#sometimes even the Doctor needs cash

[lady-phasma]

The Bells of Saint John - Season 7 Episode 6

[rubythecrimsonwriter]

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[ofc-vi-writes-too]

so all ive been able to think about is gotham for the past several days, and more specifically how gothamite culture has to be SO drastically different and jarring to literally anywhere else in the world. Like even other super cities like metropolis, or central city, or wherever else are at least KINDA normal. Like yea u have superman or wonderwoman or the flash but they dont really have to deal with the same level of bs as Gotham.

That being said here are a list of things that I think are extremely normal to Gotham, and other things that happen in thay horrible little city:

• the episode of Hot Ones with Brucie Wayne where no one thinks he’ll even be able to stand the 2nd or 3rd wing but he eats all of them with no reaction, and Sean Evans (or the in universe equivalent) just sits there like “wow no one has ever had literally no reaction before this is really crazy, and Bruce Wayne of all people?” Afterwards Bruce has second thoughts and realizes that maybe he should have played up his reaction to the spice a bit more. People Inside of Gotham are a little shocked because everytime he eats in public it is the most boring, bland, flavorless food imaginable. (he handled the spice so well because Batman is ready for all potential threats and forms of torture. Ridiculous levels of spice included)

• Gotham schools offer courses in self defense. In some school districts its actually mandatory, thats usually in old gotham or downtown gotham. In more affluent areas, self defense is still taught in schools, but most kids are sent to some ritzy trainer to make sure they can defend themselves.

• No one even blinks when theres a new vigilante by the time Damian comes around. Theres still a little buzz but by the time Duke shows up, people are like “Oh cool another one. HEY BRO WHATS YOUR NAME.” I saw someone post here about how when the Wayne kids get mad at Bruce, they go to Selina and make public appearances as Stray, Catwomans sidekick. I personally believe that Tim was the first one to do it but Dick does it the most, and gothamites didnt even need to get used to Stray showing up sometimes, nor did people really care that Stray was always wildly different heights, shapes, colors, etc. the additude is kinda like “I have taxes and job security to worry about. If a new vigilante is what were doing then so be it.”

• People tend to think that Gothamites aren’t smart, but that city is home to the Richest, smartest, most creative people alive. They mostly just lack morals. Like Dr. Freeze, Harley Quinn, hell even The Riddler are all insanely intelligent. Half of Gothams Villains have at minimum 2 Doctorates in something or other. Gotham generates a lot of cash as a whole, and small businesses thrive there. They have high employment rates, and most citizens have their associates despite everything happening around them. People who have never been to Gotham before expect to have to talk down to the citizens but Gothamites just kinda roll their eyes at them and carry on about their merriment.

• Gothamites CONSTANTLY says “because I’m Batman” when they don’t want to explain themselves. Kids hear it a lot from parents and they also get “If you don’t go to sleep, Condiment Man i gonna come and cover you in stinky relish.” Because truly what else is condiment man good for.

• Gothamites who work at BatBurger and typically work the night shift are used to visits from Batman, Robin, Red Hood, Cat Woman, Harley Quinn, etc. Sometimes they remember the workers and ask about their family, and how life is, and other things like that. Theres some barely 18 y/o who just graduated high school who worls at Bat Burger, and asked Red Hood to help him impress his gf by saying theyre friends. He like fuck it why not and tells the gf that the kid helped him save an old lady’s cat in a tree and now theyre bffs. She totally believes it. Score.

• I see the Gotham thinks Batman is Bruce Wayne’s boyfriend theories and raise you: Its pretty common knowledge that Bruce Wayne is Batman, just no one has the heart to tell him. Also theyre scared he will quit if anyone brings it up. So from this Gothamites created the joke that BW and batman are dating and when asked about it in an interview, dick grayson is like “……yes! My adoptive father is dating the guy who dressed up like a bat every night…!”

• this cuased and arguement between Bruce and Dick because no! Bruce isnt dating Batman! (stray was seen again that week) HE IS BATMAN! But fuck now the public thinks theyre a couple so now bruce gets asked about it and hes like “haha yes my spooky bat bf is who i love very dearly!” As punishment He makes Dick bring him flowers in the batsuit because “as far as he is concerned, this is his shithead son’s fault.” Thats a direct quote btw. Little does he know this somehow ties back to Tim Drake before they met.

[tealvenetianmask]

More about Blitz and anger . . .

Anger is a super stigmatized emotion. That's for a reason- it's powerful. When we see it from other people it's usually externalized- it's ugly, aggressive, shows up in abusive situations- it sometimes leads to violence. But when we talk about righteous anger, or the anger of marginalized people, we sometimes praise it. That's because anger can be empowering too.

I want to talk about how Blitz's anger, while it's also destructive at times, has empowered him.

Personal note: when I was a kid, I was yelled at frequently by my mother. The house I grew up in was a 60's rancher with a long hallway in the center, and she would chase me down the hallway yelling. As I grew older, I learned to yell back. Feeling anger and externalizing it didn't make the hurt go away, and it didn't solve our problems- it turned us into two people yelling at each other- but it did make me feel less helpless.

So let's look at Blitz as a kid. In addition to guilt tripping him, his father tells him that "there are scarier things," than stealing from a wealthy and (literally) powerful family, and he doesn't disagree. I think this screenshot captures their relationship pretty well.

We see moments of defiance from Blitz though, even as he's very much under Cash's control. Georgia Dow pointed this out in her video about how Blitz learned resilience in his childhood. Here, have some defiant expressions:

Notice Blitz's eyebrows here, mirroring his father. I suspect that as he grew older, Blitz learned to push back harder, to argue, maybe even to yell. He learned to channel his anger- at being used, diminished, devalued (very likely yelled at and probably physically hurt too) into expression, into fight (I don't picture him physically fighting Cash, but the guy has fight in him- of all kinds).

He learned to feel angry at the world and express that too- for treating imps as lower than other demons, for limiting his options in life, for filling the road to success with exploitation (as we see in the Mammon flashbacks with Fizz).

Speaking of that flashback, he's very ready, as a teenager, to express anger exactly when he needs to for the purpose of protecting a loved one.

Fast forward to the present.

Blitz's anger helps him stand up for the people he cares about- see Fizz in the present at Mammon's show but also Moxxie in Spring Broken.

It helps make him good at his job too. When we see him fight, he doesn't tend to seem all out enraged, but he's super determined and all in. He's at home in a conflict. When he's doing his best fighting, we see a mix of the "angry" facial expressions and pure confidence.

Anger also helps him manage a lot of difficult emotions. Disclaimer (and idea I'll get back to soon)- I said manage, not deal with.

When he interacts with Verosika and with Robo Fizz early in season 1, there's genuine underlying pain from how the relationships with Verosika and the real Fizz ended, but he channels that into anger. The anger makes him take action (Good action? Eh. But still action- he's not crying on his couch.) rather than get consumed by more painful emotions. He's able to keep going.

It also gets in his way, even as he uses it as a coping mechanism. Is his anger at Muffy and the Karen in the doctor's office understandable as he's dealing with his frustration about the inaccessibility of healthcare for Loona and his worries about losing Stolas? Yes. Is it helpful? No, probably not.

It isn't useful with Stolas either. Stolas is this person who's kind and beautiful and quirky and able to match his wit, and who Blitz has grown genuine feelings for, but who is also deeply entwined in the unfairness in Hell's society that Blitz has grown to resent throughout his life- AND Stolas unknowingly participates in some very familiar microaggressions himself.

Blitz channels a whole range of complicated emotions- love, fear, despair at the thought that he isn't loved back- all into anger because he HAS been wronged and his world IS unfair, and anger is COMFORTABLE because anger is ACTIVE, and with it he doesn't have to just let things happen to him!

So we end up back here.

[the-grove]

Hate to do this

So our partner, her mom, and I live in a relatively rural/suburban area. I can't really do proper work as much as my time needs to be available to help tend to both of their needs due to various disabilities( I do get paid for this) and we tend to live paycheck to paycheck. This is getting harder as our access to rides to and from places such as doctor, dentist, and eye doctor appointments continue to get smaller, sometimes requiring us to use ubers which can lead to spending roughly 40 dollars just to get to and from the appointments. We have several of these coming up as we try and improve our health and lives. (And work on getting our partner on to disability services.) All this to say we can use help getting by both in the Immediate and just going forward in the future. I have less then 5 dollars in my account and I can use some help getting things like band aids( some of us get injuries easily that we need to keep clean), detergent and bleach to clean, and some food to help us get by until I get my paycheck on Wednesday. We've considered trying to find some work we can do from home or something but we've struggled to find options. If you are willing to send help please do, if not please reblog. And if you want help but will need funds back just dm me and i'll appreciate the loan and pay you back on Wednesday, because even that would still help out.

Cash App: $rose2894 , Venmo: @rose-sanchez-15 Paypal: https://paypal.me/rose2894?country.x=US&locale.x=en_US

[sundrop-writes]

Tongue Twister

Sub!Gar Logan x (Dom)GN!Reader

I wanna get you in a tongue twister - tied up in a tongue twister.

Summary:

You and Gar run into each other in the dark halls of Wayne Manor one night. He finds that he just can't resist your touch.

Or: You quite literally try to suck Gar's soul out through his cock, and he definitely doesn't stop you.

Sub!Gar Logan x (Dom)Gender Neutral Reader. Friends to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set (vaguely) during Season 3.

