#soil pulling away from foundation

[foundationsolution1]

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 […]

[snakeflower-cottage]

Channeling the Elements in Witchcraft, a foundational skill and arte

Magic moves like the wind and settles like stone, flowing through the world in ways we may never fully understand. Witches do not command the elements, we learn from them, work with them, and with determination and a bit of work, we borrow their strength. Each element has its own temperament, its own price, and its own way of shaping the unseen into something tangible.

🜂 Fire is unpredictable. It is hunger, destruction, and transformation, and it does not care for the hands that shape it. Even the smallest spark will take what it can, growing beyond what was intended. Fire magic is used to transform, to destroy, to strip away the old and make space for the new. It lends power to offence, heats and empowers the cauldron, reduces poppets and charms to ash and smoke. But be wary—call on fire too carelessly, and it may consume more than you bargained for.

🜁 Air is restless. It moves unseen, a force that shapes without being held. This is the element of breath, of voice, of words given power. It carries spoken spells, sends power with speed, turns whispered wishes into things that travel far beyond us. Air can sharpen the mind, twist thoughts into visions, and scatter illusions like leaves on the wind. But it is fickle… It shifts too easily to be owned, and what is sent forth on the breeze may never return the way you expect.

🜄 Water is a gateway. It is the boundary between worlds, the place where spirits gather, where things lost may return. Water is life-giving, carrying vitality through the body just as it carries magic between realms. It softens and soothes, heals wounds both seen and unseen, and deepens the witch’s connection to all things. Wells and streams are places of healing, where offerings are left, and forces intersect. Rain blesses, washes clean. The sea remembers the beginning of life. To work with water is to work with feeling, with intuition, with the currents that pull us toward what we need most… whether we know it or not.

🜃 Earth is patient. It does not hurry, does not shift for just anyone. It is the foundation of protection magic, of wards buried at thresholds, of charms sealed with salt and soil. Earth magic is steadying; good for binding, for holding things in place, for giving power to spells that must last. It listens to whispered oaths, holds the echoes of past workings, and lends its strength to those willing to wait. But earth is not easily moved… If you seek its help, be prepared to meet it on its own terms.

Each witch has their own way with the elements. Some find fire too wild to wield, others feel lost in air’s ceaseless movement. Magic is not about bending these forces to our will, but about knowing which will meet us halfway. Work with what calls to you first, and remember, what is freely given is always stronger than what is taken.

[ma1dita]

wake up call

'between certainties and doubts' installment part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 1.6k a/n: a moment in one of the many morning afters with remus lupin angst and allusions to sex feel free to send requests for them

—

There’s a comfortable silence that goes hand in hand with early mornings at Hogwarts, as rare as it may be. On the third floor of the west wing of Gryffindor Tower lies the Marauders’ headquarters and safe haven, also known as their dorm room depending on the time of day—but right now? 

Remus wishes that he had it all to himself. 

The curtains are drawn around the faded velvet-lined curtains that swallow you and him within his twin bed into a world of your own, away from prying eyes. But there are slivers of sunlight that peak through the seams that break through the walls he built around this secret, sending a fluttery feeling through him as he watches themselves cast upon your cheekbones. The dorm is emptier now without James here to rile up Sirius and Peter, and Remus sends a silent prayer up to whatever power above for that—the current Head Boy has no sense of privacy, after all. So he pulls your body towards him and holds you for a bit longer, just because he can. Unconsciously, you tuck your nose into his midline, brushing against his clavicle, and with nothing between you but soiled sheets and bare skin, the brunet wonders for a moment if you could melt into him like this and become one.

You see, intimacy is an interesting subject if you’re Remus Lupin. 

Probably the one he’s least proficient at, dare he admit it. But he’s familiar with the pleasures of the flesh—a deep and carnal urge he usually satisfies with a tumble in the sheets with a random tourist, usually of the Muggle sort, back home in Mold and so very far away from his life here at Hogwarts.

But this is not that. This is so much more—somehow, without him noticing, Remus has intertwined his selfish dream with his painstaking reality that you of all people could want to be with a werewolf. 

A thought passes almost cruelly the longer he looks at you—that this is as real and as good as it will get for someone like him, fleeting touches and temporary happiness until all that’s left is the memory of the scent of your hair or how you like your eggs in the morning. 

Remus pulls his hand away from your waist and hates how perfectly it fits against the curve of your hip.

There’s a lot of things that slip past his notice the harder he thinks—which he does a lot, to be fair. 

Your breath shifts under his fingertips ever so slightly because maybe if neither of you say anything to break the solitude, he’ll let you sleep in a bit longer. 

Maybe.

But you’re the one that breaks his reverie this morning as you ghost your lips against the ragged scar that climbs across his collarbone. Remus lets out a sigh from the deepest pits of his soul, as if you’ve lifted whatever bad memory came with it. You still don’t know. The cracks in his foundation have been crumbling, and you often see such softness within him in times like these—moments where there’s no one else but you to put him back together. However Remus doesn’t exactly come with an instruction manual.

So if anyone asks, it doesn’t hurt him. 

Not physically at least.

“What are you thinking about?”

It’s a whisper at most, a breathy sound that scratches at your throat and yet he shushes you in case Sirius might hear—sensitive dog hearing and trauma aside, the boy is always the earliest to rise out of all of them. You roll your eyes and burrow your face into your lover’s arm as it reaches for his wand that he had tucked behind the headboard. Both your feet are rubbing against each other; it makes you giggle under your breath. You watch Remus cast Silencio over the boundaries of his bedspace, so you raise an eyebrow as if to say, “Well?”; he smiles at you from his side profile, face smushed against his pillow as he looks down at your face.

“You,” he admits. It sounds pensive, and his brows furrow like he’s being betrayed by the words that spill out of his mouth.

“You’re full of shit,” you smirk, eyes locking with his as you pull the duvet over your shoulders. Remus’ eyes are a touch darker in the low light, the weight of them heavier when he’s tired. And yet, he cracks a smile you swear sets something alight within you—a curiosity to seize him while his limbs are locked with your own, to probe further into him instead of how he does to you, relentlessly and almost savagely, like he wants evidence that he was there. The proof is scattered in bruises that bloom across your breasts where no one can see. 

