#traction kit

[nyaa]

「QUMARION（クーマリオン」は、「CLIP STUDIO PAINT」 2013-08-03

[mukimokai]

i may or may not have accidentally created the most banger, must-pull, more-hyped-than-raiden ahh kit for what a hypothetical playable Ajaw would look like and it may or may not involve a furina ahh type charged attack but instead of switching arkhe alignment, you switch elements between pyro and dendro.

[fisheito]

Imagine you have to set up yakumo's enclosure for the next couple months. How do you set it up and what do you put in there?

oh NO.! THE PROPPHECY HAS BEenm FUFILLED

i am standing in my room, leggies rooted to the floor. i am in shock .frozen and i have no idea how to proceed. there is a perpetual pathetically sobbing serpent under my blankie.

[hspdiesel]

HSP 70" Bolt On Traction Bars for 2001-10 Chevrolet/GMC/Duramax

Buy HSP 70" Bolt On Traction Bars 3.5 in Axle Diameter for 2001-10 Chevrolet/GMC Duramax LB7/LLY/LBZ/LMM. Get a well-engineered & affordable kit solution today!

[lightspren]

I feel like a vertebrae like, right where my neck meets my shoulders, needs to pop, but I know of no good and safe way to pop it or even stretch it right, and I’m going to scream

[tsfennec]

Also boots, if you live anywhere that snow accumulates.

Annual winter reminder, if you only dress warm enough to walk to and from your car. Make sure you have an extra coat or blanket in the car. Enough to stay warm for a few hours in event of a vehicle emergency.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighbors (Part 2)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: near death experience, hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a two-shot.

The cold burned.

Once the sun set, the weather front moved in, and the temperature plunged. Snow fell thick and fast, just short of a whiteout. Your feet sank to the ankle, then to the shin, and your aching trudge became a slow-motion nightmare. It was about that time you realized – you were in real danger.

It was a two-mile walk – uphill, through old snow and frozen sludge – from your stranded vehicle. Home was closer than town, so you put your head down, buried your mittened hands in your armpits, and threw your emergency blanket from the car over your head as a bright orange cloak. And you set out.

It really took you too long to leave the car, but it was a life and death decision, and you waffled between shit options. On a busier road, you’d stay in the car. But this kind of snowfall would keep people home for a day or two. More than enough time to freeze to death, curled up in the driver’s seat.

If you lived, you’d make a better emergency kit for your ride.

In the meantime, the path demanded all of your attention. Even under fresh snow, it was easy to follow the road. Thick forest covered this stretch, and there was nowhere to go but forward. Hopefully you wouldn’t miss your drive. Should luck bless you for the first time in a decade, you’d see your neighbors’ lights in the dark.

But you had miles to go, yet. And the footing was terrible.

Old snow, half-melted and refrozen, threatened to turn your ankle with every step. Staying upright took work. Every muscle joined the battle, from your toes to your shoulders. Your abs clenched, and your thighs soon shook from exertion. As cold as you were, sweat stuck your hair to your face. Your neck.

The wind turned the moisture to ice.

Pins and needles prickled under your clothes.

Worse, and worse, and worse.

But there was no choice, so you moved on. No one was coming, so you would go. Keep calm and carry on and all that noise.

You had tea at home. An electric heating blanket under heavy quilts. Dry clothes and fuzzy socks.

So, you walked.

One foot in front of the other. Wobbling. Trying to find safe footing.

You crashed to your knees, bracing for pain that didn’t come.

Fuck.

You were losing sensation in your extremities.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The fresh layer of snow swallowed your hands where you’d braced to catch yourself. It didn’t look right from your perspective. You hadn’t punched holes into the drift. You’d joined it. Flesh flowed into freeze, and it sucked the heat from your body. Hungry. Careless.

Physically shaking the image from your head, you rose. You pushed on. Slow and unsteady as your thoughts lost traction on the creeping ice.

It never seemed right that such an oppressive season made the world so bright. Even on a moonless night, the snow practically glowed. When you first moved to the mountain, you’d look out the window and marvel at how clearly you could see the world you couldn’t explore. The endless white always looked so inviting, but it kept you locked away, isolated.

Snow ate the color out of the world. That was why it sparkled so brightly in the sun, full of ingested prisms stolen from kinder seasons.

What colors, you wondered, would it digest out of you.

Once you were buried.

Lost to the white void falling without. Swelling within.

Everything felt damp. Warm. Your muscles went syrupy. You were your own personal swamp, and you panted, dropping your blanket. It was too heavy, too waterlogged anyway. You couldn’t carry that weight forever. It fell easily. All you had to do was let go.

Your feet turned, and you began to ascend. Uphill. That was correct, somehow.

Fuck.

You were on fire.

The snow was up to your knees and still falling. Maybe, if you just took a nap, you’d wait it out. Better to travel in the daylight, right?

No. Not quite right.

One arm hung out of your coat, and you couldn’t shake the second free. It clung to your wrist like a needy child, and you just wanted rid of it. Wanted to be free and finished and home.

Lights blazed, and it felt like dawn. Had you walked all night, or did you just look up?

The path split. Or you thought it did. The snow covered the way, but your instinct sniffed out the divide.

You wanted to be closer to the lights. Lights were good. Even though they hurt your head. They looked so pretty, flushing the snow gold. You imagined they’d paint you gold, too. A Midas-touched statue – pretty, lifeless, and cold.  

Snow always looked so soft. You’d felt cheated as a child when you discovered it was nothing like the fluffy duvet you imagined. But in a pinch, it was wonderful.

It held you, gathering you up as you sank. The flakes landing on your cheek didn’t melt anymore, and frigid works of art gathered on your eyelashes, slowly eating the lighthouse you’d followed home from the bright white dark.

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

“Fucking hell.”

Death had a British accent. Not bad. A shame you somehow disappointed him.

“Johnny! Get some towels. Clean shirt and sweats.”

You blinked up at Death, swimming through waves of unfamiliar sensations to get a glimpse of the end.

Really, you’d hoped for Death to wear a kinder shape – like in Sandman – but the grinning skull seemed appropriate. It was the rare case where the destination mattered more than the journey. Or the escort.

Being dead was exhausting. As curious as you were about Death’s face, the quiet void already had a deposit on your soul. Resting limp in the psychopomp’s arms, somehow you relaxed further. He was so much more solid. More real. Soon you’d melt between his fingers and rain into the underworld.

“She isn’t shivering.”

Dreams ate your mind. Time rose and faded like steam as strange hands prepared you for burial. Your grave was warm. The soil packed tight, wrapping around you as the first gnawing sense of dread woke with the agony in your hands. Roots squeezed around you, tightening as you writhed against the sting in your feet.

You did not rest in peace.

You’d fallen into hell. Your skin burned, your muscles seized, and a sharp scream of a moan shrieked through clenched teeth.

“Easy, easy.”

A broad palm pressed over your heart, hauling you back to a second pulse. Someone else’s words rustled over your hair. Someone else’s breath pushed someone else’s chest flush against your back. Their smell and shape surrounded you.

A someone. A living someone.

That finally reminded you of the need to wake.

To rise from death.

Every inch you climbed towards consciousness scorched you, and reality came in bursts of pain. Your fingertips felt like you’d clutched red-hot iron, and shivers wracked you like private earthquakes. Everything wanted to tear itself apart, escape the pain radiating from every other piece. If the stranger wasn’t holding you together, you’d shatter like your poor, ugly mug.

You had a body but no control.

The stranger shushed you, a second hand settling over the top of your head. Locking you in. Keeping you in your flesh. You thought he might stroke your hair like a cat’s fur, but nothing moved between you besides the heat seeping from his palm to your scalp.

If you had a choice, you’d go back to sleep, but you were too aware. Pain dared you to relax, running knives along the underside of your skin, threatening to stab you inside out with the next shudder.

And you didn’t know where you were – or who was cuddling you back to life.

Helpless as you were, you knew to be afraid.

“Johnny,” the chest behind you rumbled, “she’s coming to.”

Wrath caught on the name. It bit the hook and followed the line to the light so your eyes could flutter open. They were painfully dry, and the gathering tears offered some relief, but you recognized the mohawk over broad shoulders leaning through the doorway through the blur. Your restrained whimpers turned into a growl.

“Think she recognizes ya.”

“Aye.” Johnny approached, kneeling by the bed you found yourself in. His pretty face was all bent out of shape with apprehension. “How you feeling, hen?”

You wanted to shout at him. Or slap him. Both at once and more. Instead, your shaking tongue fumbled the words, and your arm flopped weakly under the quilt, thudding into the branch-like arm caging your chest.

Which meant –

Wait.

If Johnny was in front of you, you must be in his house. He lived alone. Except for a hulking giant in a skull mask.

Like he could read the fresh stiffness beneath your shivering, Ghost said, “Spotted you from the window. Had to get you dry and warm, but you’re safe. Body heat’s best at this stage. We’re both dressed, and if you can’t stand it, I’ll trade out for a fleet of hot water bottles.”

You struggled to pick up his words and put them in order. They bobbed through the snowmelt in your brain like so much flotsam, a murky sea you already worried would drown you. But you did it. You got it all. But it was a lot.

He was barely more than a stranger, and you found yourself in bed with him.

But a man so hesitant to show his face wouldn’t be eager to show more skin than necessary, and while it was hard to tell what fabric was clothing and what was bedding, nothing but cloth touched you. Except for the hand on your head. Which was fine, actually. It could be better than fine if you thought about it much longer.

How much did it cost such a reserved person to get so close? You were no better than a stranger to him, too.

He saw you in trouble and moved to help. Everything he said was practical. Reasonable. He’d probably saved your life.

You felt you understood Ghost. Maybe it was the confusion or the onset of a fever, but you got him. And he was so, so warm. You wanted to crack open that giant chest and burrow inside him like a tauntaun.

When you felt better, you’d make it up to him. You’d apologize for being a burden and make your imposition right. In the meantime, you didn’t want him to leave you alone with some shitty substitute.