Word Count: 2,000

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This is pretty much just straight smut/pwp (there is basically no plot); I say that it's 'loosely' set in Season 3 because there is a mention of the Titans staying at Wayne Manor and I was inspired by S3 Gar, but there's no plot spoilers for S3 and you don't need to have seen Titans for this to make sense (this is just hot smut about my favourite hot guy); there is slight dom/sub dynamics - Gar is somewhat submissive (he likes being manhandled and put in his place), and the reader is somewhat dominant in that they take control of Gar and take what they want; this is a blowjob fic - so, the reader is giving Gar a (very messy) blowjob; the reader's gender is not mentioned or described in any way; the main pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; slight nipple play (Gar receiving); (in terms of the canon, Gar's experience is very debatable, but I don't imagine this to be virgin!Gar, at the very least, this is inexperienced!Gar); slight crying kink - mentions of Gar crying from overstimulation and the reader enjoying it; mentions of deepthroating - the reader takes Gar's dick all the way down with no issues (unrealistic, but that happens in fics sometimes); slight manhandling (from the reader toward Gar) (but nothing to state that the reader has super impressive strength); the reader swallows Gar's cum; multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Gar receiving); I don't think I would call this dubcon, but maybe under-negotiated kink? because they didn't discuss overstimulation beforehand, but Gar still likes it; passing mention of Gar masturbating while thinking about the reader; slight ball play and slight anal play (again, all Gar receiving) and using spit as lube in the process; I think that's it for this fic? Anyway - enjoy!

A/N: I have said this before, but sometimes a tiktok edit just distinctly inspires the vibes of a fic. And I woke up the other day and searched 'Gar Logan edit' because I needed to see my boy, and then I found this amazing edit - and I got the idea stuck in my head that I needed to do a fic of S3 Gar (which is my favourite Gar) - getting the sloppiest head of all time. Cause that is what a Tongue Twister means to me. I later found the full song to listen to it, and for reference it's called Tongue Twister by Cash Cash, so that is the song that this fic is named after. It is just very straightforward pwp smut, because I love writing that about Gar lmao. I love seeing him whining and pathetic (and overstimulated). So, here you go! I hope you guys have fun with this, even if you're reading this as someone who has never seen Titans before.

...

Gar had no clue how he ended up in this situation. 

It was a fucking amazing situation to be in. But still, the whole thing puzzled him. (Well, it would if he had any brain power to think about it at this current moment.) 

This whole thing started when he had woken up hungry. Which, wasn’t entirely unusual for him. Doctor Caulder said that his transformations and his ‘condition’ in general caused him to burn more calories than the average person - not nearly as much as someone like Rita, but definitely more than he used to before his genes mutated. Even on a vegetarian diet, he craved a lot of junk food, which he ate. And he didn’t seem to gain a lot of weight because of this part of his condition. And he often found himself woken in the middle of the night by a rumbling stomach. 

On his way back from the kitchen with a stomach full of nutella and banana sandwiches, he noticed a gentle glow coming from the library of Wayne Manor. He was much more awake than he had been when he had first stumbled to the kitchen, so he had decided to investigate it. He wondered who else was awake at this hour. 

It was you. Apparently doing some late night reading. 

A lot happened very quickly then. 

You reached out and thumbed a large glob of nutella off the side of his mouth, and told him that he was adorable, and delicious. And you stared him right in the eyes while you licked it off your finger - mentioning that you loved his choice to go without a shirt as you removed the now spit-soaked digit from your mouth, looking him up and down with undeniable heat in your eyes. 

Gar felt so utterly trapped. (In the best way possible.) 

That spit-wet thumb made its way to touching his bare nipple, and when he let out an uncontrollable, absolutely loud whimper - he was done. 

That was how he ended up like this. 

This wild and wicked situation being that he was currently getting the best blowjob of his life. And he never would have expected that he would ever be on the receiving end of something sexual from you (he could have only hoped) - so finding out that you could give the most mind-blowing head - well fuck, it was really something. 

You had pushed him down to sit in the middle of the couch in front of the warm glow of the fireplace and stripped him of his loose sleep pants. This left him completely naked, pinned down by your demanding touch and the suction of your mouth on his hard cock. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh my god!” 

He remembered protesting at some point. Maybe. 

If he did, it was only on the basis that the two of you might get caught. The library was a well trafficked area of the ridiculously large house. It was a quick route to get to the kitchen from the set of bedrooms that the Titans had been staying in, rather than walking through some decommissioned ‘sitting rooms’ with creepy, dusty old furniture in them. Gar could only imagine how embarrassing it would be if someone like Dick or Dawn (someone he looked up to and admired) caught him with his pants down like this. 

Not that he was even capable of embarrassment with how much lust was currently throbbing through him. But it would definitely be embarrassing when he thought about it later. 

“Please, please! More!” 

But - all those thoughts easily leaked out of his ears, and those half-baked protests died off in his throat when he felt just how perfect your mouth was on his cock. The wet, warm suction of your lips around his shaft and the way you bobbed your head into such an easy rhythm, forming hot-white streaks of pleasure all across his cock. It was all too good to try and stop it. 

When the head of his large, thick cock hit the back of your throat - he choked out a whine, seeing stars split out across his vision for a moment. You were exceedingly talented at this. 

It was partially ‘talent’, and partially the fact that you truly did want to consume him. 

Every single little moan he let out, every pathetic, sweet whimper - it only spurred you on, made you want to see more. More of the way his stomach quaked when he tried to hold it in, more of feeling his thigh muscles desperately shake under your hands when you traced your tongue under the head of his cock. More pretty tears flowing from his big brown eyes as he was pushed closer and closer to the edge. More of him staring down at you in awe as you played his body like an instrument you had mastered in minutes. 

“Oh god! Oh! Oh - mmm,” 

Fueled by lustful hunger and an attraction for Gar that you had since the day you had met him, you continued on, fucking his cock with your mouth in an utterly unforgiving way. You sucked down the length of his cock and didn’t seem to care as the round cockhead hit the back of your throat, bruising it - your desperation only growing as your oxygen was cut off by the thickness of his shaft. In fact, you let out a moan of your own as his thick green pubes brushed against your nose and you inhaled his natural scent. 

The vibrations shook his cock and that only contributed to the insane pleasure he was feeling. 

Gar felt like he was slowly losing his mind. 

His hands were gripping the couch cushions wildly, finding it too rude and imposing to simply reach out and grab your hair or reach for the back of your head. Even while you handled him like he was simply a toy for your enjoyment, he couldn’t bring himself to return the favor. 

So he sat like a good boy, letting you pin him down and suck the life out of his cock. 

(Not that he wasn’t enjoying every single second of it.) 

“Oh, fuck me! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” 

Gar began chanting, begging in a needy voice that he barely recognized as his own. 

You easily picked up to a brutal pace - gulping down his cock so quickly that it made a sloppy noise with each quick movement, taking him from root to tip within seconds. This made your head practically blur, easily coating his dick in spit and making his skin shine with your wicked efforts.

You sucked his cock so roughly, it was like you were trying to suck something out of him. As if you were trying to obtain some source of life that would magically be drained from his balls if you tried hard enough. 

(In your mind, it was something similar to that. You were desperate to taste his cum. And his perfect noises were supplying your life in a way, so you definitely wanted more.) 

You slurped viciously against his skin, bobbing your head up and down, creating an odd juxtaposition between the very slight roughness of your tongue and the slick flood of your spit whenever you would bob back down. His cock soon became sensitive and his thighs shook - when his legs flexed up toward your head upon instinct, his muscles tightening from all of the strain, you dug your nails into the quivering skin of his thighs and shoved him back down, holding him in place. 

“Y/N!” 

He wailed your name, crying out much louder than he had intended to. 

When he looked down, he made eye contact with you, you stared back with nothing but fierceness and commanding in your eyes. You owned him and you knew it. Even from a position on your knees, you knew that you were in charge. 

His entire body shook with dizziness under the force - flooded with endorphins at being handled so roughly by you. 

Gar’s orgasm was pulled from him forcefully, brought on like a slap in the face at the realization that he loved being pinned under your touch.

“Please, please, oh, oh!” 

Gar heard that lilting, whiny voice and barely recognized it as his own. He felt the air being punched out of his stomach before he realized that he was cumming into your mouth. He thought that surely you would be satisfied by this - that you would be done because he had cum. So he simply rode it out as you hallowed your cheeks and sucked even harder on his sensitive cock. Even making the head aching and raw as you traced your tongue around it and pumped him into your mouth while his stomach shook and he practically gargled his own spit. 

But in that fraction of a moment that he thought you might be done - no. You simply continued on. 

With his cum still lingering on your tongue, you dove back down, not giving him a moment to get soft under your touch. You swallowed his length once again, and he let out a wounded cry as his dick hit the back of your throat once again. His thighs flexed and shook and you left large claw marks in him, fighting him, trying to hold him still. 

He felt hot tears streaking down his face and he knew that this was the most perfect kind of torture - the most beautiful purgatory - being here with your perfect, hot mouth around his cock, seemingly attempting to devour him while he had to sit there and take it. 

“Oh god.” 

He let out another cry and all you did was reach over and begin to stroke his balls. The skin there was already slick with spit that had dripped down from your mouth, and the touch spewed fire up through his gut and caused him to wail out crooked breaths as his vision blurred with more tears. You were so perfect between his thighs - like you knew every single thing to do in order to drive him closer to the edge of insanity. 

Whenever he had imagined you before, he imagined you soft - he had thought of making love to you when he snuck a private moment with his hand around his cock. He always imagined candles and romantic music and gentle kisses all over your body. But he never could have imagined you like this. So fucking filthy. But now, he couldn’t imagine you any other way. 

You moved your fingers down from his balls, reaching your spit-soaked fingertips down to kiss against his against his hole - and just the slight threat of those fingertips pressing into him, touching such a sensitive spot, had another orgasm barreling through him like he had been struck by lighting. 

You sucked the cum out of him like you were greedy for it, like it would restore the very life to you - this time, Gar was sure that not a single streak of it even got to touch your tongue. When he felt the harsh pin-pricks of overstimulation coating his cock, he desperately gulped for breath, searching for words. 

“Please, please!” He cried out. “I can’t - ngh - no more!” 