You want to stay, and think of how to gather the confidence to tell him, and then he speaks again.

“I mean it. Even when I don’t want to, I’m always thinking about you.”

“You can sound a bit more thrilled than that, you know,” you say in jest. It’s hard to know if he’s being sincere—but you do know that Remus Lupin is honest in ways that hurt. Though lately, it’s not quite sure if that’s to your advantage. Still, you take what you can get from him.

“Well,” he starts—you shove his chest and he shuts his eyes to soak in the sound of your laughter. Your proximity to him makes it feel like it’s vibrating the walls of his ribcage; he quite likes the feeling.

It’s silent in the room again, and there’s much for both of you to think about. Lying there in the quiet and admiring each other’s faces is your favorite way to spend your mornings, though it was easier in the summer. Brighter, more free, and not hidden away like this. The novelty of it all begins to wear off as you hear Sirius bumbling around in the ensuite, hair dryer on high.

“Sometimes, I wish you were someone else,” Remus breathes, letting the words wash over you. It sends a chill up your spine that he’s tracing with his index finger and for a second you don’t know what to think—your body shakes as if unsure whether to move closer or away.

You don’t say anything, not knowing what he means but knowing that it hurts. Every blink takes away the time you spend together this morning by the millisecond and you wonder if all of it is a waste. Trying to see him clearly makes it feel like you’re fading away. Maybe you’re just the idea of someone he wants to be with—maybe that version of you is more palatable, easier to fuck.

You pull the sheets around you tighter now, rolling onto your back to stare at the canopy overhead, washed out maroon and gold in a spiral of fabric. At least it’s not evergreen and you won’t get lost in it. 

“Yeah,” you say finally. It’s not a question but an admission, because the experience of being with Remus Lupin feels like one that takes you out of your own body. 

Like you float above it but aren’t there.

Maybe it would be easier then, if you were someone else.

Then Remus would be right again, and you hate that.

The words simply hold their own space now in the growing one between you two on the cramped bed.

Sirius will be on his way out of the bathroom soon, and the window of solace you once had is coming to a close—though it feels shattered already by the impassive looks on your faces.

Before he reminds you what you already know of your routine, you’re on your knees in the middle of the bed and tugging one of his sweatshirts on, clothes obscuring your vision of him because it’s easier this way instead of saying anything else. He hands you your pajamas and he’s breathless at the sight of all of that skin and all of his marks that he left disappearing from view.

“Don’t forget your—”

“I know,” you swallow, sticking your scroll into your knapsack. He’s fumbling into his own clothes now—and he realizes he’s put on your dad’s old rugby sweatshirt instead.

“Switch?” Remus smiles, but you’re not in the mood anymore.

“Doesn’t really matter. Does it?”

He shrugs.

You both leave hints where people usually don’t notice, in borrowed sweaters, or notes during class. He wears your hair ties around his wrist because you always lose them, and snapping the elastic against his skin helps him not pick at his scars. You always carry an extra chapstick in your pocket, cherry flavored—-to soothe his cracked lips before you kiss him. There is evidence of this connection that makes it real, even if you don’t say it aloud—even if the only places you can meet are when no one’s around.

No one even knows that you two are friends, outside of these four walls.

Are you even friends with Remus?

The thought almost makes you fall off his bed and he catches you by the arm, “Careful, lovely.” He presses a kiss against your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips—that one lingers for a moment longer than it should, until you almost want to pull him back into bed.

“I should go,” you sigh against his panting lips. Remus hasn’t let go of your arm, but he nods. What gets things back into motion is the sound of the hair dryer shutting off—he swipes the curtains open and is almost pushing you out the door, handing you your shoes as you cross the threshold.

Too focused on each other and what to do next, neither of you notice Peter wide-eyed and sitting up against his headboard—quiet as a mouse.

Though, he is a pretty decent secret-keeper, if he says so himself.

—

i don't do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail and turn on post notifs :)

[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.

[gazstations]

Heaven Incarnated

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ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUMMARY

Johnny has loved you for a long time. Only he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be more than a friend because of the nature of his job. Eventually, he’s going to have to confront the truth he desperately tries to keep hidden.

FANDOM: Call of Duty 

PAIRINGS: John MacTavish x reader

WORD COUNT: 3,560 words

WARNINGS: Deep mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-deprecation, not a lot of dialogue, Johnny is reflecting a lottttt, angst with implied happy ending

◇ Notes: I had so much fun writing this. I think I popped off quite honestly. Though I did start crying a bit because halfway through, I started thinking about Johnny being canonically dead, and now I’m even more distressed. Get distressed with me by reading this!

○●○ NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

JOHNNY KNEW HE WAS SCREWED THE MOMENT YOU WALKED INTO HIS LIFE WITH YOUR STUPID LITTLE GRIN.

Even before he mentally knew that the flutter in his stomach and the warmth that spread through his growing muscle was that act of falling in love, he instinctively knew that you had burrowed your way like a thick vine around his rib cage until you pulled taunt. You were like another sentient piece of his soul that broke free from his physical self and wandered the earth. You always came back, though. And when you came back, his weary heart stitched itself back together.

You were a stable tangle of emotional health. You encouraged him to do better, to worship the very foundation of his essence. When he returned home from purgatory, clawed his way way with dirtied fingertips through the tar, you had draped yourself over the chasm and offered a hand. When his soul ripped in bitter halves, you manually threaded the blood and bone back together.

You were never not his pillar of strength. You melded into the role naturally without complaint and without prompting. Once you were there, you were the infestation that wouldn’t stop gestating. An invasion full of lively fullness that eased the weight on his back until it was time to fly free again.

You were his home.

The first time he realized he loved you, it was the simplest of affairs. There was no beat drop. No record scratch. There was a calm realization that twisted at his stomach when his gaze softened. It was so natural that once he acknowledged it, he never questioned it. However, once he let the thought germinate, he did feel fear.

