity was here...

In a warmer world... drier, hotter desert climates will be complemented by wetter, stormier mountain weather systems that will send floods roaring downstream, overwhelming dams, spreading over their former alluvial plains, and entombing whatever was built there in annual layers of silt. Within them, fire hydrants, truck tires, shattered plate glass, condominia, and office buildings may remain indefinitely, but as far from sight as the Carboniferous Formation once was.

No memorial will mark their burial, though the roots of cottonwoods, willows, and palms may occasionally make note of their presence. Only eons later, when old mountains have worn away and new ones risen, will young streams cutting fresh canyons through sediments reveal what once, briefly, went on here.

***

Chapter 3: The City Without Us

Under New York, groundwater is always rising… Whenever it rains hard, sewers clog with storm debris… With subway pumps stilled… water would start sluicing away soil under the pavement. Before long, streets start to crater. With no one unclogging sewers, some new watercourses form on the surface… Within 20 years, the water-soaked steel columns that support the street above the East Side’s 4, 5, and 6 trains corrode and buckle. As Lexington Avenue caves in, it becomes a river.

Whenever it is, the repeated freezing and thawing make asphalt and cement split. When snow thaws, water seeps into these fresh cracks. When it freezes, the water expands, and cracks widen… As pavement separates, weeds like mustard, shamrock, and goosegrass blow in from Central Park and work their way down the new cracks, which widen further… The weeds are followed by the city’s most prolific exotic species, the Chinese ailanthus tree… As soil long trapped beneath pavement gets exposed to sun and rain, other species jump in, and soon leaf litter adds to the rising piles of debris clogging the sewer grates.

The early pioneer plants won’t even have to wait for the pavement to fall apart. Starting from the mulch collecting in gutters, a layer of soil will start forming atop New York’s sterile hard shell, and seedlings will sprout…

In the first few years with no heat, pipes burst all over town, the freeze-thaw cycle moves indoors, and things start to seriously deteriorate. Buildings groan as their innards expand and contract; joints between walls and rooflines separate. Where they do, rain leaks in, bolts rust, and facing pops off, exposing insulation. If the city hasn’t burned yet, it will now… with no firemen to answer the call, a dry lightning strike that ignites a decade of dead branches and leaves piling up in Central Park will spread flames through the streets. Within two decades, lightning rods have begun to rust and snap, and roof fires leap among buildings, entering paneled offices filled with paper fuel. Gas lines ignite with a rush of flames that blows out windows. Rain and snow blow in, and soon even poured concrete floors are freezing, thawing, and starting to buckle. Burnt insulation and charred wood add nutrients to Manhattan’s growing soil cap. Native Virginia creeper and poison ivy claw at walls covered with lichens, which thrive in the absence of air pollution. Red-tailed hawks and peregrine falcons nest in increasingly skeletal high-rise structures.

Within two centuries… colonizing trees will have substantially replaced pioneer weeds. Gutters buried under tons of leaf litter provide new, fertile ground for native oaks and maples from city parks. Arriving black locust and autumn olive shrubs fix nitrogen, allowing sunflowers, bluestem, and white snakeroot to move in along with apple trees, their seeds expelled by proliferating birds… as buildings tumble and smash into each other, and lime from crushed concrete raises soil pH, inviting in trees, such as buckthorn and birch, that need less-acidic environments…

In a future that portends stronger and more-frequent hurricanes striking North America’s Atlantic coast, ferocious winds will pummel tall, unsteady structures. Some will topple, knocking down others. Like a gap in the forest when a giant tree falls, new growth will rush in. Gradually, the asphalt jungle will give way to a real one.

***

Chapter 7: What Falls Apart

(context: this chapter describes Varosha, a city in Cyprus evacuated in 1974 after the Turkish invasion, and left abandoned until 2019)

[Two years after abandonment] Asphalt and pavement had cracked… Australian wattles, a fast-growing acacia species used by hotels for landscaping, were popping out midstreet, some nearly three feet high. Creepers from ornamental succulents snaked out of hotel gardens, crossing roads and climbing tree trunks… Concussions from Turkish air force bombs, Cavinder saw, had exploded plate-glass store windows. Boutique mannequins were half-clothed, their imported fabrics flapping in tattered strips…

Pigeon droppings coated everything. Carob rats nested in hotel rooms, living off Yaffa oranges and lemons from former citrus groves… The bell towers of Greek churches were spattered with the blood and feces of hanging bats.