You moved your hands to gently rub across his thighs, and you finally pulled back so that his cock fell from your mouth with a wet pop - falling to sit on his stomach, so spit-slick and red, glistening in the low lighting, entirely sloppy and messy. 

He was the most lovely mess above you. Tear streaks coming from his eyes, wet and messy eyelashes almost obscuring his perfect doe gaze down toward you. His face was entirely flushed, all the way down to his chest, making his skin the prettiest shade of pink - matching his parted, panting lips. His thighs were covered in bright red claw marks from your nails, and you couldn’t be prouder than knowing that he would be wearing those the next day - a reminder of you under his clothes, a little something stinging against the fabric to really drive home what had happened here. 

He was so perfect like this. 

You knew for certain that this wouldn’t be the last time you had him like this. (You would crave him too badly after this.) 

“You’re cute.” You remarked, giving him a smirk with your raw lips. 

Gar would be lying if he said that the slightly condescending comment didn’t make his entirely tired dick jump with interest.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a standalone oneshot, so I will not be writing a sequel or a 'part 2' of it. However, if you liked this fic, definitely check out Stop? (Baby, Don't Stop) - Gar Logan x Fem!Reader or Not A Good Time - Gar Logan x GN!Reader which are similar fics to this one! Or you can check out the entirety of my Titans Masterlist for more fics written by me. And remember, reblogging and commenting is always helpful to support fanfic writers <3

[acewritesfics]

Preferably Naked | Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Request: No

Warnings: Slightly cringy, a little suggestive.

Word Count: 1,273

Stranger Things Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Where are you going?” Mumbling is heard behind Y/N as she ties the laces of her rundown pair of white sneakers. She turns her head to glance back at the young man who is moving to sit up, sleepily staring at her. 

She gives him a sweet smile. “I have work, and you have school.” 

“Do I have to go?” He moans and lays back on the mattress. 

“Would you like to graduate this year?” She stands up, spins around, and kneels next to him on the bed. She leans forward to brush her lips against his in a kiss. 

Two years ago, Eddie Munson was supposed to graduate from high school. That same year, Y/N had graduated. This year he’d been most committed to finally graduating. All his hard work and efforts were about to pay off. With just one more class to pass, he will be able to walk across the stage, flip off the principal, and exit the building for good. 

“Do you wish to discover my true desires?” He asks, yanking her down onto him, and gives her another kiss. He was using his dungeons and dragons talk. That was something he found himself doing often when trying to seduce her. Both of them were fantasy nerds, so Y/N has to admit it works for her. “For us both to call in sick and stay in bed the remainder of the day, preferably naked.” He adds taking in the horrible yellow uniform she was wearing. 

Y/N presses her lips to his once more before pulling away. She stands up and begins looking for the van’s keys so she can get something out of it before she leaves for work. “Even though I would really love to do that, the diner is currently short-staffed, and we need the cash if we want to get our own trailer after you graduate. "Where are your keys?” 

She hears him mutter something about the kitchen counter as he moves to get out of bed himself. She spots his keys lying there on the counter, in plain view, as she leaves their shared bedroom and enters the little kitchen area. She snatches them up, goes outside to the van, unlocks the door, and slides it open. She climbs inside the back and searches through one of the boxes that filled up one-third of the back area. 

Y/N and her parents had a heated confrontation a month ago. They disapprove of her relationship with the town “freak.” They also disagreed with her decision to not attend college immediately after she graduated from high school. Her parents expected her to go to medical school and pursue a profession in medicine, just like themselves. Her father is a neurologist and her mother is a paediatrician. Y/N accepted to go along with their plans for her up until her senior year, when everything changed for her. She realised that being a doctor wasn’t what she wanted to become. 

Of course, her parents accused Eddie of influencing her to change her mind. Her parents referred to him as “the man with no future” and believed he had manipulated her with his “fake” love and false promises to keep her where he wanted her. According to Y/N, if it wasn’t for him, his love, encouragement, and support, she would be still stuck in a life she was not happy in. She was able to realise she wasn’t being herself thanks to Eddie. She concealed the fact that she wasn’t just a smart nerd who received A+ grades on the majority of her assignments. She enjoys reading fantasy books, creating dragon and warrior princess stories of her own, along with drawing scenes to go along with the words she’s written. She also enjoys watching sci-fi and horror films and TV shows and listening to heavy metal music with Eddie. Eddie sometimes uses her creative skills for his D&D campaigns. 

Her greatest passion is art. Despite the disapproval of her parents, she continues to draw and paint. Her biggest supporter, her ever-loving boyfriend, constantly inspires and encourages her to pursue her passion for her creative outlet. She feels like she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to when her favourite metal head and Dungeon Master is by her side. She would be content if her future included residing in a trailer park with Eddie and spending her days doing art and writing.  

Eddie’s uncle Wayne didn’t think twice about welcoming her to live with them after her parents kicked her out of their home. Eddie is overjoyed at how well his girl and his only parental figure get along. Wayne acknowledges how valuable Y/N is to his nephew and was happy for and supportive of the young couple. Unfortunately, the trailer lacked the space to put everything she was allowed to bring from her parents’ house, so the less essential items remained in Eddie’s van until they found a place of their own. 

When she manages to find what she was looking for, she exits the van and waves to Max, the teenage girl who lives across from them. With a forced smile on her face, the young teen waves back. Y/N felt bad for the girl. She was aware that the previous year wasn’t easy for her. She made a mental note that she needed to visit Max later. 

She enters the trailer again and finds Eddie dressed and cooking breakfast. She sets her belongings down before approaching him and encircling his waist with her arms from behind him. “Can you take me to work today?” She asks him. 

“Of course.” He turns around in her arms, her hands moving over his hips. “Would you like me to pick you up as well?” 

“You have the Hellfire Club tonight. "I’ll get a ride home with Sally,” she replied, mentioning her favourite coworker, who lives close to the trailer park. 

He nods his head, letting her know he heard what she said, and he drops a kiss on her nose before kissing her lips. “I love you, my queen.” 

Returning the kiss with a grin, she responds, “I love you too, my king.” 

As their kiss intensifies, Eddie pulls her closer to him and digs his fingers into her hips, holding her tightly but not enough to hurt her. As he moves them back up against the wall and scoops her up, wrapping her legs around his hips, she grabs hold of his shirt, clinging tightly to him. The smell of burning food reaches her nose, interrupting their passionate make-out session before it could go any further. She pulls her face away from his, only for him to move his kisses to her neck. She struggles to contain a pleasure-filled moan. 

When she notices smoke pouring from the pan on the stovetop, she sighs, “Eddie.” She grabs his hair and gently pulls his head back when he doesn’t stop, causing him to look at her in bewilderment. “As much as I would love to continue this, the food is burning,” she alerts him. 

“Shit!” He curses while he gently releases her, before he rushes to the stove, takes the pan from the burner, and dumps it into the sink. He turns on the cold water faucet, causing the water to sizzle when it reaches the sizzling hot pan. 

“How about we leave in five and grab breakfast at the diner?” Y/N suggests from her spot, leaning against the wall. 

“Let me get my lunchbox and jacket, and then we can go.” He gives her one last kiss as he moves past her and back into their room to grab his things. 

[kittttycakes]

red currant

Read on AO3 here. No one can outrun grief, not even Morpheus, formerly Dream of the Endless. Grief is patient, and it will wait, even in the aisles of a grocery store, to take him into its arms and hold him tight. contents: Dreamling, human Morpheus, post-Kindly Ones, mild gore, brief discussion of food-related issues, grief

At first, Morpheus was too busy dealing with a body that needed things. It was often too cold, its joints ached terribly, and it took him longer than he cared to admit to recognize what hunger and thirst actually felt like. The latter came with their own host of indignities, not least of which was the seeming inability to properly digest dairy, and a strong aversion to certain textures, no matter how appealing the food in question might be in theory. 

Hob both understood, and didn’t. He was always warm, something Morpheus deeply envied, even if he wouldn’t admit to it aloud. He too struggled, sometimes, with food, albeit in a much different way; the cupboards were often overfull before being carefully culled for in-date products to donate away, and he ate to uncomfortable excess on occasion, as if he forgot that there would be more for the foreseeable future.

There was also the question of fashioning a life out of nothing. Morpheus was dragged to a tiny shop in an out of the way street and photographed for a passport purchased in cash, along with all other relevant cards and certificates that made someone human. He was, with great effort, persuaded to allow the doctor with kind eyes who still made house calls to examine him, who pronounced him to be in fair health and left him with a number of pamphlets on proper nutrition. He came to know how to use a phone in practice, instead of merely in theory. 

But Hob couldn’t stay with Morpheus in the flat forever, and Morpheus threw himself into the process of becoming human. He spent long hours reading, books he once would have known simply by touching their spine, learned instead page by page and word by word. He slept more often than he thought an adult human might need, and he spent time submerged in the bathtub, topping up the hot water the second it began to grow tepid. He played music on Hob’s speakers, any album that Hob owned, and didn’t stop to think why he couldn’t bear to sit still without distraction. 

Because Morpheus was fine. He had been trapped in a human body in a glass cage for a century; being suddenly and irrevocably shoved into the same form, pieced back together lovingly by hands he could not bear to contemplate, was almost a familiar feeling. He had not felt hunger or thirst or pain in that prison, but to discover them for himself was not mind-breaking. He endured, and he allowed Hob to care for him, and he did not let himself be otherwise. 

But all things, as he came to know, must change. 

He was alone in the shop around the corner from Hob’s flat. In exactly seventy-four minutes, Hob would be home for tea, and they were, inexplicably, entirely out of jam, which meant that he could not have jam on toast for tea, and that was entirely unacceptable. 