Loving you wasn’t the issue. It was the staggering realization that he could lose you one day. There was no permanence in anything. There was blissful enjoyment until some aspect of the relationship dusted away. Physically, he could not take stock that he would hold his heart forever. Hell, there wasn’t even a guarantee he could emotionally cherish that which softened those ridged edges of his flesh.

So he vowed to just love you the best way he could.

He always imagined how sweet you’d be once you finally got locked in. He would be so good to you. He would be at your beck and call until you forgot what it was like to take care of things yourself. You were his universe full of vibrant iridescence.

Only, he couldn’t have you that way.

You were an ethereal being sent down to earth to be his guiding light. He was a mess of violence and guilt. He didn’t shy from the sting of warfare. He relished in the humanistic manifestation of hell. He shed blood until it caked and dried underneath his nails. The only time he would touch you was after he vigorously scrubbed himself down to the bone.

That first time, the steadying hand of love caressed his face he knew he could not be selfish. He could love you, but it could never taint your rich soil. Your garden was to be preserved until it bloomed and thrived with beautiful buds.

So he watched you with a softened gaze as you meandered your chosen hobby. His fingers stilled around the wooden shaft of his pencil as he watched you. He knew the exact second you became a sweet muse, an existence he wanted to immortalize forever. Every bend and God-given edge was stored in his mind.

He watched you closely, blue eyes scrutinizing every feature with awe. He knew perfection was an idealized pipe dream that was impossible to achieve, but you were his definition of the closest representation he could conjure. It wasn’t perfection in any standard term, but it was a hell of a lot close to what he perceived it to be.

What a sappy, lovestruck man he was.

That night was the first time he captured the way he saw you through his sharp eyes. But it wasn’t the last. In the recesses of worn down journals and past thoughts, you were constantly the center of attention. The leather bound books were stored far away, but his love was honored and bound to the earth from the moment he allowed graphite to mark the pages.

Only for him, yet all for you.

♡◇♡

You were always there like an answered prayer for the man who lost his grip on religion.

It was bad. The storm cracked in Johnny’s mind. A dreadful, destructive thing that billowed out clouds of gray over the synapses of his brain that produced serotonin. There was a thick, tar-like sludge that he struggled to even trudge through. He was dead weight, a husk of a man who didn’t know how to stop getting knocked down.

The hazy gloom settled deep in his bone marrow. His joints all creaked as he stepped foot off the plane that brought him home. He wasn’t built for this monotonous lifestyle, and he felt disorderly as he heaved himself on weary feet down the terminal.

And there you were.

You did not bring theatrics. You did not parade around him like some agitated monkey. You were the calm kiss of the waves against a shoreline. The gentle summer breeze during a warm evening. You were the peace that seeped into his bloodstream like a drug. Better than any drug, really.

His throat closed with guilt when he was enveloped in your embrace once more. How could he justify his place in your life when he only ever returned a small bit more damaged every time?

He was not a steady beat in a ballad. There was no harmonizing that occupied his throat when he looked at you. There was an off-beat staccato that thrummed beneath clenched jaws, aching body, and bitter resentment. He was the violence and anger that manifested in his periphery.

But he was also selfish.

He took greedily from the unwavering love you offered. Picked and picked like it was a milky chocolate that melted so perfectly on his bone-dry tongue. He should’ve left, yet he was a gluttonous man that wagged his tail whenever he had his maw enclosed in something divine.

If only he could dig deeper into the honeyed essence that made up your DNA, he would never starve. Though, he would not destroy you so completely. He was selfish, but he also was a professional in taking only what he deserved. Where you wouldn’t notice his thick claws as they sunk into soft skin.

You knew it was bad. You always did. Could catch the sorrowful lilt of his words. The faraway glances out the windows as your car glided down the road.

You didn’t press. Didn’t request a recount of what happened. There was no pleading to rip through classified information and digest the horrible reality of his life. You never demanded anything. Maybe that was why he desired to open up his heart and let it bleed out on the ground. Confide in you about the sickness that infested his brain.

But he wouldn’t taint you completely.

The two of you lived together in a little slice of heaven. The flat was his sanctuary. But that was mostly because of you. Evidence of your sweet existence was everywhere. He drowned in the reality of you. What a lovely thing.

He was exhausted. It was not the quiet ache in his lower back nor the heaviness of his eyes anymore. It evolved and splintered out into a full system catastrophe. He was weary, muted, and numb in the very muscles of his soul. The longer he worked, the further he fell into the void.

He muttered something about a nap as soon as he discarded his duffel on the floor. You held no surprise and calmly sent him off to the seclusion of his room.

He slept for a long time. His eyes crusted, his body was clammy, and he felt like he woke up in the pit of hell. He groaned and creaked as he came to, the vestiges of sleep slipping away as he wet his mouth.

But that was when you wandered into his orbit.

You climbed into his bed with ease, and he watched you like a hawk the whole time. This was not new. But like the lovestruck fool he was, his stomach unsettled every time. The besotted Scot was rendered useless by your mere presence. He was good at navigating the bloody battlefield. He was not good at knowing how to look you in the eye and lie straight to your face.

He was a filthy liar. He wanted to drag you down into the sticky tar he was bound to. He wanted to be irrevocably selfish in the way where he got his bloody paws all over you. He would layer your flesh in his personal signature until there was no doubt that you were entwined with him.

And you would probably let him, which is why he had to practice restraint so consistently. You were always so sweet and pliant. There was no doubt about that when you never noticed the tar pool he brought home with him. Didn’t notice how it seeped through the insulation and walls. One day, you would be stuck, your shoes glued to the ground, and you would be eternally sequestered in the hell he created.

You lay yourself out on your side, one hand holding your head up as you stared at him. He wanted to puff up like a peacock, preening under your intense stare. He relished in the moments you had your attention on him. It was a sweet treat, and he had always had a sweet tooth.