Sheets of sand blew across avenues and covered floors… Now, no bands, just the incessant kneading of the seathat no longer soothed. The wind sighing through open windows became a whine. The cooing of pigeons grew deafening.

Varosha, merely 60 miles from Syria and Lebanon, is too balmy for a freeze-thaw cycle, but its pavement was tossed asunder anyway. The wrecking crews weren’t just trees, Münir marveled, but also flowers. Tiny seeds of wild Cyprus cyclamen had wedged into cracks, germinated, and heaved aside entire slabs of cement…

Two more decades passed… Its encircling fence and barbed wire are now uniformly rusted, but there is nothing left to protect but ghosts. An occasional Coca Cola sign and broadsides posting nightclubs’ cover charges hang on doorways… Fallen limestone facing lies in pieces. Hunks of wall have dropped from buildings to reveal empty rooms… brick-shaped gaps show where mortar has already dissolved. Other than the back-and-forth of pigeons, all that moves is the creaky rotor of one last functioning windmill.

In the meantime, nature continues its reclamation project. Feral geraniums and philodendrons emerge from missing roofs and pour down exterior walls. Flame trees, chinaberries, and thickets of hibiscus, oleander, and passion lilac sprout from nooks where indoors and outdoors now blend. Houses disappear under magenta mounds of bougainvillaea. Lizards and whip snakes skitter through stands of wild asparagus, prickly pear, and six-foot grasses. A spreading ground cover of lemon grass sweetens the air. At night, the darkened beachfront, free of moonlight bathers, crawls with nesting loggerhead and green sea turtles.

***

Chapter 10: The Petro Patch

If, in the immediate aftermath of Homo sapiens petrolerus, the tanks and towers of the Texas petrochemical patch all detonated together in one spectacular roar, after the oily smoke cleared, there would remain melted roads, twisted pipe, crumpled sheathing, and crumbled concrete. White-hot incandescence would have jump-started the corrosion of scrap metals in the salt air, and the polymer chains in hydrocarbon residues would likewise have cracked into smaller, more digestible lengths, hastening biodegradation. Despite the expelled toxins, the soils would also be enriched with burnt carbon, and after a year of rains switchgrass would be growing. A few hardy wildflowers would appear. Gradually, life would resume.

Or, if the faith of Valero Energy’s Fred Newhouse in system safeguards proves warranted—or if the departing oilmen’s last loyal act is to depressurize towers and bank the fires—the disappearance of Texas’s world champion petroleum infrastructure will proceed more slowly. During the first few years, the paint that slows corrosion will go. Over the next two decades, all the storage tanks will exceed their life spans. Soil moisture, rain, salt, and Texas wind will loosen their grip until they leak. Any heavy crude will have hardened by then; weather will crack it, and bugs will eventually eat it.

What liquid fuels that haven’t already evaporated will soak into the ground. When they hit the water table, they’ll float on top because oil is lighter than water. Microbes will find them, realize that they were once only plant life, too, and gradually adapt to eat them. Armadillos will return to burrow in the cleansed soil, among the rotting remains of buried pipe.

Unattended oil drums, pumps, pipes, towers, valves, and bolts will deteriorate at the weakest points, their joints… Until they go, collapsing the metal walls, pigeons that already love to nest atop refinery towers will speed the corruption of carbon steel with their guano, and rattlesnakes will nest in the vacant structures below. As beavers dam the streams that trickle into Galveston Bay, some areas will flood. Houston is generally too warm for a freeze-thaw cycle, but its deltaic clay soils undergo formidable swell-shrink bouts as rains come and go. With no more foundation repairmen to shore up the cracks, in less than a century downtown buildings will start leaning.

… When oil, gas, or groundwater is pumped from beneath the surface, land settles into the space it occupied… Lower the land, raise the seas, add hurricanes far stronger than midsize, Category 3 Alicia, and even before its dams go, the Brazos gets to do again what it did for 80,000 years: like its sister to the east, the Mississippi, it will flood its entire delta… flare towers, catalytic crackers, and fractionating columns, like downtown Houston buildings, will poke out of brackish floodwaters, their foundations rotting while they wait for the waters to recede.