To Hob’s unending surprise, Morpheus liked the shop, just as he liked the park at noon when all manner of people were milling about, and the pub of an evening when it was full and loud and bright. He did not want to speak with people, but he wanted to be within them, surrounded by them, the rise and fall of their voices, and Hob hadn’t asked him why. He had, instead, shown him a website dedicated to ambient noise, and told him that he could have the coffee shop in the flat all day if he wanted, if that was what he liked. 

Morpheus was standing in front of the shelves dedicated to all manner of spreads, contemplating the relative merits of strawberry (a known quantity, which he liked very much) or red currant (unknown, untested, but also free of any bits, which he disliked very much, and red, which was a promising color when it came to foods), when he reached for a jar to peer at it up close, and instead met the hand of the shopper beside him, who had crept up without his awareness and reached for the exact same jar at the exact same moment. 

He withdrew his hand, out of courtesy, and began to offer an apology as the woman beside him did the same, and neither of them kept hold of the jar, which fell, end over end, until it landed with a very final sounding smash at their feet. The woman stepped back with a small cry of alarm, and Morpheus stood, as if rooted to the very ground itself, and contemplated the slightly wobbling red mess in front of him. Vaguely, he was aware of the woman stepping to the end of the aisle to catch the attention of a shop worker, who would undoubtedly gather cleaning supplies and in fifteen minutes, it would be as if it had never happened at all. 

There was a scent, a cloying sweetness that rose from the shattered remains of the jam jar, a scent that Morpheus was unsure anyone else had noticed, or that was perhaps unique to him as he stood, still and unmoving, a buzzing in his ears, like the whine of a particularly persistent fly, and he moved his hand as if to shoo it away and clean up the mess besides only to blink and see—

Viscera, deep and red as rubies; he was walking through a field of carnage, each step staining him further, gore working its way over his feet to his ankles—why had they bled? they were never flesh and blood (but that was a lie, a lie he told himself again and again and again—they had been flesh and blood to him) and he was walking towards the end of all things, or maybe just the end of himself, and it was quiet, so quiet, an unearthly silence so vast that it nearly swallowed him whole and he felt it, a physical thing, the shattering of all that he was, all that he was ever meant to be, but it hurt less than he thought it might, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought it was over, the power gone, until—he had never felt so hollow, and he tried to reach out, to feel the warm familiarity of uncountable minds of his creation and those entirely independent of himself, human and creature alike, and found only an unending void, he had thought it quiet before but this, this was true nothingness, an abyss in which there was only him, and him alone and he was nothing, nothing, nothing at all—

“—all right, duck? Just a bit of jam on your boots and trousers, nothing that won’t wipe right off, I’m sure, and no staining to worry about, not with that very sensible black, hides a world of sin, doesn’t it?” 

The woman was standing near him, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her, and once, he would have known her name. She was not touching him, only hovering a hand quite near him, as she continued, voice even more gentle. 

“Let’s just step to the side, and we can get out of everyone’s way while they clean up.” 

For one horrible, painful moment, he thought she might say more, might even offer to call someone for him, the look in her eyes well-meaning, but horribly perceptive. He could not bear to be seen. It was enough to jolt him into motion, and he nodded, somewhat stiffly, and moved away from the puddle of jam. The arrival of the shop worker, complete with cleaning supplies, distracted the woman long enough for Morpheus to enact his escape, abandoning any thoughts of tea or toast as he made his way, with single minded determination, back to the flat.

It was too quiet on his walk back, and it was too quiet inside the flat, the soft tick of the clock on the mantle and the gentle hum of the refrigerator not enough, never enough. Hob would be home in fifty-three minutes, and it was not enough. 

He burnt the paper in the sink, watching it crumble in on itself and smolder into ash, not knowing if it would even work, being as he was. Morpheus waited, hands gripping the cold porcelain of the sink, his knuckles nearly white enough to match. She would understand, his sister. She would know what it was like. She could tell him what to do, how to live, now, that he was apart from the only piece of himself that he had ever cared for, no matter how imperfectly he had done so. He could not abide being so terribly, horribly alone, with only the sound of his own voice in his head to keep him company. There was no consciousness within him, save for his own. 

Morpheus did not hear her enter the flat. She had always been so good at silence, slipping into spaces like smoke. Her hand, when she laid it over his own, was slightly clammy, and so painfully familiar that it made his chest ache. 

“Brother,” she said, and he tried to speak, to greet her in return, but found that he could not force the words past his lips. She would know, he thought, she would understand. 

She led him to the couch, pulling him to sit beside her, and Despair enfolded Morpheus in her arms. 

[holdmeclosebutdontloveme]

CW: Mentions of previous experience with miscarriage.

The sun setting down to the sea, leaving a palette of orange and purple in the sky. The waves move freely, its water cool against his skin with a breeze that compliments it well. Such scenery have been constant in his life for a few years now and yet he is always grateful each time his attention moves away from his kitchen, in a daze of the nature sitting close to his home.

Unbothered by the fast-paced changes of the city life, Nanami have finally settled at a town far away - with you.

You had pushed him to quit his job, albeit unaware of the direct influence you had over his decision. But the stresses of the corporate world have left him mentally and physically unwell; leaving him on a brink of self-harm through alcohol and continuous overtime to push forward an agenda he is barely rewarded for.

Nanami feels guilty for the sympathy you always cuddle him with. Even if you offered it, willingly, pouring out the love you have for him through words and actions.

Now, the two of you have finally pursued the dream he had only imagined. A cafe near the sea, a concept Nanami never thought to be feasible but locals and tourists alike flock in for the baked goods he makes in the kitchen and enjoys the beverage you always have a knack for.

Even Satoru visits a few times in a week, buying more than he could eat just to pack it up for his students.

It's a blissful life with its own ups and downs but, regardless, Nanami readily faces everything.

Despite it all, he was unprepared for this.

You have been at the beach these days, especially when the cafe is quiet and knows that Nanami can easily handle both the kitchen and cash register alone. He doesn't mind the extra workload, aware of the time you need to process the tragedy you have faced while he was away that day.

And as he closes the cafe earlier than its initial closing time, a habit that slowly becomes a routine, he sees you on the shore.

You have changed from your usual work get-up, opting for the comfort of shorts and t-shirt. Nanami also notices you were barefoot, leading what little waves that ends up on the beach to greet the soles of your feet. The breeze have swept away your hair, tucking a few strands on the back of your ear with a solemn expression, all the while you faced the sunset.

The purple hue darkens the corners of your face as the little yellow strokes glisten the unshed tears in your eyes, even your wedding ring was shining brightly. Silence was what greeted him as he stood next to you, mimicking the words he couldn't say and gulps it all down to burn in the acid of his stomach, feeding him until hunger arrives once more for dinner.

Unfortunately, his appetite have diminished to nothing these days. Not even his favorite bread could heal a wounded heart. Not when yours have closed off entirely.

However, the persistence of a habit have left you to caress the tiny swell of your belly. A reminder of what had been there - the future, a life.

His daughter who he dreams of every night, listening to her laughter as her feet felt the waves for the first time. Her dress wet by the splatters of seawater done by you and a cheeky smile he gave to reprimand your behavior.

Sometimes she would've look like you, other times his daughter was his own image as a child. But regardless of the features she'll inherit, she was beautiful.

Most especially, she was his and yours entirely, molded by a love so big it couldn't be contained inside his heart. Yet she left before was done being baked in your belly.

"To somewhere better," you had said to him, while tears streamed down to your chin, trying to keep up a smile just to cheer him up. Even if you were the one being admitted in the hospital, tied with an IV fluid and monitored heavily by doctors and nurses.

You were alone when it happened and alone once more while you have undergone surgery to remove your little girl from her home within you. A tiny thing, intangible and bloody in form, but you describe him of the love you felt as you saw her out of you for the first time.

You couldn't hold her but the nurses have put her in a blanket near you. Before she was taken away for good.

Nanami...

If Nanami had been there, he doesn't know what he would've done. The possibilities were endless but the overall reaction he has for himself was an indescribable anger towards his absences, all caused by inconveniences conveniently placed at the wrong time at the wrong place.

He deserves the judgement from the nurses placed on him, their whispers and scowls of being a horrible husband who had left his wife to mourn for their baby by themselves.

It echoes in his head, in times where he was alone at the cafe or at home where sleeplessness eats his time away. Always looking at you, in a daze and in pain.

Just like how he is right now with his tears rolling down to his shirt with an opened mouth that fails to utter a word.

Unworthy of the hand that hold his tight.

[the-writer-arrived]

Thank you for the meal!

Synopsis: you are just another citizen of Belobog, going on with your daily life like everyone else, just another face in the crowd...

...or you are actually a succubus who has been living in secret in Belobog for centuries and your main source of nourishment is sexual pleasure. but, oh no! you haven't gotten your food in a while! would someone be kind enough to help you in this desperate times?

Characters: natasha; sampo koski.

Warnings: succubus!afab!reader but no use of pronouns, explicit description of sexual intercourse, unprotected sex (please use protection in real life!), there will be specific warnings at the beggining of each character headcanons.

A/N: is it possible to be jealous of your own writing? WHAT I WOULDN'T GIVE TO BE WITH NATASHA MY LOVE!!!

the fact that sampo's part is much longer and elaborated doesn't mean that i like him or anything >_>

This work has adult themes and is not suitable for minors. If you click on read more, I am not responsable for any discomfort you may feel reading this. You have been warned.

Warnings: switch!reader, switch!natasha, oral sex, face sitting, use of strap (natasha), small spoiler about the main Belobog story quest.

You work at the main clinic of Boulder Town with the doctor/owner Natasha.

After she found out your true identity, she agreed to help you out with your "needs" from time to time and to keep your secret safe, as long as you don't pose as a threat to the people of the Underworld.

Considering her work as a doctor and her duties as leader of the Wildfire, your relationship is more of a casual one.

Whenever you get intimate, you always insist on focusing on Natasha first and foremost.

After all, she's always taking care of everyone, why not allow you to spoil her for a change?