You wriggled, trying to put your hand over his, but something was over your fingers, and you had to guesstimate. Maybe you patted his knuckles. Maybe you smacked his wrist. Hard to know. But you felt you made your point.

“S’fine.”

He shifted in response, settling in for the long-haul. “Good.”

You tried forcing yourself calm. Everything had a mind of its own, though, and you curled up tight, trying to preserve heat even when it was given freely. Ghost supported your new position, bending his knees to keep contact, spooning with purpose.

How far had your temperature dropped for you to be this miserable? Very. Dangerously. Fucking shit.

Johnny cleared his throat. “I could join? Help get you toasty?”

Though you were still in gods damned agony, you wouldn’t let Johnny Fucking MacTavish join you under the covers if he was the last thing between you and death. You’d already touched the door to Hades that evening, and he hadn’t been the one to bring you back.

You lashed out the only way you could.

“No.”

The first word you managed to say clearly. You sent it off with a scowl, daring the Scotsman to try you.

He practically jumped back from the bed, anxious expression washed clean in shock. You’d never told him no. Never drawn a boundary. Never shared your anger or hurt.

Well, you’d finally learned your lesson.

Fuck that man.

He wouldn’t be getting anything from you ever again, not even a clear conscience.

Ghost hummed, his thumb stroking over your temple. “Got you right pissed off, has he? What’s he done? He the reason you got caught in the storm?”

Nodding was easier than speaking. You’d said the most important part.

“Thought as much. You’re too well prepared. When you feel up to it, you can tell me what Johnny needs to set right, yeah? He’ll clean up his mess.”

Across the room, where he’d stumbled after your rejection, the man in question blanched. “I didn’t – I couldn’t – What did… Ah, Christ. ‘M so sorry, hen.”

“Plenty of time to talk later,” Ghost said, still fully felt and entirely invisible at your back. “Let her rest. When I’m confident she won’t choke, you can make us something warm to drink.”

Johnny accepted, nodding with big eyes. His shoulders rose to his ears as he turned on his heel and marched away, fists squeezed tight.

He’d only been out of the room for a minute when you heard something crash, and you jumped.

Ghost just hugged you tighter and sighed.

Eventually, you did sleep. It was a night for achieving the impossible, apparently. Ghost kept one hand on your chest, waking or sleeping, and as the daylight slowly burned away the icy mist in your head, you realized he was monitoring your heartbeat. Keeping his arm around your chest was better for your recovery, and you might not have reacted so calmly to a hand on your neck.

You still felt like shit.

“How bad was it?” you whispered.

Asking was a struggle, and not just because your lips cracked and burned around your voice. Staring doom in the face only scared you if you recognized it, and you were afraid to hear how close your choices had brought you to the point of no return. Words could hurt. Knowledge could hurt.

“Should’a taken you to a hospital,” Ghost murmured. “No way to get there in this weather.”

You closed your eyes, burying your face in the pillow. You did it in defiance of the windburn over your nose and cheeks. In defiance of your chapped lips. Dead people couldn’t feel pain, and it was hardly the worst you’d suffered through the night.

“Your shivering’s manageable now. Think you could drink something?”

Could and should.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go tell Johnny. Stay here.”

You didn’t answer, but you swam all the way under the heavy quilts as his solid heat left you. With only your eyes peering over the blankets, you watched him – probably cold in his thin t-shirt and worn sweats – breeze across the room, quiet as his namesake. He had a lot of tattoos, a whole sleeve. You couldn’t catch all the shapes as he moved farther and farther away, but deathly themes curled like gun smoke and curses up from his wrist, towards his heart.

Once you were alone, you examined yourself under the covers. There were socks over your hands, impromptu mittens. You’d worry about any horror beneath them later. You wore a loose tee you’d seen on Johnny when he was resting up, staying comfortable as he nursed his cold. The gym shorts they’d dressed you in were bunched up where the drawstring fought to draw them into a smaller size, and the fabric would fall to your knees if you stood. Maybe farther.

They’d dressed you in a piece of each man’s wardrobe, and the embarrassed heat creeping up your neck was almost as warm as Ghost.

But you wouldn’t read between the lines. There were no lines. They’d saved your life and carefully explained their actions. It didn’t mean anything else.

They were only being neighborly.

[jhyoos]

REBEL GIRL

Chapter 1: Player

rockstar! sevika x influencer! reader

summary: (y/n) is invited by her close friend, caitlyn to come to her band’s concert, giving her a backstage pass.

warning: modern au!, fame au!, and swearing

notes: y’all let me know what their band name should be! 🫶

chapters : one, two , three, four

The ring light cast a soft glow across your face as you adjusted the camera’s angle. The glow of the ring light softened the sharp angles of your decor—black walls adorned with band posters. Your desk was cluttered with makeup palettes, brushes, and a freshly arrived PR package.

“I’ve been waiting forever to get my hands on this,” you continued, holding up the box. “So let’s see what the hype is or if they’re playing us again.”

You flicked open the lid, showing off the dramatic reveal to the camera, giving a detailed breakdown of the products inside. As you swatched a deep crimson lipstick on your wrist, your phone buzzed on your desk.

“Oh…,” you muttered, leaning off camera to check.

Caitlyn 💙: Hey Y/N, I’ve decided to bless you with a backstage pass for tonight’s show. You in?

The message Caitlyn made you pause. You’d known her for a while now—first through a friend of a friend, then through a collaboration where you helped her band gain traction on your socials. That collab had been a turning point for them.

You : You better be blessed I cleared my schedule tonight!

Hours later, you found yourself standing at the back entrance of a packed venue. Fans swarmed the streets, their excitement practically vibrating in the air. You adjusted your leather jacket, feeling more like yourself among the edgy crowd.

Inside, a staff member escorted you through a maze of hallways until you reached the backstage area. The hum of guitars being tuned, the steady rhythm of drum checks, and the occasional burst of laughter created a vibrant, chaotic energy.

“Y/N!” Caitlyn’s voice called from a corner. You spotted her, dressed in her usual new variant of baggy ripped jeans and baby tee. Her face lit up when she saw you.

“There she is,” Caitlyn said, pulling you into a quick hug. “I’m glad you came.”

“You made it hard to say no,” you replied, looking around. “So this is where the magic happens, huh?”

Caitlyn laughed. “Yeah, it’s a mess, but it works. The band’s scattered right now—Vi’s finishing her guitar setup, Jinx is probably somewhere causing trouble, and Sevika...” She trailed off, smirking. “Well, Sevika’s being Sevika.”

“Which means?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Probably charming her way into trouble,” Caitlyn said, rolling her eyes. “You’ll see.”

As if on cue, a smooth, deep voice cut through the noise. “Speaking of trouble…”

You turned to find Sevika leaning against the doorway, her electric guitar slung across her shoulder. Her presence was magnetic—broad shoulders, tattoos winding down her arms, and a smirk that was as cocky as it was alluring.

“And who’s this?” Sevika asked, her eyes locking on you.

“Y/N,” Caitlyn said with a hint of warning in her voice. “A friend. So behave, Sev.”

Sevika ignored Caitlyn’s tone and stepped closer, extending a hand. “Sevika. Lead guitarist and part-time troublemaker.”

You shook her hand, her grip firm and deliberate. “Y/N. Influencer and part-time skeptic.”

That made her laugh—a deep, rich sound that you felt in your chest. “A skeptic, huh? We’ll see about that.”

You pulled your hand away, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” Sevika said, her smirk widening.

Before you could respond, Vi appeared, slinging her own guitar over her shoulder. “Sev, don’t scare off Caitlyn’s friends before we even hit the stage,” she said, her tone light but commanding.

“I’m just being friendly,” Sevika said innocently, though the glint in her eye said otherwise.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to Caitlyn. “Let me guess—this happens a lot?”

Caitlyn sighed, giving you an apologetic smile. “Welcome to my life.”

As you followed Caitlyn toward her drum kit, you couldn’t help but feel Sevika’s gaze lingering on you. She was trouble, that much was obvious, but you weren’t about to let her get under your skin.

Not yet, anyway.

The smell of sweat, spilled beer, and raw anticipation filled the air as you stood near the edge of the VIP section. You adjusted your leather jacket, letting the buzz of the crowd settle into your skin. The venue felt alive—hundreds of fans pressed together, shouting and cheering, as the lights dimmed and the noise swelled into a roar.

A single spotlight pierced through the darkness, illuminating Vi as she strutted confidently toward the microphone, her guitar slung across her back. She grinned out at the audience, her energy magnetic, and the room fell silent in reverence.

“You ready for this?” Vi’s voice boomed, equal parts challenge and promise.

The crowd erupted, their screams shaking the walls as the first notes ripped through the air.

The band launched into their opening song with precision and fire. Vi commanded the stage effortlessly, her voice raw and powerful, blending perfectly with her sharp guitar riffs. Caitlyn, ever composed, added a melodic touch from the keyboard, her fingers dancing across the keys with a grace that seemed almost out of place in the chaos of the stage. Jinx, on the other hand, was a blur of wild energy behind the drum set, her movements erratic yet precise, her laughter audible even over the pounding rhythm she created.

And then there was Sevika.

She moved into the spotlight for her solo, her fingers flying across the strings of her guitar with a skill that left the crowd in awe. Her smirk was practically a permanent fixture, the glint in her eye daring anyone not to look at her. She had an ease about her, a confidence that screamed rockstar, and the fans ate it up.

Your eyes lingered on her longer than you meant to. There was no denying she was captivating—the tattoos curling around her arms, the way she poured everything into the music, the cocky tilt of her head when she glanced out at the screaming crowd.

But then your gaze drifted to the edge of the stage, where she seemed to lock eyes with someone in the front row. A girl—blonde, wide-eyed, clearly smitten. Sevika winked at her mid-solo, earning a squeal of delight.

The blonde wasn’t alone. Throughout the set, Sevika’s gaze darted to other fans, offering winks, smirks, and sly nods that made them swoon. You rolled your eyes. If there was one thing you could spot from a mile away, it was a player.