Silence was your game. That was the second time he confirmed what he already knew. There was something about sharing your space that made him get tortured with that reality. It was not a grand affair where he watched you laughing or having fun. It was just simply you that jolted his heart and sent him spiraling into this intense emotion.

Your existence alone could single-handedly crumble entire civilizations.

You smiled at him and reached out to fix his sleep addled mohawk. He leaned into your touch instinctively. It was safe. You were safe. Just as easily as you ignited his brain into a full shutdown and made a mess of him, you eased the nightmarish thoughts that ran rampant. He was so reliant on you to dictate his mood. It was a dangerous game.

“What’s going through that brain of yours, Mac?” You asked.

How could you not know? You were so bloody smart. You were bound to notice just how much of a fool he was. He was this puffed up man looking for a fight in every other situation. He could never sit still. Anger was usually the primary emotion that he used to filter out the noise.

But when you were around, he was docile. He played the part of an obedient mutt as he perched at your feet.

He met your eyes, his blue softening and the lines around his face easing.

“Ye are, love.”

That was as close to a love confession as he could get. And yet you seemed oblivious still. You didn’t ask what about you that he was filtering his mind with. You didn’t press the issue more than with what you said next.

“I hope I stay there for a long time then.”

His cheeks heated up, and he found himself stiff as a board in the wake of that. He pretended that you, too, were putting face to some secret in the matters of your heart. When he said that he loved you, you reciprocated in your own way.

What a fool he was.

♡◇♡

Death used to be a luxury John craved. When the flames got too high and smothered his being, he went kneel to the ground and begged for God to just let him be free. In his darkest moments, he expelled his faith from his trembling hands. He denied it. When he saw a yard full of slaughtered children, he cursed the omnipotent being and slashed the cross he used to bear without shame.

Yet it was also in that same darkness that he pleaded for the god that he separated himself from. He found offense in the way God wouldn’t grant him what he desired most. But should he have really been offended? He only knelt when it convenienced him. And every time, God turned a blind eye.

John wanted to be free, and God shackled him deeper on to earth. He wanted you, and he only got 50 percent of you. God was playing tricks with him, and John cursed him for that as well.

You didn’t meet him at the airport this time around. You didn’t even know he was home prematurely. He slinked into the hospital silently and begged the nurses, too. Dinnae call them. Dinnae want them tae see me like this. Eventually, they complied and left him to melt in the hospital bed.

His mind was an inferno. You did not deserve to be tainted by this. It was a raging storm. His synapses were shot, and he was a hollowed out body of flesh and bone.

But he was desperate for you. And it was after one specific fit that he took his trembling hand and dialed your number. He went against the rules he had set up for himself just because he needed you to battle and beat back the tsunami that was hurtling towards him.

And you were there like you always were.

You idled in his bubble for a long time. You grinned and bore the debris that smacked against you now that you had dove head first into the rushing water with him. He panicked and retreated as soon as he realized what he had done. The mess he made. He had almost died, and instead of keeping you at arm's length, he pulled you further into his crippled embrace.

He left handprints of tar on your cheeks, and you let him. While he spiraled into madness, you kept your softness and held his hand. Why? When had he ever been worth that effort? You willingly ruined yourself just because it was him. He didn’t understand.

And now he didn’t even have the military to fall back onto. He sucked the last remaining salvages of that life until he was cast away to search for more sustenance somewhere else. It was humiliating. That he could strip himself for so long, tear off pieces of his wounded heart, and still end up with nothing.

Was he just a puppet on a string? His puppeteer must’ve despised everything he represented because nothing that loved him would ever leave him flopping lifelessly in the middle of the desert.

You didn’t.

This time, his misconstrued anger was launched at you. He spit and hissed at you because you were the only physical manifestation in his life that he could bend. His maw was deadly, his words venomous.

And yet, you still stayed.

Why were you on a single track mission to crumple his mind? He assumed before that he was unworthy of your golden love, but now he knew for a fact that you were meant for grander things. You were meant for a life where you were whisked off to the dance floor and pursued without restraint.

But you chose to stay with your defeated best friend, who grieved and deteriorated away. Insides first. There was rot in his body, his lungs filling with black tar. When would he suffocate?

He prayed to God once more that you didn’t try to save him.

His head was full of maggots. He could feel them gnawing on his spongy brain. They chewed through wire and blood, finding out that underneath was hollowed out. Because he didn’t know who he was now. He bled profusely for a life that was only ever temporary. He never held stock in anything else.

The days were long, and Johnny found himself back at the pew for the first time in years, kneeled before the physical representation of God. It felt wrong to be under his wing again, and part of him felt repulsed.

He closed his eyes and prayed that God did something about this pain because he didn’t have the heart or gumption to do it himself.

♡◇♡

Johnny broke six months later.

He hated when you wandered away from him. When you crept beyond the threshold of their idyllic home, he grew faint and resentful. He was a mutt that didn’t know better. He looked for guidance in you selfishly, and when you naturally flew from the roost, he heaved up his insides.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

Johnny was a simple man. He loved you so fiercely it made him sick. He was rotting his own mind just to keep tasting what little slivers of food you let him lick from your fingers. He didn’t ask for seconds and instead kept laying at your feet like that obedient mutt. Waiting patiently for the next bit of scraps.

He loved you. He always did. He wanted you so badly.

He was a puny man. A sad excuse of what it meant to be masculine. He lost the livelihood that murdered him, and he was still indulging himself in the same habits that had been instilled in him. Don’t take what’s not yours. Don’t demand for more. Don’t expect that you can have that happy life? Stop yearning.

He wanted your golden light to capture him and infest his weary soul. He wanted to be happy.

When you came home, he was there. His spine was ridged and straight, his mind was fuzzy and faraway, and there was an infection of frustration brewing in his belly. His existence at that moment was tunnel vision. He was on autopilot, and his blood was pumping aggressively beneath his flesh.

And you noticed, you always did.

“Johnny? Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly as you discarded your keys and shoes at the door.

There was something heavy clawing its way up out of his throat. He was stone cold, his thinking process snuffed out as he just stared blankly. You were growing concerned. He saw the soft pout of your lips and the shifting of your feet. He knew your mannerisms down to the last atom.

