#Silver Moth Eternal

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Audio: Silver Moth Shares Gorgeous "The Eternal"

New Audio: Silver Moth Shares Gorgeous "The Eternal" @SilverMothMusic @plasmatron @mogwaiband @elisaelektra @abrasivetrees @matthewrochfrd @BurningHouseMU @BlackBayStudio1 @curlytt

This week will be extraordinarily as I’ll be covering the fourth edition of The New Colossus Festival this week. Look for various portions of my coverage to be coming within the upcoming weeks — including some potential interviews, live concert photography and other thoughts. But I’ll be trying my best to squeeze in my regular coverage of all things within my world — musically and otherwise. So…

[inkyajax]

compulsive consumption

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, messy sleepy sex, dubcon at the start (somnophilia), extremely codependent relationship, a hint of a daddy kink, size kink/size difference, a lil bit of blood, overstimulation, creampie words: 2.3k

notes: maisie said exhausted almost asleep sex with sunday and somehow, this is what transpired

It’s become a ritual at this point; something special, something sacred, a ceremony you ardently anticipate each and every night, a sumptuous way to conclude the day and enter into sleep.

Because Sunday’s work day is long, tiring and tedious, and too often are there instances where you don’t see him at all—not a flash of silver-blue hair, nor a glimpse of ivory feathers—during your waking hours. 

But he always comes back to you in the deep of night, after the moon as passed its highest point in the sky, after you’ve slipped into a fitful dreamland, incomplete without its master. 

This you can be sure of. This you can expect eternally, always. 

He’s dead on his feet by the time he returns to the sanctuary of your shared bed, linen steeped in your scent, engulfing him in a sweet embrace the moment he burrows between the sheets. 

But it’ll never compare to the real thing. 

Large hands snake through the fabric, navigating it expertly, as they’ve done every single night before, as they’ll do every single night after. 

You’re wearing one of those lace-trimmed silk babydolls that he loves so much, shimmery material pooling around his wrists in bunched waves as eager palms slip beneath the garment. Lithe fingers curl around your hips, nails nipping the skin in a way that’s almost tender, embedding themselves in your flesh as Sunday anchors a good grasp. 

No panties—good girl.

Then he’s tugging you toward him, your limp body obeying easily, a soft noise vibrating deep in your throat. Little hands grope instinctually at the air, clawing at nothing in search for him, before you roll toward his heat, a moth to a flame, a bee to honey, an addict to their fix. 

Instinctual, automatic, right. 

“Sunny?” 

“I’m here, darling,” he nuzzles into your cheek, ribcage expanding against your torso as he inhales, deep and hungry. A slow exhale follows, as if he’s savouring the scent, intertwined with a soft hum. “I’m here.”

No other words are spoken as he shoves at his waistband, freeing his incessantly aching cock, one palm splayed on the mattress by your shoulder, keeping him precariously hovering above you, the other curling around the base of his cock, squeezing twice. 

He’s been thinking about this. He’s always thinking about this. 

It’s an insatiable craving that inevitably (and predictably) begins to flare up a few hours before it’s time for him to retire; an unbearable itch birthed behind his sternum, clawing at his heart, growing, spreading, infecting each limb and organ as time ticks by so that it has enveloped his entire form in torrid yearning for you the moment he’s off the clock. 

The blood in his veins prickles, surges with each step that carries him closer to his lover, almost as if it’s attempting to escape, becoming fervent at the thought of being close to you.

The only reprieve to be found is when he sinks into your sweet cunt—ill-prepared, Sunday’s desperation casting a dense haze of lust over his brain; a sick pressure pressing against the walls of his skull, rendering logic incoherent and unnecessary, reducing him to something primal and salivating.

Delicate skin stretches, strains, splits as your body opens itself up for his cock, a soft hiss inhaled through the gaps of your teeth, jaw clenching with the action. 

“I know, I know, I’m almost in,” he soothes, voice already gone hoarse from the way your body swallows him down, cunt gorging itself on his cock, cute little hole fluttering around his shaft as he bottoms out, almost as if it’s striving to suck him in further, draw him in deeper.

Greedy little thing. 

He always allows himself a moment to bask in the feeling—to bask in the warmth of your body wrapped around his in the most intimate, complete sense: cockhead pressed snuggly to your cervix, your thighs embracing either side of his hips, your ankles instinctually linking behind his back in a possessive grip, heels digging into the dimples cushioning the base of his spine as they try to push him in more.

A sigh decompresses his chest, his body draping itself over yours as all of the trials and tribulations of the day seep from his pores, your cunt an automatic remedy, an instant rhapsody. 

You’re drooling all over him, he can feel it—eager slick that pools around the base of his cock and streams down to puddle in the folds of his balls. It’s awe-inspiring, the way your body immediately reacts to his own—you’ve already soaked him, neatly trimmed silver curls dewy and glistening as they sop up your slick, and he’s done nothing more than fill you up with his flesh. 

A moan pries its way past his lips, an involuntary reaction, his hips grinding down into you, smearing your arousal across his skin in a thick glaze. It’s slippery, his pelvis gliding against your body with fluid ease, pubic bone rolling over your swollen clit in slow, hard motions. 

You’re murmuring something, pleads wadded up between your molars, gurgling on the back of your tongue as you burrow your face into his shoulder.

“Okay, okay, sweet girl,” he’s pacifying, the mattress dipping as his knees dig into it, bare palms running along your thighs in a smooth, tender caress. 

Nimble fingers hook behind your knees, gently unlatching your legs from around his waist and pushing them up, up, up, until your thighs are on either side of your torso and your heels are resting on his shoulders. 

And then, he begins. 

There’s no gradual build up, no anticipation or teasing—neither of you have the patience or restraint for that; not tonight, not ever—and his pace is ruthless right from the start, his thrusts kept quick and deep as his hips piston into you.

The harmony of wet, sticky slaps fills the room, intertwined with your little whines and his husky growls as his balls, thoroughly drenched in your essence, smack against your ass, a sordid metronome.

Sugar-stained breath wafts across your face in dense pants as his body shrouds yours again, crushing your thighs between heaving chests, the tops of your toes curling around the nape of his neck. The mattress dents further beneath his knees, strong muscles flexing as his rutting accelerates, the head of his cock grinding against your g-spot in harsh, shallow jabs. 

His name oozes from your lips, thick and lazy and swathed in spit, bastardized by his motions into a single syllable, your tongue never quite able to get the word out. It sounds like you’re drowning in it, almost, a precious garble of Sun-Su-Da-ay collecting at the back of your throat, sliced to pieces by pleasure. 

Lashes fluttering against drowsiness, your head raises off the pillow, yearning to string a smattering of sloppy kisses along his jawline. Sunday hums, head quirking to the side and presenting to you his stretched neck, a silent request for more. 

And you obey, like the perfect little angel you are, tongue following the curve of his neck in one smooth, flat, fluid brush—from the hinge of his jaw to the protruding knob of his collarbone. It gleams in the dim light and you sigh a little, proud of your work. He looks so pretty painted in strokes of you. 

Soft lips follow the path of saliva back up his throat, sealing yourself into his skin and giggling sleepily at the quivery little whine your motions evoke, Sunday nestling clumsily into your kiss. 

Silver-blue tufts cling to his temples and his forehead, plastered with sweat into defined points, his sunset eyes gone dark and glimmering, framed by heavy lids drooping beneath the combined weight of exhaustion and ecstasy. 

Despite the fatigue of the day, of his duties and obligations, he’s still absolutely ethereal, glowing in the radiance of your combined love, reinvigorated bit by bit with every sound he manages to tug from your throat—precious little moans and broken little gasps that he breathes in, gulps down, devours in time with the pumping of his hips.

They’re traded in exchange for sounds of his own, quiet whimpers and soft grunts exhaled onto your waiting, wanting tongue with every plunge of his cock. The appendage curls, hugging the sounds, melting them in the heat of your mouth and steeping your tastebuds with him before it darts back out again, tip lapping ravenously at his parted lips—tracing along his cupid’s bow, licking at the edges of his teeth, teasingly brushing the point of his own tongue, enticing it to come out and play. 

That earns you a chuckle, something wispy and warm spilling down your throat, genuine amusement molding his mouth into an open grin.

He gives you what you want, tongue lolling out from between spit-slicked lips—an offering to you, and one you take gladly, greedily, suckling it into your scorching mouth to wreathe your own tongue around it in a slippery embrace. 

A shudder ripples through his flesh, muscles seizing, and he whines low and needy in his throat, the only warning you get before he’s surging forward, front teeth clacking against your own, pinched lips splitting between sharp enamel. 

Copper floods his mouth, tangy and pungent, but it does not deter him, his own tongue charging at yours with such force you nearly choke on it. You swear he’s attempting to lick down your throat, tongue jammed at the back of your mouth and sweeping across it, as if it’s desperate to venture deeper.

His breath his hot against your face, ragged pants exhaled through his nostrils beading on your cheeks and upper lip. The snapping of his hips has turned vicious, voracious, fucking into you in time with his tongue, stuffing you full from both ends.

It’s a divine sensation, being so filled up with Sunday—whole, right, one, like you were incomplete before this moment, and will be incomplete after he’s gone, something vital missing—and you keep trying to siphon him in further, throat constricting as it swallows around the tip of his tongue.

He wants to give you more, front lips mashed between sharp incisors as his mouth shoves forward, another spritz of blood—yours, his, doesn’t matter—smearing across chins, sticky and watered down with saliva, a pale pink glaze. 

But his lungs are burning, huffs of breath tangling together within your conjoined mouths and scarfing down each other’s air, coughing around your lover’s exhales while oxygen slowly but steadily dissipates. 

He breaks apart with a discontented whine of his own, clammy forehead resting against yours as you each gulp down air, stuttered and wheezing. Wrecked, raw little noises spill into the space between your lips, continuously shattering your attempted inhales, fucked from your chests with the wild bucking of his hips.

Rapture has been building within the both of you, brought closer and closer by each drive of his cock, each drag over that swollen spot deep within you, each teasing drift of your clit over his skin, his thrusts turned jerky and desperate as he chases that bliss, as he endeavours to deliver it to you.

“Please,” you’re begging for it, the one thing only he can give you, a single piece of heaven, of him, carved from his soul and gifted to you every night. “Please, Daddy, please, please—”

He’s nodding against you in short, swift motions, forehead grinding into your own, his tongue laving messily at your lips, as if attempting to sop up the remnants of your moans. 

“I love you,” he manages to gasp out, rhythm never faltering, each ram into you harder and faster than the last. “I love you, I love you, I—a-ah—”

Hot cream fills your cunt suddenly, his cock throbbing almost viciously as it spurts endless loads of cum into you—so much, too much; your little womb can’t nearly take it all, stuffed and bulging before finally overflowing with his seed, thickly dribbling past the tight seal of his cock to gather in the ridges of the sheets, little rivers of silky white slowly seeping into crisp linen.

He always cums quick during these nightly rituals; you both do, too eager to have one another—a piece of one another—buried within you, or sheathing hard flesh and soaking into it, saturating it with your essence.

But it doesn’t stop there, because you can’t, because it is not and never will be quite enough to satisfy the ravenous craving you each harbour for one another. His hips don’t still, won’t still, not even after he’s emptied his balls into you and milked himself dry, jolting in erratic, juddering motions. 

Your own pelvis rolls up in lazy ruts and sloppy circles, half-baked sounds of pleasure drivelling from the corner of your mouth with sleepy spit. Sunday has since collapsed on top of you, his weight pleasant and grounding, his breath a humid constant against your sticky skin. His palms outline the contours of your body as his hips rock, fingers sinking into plush flesh to knead and grope in appreciation. Delicate vessels snap beneath his grip, tissues flooded with navy and violet, leaving a smattering of fingerprints seared into your flesh. 

You fuck until you’re both layered in sweat and slick, bodies gliding together effortlessly in smooth, wet movements, skin shimmering with one another beneath beams of silver. You fuck until your cunt is raw and puffy, chafed from the ceaseless rubbing, until you’re both sucking in hisses and jittering out strained whines from the shocks of overstimulation, routinely coursing through your frames in thick electric waves. 

You fuck until you’re both too exhausted to continue, pathetic humping slowing to something tender and sporadic before it finally halts completely, Sunday still buried to the hilt, and you fall asleep stained with each other—you in his sweat and his breath and his fractured, hummed out moans; him in your cunt with evidence of your conjoined arousal glazing his pelvis and his thighs and his balls, sticky sweet like syrup. 

It is the most blissful heaven either of you could ever dream of, nothing more pure than the ecstasy of entering sweet dreams submerged in one another, saturated with one another, bodies stitched together into a singular, perfect entity, breathing and being as one.