Still, it was hard to ignore how ridiculously good she was. The music, the stage presence, the way her guitar seemed like an extension of her body—it all left you equal parts impressed and annoyed.

When the final chord rang out and Vi shouted, “Thank you, everyone! We love you!” the venue exploded into applause. The band left the stage to thunderous cheers, and you followed a staff member toward the backstage area.

The energy there was different—no less chaotic, but tinged with satisfaction. Roadies darted around, packing up equipment, while the band members moved in different directions. Vi disappeared into a side room, and Caitlyn sat on a small couch, sipping water and scrolling through her phone.

“Y/N!” Caitlyn called, smiling as she saw you approach. She set her water aside and stood, still slightly out of breath.

“Well?” she asked, brushing her hair out of her face. “What’d you think?”

“They’re loud,” you teased, but your grin betrayed your real feelings. “Seriously, though, you were amazing. The keys? Perfect.”

Caitlyn beamed, her posture relaxing. “Thanks, but it’s not just me. We all pulled it off tonight. Thanks for coming—it means a lot.”

Before you could reply, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Sevika, leaning against the doorway, her guitar slung casually over her back, chatting with two fans who had somehow found their way backstage.

She was all charm—grinning, nodding, brushing her hand along her jaw in a way that screamed calculated. The fans giggled, hanging onto her every word.

“Does she ever stop?” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Caitlyn followed your gaze and groaned. “That’s Sev for you. She doesn’t know the meaning of ‘off the clock.’”

“Clearly,” you said, rolling your eyes.

As if on cue, Sevika turned her attention from the fans and strolled toward you. Her smirk was as infuriating up close as it was on stage.

“And what about me?” Sevika asked, her voice low and smooth. “Did I kill it tonight?”

You crossed your arms, refusing to give her the reaction you knew she was fishing for. “You were fine.”

“Fine?” she echoed, placing a hand over her heart as if you’d wounded her. “That’s all I get?”

“I’m not one of your groupies,” you shot back, your tone flat.

Sevika chuckled, stepping closer. “No, you’re not. You’re… different.”

Her gaze lingered, intense and unrelenting, and for a moment, you felt your cheeks flush. Annoyed at your own reaction, you rolled your eyes.

“Keep working on it,” you said sharply, before pulling out your phone and seeing the time. It was pass midnight. Shit. You had a promotional event early in the morning.

“I’m sorry, Cait. But I’ve gotta go,” You say with a playful pout before giving her a goodbye hug.

“It’s okay. I’ll text you and most importantly text me when you get home,” Caitlyn says as she hugged you back.

You both pulled away “Yes mam. I will,” you say.

As you turn towards the door, Sevika steps into your way with a teasing smirk. “Leaving so soon?” she asked, her voice low.

“Some of us have responsibilities,” you replied coolly, slipping your phone into your pocket.

She leaned against a nearby wall, her eyes trailing over you in a way that felt deliberate. “What, no time for a drink? A little post-show celebration?”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “Do all your ‘post-show celebrations’ involve swooning fans and scribbled phone numbers, or do I get a special offer?”

Her grin widened, her gaze steady. “Depends. Are you interested in being special?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Sevika replied, stepping closer. “And I see someone who might enjoy a little fun if she let herself.”

You met her gaze, and for a moment, you let a sly smile tug at your lips. “You’re confident, I’ll give you that. But I’m not as easy to impress as your fan club.”

Sevika chuckled, the sound low and rich. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

You stepped closer, brushing past her shoulder as you made your way toward the exit. “Interesting’s a good start, but you’ll have to try harder than that.”

She turned, her smirk faltering for the first time, as if she hadn’t expected you to turn the tables.

Pausing at the doorway, you glanced back, your eyes meeting hers. “Good luck with the next one, rockstar. I’ve got places to be.”

And with that, you disappeared down the hallway, leaving her standing there, her smirk replaced by something more thoughtful.

As you made your way toward the exit, you allowed yourself a small smile. Flirting with Sevika was like playing with fire, but there was something undeniably satisfying about leaving her wondering.

Tomorrow would be busy, but tonight, you couldn’t help but savor the small victory.

mini taglist: @gracie-gloom @swordfemm4 @m00npjm 🎸❤️

[black-occamy-arts-and-crafts]

I'm experimenting with different needles for embroidery recently and decided to make it everyone's problem, so here is:

Opinions on sewing needles nobody asked for by Occamy.

From left to right:

Typical nickel-plated sewing needle.

PONY black chenille needle without nickel, size 22

PONY gold plated chenille needle, size 24

DMC gold plated embroidery needle with round tip, size 22

No 1:

I probably inherited that one from my grandma's sewing kits or something. It's one of those needles you can get in any store, good for sewing absolutely anything. It's biggest issue is... I destroyed it with my fingers. It's probably something about the sweat or such, but you can probably see how satine and dark it is in the middle where it has contact with the skin. This causes the needle to go through fabric with more traction and is frankly just irritating. And it's the only reason why I started looking for an alternative, because - and it is true - I went through three needles just embroidering the wizard's tower. If it wasn't for my toxic skin I wouldn't even think of looking for a new needle 🫣

No.2

I got excited both by "no nickel" and how smexy goth it looks like. Unfortunately, it's satine and plainly uncomfortable to hold from the very start, so it was a big NO immediately. Pity, I really like how it looks.

No.3

Used it for about three days and I think it actually gives me some sort of allergies. That or it's a huge coincidence that my fingertips on my dominant right hand got suddenly very dry and scratchy. Other than that, the very top of the needle (above the eye) is surprisingly sharp and uncomfortable to push through the fabric in the long run. So, again, a no from me.

No.4

So far the best of them. It's pleasantly smooth and the top is a bit more rounded than no.3, so it's easier on the fingers. The only downside is the round tip - it is possible to embroider through jeans and canvas (as I do right now), but it's not comfortable. I'm already waiting for next delivery with a few more DMC variants to check on, so expect an update in a couple days.

It's worth noting that bigger eyes of 2, 3 and 4 make it much easier to thread them, but I personally don't bother much with that - I'm actually enjoying the challenge of threading needles xD

That's it, that's me rambling about needles. Nobody asked for this, but, you know.

I hope you relate 🫣

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Home For Christmas

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You get sidetracked on your way home.

Character: Andy Barber

Day Four of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - the car broke down and the snow is getting deep 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"It's getting bad," Andy shifts in the passenger seat, as usual, stating the obvious.  

"Yeah, just gotta be careful," you grip the wheel, leaning into it as you try to see through the falling powder. "I've driven through worse." 

"Maybe, but it's not letting up," he sits up, concerned after his cat nap. "Might be a good idea to look for a hotel or something. Even just somewhere we can pull off until it dies down." 

"It's really not that much," you argue. You just want to get home. Just a few more hours and you get to enjoy your holidays. 

"Look, I know you wanna get back for Christmas but--" 

"Shit!" You exclaim as headlights flash through the white flakes and veer away from you with a honk as you twist the wheel to avoid the other car. 

You slam on the breaks as you steer into a heaping bank, sending up puffs of snow all around you. Andy grunts as he reaches over to flip on the hazards. You catch your breath as he sighs. You hate that sound. 

"What were you saying?" He mutters. 

"That guy was in the wrong lane," you argue. "I can't help that." 

"Yeah, but if you can't see them, they can't see you." 

You keep from countering. He always has to be right. Besides, he's your boss, he's supposed to be right. It just irks you how he talks to you like a child. You're almost the same damn age as him. 

"Let me drive," he insists. 

"Andy," you shift into reverse and check the back window, "can you check your phone? See if there's anything close by." 

Your defeat is in your voice. He is right. The snows getting worse by the second. You'll be lucky to get as far as a hotel. 

"Shit," he mutters as he sits back and looks at his phone, "no signal." 

He raises it, angling it around with a tut. You chew your cheeks in agitation. That means you can't even call James to let him know you'll be late. 

"I think I saw a sign back a ways..." you drone uncertainly, once more clamping down on the wheel. "Let me know if you see anything." 

You right the nose of the car, the tires rolling without traction before finally catching. That's not good either. Of course, the snow had to wait. It had to dump in that moment, when you're finally at the end of this stupid work trip. 

You head back down the highway, tense as you feel the tenuous grip of the tires. You’re not sure you’re going to get very far. You don’t. After a sluggish advance, the car swerves as snow builds up in the tire wells and clog the axle. Once more, you barely keep control as you steer back towards the snow-buried apron. 

You roll into the window high drifts and push both feet onto the brake. You hang your head forward and groan. Andy’s hand grips the corner of your seat, his other on the dashboard. You lean back and shake your heads. 

“Well, Happy Holidays,” you huff. “Should we get out and walk.” 

“You think we’ll get far?” He asks, though you can’t tell if it’s rhetorical or not. 

“What else can we do?” You wonder with exasperation. 

“Got an emerge kit in the trunk. Seats fold down.” 

You blink at him. He can’t mean that. 

“Just until it stops. It’s only building and even if we don’t want to, there’s not much choice.” 

“We can call for help,” you suggest. 

“Even if someone could get to us, I don’t have any bars. What about you?” 

You shift into park and take out your phone. A circle with a bar. Nothing. 

“Can’t keep this on forever either. The battery will die. There’s a thermal blanket, a couple of hand warmers, food...” 

“Jesus, how long are we going to be stuck here?” You look at him. 

For the first time in all the years you’ve worked with him, Andy looks uncertain. That adds to your anxiety. He frowns and slides his hand off the seat onto your shoulder. 

“Look, it’s fine. It should be more than tonight. Snow’s supposed to let up after dusk, then we just need to wait for the plows. They usually start up at 3. Before traffic gets heavy.” He assures. 

You nod. For once, you’re happy to have a know-it-all with you. 

“Alright, so, turn off the engine.” 

You do what he says and he reaches for his door. He pushes it open and the wind blows back his hair and dusts snow into the SUV. He goes to the back of the car, disappearing into the white void. You watch nervously, trying to see through the thick flakes. 

