#it turns itself on and drains its battery

[inwayovermyhead]

TIL: electronics are like cats, they're both dramatic little divas who will throw hissy fits just because they feel like it

[godshitgirl]

Ranpo loves praise♡

Bottom!RANPO X Top!Fem!READER

| Praise kink, use of "Mommy" and "Baby", submissive Ranpo, creampie |

Ranpo loves praise.

It's so cute seeing a man who seemed so sure of himself be absolutely ruined just by a couple kind words.

Just a little compliment here and there, and Ranpo was putty in your hands.

It was dark that night, the only light coming from the moon itself as it danced its way in through the window. It crept up the floorboards until it reached the two of you.

Ranpo was deep inside of you, fucking you slowly and desperately. He knelt between your legs, his grip loosening and hardening against your thighs, keeping them apart lazily. His eyes were barely open, and in the darkness you saw only bright green slits staring back at you, awaiting your approval.

"Such a good boy, Ranpo, dear..." you cooed, finding the tired rhythm of his movements sweet and cute. He was such a baby, your baby after all. All he wanted all day was your pussy, especially after you'd been teasing him all day with those thigh highs that cupped the fat on your legs beautifully. Several times throughout the day, he thought he was going to cum on the spot everytime you leaned over to hand him some paperwork, or gently caressed your thighs knowing he was watching, or simply walking past, allowing your sweet aroma to fill his nose and in turn his dirty thoughts. But he made it, he was good, and he went the whole day without cumming or jerking off. That deserved a reward.

"Ahn, ah, M-Mommy..." He whined, his approval battery suddenly drained so quickly, desperately asking for more of your delicious praise.

"Yes, Baby?" You asked, as if you didn't already know what he wanted.

"M-Mommy, am-am I doing g-good?" He asked as he tried thrusting into you faster, hoping to please you more. Silly boy, just the thought of him not being enough for you was torture for him. He needed validation, he needed your praise.

"Yes, dear, you're doing so good..." you cupped his cheek with your hand, caressing him lovingly. "So good for me, such a good boy..."

"M-Ma...Mommy...." He moaned, slowly reaching his limit.

That's when you decided to bring in the big guns.

"Such a good boy, Ranpo, fucking me so well. So good for me, so good for Mommy...." you added a couple moans here and there, making sure your voice was as sultry as possible, knowing it made Ranpo go crazy.

His hips started stuttering and his grip on your thighs tightened. "M-Mom-Mommy!! Hah, hah...Mommy!!" He whimpered as he slowly reached his release.

That's when you started tingling all over, his cock reaching your sweet spot more and in a faster pace, you held onto his back to keep him close as you both came together.

Ranpo was breathing heavily now, thrusting in slowly, just once or twice, savoring what was left of that feeling, before slowly pulling out with a grunt.

He looked beneath him to find your pretty little pussy, liquids shining in the moonlight like wet little stars. His cum spilled out of you, overfilling your hole nicely. You put on your panties and let down the nightshirt that had been previously pulled up above your breasts, pulling your beloved into a sweet goodnight kiss.

Ranpo finally caught his breath within your mouth. "Please," He pleaded. "One more?"

"No, no, we have work in the morning, remember?" You said, watching him pout like a spoiled little child, it was so cute to see.

"Reeaaally?" He asked again as you pulled him into the covers. "Yes, really, now go to bed, Kunikida-san will yell at you for making us late."

"Why would it be my fault?!" He whined.

"Cause I'm blaming you, of course!" You teased. "Plus, I'm the one who has to shovel cum out of my pussy and take a pill tomorrow, it's only fair."

"Fine." He pouted, getting under the covers to go to sleep.

"But I know you're just doing this just so I'll be extra horny tomorrow."

"Ah, so I guess you don't need those glasses to deduct me."

"Of course! I'm the greatest detective, you know!"

"Of course dear. Goodnight."

"Hmmph. Goodnight."

As Ranpo slowly fell deeper into his sleep, you caressed him, twisting and twirling his black hair around your fingers as you silently read your book.

Ranpo sure does love praise.

[racefortheironthrone]

hi!!! its been a while since ive read the books, and im not sure if im remembering right, but when silas uses his necromancy is colum able to move? fight? or is being used as a battery so blistering overwhelming that he can only stand there and breathe? i remember colum fighting ianthe but that was the thing possessing him, no?

Good question! It's a bit ambiguous in the text.

Initially, when Colum is siphoned by Silas, he freezes and cannot move, talk, etc. But then there's a middle phase of the fight:

“He’s trying to drain her,” muttered Harrow, spellbound. “But he’s splitting his focus—he needs to bring Colum back, or—” Colum—ashen as his name, drunk in movement, numb—had lifted his sword, and was moving inexorably toward Ianthe. He backhanded her full across the face with his shield, as though to test her. Ianthe’s head snapped back, but she looked more dazed and surprised than hurt or injured. Her breath was coming in stutters. She righted herself like nothing had happened, and the cavalier thrust forward with his blade. She raised her hand and wrapped it around the shining edge like it was nothing. Her hand was bloody, but the blood itself pushed back gracefully, quietly repelling the blade like it was all just so many more fingers. Silas clasped his hands together, and the pressure nearly made Gideon hurl. Colum shook his sword—the blood broke off like shards of glass—and Ianthe staggered, though nobody had touched her. As she lurched away from Colum the blood on the floor and the walls and the ceiling was drying up, burning into itself as though it had never been. Her eyes were that awful, blank white, and she was holding her head and shaking it as though to reposition her brain. “Stop doing this to me!” she was hissing. ���Stop it!” Colum turned and with a liquid, exquisite movement, sliced down across her back. It was a shallow cut. Ianthe did not even seem to notice. The blood bubbled over her pretty yellow robe and the new gash revealed the wound sucking in on itself and zipping together. “Listen,” she was saying, “Babs, listen.”

This is before the demon inhabits Colum, btw. It's actually rather an impressive display from the Eighth House - Silas is simultaneously siphoning Colum and Ianthe, and channeling the thanergy he's sucking up into countering Ianthe's flesh magic, and Colum is managing to fight like a cavalier despite his soul not being in his body.

It puts a whole new spin on Silas' comment to Colum that "your sword is mine too," and really shows how central Mercymorn's contribution to the Eightfold Word was to the lyctoral process.

[thecameronchronicles]

Grease Monkey

As requested ;) A bit of a longer fic here, but wanted to get all the tension hehe.

TW: Smut. Language. Semi-public sex. Possibly too hot to handle ;) 

SUMMARY: Your dad’s new hire is getting under your skin in a very specific kind of way…

WORD COUNT: 4900

Grease Monkey

You hated everything about cars. The complex mechanics behind what could be simplified. The various makes and models confusing you without a chance to guess them correctly. But more than anything, how they always seemed to be unreliable when you absolutely NEEDED them the most. 

This couldn't have been more of a case this morning as you had spent the better part of it in waste by pulling together an ensemble, critiquing every piece of hair until it became acquiesced beneath a brush and spray, and accentuating the features in which you knew were your best assets-all for a guy who couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off of Sarah Cameron for five minutes, to now have to deal with this sputtering purr of a failing vehicle.

Cursing beneath your breath to how this entire day would now be ruined by having to spend it in the garage-only to be playfully berated by your father for operator error, you tried the ignition a handful of times at the hope it would be enough to get you to his shop on the very edge of The Cut. 

The resilience of a decade old engine would stall into a fade and eventual cessation just a quarter of a mile to where your father’s shop was highlighted by the pride of a sign harboring your family name in bold letters. Throwing the door closed in your temperament pushed further from one failure after another this morning, your soles had begun to tire by the time you finally made it to the garage. The sight of a small red truck occupying the corner of the garage, hood popped with the sole mechanic hard at work clattering beneath its red coat of paint, sent you within its direction. 

“Maybe if you used a bit more than duct tape, I would be able to make it to campus two days in a row-” You teased your dad, who was more of a MacGyver of sorts than a mechanic who used high end tools. After all, you were stationed on the cut, fixing up rusting trucks instead of the porches and cadillacs expected to come from Figure Eight. But it was a living and it was one your father poured every ounce of his time in to to supply a better life for you, which was why you never meant the words teasing him. 

“Dad?” You whined, already preparing to find a checklist of questions as a response for what ‘the daughter of a mechanic should know’ such as the right gas to put in, the number of air each tire needed with precision, and to always remember to turn off your headlights or risk draining the car’s battery. You were usually pretty good at maintaining your car, having only locked your keys in once when you were a new driver, but he still spoke these rules to you as if they were a religion. But to him-it was. 

“Dad?!” You groaned louder as he was unmoved by your summons. Frustrated from a morning that was already dripping with aggravation, you proactively moved to the open window of the car he was working on, lifting to the tips of your toes, before extending your palm to the horn to force his attention to you. 

But the belting of its chorus sent the mechanic beneath to collide with the hood itself in having been completely startled. But the sound of the curse made you understand that this wasn’t your father. Instead, it was a six foot tall boy with sun kissed skin, now revealing himself with a glare. 

“Fuck!” His echo lingered as his eyes now came to you in surprise in the same way yours had to him. Only where his silent observation took in the details of your ensemble appearing like a pinterest board athesthic come to life and the curves beneath that were meant for the eyes of someone else, yours came to the way his muscles flexed effortlessly in the small motions he made-now making you nervous to how attractive you immediately found him. 

Pulling a pair of cheap earbuds from either side of his blonde hair forced into wisps by a hat wearing your family’s name across its logo, you stood for a moment completely stunned by his presence. 

“What’s your problem?! He questioned while dramatically shaking his ears at the reverberation of your actions as your father made his way to the front of the garage for the same reason. 

“Hey, Sunshine, everything okay?” You repressed to roll your eyes at the nickname before being subjected to a side hug, your attention now devoted to explaining your ordeal to your father. In a matter of seconds, he convinced you he would rescue the remainder of your day by fixing your car in ‘no time’, before going to leave the garage. 

“I almost forgot…This is JJ, he’s the new mechanic-”

“I didn’t think you were hiring…” You explained truly bewildered at your father’s usual lone wolf status since the shop opened nearly two decades prior. 

