#bloomrots

non-sexual acts of dominance, accepting!  ˎˊ˗

       she’s really just fine on her own.   the fun,   fun,   fun of the party carries her along,   and she’s got glitter all over her,   and she’s super high.   but it all had   …   dimmed a little bit,   when nina left her side,   untangling from allie’s mess with a flash of something in her eyes,   a quick little reassurance in allie’s ear that she had clung to with both of her hands.   and allie falls easily into the business of floating away,   when nina’s not here to ground her.   the lost,   fluffy feeling isn’t as warm as nina’s hands.   but,   with nothing to tether her,   allie does float.   right along,   sweet and bubbly,   from hands and conversations and people,   and they’re all lovely.   she makes new friends,   collects new names,   learns things with sparkly eyes and a pretty smile,   but she feels half empty.   she can feel the happy,   somewhere in her,   it’s just not where it belongs.   she’s really,   really happy.   promise.   silly little empty little bubble,   hopeless.

five word prompts, accepting!  ༄

              ah.  so  this  is  nina  tries  to  fix  cj  hour.  nina  gets  so  high,  she  thinks  this  is  possible  hour.  nina’s  trying  to  teach  cj  what  she  missed,  when  she  was  gone  hour.  nina  wants  cj  to  suffer,  like  she  did  hour.    “  are  you  tellin’  me  to  do  something?  ”    she  looks  up,  bleary  eyed,  and  maybe  a  little  bit  sleepy.  she  won’t  tell.  nina  always  knows  when  she’s  fucked  up.  her  shoulder  looks  comfortable,  but  cj  won’t  bend,  stubbornness  sticking  up  like  jagged  wood,  ready  to  stab  her.

non-sexual acts of dominance, accepting!  ˎˊ˗

        lost again,   floating,   listening to voices no one but her seems to hear.   giving the little ribbiting creatures tiny,   tender kisses on their noises, turn to meanings and feelings.   she’s so lucky they talk to her,   and she promises the water still scares her,   but she’s gotten so much braver lately,   about everything.   it helps that she’s so,   so high.   and,   well,   streams have always been her secret little exception.   it’s so lovely and green with spots of blue,   and the stars reflecting on the water leaves her with little spots of light to chase after.   oh,   and she’d just gotten so wandery and her clothes too much and too warm and the water is lovely and shallow and cool. …. allie just can’t remember anything else.

five word prompts, accepting!  ༄

                they’re  both  so  fucking  high.  god,  it’s  fun.  nina’s  slow,  pressed  down  into  her  covers,  blinking  at  the  ceiling.  and  cj’s  not.  half-feral,  relentless,  insatiable,  she  literally  can’t  be  fucking  still.  she’s  never  going  to  sit  down  again.  never  ever.  every  once  in  a  while,  she  climbs  back  on  the  bed  to  watch  nina  breathe,  to  make  sure  she’s  not  sleeping.  sometimes  she  fidgets  with  her,  sometimes  she  gets  right  back  up.

five word prompts, accepting!  ༄

                how  long  have  they  been  sitting  here?  she  can  hear  all  of  the  shit  outside,  as  she  keeps  an  eye  on  every  little  thing  in  here.  cj’s  fucking  exhausted,  and  she  can’t  breathe,  or  blink,  because  the  moment  she  does  …  the  arm  that  she  clutches  close  to  her  chest  gets  carved  into  by  her  other  hand.  the  pain  tells  her  that  she’s  still  alive,  it  keeps  her  awake,  and  she  obsesses  over  the  feeling.  there’s  so  much  else  to  think  about.  she  never  thought  she’d  be  back  here,  had  stuffed  everything  back  into  a  locked  chest  to  never  return  from.  at  night,  they  came  for  her.  she’d  punished  herself  enough  for  it,  when  she’s  alone.  now,  it’s  all  fucking  back.  and  they’re  going  to  kill  her  for  it.  she  sees  it  in  their  eyes.

                every  once  in  a  while,  she  looks  back  for  nina,  a  flicker  of  her  eyes,  placing  her  in  the  same  place,  over  and  over.  absently,  she  realizes  that  nina’s  lit  a  cigarette.  the  click  of  the  lighter  comes  back  to  her,  the  sound  of  rustling  jacket.  she’s  not  drinking,  everyone  else  is.  why  did  she  look  at  harry  like  that?  panic  crawls  up  her  spine  when  she  realizes  she  can’t  see  harry.  what  if  he  was  in  here  with  them?  what  if  he  was  outside  the  door,  waiting  for  cj  to  settle  and  lower  her  guard  and  he  was  going  to  get  her  the  second  that  she-

who did this to you?, accepting!  ༄

                she  watches  blood  seep  into  the  cracks  of  shattered  tile,  thinks  about  prying  them  up,  thinks  about  how  much  prettier  they  look,  cloaked  in  red.  they  weren’t  anywhere  close  to  white,  but  cj  knows  the  old  hag  through  nina,  and  she  knows  they’ve  been  cleaned  to  a  point  of  wished  white.  it  stains  with  a  satisfaction,  just  like  practically  everywhere  else.  all  over  cj,  in  her  hair,  on  her  skin,  through  her  clothes.  she  doesn’t  know  why  the  fuck  she’s  here.  gothel  away  from  home,  both  of  her  favorites  tugged  along  with  her.  which  leaves  cj  with  her  favorite,  instead,  open  to  never  ending  cj  time.  if  she  doesn’t  think  about  it,  she  doesn’t  feel  anything  at  all.  it’s  better  that  way.  she,  finally,  tends  to  her  wound,  slowly.

come play the 'don't get stabbed/bitten/otherwise maimed' game (aka just talking to cj), always accepting!  ༄

cj's ship bingo, always accepting!  ༄