[taking-thyme]

🌅 Lucifer Deity Guide 🌅

Note: This is inspired by both my own experiences with Lucifer and the information I read on @scarletarosa's blog and her devotional guide to him. Please go read that one too!!

The divine rebel, Lucifer is the light of truth and divine wisdom; an ancient light which shines through the darkness, representing illumination. He is the driving force of innovation, liberation and transformation. According to Scarletarosa, who actively works with Lucifer and was told this by him, he was the first-born god of the Universe created by the supreme deity, the Source. He is so incredibly ancient and beautiful. Lilith was created to be his counterpart, the Queen of Heaven. However, Jehovah took the throne of heaven from Lucifer and cast him and his followers into hell. Most of them lost their connection to heaven and their energy became dark and intense. Jehovah claimed the throne of heaven and set himself up as the one true god, manipulating humans into betraying their original deities. Thus, Lucifer became the King of Hell and has been scorned by Christians for millenia. 

God of: Illumination, Light, Darkness, Change, Rebirth, Challenges, Innovation, Logic, Truth, Knowledge, Wisdom, Strategy, Persuasion, Revolution, Luxury, Pleasure, Freedom, The Arts and The Morning Star (“Morning Star” is another name for the planet Venus)

Symbols: Sigil of Lucifer, The Morning Star, Violins and Fiddles (instruments traditionally associated with him)

Plants and Trees: Rose, Belladonna, Mulberry, Patchouli, Myrrh, Min, Tobacco, Marigold, Lilies, Hyacinth, Sage

Crystals: Amethyst, Black Obsidian, Onyx, Garnet, Selenite, Rose Quartz

Animals: Black Animals in general, Dragons, Snakes, Owls, Eagles, Ravens, Crows, Rams, Foxes, Pigs,  Bats, Rats, Moths, Swans

Incense: Rose, Frankincense, Patchouli, Myrrh

Colors: Black, Red, Silver, Emerald Green, Gold

Tarot: The Devil

Planets: The Morning Star, Venus

Day: Monday and Friday

Consort: Lilith

Children: Naema, Aetherea and many others

How was he traditionally worshipped?

There is not much to say about how Lucifer was historically worshiped seeing as he wasn’t worshiped at all for a large chunk of human history. He seems to have been worked with in some capacity according to the Gesta Treverorum, written in 1231, which is where we first see the term Luciferian being used to refer to his worship. This was by a woman named Lucardis for a religious circle, who was said to lament to Lucifer in private and prayed to him. However, the term Luciferians was later applied to basically any groups Christians didn’t like and wanted to fight, as one might expect. However, the modern Luciferian movement also sheds light on how Lucifer is worshiped. For Luciferians, enlightenment is the ultimate goal. Their basic principles highlight truth, freedom of will and fulfilling one’s ultimate potential, and encourage the same in all of us. Traditional dogma is shunned because Luciferians believe that humans do not need deities or the threat of eternal punishment to know what is good and the right thing to do. All ideas are to be tested before being accepted, and even then one should remain critical because knowledge is fluid and ever-changing. Regardless of whether Luciferians view Lucifer as a deity or an archetype, he is a representation of ultimate illumination and exploration in the name of personal growth. 

Epithets

Phanes

The Morning Star

Light-bringer

The First-born

Prince of Darkness

Son of Morning

The Glory of Morning

Lord of the Lunar Sphere

The First Light

Offerings

Red Wine, Whiskey (especially Jack Daniels), Champagne, Pomegranate Juice, Black Tea (especially earl grey), Chocolate (especially dark chocolate), Cooked Goat Meat, Venison, Apples, Pomegranates, Honey, Good Quality Cigars, Tobacco, Daggers and Swords, Silver Rings, Emeralds and Emerald Jewelry, Goat Horns, Black Feathers, Seductive Colognes, Red Roses, Dead Roses, Crow Skulls, Bone Dice, Devotional Poetry and Artwork, Classical Music (especially violin)

Devotional Acts

Acts of self-improvement, spiritual awakening and evolution, knowledge-seeking and dedication to spirituality ; Shadow Work ; Working to overcome your ego to become wiser ; Defending those in need ; Working to better yourself without being too self critical ; Fighting against tyranny and bigotry whenever you encounter it

Altar Decorations

Black or Red Candles, Snake and Dragon Figurines, His sigil, Roses, Fancy Chess Boards and Playing Cards, Silver Jewlery and ornaments, Black feathers, Goat horns

Appearance

For me Lucifer usually appears as a tall light-skinned man with long fiery red hair (so red it looks like it’s been dyed), a sophisticated face with a killer jawline, passionate eyes and dressed in a fancy black suit. From all my experiences with him and what I’ve heard from other followers, it seems Lucifer and most demons dress in full suits and tuxedos. 

Personality

Lucifer is nothing if not charming. He’s a protector first and foremost - one that always works to help you better yourself, but a protector nonetheless. He feels like a protective older brother taking care of you while your parents are away. He is a very complex entity, deeply wise and eloquent. He is more serious than one might expect for a demon given their popular depictions in our culture as chaotic forces of evil, but Lucifer is full of courage and love. I often feel him with me even when I’m not doing things related to him. He is proud of his follower’s accomplishments and congratulates them on a job well done, though he also reminds them that the job is never truly over. Growth is constant. Lucifer is the epitome of growth, blunt and gentle at the same time, telling you what you need to do and giving you space to figure out how to do it. 

Lucifer values resilience, the pursuit of self-betterment, intellectualism, courage, open-mindedness and responsibility in individuals and wants to see his followers develop these qualities. He is constantly rooting for you to reach your full potential. He won’t hold your hand the entire way, but he will help you take steps in the right direction. Lucifer, like all deities, is different for everyone and will adjust his approach depending on your needs.

^ The Sigil of Lucifer

[and-the-stars-collided]

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor  —  loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles. 

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras  —  misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

[llamagoddessofficial]

It was the best hidden room in his castle.

Nightmare appeared, emerging from within the liquid shadows at the far corner, taking on a solid form. The room had no doors- that was the trick to it. Only a being who already knew the room’s location in the castle, and had the ability to transport themselves through space, would be capable of accessing this place.

... Though there was no door, there was a window. Just one. A circular skylight, directly above the bed... it gave a perfect view of the stars.

It was a small, comfortable chamber, the obsidian walls draped with finely embroidered midnight blue tapestries to maintain warmth. Ancient murals, moons and interlocking patterns that had long lost their meaning, inlaid with silver- the silver caught the light from the small glowing blue stones that dotted the walls. The room was barely brighter than a dim twilight. 

Of course... the most important thing in the whole room was what was at the centre.

... Nightmare approached your bed.

A fine bed, of course. A large canopy draped luxuriously, for even more warmth, protection and quiet. Only the best for you. You were tucked under sumptuous sheets, your head upon a satin pillow, sweet little face barely visible under all the layers of comfort.

... He reached out, tucking the blanket down slightly, to get a better look at you. You were so peaceful. Your cheeks had regained some colour, over the past few days, as had your lips- but your eyelids did not move.

He knew what it looked like. If his damned brother found this room, and the sleeping human, he’d jump to conclusions (as he always did); Nightmare had stolen a human, cursed them with eternal sleep. Worst case scenario, Nightmare was tormenting this human as a sick game- best case scenario, Nightmare has grown so feverishly attached he would rather have someone sleep in his arms forever than be free to walk away from him.

...

And... well. It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t enjoying having you this way. But it was missing one crucial detail.

... You would wake up the moment you wanted to.

He sat on the bed, beside you. He reached out, and gently stroked your hair... enjoying the softness and texture.

You didn’t stir.

Nightmare had felt your pain far across your universe. Like a moth to a flame, he came to you- and though he originally had only the intent to feed, he loved you the moment he laid eyes on you. Your Soul, such a pretty thing, cracking under the weight of its pain; the fractures sparkled like fault lines in a diamond. You were holding the agony within, unwilling to let anyone know. You were on the verge of shattering. On the verge of your Soul going out.

When he came for you, you didn’t protest, you didn't even struggle.

You had looked at him with an empty, accepting expression.

Perhaps you thought he was death? Cute.

... So he took you, instead. You let him put his arms around you- he had never had someone accept him so completely, his jealous desire only intensified. He carried you back to his palace, he cradled you lovingly. Once your eyes had closed, he laid you down in the quietest room, in his finest bed... cuddled under his softest sheets and guarded by his most possessive magic.

The spell in question was one he hadn’t used in a long, long time. There was nothing on any Earth that could forcibly awaken you from your slumber. No sound, no touch, no pain nor magic. No power he (or any other great being) possessed, nothing in the wide multiverse. Nothing could awaken you from the outside.

But... the moment you wanted to open your eyes, you would. The tail of the Rupert’s drop. As if waking from a pleasant midday nap, the spell would shatter into dust around you.

It was a one-way spell. That was what made it so powerful.

... He continued to stroke your hair. Your dreams were safety- he ensured nothing crossed your mind but visions of peace and warmth. You curled deeper into his dreams like a hibernating rabbit. He could sense the injuries in your slowly Soul mending, your wounds slowly healing, as you were finally allowed to rest.

You had yet to even think of opening your eyes.

At that moment, the moon emerged. Its light passed through the skylight window... catching a small array of crystals that hung above your bed. Flecks of iridescence silently scattered across the walls, and over your face. 

“... beautiful.” He murmured. “no one will ever hurt you again, my darling. no one. i promise.”

...

... You, of course... did not even stir.

[liiilwen]

“Dawn is about to break, but what awaits us is eternal darkness.”

The child who aspired to become a healer always failed to save the most important ones.

“At that time, I resented Maitimo’s determination to send us to Ereinion, and I was mad at Makalaurë for doing nothing but weeping… I ignored Elros’ advice and didn’t even look back at them.

“After that, I learned not to lose my temper with the people I love.

“We are twins, born with many responsibilities. Elros took on his share, leaving me no choice. I do not blame him for this, but I secretly resented how easily he could accept the fact of leaving me. Just as I once resented our foster fathers for taking us in only to abandon us again.

“My last meeting with Elros was a pleasant one. We sat in a garden full of blooming flowers, holding each other’s hands and reminiscing about the past.

“Elros said that after choosing Lúthien’s fate, his memory began to fade. These years, he felt like he was walking on a long forest path, nearing its end. The woods behind him were filled with shimmering leaves and moths, but they all dissipated upon touch. He felt anxious, trying to recall the faces of people long ago.

“That day, Elros wept. He said to me, ‘Elrond, I can’t remember their faces anymore. I still remember the wind blowing through my hair that day, and the silver sun at dawn, but I can’t remember their faces, Elrond.’

“I held his face, pressing my forehead against his as I used to do when we were children. ‘Don’t worry,’ I comforted him, ‘I remember everything, let me tell you.’

“So, I spoke of Makalaurë’s sea like black hair, his sorrowful eyes, and his slender, dancing fingers. I spoke of Maitimo’s stamina, his fearsome stern gaze, and his gentle voice when saying goodnight. I spoke of sleepless nights, the low recitations in the corridors, or the rare leisurely mornings, the pies in the picnic basket.

“I talked about many things, but I did not mention our separation. Elros leaned on my shoulder, as if he had fallen asleep. I was about to carry him back to his chambers when I heard him murmur, ‘Thank you, Elrond, I remember everything from the past now. In the coming days, please still remember them for me.’

“Eldar do not forget. But I still regret not asking Elros earlier what they were like on that day.”

[notapersob]

@mcythorrorgiftexchange

@turtlecase

Grian watcher god fae reference? Mayhaps?

I hope this is horror-y enough? Sorry I really struggled. Turns out this event collided with the last 3 weeks of college and I got super busy and struggled to come up with ideas. Thus drawing does have a short writing thing attached to it (under the cut) but I wrote it a year ago so I didn't wsnt to submit it for this event all by itself.

The writing thingy --->

Its neck snapped and cracked, contorting itself. The thing swiveled it's head around to stare at Scar. Six black wings tore out of its skin. They were covered in eyes. They all stared at him, glowing a dim violet.

"What a peculiar little thing you are" a voice echoed. It sent chills down his spine. He had never felt so small.

Scar could make out what resembled a human face but it looked wrong. It cracked when the thing moved, stitching itself back together. Scar wondered what was under the mask. He couldn't seem to look away, he wanted to know. Like a moth to a flame. Not realizing the danger till it was too late.

"What are you?" Scar tried to back away.

The creature trilled, it laughed at Scars ignorance. "That is of no importance to you,"

"But-"

"Hushhh, you've ran yourself into something you do not understand. What is your name?"

He wasn't sure how he should answer. "You may call me Scar"

"You're funny," it smiled. A talloned hand reached out. It's whole hand was covered in what looked to be a sort of mold. It was black like the sky. Where it warped a deep purple grew in place. The fingertips were sharp. They gently traced the scar across his lip, then moving to his hair. It was curious. Well, so was he.