“I’m not as young as I once was and this young man’s VERY skilled.” The way he spoke these words were innocent enough, but left your mouth dry as you took them entirely inappropriate. In the fraction of a minute you had seen him, you wondered how that bronzed skin felt in a trace beneath your finger tips or those full lips would be between your thighs-

“Keep him company until I get back, would ya?” Your father winked as you gave a weak smile, thankful nobody could read your thoughts at this moment. But as he left on the trek to receive your car, you were given a chance to analyze “JJ”.

 He was different from the other guys you usually saw within the seats of your college. He was stained in poverty and torment, carless to his appearance yet somehow confident enough to know he affected the opposite sex to harbor such arrogance. It was infuriating as his silence was deafening, all until he lifted his eyes from over the engine of his recent job. 

“So what happened? Flat tire? Get in a ditch putting on lip gloss or somethin’?” The way he individualized your gender left you nearly in a huff as you wished he was anything but right. In truth, you had picked up on a few details of cars from hearing your father discuss them with clients and just when explaining his day. But it wasn’t enough to rage a war of knowledge against someone otherwise trained in the craft. And yet, you wouldn’t allow him to know this. Not when he believed he was God’s gift to man, and you, an accompaniment to that. 

“ACTUALLY,” You began. “It’s been making this sputtering sound ever since we bought it. Dad says it’s something with some loose wires, so he has to wrap them up tighter-always worse after a storm.” He slowly bobbed his head as the sight of headlights kissed the pavement lining the outside of the garage. 

“Here she is-” Your dad spoke proudly, unhooking your worthless car from his hitch before pulling it to the center of the garage. You noticed how JJ only offered a second of interest before turning back to his own car, twisting a wrench within the mechanical entrails as his indifference managed to rub you in the opposite way his first impression had. 

“Sorry to do this-I got a call from Ward Cameron, he needs help with one of his engines, says if I get it done before the hour then he’ll pay double-”

“I’ll take care of it…” JJ peeled himself from his work station and moved before you, the slight scent of sweat masked in majority beneath sea salt and what you could have sworn to be marijuana had mixed in a way that was so sensual and masculine that it made your eyes follow him longer than they should. 

“You’re a trooper- '' Your father offered a kiss to the crown of your head before slipping back into his tow, offering a final wave, and leaving you alone once again. Part of you was left relieved, but the majority kept you nervous about how to act around JJ. He was a stranger after all. A tall, handsome, completely but apparently uninterested stranger…

“I’d bet you anything you couldn’t even show me where the carburetor is…” He teased, breaking the silence as you paused for a moment, moving behind him, and happening to point at it by chance. 

“Lucky guess-” He cocked his jaw, somewhat annoyed by your correct assumption. 

“And the headlight fluid?” Your brows furrowed. 

“Um…There…” You motioned to a small tube beneath the hood as it seemed the process of elimination would leave you correct again. 

“Well I need to fill it up, can you get it and tell me when the light comes on the dash for when its full?” You paused, only aware of the necessary lights of importance on your dash; such as gas and the speed. But to prove him wrong on his assumption of you, you nodded and made your way behind the wheel. 

“See anything yet?” He questioned, coming to your side of the car, leaning into the window, either unaware or indifferent to just how close he was to you. 

“Um…” You struggled, your eyes fixating on the sight of his muscles offered by the low cuts on either side of his shirt; a honey hued physique tensing when he bent to open the door. He now leaned over you, applying his palm into the passenger side of the seat. 

“Did you put six ounces in last time? Or eight?” He asked, your eyes darting to his lips, his voice drawing them there, before you fought the urge pulling to kiss him, and glared. 

“I think my dad did it so…” He slowly nodded. 

“Hmph-Interesting…” He looked at the dash and then back at you. 

“Since it doesn’t exist…” It took a moment to register his words before you let out a scoff, realizing that he had feigned the entire interrogation as an excuse to have you pinned against the driver’s seat of your car, his eyes now trained on you. 

“Look, it's just not my thing, okay? Doesn’t mean I’m stupid, I’m just…automotivally challenged…But I’m skilled at many other things, alright?” 

“Like?” His eyes suddenly illuminated to your words once realizing he had you frazzled enough to increase your breathing and make you nervous, where it irritated you as he seemed completely unaffected by you but well aware he could have you if he wanted. 

“Enough…things…” You spoke shyly, unable to list just one thing as his presence intimidated you. Usually guys would approach you with cheesy one-liners or a guise of offering a drink at a party, but never with such teasing. And it made you want to experience the things you had only read between the pages of literature. With him.

“Well from what I’ve heard…seems to me you need a bit of a…” His head cocked for a second, eyes now gluttonous over the way your chosen shirt clung to your breasts as his close proximity left you breathing erratically. 

“Release- '' You swallowed hard, unsure if he could tell how truly pent up you had been. Of your previous sexual experiences, they were all disappointments, with the exception of your own fingers, that you knew would pale in comparison to what he was seemingly offering you between poorly veiled words. 

“And what about YOU? I’m sure you’re just a one-and-done, right?” You glared to rival him, needing him to supply any amount of distance to offer you the chance to gain the upper hand for even a moment. Just to collect yourself. 

“I’ve never had anyone complain before…” 

“Maybe that’s because you were too quick…They didn’t have a chance…” You rebelled against your usual sweetened words, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine as he pulled back, a look of ‘touche’ marked by his actions, as he now allowed you the chance to breathe from his parting. 

“Think you can come hold the flashlight?” He called to you, reigniting your anxieties as you threw your head back into the seat in frustration. 

“Were you checking out my ass?” He teased as you moved from the car. 

“No!” You blushed, having noticed it in your peripheral vision alone-how could you not as it was squeezed perfectly in his low jeans deprived of the support of a belt. 

He chuckled off his own remark before handing you the light as you stood with a cock of your hip and the illumination set loosely between your fingers. Frustrated at how you seemed anything but devoted to his request, he slipped his hands to your hips before pulling you directly at his side, this simplistic contact of his fingers to your skin offering just a hint of what would engulf your entire body if you damned your stubbornness and allowed him this connection. 

“Right here…” He explained, pointing to the portion of your car you had watched your father fix at least three dozen times in the last few years. But your focus wasn’t on the wires made loose by the rough roads of the recent construction, but in the way his voice drew out those words, almost as if in an attempt at seduction. 

“Problem, princess?”

“Did I do something to you?” 

“Can you just hold the flashlight without acting like I’m asking you to get a root canal?” You let out a sigh before he was suddenly at your back. 

“I need you to hold it…here…” He was more aggressive, more irritated, as he now had you between his arms, pressing you against his flexed frame and the rigid edge of your own car. His fingers on you as an excuse to worsen your goosebumps left by his touch. Your eyes closed to feel the warmth of his body, accentuated by the sweat of working in this day’s particular sweltering heat, the idea of tasting his skin sending your gaze into a roll. 

“You okay there?” He questioned, breath now hot against your ear. But it was the feeling of his hand softly at rest on your thigh that pulled you to face him, surprising you both as you weren’t certain what you would say once rivaling him, but simply needing to in order to reclaim some sense of existence beyond the fogginess his closeness brought you. 

“Stop that!”

“Stop what?” He smirked, showcasing a set of devilish dimples that brought innocence to eyes wearing seduction so well. 

“You KNOW what. Can you just fix my car so I can-”

“Damn, you NEED that release don’t you? A bit more than I thought-” His words set his feet in motion, bringing you back against the car as your hand fell behind you, meeting with the hot metal of a recently activated engine that brought you to cringe and wince in pain. But before you could learn the extent of this burn, he collected your wrist and pulled your fingertip to his lips. Keeping his eyes locked to you, he took you behind his mouth, mending the sting with his tongue running over it far too slowly to look elsewhere.

“Fuck it…” You spoke, igniting a fire behind his gaze, as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders until they sat at rest behind his neck. Yet between the two of you, you would reign as instigator and dominant to what you had expected from him. His kisses were thorough, almost strategic, as your fingers came into a frenzy at his arms, the need to feel him closer clear in your claws. 

“Slow down, baby-”

“We don’t have a lot of time-”

“An hour’s plenty…” He explained, breaking away from the kiss for only a second to close the hood of the car with a slam, and hiking you on top of it in complete effortlessness. 

“Not to do EVERYTHING I want to do…but enough…” His eyes sparkled with that mischief you came to note first and foremost before even a word had left his lips. Lips that were now returned to you in those thorough kisses. 

The time in which he held you there, kissing as if his intent was to engrain his kiss to the extent of your taste, everything began to spin. 

“How long HAS it been for you princess?” He questioned, words sweet but tone demanding as you struggled to answer without trembling in both cadence and physicality. 

“Too long…” You answered, his fingers falling from your hair, tracing your neck, and teasing the exposed skin of your breast, all in the test to see where you were most delicate. 

“After me, you won’t remember how they disappointed you, fuck, you won’t even remember their names-” You couldn’t help but scoff at him at this, having been told other things by other guys once upon a time. 

“You seem pretty full of yourself there, JJ…” He mirrored your heavy breath, leaning closer into you. 

“You’ll be, soon-then I won’t have to tell you.” You swallowed hard to the sudden pull of his fingers curving into your jean shorts, pulling you to the very edge of the hood until you were most reliant on him keeping you upwards in support. 

“Please….” You whimpered, the teasing traces of his fingers in accompaniment to his hot breath on your neck, making you desperate for what only he could offer you. 

“Patience, princess…I want to take my time with you…make sure to get out ALL of this tension that makes you act like a brat-” Your expression compressed into a scowl before the feeling of his fingers accessing your shorts and drawing small circles over your clit having now adjusted this into pleasure 

“Goddamn…” He groaned in approval. 

“Now I know you didn’t wear these for me…” He explained as it was impossible to know that this would happen as you were unaware of one another until a handful of minutes ago. But his words continued to make you feel closer to him than anyone else ever had. This was because of his selflessness to ensure you were aroused before doing anything for or to himself. But the idea of it made you eager, your fingers continuing their bites into his bare arms tensed to his own motions. 