You're always eager to offer your face for her to sit on, like a throne fitting for a queen such as herself.

If you could, you'd spend hours eating her pussy, her thighs shaking on each side of your face, not letting her get away from your hungry mouth as she whines from overstimulation.

When you finally offer her mercy, oh, be prepared for some sweet revenge.

As a succubus, you're more of a giver than a receiver, but boy does it feel good to be a shivering mess under Natasha's bewitching touches.

You on your knees, being fucked from behind by her strap, eyes rolling to the back of your head whenever she grabs your sensitive tail...

Sometimes you wonder if she's actually the succubus here and not you.

RIP your neighbors tho.

After some good aftercare, you lay in bed with Natasha sleeping peacefully in your arms, a moment of respite before her duties eventually demand her attention again.

As you gently stroke her soft hair, you think to yourself that, after things get better and the passageway to the Overworld is open again, you would like to take Natasha on a walk around Belobog, sharing tales from the past... maybe even call it a date?

Warnings: dom!reader, sub!sampo, very whiny and loud sampo, oral sex, degradation (male receiving), praise kink (sampo), multiple orgasms(sampo), creampie, mention of exhibitionism.

Ahh Sampo Koski, I want to ruin you :D

Sampo Koski, the untrustworthy but efficient "businessman" of Belobog.

He's your to-go man when you need anything and everything, as long as you have cash.

For one reason or another, you became one of his clients and you regret it every time you need his services.

The reason for that is that Sampo may act friendly and even a bit silly, but it's all masks that he wears depending on the situation and the kind of person he's dealing with.

The truth is that Sampo Koski is a very sharp man and ever since the day he first met you, he could tell there was something different about you.

That's why you try your best to have the least amount of contact with the man as possible.

...Unfortunately for you, he would not let you have it your way.

You haven't contacted him in a while? Whoops, here are a bunch of messages from him!

You left him on read? Not a problem! How about a call? He misses your voice!

You are so, so tempted to block him, but you don't, thinking that you might need his services again in the future.

Which you end up needing a very special service this time.

The cost would be high, you knew that, but you were willing to take it. If the worst happens, you can just leave and erase all of your traces that not even the best informant would find you.

With that in mind, you get in touch with Sampo, telling him to meet you at Goethe Hotel.

As said previously, Sampo isn't dumb, he gets what you're hinting at and, honestly, he doesn't mind taking this kind of job from such a charming little thing such as yourself.

...He has to admit that your horns, claws and tail look far too real to simply be one of those corny sex shop costumes of dubious quality.

And have you always been this strong to be able to pin him down on the bed with just one hand?!

He has so many questions, but he knows better than to poke his nose into his clients' lives.

Sampo has lost count of how many orgasms he had in the spam of... How long has it been anyway? He doesn't know. He can barely remember what happened after he stepped inside the hotel room with you.

"Come on, my cute toy, give me one more. I know you have it in you."

His only response is a pathetic whine.

"Can't even speak anymore? But you're always running your mouth all the time... Maybe that's all you're capable of handling, how disappointing. And here I thought you would be able satiate my hunger."

When you make a move to get up from his lap, Sampo grabs your hand, a desperate look on his face.

"What is it? Use your words."

He swallows, trying to find his voice again.

"P-Please don't leave y-yet... I... I-I can still go on..."

You chuckle. He's on the verge of passing out, and yet he still wishes to please you, his oversensitive cock twitching inside your hole proof of it.

"That's what I like to hear. Now, be a good slut and cum for me again."

It wasn't the first time that Sampo came close to death, but to almost die from having sex with a starving succubus?

He wouldn't mind too much tho.

After he woke up, he was still naked on the hotel bed, but clean. How sweet of you. And no sight of you in the room except for a note and a pile of cash.

The note was a threat warning that he should keep what he saw to himself. If not, there will be consequences.

His dick throbbed just imagining your glare aimed at him.

If keeping his lips sealed is all it takes to have more of these "jobs" with you, you don't even have to tell him twice!

And you can bet you become his favorite client so fast after that day.

Please, he's so loud you always have to cover his mouth.

Your fingers, his shirt, a gag, anything to muffle the high pitched whines and moans.

There was one time you teased him, saying "what was the point of you having him in a private setting, if others could hear him so easily? You might as well just open the door and invite an audience".

The way he cummed so hard at your words was baffling.

What a pervert slut he is.

You sometimes allow Sampo to top you, but you always make it crystal clear that it's you who's in charge.

When he goes down you, you have a firm grip on his hair while he laps on your puffy folds, your juices tasting like the finest alcohol of the Overworld that he can't help but get drunk on.

Oh, how he wished oxygen wasn't a thing he needed, just so he could stay between your legs forever!

An easy and quick way to get Sampo hard again after his umpteenth orgarsm is to show him his cum mixed with your own release dripping down your thighs.

Please you're gonna make his dick fall one of these days!

The biggest challange for him is convincing you to go out on a date with him.

You always shoot him down before he can even finishing speaking...

Well, unfortunately for you and fortunately for him, Sampo Koski isn't one to give up so easily!

Mark his words, he will get you to show that sweet smile of yours outside the bedroom!

[smile-files]

i'm thinking about a house

you're the sort of person who likes having friends, but as long as you don't think about your loneliness too hard, you genuinely don't mind being alone and independent your whole life. you live in a house, the house you grew up in; your parents don't live there anymore. you've lived in this house your whole life, and you're spending less and less time outside interacting with people; you're fine by yourself in the house. of course, you have to go outside sometimes to get groceries, or to see the doctor -- for a while, anyway. the moment you think to get some more milk, you notice a door in the hallway that wasn't there before. behind it is a large store that gives you deja vu, devoid of people but stocked with fresh groceries all the same; creepy, sure, but you need milk, don't you? now you can go inside and get it (you leave some cash on the checkout counter). confused, but satisfied, you go back the way you came and put the milk away.

it starts out simple enough; whenever you need something from outside your house, suddenly there's a way to get it from inside. you walk down the hall, and you end up in a dentist's office right when you were thinking about your annual appointment -- it too is empty, and it seems familiar, so you stroll past the front desk, find a room, and lie down on the operating chair. you close your eyes. when you wake up, your teeth have been cleaned. at first all of this was odd, but it was helpful, so you got used to it. it seems like the house knows what you want and what you need. your trash always disappears. one day you went downstairs and found yourself in an indoor facsimile of a sunny field, with green fuzzy carpeting and blue walls decorated with painted clouds -- it seems to stretch infinitely, but you could definitely see the ceiling. it felt right. at some point you found a large mall in your house, with many levels, which you vaguely remember seeing at some point before; you instantly found the clothing store, you took some items that interested you (at this point you've forgotten to pretend to pay), and you changed in the middle of the mall. your house gained more and more branches, the original interior staying untouched excepting the extra hallways and doors.

however, some things seemed a bit off. your phone stopped working -- at the very least, nobody was responding to your texts. perhaps they had forgotten about you? eventually you stopped sending texts. your watch had stopped working too... also, the window shutters had all been closed from outside (you don't remember doing that), so you haven't been getting any natural light, and you couldn't tell if it were night or day; you tried to open the front door so you can go out and open them, but the door seemed to be stuck. the door's window did not have shutters, but seemed to be blocked by a piece of paper. oh well; the lights inside work just fine. you can just go to bed whenever you get sleepy. arcades, doctors' offices, playgrounds, libraries, museums, classrooms -- more and more places were added to your house so you wouldn't even think to go outside. but a problem arose: one time you traveled so deep into the maze of extra buildings now a part of your house, you got sleepy and didn't have enough energy to make it back to your bedroom. then you opened a door, and found a bedroom -- not yours, but it seemed familiar anyway, so you crawled into the heavily-quilted bed. you went to sleep under a galaxy of glow-in-the-dark stars.

you love your house: it gives you whatever you think of, the moment you think of it. it gave you an art studio. it gave you a game room, with all of the toys you had to give away when you grew up. it gave you an amusement park. it gave you a banquet hall. it gave you high ceilings and hardwood floors. it gave you so much. it gave and it gave and it gave... one morning you wake up in one of the many bedrooms; at this point the layout is confusing, but you're so used to it that you have it mapped out in your brain. you open the door. you're not where you're supposed to be. you open another. where are you? what happened? perhaps the house was too full of gifts to you, and its labyrinthine connections of doors and hallways collapsed in on themselves: opening the door for the laundromat led you to a kitchen, while poking your head in the fridge sent you diving into a pool. you became lost in your own house. you had become aware of its ability to add to itself what you desired, and so you let yourself desire everything -- had you asked for too much? is this your fault? you don't know what time it is. you don't know what year it is. what's your name? you realize that, for the longest time, the only thing you knew was the house, and now you don't know that anymore. you start to miss the rooms your house had before any of this happened, rooms you no longer know how to reach; all there seems to be are these rooms, these places that seem like a distant memory, itching at the tip of your tongue, something you're forced to inhabit despite your not understanding why. where are you? when did the rooms stop having windows?

you're lost in your own house. you're scared. you start bursting through the doors, running down the halls, desperate to find... an escape? what, you want to leave? you don't know. you just want to find something. you don't want to be lost in your own house. you keep running. is that the sound of your feet? ...or someone else's? the house knows what you want. do you know what you want? you keep hearing footsteps. you're scared; now you know why you're running. you're not sleepy, but you're tired. you hide under the covers in a bedroom that reminds you of a dollhouse, pink and purple and oversized. you wonder how you got so lucky to find a bedroom at all -- was the house still trying to give to you? the bed is warm. you feel a heartbeat, but at this point you can't tell what's yours anymore. you clutch the bed, breathing shallow breaths, hoping whoever or whatever you heard before doesn't find you.

it's cold. you wake up on the floor of your original kitchen. you wash your hands at the sink; they're dirty. nervous, you take a knife from the drawer. you don't hear anything; you slowly walk out and find yourself in a hall of indeterminate length lined with doors. have you given up knowing where you are? you don't know. the house knows. looking back whence you came, you find it isn't a kitchen anymore, but rather the living room of your best friend's childhood house. when was the last time you talked? you check your phone. it's dead. you open the next door. you see nothing, but smell rain. your face is wet. you open the next door. you feel something. you open the next door. you taste something. you open the next door. you open the next door. you open the next door. you hear something.

you swing around, startled, and stab the person in the back. you're safe. it's good you knew to take the knife. it's good the house knew to give it to you.

you fall down. there's blood coming out from your back. where did the person go? you look down. the knife is clean. you look up: the ceiling is dripping. it tastes metallic. your face is wet.

you hear something.

the house falls down.