You were always so bloody worried about him. And he still didn’t understand why.

Johnny broke then. He was a wounded man who was rendered useless to your orbit as he collapsed to his knees. He was shattering finally, his body taking a heaving breath as he went through the motions. It was the sob that ripped through his parched throat that rattled the house.

His tears were boiling as they trailed down his cheeks, a testament to how crippled he was inside for so long. He didn’t even exactly know what it was that broke the dam, but once the dam broke, then all that festering self-deprecation surged forward.

He was flooding the oasis you two crafted together. Neither of you were equipped, thrown brutally back and forth through the rushing water. He choked and spluttered and reached for you.

Your hand was there, gripping tight and steady. You acted hastily, making it to his keeled over form in record time. You pulled his head into your stomach, planting a gentle hand on the back of his neck. He spluttered into your flesh, nestling himself there desperately.

“I love ye,” he rasped. His words were untethered and lacked the agency he wished for, but he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t take it back.

And he knew you knew what he meant. What manifestation those words were forming. A man did not break down at the gates of heaven if he meant it any other way. He could tell you easily that he loved you in a platonic manner. He did. This version, he could not express so effortlessly.

He was a cadaver on the examination table. You would find his entrails all blackened and lost to disease, but his heart would be left alone. Because that is where you slumbered and made your stake. You nurtured his heart until it became your own. Because his rot refused to travel where you laid your claim.

He understood that now.

He melted under your gaze when you pried his face from your body. Your hands were his undoing as you cradled his cheeks. He was unraveling, chest heaving as he sought life sustaining air. A floundering fish on the deck of a ship. Only a siren operated the wooden vehicle.

You uttered those confessional words back to him in a honeyed tone. Suddenly, he could breathe again and saw the world clearly for what it was. Maybe this sweet rapture of bliss was what God kept him alive for.

He let out a soft exhale, breathing coming a bit easier than it ever had. He blinked slowly at you, blue eyes full of child-like wonder and fascination. He wanted to be reborn under your gaze, baptized in your waters forever.

He always knew he was screwed the moment you walked onto his life. That damn smile of yours was his beginning and end.

[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!

[caitwritesao3]

Cleaned out my docs again and found this unfished fic from sometime last year. Have fun.

There’s a lot to be said about Gotham. Most of it is more bad than good, okay well all of it is bad. Legends say it's a city built on cursed soil. A city with every kind of crazy, corrupt right down to the foundations.

Ranked number one in worst place to live. Worst place to visit. Worst weather, crime, roads, people, etc.

Gotham was a city hard to defend but defend it Gothimites did. Despite how much shit they talked about it, despite how much any of them would leave if given the chance. Gotham was a city in a strangled love hate relationship with her people. Stockholm syndrome any outsider looking in would say.

If you asked any of the people on the street they’d tell you the same thing, “If you were born here you’d understand.” The blood of Gotham ran as deep in the veins of her citizens as it did running down the streets into the drains.

There was good in Gotham, you’d have to look hard but it was there. It took Tim years to see its true nature. To see it from a different perspective.

Even though he grew up on the hill, in a large house surrounded by a gate, he still went to public school. Mingled with the trash his father would always talk shit about but scoffed at the idea of wasting money on private school. (No that came later when he learned Tim was sneaking around as a vigilante.)

What truly opened his eyes to the hidden beauty in Gotham was Jason. Jason who still lives north of the tracks, in the heart of The Narrows. A few blocks away from where he was raised in Crime Alley. Jason who from day one as Red Hood had the trust of the people often forgotten about.

Tim gently set down his overnight bag on the couch. The window to the fire escape open, the breeze blowing the curtains. Dull yellow filtered into the room as the sun began its descent over the horizon, painting the cloud filled sky in a sea of pinks. Keeping his steps light, Tim crossed the living room and leaned out the window.

Jason was sitting back to the brick wall of the building, legs outstretched the toe of his boots tapping the bars of the fire escape. A pack of cigarettes with a lighter on top were next to Jason’s thigh. One lit between his two fingers as he cradled a bottle of water.

The last few days had been hard on them all with Gotham’s rogues gallery disappearing one by one. So far Croc, Manbat, Clayface, Bane all gone without a trace. Ivy and Harley were smart and hightailed it out of town this morning.

Selina had laughed and shoved off Bruce’s attempts to get her to stay at the manor. Penguin, Two-Face and Sionis were all under surveillance with trackers.

Arkham had gone into strict lockdown to ensure Scarecrow and Joker remained under lock and key.

“Ya know, you’d think the city would be more peaceful without them.” Jason’s deep voice drawled out, smoke escaping his lips. “Instead we get… this.”

Tim swung his legs over the windowsill falling right beside Jason. Jason’s arm pulled him in, hugging him tightly, slightly chapped lips grazing Tim’s forehead. “I mean, it kind of is.” Tim replied, feeling Jason let out another long exhale.

Without the city needing to be reconstructed every other week more money was flowing through Gotham than ever before. With their ‘bosses’ gone most of the corrupt police force had either been fired or quit.

Stocks all across Wayne Tech were up more than they had been in nearly sixty years. The multiple charities beyond funded were being dispersed to help all around the city.

Jason put out his cigarette moving the ashtray over, along with the pack and lighter. His arm fell from Tim’s shoulders as he leaned forward. His fingers ran through his hair, twisting around the dark curled strands. Jason stared off into the distance, his lips pressed in a tight line.

The apartment was on the fourth floor on the corner facing the street at an angle. Below them people chatted on the stoops, children played on the sidewalks. Cars and buses came and went every few minutes.

Everyone went about their lives while blissfully ignoring the thick blanket hovering over them. When it was going to cover no one knew but the city waited with baited breath.

“Are you not scared?” Jason’s voice was brittle, the veins in his hands bulging out as he held them in tight fits.