“BUT, I’m sorry to say I’m gonna be the one to ruin them…” His fingers now lowered to your entrance, teasing the delicate and sensitive opening allowing you to showcase how he aroused you. He smirked at how saturated you were with only a few touches, before he slipped that ringed middle finger into you. Your body reacted immediately against him, but only for a second as he withdrew before producing a second thrust. Where your eyes narrowed in confusion, detesting the tease, he kept you silent with the devilish look across his face, as he led your arousal between his lips. 

“Mmm…As sweet as I thought you’d be…” The satisfying pop of this finger leaving his shit-eating grin made you despise the distance between you and the unwavering patience he seemed to exercise as you were nearly bucking in desperation to a few traces and dirty words. 

“JJ, please-”

“What do you like, sweetheart?” His tone, breathy, led his eyes to you in wanting as it sent you further into your neediness. 

“Anything!” He smirked wildly before slowly nodding. 

“Everything.” He added, hooking his fingers at the edges of your shorts before exposing you to him. Your eyes immediately came to the open garage at your side, well aware that anybody could pull up at any second-even your father. And yet, the fire trailed along your skin from his touch made you feel as if it was only the two of you. 

“Just relax, okay? Focus on me-look at me…watch me make you cum…” You gave a series of weak half nods, expecting his fingers to return to you. But instead, he lowered to his knees and began a crusade of french kisses along your thigh until his breath came to your sex. 

“So pretty when its so wet for me…” He kissed your clit, sending your eyes to close following a roll, before his devious teasing exchanged for commited pleasure as your fingers began to show your appreciation by wrapping in his hair, now absent the hat he had disposed of when getting onto his knees. 

The series of moans and groans vibrating against you only worsened your ability to remain silent as you struggled to do so in any attempt. Biting your bottom lip left you tasting the light copper of first blood as you optioned for a hand clasped around your own lips. 

“Uh uh-Those moans are too sexy to silence…I wanna know I’m doing a good job, baby…” His words made your heart, stomach, and eyes flutter as you embraced the moans desperate for escape. 

“JJ!” You breathed sharply, a familiar band twisting from within your stomach having informed you of an imminent release, any prior releases having been nothing in comparison to what he was drawing from you. Fingers now found your clit, a thumb rubbing the pulsating bud as you struggled to breathe against his motions. 

“Oh GOD! I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me, princess-I want you to cum on my tongue for me-I want to taste you…” He spoke in varied breaths, rushed and interrupted by the sloshing of having continued to pleasure you between your sopping thighs. For what usually embarrassed you, you were left further aroused and pleased as he moved faster into you, moaning and smirking as he was well aware of his expertise on the matter. 

And yet, there was something else you wanted more than this high. A mix of dominance and appreciation that sent you to take him to your lips immediately. He rose in quick succession, obeying your guidance, before setting his fingers back towards your core before you took hold of his wrists. Pushing him away for a moment, a flicker of worry developed behind cool blue eyes as you brought him to the side of your car. 

“I want you-”

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Princess-”

“In my mouth. I want to make you feel good…” Your words caught him off guard but the desire within him at a painful attention left him a victim to his human nature. He nodded, disrobing for you as he prepared yourself eagerly on your knees, pinning him in place by setting your bent legs on the edges of his toes. 

“Oh my God…” He grunted to the feeling of your hand wrapping around his cock, impressive and already weeping by just the thought of what was to come. You twisted slowly, drawing out the same torment he produced to you not even a handful of minutes prior. And you reveled in it. You became further in need of him-but in a way where you wanted him to feel as you did more than you wanted your own release. At least for now…

“Think you can handle it?”

“Not if you keep looking at me like that…” He spoke almost distant from the kindness he had shown until now while you bit your bottom lip before taking him behind that devilish grin.

 There was something in the way he was compassionate with you in contrast to those selfish lovers in your past that made you want to push beyond the grace of your novice predecessors. You knew enough about sex to make it enjoyable for yourself and whichever partner you chose, but always found a let down-until now…

“Fuck yeah…oh God…” He groaned, fingers collecting your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you were relentless against a silenced reflex. Despite the need to gag on his shaft, the swollen head making it difficult to breathe stuffed to the very back of your throat, you continued, wanting to push even further for him. 

“Oh shit…Oh Fuck! Slow down, you’re gonna make me cum-” Your smirk led him to pull your hair back far enough to reinstate dominance. 

“I don’t want to cum down your throat…So slow down.” He was sharp, in a way that only extended the drip between your legs, before his fingers relaxed enough to still keep a hold, just a kinder one, before he let you continue. 

“He-hello?” A voice called from the front of the garage as you paused, a cold chill of discovery running through you. 

“Don’t fucking stop-” He explained, taking you harder against him, yet turning to face the new patron. 

“Yes?” His charming smile hid the orgasm approaching him from your swirling tongue and corkscrew grip, not to mention the warm welcome of your throat. 

“Yeah, uh something weird happening with my engine man-” The man began to explain as you found it difficult to hear the details as the sounds of JJ being taken and removed from you was too much of a distraction to focus on anything else. 

“Just leave the keys on the tire, I’ll get to it in a minute.” He spoke rather impressively, sounding as if his cock wasn’t gearing up to rain down your throat at any given second. 

“You don’t need my name?”

“Just leave the keys, man.” JJ was now impatient as the man nodded, did as requested, and JJ’s eyes were heavy now returning to you. Teary eyed and breathless on your knees, he no longer cared for the courtesy of chivalry. Certain you were unseen, he forced you back to your feet, leading you back to the front of the car. 

“If I would have known about you, I would have slit your goddamn tires or cut your fucking fuel line if it got you here sooner.” You chuckled to his desperation as he pulled you against him, fingers softly lain around your neck in more direction than possession, before his hand moved back to your clit. 

“Nothing funny about what I’m gonna do to you, princess…” He explained, fingers pumping at a delicious pace as his thumb returned in passionate circles while you found it difficult to stand. 

“You like this? Huh? You like being taken from behind?”

“Yes…” You moaned as he scoffed, reaching into the pants still loose at his ankles, to produce a condom. Tearing it open with his teeth, he set it over his cock, all slowing his movements to you as his focus dwindled for only a moment. 

“Think you’re wet enough to take me all the way?” You nodded, chivalry and seduction making you clench in unison to him. 

“Please-” 

“That’s my girl.” He spoke proudly, taking his entire length into you in an effortless penetration, sliding beyond your initial clench and resting in a bottomed out rest. He remained this way for a second, allowing you to feel the extent of his cock, the twitch from your tightness around him, the veins greeting the greedy walls of your velvet interior. 

“So fucking tight.” He spoke through clenched teeth. 

“So good for me, aren’t you? Made for this cock, yeah?” He asked, bending you further over the hood as you nodded, inaudible agreeability released from your quivering lips. 

“Don’t cum-”

“JJ!” You whined. 

“I want you to cum WITH me, princess…I want to do it together, okay? I know you can…you’re so fucking good! Just a little more…” You nodded, the clutch of his fingers into your hips leaving your throat hoarse to the pleas cast in an echo due to the garage. His reflection cast from the windshield before you only deepened your own euphoria as his mouth fell slack, sweat now present over his otherwise flawlessly awed expression.

“So fucking beautiful!” He clenched. 

“JJ!” You warned, more exasperated than anything, as he lifted you against his chest, slowing his motions but somehow making them deeper by this angle. His fingers were now greedy beneath your shirt, the bare skin of your breast finding a new home within his palm. 

“Every part of you is so perfect…” He spoke into your neck, continuing his bucks. 

“So perfect. So tight. So-Ugh!” He struggled to speak, his pleasure forcing him mute. His fingers tightened around your neck as yours feasted in dominance around either of his wrists. 

“Please, JJ! You feel so good, I need to cum! Please!” You whimpered, this prompting him to teeter off of his own edge.

“Then cum for me. Cum all over my cock so I can keep you with me…Come on, princess…Let me take all that fucking tension…oh yeah…that’s it…oh yeah baby…That’s it…right there-right THERE. JUST. LIKE. THAT.” This final words sent you both into this spiral at the very second a familiar sound of a specific tow truck made its way before the garage. You were given just enough time to redress before giving a quick adjustment of your appearance and facing your father. But even if there lay no evidence of what just transpired, the guilt over your face led some sense of difference to be made known to him.

“Everything turn out alright with Ward?” JJ questioned, moving back to the hood of the car, pulling it open as you blushed at the evidence of perspired hand prints having now soiled its paint job within a certain light. 

“Yeah, how about here? Fix my little girl’s car?”

“I think she’ll have to come back for it tomorrow…” He gave you a half smirk as you couldn’t hide your own from developing wide across your face. 

“Alright, then…” Your father remained within the garage, moving about the work stations to prepare for his own tasks while JJ leaned close enough into you where only you could hear him. 

“I’ll service you anytime, Princess…”

[greatpestilenz]

Seeking Out - Miles Morales x Reader

   You've been harboring deep feelings for Miles Morales for months now. From the moment you first met him in college, there was something about his charming personality and infectious energy that drew you in. Although you started off as mere acquaintances, it seems like fate has been working its magic to bring the two of you closer together.

   Lately, you've been having more and more chance encounters with Miles. Sometimes it feels accidental, like bumping into each other in the crowded hallways, but most of the time, it's as if Miles is intentionally seeking you out. He never fails to spot you through the sea of people after classes and call out, "Hey, Mc!" Every time his eyes meet yours, a surge of excitement courses through your veins, and your heart skips a beat.

   One day, after another unexpected encounter, Miles approaches you with a mischievous grin. "What are you doing today?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

   You shrug, a mixture of nervousness and excitement bubbling inside you. "Well, exams are finally over, and I don't really feel like hanging out with my friends. Their wild energy tends to drain my social battery," you respond honestly, hoping that Miles might suggest something.

   His grin widens, and a spark of excitement gleams in his eyes. "Then, how about we hang out at the cafe right outside the campus?" he suggests, his voice laced with enthusiasm.