[drabblesandimagines]

Kitty (part 6)

Parts 1-5 are available via my masterlist.

Pairings: Rei x (afab) reader Fluffy fluff, some medical jargon but nothing too descriptive! --

“Oh, back already?” Kazuki calls as you step through the front door. You can hear the sounds of daytime television drifting through. He likes to watch it when he folds the laundry.

“Yeah. Why?” Rei asks, slipping his shoes off. You haven’t spoken about the hand-holding. What is there to say, really? You mutually dropped hands as the elevator door opened, like you were afraid of getting caught. You’re trying to balance taking your own trainers off when he grabs your hand – anchoring you once more.

You smile a thanks and, again, let go as you go to greet Kazuki.

“Nothing, just curious. How was Kyu?” Rei withdraws one of the envelopes and hands it over to the blonde, who nods in appreciation.

“Fine. Nosey.”

“Nosey?”

“Asking Kitty questions.” Rei drops down on the armchair with a yawn – the late night catching up on him – and removes his phone from his pocket. “Sounded suspicious.”

“Dude, that’s his whole job.”

Kazuki turns to you as you sit down next to him, realizing he’s not going to get far with Rei who’s back to his game from earlier.

“Did you like the café?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “I re-remem-remembered I like c-coffee!” It’s strange rediscovering these little things about yourself. It feels momentous, like at any moment that will be the floodgate that triggers all your memories, but, really, it’s a small piece of the jigsaw puzzle. There was coffee at the house, of course there was, you served it to him every morning but you’d never taken a sip for yourself. There was enough danger in sneaking food. Water you could take from the bathrooms, greedily guzzling from the taps.

“Did you have one of Kyu’s? They’re good, right?” You nod. “I can never get Rei to try. I don’t think he has the palate.”

“Too bitter,” he grumbles.

“Well, we can enjoy the grown-up drinks and Rei can share with Miri.” The blonde teases back. Rei slouches back further in the armchair, ignoring him.

The TV blares out an upcoming promo – something about a doctor giving advice about how to live a longer, happier life. “That reminds me. Kitty, I think you should see a doctor.”

“A d-doctor?”

“Yeah. I mean, you were in that place a while and not treated well – we probably should get you checked over. There’s a clinic we use when we can’t handle something on our own – it’s no questions asked, cash in hand, under the table type stuff, but they’re legitimate doctors. I think they’d be good to give you a once over. Only if you feel okay with that, though.”

“N-no, makes s-s-sense.”

“Great! The only thing is, it’s an after-hours sort of deal so it’ll need to be an evening trip. Rei, you’ll be okay to stay here with Miri after dinner, right?”

“I can go with her.” Rei’s bolt upright now.

“You hate the doctor. Remember when you went with me so I could get a tetanus shot?”

“You screamed. I thought you were under attack.” He replies, deadpan.

“It was a big needle! I’m not sure they’ll even allow you back in after the damage you caused.” Kazuki turns to you “Plus, you’re okay to go with me, right?”

You nod - hoping you’re not hurting Rei’s feelings. It might be better to have Kazuki there too, you reason, trying to put the pieces together of their last visit.

In the afternoon, Kazuki goes to pick up Miri and Rei’s coerced you into another go of Morio Kart. You’d say you were getting better but that’d be a lie - Miri can and will beat you in a race more often than not, so you’re not sure it’s much of a challenge for Rei. The speed boosts and the drifting is the worst, you can never time it right and end up lagging behind, sometimes by over a lap. On the left-hand side of the screen you can see Rei’s character is already over the finish line and driving automatically around the course now, whilst you’re been flying off the same bit of the track for an embarrassingly long time on lap two.

“May-maybe you sh-should j-just skip. I’m h-ho-hopeless.”

“No, you’re not.” You can see him smiling to the side of you. “Here.” He scoots closer to you, looping an arm around your waist and placing his hands around yours and guiding your fingers. “Just need practice.”

You watch what he’s doing, but the angle of which his arm is seems almost unnatural. “I-is that co-com-comfortable?"

"Mm. Not really." He pauses the game a moment. “Can you scoot forward a bit?”

You shuffle forward, nearly on the edge of the sofa and he clambers behind you within a blink of an eye. His thighs are either side of your legs, his chest pressed up firm against your back. His head is above yours but he leans slightly to the side and his breath tickles your ear.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah.” You’re glad he can’t see your face – you’re sure it’s now as red as Kazuki’s beloved sweatshirt.

He unpauses the game and he talks you through what he’s doing but you’re not retaining one word, his fingers are still on top of yours and operating the games controller. You can feel the bass of his voice vibrate comfortingly through your back and you let out a breath, relaxing into him.

“Kitty, are you even listening?” He asks in a teasing lilt.

“N-no.” You laugh as you say it. Saying no was still a new addition to your vocabulary, but being so close to Rei in that moment made you feel so… buoyant. He finally gets your character over the finish line.

He chuckles, lightly. “That’s okay, we’ll go again.”

He sets up a race for a solo player, and takes you through another race. You try your best to listen to him this time, to take it in, but it’s hard to concentrate when he’s so close to you…

“I think I’ve lost you again in your thoughts, hmm?” He rests his head on your shoulder as he speaks.

“S-sorry.” You speak before you can think. “No, I’m n-not sorry.”

You can feel him smile into you. “It feels nice.” He mumbles.

“It does…”

The front door opens with a bang and you jump, sliding off the sofa entirely and slipping through Rei’s arms.

“Papa Rei, Kitty, I’m home!” Miri yells.

--

“Good luck,” Rei wishes the two of you as you leave, then frowns. Is that the right thing to say before a doctor’s visit? But you give him a bright smile and a thanks, which seems to reassure him. You can tell he still feels a little excluded, but someone has to stay with Miri and he has reluctantly conceded that Kazuki is less likely to be refused entry and is probably the best to handle any medical instructions given.

The drive is quiet, which is odd for Kazuki. It’s only when you get near that he speaks up.

“It’s nice to see you and Rei hang out, you know?” He keeps his eyes on the road. “I mean, Miri’s changed him a lot, but since you've been around… He seems a bit lighter.”

“I’m g-glad.”

The clinic is on the outskirts of town and the car park’s empty when you pull up. The lights are all off, but Kazuki seems confident as he leads you to a service door around the back. He knocks on it three times and it’s answered by a burly man, who appears to recognize him. He holds his hand out and Kazuki stuffs some bills into it, before he nods and opens the door wide enough for the two of you to enter. You stick close to Kazuki and come out in what appeared to be a make-shift waiting room. There’s no-one in there at the moment, but there’s dried blood smeared across the floor under one of the chairs.

Kazuki chuckles at it, directing you to a chair facing away. “Yeah, you might see some of that…”

It isn’t long before a door opens and a tall brunette woman in a white doctor’s coat stands there, looking around. She meets Kazuki’s gaze and nods, beckoning him forward. He gets to his feet and you follow the two through down the hallway into a consultation room. She gestures for the both of you to take a seat, before shutting the door behind her. She’s no name tag on, but you think that must be deliberate. “Kazuki, it’s been a while.”

“And is that not a good thing, doctor?” He winks.

“Bad for my pockets. Who’s this?” She nods her head over to you, as she takes a seat.

“Ah, well…” He begins to relay the story for you, thankfully, as the doctor nods thoughtfully. Kazuki runs through the basics.

“And you don’t remember anything?”

“L-little bits a-a-are coming b-back.” You keep your eyes focused on your lap, hoping if you don’t meet her gaze your stutter won’t increase exponentially. “N-nothing h-h-helpful.”

“Hmm. Do you often get headaches?”

“N-no.”

“Memory loss can be a symptom of post-concussion syndrome. Any recollection of black-outs after, er, injury?”

You nod. Kazuki shifts in his seat.

“It’s hard to tell what the recovery period for that can be, unfortunately. These things might just never come back.” She twirls her pen between her fingers. “But your short-term memory’s okay?”

“Y-y-yeah. I re-member m-most th-things a-about the h-house.”

“And this stutter, have you always had that?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt to talk – your jaw, or anything?”

You shake your head. “S-sometimes, I-I feel s-sick.”

“And you,” she turns to Kazuki. “have you noticed any improvements in her speech?”

“Oh, for sure. I think you’re still nervous around new people, eh, Kitty?” You nod. “But when it’s just us, it’s getting better all the time.”

“Psychological, then. To be expected.” You like her, she’s straight to the point. You don’t want sympathy - it brings too much attention. “Any chance you could be, er, pregnant?”

You shake your head firmly.

She checks your blood pressure next – noting it’s a little low – before she checks your oxygen levels and seems happy enough.

“Can I listen to your chest?” She’s already digging a stethoscope out of a drawer and directing you. “I’ll listen via your back. Just unclip your dress and lift your top up for me.” You turn to face the wall and as you do, you see Kazuki avert his eyes to the ceiling respectfully. You unclip the dungaree straps behind you, and pull up the top. The stethoscope is cold – a cliché – as she orders you to inhale and exhale out a number of times.

“All sounds okay there. You can get dressed.”