"What can i call you?" Scar tread carefully. He may be curious but he would like to stay alive. Though, he heard stories where unfortunate humans became eternal servants to the fae they angered. But that's not the worst they can do. Maybe death would be a gift.

The hand left his hair, leaving it a mess. He pushed it out of his face. "Hmm, I dont know, why don't you choose"

"Oh" Scar was surprised. "Uhmm."

"Is something wrong" it's head tilted, or twisted. It was a little unnerving.

"Well, to be honest I wasn't expecting to still be alive, let alone have enough time to think of a good name to call you."

"I could change that" it smiled deviously, the glow of its many eyes flashing bright purple and dimming just as fast as they appeared.

"As much as I appreciate the offer, It would be preferable to avoid death for the time being." Scar laughed nervously. He racked his brain for a good name for his new... friend? He tapped his fingers nercoulsy together trying to think of anything… bread.. Butter.. Wheat.. Grain. Graaiin.. Grian. Grian? For the life of him he cant understand why bread was on his mind. He thought of food when he was nervous and right now a nice good loaf of bread might just make him forget he’s face to face with some sort of eldrige god or something. "Hmmm, does... Grian work?" Scar offered.

"Yes, I think that'll do" it said excitedly. "Gri-an.. gria-nnn, grian" it tested the sound of the name.

Scar laughed. "So are you a girl, a boy? Neither?"

"None, all. It changes, does that even matter? I am a being beyond your mortal rules."

"Cool ok" Scar whispered, wiping his hands on his dirt covered jeans.

The wind picked up. The purple leaves spun up in the air. Grian slowly lowered himself from where he was hovering. His wings folded inward. Scar thought he could hear bones snapping. Grian landed on the ground. They looked a lot smaller then they had before.

He now only had one set of wings with significantly fewer eyes. Scar looked at Grian's face. Where the white of the eyes should be, they were black. He had short golden brown hair, the longest unkempt strands reaching his shoulders. He was a whole head shorter than Scar. He used to stand at least seven feet tall. He was beautiful. His pointed ears were decorated with silvers and golds.

"I owe you now." Grian grabbed hold of Scars hand, all too eagerly. His grip stung, the humanoid bird not quite understanding what a normal amount of strength is. A bright ring of light surrounded the point where their hands joined. The white swirls landed on their arms creating a beautiful pattern. The light disappeared into his skin. He blinked his eyes, getting used to the dark again. The swirls left white marks on his arm, it looked like some sort of abstract tattoo.

"Whoa". He knew he should probably be concerned by what just happened but this was the most spectacular thing to ever happen to him.

[llondonfog]

also made myself sick turning around and around the idea of lilia & silver making the journey to wild rose castle after the events of ch7

the sight it must be— the imposing veil of vines draped like an ironclad curtain over the silent castle walls; the way they yield for silver like a beloved pet upon his approach, curling away from their prince's touch lest he prick his fingers upon their thorns

how silver might hesitate at the gate, staring out at the path his mother must have walked to greet her returning knight; the same grim path his father took to leave behind his family for the last time, a path that held the footsteps of fleeing innocents and rabid conquerors. (lilia squeezes his hand without a word— the castle yearns for its prince, after all.)

the thought of the two of them picking their way through the tomb-like halls; lilia remembering a time when fae voices rang loud and clear, silver staring at the very walls themselves as if to wring from them forgotten memories. there are portraits lining their steps, faded and dim in the cool shade— they depict both nobility and scenery of great battles long past, and silver half fears the golden strokes caught in their paint. if he stares at them for too long, he wonders if they might absorb him entirely, a creature of the past left to linger on this earth far beyond his time.

i just want them to discover silver's cradle still standing where lilia left it all those years ago, with the very blanket silver's mother tucked around him still folded inside. for silver to brush a hand over the thrones where his mother and father might have once sat, for lilia to watch his son with stolen breath and glimpse a mirage— the phantom of meleanor in all her glory upon the dais, a glimmer of a crown upon silver's head. things that once were, ought to have been, and will never be.

and it kills me to think about how heartbreakingly tender it would be for them to both discover silver's nursery. the rooms where the knight and leia had so joyously decorated in preparation for their newborn son, their baby prince, the light of their life. the stuffed toys, now slumped and worn by time; the once colorful paint and plush bedding faded and moth-eaten. for lilia to pick up a carving knife and a half-finished wooden block, and be struck (for the hundredth, thousandth time) with the tragedy of war. of a man who would never be a father, of a family that would never realize peace.

i just want them to both sit in that room, surrounded by the eternal, aching love of silver's parents, and have that long, painful conversation about lilia's past and their present— unknowingly watched by the ghosts of a woman who creeps close to hold her child the only way that she can, and a man who lays a hand upon his once-enemy's shoulder, finding forgiveness at last after four hundred years.

[strljaem]

“the honeymoon”

inspired by ; The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 1

💿 : never be the same, camila cabello

As Jaemin and I waded into the ocean, the waves gently lapping at our feet, the night seemed to come alive with a quiet symphony. The rustling of palm fronds mingled with the distant chirps of nocturnal birds, and the moon cast a shimmering silver glow over the water's surface. I could feel the sand shift beneath my toes with each step, and the coolness of the ocean began to creep up my legs, causing me to shiver.

Jaemin was ahead of me, his silhouette outlined against the moonlit backdrop. His black hair was slicked back from the humidity, revealing the chiseled contours of his jawline. He turned to look at me, his eyes reflecting the ethereal light. In that moment, they weren't just amber—they were radiant, almost golden, with an intensity that drew me in like a moth to a flame.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice low and melodic, carrying across the water like a gentle breeze. His words were laced with concern, but there was a playful undertone that made me smile.

"A little," I replied, hugging myself to stay warm. I was dressed in just a simple tank top and shorts, having forgotten to pack a swimsuit in my rush to prepare for our honeymoon. I felt exposed, but Jaemin's gaze was warm and reassuring.

He stepped closer, his movements graceful and fluid, as if he were gliding over the water. He wrapped his arms around me, his cool skin sending a chill down my spine. "Better?" he asked, his breath brushing against my ear. I nodded, the warmth of his embrace contrasting with the coldness of his touch.

We stood there for a moment, holding each other, the waves gently crashing against our legs. It felt like time had stopped, leaving only the two of us in this quiet, secluded paradise. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Though his heart didn't beat, there was a calmness in his presence that put me at ease.

Jaemin leaned back, tilting my chin up with his hand. His touch was soft, yet it sent tingles through my skin. "You look beautiful in the moonlight," he whispered, his eyes locking with mine. "It's as if the stars are envious of your radiance."

I blushed at his words, feeling my cheeks heat up. "You're just saying that," I replied, looking away. But he gently turned my head back towards him, his gaze unwavering.

"I never say things I don't mean," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I love you, truly and completely. You are my reason for being, my heart in this immortal world."

Before I could respond, he kissed me. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, passion, and a love that transcended time. His lips were soft and cool, yet they ignited a fire within me. I closed my eyes, letting the sensations wash over me—the taste of salt on his lips, the gentle pressure of his hand on the small of my back, and the way he held me as if I were the most precious thing in the world.

The kiss deepened, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He lifted me off my feet, his strength effortless, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. The water swirled around us as we floated, our bodies entwined, and the moonlight casting a silver glow over our embrace.

Jaemin pulled back slightly, his eyes half-lidded and smoldering with desire. "I want you," he whispered, his voice husky and filled with longing. "I want to spend eternity with you, to share every moment, every breath, every heartbeat."

I felt a surge of emotion at his words, a mixture of love and desire that made my heart race. "Then let's make this night last forever," I replied, pressing my lips to his once more. He kissed me deeply, passionately, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled me closer.

We continued to swim, our movements slow and deliberate, as if we had all the time in the world. The water was cool against our skin, but the heat between us was undeniable. Jaemin's touch was gentle, yet there was an underlying strength that made me feel safe, protected.

As we floated in the moonlit ocean, Jaemin held me close, his lips brushing against my forehead, my cheeks, and finally, my lips. Each kiss was a promise, a declaration of love that transcended words. The world around us faded away, leaving only the sound of our breathing and the gentle lapping of the waves.

Eventually, we made our way back to the shore, the sand soft beneath our feet. Jaemin carried me in his arms, his gaze never leaving mine. He smiled, that same playful smile that had captured my heart, and kissed me once more, a kiss that was both tender and filled with longing. As we made our way back to the homestay, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together—a journey filled with love, passion, and the promise of forever.

[akazzzaa]

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?

You get to live the life Kotoha deserved.

Summary- You and Douma create a bond and he likes you so he decides to keep you. Hes never been able to keep a human he likes for this long. Douma experiences emotions.

Genre- Angst // Fluff

Warning- Implied death

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of pink and orange across the sky, Douma's path crossed with that of a young artist named Y/N. Y/N, with her soulful eyes and creative spirit, was drawn to Douma like a moth to a flame. Unaware of his demonic nature, Y/N found herself falling deeply in love with him.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Douma and Y/N's connection deepened. They shared laughter, dreams, and the beauty of each passing day.

Yet, as the seasons changed, so did the world around them. Douma noticed the subtle signs of aging in Y/N—fine lines etching her face and the strands of silver interwoven in her hair. The realization struck him like a gentle gust of wind, bringing a chill to his immortal heart. He, who had remained unchanged for centuries, was now witnessing the inevitable march of time in the one he loved.

For the first time, fear and sadness gripped Douma as he grappled with the weight of his immortality. The contrast between their destinies became increasingly apparent, like the stark difference between the fading colours of autumn leaves and the everlasting green of a pine tree.

Y/N, oblivious to Douma's internal struggle, continued to paint her visions of love and life. Douma, torn between revealing his secret and shielding Y/N from the pain he foresaw, chose to silently endure the agony of his heart breaking.

One day, as winter's frost settled upon the temple, Douma took Y/N's hands in his, looking deep into her eyes. "You may not have eternity, but I have this moment with you," he whispered, his breath forming a mist in the cold air.

As the years passed, Y/N aged gracefully, leaving Douma to witness the ephemeral beauty of a human life. In the final moments of Y/N's life, she smiled at Douma, surrounded by the memories they had created together. As her hand slipped away, Douma, left alone once again, grieving the passing of a love that had bloomed like a delicate flower, fleeting but infinitely cherished.

And so, Douma continued his eternal journey, carrying the bittersweet tale of a love that transcended time, eternally etched in the depths of his heart and soul.

[superstar-nan]

Fight Tooth and Nail

Day 5

Summary: You contemplate your strange relationship with Springtrap and talk with Michael about what to do next.

Words: 2,982

Fun stuff: Toxic relationships, insomnia, vague mention of child murder, and angst.

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You wanted to leave Fazbear’s Fright for good. You had never wanted to run from that place more, not even your first night there. You wanted to pack up and leave—no goodbye, no mystery solved—all for your own sanity. Or maybe you just didn’t want to face Michael after that. Perhaps if you were more selfish, you would have left. At the very least you would have gone to Michael’s home and straight to bed. 

But you didn’t leave. Because you loved your best friend and you didn’t want to make Michael take the bus.

Instead, you laid down in the backseat of your car; your face flushed, your brow knit, and your heart racing too fast to fall asleep.

You almost kissed Springtrap.

You almost kissed a murderer.

You almost kissed a nasty decaying rabbit robot possessed by a serial child killer who was almost definitely responsible for your best friend’s disappearance.

How could you have allowed that to happen? 

Silver eyes lidded with deep, sweet obsession.

You buried your head in your arms, curled up on your side in the back seat. Your cheeks felt warm against your skin.

The very thought of kissing him was ridiculous. Even if he didn’t hold a murderer’s blackened soul, you didn’t even know if it was physically possible. He had tattered felt and rotten teeth for lips and metal rods where his tongue should be. At the very best, it would be like kissing an old stuffed animal. An old stuffed animal that tastes like sewage.

But that didn’t matter. You didn’t want him because he was lovely, you wanted him because he was terrible. Because he was as vile and sick inside as he was out. You didn’t know why you were drawn to him because of that—you had thought it was because he played an easy villain in your black and white story, but if that was true how could you want him in that way? If he was only an object for your hatred, why did you melt at his sweet, obsessive gaze?

You couldn’t get the image of his silver eyes, laced with infatuation, out of your mind.

It was because he wanted you. He craved you. He needed you more than he needed to kill you, and that desire softened you. God, were you really that weak? Was his obsession all it took to dissolve your will?

No. It wasn’t.