   You can't help but smile at his invitation. The thought of spending more time with Miles, getting to know him better, sends a wave of warmth through your body. "Okay, why not?" you reply, trying to contain your growing anticipation.

   And so, the two of you spend the day at the cafe, engrossed in conversation and laughter. The hours slip away effortlessly as you exchange stories, share your dreams, and discover common interests. It feels like you've known each other for much longer than just a few months.

   As the sun starts to set, casting a warm golden hue over the surroundings, you realize that it's time to head home. Reluctantly, you bid each other farewell, promising to meet again soon. This routine seems to repeat itself lately. Miles "accidentally" runs into you on campus, and each time, he invites you to movies, cafes, or lunch dates. It's becoming increasingly clear that there's more to these encounters than mere chance.

   One evening, after watching a movie together, you and Miles walk side by side under the starry night sky. The city lights twinkle like diamonds, illuminating the path before you. There's a comfortable silence between you, but something inside you stirs, urging you to speak up.

   Suddenly, you stop in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn towards Miles, feeling a mix of vulnerability and determination. Your face reddens as you muster up the courage to ask the question that has been weighing on your mind for so long. "Um... Miles?" you call out, your voice slightly shaky.

   Miles hums in response, his eyes filled with curiosity and warmth. He gazes at you intently, giving you his undivided attention. "D-Do you like me?" you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You immediately stumble over your words, trying to clarify, "N-no, I-I mean, you've been hanging out with me so often and inviting me to places... I don't want to assume, but I need to ask..."

   Before you can finish your question, Miles bursts into laughter, his laughter contagious and genuine. Your heart sinks for a moment, fearing that you've misread his actions and intentions. But then, he reaches out and gently places a hand on your shoulder, his laughter subsiding.

   "I got busted, huh?" Miles says, a mischievous yet affectionate glint in his eyes. He steps closer, his voice turning sincere. "You're perceptive, Mc. I've been going out of my way to spend time with you because... I really like you. I've liked you for a while now, and I couldn't resist the chance to get closer to you."

   Relief washes over you like a soothing wave, mingled with a sense of joy and excitement. Your breath catches in your throat as you look into his eyes, feeling a spark of hope ignite within you. "I like you too, Miles," you confess, your voice filled with sincerity. "I just had to gather the courage to ask."

   Miles' expression softens into a warm smile, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching for yours. As your fingers intertwine, a sense of completeness washes over you. "Well, now we both know," he says, his voice filled with happiness. "Let's see where this takes us, together."

   With renewed confidence, you walk hand in hand, the world around you seemingly fading away. The bustling city becomes a backdrop to your shared journey, where every step holds the promise of new adventures and blossoming love. You know there will be challenges and obstacles along the way, but with Miles by your side, you feel invincible.

   As the moon rises high above, casting a gentle glow over the city, you can't help but feel that this chance encounter, these months of growing closer, were meant to be. And as you continue walking together, embracing the unknown, you hold onto the belief that love has a way of weaving its magic into the most unexpected of stories.

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

wip wednesday, sorta - the story i've been noodling with has hit i think a pause point in that an idea emerged in drafting that i think might call for some major revamping, and i gotta marinate on it for a while before committing, which is sort of annoying but also sort of a relief since i do actually also really want to be able to turn my focus back to the fic i was in the middle of, lol. but here's a little of the non-fic thing i've been writing:

After the funeral, I came home. Each sound seemed perversely amplified: the tectonic friction of the key in the lock, the batwing smack of my purse against the wall, the strangled thunder of my boots on the wooden floor. The apartment felt insurmountably empty. I could not imagine how I would live here alone.

I hadn’t washed the sheets since the accident. It occurred to me—truthfully for the first time—that this could not go on forever. That one day I would have to fall asleep in a bed that no longer smelled like David. That there were little pieces of him here with me, clusters of dead cells that had once been his, and I would be the one to cast them out. I fell into bed with my shoes on and cried myself nauseous, howling to wake the dead until my body gave out.

When I woke up, it was dark out and there was a glass of water on my nightstand that I couldn’t remember getting. I sat up to drink it, confused and half-asleep still, with a headache from crying.

David was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with a sheepish smile. He wiggled his fingers in a goofy wave. Hey, babe.

I screamed.

-

So it’s definitely been an adjustment. I don’t want to undersell that. What he’s doing, it’s not the same as coming back from the dead. Death is death—you can’t turn back the clock. It’s just a little more permeable sometimes than I had assumed. That’s a lot to process, in and of itself. I still wake up alone, just like I would have if he’d stayed; manifesting takes a lot of energy, so he usually doesn’t bother when I’m asleep. The whole corporeality thing is kind of touch-and-go, too—pun intended, forgive me, because it’s been a rough couple months and sometimes you have to make your own fun.

And David—it changes you, dying. It would be stupid to expect it not to. Yes, he’s a little more subdued than he was before. A little less adventurous, a little more unreliable. But he’s not even sure he can leave the apartment. And our spreadsheets have yet to evince any kind of pattern to what we’ve taken to calling his signal. (Even that is a simplification: sometimes it acts like cell service, flickering in and out for its own inscrutable reasons, and other times it’s more like a battery, drained by exertion and taking time to restore.) More importantly, he’s still David. He’s still curious and kind; he still loves Leonard Cohen and heist movies. He still plugs in my heating pad when I’m doubled over from cramps, and he still makes me laugh. It’s not nothing, to live through the worst of all possible things and still come home to someone who makes you laugh.

In some ways it reminds me of that first pandemic year. I’m still going to work this time, but of course he’s not, so whenever I’m home, there he is. We hadn’t lived together long when it hit; those strange, sad, death-suffused months were what turned our fourth-story walk-up into a place that meant each other. It’s not so different now. We’re learning the new shape of ourselves in a state of close proximity and existential upheaval. My friend Laura and her husband just had their first baby. From what she tells me, our situation isn’t so different from that, either.

[cielaret]

The Shrouds, Shrouded.

Idia could not bear to look at his face in all its glory.

SPOILERS FOR BOOK 6, THE CHAPTER OF IGNIHYDE.

TRIGGER WARNING: dissociation, depression, descriptions of declining mental & physical health, possibly detailed descriptions of Idia's visions of grief, slightly graphic mentions of Ortho's death.

The room was dark, shrouded with black. Its space has not been cleaned in weeks.

Its desk, its chair, even its bedframe - all covered in a notable layer of dust.

The only evidence the room was even lived in being the soft buzzing of the computer monitors, the light from them barely shedding any clues on its condition.

And yet, that buzzing was much louder within the borders of Idia's consciousness.

Idia hasn't risen from his mattress in what felt like months, the dust on the bed's metallic frame barely moving a millimeter - proving his state of stillness.

Even the mangas near his bed have been left completely untouched, not even a bookmark in sight.

The set of sheets on his bed have long lost the smell of Vil's fresh blossom scented laundry detergent, instead stinking of his uncleansed body odor.

Vil-shi would be disappointed.

His pillow was stained with pools of tears, in all shades and states of absorption. Most boys his age would have different liquid marks on their sheets, but Idia had no drive for that sort of thing anymore.

The grey sweatpants he was wearing were starting to slip off his hips again, but never as much as his sanity has been.

Idia has shrouded himself with his comforter, the blanket unable to live to its name and purpose.

One would think Idia's ab definition was the result of hard work, except the now looser fit of his blank tank top no longer molded the body of flesh, as there was now barely any flesh to mold.

Said mold as been almost escaping Idia in more ways than one, as the room's depressive state lacked any food to accumulate those hazards.

The room was dark, shrouded with black.

Beneath and above the blankets, Idia's now declining flame of hair had done nothing to change that.

Electronic devices he loved so much, built with his own two hands and mind - left as mere decorations, each battery percent charged draining Idia's magic away, burning it into cremated ash.

Idia's curse has always been a big part of him as a being, his rows of DNA enveloped in a destiny of misery.

No matter how hard he tried, his blaze had always excelled in exposing his intense emotions in an even more exaggerated manner.

Idia's locks have endless possibilities, capable of displaying the rainbow symbolizing God's promise.

When motivated, his hair would turn an orange like of the sunrise, resembling the start of a possibly successful day.

When flustered, the specs of flame would turn a soft pink, making him look all the more like the reflection of the cherry blossom in the water.

. . . But what color is Idia's emptiness?

It is not often that he angers, the intensity of his fury breaking down the light into the truest red of reds.

A red that he never wishes to see again, as its outside display is all too similar to its inside source.

What shade of light is the void Idia was born while falling into? And why is his one special ability opening its gate?

Idia's burning locks have shortened in length. His magic has not been used in time, completely blotless.

Idia was cursed to never be able to catch a breath.

But thanks to him, that signature blue has been passed on even in death.

The more his depressive state lingered, the more his fire gave out.

Ancient flames, a supposed source of life, was soaking up his own span, the stealing of the oxygen he was privileged to only declining its burn - proving just how abnormal his sole existence as a being is.

Just as the Gods had cursed his bloodline, The rainbow post Noah's Ark displayed itself in his mane. The curse had been promised.

And on that fateful day, those colors were forced to disappear.

His little brother, Ortho Shroud, had always been the sun that emitted the light for Idia to break into those hopeful shades.

The colors had made them hopeful, but what was hope for? There is no hoping for the already made and done.

Their entire destiny was full with the functions of science, yet cursed with the opposition of them.

A happy day of his life with his brother was cut short, his short brother - cut.

Despite the colorless vision of his life in reality since, Idia remembers.

Idia remembers the shade of crimson adorning his brother's atoms, the blotted phantom responsible for it permanently staining his life with its ink.

The room was dark, shrouded with black.

For the first, but not last time, being a result of no light for Idia to break.

The Shrouds have lost one of their two precious sons, Yet despite his life being taken away from said family, he lived up to their surname just as much - and died to it.

The loss of blood was a hard one. His brother was the one who bled it out, yet Idia just as much lost his own.

His small casket not fully open, only his head and face presentable enough to display without the phantom's ink marks staining more of the family's vision.

The room of human flesh housing Ortho Shroud's heartbeat had gone dark, His body shrouded with light-colored flowers that previously grew from the happiness in his now still heart.