As soon as you’re resituated, she sits down and faces you both. “So, I think we should do some bloodwork. You look on the malnourished side, so I’m sure we’re going to see some pretty severe vitamin deficiencies. I can have the tests completed in under an hour if you’re okay to wait.” Kazuki nods. “I can give you something for anxiety too, it might just take the edge off any panic you feel, help you to relax a bit. It might help the speech, might not.” She taps the pen against the desk, before she leans back in her chair. “It’s up to you whether you take them, but if you do, fair warning they’ll make you feel more anxious at first but then it’ll settle.”

You nod. You’re really hoping not to have another attack like last night. She stares at you for another minute, seeming to think something over.

“I could run x-rays to check for old injuries but, to be honest, you walked in fine and, if we found anything, there’s nothing we can do here. As you’ll know,” she looks at Kazuki, “this is usually just emergency trauma, but I understand the need for discretion in this case.” She wheels over a cart, and snaps a new pair of medical gloves on. “You good with needles?”

“I… I t-think so.”

“Mm. Look at him, not at me. I’ve no time for fainters.” She states, and you follow her instructions.

An hour later you leave the clinic, a bag of vitamins and prescription drugs in your hands and instructions for Kazuki to get more meat on your bones. The car is warm on the drive home and Kazuki’s voice is comforting – he’s running through all the meals he’s gonna make, all the nutritional benefits, but it’s getting harder to keep your eyes open and the long day is catching up on you. It’ll be fine if you just close your eyes for a second…

At some unconscious level you’re aware you’re being carried but you’re somewhere in the middle between awake and asleep and you’re so, so tired. Your eyelids feel weighed down and, try as you might, you just can’t open them and all you seem to do is snuggle further into whoever’s arms to a light chuckle. You hear a door open and there’s a voice you recognize, laced with panic.

“What happened?!” Rei.

“Easy, she’s fine. Fell dead asleep on the ride home and she looked too peaceful to wake up.” Kazuki’s voice rumbles through your cheek. “Can you take her whilst I get my shoes off?”

“Mm.” You’re passed from one warm chest to another. You should really open your eyes, stop being a burden. You do try, but it’s so hard… “What did they say?”

“She’s vitamin deficient in practically all of them and needs to put some weight on, but that’s probably to be expected. Talked about the memory loss – could be something called post-concussion syndrome? Might be temporary, might be permanent. Doctor seemed to think she’s come out relatively lucky.” Kazuki yawns. “You okay with taking her up to her bed?”

“I’ve got her.” He shifts you gently, getting a better hold. You sigh, burying your head deeper into his chest. He smells nice, comforting.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” Rei bristles.

“No, Rei. I mean, you like her.”

A pause. “Yes. Is… is that wrong?”

“Of course not, you idiot. It’s sweet.”

“I care for Miri but this feels… different.”

“Not a lot of dating growing up, huh?” Kazuki chuckles.

“None.” Rei grunts. “Not my style of hit.”

“I don’t mean for a mission, I mean for… for feelings.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “None.”

“Well, you’re in luck because I have a great history with the ladies.” Kazuki winks. “I think she likes you too, though, for what it’s worth.” He yawns again. “Go on, get her to bed. You can’t stand there holding her the entire night – that’s my first bit of advice.”

The next thing you know, you’re being laid upon the soft sheets of the bed and you nuzzle your head into the pillow, missing the warmth. A blanket is tucked in over you and you exhale contentedly, somewhere between the world of awake and dreaming. There’s hot breath for a second at your forehead and chapped lips press against it far too briefly.

“Goodnight, Kitty.”

-- Part 7.

[hybeana]

COMMS OPEN: HELP ME PAY RENT!

Commission Slots: 3

Donator Doodle Slots: 6

Check under the cut for pricing, wills/wonts, TOS, examples, and more info!

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ABOUT ME

Hi there! I'm @hybeana! I'm a disabled artist that could really use some help!

Without disclosing too much specific personal information: my disability is mild-to-moderate depending on the day, which means I struggle with IADLs such as grocery shopping, cooking, driving, and cleaning. I also sometimes (but not always!) struggle with walking due to pain. I also deal with regular sensory issues that make daily living a struggle in general. As you can imagine, this prevents me from working most jobs.

I was diagnosed with plantar fasciitis a year or two ago. (That's doctor speak for "heel pain we don't know how to fix.") I am an ambulatory cane user. I'm very certain that I also have an unknown autoimmune disorder, long covid, or god forbid both. I cannot afford to see a doctor. I also need to save money for an autism diagnosis. My autism often prevents me from working due to sensory issues, and a diagnosis ensures that I am fully accommodated. Although, I am unsure if I will ever be able to work a full 9 to 5. My long-term goal is disability payments.

No matter any of that, I still need to keep up with rent. My partner gets income to cover most of it, but they are in school and cannot work full-time. We need to earn about $300 USD minimum more than what they currently make per month to stay in our current apartment until December/January when our lease ends. And that's not even including utilities!

We have basic groceries and most of our rent covered, but feeding 2 adults and 1 cat can be a struggle. My cat is old and requires some supplements that are a little expensive to stay happy and healthy.

You can support me and my family by commissioning some artwork from me! I mainly do digital artwork, but I can also do traditional. Since I get so few commissions in general, I have recently upped my prices. Even a small commission is better than nothing!

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PRICES

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Timed 15 Minute Sketch/Doodle: $20.00 USD

This is a timed, 15-minute doodle of one of my OCs, Ascii! This is the option I offer for folks who want to support me, but maybe don't have as much cash to drop on a thermonuclear fully-shaded, fully-lined piece.

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Rough Lineart (No Color): $50.00 USD

This is a piece I did for my bestie @spearohero of her character Cecelia! The lineart is rough, but unfocused. If there is color, it is extremely minimal (if at all). I clean it up a little bit at the end so that it isn't a complete mess.

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Rough Lineart + FLAT Coloring: $70.00 USD

This is another one of my OCs, Xenarthron! The style here is rough, not as focused lineart with no/minimal shading. I mostly do these for myself for fun, so I don't spend as much time and energy on them as smooth lineart and shading.

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Smooth Lineart (No Color): $90.00 USD (THIS CAN GET ME GROCERIES FOR 1 WEEK!)

This piece was a gift for my dear friend @panther-os of his ATLA OC, Amaruq. I spent considerable time referencing real-life images, correcting anatomy, and focusing on line weight. You can see how differently it compares from the rough lineart in that everything is focused and purposeful.

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Smooth Lineart + SHADED Coloring: $120.00 USD

These are doozies for me because it requires so much effort and work - and I hate shading! Working with lighting can be difficult, but it's worth it in the end to see such a full, emotional piece. I did this one for @/hodagagenda of her sona. Thanks again for your support!

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What about complex backgrounds, multiple characters, busts, or other stuff not mentioned here?

CONTACT ME for pricing! I am 100% willing to haggle if it means the difference between making rent and... not making rent.

OTHER INFO

Thank you for your time and consideration!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Matthew Isbell at MCI Maps:

This is a unique newsletter issue today. Rather than coverage of an election, its more of a long-delayed commentary on the state of the modern right-wing. The horrible events in Springfield, Ohio have made it so that I just had to put these thoughts down in writing. Specifically, this is coming from my personal perspective as a devout Christian. As I see it, if there was any doubt before, the Trump/Vance weaponizing of Springfield shows just how un-Christian the GOP ticket is. My disdain for Donald Trump and the MAGA movement is no secret. I let it be known in my articles, and if you think that stuff is over the top, you should see my twitter account. I am fairly unique in the left, though hardly alone, in that my dislike for Donald and his followers is driven heavily by religion. While I can sit down and make all the arguments for why I believe left-wing economics is more in line with Christian calls to charity, and why extreme anti-LGBT attacks (calling people groomers and such) are a direct rejection of Christ’s words and actions toward love, this is not the topic of this piece. Unlike the countless far-right twitter users that put a cross in their name and call themselves “Orthodox” or “Trad Cath” and then quote one bible line out of context to justify their shitty behavior, I do not presume to be an expert on parsing all of scripture.

BUT, when looking at the racism and bigotry that permeates the MAGA movement and Trump world, there is plenty that even a novice on Christian doctrine can look at and say “oh this is not acceptable at all.” The attacks on Haitian migrants in Springfield Ohio is a perfect low bar for anyone to condemn. The verbal assault on an entire community, based off debunked neo-Nazi propaganda and repeated by Donald Trump, has, to me, perfectly separated the real from fake Christians. It has separated people who claim the cross from those who actually critically and spiritually engage with the Bible and its message. While I have ranted on twitter PLENTTYYYY about how immoral and Godless I find Donald Trump and his rabid followers, this latest bit of horror has made it so that I need to put this all down in writing - less I explode from bent up rage.

American views of Haiti

Having grown up in southern Broward County, I was exposed to Haitian culture through an increasing migrant population from the island. In fact, back in 2021, I wrote about the arrival of Cuban and Caribbean refugees over South Florida’s last several decades. Give that link a click for more data/maps on the story of South Florida. That article delves into how the US treated Cuban exiles, fleeing communist, differently from Haitian refugees, fleeing dictatorships and instability. Both Cuban and Haitian populations in Miami-Dade suffered backlashes at different times, which I covered there. Haiti is often viewed with a exaggerated caricature; with Voodoo being seen as a common practice in the Island. This was aided by folks like Dictator François Duvalier, also known as Papa Doc, who promoted himself as a Voodoo leader. Growing up in South Florida, EVERYONE knew about Papa Doc, the Voodoo Tyrant. An excellent series by the “Real Dictators” podcast on Papa Doc can be seen here. However, like much of local traditions, the role of Voodoo is often greatly overstated; sometimes by outsiders but also at times Haitian migrants who will lean into the “witch doctor” role to the American and Europeans who love to be wowed by the “primitive superstitions” and drop some cash for a fortune telling. When most Americans think of Haitian culture, they likely have a view similar to the Dr. Facilier song from Princess and the Frog.