Tim avoided Jason’s blank stare, instead he glanced down picking at the skin around the nail of his pointer finger. Dread washed over Tim as each second ticked by. He knew the answer Jason wanted but Tim couldn’t find the words to even lie to him.

“Didn’t think you of all people would be.” Tim deflected, pulling his knees to his chest.

Jason turned his body facing him, curling one leg under himself. His brows lowered as his eyes narrowed “I’m not, but I’ve also never seen Bruce this spooked. Shouldn’t that tell us something?”

“I’ve been mind controlled by Joker, put under the influence of every type of fear toxin.” Tim shrugged, still avoiding Jason’s eyes. “I’ve been beaten ten ways to Sunday by every villain A to D list. I held my dad as he took his final breath, I’ve already lost everything. What do I have to be afraid of?”

The realization that flashed across Jason’s face made Tim’s stomach sink. Kick starting his fight or flight response, every nerve firing at a hundred miles an hour. “You haven’t lost me.” There was an edge of irritation to Jason’s voice until it gave way to desperation. “I can’t lose you.”

Tim resisted the urge to chuckle but he couldn’t hold off the grin that spread on his lips. “I’m not going anywhere Jason, neither are you.” he said firmly. “This city goes down so fucking what? We go down with it, hasn’t that always been part of Bruce’s whole plan?” Jason shifted jaw ticking as he shook his head. “Besides, what are any of us gonna do about it, honestly. We’re only fucking human, Jason.” Tim continued crawling toward him.

Jason closed his eyes shakily inhaling as Tim knocked their foreheads together. “Tim…”

“We’re not super powered. Not that it fucking matters cause not even the supers can help us.” Tim whispered, nudging his nose against Jason’s cheek.

“What do you mean?” Jason put a hand to Tim’s shoulder pushing him away. Tim let his hair cover his face as he stood, his hand brushing the pack of cigs and lighter on his way to sit on the windowsill.

Tim watched the end glow red as he sucked the smoke into his lungs. Setting everything aside he let it hang from his fingers between his knees. “Nothing…” he finally answered Jason, keeping his eyes out to the city.

Jason’s footsteps shook the thin metal of the fire escape as he stepped up to Tim. His knuckles gently caressed Tim’s cheek before carding through Tim’s hair. Yanking the dark strands forcing his head back and their eyes to meet.

“What… what did you do.” Jason snarled, hunching over his breath dancing across Tim’s face.

Blinking slowly Tim lifted the cigarette to his lips again, exhaling the smoke into Jason’s face. Keeping his lips pressed Tim watched Jason’s eyes dart back and forth.

The hand in his hair tightened but Tim only closed his eyes at the feeling. “Timothy.”

“Nothing you can prove.” Tim calmly snapped back, flicking the cig away, his hand flying up to grip Jason’s wrist.

Jason stumbled back like he had been burned. Tim could see his chest rising as he struggled to breathe. He recognized the signs of a panic attack but made no move to help Jason.

Tim just crossed his ankles watching Jason lean over the railing. It took a few minutes before Jason turned back toward Tim. Making sure to keep the short distance between them.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Seriously?” Tim rolled his eyes with a snort.

Jason bared his teeth repeating his question. “Color!”

“Orange!” Tim shouted, hopping off the windowsill. He held a hand out shouting over Jason’s next question. “I know what you’re doing so fucking stop! I’m not possessed nor I haven't been switched out by anything! I am of full sound mind and body!”

Jason frowned, his fingers twitching by his side. Tears lined his tired eyes, mouth screwed up as he held them back. Sighing, Tim wrapped his arms around Jason’s shoulders, ignoring the feeling of them going taunt.

His lips ghosting Jason’s cheek, shushing him quietly. “When’d you get so soft Hood?” Tim half teased a small smile pulling his lips.

“I-I told you. I can’t lose you Tim.” Jason croaked out his hands fisting Tim’s shirt. “Whatever you’ve done-”

Tim cooed, scraping his nails along the back of Jason’s head. “Jay, I’m not going anywhere and I meant it, okay?”

Jason trembled, his eyes cast down avoiding Tim as if he didn’t believe the words. Cursing to himself Tim rested his forehead on Jason’s shoulder. Jason’s grip tightened around Tim’s waist, pulling their bodies flush.

With a soft moan Tim nuzzled the valley of Jason’s throat. Inhaling the scent of leather that lurked under his body wash. Tim’s hand trailed up twisting into the curls at Jason’s nape. Jason’s breathing slowed causing Tim to smile to himself.

Closing his eyes Tim relished in the warmth that radiated from Jason. His fingertips tracing the seam of Jason’s tank top where it pulled tight across his back.

“Nightwing to anyone!” Dick’s shrill voice cracked through the walkie laying just a foot away from them. “I need back up n-”

“Don’t!” Tim snarled, clinging to Jason, planting his feet holding the taller man as still as he could. The bottom of his shoes slipped on the thin metal as Jason jerked.

One of Jason’s hands skated under Tim’s shirt, bunching it up from the inside. The other yanked Tim’s head back by his hair. Jason glared down at Tim, his eyes bright with a fury Tim hadn’t seen in months.

Jason kicked Tim’s leg out from under him, throwing him to the side. Tim groaned, spots dancing in his vision as his head bounced off the railing.

Shaking his head Tim sat upright watching Jason frantically yell into the walkie, only receiving broken static in return. A rumble caught Jason’s attention causing him to drop the walkie. Three carefully timed explosions went off. Fire balls lit up the sky bathing Gotham in a dark orange light.

Jason bared his teeth grabbing Tim by his throat pulling him to his feet, “What the fuck was that! What was that Tim!”

Tim smiled sweetly, licking his split lip. “What makes you think I did-” he started coughing as Jason’s grip intensified. Tim held up his phone, the screen showing a map of Gotham. Three red dots blinked over the outlines of Gotham’s main bridges.

“I just cut off access to the city.” Tim wheezed. Jason’s eyes darted back and forth counting the green dots on the screen.

Blackgate, Arkham, Wayne Tower, the manor, the Batcave, the iceberg lounge, GCPD. Each of their personal apartments and safe houses.