The room was bright, lit with blue.

Idia wished the blazing locks of the dead would burn the flowers to ash and revive him with their source.

If there was to be life after death, he hoped those flames would be the last ones the boy would ever have to see.

And it has been that way for almost 2 of Idia's years of youth.

The formerly older brother's guilt and grief have been eating at his organs that entire time.

Idia's work of life had a look depraved of any flaws, just the way the deceased was in his eyes. He had rebuilt the very same future he felt as if he destroyed with his own two hands.

He wasn't the committer of the crime, he wouldn't have earned a dime - yet to him, it felt as if those ink-splattered hands were his own, the stains not wearing away no matter how much he tried, no matter the amount of soap he used as he scrubbed his palms and fingers.

But that soap eventually went to good use, as Idia's work of art was empty of grieving fingerprints, void of sorrowful nail scratches.

. . . Yet Ortho Shroud, who fulfilled his surname's legacy, did not remain a person.

He wasn't the right, he wasn't the correct. He wasn't Ortho. That name was his - but he wasn't.

The room was dark, shrouded with black.

Darker than it ever has been.

The computer monitors were still lit, buzzing away, but a certain light was uncharacteristically off.

Idia couldn't bear to witness Ortho's artificial life source in function anymore. He had tried to craft him perfect, as perfect as he once was, yet his efforts proved to bear fruit not ripe enough.

Idia could not longer stand looking at who - what he has created. He could no longer stand to look at the artificial flames he had given it, adorning its head as if it's a symbol of pride - as if it was holding up its own cause of death, Idia's mistake, like a trophy.

No matter what he does, no matter what upgrades he makes, his younger brother he has created will, for as long as Idia lives, be younger than him.

But he will never be his little brother ever again. He will never be correct - will never be his Ortho.

He could no longer look at it in its fully exposed face, always having to shroud the other half.

Not that he ever could look at it in the first place.

For once, the life sources of both the brothers were fading the same.

And Idia wasn't sure on how to feel about it.

DId the stains on his hands expand or grow in size? Was he a killer in return?

Was reigniting Ortho's cursed fire his to do? Did he have the right?

Was he putting his beloved brother through his cruel fate all over again?

Was him shutting off his source making him experience death twice?

. . .But the most stubborn stain of the bunch . . .

Idia knew it - he, would.

What would happen once he's gone?

What would be of it all once his body's fire is put out?

Would his creation know to create him?

The void was dark, shrouded with black.

Its gate was finally closed.

Despite his fears, and in his hopes - the soul of his blood, enclosed. He has regained the one and only title he ever craved to hold.  

And the light was broken once again. The flowers which grew from it never wilting once.

Idia had never been so happy to be cursed in his entire cursed life.

Just as they were promised, the flood had finally balanced its tide.

[bones-barlow]

I Made Battery Acid Spaghetti (Don't Make Battery Acid Spaghetti)

A thing to know about me is that I have a very strong, very regrettable weakness for awful hybrid junk food. Icee-flavored Oreos, Sour Patch Kids ice cream, Cheetos macaroni and cheese, the list goes on. Combine this with a slight contrarian streak, and perhaps it was inevitable that I would eventually try "Battery Acid Spaghetti".

You've probably seen the post. Sour rainbow gummy candy, peeled into long thin strings and submerged in cheap energy drink to create a vile little concoction, invariably followed by a crowd of people saying "don't do this". Ever since the original post broke containment and started to circulate on Reddit, there was always a little voice in the back of my head telling me to try it. However, the mere mixture of gummy candy and energy drink was never enough to push me over the edge.

No, the real kicker was when the post re-circulated through r/CuratedTumblr last week, and one user commented:

Now THIS got my mind working. I don't like Mountain Dew, but the grocery store where I do my shopping carries a variety of energy drinks in a variety of flavors, including a brand called "Ghost". Ghost in particular has several flavors that taste like types of candy: Swedish Fish, Sour Patch Kids, and, most relevant to this post, Warheads. Unable to resist the siren song of garbage food-adjacent-substances that are bad for me, I made a few purchases and concocted the infamous little brew. For science, you understand.

After peeling some Airheads Xtremes into strips and pouring a Sour-Green-Apple-Warheads-Flavored-Energy-Drink over the top, the thing I immediately noticed was that the drink did, in fact, slightly solidify. Through some chemical reaction, a thin white film formed on top of the 'broth' almost immediately, and it was solid enough to fish out bits of it with a fork. There was no going back from here. I wasn't going to back down or let my hard-earned money go to waste. Chow time.

I wasn't entirely sure what to expect in terms of flavor. Airheads Xtremes and Warheads are both sour, of course, but there's sweetness to both, and Ghost mimics their candy flavors nigh perfectly. The combination should probably be similar, right? Well, yes and no. The candy itself retained most of its sweetness, the sour crystals having washed off and dissolved into the Ghost. The drink was where most of the sourness went. These were expected. What wasn't expected was a third flavor: bitterness. The sourness of the candy and the drink was diluted through the sugarfree liquid and made something that was honestly kind of unpleasant to taste. What was more, once most of the candy had been finished, the liquid left had acquired a noticeable tint:

The Ghost wasn't quite colorless, but there was only a slight amount of coloration to it. With the candy having soaked in it for a bit, it had turned a sickly, cloudy shade of yellow. This did not help the flavor, and I only drank about half of what was in this picture and ended up pouring the rest of it down the drain, along with the remainder of the can of Ghost (totaling about half of the drink). From creation to completion, it took about 20 minutes.

Even this wasn't the end. The whole thing left a distinct stickiness in my mouth, and even after rinsing and gargling with warm water and eating some actual real food, it still isn't quite gone. This, when combined with my generally low tolerance for caffeine, has left me in an unpleasant and headachey funk.

So, what can I say I learned from this experience? Well, I may have set my expectations a bit too high. The perils of hyping oneself up, I suppose. I was not in terrible pain, my teeth didn't rot out of my head, and I certainly don't think I'd be able to use this stuff to mimic an actual battery. Nevertheless, I have come to the following conclusion:

Don't do this.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.vii // Zopiclone

Previous / AO3 / Masterlist / Next

Renee’s breath comes deep and steady as he returns to consciousness. When he blinks open his eyes, he finds himself looking down the length of his own naked body, warm water still racing in lines down his skin, steam still rising from the black tiles. His fingers still mechanically circle through his hair to rinse it from soap, although the soap itself has long since washed out.

Confused, he lets his hands drop to his sides and spends several seconds blinking down, as if trying to make sense of the water swirling around his feet, spiraling down the drain. His brow furrows.

Did he just… fall asleep… in the shower?

Did he just fall asleep while fucking standing up?

It fully starts to dawn on him as he turns the faucet off end steps out of the shower enclosure, shivering in the relatively cooler air of the bathroom proper. At first, he just finds it strangely humorous. He had no idea that it was actually, physically possible to fall asleep standing up, always assumed it was some exaggeration or urban myth. Not even valium has produced this kind of a reaction in him before. It’s helped him fall asleep, obviously, but never when he didn’t intend to.

Then there’s the relief that he somehow didn’t fall and crack his skull open on the tiles. Be a damn stupid way to end up with brain damage, or just straight up dying. He wants to avoid microsleeping again, but his pulse is frustratingly slow, he notices, even as he tries to mitigate it by exaggerating his movements as he dries himself off.

Once he’s become conscious of it, that’s suddenly all he can think about: how infuriatingly slow he is. How much effort it takes just to lift his arms, how much he has to concentrate when shifting his grip on the towel, as if whatever part of his brain that’s in charge of fine motor skills has been turned to its lowest possible gear.

Jesus, he really, really underestimated the potency of the new Z.

Cursing under his breath, he dries his hair vigorously enough that he feels small pinpricks where strands are ripped out. There’s a hazy comfort in his chest, a heaviness in his limbs that’s all well and good when you’re in bed, but entirely unwelcome when you’ve got the day ahead of you. He tries to force his body to feel more energized through sheer willpower, really tries to search for a reserve, but even his thoughts are lazy and dull.

And who is to blame? Nobody but him. It’s so goddamn typical.

Maybe if he’d done some fucking research instead of jumping in head first, he wouldn’t be drowsy out of his mind, wouldn’t feel like a robot clutching onto a dying battery for dear life. He finds himself occasionally zoning out as he’s putting on fresh clothes, vision blurring, movements slowing to a halt until he catches himself again, shaking head repeatedly. It’s a constant effort just to keep up with routine.

How’s he supposed to last the day like this? How long is the half-life of these pills, exactly? And why the fuck didn’t he look that up last night?

Stomping out of the bathroom, Renee slams the door shut hard enough to feel the vibration though the floor, if anything just to keep his pulse up. The door to his bedroom gets slammed shut, too.

Alright, so it’s one of those days where he has to keep supplementing. One line for starters, he decides. Just enough to get to a point where staying awake doesn’t feel like a task in and of itself.

He throws his phone on the desk, rummages through the hidden compartment in his drawer, already open from the previous night. He doesn’t label the bags, but the different drugs aren’t particularly difficult to tell apart. Only one comes in powder form, and that’s the one he retrieves. Going by eye measure, he taps out the bright white snow on a small pile on his phone’s screen, and, once he’s satisfied with the amount, closes the bag, and lets it drop back into the drawer.

Once he goes to retrieve his wallet, though, his pockets turn up empty.

He finds himself snarling as he pats himself down, stomping to the jacket sprawled over the back of his desk chair. As he fumbles to scour its pockets, he drops it and has to pick it up again, only to find out that it, too doesn’t hold his wallet. He curses and moves on to search his rucksack, thoughts exponentially becoming fragmented, a choking heat rises in his chest, threatening to turn his vision red.

Finally, Renee lets out a cry of frustration and throws his empty rucksack across the room. Why is he so pissed all of a sudden? Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t fucking matter. Now his hands shake with a familiar, desperate kind of energy, and a heat is pulsing in his head, tearing at his throat, making his face contort in a snarl. He has to lock his hands behind his head to quell the impulse to break something in his room or punch a hole in the drywall.