You weren’t in love with him. You knew from how your heart went cold at the thought of him anything other than miserable. You wanted him—you wanted him tortured and loving and miserable and obsessed—but you didn’t love him. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, but you wouldn’t burn in the fire without him. Your hatred outweighed your desire.

How close was love and hate, anyway? 

Your breath felt heavy as you buried your face deeper into your arms. You wished you could stop thinking. You wanted to sleep, but sleep was avoiding you, and it was his fault. And because it was his fault, that only made you angrier, which chased sleep away even more—trapping you in this terrible, poisonous spiral. Maybe you could knock yourself out but smashing your head against the window. Maybe that would return your sanity and you’d stop lusting after rotten killer robots.

You couldn’t sleep. Minutes ticked by like hours and hours ticked by like an eternity. You laid curled in the backseat, unable to keep your mind away from the object of your hatred and desire, as the sun slowly stole any chance you had left of sleeping. It was only when light drifted into your car that dread started to pit into your stomach.

You would have to face Michael after petting his psycho dad on his lap. 

The more you thought of it, the more you wondered how much Michael really saw. The attraction was dark and the cameras were shit—he probably didn’t see much of what happened. Though, that left you with another problem, if he didn’t see what happened, what did he think happened? You were cornered by springtrap on camera, you were both on the floor for a while, and then he left you to run off unharmed—no new injury and no new scar. You didn’t kiss him, but did Michael believe that? Why else would you be allowed to live?

Why were you allowed to live? Another horrible problem to add to your piling list. The thought of Springtrap planning something awful enough to let you go without even a scratch was your limit. You didn’t have the bandwidth to even consider why he let you go, and so you wouldn’t. You knew you would regret that later, but you couldn’t force yourself even if you wanted to know what he had in store for you.

A shadow fell through the car window. You were still lying in the back seat, curled up with your face in your arms. Michael was back. You did not want to talk to him.

The car’s backseat door was opened softly, as if purposefully quiet. You didn’t move even then. 

There was a moment of tense silence. You wondered if he thought you were asleep. You hope he did.

A cold, spongy hand pet the top of your head tenderly. You were almost startled by the kind love in the gesture. Then, rough and chaffed lips kissed your crown. Your heart softened, and your troubles faded from view.

You tilted your head up, unburying your head from your arms. Michael’s void eyes widened. He must’ve thought you were asleep. He was kneeling in front of the car to match your eye level, the sunrise behind his dark hair in a corona of warmth. His mask was pulled down over his chin, but his cap and jacket were hiding him protectively. His mouth opened and closed, a silent stutter as he tried to articulate a way to explain himself. 

You couldn’t handle any harsh words or frustrated excuses, so you took his hand and kissed his palm. The strange texture of his rotten skin felt unnatural against your lips, but it didn’t unnerve you. In fact, it was oddly comforting; something becoming familiar to you. You had such trouble trying to fall asleep before, but for some reason just being around Michael made you sleepy.

Michael exhaled. He sounded tired. He sounded broken. A spark of curiosity flitted in your chest, but it was snuffed out by your own tiredness and brokenness. He used the hand you held to gently caress your face. You leaned into his hand, his thumb pressing softly against your cheek. When he pulled away, he looked genuinely taxed by it.

Michael closed the door, and you buried your face into your arms. You felt the front door open, the car jostling, and then the car humming to life. You didn’t rouse—not to put on your seatbelt, not to sit up, not to look outside—you stayed curled in the backseat with your eyes shielded from the light. Without seeing the road, you were more aware of how your body swayed to the car slowing, speeding, and turning. It was a short trip to Michael’s home, but it was made all the longer in your shame.

The car slowed to a stall, then to a stop with the jostling of keys. There was a beat of silence before the car door opened and shut. The air in the car was still. You vaguely heard the front door of Michael’s home open and close. In the sunlight, the car started to warm.

You pulled yourself up. You didn’t want to, but you knew if you stayed away from Michael for long, your mind would drift back to his vile father.

You were silent and cautious as you opened the front door. You heard the melodramatic static of Michael’s TV deeper in his home. You slipped past the door, cushioning its close behind you, and stalked into the living room. Colored light from the TV painted the edges of Michael’s silhouette, changing with each scene. You sat at the edge of the couch, holding a pillow against your chest and pulling your feet up on the cushions.

You watched the TV; whatever was playing was meaningless, which meant it was perfect. Your eyelids felt heavy. You sighed deeper into the couch.

“...I’m going to kill my dad.”

That woke you up. You whipped your head to Michael. He was still staring at the TV like it was interesting. 

“And I’m going to burn down Fazbear’s Fright,” He added.

You inhaled, quiet and purposefully subdued. What happened to Michael in those last hours you were in the car? He had always been so hesitant to tell you his intentions, and everytime you brought up killing his dad, he would change the subject. What changed? What was it that he ‘needed to make sure of’, and why did it resolve him to killing Springtrap? 

Whether the corpse would reveal his heart to you didn’t change your response, “Great.” You said, “I’ll help.”

Michael’s eyes, cold and void, dragged themselves from the TV to you. Just when you thought you were getting better at reading him, Michael was inscrutable. “...Is that what you really want?”

You hugged the pillow tighter to your body. Michael might as well have outright said he thought you were in love with Springtrap, and that filled you with poison, “More than anything.”

Michael’s cold expression didn’t change as those pitless eyes bore into you. You thought your hatred would help ease Michael’s suspicions. It didn’t. Maybe he found your passionate hatred just as unsettling as your love. You knew you did. “...Even more than finding your friend?”

Your heart broke, and Michael’s ice melted in an instant. You hugged the pillow in your arms tighter and turned toward the TV screen simply because it meant not looking at Michael. Hot, painful tears stung at your eyes and you tried to blink them away. “Of course, not.” Your voice was forceful and quiet.

Michael extended a hand, rotten fingers hovering over your shoulder for a fraction of a second, before he withdrew from you. It hurt your heart more that he decided not to comfort you. Michael let out a shaky exhale. The TV played dramatic monotony that wasn’t enough to fill the stale air, “You shouldn’t come.”

“I’m going,” You said almost instantly.

“I can’t protect you while I’m-”

“What?” You turned to him sharply, “Dodging Springtrap, trying to catch the place on fire? I doubt you’d even get to light a spark.”

Michael exhaled through his abraded nose, a frustrated and tense sound.

“Do you want to douse the place in gasoline?” You said, “Let me help.” 

Michael rubbed his hand over his mouth and jaw, a tightness in his movement. After a breath of thought, he said, “You can man the cameras.”

“What?” You almost laughed at that, “I don’t even know how to work them.”

“It’s intuitive,” He said. “And when you see Spring Bonnie, play the audio in the room away from me.”

“I can barely pick him out on the cameras!” You shook your head, “You said he was getting more aggressive and erratic, how am I supposed to keep him from you?”

“You can-” Michael paused, biting his torn, purple lip. “You can do it.”

“No, nuh-uh, you paused,” You crossed your arms. “You know I can’t do it. Let me pour the gas.”

“No,” Michael said your name, but you interrupted him.

“I’ve already circled the attraction enough to have it memorized.”

He said your name again, but you went on anyway.

“All while avoiding Springtrap, and even hurting him a few times.”

“Please-!”

“Even if he did catch me, I’d be a better distraction than-”

“NO!” 

Instinctively, you pulled away from Michael. That was louder than you had ever heard him.

“...No...” He kept his eyes downcast and you knew he hadn’t meant to yell. He pursed his shredded lips together, slowly tapping on the couch—a habit betraying his anxiety—and you saw his teeth grind together from beyond his cheeks. “Just... stay in the office.”

You swallowed, shifting the pillow around in your arms. The TV painted the two of you in muted colors, and you couldn’t let it play in the background anymore. You tentatively took the remote and turned off the TV. “...Why?” You made your voice quiet.

Without the dull light of the TV, your only light source were the golden flecks of sunlight from behind closed blinds. Void eyes were filled with pain as they briefly met yours. He cast them aside just as quickly. Rotten fingers dug into the worn fabric of the couch. His dark hair curtained his face, keeping you from seeing his expression.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You worried if you said anything it would only convince him to bottle up more.

Michael turned slightly toward you, but kept his eyes glued to the floor. “I was there, you know... Years ago, at Freddy’s...”

You held your breath.

“...I-... I didn’t see him do it. I didn’t see him kill them. But I saw them before. I didn’t know he was-” Michael swallowed. “He would wait until one was alone. He talked to them as Spring Bonnie. He would beckon them—like this,” Michael held out his hand as if he was offering it to you, before he clasped it in a fist, repulsed by the gesture. “They always took his hand. Even then, I felt like something was off. I wasn’t a child. I could’ve-”

You took his hand immediately, even as it was closed, “You couldn’t have known.”

Michael’s hand shook under your own, a wavering exhale leaving his tattered lips, “...No. But I know now.” He finally brought his midnight eyes to you, sullen with more than just rot and death. He clasped your hand in his, and the forcefulness of it surprised you. “I can’t lose you to him. I can’t lose you like how I lost them to him. Or like how I lost Charlie, or Elizabeth-” Michael stopped abruptly at the name of his sister. He took a deep breath through stalled lips. “I can’t lose you to him, too. If I could save just one...” 

Your brow furrowed with both pity and conflict, “Michael... You can’t put that on yourself. You can’t put that on me. You’re- You’re not responsible for-”

“I know,” Michael’s voice was soft, but it held so much weight. He chewed his bottom tattered lip, “I know... But, please... I need you-” His words caught in his throat and he inhaled sharply. “... I need you to be safe. Please.”

You thought you would break under the pressure of his stare. How could you refuse him? How could you ever tell him you were willing to burn if that meant Springtrap burned too? When he looked at you with so much desperation, so much agony—the agony of a decades-long burden you didn’t understand—how could you say anything other than, “Okay... I-... I’ll try.”

Michael said your name in a broken exhale, not satisfied with your superficial reassurance.

“I’ll stay in the office,” You said. “I will. Unless I see a clue or-or anything that points to my friend still being at the attraction.” You swallowed, “I can’t let them burn with the place. I won’t.”

Michael lowered his eyes and nodded, “I’ll look for them.”

Tears felt like they would burn your eyes again, so you squeezed Michael’s hand and gave him your best attempt at a smile, “While you’re dumping gasoline over the cheap decorations?”

Michael breathed out a half-laugh half-sigh, “Yes. I don’t think it will take much. The place is already a fire hazard.”

“I’ll be glad to see the place burn...” You said, and your heart thrummed at the thought of the place burning down. Of him burning down. You wanted to watch it happen. Maybe it was a good thing you would be in the security room, then you could watch it happen. Though, you would have preferred setting the spark yourself, seeing his rage and pain with your own eyes, him knowing you were the one to-

Michael squeezed your hand and you were brought back to reality. It was better you weren’t the one to light the spark. 

“Can you teach me how to use the cameras?” You said, “And tell me where Springtrap likes to hide?”

“Yeah...” Michael looked as lost as you were, searching your face as if you were the one that was inscrutable. “Yeah, I can draw you a picture actually.”

You thought back to his doodling in his security booklet and hummed, “Convenient.”

Michael scoffed, “I guess. It will be “convenient” if it saves my life.”

You laughed, before you paused, “Wait, you can die?”

Void eyes deadpanned, before an exasperated sigh left tattered lips, as if you asked something unreasonable—as if it was absurd to even ask! Michael stood up, shifting the weight on the couch, “I’m going to go draw those pictures now.”

“Don’t act like that’s not a valid question!” You threw a pillow at him while he left, which he caught and put back on the couch, “How would I know?”

“Get some sleep,” He said. “You look tired.”

“You look worse,” You said, but he was right. You were exhausted. Michael sat at his kitchen table and you thought about going to his bed to sleep, but hearing the sound of his pen scratching paper was soothing. You worried your mind would drift back to Springtrap without the white noise of Michael’s movement, and if you thought about Springtrap you wouldn’t get any sleep. So, you curled up on the couch and focused on the pen scratching on paper, and almost instantly you drifted into darkness...

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Video: Silver Moth Shares Gorgeously Cinematic Visual for "The Eternal"

New Video: Silver Moth Shares Gorgeously Cinematic Visual for "The Eternal" @SilverMothMusic @plasmatron @mogwaiband @elisaelektra @abrasivetrees @matthewrochfrd @BurningHouseMU @BlackBayStudio1 @curlytt

Silver Moth is new collective featuring a celebrated cast of musicians and artists, including Mogwai’s Stuart Braithwaite, singer/songwriter and electro pop artist Elisabeth Elektra, singer/songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Evi Vine, Abrasive Trees‘ Matthew Rochford, Burning House‘s Ash Babb, Steven Hill and Prosthetic Head’s Ben Roberts, who has also worked with Abrasive Trees and Evi Vine.…

[lizziespoem]

scream | choso ͏⸺ one shot

͏⸺ time beaten to death, painful screams of tin blare out through the menacing loneliness, scoffing little holes into the eardrums and like little hungry moths they clung around the light, ready to extinguished every star, what else was left than to build the bombs in the eternal threatening silence as one didn’t even dared to breath. Speechless and cold, clinking in the wind as you tried not to freeze hidden under the wet staircase, holding your breath as your arms clinged around your legs, afraid he might catch you hidden between the dark shadows.