Ace Chemicals, the Clocktower, City Hall, the Gotham Gazette. Lastly, each of Gotham’s subway entrances.

Jason couldn’t hide the betrayal on his face.

“This city deserves better Jason.“ Tim whispered, lowering the phone. “And I’ll blow it all to hell to see that it gets that way.”

The phone beeped and two more explosions went off. Jason’s head snapped up looking over Tim’s out at the city skyline. The windows of Wayne Enterprises were blown out, the glow of fire filling the floors below. Even from as far away as they were Jason could hear the metal creak and groan. It took seconds for the building to start caving in on itself.

Sirens echoed across the city, emergency vehicles racing down the now abandoned streets.

Tim’s breath hitched feeling Jason’s pinky brush the chain that sat on his neck. Glancing down Jason pulled on the silver necklace taking it out from under Tim’s shirt.

The charm bounced off Tim’s chest as Jason hissed at it. Jason stumbled back, his face screwed up in a mix of emotions. “Jay, Jason babe, this isn’t what it seems-”

“You’re fucking joking right!” Jason shouted over Tim, his voice breaking. “The fucking court! You’re working for the court of fucking owls!”

Tim half rolled his eyes, his fingers coming up to toy with the charm. “Not exactly.” He said nonchalantly. “I-I don’t work for the court. I run it.”

A high pitched chirp caused Jason to put his back against the wall of the building. His eyes darted down to the gun that lay just inside the window.

“I won’t do that,” Tim warned, leaning against the railing. A gloved hand wrapped around the metal next to Tim, the claw like nails eerily tapping it. A body swung over the railing, crouching next to Tim’s legs like an obedient dog.

Humming Tim let his hand fall, petting the matted hair. Jason’s eyes went wide once he recognized the dull blue eyes observing him. “Dick?”

Tim smiled again letting his hand drop to the back of Dick’s neck. “First successful Talon in about forty years. Thanks to yours truly. Guess it helps his great grandfather was part of the court, so you can say it was already in his blood”

[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.

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Small Moon Houses, And Growing Skyscrapers"

I was standing high above a strange city,

on the roofs of silver towers that shimmered beneath an unfamiliar sky.

I crouched down, grounding myself in effort,

my legs pressing hard against invisible gravity

as I tried to lift the buildings higher,

to pull their foundations up from the buried dust of a lifeless world.

Beneath the surface,

hidden under layers of lunar soil,

were houses no larger than washing machines.

Metal boxes just big enough to crawl into

and press your body tight

knees against chest

arms wrapping around your own heartbeat

like insulation against the void.

People lived in them.

They folded themselves into those cramped spaces

choosing containment over emptiness,

choosing walls small enough to feel safe.

And then I remembered

we were on the Moon.

This place had no air,

no softness,

no real sky.

And yet

there were storms.

Violent weather moved across the surface

waves crashing in from nowhere

colliding with houses and towers alike

as if the Moon had learned to weep like Earth.

Water rose in great, howling surges

slamming into the fragile machine homes

shaking the skyscrapers from below.

I watched,

silent and still,

as if caught between awe and dread.

I wondered how they survived,

why they chose to stay.

Then I heard a voice

my own voice

but distant and strange

soft with clarity.

Let them choose to stay.

They have the right to live or die on this world

even if it was never made for them.

The dream shifted.

A courtroom appeared,

not built of walls,

but woven from tension and hush.

There had been a man

a rapist

who had violated the women living in the tiny homes.

His crimes whispered through the shadows

but no one dared to speak.

I stood with a woman

who looked like Beth from Dog the Bounty Hunter

but she was weary

and her eyes carried a grief I could not name.

She knew the truth

but she wanted to disappear

to return to her machine house

to fold herself small and silent.

I sat beside her

spoke gently

offered her something simple

something absurd.

A new shirt.

Just a shirt.

A soft fabric to remind her

that her body deserved comfort.

She paused

then nodded.

She stood in front of the lawyers

opened her mouth

and told the truth.

Her voice became a key

and the man who had stolen so many

was taken away

locked inside something even smaller than the homes he haunted.

We had won

not for vengeance

but for air

for the right to expand

to grow

to live

in a place that had never been meant for survival.

And somewhere in that strange city

one of the washing machine houses

stood just a little taller than before.

⭐🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙⭐

This dream, vivid and layered, unfolds like an allegory—interweaving power, trauma, survival, and autonomy. Let’s break down the symbolic elements and explore what your subconscious might be communicating.

1. Skyscrapers and Physical Strain

You’re trying to make skyscrapers grow by physically squatting and lifting their foundations. This symbolizes a desire to elevate structures—yourself, your beliefs, your world—but through personal effort and sacrifice. It suggests that you may be feeling responsible for holding things up that were never meant to be carried alone. The skyscrapers could be your dreams, justice, healing, or your role in supporting others.

2. Tiny Homes like Washing Machines

Beneath the surface are homes just big enough for people to crawl into. These “washing machine houses” are a powerful metaphor for compression, repression, and survival. People in your dream are literally folding themselves into small, confined spaces to exist.

This could reflect:

How people shrink themselves to survive abuse or harsh environments

Your awareness of emotional or societal pressure to "fit" into roles that are too small

A memory or commentary on how trauma makes people small to stay safe

3. The Moon and Violent Weather

The Moon is the realm of the subconscious, the feminine, intuition, and emotional tides. To live there suggests you’re in a psychic or emotional space far from earthly logic. It’s a strange, alien world that still mirrors human chaos.

The violent waves and storms speak to emotional upheaval, trauma resurfacing, or collective danger. These waves crash into fragile homes—indicating that no matter how much people try to protect themselves, the environment is unstable. You, the dreamer, recognize that this is not a safe place to live emotionally or spiritually.

4. The Inner Voice: Let Them Choose

Your inner voice saying “Let them choose to stay. They have the right to live or die on this planet” is complex and layered. It may represent:

The tension between wanting to rescue others and recognizing their autonomy

A reflection on generational trauma, systemic injustice, or social suffering

Your own boundaries: the understanding that not everyone is ready or willing to leave pain behind

This is a moment of both release and wisdom—a sign of spiritual maturity, knowing that you can’t force healing on those who aren’t ready.