Calm the fuck down. You can do it without a card.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Another.

Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot.

Slowly, he unlocks his hands, eyes running over the mess strewn about his desk for anything useful.

Notebooks he’s never written in, old earbuds with broken wires, empty cans, knickknacks… Renee takes another deep breath and flips open one of the notebooks to tear out the first blank page, then pushes aside the clutter to make enough room on the table to fold the paper into a quarter of its original size. It’ll have to do.

Returning to the powder on his phone screen, Renee uses the edge of the folded paper to hack away at it, breaking up whatever clumps may have formed. Once he’s satisfied, he tears another piece of paper from the notebook, tears it into a smaller square, and rolls that up into a straw.

Straw loosely grasped in one hand, he stands there for a moment, eyes fixed on the line. Why did he get so angry? This isn’t the first time he’s improvised.

Maybe it’s just one of those days.

After an exhale, he bends down and snorts it. Closing one nostril with his thumb, he keeps sniffing through the other until it starts to make him out of breath. Swallowing against the bitter taste at the back of his throat, he leans his head back and waits.

The effect isn’t immediate, but it might as well be. After a minute, he already feels better. As his face starts to tingle with numbness and the familiar euphoria rushes down the length of his spine, his vision comes back into clear focus – a sense that his whole body is vibrating with energy and awareness.

Renee jumps in place a few times to shake life into his tired limbs, pulse finally keeping up as he wants it to.

He's back in control.

💵

Renee tries to believe in Davin’s divine wisdom as he spends the day securing bolts and locks to every window and exterior door of the ground floor, dragging his dad’s old and largely unused tool case around. But a nagging part of him can’t fully give in to the thought that Conrad is as stupid as he looks. Surely a padlock isn’t going to deter someone who has every reason to believe they won’t make it out alive unless they somehow circumnavigate it. If a door is locked, you break the frame. If a window is locked, you smash the glass. Wouldn’t that be everybody’s first instinct? Why not just keep him locked in place? But oh, no.

“The more possibilities a person has of mitigating the severity of their circumstances, the less likely they are to act brashly. You feed them small freedoms. You don’t have to tell them that those freedoms can be taken away if your trust in them is broken. If they have half a braincell, they already know.”

“Trust…?”

 “I don’t know what else to call it.”

And Davin kept going, a whole little lecture on the psychology of control that Renee has forgotten so many parts of by now, Davin might as well not have bothered. Renee does remember, however, that he didn’t know enough to even begin to question it, and so he went along, and keeps going along now, even despite his doubts.

As the day progresses, and the effect of the sedatives finally begin to thin out, Renee still finds himself occasionally supplementing with tiny doses of coke, now more out of a hunger for the pick-me-up and a resolve to avoid crashing too hard on the come-down. He dons headphones and silently jams out while putting up the locks, mouthing along to lyrics whenever he isn’t holding tools or clasps between his teeth to use both his hands to mark up the placement of screws. In its own strange way, the repetitive nature of his task is a welcome replacement to its alternative; if Davin hadn’t put him to work, surely he would’ve spent the day fruitlessly chasing away his boredom. Maybe he would’ve gotten drunk just to pass the time. Alcohol beats thumb-twiddling, after all. Either way, he gives into the rhythm of marking screw placements, bolting the locks in place, testing them out, and moving onto the next point of entrance.

On breaks, he checks the news. Four hours southeast, a reporter interviews a search-and-rescue volunteer outside the tent they’re using as the base of operations. They discuss which areas of the local woods have been searched and which haven’t, what the missing was last seen wearing; they discuss what they hope to find while carefully dancing around unmentionable dreads. Later, a local police chief is asked the same questions and gives roughly the same answers, but with a single caveat; that the circumstances around Conrad DeWitt’s disappearance are quote-unquote “somewhat suspicious,” and that they’re not ruling out foul play.

Chills creep up Renee’s skin at the thought of what’s in store, for the search-and-rescue volunteers, for the police. They’re all clueless now, all grasping at straws. If they knew…

Come evening, as the sun begins to set behind the grove of pines in the backyard, and the aroma of sizzling meat begins to emanate from the kitchen area, Renee only has one window left.

He considers letting it wait until after dinner. Nothing about Davin’s cooking has been particularly groundbreaking so far, but then again, Renee hasn’t eaten anything all day, and he’s starting to feel it even despite the high. Maybe it’d be better to take a break, come back on a full stomach.

On the other hand, well, he might as well just get it over with.

Knuckles cracking against the guest bedroom door, Renee waits for about half a second before he remembers he doesn’t care, and opens the door.

Conrad sits cross-legged with his back to the door, hunched over his hands. As Renee enters, his head snaps back, eyes wide in surprise, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. There’s a faint mark at his hairline where he rested his head against the bedrest.

Renee pauses with one hand on the door, the other dangling the tool case at his side. He squints at his captive. “Are you jerking off?”

“Wh..? No,” Conrad says with disgust, face flushing. “I was—I was—”

Laughing, Renee waves him off. “I’m kidding,” he says, closing the door behind him. He sets his father’s tool case on the desk. “It’s the cuffs, right?”

Conrad seems reluctant to answer, but eventually nods.

Renee steps closer. “Lemme see,” he says, albeit a bit redundantly. Conrad can’t exactly pull away to hide it.

As Renee predicted the night before, Conrad’s hands are a wreck. The marks on the back have turned a deep, dark purple-red hue in a half-circle, following the arch of the cuffs he hung from, the skin chafing in some places. New marks have formed across the base of the thumb on the hand that’s currently cuffed to the baluster – much lighter than the others, but they also look newer.

Renee snorts. “Did you try to get them off?”

Conrad grimaces, not meeting Renee’s gaze. “It just hurts,” he mutters, almost shamefully.

“Ah,” Renee says. Nods a little. Coughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you want, I can ask Davin if he’s got some lidocaine lyin’ around.”

Conrad hesitates, watching him like he’s trying to find signs of an ulterior motive. “What’s that?”

“Lidocaine,” Renee explains slowly, “is an over-the-counter painkiller. It’s commonly used to, y’know, kill pain or whatever. But hey, if you’d rather sit and cry about it, forget I said anything.”

“Okay,” Conrad says.  

Renee smiles. “Okay, what?”

Conrad sniffs, jutting his chin in the direction of the door. “Ask him if he has it.”

Renee chuckles at the cute little defiant display. “Alright, I will,” he says, mirroring the tone. He laughs again, but Conrad only looks away, jaw working silently.

The drill is running low on batteries, but it’s got plenty for the last few screws. Renee switches the bit holder for a drill bit, low-key finding the whirring and clicks of the machine satisfying – maybe he should’ve been a carpenter. He grabs a couple of hinges and, without further ado, jumps up onto the bed to reach the window, feet sinking into the mattress.

Conrad, still scowling, nevertheless skirts away from him a little too quickly, pressing his back to the balusters.

With an amused smile playing on his lips, Renee places one hinge on the window sill and one hinge on the frame surrounding the pane itself, marks the placement of the screws.

He narrows his eyes at the drill. Thoughtfully looks at Conrad. Pulls the trigger of the drill to watch it spin for a bit. Looks back at Conrad, whose eyes widen, the color draining from his face.

“In due time,” Renee mutters ominously as he gets back to work. It breaks the character of the joke, but he can’t help but snicker at how easy it is to freak Conrad out. He hops off the bed after the pilot holes are drilled to grab the lock and a handful of screws, then jumps back up, humming slightly to himself.

Renee doesn’t notice when he drops a screw onto the bed. He doesn’t notice when Conrad, eyes wide with fear, reaches out a tentative hand and flattens a fold in the duvet over it, effectively hiding it from sight.

With the lock clicked in place, Renee opens the window the small fraction it can, and pushes on it a few times to make sure the hinges hold. “All set, Connie boy,” he says, sighing.

Conrad blinks up at him, unmoving. Strange how it’s become the norm, how paranoid he is of Renee, as if he’s afraid his tone might change again, that the more determined sadistic side of him might rear its ugly head.

“Lidocaine,” Renee says suddenly. “Yeah shit, ah… fuck.” He taps his leg absentmindedly, then abruptly starts packing down his tools, scooping up the remaining screws and dumping them haphazardly in the case. He stops midway through, mind suddenly racing. Holds up a finger as he turns around.

Conrad watches him warily.

“It’s a sign of good faith,” Renee says.

“… what?”

“The locks.” Renee drags the desk chair over and sits backwards on it, leaning in to meet Conrad at eye level. “Lesson time, Conrad,” he says in a low voice. “Impromptu, whatever. You get some freedom to move around during the day from now on. Watch TV or whatever, read some books, pass the time. That’s a sign of good faith.” He drums a bit on the chairs back, a mindless effort to keep restless hands occupied. “Davin isn’t gonna say this, but if you try to make a run for it, and we catch you – which we will, by the way – you’re gonna wish you hadn’t.”

Conrad swallows. “I understand.”

“Do you really? What do you think would happen?”

Conrad grimaces, shifting uncomfortably under Renee’s piercing gaze. “You’d do something…”

“Mh?”

“Y-you’d hurt me.”

“We would. I would.” Renee taps his own chest. “And now you know that for certain, so now it’s on you.”

Conrad’s breathing has become shallower. He looks down at the floor, eyes unfocused. “I understand.”

“Good,” Renee says. Nodding to himself, he dismounts the chair and fetches the tool case. He pauses at the door, looking back at his captive. “There’s things I wouldn’t do to you unprompted, y’know.” He pats the doorframe with a flat hand. “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[nothing-more-than]

✨️ A proper tour of my feeding tube!! ✨️

Putting it below a readmore link bc it'll be a little (read: very) long <3 It isn't graphic though!

The tube!! There's a little balloon in my tummy to hold the tube in, and a rubbery disc against my skin to help hold things in place. The numbers and lines on the tube are meant to tell me if my tube has slipped out/pushed further in, so I can adjust it as needed (or contact my doctor if it's a significant amount of movement). The tube isn't connected to the disc, and can move independently of it.