"I’m begging you, y/n" echoed his shallowing calm voice through the silent halls as the footsteps came closer to the staircase and the grating metal head hit against the hollow pillars "come out and play with me"

Warm blood dripping down the head of the metal baseball bat as the fingers on the other end tightened around the grip, almost as if cramped around the cold mental every time the tin screamed. Painful arching spreads under his pulsing temples as his darkening eyes looked out for you in every corner of the lurking shadows.

"I’m not going to hurt you, pretty thing" he mumbled venomous behind his ghost mask as he swiped away the blood on the bat's head while letting it streak across the floor, before his jaw tensed "not like your friend"

Excruciating your heart beats against your thighten chest as you memorized the pictures how Choso smashed the head of the metal bat into the head of one of your old school friends, you were still able to hear those bones break into small little pieces under the head of the bat while his warm blood dripping down the shining tin.

"You know I’m not the bad guy here" his voice was threatening calm as he suddenly stops walking right next to the staircase you were hiding under.

The baseball bat swinging between his long fingers, over his knuckles back into the palm of his hand and even though the flickering lights only illuminated the ghost face mask and you couldn’t see his actual face, you recognized Choso by the silver ring covered by little blood stains around his finger. A raspy laugh escaped his throat as he rubbed with his left hand over his chin under the mask "you can’t blame me for being insanely in love with you, can you?"

"no one deserves you like I do, y/n" the words escaped the mouth of Choso like he’s been waiting for saying them to you and he wasn’t even hiding the fact how madly insane he got with the time he waited.

Suddenly the masked man layed his arm over the staircase as he leans down, moving the mask over his head to look directly into your face. His eyes had a provocative dangerous glint, a smile lingering on his lips as blood marked his white teeth "Do you blame me?"

"you have such a pretty voice, let me hear it" he whispers as his finger brushed over your bottom lip, studying your face hiding behind the shadow and god, Choso tried his best to be patient and polite, but the thought of you being afraid of him caused a resentment in him.

Then, there it was, the bomb, your sharp teeth clenched around his thumb, leaving a perfect imprint of your teeth on his skin and making Choso inhale sharply, but as soon as you tried to push him away and run as fast as you could, his hand gripped around your hair, pulling him against his chest. The tin baseball bat falling onto the ground as his hand roughly choked you, an instant lack of oxygen caused a dizziness in your brain.

"choso, please.." you chocked over your own words as his grip tightly wrapped around you throat and salty tears gathering in your eyes, your back pressing against his chest as his teeth touched your earlobe "you wanna play nasty?!"

Choso closed his eyes as he takes a deep breath in, while you whimmered and a satisfied smile crosses over his lips "you wanna see how nasty I get?"

His fingers digged into your throat, his grip so tight do it’s gonna leave bruises behind, and he could feel through his palms the struggle of each of your breaths, while you shake under his touch. A hard bulge pressing against your ass as he could see the redness flushing into your cheeks and your eyes rolling back, thinking it could erase some of the pain and suddenly an enormously wave of ecstasy rushed over him, thrilling his veins with adrenaline.

Choso's leg pushed between your thighs as he carefully moved you back into the room where his chase has begun, your friend layed on the floor, his own blood lark suffocated him and he didn’t moved a single inch since you desperately tried to run for your life.

Roughly the masked man pushed you onto the floor, locking the door behind the both of you and ripping the mask of his face, a creepy smile lingering on his lips as the bat swings around his fingers "I’m going to protect you, y/n"

The tin screamed as it slammed against the already broken head bones of your dead friend as the blood splashed over his black clothes, your eyes tightened as you hold back your frightening scream and you could feel the blood running down your face. Bones breaking as you didn’t dared to open your eyes when the silence filled the room and you could feel a hand gripping around your chin "I’ll kill anyone who comes to close to you"

© 2023 LIZZIESPOEM. please do not copy any of my writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[leezlelatch]

ᰔᩚ Masterlist ᰔᩚ

Call me Leezle! Librarian and old man lover. Find my fics below! Requests not currently open.

multichapter

ᰔᩚ How You Came to Co-Parent a Rat - F!Reader - complete

ficlets

ᰔᩚ Hurt/Comfort - F!Reader

ᰔᩚ Kiss Prompt - GN!Reader ᰔᩚ The Christmas Waltz - F!Reader ᰔᩚ If You Had Life Eternal - F!Reader ᰔᩚ Happy Anniversary, Papa - GN!Reader ᰔᩚ Spending Time With Copia Before a Show - F!Reader ᰔᩚ Copia’s Bed - GN!Reader ᰔᩚ Sniffles and Snuggles - F!Reader ᰔᩚ Cuddles with Papa - GN!Reader ᰔᩚ You Are My Sunshine - Dad!Copia ᰔᩚ Ghost - Chapter 16b - Another Life - GN!Reader ᰔᩚ Small drabble/proposal/pregnancy - F!Reader

smut - 18+ MDNI

ᰔᩚ Brightness at the Heart of My Love - F!Reader ᰔᩚ A Cardinal Truth - GN!Reader ᰔᩚ Lust in Your Eyes - F!Reader

ᰔᩚ Romancing - F!Reader

asks

ᰔᩚ Copia x Reader: Lightweight ᰔᩚ Copia x Reader Who Covers Their Face When Sleeping ᰔᩚ Copia Reacting to an S/O Who Has Oral Surgery ᰔᩚ Copia x Reader: Sleepy Nights

multichapter

ᰔᩚ Petrichor - F!Reader - ongoing

ficlets

ᰔᩚ What I Was Made For - F!Reader ᰔᩚ Music Box - F!Reader ᰔᩚ The World We Knew - GN! Reader

smut - 18+ MDNI

ᰔᩚ Silver Lining - F!Reader

asks

multichapter

ficlets

ᰔᩚ On a Moth’s Delicate Wing - F!Reader

ᰔᩚ Nave of Hearts - GN!Reader

smut - 18+ MDNI

ᰔᩚ Bite - F!Reader ᰔᩚ Aftercare - F!Reader

ᰔᩚ Warmth - F!Reader

asks

multichapter

ficlets

ᰔᩚ Alyssum - F! Reader

smut - 18+ MDNI

ᰔᩚ Dahlias - F! Reader ᰔᩚ With the Morning Dew - GN! Reader

asks

ᰔᩚ

Multiples

Comfort Fic From the Eldest - F!Reader

[coffeebanana]

Ladynoir + "He hadn't looked at her like that in years."

Thanks for the ask!!! So kajsfbkjf this is from months ago, and I want you to know that literally my first thought upon reading this prompt was "oh. that's so good". So good that I had to put it aside 4 months apparently 😂. But it's my goal this month to empty out my ask box, and better late than never!! (If I remember correctly was the ask game was to send a pairing and one sentence and I was supposed to write the next 5? But I don't know moderation so this will be more than 5 ahaha.) *** He hadn't looked at her like that in years. Like she was infallible. Like he'd follow her to the ends of the Earth, fully knowing the planet was round and he was really promising eternity. Like maybe, despite everything, he still loved her. (Like he hadn't betrayed her.) But a pair of sparkling eyes didn't make up for the last two years. They didn't make up for the oceans of tears she'd cried, and they couldn't slow the river of turmoil roaring through the city streets, where their cries of joy had once graced the skies. The time for forgiveness was over. Chat Noir didn't seem to have gotten the memo.

Ladybug clenched her fists at her sides as a gust of wind tore past them. The top of Montparnasse Tower had seemed a neutral place to meet when she'd first suggested it, but now...she followed his gaze across the roof, her stomach churning when she remembered one of the first times they'd stood up here. Well, maybe "remembered" was the wrong word. She'd seen the picture more times than she could count--on the Ladyblog, on billboards, in magazines--but now more than ever, she couldn't for the life of her figure out what had prompted her to kiss him.

Tonight, his words cut into her attempts at speculation.

"You came," he said. Even now, his voice was a warmth that battled the wind and wrapped itself around her for a brief moment of time. A moment of calm.

The icy wind burned her cheeks when his words fell away. "I said I would," she replied shortly. "I'm not the one who breaks promises."

His expression faltered at that, but she looked away before she could fully register it. She wasn't falling for his tricks.

She especially wasn't falling for his next words.

"I'm sorry." He took a small step closer, and she took a larger one back. "You're sorry?" She laughed, the bitterness she'd swallowed for years finally bursting free. "For what, exactly? For abandoning me? For joining the Shadow Moth?"

For breaking my heart? Chat bowed his head. "For everything. I never wanted to hurt you, my la--" "I'm not your lady," she interrupted, ignoring the part of her that still very much wanted to be. The part of her that had played through scenarios just like this one in her dreams.

(In those dreams, she always took him back. She took his face in her hands, and he ran his fingers through her hair oh so carefully. His claws scratched lightly against her scalp. His touch sent shivers down her spine. In those dreams, she could never figure out what exactly he tasted like, but his lips didn't leave much else to the imagination.) "I know that," he said. "But I...you have to understand, I never wanted this. It wasn't my choice, Ladybug."

She snorted. "Right. And I'm just supposed to believe that?"

"No." He shook his head sadly. "I brought proof."

He took another step closer, and this time Ladybug didn't move away--she was so tired of fleeing. She did however raise her yo-yo defensively as he reached into his pocket, but all he pulled out was a silver ring.

She eyed it warily. "What's that?" "An Amok," he whispered, his voice almost lost to the howl of the wind. "Mine."

[ryuzakemo128]

Solar Eclipse

Chapter One: Stranger Than Fiction

Pairing: Joel Miller x Oksana 'Gorgon' Uvarova

Content Warning: No Outbreak, Age Gap (Joel is 45 and Oksana is 24), Sexual Content, implied drug and alcohol use, Swearing.

Words: 9518

Masterlist - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Credit for the Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Leaning on the door frame on the front door, door open, the audacity she had of calling ME pup. “What’s the matter, pup? Can’t sleep?”

The bedroom, dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the lamp from her desk. Which was on the left-hand side of her bedroom door. Along with battery powered nightlights in the shape of various animals and dinosaurs. Placed in odd places around the entire room.

The bookshelf with the vinyls of different subgenres of heavy metal. The record player itself being on the night stand a few paces from her bed. Right next to the portable heater. Which would have been shoved in her storage closet at the end of the hall. She felt cold that morning. Forgetting to put the heater back into the storage into the closet.

The bed itself, enormous, draped in black velvet, the posts carved into the shapes of snarling wolves. Walls adorned with paintings and posters of the same raven-haired beauty, some showing her in various stages of undress, others in action poses, weapons drawn.

Above the bed, a large fan whirred quietly. On the door of her wardrobe, a collection of knives and swords glinted menacingly in the dim light. She knew each one intimately, having spent hours honing them to perfection. The scent of leather and metal hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the faint sweetness of the incense burning in the corner.

The thick metal chain choker wrapped around her neck with the carabiner in the centre. The white tank top she decided to throw on. Which looked to have been cut into more of a crop top. Pulling on a pair of dark blue tiger printed shorts with her favourite black lace thigh high stockings underneath. Hands encased in fishnet, fingerless gloves. Her trusty combat boots waiting for her to put them on were at her bedroom doorway.

Her hair colour, a burnished copper with highlights of platinum blonde and auburn. Furthermore, her hairstyle is a combination of layers and textures, creating a voluminous and dynamic look. The top section of her hair is cut shorter, with choppy layers adding height and movement. Her hair cascades down, transitions into longer, tentacle-like strands that frame her face and extend past her shoulders. The ends of her hair thinned out to create a wispier, almost ethereal look. Coloured highlights of a deep blue on the ends.

The lip piercing, the multiple lobe piercings, industrial (a barbell through two points in the ear cartilage), helix, and tragus piercings. In addition to those, she has a double Labret ring lip piercing on her bottom lip. The venom tongue piercing she recently got in addition to the others.

A thick, studded belt worn loosely around the hips with a large skull belt buckle in the middle. Laid discarded on her desk after deciding she didn’t feel like wearing leather pants that day. Beside it, a black leather collar with spikes along the edge, adorned with a small silver bell.