The hatch opens and you undo your seat belt so you can crane around. “What are you doing?” 

“Gotta make sure we’re visible. I’ll hang one of the emergency vests on the back.” 

“Oh, right, can I help?” You wonder. 

“If you can get the seats down, we’re going to have to keep as much warmth as we can. Lever’s underneath,” he hollers through the wind. His cheeks are already touched pink by the snowy blast. He pulls out a neon yellow vest and closes the back up. 

You get out of the seat and pull the switch on the side to fold it forward. You climb over it and feel around the front of the backseat. You get those down as the side door opens. And climbs up, crunching himself down to fit in the tight space. 

You operate silently in unison. He gets the blankets out. Two. He suggests one for underneath and the second over you. He has bottles of water, some cold rations, and little packets that heat up for about 15 minutes when you rub them. 

As you sit on the thermal blanket he feels the front of his jacket, “damn it,” you can see the moisture around his shoulders. 

He strips it off and shivers in his dress shirt. His hair is damp too, curling at the ends. He looks at you, his blue eyes bolder as the world is white outside the windows. 

“Uh, we gotta...” 

“Yeah, sure,” you grab the blanket and pull it close. He moves next to you. There isn’t quite enough space to stretch out. You’re scrunched up as your arms touch and you lean on the slight incline of the folded seat. 

“Gonna be a long night,” he mutters. 

“Not exactly the white Christmas I hoped for,” you agree. 

You don’t complain much more. You have someone to get home to eventually. Since the divorce, Andy is rarely eager to leave work. It’s exactly the reason you’re trapped on the side of the highway. The work trip was his reason not to be alone. You feel bad for him, even if he is an ass of a boss. 

❄️ 

Your teeth chatter as you hug yourself under the blanket. Andy’s heat burns at your back but can’t warm you as the wind whistles outside the car. He turns on the car for about ten minutes at a time but hasn’t in at least two hours as the coldness sets in. It’s better to conserve the heat under the blanket. 

His arm is around you, his chin in your shoulder, resting against yours. It’s an innately intimate position, intertwined, snug, but you’re not thinking about that. You’re just thinking about the miracle of modern heating. You just need to make it through tonight. 

He shifts and shivers against you. You put your hand on his to try to warm him. You don’t feel you’re offering much as he radiates with heat. 

He sighs. God, his damn sighs. The sound that make your office days longer. 

You close your eyes but can’t sleep. You’re too anxious to settle down. Your eyes burn with fatigue but your adrenaline keeps you unsettled. 

The silence is as frigid as the weather. Both of you stopped talking a while ago. There’s nothing left to say but the obvious. You can’t wait to be out of there. You try to relax, the tension aching in your neck. 

He shifts and his hand slips from under yours. You move too, searching for comfort. His fingers rustle down your shirt and touch the front of your pants. The awkward brush makes you squirm. He drags his hand back up and presses against the bottom of your shirt. 

You go rigid again. His fingertips trace the waistband of your wool trousers. Your eyes snap open. 

He dips beneath the fabric and you suck in a stunned breath. You flinch as he tickles along your panties. You cough. 

“Andy, what--” 

He hushes you, “it’s cold...” 

Does he know what he’s doing? Maybe he’s just trying to go up your shirt but that’s not better, is it? His cheek presses against your skull as he pulls you flush to him. He delves beneath your underwear and you gasp again. 

“Andy--” 

“No one will know,” he grits. 

“No, Andy,” you grab his forearm. “You can’t-- I know you’ve been going through a lot but no--” 

His other arm snakes up from under your waist and his hand stretches across your throat. You gulp and let out another surprised squeak. He squeezes as you reach to snatch at his grip. 

“And...” 

He chokes the protest from you as he grazes along your pelvis. You wince and as he rocks his hips against you. He purrs. “Mmm, nice and tidy... like you were expecting this.” 

Your skin blazes in humiliation. You spent a little extra time trimming. You missed James terribly and his texts betrayed that the feeling was mutual. 

You croak but can’t speak. He fingertips press behind your jaw until the pain waters in your eyes. He jams his hand between your thighs. He curls against your cunt and glides between your folds. Another spark of humiliation scalds you. It’s been weeks since you had the time of energy to spend with James. You and your husband are just too busy. You’re all too responsive to the rare touch. 

The fear constricts across your ribs as your heart pound, echoing in your temples. You squeeze his wrist which only inspires him to tighten his hold on your throat. Your eyes gloss over with helplessness. You can't stop him. Not in that moment and even if you could speak, there’s no one to hear you scream for help. 

He bends his fingers until they sink past your entrance. He has no patience. He buries himself to his lowest knuckle, gripping tight so the heel of his hand is against your clit. The pressure pulses into your core. 

He tilts his hand, forming a slow rhythm that feeds a different kind of heat. The kind that burns your soul. You flick your lashes as your walls clench him and you twitch. No, no. 

Your breath picks up. You think of your husband, waiting, worried, and you’re there... he can’t ever know. Even if it’s wrong. Even if you don’t want it. 

“I’ve been so lonely,” he rasps against the brim of your ear. “I just... need to touch someone.” His desperation trembles in his voice. “You’re so warm and soft.... and wet.” 

You hear your cunt clinging to him as he rocks his hand faster and faster. The swirl of nerves flurries to a spiral. The coil twists tighter and tighter. You arch your back, pushing your ass back unthinkingly against his crotch. 

He moves in response. Rubbing his hard bulge against you. His own breath hitches as he writhes in tandem with his hand. His palm claps against you as he fucks you harder and harder, pumping himself against your ass. 

You let go of him to bite your finger. You cum in a spasm, your tears overflowing in more than shame. It’s a sense of relief, the release of the tension built of neglect and stress. He puffs furiously as he ruts against you, shaking as his voice gurgles and his rhythm turns spasmodic. 

He growls and grunts until he falls out of motion. He stills and goes slack, his hand trapped beneath your thighs as he heaves. He purrs and nuzzles your ear. 

“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” he grits. 

[remlionheart]

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die (part two)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ask and you shall receive ~ you guys wanted more, so here it is! 𓆩♡𓆪 thank u so much for all the love on this ♡ i didn't expect my first shot at Chuuya to gain so much traction but i'm really glad it did (he's just soooo ♡‿♡ u know?) hope you like a good slowburn bc buckle up, heavy "we shouldn't be doing this" vibes, Chuuya would honestly be the most arrogant yet easy to break dom because of how badly he wants to please you and you can't convince me otherwise, porn with a plot, 5.6k words. this fic once again had me swooning and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure writing it so pls lemme know whatcha think, also big shoutout to @bratbby333 for helping me edit this ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ♡ here's part one if you're new here ♡

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror with a sigh, tugging at the neck of your shirt. It was late August, 90 degrees outside, and you were on day three of wearing a turtleneck.

You felt like you were attending a funeral in your black top, black heels, and black tennis skirt - but it was all you had left. You'd already worn your other patterned and pleated options earlier in the week. Already paired each stifling hot sweater with the nicest necklaces you had to make them look more business casual than walk-of-shame.

But no matter how nonchalant you'd tried to seem about your sudden change in wardrobe, it was impossible to ignore the curious stares you'd been getting. The suspicious glances from Akutagawa who just a few days ago could barely even look in your direction without tripping over his own feet. There was a palpable sense of skepticism that followed you and it only seemed to get worse with each high-collared shirt you wore.

You let out another sharp exhale, surveying yourself one last time before heading back to your office. You were busy trying to decide on which expletive you were going to spend the next 7 hours cross-stitching when you rounded the corner, a sudden rush of warmth spreading across your face as a pair of cerulean eyes locked with yours.

Out of all the looks you'd gotten recently, his were by far the hardest to avoid.

Time seemed to slow as you passed him. A subtle but taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth while he continued his conversation with Mori. Something about his upcoming assignment in Osaka and how it'd require him to be gone for at least two weeks.

You disappeared into your office, closing the door behind you as you took a seat and diligently began working on a new project.

Your thread kit had become invaluable over the last few days. It wasn't just a way to pass time anymore - it was an escape. A tool you used to steer your thoughts away from the one place that they kept relentlessly trying to wander back to.

Since the announcement of his solo mission, there'd hardly been a chance for you to see Chuuya outside of the lingering glances you'd exchange in passing. Mori had been keeping close tabs on him, constantly barging in and out of his office to go over the details of his assignment. You tried to remind yourself that it was probably for the best. That the safest thing you could do was keep what had happened between the two of you a onetime fling and nothing more.

It hadn't mattered in the moment how careless you'd both been when you assumed that you'd never see him again, but now that your time here had been extended, you were quickly realizing how critical it was to keep your wits about you. Up until arriving at Port Mafia, you'd barely been skating by. Living off of a dwindling savings account and more often than not having to choose between dinner or rent.

The first check you received from Mori alone was more than you made all of last year working as a barista. You knew that this sort of opportunity would never come again. That it was absolutely fleeting and subject to change at any given moment, but that's what made keeping it for as long as you could so important. The money you were making now would put you through college. It would grant you a future that didn't involve debt. A sense of stability that you never would've had otherwise.

You had no choice but to lay low, for real this time.

You moved your tapestry needle with ease, adding small, strategically placed hearts around the words, "choke me" as you stretched out your legs with a yawn.

The coffee they had here wasn't nearly as good as the coffee you'd usually get from the cafe down the street, but you decided it was better than nothing as you set your cross-stitch pad on your desk and ventured down the hallway.

For as dangerous as this place was, there was still an odd allure of normalcy about it. There were mundane things like work meetings and fax machines and a breakroom that stayed stocked with beverages and snacks. If it weren't for the people that worked here, this truly would be just another business building in downtown Yokohama.

Your suede pumps tapped against the tile as you entered the breakroom, grabbing a k-cup out of the drawer and popping it into the machine before walking over to the cabinet. Despite the three-inch heels you were wearing, you still had to resort to using your tiptoes to reach the mug you wanted.