Then we have the tube itself, with its three chambers and ports:

The Gastric port, aka the G port, that leads to my stomach. I use this for meds crushed in water, as well as draining my stomach when I feel ill, because my tummy isn't very good at processing things I consume.

The Jejunal port, aka the J port, that leads to the beginning of my small intestines, is the one I use for my feedings. I have to flush it with water four times a day to prevent the thick formula from clogging it up.

Lastly, we have the Bal. port, aka the Balloon port. The Balloon port was just used to inflate the balloon, so I don't do anything with it. When it's time to replace my tube with a shiny new one, they'll snip the tube with a scissors, and the air will leak out of the balloon, allowing them to remove the tube.

Here we have the tube connected to the feed bag! It has a cute purple cap for the end, so I can keep my formula from leaking everywhere or getting contaminated while I stop my feedings for water flushes. I like to loop it and put it in my cute zebra print clip, to hold my tube up and shorten the length of tube I have to deal with.

The feed bag tube goes through a pump, then connects to the bag, all hung on my iv pole!

(Sorry for the shaky pic, I have pretty bad hand tremors from a medication side effect rn).

There's a screen to display my dose, rate, and how much I've consumed during my current feeding. I can just click the labelled button and it'll show me what I wanna see/adjust! It also explains whatever alarm might end up going off, such as 'NO FOOD' (when my feed bag runs out), or 'PUSH PAUSE TO START' (for when I pause a feeding and forget to continue it after I've finished whatever I was doing). Oh and it shows if it is actually running, along w how much battery life it has left! I plug it in each night after I've finished feeding for the day.

The screen does light up when it's plugged in, but I don't like dragging the cord all over the floor when I move around, so I just deal with the dim screen.

Then there's the feed bag (which will actually change now that I get pre-filled ones). The tube comes out the bottom, and at the top is a cap you can twist off to add more formula. Each bag (and tubing) is only used for one day, as it isn't sanitary enough to continue using it for more than 24 hours. The other style of bag I'll be getting can be used for 48 hours max.

Each bag can hold up to 1200ml of formula, but I only fill it half full and add the rest later, as I don't like when it's super heavy. The lines and numbers along the side show you roughly how much formula is in there, the key word here being Roughly. It's not always accurate.

BONUS: Here's my table! When I first got home, I was in so much pain I could barely move, so my bed was put in the living room, and I have a table with baskets of everything I might need. I've got headphones and gaming things, tissues, socks and headbands, my planner, and tooons of meds. I'm also borrowing my brother's grabber thing-- I use it to turn on the light behind me :3

BONUS 2: Here's a self-portrait I did shortly after I got my tube, expressing the struggle I've experienced while healing and adjusting to my new situation. It was a rough couple of weeks, but I made it through, and things are finally starting to look up now. I'm eager to start sharing the things I've learned, and what I'm still learning!

And that's it!! I hope this was interesting or helpful <3 You're welcome to ask questions about anything, either here or at my main blog @arcadian-vampire . Thank you for your time!

[myhauntedsalem]

Holmesburg Prison

From 1896 up until 1995 the Holmesburg Prison in Pennsylvania was in constant use. Much of the history at Holmesburg’s has instances of rioting, murder, rape and even medical experimentation. Most prisons claim some violence in their past, but Holmesburg’s borders on barbaric. Maybe this strong negative energy is what keeps the ghosts of Holmesburg Prison so active.

There was a hunger strike held in 1938. As a disciplinary action, guards took the 25 leaders of the hunger strike to a section in the prison called the Bake Ovens or Klondike. In mid-August the heat reached 190 degrees. The doors opened after 2 ½ days and four inmates had, according to the coroners own words, “roasted to death”. After an investigation, the courts tried ten officials and guards. Only two got convictions and given sentences of just 1-3 years.

In 1952 an inmate named Thomas Donato was found dead in a bathtub. Officially reports were that he drowned, but an autopsy report later showed he was actually beaten to death. In 1970, 250 inmates armed with knives and meat cleavers took over part of the prison after attacking other inmates and guards. It took a 400 man team to restore order and resulted in the hospitalization of 69 inmates and 27 guards.

In 1973, Warden Patrick Curran and his deputy Robert Fromhold met with two inmates who proceeded to stab them both to death with prison shivs. In 1989 a riot broke out that produced injuries to 54 guards and 94 inmates. Prisoners claimed that guards repeatedly beat them in retaliation for the riot. There were many claims of abuse and corruption among officials and guards.

In 1951 Dr. Albert M. Kligman, a University of Pennsylvania dermatologist, inventor of Retin-A, came to Holmesburg. He got called in to take a look at an outbreak of athlete’s foot and turned it into a 20 year dermatology test with inmates as the lab rats. Dr. Kligman carried out tests involving toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, skin creams, detergents, liquid diets, eye drops, foot powders and hair dye. As a result the prisoners had to endure frequent painful procedures as constant biopsies to check progress. Kligman used inmates in the early testing of Retin-A as well.

The U.S Army paid Kligman in 1967 to apply chemicals that caused the skin to blister to the faces and backs of inmates. Kligman said it was to “learn how the skin protects itself against chronic assault from toxic chemicals, the so-called hardening process.”

It seems the ghosts of Holmesburg Prison are still living the nightmares of the past. Neighbors have reported hearing loud screams coming from behind the large stone wall surrounding the prison. Also they claim to hear sounds of gunfire and rioting and guards still standing guard in the towers on top of the wall.

Most who come to Holmesburg Prison get the feeling of a heavy energy throughout the prison. It is not uncommon to hear doors slamming and hear audible voices echoing through the halls. Claims of electric devices malfunctioning and batteries draining are also a common occurrence. There are claims by guards of seeing full figure apparitions in the prison even before it closed its doors and even on the hottest days of summer, parts of the prison stay so cold it would make you shiver.

After it closed, Holmesburg was the scene for the 1995 film Condition Red, the 1996 movie Up Close & Personal, the 2000 motion picture Animal Factory and the 2009 film Law Abiding Citizen.

[deadwaterrp]

PREMISE

There’s the story the locals will tell you. How this town in the middle of nowhere didn’t fall to the sun and the sand like every other ghost town in California. How an actual miracle pulled Deadwater out of desolation. It’s a happy story; one old-timers will boast about. But that’s not what really happened. Of course it isn’t. But does it matter?

Welcome to Deadwater, California. Population 7,777 exactly. Suspiciously, this number hasn’t changed in at least several decades. Outwardly Deadwater seems to be an innocent enough tourist trap town you’d typically find along Route 66 and other such desert highways. Heck, there’s an entire theme park out here. Yet lost or wandering travelers tend to claim the town gives off an eerie vibe they can’t quite place.

Cars will randomly die while approaching or passing through Deadwater. Photographs taken within town limits have a habit of developing blurry or distorted. Even so, something about this place still seems to lure people in. You’d be surprised to hear how many townsfolk were once roadtrippers, ghost hunters or UFO enthusiasts intending only to stop by.

Maybe it’s the water.

KEEP IT WEIRD, DEADWATER

The town of Deadwater, CA sits in a paranormal hot-spot. Perhaps because the veil is unbelievably thin here. Ley Lines, they say. Or perhaps it has something to do with that Miracle the Historical Society loves to tout, granting the town and its long-term residents a kind of magical inclination. Whatever the reason, strange things happen here. Strange things can be seen here. So much strange goes on in Deadwater and the surrounding desert, in fact, that they aren’t considered strange at all. Here is a detailed running list of the kind of weirdness you can expect out of this town:

AUTOMOBILE BREAKDOWN

Entering or leaving Deadwater town lines can get a bit tricky when motorized vehicles have a tendency to break down out of nowhere, for no apparent reason. They simply stop functioning completely out of the blue. Of course, this doesn’t happen to every single car that drives to and from Deadwater, but it happens often enough that the only auto shop in this town sees good business year ‘round.

CONGREGATION OF CREATURES

Each district in Deadwater appears to have attracted their own strange congregation of creatures. For example, a massive murder of crows have made the downtown area of Heritage Park their home. In the Lowlands a haughty flock of wild turkeys roam the pavement like an intimidating street gang. Cats, on the other hand, can be found slinking around the hills of Buena Vista. Meanwhile the creatures that congregate in the Wilds…Well, let’s just say they’re something else.

CRYPTIDS

Probably Deadwater’s largest kept not-secret. No one really acknowledges that they exist to your face. You, being an outsider. But they know damn well cryptids are real. What’s more, the desert isn’t home to just one cryptid creature. There are plenty out there that haven’t been discovered yet. Cryptozoology isn’t some woo woo pseudoscience for us Deadwaterians. It’s a serious degree you can earn at Deadwater College for a reason.

DEAD ZONES

These are areas around the Wilds that will wreak havoc on electronics of any kind. Batteries drain rapidly for no discernible reason. Your mobile devices will turn on and off at random or suddenly start behaving as if it is hacked. But the most chilling thing about these Dead Zones is the fact that people caught in them usually experience lost time. Maybe because time itself runs oddly out there. Whether it speeds up or slows down is anyone’s guess. Maybe time overlaps. In any case, Dead Zones are constantly shifting. So unless you have an EMF detector on your hands, good luck out there.

FAULTY CAMERAS

Whether using traditional film or digital, chances are that if you try to take picture or video evidence of the strange entities that lurk around Deadwater, you’ll end up with trash. Images turn out too blurry to see anything. Footage will look distorted. You could always keep trying, but what’s that they say about the definition of crazy? The only semi exception is ghost photography. Pictures of spirits won’t develop crystal clear, but they do tend to come out a little more compelling.

THE GHOSTS

Seeing the dead is an everyday occurrence here in Deadwater. At least for the locals. For the most part they are treated like any other citizen of the town. Some even work. So please don’t be alarmed if you stumble across people chatting away to someone you can’t see for yourself. Or happen across dogs seemingly walking themselves. We assure you they’re not. That’s just Ricky. Dying doesn’t mean he stopped loving dogs.