… Below the surface, the oxidizing metal parts of chemical alley will provide a place for Galveston oysters to attach. Silt and oyster shells will slowly bury them, and will then be buried themselves. Within a few million years, enough layers will amass to compress shells into limestone, which will bear an odd, intermittent rusty streak flecked with sparkling traces of nickel, molybdenum, niobium, and chromium. Millions of years after that, someone or something might have the knowledge and tools to recognize the signal of stainless steel. Nothing, however, will remain to suggest that its original form once stood tall over a place called Texas, and breathed fire into the sky.

I cannot really describe the feeling I get from reading these portions in particular, only that it’s the strongest I ever got from any book. It’s certainly not one of joy: I don’t want humans to disappear -- in fact, there are a lot of humans among my family and friends -- and I don’t want human civilization to vanish, after the unspeakable effort it took to put together, with all the promise that, despite everything, it shows. It’s not one of sadness or fear, either. I suppose it’s just one of awe, of terrible grandeur, similar in kind to what I feel when considering the alien horror and beauty of evolved life, its sheer multi-layered complexity, or the unthinkable vastness of geological time.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 27 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Carlos Martinez

Later that morning, after the sun is full and safely up and the night of the ritual has passed, Ian Foley drives me home to the garage.

Gravel crunches beneath his truck's tires as he pulls into the work yard and parks.

"You don't have to come with me," I say, pulling my backpack from the back seat of the cab.

"I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will. But two sets of eyes are better than one and you've only got one good arm. I'll just have a sniff around. Make sure nobody's been here while you were gone."

"Thanks, Ian," I say, suddenly realizing how grateful I am for the gesture.

"You're a good friend."

He takes my backpack from me and slings it over his own shoulder, ruffling my hair.

"Yeah, yeah. And you're a pain in the ass but we love ya anyway."

Thankfully, everything is as I left it and Ian detects nothing unusual.

His senses are less keen in his human form than they are as a bear but his human form is less apt to draw attention.

Bears aren't unusual in Spring Lakes but Ian's resembles a grizzly, a species which has been extinct in this state for nearly a century.

I don't want to have to explain why one might be wandering around outside my shop.

"Place seems secure," he says, inspection complete.

"You sure you wanna stay here, though? I mean, you're still renting from a lady who might want to kill you, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten. But the less Lucille suspects I know, the better. Besides, she's like eighty years old. What's she gonna do? Beat me with her cane?"

Ian sighs.

"Carlos, be real. You're from a family of demon hunters, you're friends with an encyclopedia's worth of supernaturals and there's a vampire after your ass, if not your heart. You should know things aren't always what they seem. Besides, from what you described, what happened to Kyle took some effort. If the old lady has anything to do with it, she's either stronger than she looks or she had help."

"I'll be fine," I say. "The next ritual's not for another two weeks, assuming the Feast of Blood was even performed. I'm safe until then, at least."

"If you say so."

He casts a last look around the garage and scuffs his boot over a crack in the concrete floor.

"Oughta get that fixed 'fore it spreads," he says, clearly reluctant to leave me on my own.

"Yeah," I agree.

"Unfortunately, one condition of the lease is that I can't make any changes to the place without Lucille's permission, including repairs."

"Have you asked about this? A crack like this means you got a weak foundation. Could be a pocket of soft soil, could be erosion. Either way, if it spreads, it could compromise the whole structure. Then you're in big shit. County could condemn the whole thing, 'specially since it's zoned as commercial. It's worth having someone come an' take a look, anyway."

Being in the construction business, Ian should know what he's talking about and I eye the crack with renewed suspicion.

"You know, it does look bigger than it did before. I guess I could..."

A whole rack of socket wrenches drops from the wall, landing with a clatter that has me jumping out of my skin and practically into Ian's arms, like a character in an old cartoon.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Yeah."

I catch my breath and step away from him.

"Guess you're right, though. Kyle seems to agree with you, anyway."

"Kyle? Is he here now?" Ian asks, glancing around nervously.

I look askance at the corner where, as long as I don't look directly at him, I can see Kyle watching us.