The tattoos she has decided to have in the last few months consisted of a raven taking flight on her left forearm. The death's head hawk moth on the left side of her collarbone. The Luna Moth on her right ankle, with the date of her parent's divorce above it in cursive. On her left wrist is the Ouroboros tattoo, symbolising eternity, and the cyclical nature of life. The most recent tattoo she got is a full sleeve of various mythological creatures on her right arm. The intricate details of their scales, fur, and feathers looked like they could come alive at any moment.

Pale translucent complexion with undertones of blue and purple. Delicate features with high cheekbones, elfin ears, and a pointed chin. A small nose with flared nostrils and sharp cheekbones. Her eyes, the colour of a solar flare, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. The colours of her eyes were a mix of orange, yellow, red, green, and blue.

The makeup she decided to wear consisted of a contrasting matte black upper lip with a metallic or shimmery silver lower lip. She would put on black liquid eyeliner afterwards to make the colour of her eyes stand out further.

Her breasts, they were much, much bigger than both of my hands could hold, and the way they bounced slightly with every step she took. As she usually went without a bra on, it was always a delightful surprise to see them in all their natural glory. Always amuses me to see her either half-asleep or drunk. Especially if I came over to tell her to turn the music down so I could pass out in peace.

Leaning on the door frame on the front door, door open, the audacity she had of calling ME pup. “What’s the matter, pup? Can’t sleep?” The smell of whisky, vodka and weed wafted into my nostrils like an unwelcome symphony of a genre I didn’t particularly like. “I thought you didn’t work on weekends, bub.” She taunted a little more, the joint in her right hand, taking a deeper drag. Blowing it away from me instead of in my face. Though I doubt it was done out of courtesy or kindness on her part.

With a smirk she switched the music off entirely, “Better now pup?” she asked raising an eyebrow at me. Though, I have a surprisingly good feeling, she’s about to invite one of the guys that usually came over on Saturdays to fuck her. I didn’t know what came over me. I didn’t just want to have her in that way. Finding myself wanting her to myself. Every part of her.

It wasn’t like the guy would be upset if she didn’t call or tell him to come over, I have a feeling their relationship is more like a casual fuck buddy kind of deal. Though, it never quite explained the perpetual vibe of the eighties that came from her. It did leave a sour taste in my mouth when the guy left her one hundred and fifty dollars the next morning. Along with another part of his own stash of weed. Like it was a trade of some kind. She enjoyed it enough, as the jars of cash she saved from it were any indication.

She could also be getting ready to meet up with someone else tonight, until I found out she was actually planning to get another tattoo. Something inexplicable welled up inside of me. I didn’t, I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why I felt this wave of jealousy and possessiveness. It came down on me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

The tattoo she planned to get is a snake. Made to look like it was weaving itself around the right collarbone. A snake inside a sea of colour, like it was overdrawn with blue and green to recreate the ocean without stepping inside of it. She had been eyeing the design for weeks. Each night she'd sit at her desk, sketching it out, perfecting the placement, the way the scales would catch the light, the way the snake's eyes would look eerily realistic.

Oksana, or Gorgon as she liked to be called, was a creature of the night. Her lifestyle was a constant party, a whirlwind of ink, music, and fleeting romances. The mismatched furniture from thrift stores, flea markets, garage sales, posts from sites from people that were getting rid of things they didn’t want.

The typewriter on her desk, coloured led lightbulbs with a remote to change the colour of the bulbs, the organised chaos of paper stacked up in different desk organisers and a phone book of numbers of people she spent time together with. The way she'd look at me, her eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on her full lips, it was like she knew exactly what was going through my mind. The way she'd twirl the joint in her fingers, like she was playing a game with me. I didn’t know if she was flirting or just toying with me, or both. Most of the time it feels like both.

As she grabbed out cash for her dinner and her tattoo from one of the jars. The tinking of her spiked wristband on the glass was like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. Pulling out several one hundred dollar bills out of it with a concentrating frown on her face. Her black leather wallet next to her.

“You’re not planning on seeing anyone tonight, are you?” The question slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. She stopped for a moment, her eyes meeting mine. Surprise flashed across her face, and she let out a small laugh that sounded forced. “Pup, you know I don’t make plans. But if you’re asking if I’m going to get some ink done, yeah. Why, did you want to come along? Unless you have plans already, pup. Though, I would be surprised if you don't. I thought men your age are busy or something. Before you get weird about what I said. My mother is three years younger than you. My mother had me when she was eighteen.”

I asked about her mother, trying to keep the conversation light. “Your mom was a young'un, huh?” I replied, trying to ignore the jab at my age.

Oksana shrugged, her smile widening slightly. “Yeah, she was wild. More than me, even. But she also married a guy who was pretty bad. She ended up leaving the guy, though. Remarried the neighbour back in Russia. More of a dad than my real one was by a mile and a half.” As she pulled her jacket on to get ready to leave. Shoving her cash into her wallet.

I nodded, trying to ignore the pang of regret that twisted in my stomach at the thought of her with someone else. “I might just do that. Tag along, I mean. Nothing better to do tonight anyway.” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. She raised an eyebrow at me, a hint of amusement in her eye. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tattoos aren’t exactly my usual kind of party, you know?” She grabbed her keys from the teal-coloured bowl by the door. “You're high as a kite. You're not driving." I said, taking them from her hand.

Her car was larger, bulkier, and bigger than I assumed she would drive. A black Dodge Challenger hellcat with a set of custom rims that looked like they could slice through steel. The engine roared to life, the sound echoing through the quiet night. The vibrations sent a thrill up my spine as I slammed the door shut. She leaned back into the seat, a smug grin on her face. “You know how to handle a beast like this, pup?”

I smirked, taking a look at her, “I can handle you, can’t I? Not that much different from that now, is it?”

“Cheeky one aren’t you pup?” she smirked. She lived like she was going to die tomorrow. It both frustrated me and made me want to live. Even at my age now. She is the wildfire to my dry grass. Waiting, wanting to be set alight by her fiery nature. Her fiery inferno. Her car was cleaner than her house. Something I didn’t find too surprising considering her usual habits. It smelled faintly of leather and mint gum. A stark contrast to the smoky scent of her home. According to the gossiping older women I could hear from my house. She inherited the house from her grandparents who moved here during the 1980s.

They were upset when they found out she was moving in there instead of her younger brother, Sergei. Who they just lusted over from what I had seen and heard. Though they weren’t too pleased when they saw her moving in. Her brother was much more to their taste. Young, fit, and had a smile that could charm the pants off a saint. But no, she was the one that got the house. I never knew why she chose to stay, though. It was because she liked to be closer to me. To annoy me, or to see me, as she said, get my panties in a twist.

The house was part of her grandmother's farm, "Its a sea of ducks, geese, chickens and other farm animals. And a sea of plants and flowers she had planted herself." I thought to myself, remembering the first time I saw it. It was like a small oasis in the middle of suburbia. The engine's roar grew louder as we pulled out of the driveway, the headlights cutting through the darkness. She threw the gear into drive, and we peeled out onto the street.

As Oksana got her tattoo done, I sat in the chair next to her, watching the needle dance over her skin. The buzz of the tattoo gun filled the small, intimate space, mingling with the occasional clank of metal on metal. The artist, a burly guy with sleeves of ink himself, worked with a focused precision that was almost mesmerizing. His eyes never left the canvas of her skin, his thick fingers guiding the snake into place. She didn't flinch once, not even when the needle hit the sensitive spot on her collarbone. Her eyes remained closed, her breaths deep and steady, as if she were in a meditative state.

I couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions as I studied her. The way the snake's body curved around her, the way the blue and green inks blended to create the illusion of water, it was... beautiful. It was a stark contrast to the hardened exterior she presented to the world. It was like seeing a side of her that no one else got to see. The vulnerability was intoxicating. I found myself wanting to reach out, to trace the ink with my fingertips, but I kept my hands firmly in my lap.

Oksana's eyes fluttered open, and she caught me staring. "You like it?" she asked, her voice low and raspy. I nodded, unable to find the words to describe the way it made me feel. She smirked, "Thought you'd be more of a prude, pup."

The tattoo artist, noticing the tension in the air, cleared his throat. "Alright, we're all done here." He wiped the excess ink away, revealing the completed piece in all its glory. She sat up, stretching like a cat that had just woken from a nap. The way her muscles moved under her skin was hypnotizing. She looked over at me, her gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "Thanks for coming with me, Joel. I know it's not your scene."

She paid for the tattoo which included a nice tip that made the artist's eyes widen. He was a man of few words, mostly because he was busy with his craft, but also because he knew better than to pry into his client's personal life. Oksana stood up from the chair, her body moving with a grace that was surprising for someone so rough around the edges. She pulled on her shirt, the fabric sticking slightly to her skin from the sweat that had built up during the inking process. The new tattoo looked even more impressive with the fabric of her shirt hugging it.

Oksana also paid for takeout, even though I protested a little and ended up agreeing on a 50/50 split. We drove back to her place in relative silence, the sound of the engine the only constant. The adrenaline from the tattoo parlour still buzzed through her veins, making her restless. She was like a caged animal, needing to expel the excess energy. When we arrived, she practically leaped out of the car and into her house.

By the time I got in, she cleared off the kitchen counter and the dishwasher hard at work. Cleaning the dishes from the night before. The kitchen looked better than it did a few hours ago. As she cleared off the rubbish away to prevent me from getting up and doing it for her. "You don’t need to do that, I got it," she said, her voice a little too cheerful for someone who had just endured a few hours of pain.

Once the kitchen was deemed ok or what I should say, deemed clean enough to have dinner on. She placed the takeout containers on the island bench and got out two plates.

Good God.

Even her dishware was mismatched, no two are the same colour, size, or design. I assumed she bought them. Until I noticed the pottery wheel, clay and other things in her backyard shed. Hinting at the fact she made the plates, bowls, and other dishes herself. It explained why she was able to make a modest sum from her pottery as well as her job. Though I never did find out what she does for work.

Until I found out yesterday.

I wish I didn’t see it.

I didn’t mean to.

I was looking at other porn when I stumbled upon her onlyfans page. I didn’t know what came over me when I decided to look further. For some reason I felt the urge to continue to peruse around it. Pictures of her in various stages of undress, pictures of her in different outfits from different eras, videos of her undressing in front of the camera and other things like first person penetration videos, videos of her playing with herself and videos of her riding a plastic cock of various sizes, girths, textures.

From what I’ve seen from her, she had that entrepreneurial spirit inside her.

Wandering into her office, it was set up nicely, the three monitors, the two pcs set up and the layers of porn magazines I saw in her magazine rack. The galaxy projector on top of the desk and the camera beside it. The erotic posters framed and hung on the wall.

Various bottles of perfume inside a second worn out make up bag beside the one with all her make up inside. From what I’ve seen so far most of the more expensive ones were sent to her from her fans. Notes attached to them of how much they loved her content and how they hoped she liked the gift. From the amount of use they seemed to have. She loved them. Including the ones that didn’t cost as much or last as long as them.

She sipped the mead she bought that morning, well it was more like she bought more mead this morning. Her bar fridge full of various drinks, from mead to vodka. Only she didn’t touch beer and wine. She said she didn’t feel mature enough to drink either one of those things. She also said she felt like she hadn’t reached an age to even consider liking it either.

“I’ll gift it to someone else, that’s not an issue, I just don’t like the taste at all.” She said taking a sip of her mead.

I raised an eyebrow at what she said, “You don’t drink beer or wine?” I couldn’t help but ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Tried it once or twice, before deciding to never touch it again. The taste of it overpowers everything else. Regardless of what one someone says to try out.” She said eating her spicy potato noodles, the spice bringing more of a flush to her cheeks. She didn’t care or notice how she ate with gusto. Her appetite larger than her body frame would suggest.

“I think it’s pretty cute,” she said with a smirk suggesting that she knew what I was thinking about. “For someone who’s double my age, you have a wonderfully wild imagination there. Pretty hot. I don’t do anything related to it with someone I know. It just muddles things up and causes emotional mess. Now I mean, in front of the camera stuff. I don’t mean not having a relationship that’s different.”

I nodded, trying to ignore the way my heart raced at her words. “I get it. Separate life, separate place.”

“Kind of hard to do this job and have a relationship though, most guys wouldn’t handle it. I do mean it like that because of the nature of my work. Jealousy is a dangerous thing to have when it comes to it though-”

I cut her off with a laugh, “I’m not most guys, Oksana, I have seen worse things than a woman enjoying herself as she gets herself off in front of a camera.”

The visible and audible sigh as her shoulders relaxed, taking another sip of mead, “Good to know. You have no idea how weird guys get when they find out about it. They get possessive, jealous and take it to another level of weird. And weirder than you might think or even assume by the way.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, I know the type. I’ve seen enough of that to know what you mean. Though I’m surprised you still tell them even after you know how it’s going to go.”