5. The Trial and the Rapist

This part of the dream is heavy, but incredibly significant. It brings forward themes of justice, advocacy, and speaking truth after violation.

The rapist represents a violator of innocence, safety, and voice—whether literal or metaphorical. He lives among the oppressed, shielded by silence. The women are afraid to speak up, reflecting real-world patterns of abuse, fear, and systems that fail survivors.

Your role in building a case, and convincing the woman (who resembles Beth from Dog the Bounty Hunter) to speak, shows your inner strength and commitment to protecting the vulnerable, even when they are afraid to act.

The fact that she is persuaded by something as small and intimate as a shirt symbolizes the power of compassion, comfort, and agency in healing.

Overall Themes:

Carrying the weight of others' healing

The tension between safety and suppression

Justice and the courage to confront what others fear

Autonomy, choice, and the limitations of intervention

Transforming vulnerability into empowerment

Message of the Dream:

You are a protector, a builder, and a witness to both suffering and resilience. You are not here to save everyone, but to stand tall, to plant truth where fear once lived, and to remind others of their power—even if it begins with something as small as saying yes to a new shirt.

This dream reflects your deep intuition, your unflinching strength, and your wisdom to know when to help and when to let go.

(Jun 7th 2018)

[jeahreading]

"Rage" - Writing Snippet - 2

TW: Blood, Gore, Cuts, Burns, Guns

Gale wiped the wet rag across her back. The unnerving sight of the utterly mangled flesh sent shivers down his spine. There was a concerning lack of skin without gashes or scars, how was he to know that this was just the beginning of the mutilation he would witness on Rini's body?

He didn't know what to be more worried about, the innumerable scars littering her body like paint splatter or the fact that she did not react to the antiseptic.

"If it becomes too painful you have to tell me..."

The slight movement of her head was the only indication of her agreement. Once he was done wrapping up the numerous new and old wounds, he got down onto the floor, sitting beside her right leg.He slowly and gently started cutting up the soiled and rough fabric, the kind of fabric that would make sandbags look like a joy to be in.

"How long....how long did they..." he trailed off. The effort it took for him not to immedietly look away and gag at the numerous burns and welts that covered even just her calf was immense.

"How long did they fuck with me?" Rini looked away with a mirthless laugh.

"....5 years"

Gale sucked in a breath, his mind running haywire at all the things that Rini may have gone through, she was, after all, their lab rat, their test subject, their plaything to ravage and destroy without an ounce of concern. Unbridled anger bubbled under his skin, barely contained by the restrictions of logic, if he just went barging into the facility he too would end up like her, and that would help neither her, nor him, no, he had to keep his head straight and devise a plan, a way to break the very foundations of the facility, to unleash chaos upon those wretched...things...they did not deserve the grace to be called human. A human could not possibly torture another of theirs in such a beastly manner.

Gale was proud of his morality, of his ability to differentiate between the good and the bad, between the right and the wrong, but seeing what they had done to Rini, his moral standing was dropping and it was dropping fast, oh he was ready to paint the facility ground red without a sliver of remorse right this second. But he had to wait, he had to hold himself back...

He refocused back onto Rini's thigh, he had been lost in his thoughts trying to pull down the red screen of anger clouding his vision when he saw it.

A sickly burnt patch of skin at the side of her thigh, a circular mark with a star in the middle...the facility logo. The knife froze mid-air and the world caved in around him. He had not felt such absolute white-hot rage like this...in a long long time, it skittered across his skin, like it would burn every single thing he stared at long enough let alone touch.

He let the knife slip, an eerie calm enveloped him as he picked out the colt from the safe, without a single word said he started loading it up with bullets.

"Gale...what are you doing.."

clink....clink...clink

"Gale...no.."

clink...clink...clink

with more strength than she thought she had in the moment, she pushed herself onto her feet, stumbling across the room to the boy who saved her.

"Stop...stop it" she hissed, slamming the safe shut.

As though he couldn't hear at all, Gale slid the last bullet into the revolver.

"I said STOP" Finally, he looked up at her, face as rigid as ice but his eyes betrayed the raging storm muddling his head, all thoughts of logic wiped out, all but one...

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done already"

"So what? you're just going to barge into the facility and go bang bang bang?"

"No, I'm gonna barge into the facility and go straight into the Seon's room and shoot him in the brains"

"Do you want to die?"

"No I want to kill Seon, I couldn't care less what happens to me"

"If I can't reason with you, then I'll just have to stop you from going out of this room"

The unwavering determination in Rini's eyes almost swayed Gale, almost...

"You know you can't stop me right?"

"Not physically, no, but I can cut myself up more, so if you leave I'll die anyways" She knew what she was saying was irrational and dangerously reckless, but there was someone else in the room who was just a tad bit more reckless than her right now.

"You won't...do that" Gale's eyes flickered between agitation and fear.

"Do you want to test that theory?"

"....No"

"Give me the revolver"

"No"

"Give.Me.The.Revolver" He let out a frustrated sigh before dropping the weapon in Rini's outstretched hand, his anger calming down a little.

Rini grabbed onto Gale's arm and dragged him back to where they were sitting.

"Now, continue doing what you were doing, and let's get this done quicker, the alcohol stings"

"I...I don't think I can"

"Fine then, sit for a bit and continue when you're back in your right mind"

Gale thumped down on the ground, knees folded up to his chest he cradled his head in his hands.

"They... they branded you, what kind of...monsters would do that to someone" He choked out, his emotions swirling around him, the pain in his voice immense.

"We were always just cattle for them anyways"

"I'm going to make Seon eat his own entrails till he chokes on it and then I'm going to put so many bullets in his head that he'll hear them jingle in there till the moment he dies"

He will feel the pain you felt for 5 years in the 5 minutes that I take to kill him

-Jeah

[foundationsolution1]

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