Your waist leaned into the counter, your arm reaching as high as it could go when your entire body suddenly froze.

You felt him before you heard him, a pair of gloved hands stealthily gripping around your hips. He rested his head on your shoulder, his breath sending chills along your skin as it broke through the barrier of your shirt and danced across the nape of your neck. He pulled you in closer, your ass meeting the firmness of his growing bulge while his palm slowly drifted up past your skirt and brushed against your inner thigh.

"You know you can't ignore me forever, right?" It was posed as a question but held the weight of a threat with the tantalizing way he touched you.

Your pulse raced, heat gathering at your center as he began to toy with the lacy outline of your underwear. His fingers were dangerously close to where you wanted them and where you knew they shouldn't be. Where they couldn't be if you wanted to stay here.

It was cruel irony that just last week it had been him who was trying so hard to keep himself together and now you were somehow the one struggling to maintain your composure. Failing to stop yourself from arching your back against him. Nearly whining when he abruptly pulled away from you and disappeared without another word.

You swallowed hard, looking down at yourself while you straightened out the hem of your skirt, your body still aching from the disappearance of his touch. It was only then that you realized just how fitting your outfit for today actually was.

You were attending a funeral, mourning the loss of your dignity that had died so easily at the hands of Chuuya Nakahara.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Two days had passed since your run-in with the redhead and you'd barely seen him since. You knew he was set to leave for Osaka tomorrow morning from the conversations you'd overheard while wandering the hall and you knew he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Maybe it would've been easier to not care about what he was doing if you weren't forced to be here every day, but there was no such thing as a break when working for Port Mafia. No weekends. No time off. Even as arguably their most useless member, you were still expected to show up day in and day out without complaint.

You didn't like to admit it, but his assignment had been weighing on you since you'd first found out about it. You didn't understand why he was being asked to go alone. Why he'd have to be there for two weeks. Why you even cared to begin with.

It'd been bleeding into everything you touched, your embroidery going from mindless patterns to things you couldn't possibly bring yourself to say out loud.

Your fingers moved with precision, adding dainty purple flowers around the words "please be safe" when the landline on your desk let out a shrill, unexpected ring.

You paused, staring at the phone with hesitant curiosity. You'd assumed up until now that it was a decorative prop. A piece of outdated technology to help add to the illusion that you had a real office rather than just an empty room to keep hidden away in for 9 hours. You were floored that it actually worked.

On the fourth ring, you finally caved, answering it with a reluctant, "Hello...?"

"You'd make a terrible receptionist, y'know that?"

You hated the smile that crept across your face as you twirled the phone cord around your index finger. "Don't you have anything better to do besides bother the help?"

"Nah, not really." You could hear the smirk in his voice. "Mori's finally out of my hair for a bit. Somethin' about needing to go check the status of one of our bases out in Tokyo so he should be gone the rest of the day."

"Hmm," You hummed, still fidgeting with the tangled wire. "Guess you'll have plenty of time to clean your office before you leave then."

He let out a semblance of a laugh, his tone still riddled with salacious arrogance as he said, "Get your ass in here." and hung up.

You drew in a shallow breath, mentally kicking yourself yet again for how little self-control you had as you stood up and made your way down the hall. Your skin had just healed from the marks he'd left on you and here you were, flirting with the possibility of getting more.

The door opened seconds after you'd knocked, a set of narrowed blue eyes and tousled red hair greeting you as you stepped into his dimly lit workplace.

You took a seat on the leather couch he had in the corner of the room, pretending not to notice as he locked the door behind you.

"Does Mori not pay you enough to have more than one lamp in here?"

He stood in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, a cocky grin breaking through his nonchalant demeanor. “Sorry, where does he have you working again? That tiny ass room that used to be the broom closet? Yeah, I bet the fluorescent lighting is way better in there.”

You bit back your own dumb smile, rolling your eyes as you crossed one leg over the other. "Did you drag me in here to just insult me or do you actually need something?"

"Depends, do you like being insulted?"

You could feel your body betray you, a telling shade of pink decorating your cheeks as you averted your gaze from his.

"Really?"

You didn't have to look at him to know how much it’d piqued his interest.

"Why are you going to Osaka?" You asked, eager to change the subject.

There was a subtle wave of seriousness that washed over him. His voice losing its playful edge as he rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "I can't really go into too much detail without making you a liability. The less you know about the shit that goes on around here, the better."

Your mouth open and then closed, the objection you had lined up dying on the tip of your tongue as you quietly nodded back at him. Even if you didn't want to accept his answer, you knew he was right.

"Aw, don't tell me you're actually worried about me?" He tilted his head at you, his stare softening when he caught the sincerity in your eyes as you looked back at him. "I'll be fine. Trust me, compared to the other missions I've had to go on, this is nothin'."

You had no choice but to trust him, you knew he was blunt enough to tell you the truth and if he wasn't stressed about leaving, then you couldn't be either. As easy as it was to forget, he wasn't just another member of Port Mafia, he was an executive. There was no way Mori would send him alone if he didn't think it was something he could handle.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about you." He said, breaking your train of thought by nudging your leg with his foot. "What're you gonna do for two whole weeks while I'm gone?"

You buried the rest of your concern with a shrug, uncrossing your legs as you shot him a small smile. "I don't know. Guess I'll have to start fooling around with Akutagawa to pass the time."

He nearly snorted he laughed so hard.

"What? You don't think I could have him if I wanted to?” It was infuriating how easy it was to banter back and forth with him like this. How effortless it was for you to both volley off one another without missing a beat.

He shook his head, trying not to burst into laughter again from the thought of you and his perpetually flustered coworker. "Nah, you could. Just think you'd be disappointed is all. Akutagawa wouldn't know what the fuck to do with a girl like you."

There was something about the way he said it that made the blood dance in your veins.

"Fine." You pressed, still wearing the same slight smile. "Tachihara then."

It was becoming a real problem, the way you loved toying with him as much as he loved toying with you.

"He wouldn't."

"I bet he would."

He bent down to become eye-level with you, butterflies flooding your stomach as he reached out to rest his hand under your chin, a gentle but firm grasp holding you in place. "You can try," he said, his thumb lightly dragging across your bottom lip. "But I don't think you'll have much luck."

"Why?" It was barely a whisper let alone an actual question.

You knew him well enough to know where this was more than likely going, but there was a depraved part of you that wanted to hear him say it. Needed to hear him say it.

"'Cause," His eyes glazed over as he leaned in, closing the already small gap between you so that you were forced to share the same breath. "Tachihara isn't dumb enough to touch things that belong to me."

Your heart was threatening to beat straight out of your chest. A week's worth of pent-up arousal nearly dripping onto his couch as you looked back at him without the faintest bit of restraint left in you.

All of the reasons why you'd been trying so hard to stay away from him suddenly held no real merit. They were lost to his touch. Completely eviscerated the moment his lips finally caught yours and his tongue swirled against you with the same tender urgency you'd been daydreaming about for the last five days. The future didn’t seem so pressing when the present was this heavenly.

Your legs parted without him having to ask, inviting his body to come between them while your hands travelled to the back of his neck. Desperate fingertips sinking into his skin in a feverish attempt to somehow pull him even closer.

"'Take it you're finally done ignorin' me?"

You nodded as you watched him push your skirt up, briefly pausing to take his gloves off with the same toothy method he’d used the last time you were in his office. You could tell it was a seldom act for him. Something he had to consciously remind himself to do, but only when he was with you.

"Good."

His mouth attentively returned back to yours, calloused but gentle fingers digging into the softness of your thigh while his thumb swiped your underwear to the side, granting him access to your weakest point.

"Fuck," he groaned, drawing light circles against you, reveling in the way your hips thrusted up for more.

As eager for a challenge as he was, he secretly loved how easy you were to please. How little it took to rob you of your composure and have your legs shaking around him. How pitiful you looked from only two of his digits slipping in and out of you. How your pupils would dilate in this delirious way each time he went deeper, but how you were still submissive enough to never break eye contact no matter how much you writhed and squirmed beneath him.

"Chuuya -"

"What is it baby?"

He could feel how close you were. Knew it wouldn't take much more to have you soaking him, but he couldn't leave for two weeks without making you cum on more than just his fingers. He needed to know what your walls felt like wrapped around him. What absolutely fucking dazed out noises you would make once he was inside of you.

He undid his belt with his freehand, not letting up on you as you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.

"Fuck, yes. P - please." You whimpered, watching him stroke himself as he carefully lined up with your center. "Please, Chuuya, ohmygod, please."

"Jesus Christ." He choked out, reeling in how pretty you sounded begging for him. Almost not being able to stop himself as he watched you come completely undone, still pleading for his dick.

He moaned against you, forehead pressed to yours as he finally found the willpower to pull his fingers out of you. His tip had just barely made it past your entrance when a loud knock brought both of you to an insanely cruel and abrupt pause.

His hand flew over your mouth, fire flickering across his blue eyes as he drew in a sharp breath.

"What?" he called out through gritted teeth.

"Plan's changed." It was Tachihara. "Mori's back. He wants you to leave now instead of tomorrow."

"Now?" The anger in his voice was palpable. "Like, right now?"

"Yeah, he's waiting in the jet."

"You can't be fuckin' serious." He grumbled, a pained expression taking hold of him as he looked back down at you, removing his hand from your mouth.

"Gimme a minute." He yelled, silently trying to ration what he was supposed to do with your body still splayed so beautifully under his.

He wanted to fuck you. God damn, he wanted to ignore everything else in the entire world and fuck you into oblivion at this point, but he knew it wouldn't be fair to either of you to have to rush through it or be stressed about the fact that someone might barge in at any second.

It needed to be the right time because you both deserved it. Especially with how many mutual pent-up emotions there now were between you.

Pulling out of you was torture, but he didn't have a choice.

You could've cried, your heart and pussy both grieving the loss of something they'd never even had.