“Some of the guys I went out with they were fine with it for a while. Then it’s like an internal switch flipped and suddenly they’re no longer alright with it.” She says like an exasperated, seasoned veteran who’s seen it all before. “If you ask about what I do for work I’m not going to turn around and lie about it. I can’t lie. I’m a bad liar. I hate lying and everything that comes with lying.”

By the time we finished dinner, Oksana told me I was allowed to crash there considering the guy that usually came over had other plans that night. “By all means crash in the spare bedroom. It’s the only normal looking room in this house.” She said showing me the spare room. “I didn’t want to spook any potential guests with all my weird shit.”

The guest room had a queen size bed, with charcoal grey sheets with matching pillows. A thick black comforter over the top. A print of the painting called, ‘Starry Night.’ By Vincent Van Gogh placed above the bed. The walls painted lavender and the soft plush carpet a dark chocolate brown. The green lava lamp on the bedside table next to the bed and the black curtains to block out the sun.

The incense of mint burning on the other bedside table. Filling the room with a sweet aroma of mint. A refreshing change from the rest of the house. The floor is clean, the bed is made. The indication she is used to having guests over at her place. The kind that she fucks and forgets.

I didn’t want to be another one of those guests.

I wanted to be much, much more than that.

More from her than just a quick fuck from her. More than just a night of excess, pleasure and a good time. If I were to fuck her, like I plan to, I would rather do it inside her own bedroom. Regardless of how much of a mess it can be at times. It felt more intimate. Real. A connection from my world to hers.

Just my own thoughts on the matter.

My own thoughts on it.

Mine.

The word continued to echo in the back of my mind. I stared at her as she got ready for her bath inside of her bedroom. The image of her naked body burned into my retinas. Posed in various ways. Posted on her onlyfans. A strange feeling of wanting to claim her. To have her for myself. To be the only one to make her moan, writhe and squirm in pleasure as I pound into her dripping wet cunt.

I knew this wasn’t just lust speaking into my ear. It felt more like a deep connection, something I hadn't felt in an extraordinarily long time.

A connection deeper than just being neighbours and acquaintances we had.

She grabbed a towel from the linen closet. The charcoal-black coloured towels, bed sheets, hand towels and bathrobes. They all felt and looked expensive with a gold embroidered G for ‘Gorgon.’

The bathroom itself is surprisingly clean, the black tiles gleaming under the artificial lights. The bathtub was a deep clawfoot tub with a shower head attached to the wall. Matching black soap holder, toothbrush holder and towel rack. The smell of mint filled the room from the candles she had lit around the bathtub. The steam filled the room, creating a sense of comfort and warmth. She stripped off her clothes without a care in the world, revealing her tattooed body. She stepped into the tub, the water was a dark purple, almost black, thanks to the bath bomb she had dropped in.

I know she told me to make myself comfortable.

But how could I make myself comfortable with someone who I desired more than I would ever care to admit. Even to her. Even to myself. Someone who is so incredibly open about her sexuality and at the same time so closed off to the idea of a romantic relationship with someone. No matter what I did to try to shake the images of her from inside my mind. All it did was make the image sink further in.

The podcast she listened to in the background, listening to a podcast about serial killers and their origins. Odd choice for someone to listen to, though if it were anyone other than her. It would have been more of a red flag. Her strange fascination with things other people would keep away from. Things deemed too dark or too much for someone ‘normal’.

Nothing is ever normal about her.

From her job to her inherited farm. Nothing about her is ever normal. Added to her charming nature. My mind went back to when I first met her. She didn’t know how to approach me at first.

“Hey. My name is Oksana Uvarova. Most people call me Gorgon. I just moved in next door. I wasn’t sure what to bring over to introduce myself with. So, I brought over a thing of fudge just to say hello. I hope you like it.” That is what she said to me when I opened the front door and saw her there. Her thick Russian accent indicating she moved here from overseas.

The first thing I noticed about her was her eyes, a mix of orange, yellow, red, green, and blue. Pulling in me in with a fiery intensity and never letting me go. And then there was her hair, a wild mess of curls that looked like they hadn’t seen a brush in weeks, but somehow, it worked for her. She was wearing a t-shirt that was a few sizes too big for her, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, exposing her inked arms.

I had a hard time finding the right words to say to her, after what it felt like an eternity, “Nice to meet you, Gorgon. I’m Joel Miller. Thanks for the fudge by the way. I was about to have a piece of cake with my whisky. But I have feeling this would go much better with it. Would you like to come in for a drink?”

Ellie showed up at the door, “What the hell is taking you so long?” She barged in, her explosive energy on full blast. Her eyes fell on the fudge. “Oh, you have a visitor?” She looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

“She yours?” Oksana asked me curious about her.

“This is Ellie, my daughter. Ellie, this is Oksana, our new neighbour.” I answered. I had adopted Ellie months prior.

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.” Oksana greeted her with a warm smile, her eyes lighting up. She handed the fudge to me and stepped aside. “I’ll let you two catch up. I have some things to unpack anyway. Joel knows where to find me if he needs anything.”

As I watched her retreat to her house, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief. I knew I needed to set some boundaries, but the way she looked at me made it difficult. Ellie grabbed the fudge from my hand and took a bite, her eyes widening in delight. “This is amazing, who made it?”

“Gorgon did El.” I answered with a smirk on my lips. The glass Tupperware container on the kitchen bench as I grabbed my bottle of whisky from the refrigerator. Pouring some into a glass to drink with the fudge.

“Mm, she’s got skills. Maybe she can teach me how to make it. Can I go say hello?” Ellie asked, already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Not today, El. She’s got some serious unpacking to do by the look of things. How about tomorrow? That way she has some time to settle in on her first night and bombard her with a welcome committee of two. That way if you want to help her and hang out with her, she’ll be more likely to say yes.” I suggested to her. Hopefully, it would keep Ellie from crossing any boundaries Oksana may or may not have known about prior.

“Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But I want to know everything about her tomorrow, deal?” Ellie said with a cheeky grin, already planning our next visit in her head.

To think that first meeting would spiral into spending time in her house like this. If someone told me this would have happened years ago. I would have laughed at them and called them an idiot for thinking that would have happened. Now that it had. I didn’t know whether it was a blessing or an oddly timed curse.

“You doing ok in there pup?” Oksana questioned noticing my silence from the bathroom. Her voice echoed in the hallway, filled with a hint of concern.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just getting ready for bed,” I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. The truth was, I was anything but casual. The images of her in the tub, the water a dark purple hue, her skin glistening with beads of sweat and water droplets was something I couldn’t easily shake off.

“Pup. I know something’s up. What’s the matter?” Oksana asked, stepping into the bedroom, charcoal bathrobe tied around her.

Her eyes searched mine, and I realized she could see right through me. The silence grew thick, and I knew I had to say something. “It's just... I can't stop thinking about what I saw on your OnlyFans, Oksana. It's messing with my head.”

“I warned you pup. Not for the faint of heart and all that.” She soothed with a hand on my cheek, her thumb brushing against my bearded cheek. Her eyes searched mine, trying to gauge the extent of the mess in my head. “Did you want to talk about it, or did you want to sleep on it?”

“I don’t know, I just- I just need to get it out of my head.” I confessed, frustration lacing my voice. She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. “It’s just- I’ve never felt like this before. Watching someone I know, someone I care about, do something so intimate with herself. It’s... I don’t know, it’s fucking with me.”

“You sound like me when I found porn at eighteen.” Oksana chuckled. “Though the type of porn I watched the first time was more like cuckholding and I went across it once. Fucked me up a little when I found out it was my ex.”

Her words didn’t help to ease the tension in the room, but the way she talked about it so casually made me feel less like a creep. “Is that a common theme with you?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light, despite the images playing in my mind.

“The exs, the porn or the good looks?” She questioned with a wink.

I couldn’t help but laugh, “Maybe a bit of all three. But I’m more curious about the porn theme. It’s not every day you find out your neighbour is a porn star.”

“I know right? Almost like it was written straight out of a badly filmed porno of some kind.” Oksana replied smirking at me. “You know the kind that have poor image quality that you have to squint in order to see what the hell is going on.”

“So, you’re saying it’s like the kind of porn you make?” I quipped back, trying to lighten the mood even more. She playfully threw a pillow at me, which I caught easily.

“You’re a sly one, Joel. But yes, something like that. I guess it’s not the most conventional job, but it’s honest work, and it pays the bills. Plus, I enjoy it. Can’t say everyone can say that about their job.” Oksana pointed out the photo on the wall. “That is what my first ex looked like just to give you an idea.”

The photo was of a man in his mid-thirties, with a smug smile on his face, muscular arms folded across his chest. He was standing next to a motorbike, wearing leather pants and a sleeveless shirt. The resemblance was uncanny to the type of guys you’d see in a biker gang. “I can see the appeal. But what happened with him?”

“He went on and on about needing more ‘space’ to do what he wanted and how I was too ‘clingy’. But what he really meant was that he was tired of being married and wanted to bang every groupie that threw themselves at him when he went on tour. He was a musician, not a good one, but he had a decent fan base. He played the guitar like a fucking amateur, had a shit band and an even shittier personality to go with it. But somehow, he had fans that threw themselves at him, probably because he had a good dick and knew how to play it up on stage. I caught him with his dick in one of them and that was the end of that.” She said with a roll of her eyes. “I was nineteen when I started dating the guy and I was twenty-two when we divorced.”

I nodded, placing the pillow back on the bed. Her honesty was refreshing, but it didn’t make the situation any less complicated. “And what about you? Any serious relationships?”

“Not since that entitled prick left. Mostly casual ones I know won’t last too long and won’t mind living somewhere else.” Oksana answered honestly. “I did have an encounter with him recently if you wanted to hear about it.”

“I’m all ears, Gorgon.” I replied, my curiosity piqued. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her robe slipping open slightly, revealing the top of one of her breasts. She didn’t bother fixing it, instead, she leaned back, making herself comfortable.

“Sweet. I had this bottled up for three days and it’s been weird thinking about it since it happened.” Oksana replied wiggling her hips a little more to get more comfortable, “I was looking at some nice lenses for my camera, you know the big bulky thing I keep in my office? The one that looked like that could break your foot if you dropped it?”

I nodded, remembering the camera that looked like it could be used for professional shoots. “I know the one. What happened with your ex?”

“I was looking at camera lenses that gave the soft blurring look without having to edit it in post. Which can take ages if you don’t know what you’re doing. It was for the, you know, for those intimate shots that really make the eyes pop, and the background just fade away.” Oksana showed off the lenses she bought that day, still in the box. “And I swear, you could have been able to smell the guy before you even saw him. It was like he doused himself in an entire bottle of cologne, if you were there your eyes would be watering from the smell and your lungs would want to collapse from the sheer fumes of it all. He walked into the shop like he owned the place. And you know what he said to me?”

Her eyes glinted with amusement as she leaned back into the pillows, her long legs stretching out on the bed. I sat on the edge of the bed, eager to hear the story. “What did he say?”

She recanted what he did to her, slapping her hand on my shoulder, bringing me in closer to her, her lips close to my ear, “’How about I ditch this chick, and have you re-enact that porn scene you did last week?’ As if he could just weasel back into my life after what he did.” She pulled away to give me my personal space back.

The image of her with another man was a knife twisting in my gut. Jealousy boiled in me, a potent cocktail of anger and possessiveness. I tried to keep my voice calm, not wanting to show how much it affected me, “What did you say to him?”

“I told him to get fucked and leave me alone. No way in hell I was going back to that guy. You nuts? He had his chance two years ago and he blew it. It’s not my fault that he ‘regrets’ it. Not my problem either.” Oksana’s voice was filled with a mix of amusement and annoyance, her eyes narrowing at the memory. She leaned back into the pillows, her hand playing with the sash of her robe. The conversation had taken a sharp turn into her personal life, but she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it was as if she enjoyed sharing these intimate details with me.

The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound the distant echo of Ellie playing her guitar in her room. “Thankfully, his new girl dragged him away afterwards after she spotted me. She had more sense than he did.” She added in with a snort.

I chuckled, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine, “There’s not much to tell. My ex-wife and I had our issues, but she’s mostly out of the picture. Nothing too dramatic, just two people who realized they didn’t belong together anymore.”

“I wish my parents went that route.” Oksana’s voice was low, filled with a hint of sadness that hadn’t been there before. She looked down at our joined hands, her thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Found out he was seeing other women when I called his motel room during one of his business trips. I heard another woman's voice in the background and well, it went downhill from there. Though hard to imagine a ten-year-old getting the ire of a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants at the time.”

Her words hung in the air, and I felt a twinge of pity for the little girl who had to deal with such a shithead of a father. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Oksana.” I squeezed her hand gently.