"Yeah. I'm not alone after all, see?"

To my surprise, Ian seems a little creeped out by the idea and leaves pretty quickly after that.

I follow him out and wave as he drives off, feeling a stab of loneliness as his truck vanishes from sight.

For a while I just stand there, feeling the mid morning sun on my face and the breeze in my hair and letting thought swirl around my brain like a flock of restless birds.

My cell-phone buzzes and I pull it out to check.

I've got two notifications.

One is from a random app, offering me a special bonus deal because... Fuck.

What a depressing way to remember a birthday.

Especially my own.

The second is a text from John.

My heart leaps a little, despite myself but the message is unsentimental, short and to-the-point.

John: No deaths reported last night. All public areas in town are clear. Need your expertise. Please advise if ritual must take place outdoors.

I hesitate, both a little happy that he asked,and a little unsure what to make of the businesslike tone.

I decide to match it, colleague to colleague and ignore everything else for now as I type my reply.

Carlos: Yes. The same place as the first would be best. Otherwise, nearby in a significant location.

I hit send and wait.

After a moment, the three dots appear, telling me John is typing.

Then they stop.

Then they start again, then disappear.

Finally, I accept he's not going to reply, pocket my cell-phone and blow out a breath as I run a hand through my hair.

I 'did' ask him for space.

On the one hand, it looks like the Feasts might be a dead end and between Kyle's ex-girlfriend and Lucille, we've got plenty of leads.

On the other hand, my aunt is missing and my love life is on the rocks.

I shake my head at myself.

"Tonto. (Fool.) You're so desperate for someone to love you, to have what Ian and Sam have and when it comes along, you freak out and push it away."

I sigh and watch as a trio of crows fly overhead and disappear among the trees on the other side of the road.

Then I head back inside to clean out the ten-day-old trash and the rotten food in the fridge, which Ian was too polite to mention smelled like absolute fucking shit.

Happy birthday to me.

[doomedandstoned]

FLESH OF THE STARS Reveal Fifth LP, ‘The Glass Garden’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

I've had my eye on FLESH OF THE STARS since 2016's most excellent Hossana and we invited the group to be a part of our compilation Doomed & Stoned in Chicago a year later. Now the Chicago progressive doomers return with their fifth full-length, 'The Glass Garden' (2023). Described by the band as "a southwestern ghost story to match the eerie, elemental tone of the music," the record dares us to imagine a ruined world inhabited by mournful spirits. "Atrocities of the past echo in paranoid visions of creatures in dark corners and hidden signals in the static."

First track "Terraforms" comes rampaging out of the gates with an offbeat rhythm accented by signals which subtly flutter and spurt on the synthesizer. Guitars are emphatic and glowing with irradiated fuzz. You might be expecting black metal shrieks or deathly growls to emerge at this point, but the band contrasts the driving beat with earnest vocals that hover and swirl above the strewn landscape like ghosts. It is precisely this contrast that makes Flesh of the Stars so compelling.

Lyrics present a fluid stream of consciousness, giving up vivid descriptions of the scene before us:

Floods buzzing like a hive over fortified ground. The only voice in the vastness as I idle on thru, uncertain & unbound, onto bear witness to the plague, leaching into tender soil. What will ever stop this meaningless machine? All will be consumed when the floodlights beam.

While you don't need the words to genuinely experience this music, the lyrics really deepened my own appreciation for each track and what it was trying to accomplish. I'm once again drawn to the stark post-apocalyptic short stories of Philip K. Dick for comparison.

With its bittersweet strumming, "Overworld" has the feel of some lost Renaissance air just now unearthed. The soft cooing of the keys and pedal steel guitar in the backdrop adds a layer of uncanny atmosphere to the disquieting narrative. Crashing chords follow, reminding us that we are, after all, still in Doom's domain.

Sand, fragments, and dirt, whirling & rising, pelting my skin, blurring my eyes red & raw. They say, don't turn away until I feel the pull. Gather my strength, cover my eyes, and wait.