"I swear," He said, forehead back against yours, "As soon as I get back, it's me and you, okay?"

You nodded, doing your best to swallow down your emotions.

"Okay." You finally agreed, eyes still locked with his, a faint smile poking through your frustration. "But if you're not back in two weeks, don't be surprised when you see me and Akutagawa holding hands in the hallway."

He let out a half-hearted laugh as his lips met yours, kissing you in a way that he hadn't before. Soft, lingering... affectionate.

"Hey," you whispered seriously this time, "Please be safe."

"Promise."

And with that, you began redoing the buttons on your blouse and smoothing down your skirt while you watched him grab a jacket out of his armoire, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket.

"You smoke?"

"Only when I really need one."

He shot you a wink, wrapping his arm around your waist as he walked you out of his office, not caring at all who saw.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You knew it would be awkward without him around, but you hadn't anticipated just how slow the next week would go by. You were tired. Out of ideas for cross-stitch patterns and nearly positive that your curled fingers weren't capable of creating anything else even if you wanted to.

You read manga to keep yourself busy. Looked up recipes on your phone. Took naps at your desk that left kinks in your neck. Called your friends from back home, trying to keep the conversation going long after there was nothing left to say. You were bored. Grateful to still be here, but ready for a day off that you knew wouldn't come.

The check you received on Friday was enough of a reason to stay though. It made the long days of staring at a wall worth it. You reminded yourself again and again that there would never be another job like this. That you might actually miss it one day.

You had no idea, however, just how quickly that day would actually come until you were rounding the corner back to your office and ran into Kyoto. She was the same peach-haired woman who had recruited you from the bar, only she was standing with a fresh face. A girl who looked to be about your age with big brown eyes, flowy blonde hair, and a skirt that was somehow even shorter than yours.

When you had first started, they'd told you that there would be other 'administrative assistants' coming eventually, but you'd almost forgotten about it until now.

Your eyes drifted from her to Kyoto, thinking there was surely no way you'd both be expected to share the same office with how small it was.

You started to extend a hand out to the blonde, ready to introduce yourself when you were promptly cut off by Kyoto.

"Your time here is up." She said curtly. "If there's anything you need to get out of your workstation, I suggest you do it now."

A vicious mix of anger and embarrassment churned in your stomach. "My time here is up?" You repeated blankly. "Why?"

"Mori's decided you're a distraction." She shot you a pointed look. "Especially to that of Nakahara. Now, get your things before I have you escorted out."

Your ears were ringing, your vision blurred by tears at how cold and sterile this all felt.

You went into your office for the last time, grabbing the thread kit and books out of your drawer as you made your way down the hall, looking back to see your replacement excitedly taking over the spot that was once yours.

Goodbye college, goodbye easy money, goodbye Chuuya.

You were able to hold yourself together on the train ride home and on the walk back, but the minute you made it into your apartment and closed the door behind you, everything all spilled out at once. Your crafts and manga falling from your hands as you sank down to the floor and sobbed.

You thought nothing could've been as mortifying as your first day with Port Mafia, but your last day had proved to be far worse. You were right back at square one and it felt terrible.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The next few days were a blur of filling out online job applications and revamping your resume. You'd hardly eaten. Hardly showered. Hardly done anything that involved getting out of bed.

It was Sunday and rent was due tomorrow. You'd done the math in your head - you had enough money in your savings account to live here comfortably for the next three months without any additional income. If you really pushed yourself and lived uncomfortably, you could probably even skate by for four.

But no matter how much you tried to remind yourself that there was time, you still couldn't shake the feeling of failure that you'd been left with. If you'd been fired for other reasons, it might not have hurt as bad, but the fact that it really was your fault haunted you.

You took a breath, looking over yourself in the bathroom mirror. A combination of three-day old clothes and a knotted side-bun staring back at you. You decided if you were going to continue to sulk, you could at least do it in some fresh pajamas and washed hair.

The hot water felt good beading across your skin as you scrubbed off the grime and regret that had been stuck on you since the day you’d been let go. The air filling with the smell of vanilla as you exfoliated your legs and ran a conditioning treatment through your tangled locks.

You still didn't feel great, but you felt better and that was a start.

You threw on a white tank-top with a pair of oversized grey sweatpants, running a brush through your hair when you heard the buzz of your doorbell. You froze, looking down at your phone to see the time 11:11 flash across your screen.

You hadn't had a visitor since you'd moved here, let alone had someone stop by at almost midnight.

Your footsteps were light as you crept down your hallway, cautiously peeking through the slit in your door watching him impatiently ring the buzzer again, running a hand along the back of his neck while he waited.

"Chuuya?"

"You'd make a terrible doorman, y'know that?"

It was the first time you'd laughed in the last six days, your arms wrapping around him before you even had the chance to think about what you were doing.

He didn't seem to mind though, his hands locking around your waist as you both pulled each other closer. "How did you -" Your thoughts were everywhere. "How did you find my address?"

He let out a slight laugh, his breath fanning across your neck. “I told you it'd be me and you when I got back.”

There was something so sincere about the way he said it. Something so overwhelming about the way he was looking at you. Out of all the things you'd lost recently, you were incredibly thankful he wasn't one of them.

You let him in, locking the door as he followed you down the hall.

“Sorry," you said sheepishly, realizing that you were about to bring him into the messiest part of your apartment. "It's not always like this."

He took a moment to look over your bedroom. The thumb-tacked pictures of you and your friends that decorated the space above your bed. The string lights and cloud-patterned tapestry adorning the walls. The matching baby-pink sheets and comforter set.

It looked like you. It smelled like you. And no matter how many clothes there might've been scattered across the floor or mugs piled up on your nightstand, it was still way cozier than the hotels he'd been staying at over the last two weeks.

"Looks fine to me." He shrugged, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a velvet chair next to your dresser. "How've things been since I've been gone?" he asked, taking a seat next to you on the bed with a small smirk. "You and Akutagawa official yet?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared back at him, "Mori didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I, um..." Your gaze was suddenly on the hem of your shirt as you began to fidget with it instead of looking at him. "I got fired."

"Mori fired you?" There was a sobering sharpness to his voice as he repeated it. "For what?"

You knew he'd find out one way or another, but it was still embarrassing having to relive your conversation with Kyoto. "For 'being a distraction.'" you sighed, your eyes hesitantly dragging up to his. "To you."

There was a brief moment of silence and then, a laugh.

“Huh,” he mused. “Well they're gonna be in for a real fuckin' surprise when you come in tomorrow then.”

You shook your head at him in quiet confusion. "Chuuya, I can't just show back up. Kyoto threatened to have me escorted out when I took more than five minutes to get my stuff out of my office."

His brow arched in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Did she?" The question was somehow calm despite the scornful undertone it carried. "Well," he breathed, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "She's gonna really hate it when the entire building has to hear me fucking you. Every. Single. Day."

A sudden warmth washed over you, beginning at your cheeks and ending at your core as you blinked back at him cluelessly. "What are you talking about?"

"You're gonna be my personal assistant." The smirk he was wearing was lethal. "And I'll pay you more than that asshole ever did. Weekends off. Full benefits. Alla that."

"Are you -" He'd never lied to you before and you weren't sure why he'd start now, but you were struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that you'd just gone from being unemployed to promoted in a matter of minutes. "Are you serious?"

"Well yeah," He said simply, his grin softening a bit. "I mean, who else is gonna clean my office before I go on trips?"

You both smiled this time before your lips were immediately back on his. Eager, unreserved, bliss.

He fell back into the bed with you on top of him, his hands gliding along your curves while you straddled him. The flimsy straps of your tank-top slipping down your arms as you hovered over him, kissing and nipping at his neck.

He didn't care if you left marks on him. Didn't care if he showed up tomorrow smelling like your perfume with blatantly obvious bites covering his collarbone. He wanted everyone to know if they didn't already. Wanted them to stare and whisper and drop fucking dead at the sight of the two of you walking in together. It made him feral just thinking about it.

Your hips were rocking against him, your center aligned perfectly with his as you moaned at the friction your movements were creating. You could feel him growing hard beneath you, his fingers tugging at the waistband of your sweats.

"Here." he said in-between breaths, helping you out of them and tossing them onto the floor.

You started to pick up where you left off, but he stopped you, swiftly undoing his belt and adding his pants and boxers into the sea of discarded clothing too. You hadn't even been able to see it until now. Hadn't been able to fully appreciate the length and fucking girth of his cock up until this very moment.

You left another kiss on his neck and then on his chest and then on his torso, meticulously leaving them all over while making your descent down to the one place you so desperately wanted to be.

He watched you with wide eyes, your hand wrapping perfectly around him as you looked up and slowly ran your tongue along the side of his base.

"Fuuuck." His voice was heady, his hands tangling into your hair as you made your way up to his tip.

You opened your mouth wider, almost wondering how it was going to fit, but you managed. Taking him inch by inch, going down further each time until you developed a steady rhythm.

You understood why he liked going down on you so much. The noises he was making were gorgeous. Groaning out sweet little nothings the faster you went. "Doin' so fucking good for me, baby." "God, you're so pretty, y'know that?"

You kept one hand on him, gliding him in out of your mouth as the other trailed down to your clit. Feeling your own slick between your fingers only made you all the more blitzed out. You were sucking and moaning and watching him stare down at you like you had put the stars in the sky as you fingered yourself while somehow still staying focused on him.

"C'mere." It was the first coherent thing he'd said since your tongue had so lavishly graced him.

He gave your hair a gentle tug, pulling you back up so that you were almost sitting on top of him.

"I need to feel you so fuckin' bad, you have no idea." he breathed, lining himself up with you, feeling how wet you were before you'd even lowered yourself onto him.

His hands rested on your hips, your grip back around his base as you centered yourself over him.

It’d been so much just to take in your mouth, you were almost afraid of how bad this would hurt, but he was aware of his size. Letting you go at your own pace as he helped keep you steady.

The stretch he provided you with from the first couple of inches alone was noticeable, but heavenly. Your eyebrows knitting together as you looked back at him. A dazed, poutiness taking over you the further down you went.