MYSTERY PAYPHONES

When was the last time you remember seeing an operational payphone? In Deadwater you can find them all over the place; booths popping up seemingly overnight and then disappearing again a few months later. These payphones are claimed to be owned by a company called Frontier Communications, or just Frontier for short. But on paper there is no such company in existence. If that isn’t mysterious enough, sometimes these payphones will start ringing on their own until a curious passerby picks up. People have reported hearing a range of things: static noise, random sequence of numbers, recited vintage recipes, other strange recordings, breathing, and dead silence.

NIGHT WHISTLING

Some cultures warn you not to whistle at night because you might just hear a disembodied whistle back. Here in Deadwater, however, you can hear that disembodied whistle whether you want to or not. But don’t worry. It’s usually harmless as long as you don’t look behind you. Keep walking all the way home and you’ll be totally fine.

SENTIENT CLOUDS?

Have you looked up at the sky recently? If you stare long enough you might catch something truly peculiar. Specifically, you might notice a few clouds that move a little too willfully. Don’t try to bring this up to the town sheriff, or any city official for that matter. They’ll only brush you off.

SINGING PALMS

There’s howling wind and then there’s this. On particularly windy days, the desert palms lining our suburban streets of Lowlands will rock and sway as if dancing. Then they begin to sing. No one has been able to identify the melody they sing as of yet, but it’s mostly pleasant if not entirely bewitching. Try not to stand around idly when you hear them singing. You might get hypnotized by their song.

UNUSUAL WEATHER PHENOMENON

Raining frogs in the springtime? Sudden electrical storm during the peak of summer? Thick fog that refuses to dissipate for an entire month? That’s just another day in the life in Deadwater. Odd weather, while not necessarily a common occurrence, happens often enough throughout the year that the locals just laugh it off as one of the quirks of living in this town. It’s best to keep clothing options for all seasons in the wardrobe, just in case. We’re still waiting for spaghetti to fall out of the sky though.

[anaxerneas]

Francis Ponge, "Slate" (L’Ardoise)

translated by Simon Watson Taylor

If one reflects well on slate — in other words, not very much, since its range of reflections is very limited and not unlike the wing of a bullfinch in full flight, except under the effect of critical precipitations, of skies changing from blue-grey to black — one may come to the conclusion that any book it may contain will consist entirely of prose: a dry cell; a drained battery; a pile of newspapers reaching back through the centuries, illustrated in places by some of the oldest known fossils which, though submitted to monstrous pressures, and now welded into the pile, are still the product of an incomplete metamorphosis.

It suffers from having never been touched on the shoulder by the finger of fire. Unlike the daughters of Carrara, therefore, it will never swathe itself in light nor radiate light.

These damsels come from the end of the secondary, whereas slate belongs to the establishments of the primary, and is our old-time governess, stony-hearted, showing a sad, dejected face: a complexion less evocative of night than of the dull penumbra of the ages.

Cut along the line of stratification, then sawn into square blocks, slate’s compact, dull-hued cross-section, once the quick has been reached, is simply prepared for polishing, pumiced: never anything more or anything less, except perhaps when the rain sometimes makes it shine, on the northern slope, like the vizorless helmets of a company of royal guards at attention.

Nevertheless, a great deal of credit attaches to slate, is put on the slate.

A humble prop for a humble science, it is designed less for what must be retained by the memory than for precarious, chalky formulations, for what must be transmitted from one memory to another, rapidly, repeatedly, for what can easily be obliterated.

In the same way, it resists the sky’s transgressions deviously, at an angle, keeping one wing hidden.

Let’s say no more about it. Clean slate! [Quel plaisir d'y passer l'éponge!]

There is less pleasure to be gained in writing on a slate, on the subject of slate, than in obliterating one’s words, one’s thoughts, with a single gesture, like that corrective weather phenomenon the sudden squall which has only to brush up against it for a moment to turn it black, painting a gloomy picture of it in an instant.

But it quickly changes colour again, loses its vowels between moistness and modesty, soon dries:

‘‘Let me unknit my brow and offer its smooth surface to the humblest school-boy, who may wipe it with the humblest rag.’’

A slate is really nothing but a kind of temporary stone, lustreless and hard.

Worth contemplating. [Songeons-y]

Found in The Yale anthology of twentieth-century French poetry

[agent-starbuck]

Stupid Deep

They drive in silence down a quiet street near Sebring, Florida. It's dark out-- a fine mist creeping in with its eerie, opaline tendrils, blanketing the asphalt as their car navigates its way through, collecting tiny droplets of moisture on the windshield as it goes. Only in Florida would you need to use windshield wipers when it wasn't even raining. Everything here is damp.

They've spent too many hours in the Florida sun, and this case has been exhausting. She thought a little sunshine would feel rejuvenating-- a way to recharge her batteries after recovering from her cancer, but it's done the opposite. She feels utterly drained. Suddenly, she misses the brisk, fall air back in DC.

She forgot how much she hates mosquitoes.

If she were being entirely honest, it's not the sun or the damp or even the mosquitoes that have found her in a less-than-amicable mood tonight. It's Mulder.

He's been in a funk all day; his irritable behavior manifesting itself in subtle ways-- maybe too subtle for the average person to perceive-- but luckily, after five years, she's well-versed in Mulder's unpredictable and erratic behavior. The set of his granite-sharp jaw, the way his nostrils flare ever-so-slightly when he talks to her… his piercing black eyes that slice right through her.

She wonders, sometimes, if Angry Mulder is much different from Turned-on Mulder, but immediately chastises herself before the thought encroaches into dangerous territory. There are times to nurture that curiosity and times to push it deep down inside where even the Florida sunshine can't reach.

They pull into the motel parking lot, and she almost feels the impulse to ask him what's wrong as he kills the engine, but the words shrivel and die on her lips before he unbuckles his belt and reaches for the door handle.

Maybe it's that she doesn't want to know. Or maybe it's that she already does, deep down, but is afraid to acknowledge it.

"Night, Mulder," she attempts as she exits the car, but he's already crossed the threshold to his room, the door snicking shut behind him with a finality that echoes through her ears and makes her feel a little too uneasy.

Once inside her own room, she paces back and forth like a caged animal. If only he was aware how crazy he made her sometimes. Years ago, she would've been able to let this one go. Often times, she would find Mulder in these capricious moods and found it best just to give him space. Many times, she even found it endearing.

But tonight? Tonight feels different. Tonight, she's skirting that thin line between wanting to kiss him or kill him

Read more below:

[appleslices]

i hate this stupid little windows tablet my mom lets me borrow it always manages to somehow turn itself on and then drain all the battery just by being completely idle and in sleep mode so whenever i want to use it its always DEAD

[howtochangeregiononnortonvpn]

does vpn use extra battery

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does vpn use extra battery

VPN battery consumption

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One way to minimize the battery drain caused by a VPN is to choose a server that is geographically closer to your location. Connecting to a server far away requires more data transmission, which in turn, can drain your battery faster. Additionally, turning off the VPN when it is not needed can help prolong your device's battery life.

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Impact of VPN on battery life

Using a VPN (Virtual Private Network) can have both positive and negative impacts on your device's battery life, depending on various factors.

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Choose a VPN provider that offers efficient encryption protocols and optimizes their software for minimal battery impact.

Use the VPN only when necessary, and disconnect when you don't need the additional security or privacy.

Avoid running multiple VPN apps simultaneously, as this can further drain your device's battery.

Regularly update your VPN app to take advantage of any battery-saving optimizations implemented by the developer.

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VPN energy usage

Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) have become increasingly popular among individuals and businesses looking to enhance their online security and privacy. However, one aspect that is often overlooked is the energy usage associated with using VPN services.

The energy consumption of VPNs can vary depending on several factors. For example, the type of encryption protocols used by the VPN provider can impact the amount of energy required to encrypt and decrypt data. More complex encryption algorithms may require additional computational power, leading to higher energy consumption.

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In conclusion, being mindful of the energy usage of VPN services is essential for environmentally conscious users. By understanding the factors that contribute to energy consumption and making informed choices, individuals and businesses can minimize their carbon footprint while enjoying the benefits of enhanced online security and privacy.

Managing VPN power usage

In today's digital age, Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) are essential tools for protecting our online privacy and security. However, many users are unaware of the impact VPNs can have on their device's power usage. While using a VPN can provide numerous benefits, it can also drain your device's battery faster than usual. Luckily, there are several strategies you can implement to manage VPN power usage effectively.

One way to minimize the power consumption of your VPN is by selecting a reliable and efficient VPN service provider. Opt for VPN services that offer optimized protocols and advanced technology to ensure minimal impact on your device's battery life. Additionally, consider using lightweight VPN apps that are designed to consume less power while still providing robust encryption and security features.

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VPN battery drain

Title: Managing VPN Battery Drain: Tips for Efficient Smartphone Usage

In an era where online privacy is increasingly valued, VPNs (Virtual Private Networks) have become indispensable tools for safeguarding personal data on smartphones. However, while VPNs offer security benefits, they can also contribute to battery drain, causing concerns among users. Understanding the factors contributing to VPN battery drain and implementing strategies to mitigate it is crucial for optimizing smartphone performance.

One primary reason for VPN-induced battery drain is the constant encryption and decryption of data packets, which requires additional processing power and energy consumption. Moreover, background processes associated with VPN connections, such as maintaining server connections and updating encryption keys, can further strain the device's battery.

To mitigate VPN battery drain, users can adopt several proactive measures:

Choose a Lightweight VPN App: Opt for VPN applications that are optimized for efficiency and consume minimal system resources. Lightweight apps are less likely to drain the battery quickly.

Disable VPN when Not in Use: Turn off the VPN connection when it's not necessary, especially during periods of prolonged inactivity or when using trusted networks. This reduces unnecessary background processes and conserves battery life.

Select Battery-Saving Settings: Some VPN apps offer built-in features or settings that prioritize battery conservation. Users can enable these options to minimize the impact of VPN usage on battery performance.

Limit Background Activity: Restrict background data usage for non-essential apps while the VPN is active. This reduces the overall workload on the device and helps preserve battery life.

Regularly Update VPN Software: Ensure that the VPN application is up to date with the latest optimizations and bug fixes. Developers often release updates to improve efficiency and address performance issues.

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