[...]

What is Really Happening in Springfield, Ohio

Lets lay out what is actually going on in Springfield, OH. There is no shortage of false stories and fake statistics being thrown out. First, 20,000 Haitian migrants did not show up in the city of Springfield over night. Haitian migrants, many who were already living in South Florida and have visas or protection status, began to move to the city as it worked to attract new residents. Like much of the Midwest, Springfield was becoming a rust-belt town, seeing its population go from 80,000 to 60,000 over the last few decades. It was the site of abandoned buildings, crumbling infrastructure, and declining quality of life. Population drops are never good for the long-term health of a community, this is a constant across history throughout the world. The city successfully attracted new businesses to the community, but was facing a workforce shortage. Simply put, there were not enough workers who needed jobs in the area due to a population drop that had already taken place. Migrants, who by their status have less tying them down to where they are, began to move to the area and filled these jobs.

With the growth, which especially increased after the worst of COVID, there were challenges. Estimated Haitian migrants to the town are between 12,000 and 20,000; and of course the 20,000 is being quoted. The increase, which is high in such a short time, has led to issues with infrastructure and services. However, these issues have not been fatal, and also have been countered by renewed economic growth. In 2022, the local press were referring the growth as a “resurgence” for the area. City leaders are happy with the population increases and the economic renewal that they have inspired. Keep in mind that as people move to an area and work, they build up wealth and re-invest that in the local economy.

The far-right has acted as if immigration dropped off 20,000 migrants with no jobs and destroyed the town. That is a bold faced lie. Claims of increased crime have also been rejected by the law enforcement of the city itself. The data from the city’s court system show no major jump in crime and no evidence of disproportionate crime done by the Haitian residents. Like is commonly the case, immigrants tend to be more well-behaved than native citizens. The rapid growth does lead to challenges, and the city has been working with the state on getting extra funds to provide what they need to. A need for more housing, better roads, and more service centers, is a real issue. However, it is a fixable issue and still beneficial long-term.

[...] A majority of the Haitian migrants are Catholic; which has long roots in Haiti. As such, many churches, whether Catholic or Protestant, have commented on the increased Haitian population leading to increases in church attendance for the first time in decades. Far-right commentators latch onto the history of Voodoo being incorporated into Catholic teachings. However, this of course becomes a racist caricature which overlooks how much modern Haitian Catholicism still mirrors the broad church. Books have also been written extensively on the merging of old “pagan” beliefs with Christianity; whether in South America, North America, or Europe. Always remember the Christmas holiday stems from pagan winter festivals.

Matthew Isbell has a must-read MCI Maps piece on the MAGA lies about Haitian migrants in Springfield, OH are un-Christian.

[fuck-customers]

PLEASE POST QUICKLY, THIS IS URGENT.

I work in a Shitpotle's. Due to understaffing, and "saving labor", I'm often the only one to run the front line and the cash register for up to two hours every shift, seven hours, 5 days a week, and sometimes we just get swamped. Well, I recently tore my PCL (posterior cruciate ligament) during one of my shifts due to running back and forth. I can't prove this was a workplace injury, or if it even qualifies, but I can't see a doctor for another two to three weeks about how to fix it, possibly with surgery, and I can't hardly walk. I just...hobble around. And my knee locks when I try to straighten my leg, and I'm in so much pain.

I need advice on how to handle this while at work. I have seven hour shifts on my feet, I don't "qualify" for a break unless one manager is specifically in charge and only if he thinks he can handle my shift for 30 minutes. How do I get my managers to take this injury seriously? I'm having anxiety attacks because I'm scared to lose my only source of income.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[storyowls]

Celyn Salonen

Introducing Celyn, a gender-evil nb Nosferatu for @friberchi! Celyn's pronouns are strictly it/its.

Like all kindred in VtM, Celyn is a monster. Do not expect it to be a good person! This is rated 18+ due to VtM, and WoD, being rated the same.

Sunlight – Hoizer

It could still remember the last time it saw sunlight.

It laid there in the darkness of its room, its body having kick-started itself back to life. Its eyes look around, glancing to the night light it set up come back to life too. New fangled technology had some downsides, but those timers were handy as hell. Dragging itself into a sitting position before throwing its legs over the edge of the bed. Feet touch the old, worn down carpet as it stands.

Grabbing the giant, fluffy bathrobe it keeps nearby, it pulls it on and closes it before walking to the window. The black out curtains part, and it looks out over the street where it lives. Quiet, a large amount of the kine home and settled in for the evening. However some are still meandering about, not looking up at the window.

It closes the curtains and goes to get ready for the day.

The Nosferatu looks at itself in the mirror, the horror movie-like visage staring back. It could obfuscate for the night, make itself look human, but it did not want to. Not tonight. Not most nights.

Opening its mouth, it studies its teeth quietly. When was the last time it saw the dentist? Sometime in the 90’s, before the embrace. There wasn’t a whole lot of time for it to consider its current form of existence, knowing there was work to be done. The TV in the living room sputtered on about the weather for the week.

“It’s going to be mid 90’s during the day with not a cloud in sight tomorrow, folks!” It walks out, staring at the all too cheerful weather person. It no longer really felt the summer heat, the winter...slightly cold of California. Not anymore, not for so long. It let the person prattle on a little longer before turning the TV off. Walking into its room, it gets dressed and then finds the hidden box.

Unlock it, open it, count the cash.

A simple pattern it has done for years. It was a wonder that prices hadn’t gone up drastically, making things easier to handle. Shoving the money into three envelopes before sealing them, the cash box is closed, locked, hidden.

It makes a mental note to tell Lana it needs more for next month.

Checking everything, it grabs its keys, shoving the envelopes into a big bag it carries everywhere. For a moment it considers hiding its appearance, but shrugs it off. The old tried and true ‘I work as a horror extra’ or ‘I’m in an alternate scene, this is all makeup!’ always works wonders.

Though the whole ‘alternate scene’ idea wasn’t a complete lie.

Walking out, it closes its apartment door and locks it. No kine are mingling in the hallways, none will notice its existence. Hell, most of them didn’t even know it lived there with them. Out of the building, to its car, and started. Bag on passenger seat, seat belt on, and off it went.

The radio prattled on some song about sunlight, and it frowns.

The doctor is eager to see it. The years he’s spent seeing somebody like it makes it so he doesn’t even react. All he seems to care about is the cash that’s in the envelope that has been handed to him. Third stop of the night, third doctor, third round of prescriptions. Each thirty day bottle has a smaller bottle attached by a rubber band; Celyn never really asked why.

It wasn’t about to start.

Taking the box, it goes out to its car, opens the trunk, and puts the box inside. Last doctor for the month done, it gets inside the car and takes off. To its boss, the person paying it to do all this fuss. One that hasn’t seen the sun longer than it has.

It wonders if she remembered the last time she saw it, too.

iDIOTS OF Oz – I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

It pulls up to the old factory, parking its car in the lot.

The building had found a new life some years ago; having been bought and renovated to suit the needs of a band. Not that most people knew that, the kine tended to avoid the place. Something about ghosts hanging about.

The kindred totally inside don’t know anything about that, haha.

Getting out, Celyn closes the car door, hitting the beeper as it walks to the closest door. It opens almost instantly, and it looks up to see a familiar face.

“Hey, they’re practicing, Lana should be able to see you soon,” Magnus explains, giving it a nod. “How’s my favorite gender evil person doing?”

It laughs, “Good, you?”

“Good as I can be.” They grin, “Come on.” They usher it inside, and it doesn’t fuss. It walks towards the larger portion of the factory, greeted by a large room. Black, shaggy carpet covers the floor, and chairs and sofas made with various fabrics are strewn about. At the back is a stage that’s built into the floor, and it currently houses a band that’s practicing.

It notices Lana on the drums, and sits on a chair near the front. Lana’s wife, Gisela, turns her head briefly to it and gives it a nod before turning back. The two sit in a comfortable silence, the type that comes with knowing somebody for almost thirty years. The band wraps up, and moves to go take a quick five. Lana visits Gisela first before nodding at Celyn.

It stands and goes to the back of the room with her.

“Paid?” It had learned years ago that Lana isn’t the greatest with verbal speech; it also learned real fast how to find the full phrase in her one to two word sentences.

That’s part of the reason she hired it for this job.

“Paid, scripts are in the trunk, I can drop them off after,” it replies.

“Cash?”

“Getting low, will need a refresh before next month.” Lana nodded, pulling out something from a pocket and holding it out. It knows instantly what it is, taking it and sliding it into a pocket itself. A tiny card telling the recipient to give Celyn some more cash when presented.

Makes things a lot easier in the long run.

“Chill.” An invitation to just pause for now, and wait. Relax. Listen. “Work later.”

“Sounds good.” Lana turns, walking back to the stage as the rest of the band returns. It follows, sitting down in the chair as others follow suit. The band begins again, and a smile crosses over its lips.

Chill.

Hours later, it returns home. Driving into its spot in the parking lot, it gets out, beeps the car, and heads towards the building’s door. It notices lights on, signaling that some of the early worker kine in the complex are getting up for the day. They do not notice it though, which is for the best.

Back in its apartment, it’s quick to get out of its clothes and into its nice, fluffy robe. It looks at the clock, thinking about how long it has to sit around before the sunrise comes. It’s fed, relaxed, and ready to do some odd work the following night until Lana needs it again.

What a great set up it has, heh.

Plugging various things in, it sets up a laptop on a chair and lays in bed. It’ll watch some things online until the day comes, and it enters the weird, oddly comforting short death that comes with each sunrise. It, briefly, thinks about all the kine surrounding it, not knowing what it does, what it is.

And it’s glad that it’ll stay that way.