You took him in deeper and deeper until finally, you were fully riding him.

"There you go, fuck - just like that."

He watched your head lull back, your hand reaching for his as you continued to grind against him. Both of you losing control as he began to thrust into you.

Your eyes went wide, his name echoing across the room while your walls spasmed around him.

"Sucha good girl."

His praises only made you go faster, one of your hands still locked around his and the other now palming at your chest. Squeezing your nipple between your index and ring finger as you looked back down at him. "Chuuya - 'm -"

It was hard to tell where his moans stopped and yours began, the carnal sounds synchronizing the deeper he plunged into you.

He felt another clench, and then, he was suddenly drowning in you. Completely unable to hold himself together anymore as you soaked him.

"Cum inside me." you whimpered, "Please, Chuuya. I wanna feel it. Please, please - fuck, baby, please.”

It didn't take you begging to convince him, but it certainly made it happen faster.

His ocean eyes rolled back as he thrusted into you, absolutely enamored by the sounds you were making. The way you were pleading and pouting as he filled you.

It somehow made every daydream he’d had about you seem lackluster in comparison. You were beautiful you were his.

You both stilled for a moment, trying to catch your breath before looking back at each other with the same exhausted smile.

He pulled out of you slowly, letting you collapse onto his chest as he ran light fingers through your hair. "You should probably set an alarm for tomorrow." He exhaled. "I heard your new boss is a real asshole."

"Oh yeah," You mused, leaning up so that your lips were ghosting his. "He's the worst."

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[farfromstrange]

Thumb v Printer | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Your clumsiness keeps Matt on edge at all times. Like when you cut your thumb on a printer.

Warnings: None. (Maybe slight description of injury for those of you who are squeamish). Tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: ~1k

A/n: This did happen to me. It's healed now, but a piece of my thumb was missing for like a week and it wasn't fun. All because I had to print my sources for an essay and the paper got stuck. Smh.

Read Me On AO3!

If a stranger came up to you and told you, “I smell blood,” it would be more than enough to make you run for the hills. Sharing a home with Matt Murdock though, you have heard stranger things. 

You turn from your spot on the sofa, putting your laptop aside for a moment to greet him. “Hello to you too,” you answer casually.

He tilts his head in your direction. His nostrils flare. You know better than to question it. He’s wearing the same suit he left your shared apartment with this morning, his tie only loosened slightly to allow him some air to breathe. The last streaks of sunlight filter through the window, enveloping him in an ethereal glow. He’s so beautiful, but he doesn’t allow you much time to admire him as he stands in the hallway, his hands propped up on his hips as though he is about to lecture you on criminal law before the Civil War.

“You opened the first-aid kit,” he states. “What happened?” 

It’s an astute observation, you have to give him that. “Oh. Yeah.” You chuckle. “I just cut my finger on the printer, that’s all.”

He stutters for a moment, almost like an old engine. “You… I’m sorry, what?”

His worried expression fades into something else entirely. You know that look all too well; he’s confused—so confused, in fact, that he forgets how concerned he was a minute ago.

“I cut my finger on the printer,” you repeat, shrugging. “Happens.”

“I’m gonna regret asking you this, but…how?”

“Well, I was printing some documents earlier, and the paper got stuck, so, I had to lift the top and get in there, right?”

He nods. “Right.” 

So far, it sounds plausible, but he knows you. Matt is well aware that your clumsiness manages to exceed his in many ways, and you have gotten yourself into predicaments in the past that he still hasn’t wrapped his head around. Sometimes, shit happens to and around you, and he has to accept that. He never fails to try though, which is kind of endearing, in a way. It’s something you have gotten used to over the years; he has to ensure you’re okay or he can’t find a moment to rest.

“I wasn’t wearing my glasses,” you confess, “so I had to put my face as close as possible to see what I was doing. Anyway, the paper ripped and since my position didn’t allow for any traction, I accidentally got my thumb caught on a sharp edge because if I’d pulled my hand out I would’ve hit myself in the face.”

A moment of silence passes. The wheels in Matt’s head visibly turn. He fidgets with the waistband of his pants, still processing. Eventually, he asks, “What?”

You sigh. “I’m sorry for not cleaning up. I was busy trying to fix my thumb and the printer.”

“I’m not… sweetheart, I’m not worried about the mess. I’m worried about you.” Matt slips the glasses off his nose and places them aside. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him. But are you, really?

“You sure?” He bridges the gap between you, tugging at your hand to run his fingers over the bandage; the cut underneath screams in protest. “Let me check.” His hazel eyes focus blankly at the space where your nose is, but it feels as though he is staring into your soul. 

“Matt…” You try to stop him, but he swiftly unpacks the injury. 

He sucks in a sharp breath when the scent hits him. You wonder what it smells like; blood, definitely, and maybe some of the ink you accidentally got into the wound before disinfecting it. His thumb gently inspects the area around it, trying not to hurt you. Matt can’t help but shake his head again; it doesn’t take much for him to realize that it isn’t just a tiny cut. 

“Jesus,” he curses under his breath. “Feels like you’re missing some skin there.”

You try to make light of the situation. “Maybe we’ll find it the next time one of us prints something.”

His jaw clenches. You’re not in pain anymore, and your fight with the printer did not lead to a life-threatening injury, but he can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, not even for a second. 

“I love you,” he says, “but you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” It’s not as endearing as it usually sounds.

“Huh.” You huff. “That’s saying a lot, considering you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m blind,” he retorts, eyebrows raised to his hairline. He’s standing there, expression suggesting he thinks you have officially lost your mind, and it rubs you the wrong way.

You retract your hand, glaring at him with all you’ve got. “And I’m extremely short-sighted!” You don’t have to yell for him to feel the intended sting of your tone. 

His hands find their way back to his hips like a condescending mother. “Why weren’t you wearing your glasses?”

“Because,” you say, “I accidentally got coffee on them this morning and forgot to put them back on.” Your confidence falters halfway through though, realizing it doesn’t work well in your defense. Especially not in an argument with a skilled lawyer such as your boyfriend.

You love his caring nature more than life, but sometimes he treats you like a child who needs saving. Your heart is racing in your chest, and perhaps that is why he stops before you can make an argument out of a simple cut on your finger. It’s not worth it.

“I… you know what,” Matt caves, and his biceps relax, “I’m not even going to ask.”

You nod, albeit not triumphantly. You didn’t exactly win this battle of wits. “Yeah. Probably for the better,” you answer, chin held high, but it’s of no use.

You got defeated. By a printer. 

His lips curve into a soft smile. “C’mere.” He leans in, his nose brushing against yours. He smells of his cologne, paper, and coffee—like home. And he probably tastes like what he had for lunch or maybe the water he gozzled before heading home, but there is always a slight tinge of something indescribable when he kisses you. 

Before your lips can finally touch though, he halts. Matt sniffs, licking his lips and tasting the air. “You smell like ink,” he says. 

Your eyes narrow. Asshole. “Thank you. That’s…should I pour bleach into my mouth to accommodate you, Murdock?” you snap, pushing away from him.

Instead of begging on his knees for forgiveness—a dramatic notion you would not be opposed to—he laughs. Matt Murdock has the audacity to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out between giggles. “I’m sorry. Hey!” He tugs at your arm once more. “At least let me hug you. Please.”

You pout. “I’ll bite you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I might.”

He brings you into his arms with little resistance from your end, guiding your head just above his heart. So you can hear him. Feel him. Smell him. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair. 

You bury your face in his chest. It’s unfair how comfortable he is. “Hm. You’re lucky you’re irreplaceable,” you say, but it lacks conviction.

Matt clicks his tongue. “You’re so nice to me.” 

“You started it.”

“That’s fair.” Grabbing your chin, he tilts your head back up. “I still love you.”

You can’t bite back a smile this time, purring, “Oh, I know.” 

That’s never going to change, you know. And you love him. All of him, all the time, and unconditionally. 

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[mama-qwerty]

Tails attempting to comfort Sonic is what ultimately snowballed into the argument over the Master Emerald, but it ends with Sonic ignoring Tails before Knuckles relents and Sonic leaves them, and I find that depressingly ironic

Knuckles didn't want Sonic to argue with Tails. He knows how much Tails looks up to Sonic, and even in this time of despair, in this hour of sorrow, this moment of anger born of fear, Knuckles didn't want the hedgehog to hurt Tails simply because he's feeling guilty and worried about Tom.

So he stepped forward, focusing Sonic's anger on himself. When Sonic suggested using the Master Emerald, Knuckles tried to put the kibosh on that idea before it gained too much traction. Tails tried to talk him out of it. But Sonic didn't want to hear it, keeping his focus, his anger on Knuckles to give up the location.

Sonic didn't look at Tails hardly at all during that interaction. His anger was focused on Knuckles. And Knuckles kept it that way, because maybe he already felt the anxiety coming off the kit from what happened to Tom, and didn't want him to think that he was losing Sonic, too.

And part of the reason Knuckles didn't fight Sonic may have been because he didn't want to upset Tails any more. What good would fighting do? It wouldn't magically make Sonic forget about using the Master Emerald--it would simply put the hog on the outs with BOTH his brothers, during a time when there's already a lot of stress and unease going around because of Tom's injury.

They made a vow to protect the Master Emerald together, to protect it, and their new tribe together. And he stood by that vow, because it was important to him. He didn't really want to fight Sonic. You can see he's fighting himself in that second before he powers down.

(And as an aside, I love how when Sonic powers up, it's a sharp sound, like an electric zap, while when Knux powers up, his sounds like a damn clap of thunder.)

All Tails wanted to do was comfort Sonic. To say something that may ease the hog's fears and worries. But instead it made Sonic choose to do something that they never would have considered otherwise. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.