If you've appreciated the vocal harmonies up to now, "Into The Maze," pairs them so effectively with the warmth of the bass and some positively Elderesque guitar leads. It's hard to know when "After the Dream" begins, as the previous song melts so seamlessly and naturally into it. There's a dreamy wistfulness about the song, as the lyrics and melodic vocals depict a "surge growing stronger, washing away cars up on bricks. Foundations split, plague comes, mud sticks." Immediately following the emphatic thud-thud-thud-thud of guitar, bass, and drums at the nine-minute mark, synth and lap steel take the reins for a section worthy of a John Carpenter soundtrack.

"Unseen" concludes the album with earthquaking low-end (captured pristinely on this recording), joined by wave-crashing symbols, warm, sustaining bass tone, and clean, consoling vocals. Things end on the single note of feedback that the record began with.

Throughout The Glass Garden, songwriter Matt Ciani (guitar, keys, vox) builds atmosphere like a mighty cloud formation that builds slowly, but eventfully, into massive cumulus monoliths. Matt's ethereal, melancholic singing is especially effective, grounded to reality by stalwart percussionists Nico Ciani and Sam Corman Penzel, with Will Phalen on the pedal steel. In sum, a slow burn that is a genuinely moving album.

Look for The Glass Garden by Flesh of the Stars this Friday, October 27th (get it here). Stick it on a playlist with Elder, Deafheaven, Chrome Ghost, Messa, and Moon Coven.

Give ear...

The Glass Garden by Flesh of the Stars

SOME BUZZ

After ten years of progressive doom metal & synthesizer worship from Chicago’s Flesh of the Stars, the band is closing out their current chapter with the sprawling new full-length The Glass Garden, to be released on October 27, 2023. It is their sixth release, following 2021’s Mirror / Vessels EP and four LPs, including the acclaimed Anhilla (2017) and Mercy (2019).

Recorded in July 2022 with Doug Malone at Jamdekand at FotS home base by frontman Matt Ciani, this new LP embraces sonic clarity & simplicity. The drums hit harder, the guitars blossom in tremendous widescreen, and the keys maintain a sense of unease to match vocalist Matt Ciani’s intimate performance. 'The Glass Garden' is a meticulous blend of synthesizers, electric pianos, pedal steel, and, of course, massive towers of fuzz guitar.

"Compared to our previous work," the band says, "the riffs on GG are more serpentine, the drums more muscular, the BPMs a bit higher, and the arrangements more live-sounding, presenting the band in our core elements with minimal overdubs."

Album opener “Terraforms” starts with a blast, doom but almost not, quickly making clear that Flesh of the Stars are again expanding their sonic capabilities. The story begins with a drive south through the desert as the sun sets in deep red. Dozens of abandoned cars line the highway as we barrel through slinky guitar leads and disorienting whirlwinds of drums.

“Overworld” introduces haunting pedal steel guitar, played by Chicago multi-instrumentalist Will Phalen. His performance ranges from barely-there uneasy swells to hollow ghost town howls to full-on shrieking as the song abruptly shifts in tone and volume.

“Into the Maze” is a marathon - a feast of riffs, melodies, and time signatures, each morphing into each other and then recalling motifs from six sections back. Corman Penzel’s drumming takes us fully through the wormhole, mirroring Ciani’s storytelling, which takes us into an otherworldly aperture, a tunnel “too tight to crawl”, but we’re “too far to turn back.”

Side B begins with a moment to breathe. A lone somber clean guitar patiently coaxes the band back to life after the tumult of “Into the Maze”. It is eventually joined by Fender Rhodes, pedal steel (this time pushing even further into ambient country territory), and Ciani’s quiet & mournful vocal. Over 12 minutes, “After the Dream” builds from near-silence to absolute doom bombast before descending into a subterranean synth finale in the oscillating, modulating void.

“Unseen” seamlessly picks up where “After the Dream” ends, swapping bass synth for a veiled nylon string guitar to begin a 5-minute synth-folk ballad, at times reprising album opener “Terraforms”, taking the listener back to “the all-seeing red” of the nuclear sunset in the desert. What follows is nine minutes of twisting, hurtling, downtuned prog intensity, as The Glass Garden reaches for its highest highs before its startling and abrupt end.

Taken as a whole, The Glass Garden stands as Flesh of the Stars’ most ambitious and fully realized LP, a final word from a band that has never stopped honing their style and skills in their ten-year run.

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