“Don’t worry about it. As I said before. I traded him in for a better dad when my mother remarried.” Oksana smiled grabbing her phone and showed me a photo of her mother with her stepfather.

Her stepfather was a burly man with a thick beard, kind eyes, and a warm smile. He had his arm around Oksana’s mother, who was petite in comparison but had a strong presence. They looked happy together. The kind of happy that was earned through hardship and finding each other.

“I helped her pick out the wedding dress. Well, me, my twin sister and younger brother helped her pick one out.” Oksana murmured. Her voice was filled with fondness, and I could see the love she had for her stepfather in her eyes. Her mother looked beautiful, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“They look happy together,” I said, returning the phone to her.

Oksana nodded, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “They are, he has been more of a father to me than my biological one ever was. And my sisters and brother, they’re great too. We’re all a little... different, but that’s what makes us work. My twin, she’s a doctor. Go figure, right?”

We shared a laugh, the tension breaking into a comfortable silence, she shifted closer to me. Her robe slipping further open to reveal the intricate tattoos snaking down her torso. I swallowed hard, my eyes tracing the ink, feeling a primal need to touch her. She noticed my gaze and took my hand, placing it on her bare skin.

Her body, soft like velvet, warm like fire, smooth like silk and addicting like heroin. Feeling the heat radiating from her skin onto mine. Powerless to resist any longer. The electricity between the two of us. Like a magnet pulling me closer to her. Her hand remained in mine.

No longer enough now.

I need more of her.

I want more of her.

I want to peel back that robe from her body and touch more of her warmth. I want to kiss her neck, to feel her pulse race under my lips. But I don’t move. I’m paralysed by fear of losing this friendship. Of scaring her away. But the way she’s looking at me, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else, something I can’t quite place, it’s like she’s daring me to make a move.

“Joel, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Oksana’s voice breaks the silence, her thumb still tracing circles on my palm.

“Just... thinking,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. Her eyes searched my face, looking for something.

“Thinking about it pretty hard from the look of things.” Her lips hovered near mine like an enticing piece of chocolate I accidentally left on the counter only to have Ellie eat it while I wasn't looking.

Taking a deep breath as I looked into her eyes and back at her lips again, breath hitching in my throat like a grip tighter than a vice and a heart beating faster than a drum in a death metal concert. “I can't help but think about you, Oksana. In ways that I probably shouldn't.” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you scared pup?” Oksana asked me getting closer to me. The heat from her body getting to an intense level.

Placing a gentle kiss on my lips just to test the waters, a taste of mint from her toothpaste and the lingering taste of the mead she was drinking earlier on her tongue. A question rather than a demand, a gentle caress rather than a hungry bite. She waited for a response from me, to give her permission from me. Waiting for me to allow her to go further.

Oksana’s breath was warm against my face, and the scent of mint filled the air around us. I could feel her pulse quickening in her hand, matching the rhythm of my own heart. “Oksana... I don’t know if I can handle this... if I can handle you,” I admitted, my voice hoarse with desire.

“Pup, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to wait. We can wait.” Oksana kissed me on the forehead.

The fire inside of me was burning. Out of control. Her touch set me on fire and now. Now I couldn’t get enough of it.

She gently lets go of my hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of my hand as she did, “I don’t want you to be afraid, Joel. I want you to want this as much as I do. If we’re going to do this, it needs to be because you’re ready, not because you think you need to or because you’re curious about what it’s like to fuck your neighbour. It has to come from your own comfort level.”

Her words resonate deep within me, my heart hammering in my chest. I nod, understanding the gravity of what she’s saying. “You’re right. I need to think about this. I don’t want to mess up what we have.”

“Take as long as you need to.” Oksana smiled at me before she left, closing the door behind her. She walked to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

I sat there, staring at the floor, feeling like I was about to jump out of my skin. What the fuck was I doing? This woman was my neighbour. She’s seen me at my worst, and here I was, practically drooling over her. I groaned as I got ready for bed. Thinking about what happened moments before. Thinking about the kiss. Thinking about the way she looked at me. Thinking about the way she touched me.

The way she left without making it seem like it was a big deal made it a big deal to me. Her words echoed in my mind as I lay in bed, unable to sleep. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as I replayed our conversation. Her hand in mine, the way she smelled, the way she talked about her exes so casually. It was like a fucking punch to the gut. But it was the way she talked about her job that really got to me. She enjoyed it. And why wouldn’t she? She was good at it. Too good at it.

Too good at it in the sense that she had the power to make a man's head spin with just a look. She wasn’t just a pretty face with a great body. She’s intelligent, she had a good heart, strong, and she had been through hell and back. And here she was, living her life on her own terms, making a career out of something she enjoyed. Despite the stigma hanging around sex work in general.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand the jumble of emotions coursing through me. The desire to claim her, to have her only for myself was overwhelming. The reality was, she didn’t belong to anyone. And she never would. She was a free spirit, a wildflower growing in the cracks of concrete pathways and sidewalks. Like mother nature taking back its rightful place in the world. Taking over the abandoned buildings left untouched by humans.

The sound of the running water from the bathroom grew louder as she turned the shower on. I could imagine her, the water cascading down her body, washing away the day’s stresses. The image was too much, I had to get out of the room. So, I got up and went to the kitchen, trying to find something to drink. The mini fridge was full of mead, whisky, vodka, tequila, and gin. Nothing to drink for someone who’s trying to clear their mind. But then I remembered the bottle of whisky I had brought over from my house. It was hidden in the pantry, buried behind canned foods and dry goods.

I grabbed the bottle and a glass, pouring myself a generous amount. The amber-brown liquid burned as it went down my throat, but it helped to clear my head a bit. I leaned against the counter, taking in the quiet of the house. The only sounds were the shower and the occasional creak of the floorboards.

All because of a woman half my age had kissed me like I was made out of glass. Afraid I would shatter under her touch. I took a deep breath, feeling the whiskey warm my chest. I needed to get a grip on myself. This wasn’t the first time I’ve had feelings for someone, but it was the first time in a long time that I’ve felt like this. Like a teenager again, trying to decode the unspoken cues of a girl I liked.

Once she came out, she was dressed in deep purple pyjamas, “I’m sorry if I overstepped and made you uncomfortable.” She whispered the concern for me remained. “Also, there’s water in the fridge if you need it. Go easy on the booze pup. It’s not worth the hangover. Goodnight Joel. Thank you for driving me to the tattoo parlour. It was amusing to see you there.” She walked to her bedroom, across from the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

I woke up on the couch, with Oksana placing homecooked breakfast on the coffee table in front of me. “Hey there, sleeping beauty, you sleep well?” she asked. She must have put two blankets on me when I fell asleep on the couch last night. Two thick, heavy, large fluffy pancakes, maple syrup in a serving jar and a cup of black coffee. As well as a glass of water and a jug of water beside it. As well as aspirin in case I needed it.

“Yeah, I did. Thanks for the blankets.” I said, my voice still a little groggy from sleep. The smell of the pancakes filled the room, making my stomach growl.

“I would like to think that you would have done the same thing for me.” Oksana smirked, as she went to eat her own breakfast after switching on the television on and setting it to a low mumble in case one of us had a splitting headache.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, the light from the television flickering against my face. She had set the scene like it was a movie, the morning light peeking through the blinds casting a soft glow on the room. The smell of the pancakes and the coffee is absolutely heavenly to my senses.

“Thank you for this, Oksana. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” I said, trying to hide the fact that my stomach was doing backflips at the sight of food.

“You’re welcome. Nonsense. It was no trouble at all.” Oksana replied from the kitchen. “Besides, you need to eat something, breakfast is an important meal of the day.”

I took a bite of the pancake and moaned in satisfaction. It was fluffy, and the maple syrup was just the right amount of sweetness. The coffee was strong, and it helped me wake up more than the shower did.

She seemed to be getting ready for someone to install something into her home, most likely more security cameras or another security system to help her feel safer and more secure. Monitors broadcasting the camera footage in the second office she had converted the third spare bedroom into.

The guys walked into the room, carrying heavy boxes filled with security equipment. one of them called her over, “Ma’am, where do you want us to set these up?”

Oksana showed them where the rest of the security system was in place, talking about what she had in mind, her voice a mix of authority and allure. The men looked at her with a mix of admiration and a hint of fear. She had that effect on people. While also showing them what she had set up already in terms of monitoring camera footage.

They worked efficiently, setting up the new equipment with minimal disruption to our morning routine. Oksana's confidence and knowledge of the tech impressed them, and they quickly fell into a rhythm of nods and grunts as they followed her instructions. Meanwhile, Ellie emerged from her room, her curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar faces and the faint scent of freshly baked pancakes.

“Good morning, Junior. Pancakes are ready whenever you want them. Along with watermelon juice in the fridge.”

Ellie’s eyes widened at the sight of the food, her stomach rumbling audibly. “Thanks, Oksana!” she exclaimed, rushing to the table.

The morning filled with security tech guys installing a new system, Oksana's house buzzed with an unusual energy. Oksana, unfazed by the chaos, went about her day with a grace that seemed almost rehearsed. She walked around in her fluffy pink slippers, her hair wrapped in a towel, giving instructions and pointing out spots for cameras with the confidence of a seasoned director.

By the time they were finished, Oksana flicked through the manuals to understand how to work the system and looking online for what amount of hard drive storage she would need to save camera footage as well as the audio. It was clear she took her privacy and security seriously. “You think this will be enough?” She looked over at me, holding up a 4TB external hard drive.

“Should be plenty. Unless you’re planning on starting your own reality show, I’d say that’s more than enough.” I said with a smirk, taking a sip of my coffee.

With a sense of profound relief washing over her, she couldn’t help but let out a gentle sigh, one that carried with it the weight of a decision well made. The primary concern that had been weighing on her mind was the cost factor; she knew all too well that venturing into the realm of purchasing electronic devices with a larger capacity than the one she had just acquired had the potential to significantly exceed the financial boundaries she had set for herself. The hard drive she had chosen was a delicate balance between her storage needs and her financial comfort zone. It was a compromise that she had contemplated thoroughly, and now that she had made her choice, she felt a burden had been lifted.

Carefully, she proceeded to connect the sleek, compact device to her computer, eager to embark on the setup process. As she did so, she couldn’t help but appreciate the simplicity of the task at hand. The instructions provided were clear, concise, and easy to follow, which was a stark contrast to the complexities that often-accompanied other aspects of her life. Technology, in its purest form, offered a sense of predictability and order that she found quite soothing. Most of the time, she mused, it was a realm where she could exercise control without the interference of emotions or the potential for misunderstandings.

The hard drive clicked into place, and her computer recognized its presence with a soft beep, prompting her to initiate the setup process. As she navigated through the on-screen prompts, she found herself feeling a peculiar fondness for the silent obedience of her digital companion. It was a refreshing change from the tumultuous interactions she sometimes faced in her personal and professional spheres. The straightforward nature of technology meant that she didn’t have to navigate the murky waters of interpretation or guesswork; it simply followed the commands she inputted without question or protest.

This uncomplicated dynamic was something she found particularly appealing, as it allowed her to focus on the task at hand without the distraction of potential conflict or confusion. It was a world governed by logic and precision, where the outcome was solely dependent on the accuracy of her actions. The comfort she derived from this predictability was not lost on her, and she found herself smiling slightly as she continued with the installation.

The process was indeed a straightforward one, and she appreciated the intuitive design that allowed for such ease of use. Each step she completed brought her closer to the satisfying conclusion of the setup, and she felt a sense of accomplishment growing within her. Technology, in this moment, was not merely a tool but an extension of her own capabilities, one that she had mastered and could manipulate to serve her purposes effectively.

As the final stages of the setup unfolded before her, she couldn’t help but reflect on the times when technology had been less cooperative. There had been moments of frustration, of course, when a device had malfunctioned or when she had encountered a problem she couldn’t solve. But those instances were outweighed by the numerous occasions when the harmonious relationship between human and machine had made her life more manageable and efficient.

And so, with a quiet satisfaction, she watched as the final prompt disappeared from her screen, signalling that the hard drive was ready for use. She took a step back, surveying her work with a nod of approval. It was a small victory, but one that reinforced her belief in the power of technology to simplify and enhance the human experience, provided one had the knowledge and patience to navigate its intricacies. With that, she closed the lid of her computer, already planning the various ways she would utilize the newfound storage space. The cost had been justifiable, the setup had been a breeze, and she was left with a sense of satisfaction that she had made the right choice.

Though in the back of my mind, my thoughts remained on what happened last night between the two of us. Leaving me reeling from it and thinking about whether I want to still pursue a relationship with her.

What should I do?

Go for a relationship with her despite the fact she’s half my age or call it quits and continue our relationship just as friends?