Which likely gave the kit even more guilt and worry, as much as Knuckles tried to smooth things over.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

[hspdiesel]

HSP Bolt On Traction Bars Kit for 01-10 Chevrolet/GMC Duramax

Equip your 2001-2010 Chevy GMC Duramax LB7, LLY, LBZ, LMM with HSP's 75" Bolt-On Traction Bars for improved stability and performance. Achieve smoother rides today!

[0vergrowngraveyard]

The day had started pretty average all things considered.

Eggman had decided to attack yet another poor, defenseless village but at this point, that was pretty common (as depressing as it was to admit).

It was a peaceful little spot. The village was pretty small and had its own little beach a few miles away. Why the doctor had decided to attack this place out of any village on Mobius was beyond Sonic but hey, why question the bad doctor’s plans when he can just wreck them?

Which is exactly what he and his team, Tails, Knuckles, and Amy, were doing. Knuckles had decided to get off his island and pay everyone a visit for once in his life so when word got out about Eggman’s attack, Sonic had to bring him along.

Y’know, just for some fun.

The gang had managed to drive Eggman’s attention away from the village and solely onto them. Sonic, Knuckles, and Amy took care of the badniks on the ground while Tails handled a few of the larger flying ones in the Tornado.

At this point, they were just fighting on the beach. It wasn’t ideal for the hedgehog, but it was away from the village at least, and that’s all that mattered. He could begrudgingly sacrifice a bit of comfort in order to keep the people safe.

Didn’t mean he wouldn’t audibly complain about it though.

“Why’d you have to choose a beach to fight at, Eggy? D’you know how hard it is to get good traction on sand?” He charge up a homing attack and shot through three buzzbombers, “Actually, now that I think about it, you probably wouldn’t!”

“Aren’t you the one who led us over here?” Knuckles asked, punching a hole straight through a badnik and tossing it into another one which exploded on impact.

“Maybe, but Eggman’s the one who attacked the village so it’s ultimately his fault!” Sonic responded. Knuckles couldn’t argue with that.

Amy slammed her hammer into the ground, a shockwave taking out at least six of the robots. “Is it just me, or are there a lot more badniks?”

Sonic paused and looked around.

Yeah, there were definitely more than usual, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle!

He pulled up his communicator, “Yo Tails! How’s it going up there?” He asked his brother. The Tornado was flying over the ocean, keeping a lot of the flying badniks away from the ground fight.

“Not too bad!” He pulled on the yoke, driving the plane upwards as two bots crashed into each other. “What about down there?”

“Easy peasy!” He pulled his hand away to spindash through a bot before continuing, “Though it doesn’t exactly reach lemon squeezy criteria.” He held back a snort as he heard the kit groan.

“You sound stupid, I hope you know that.” the fox said.

“I second that,” Knuckles added, “though I’m not entirely sure what this fight being simple has to do with peas or lemons.”

This time, Sonic did laugh, to which Amy spoke up about, “Leave him alone, Sonic. It’s just a saying, Knuckles!”

“Once again, your figures of speech make little sense. Why do they all involve food items?”

Sonic opened his mouth to quip back at the echidna when an explosion rang out, echoed in the communicator.

“As much as I’d love to participate in explaining Mobian phrases to Knuckles, things are getting a little dicey up here! I’ll talk later!” Tails said, performing some tricky maneuvering around a few bots as they exploded.

The Tornado had been getting further and further away from the shore.

“Alright bud! Be careful!” Sonic said, taking notice of how far the biplane had suddenly gotten.

“You too, guys!”

“Don’t know the meaning of the word, lil’ bro!” The hedgehog responded as he lowered his communicator, bringing his attention back to the fight at hand. He could almost hear the kit lecturing him about his hypocrisy from the biplane.

The fight on the ground went on for about 10 more minutes. The three had started making a game out of it. Who could throw/smack Sonic into the most badniks in a row? Amy ended up winning when she sent him flying through five badniks in a row croquette style. Her reward was bragging rights, of course.

As Sonic was recovering from being tossed around like a ball for the past few minutes, he decided to have a chat with the old doctor.

“Ayo, doc! You’ve been a little quiet!” He yelled out, “Is this a defeat silence or a disappointed silence or-“

“Quiet rodent. I’m waiting for the finale.” The doctor said, pressing a few buttons on his control panel and muttering something under his breath.

Sonic laughed as Knuckles and Amy walked up behind him, the former keeping his eyes on the Tornado as it was still fighting off a few of the bots.

Were they getting more aggressive?

“Finale? You mean when I knock you on your butt and—!”

(It all happened so fast.)

There was an explosion, a big explosion. It was loud enough to echo through the entire area (or had it just been amplified in his mind?).

He didn’t register Knuckles cry out and bolt towards the shoreline. He didn’t register Amy pulling up her communicator and screaming at the person on the other end to respond. He didn’t even register Eggman’s triumphant laugh as he said words the hedgehog couldn’t hear.

The world moved in slow motion as he turned his head towards the water just in time to see the flaming body of the Tornado crash into the ocean, sinking to its depths.

Time froze. The world around him muted. He stared at the spot the biplane had crashed.

(It happened too fast. Everything just needed to slow down.)

He couldn’t breathe. A suffocating sense of dread blindsided him, smothering him alive and he didn't have the strength to fight back. His heartbeat pounded in his ear and his legs itched to run.

To run away from the entire scene. To run and not look back because maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t look back, that would mean it never happened. That everything was fine. They would go back to the workshop later and bicker and have movie nights and play fights. They’d complain about one another’s habits and laugh together.

He’d lecture the kit about his sleep schedule (or lack thereof) and drag him to his bed. He’d tuck him in and the kit would later wander into his room after having a nightmare and the two brothers would snuggle up together, fighting off the bad dreams that tormented the little fox in his sleep.

That would all happen. It would. It had to.

It had to because if it didn’t, that would mean Tails was really…

Tails was…

(He just needed the world to slow down. Just this once. He wasn’t ready to catch up yet.)

He didn’t realize he had walked waist deep into the ocean with Amy having to hold him back. Knuckles had tried to swim to the wreckage but soon realized it was a fruitless endeavor.

The crash had been too far out.

There was no way to get to Tails.

All Sonic could do was stare out across the body of water he feared so intensely. It was a fear that was ingrained in him.

The ocean didn’t care about who or what was in its depths. If it wanted to keep you there, it would, and there wasn’t much you could do about it. Especially someone like him who sank instead of floated.

The dark depths were always out for him, wrapping its hands around him and tugging him further and further down whenever the opportunity made itself known. It was like the ocean was determined to make itself his final resting place. It joyfully filled his lungs with water and never allowed him up for air.

There was one person he could rely on to get to him before the water did. One person he knew that could fight off the thing keeping him down.

But that one person had just had his small body grabbed and dragged under by whatever malevolent force lived in those waters. Never to resurface.

It was as if the ocean was laughing at him. Annoyingly tapping at his waist with waves as if to say, “Hey, look what I just did. Did you see that?”

Of course he saw, how could he have missed it?

How could he miss the sight of the biplane he took with him from Christmas Island, the plane that allowed him to meet the kit in the first place, crashing in a flaming wreck and sinking to the bottom of the ocean, taking his little brother along with it?

The waters laughed at him.

They bragged about how they were the ones holding the kit instead of him. That their hands were running throughout the fox’s soft, golden fur, surrounding him in his final moments.

They teased him about how he’d never be able to hold him again. His hands itched with the feeling of his kit’s fur beneath them. He wanted to find him, to rescue him from his captor. Even if he was taking his final breaths, he wanted them to be in the arms of someone the fox trusted more than life itself. To tell his kid how much he loves him and how much he meant to all of them. That he would be missed.

But the kit was alone.

And that’s exactly how the ocean wanted it.

…

Knuckles didn’t know how much time had passed and frankly, he didn’t care.

He didn’t want to think about it because if the kit hadn’t gone quickly in the initial explosion, then the alternative would’ve taken time. Minutes he could’ve spent swimming to get to him. He should’ve been able to get to him. He was an incredibly fast swimmer, he should’ve been able to get out there.

As the seconds went by, the already cavernous pit in his stomach grew tenfold. He tried not to think about the fox kit who was alone in the cockpit of his beloved biplane, possibly conscious and just waiting for his time to come.

He didn’t want to think about the youngest — one of his first friends, someone he had grown to consider to be a younger brother just as the hedgehog had — in that scenario. It wasn’t right, not after all the kit had done for them.

He had managed to pull Sonic a little closer to the shore. The blue hedgehog had fallen to his knees, no longer being able to carry the weight of what just happened. It was haunting, the way he just stared at the horizon. Never in his life did he think he’d see the hedgehog in such a state of despair and defeat.

Then again, he never even began to imagine something like this happening. Not to Tails.

He pried his eyes off of the grief stricken big brother and looked beside him.

Amy wasn’t doing much better, her head was in her knees, fist clenched and body tense as she cried. She was sobbing her heart out. He could only imagine the thoughts going through her mind.

He looked at the sand in front of him and closed his eyes out of respect for the kit, a few tears he didn’t even know had formed slipped down his cheek. His mind flashed with memories of the fox kit, from the one of him first arriving to Angel Island with his hyperactive yet silent blue brother all the way to the call just a few moments ago.

It wasn’t right, they (Sonic) had just been teasing the echidna about his lack of knowledge for common Mobians phrases. How could this have happened? Why did this happen? Why was there no heads up or warning? It was all so sudden and they didn’t even have time to process anything.

Knuckles knew it was foolish to question why people died, he was the last of his kind for crying out loud, he should be used to this.

Except he wasn’t. The kid may not have been an echidna, but he was still part of his tribe. His family. They all were.

And their tribe had just lost their youngest. Their little golden ball of sunshine. The kid who could brighten an entire area with his laughter and knock someone’s ego down several pegs at the same time. The kid he for the longest time just assumed was magical because of how skillful he was with machines, creating their communicators out of seemingly nothing just so they could stay in contact with each other. He created incredible defensive mechanisms and weapons just to keep people safe. He was only 8 years old.

He had done so much for them, and this was how they repaid him? How the world repaid him?

How dishonorable.