#for myself; i just like to take off my headphones when the audio gets loud and follow the captions until the sound is normal again

[dzpenumbra]

5/27/23

I'm officially angry with my upstairs neighbors. And I honestly don't know what to do about it.

I got to sleep around 6 or 7 AM. I was woken up at fucking 9. Some kind of hammering or pounding on the wall right next to my bed, on the floor above me. It went on for like 30 minutes, at least. Long enough for me to give up on falling back asleep. Then I got sucked into an internet black hole for like 2 hours... then I went downstairs, made some cereal and ate it while watching skate videos. Then I got ready to go back to sleep, and picked out a binaural beat thing because that actually does help me fall asleep really well, especially for daytime naps, which I've always struggled with. The second I put the video on... they started pounding again. Not even exaggerating, it's fucking comical. I had to straight-up restrain myself from yelling. Really really bad fucking timing. And I could hear it plain as day with the noise cancelling and the audio in the headphones too. After a bit, they stopped long enough for me to fall asleep.

I shit you not... get ready for this... I woke up at like 3:30... on a Friday afternoon... to the sounds of them screaming while having sex. So loud that I could hear it over the noise cancelling, so loud that it fucking woke me up.

And... I'm just gonna get personal here, because... that's what journals do... I have some sexual-related traumas, and I have PTSD. And... though it's definitely not the dominant theme of my PTSD shit, it definitely sets off some really difficult shit for me. So... sex-related things can be a bit complicated for me, and waking up to that... it's really hard to put into words how unsettling that is. And, honestly... now that I'm thinking about it... I really feel for anyone who has young kids who lives in my apartment building. Like... that would be really fucked up for a young kid to hear that at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon.

And I'm once again in this position where... I'm getting thousands of reflexes pushing back against me right now. Years of training. "Do not complain. Do not be an asshole about this. Don't be that guy." Saying "something you're doing is causing severe disruption to my daily life" is me being an asshole. Saying "please don't vacuum at 4 AM the day before Easter" is me being an asshole. Saying "please let me know before you do building maintenance on an adjacent wall, especially in the AM hours" is me being an asshole. Saying "please don't hammer on the walls at 9AM on a Friday morning" is me being an asshole. Me saying "please don't blast action movies 6 feet above my bed at 10 AM when I go to bed at 5" is me being not just an asshole, but a dysfunctional member of society on a backwards life schedule. This is the narrative that has been trained into my head, and reinforced over the course of years... possibly my entire life. Likely my entire life.

I just...suck it up. And on good months, I find some way to... tap into compassion. Like my sloppy reflexive take on the Buddhist monk approach. "They have a right to their lives too." "They don't know they're upsetting me." "I can just sleep later." "I'm the one with the weird schedule that I can't fix."

I dealt with this same shit at my last house with my landlord fucking mowing my lawn outside my window, like literally a foot away from my head... twice a week... starting as soon as fucking possible. He mowed that grass so fucking much that it was all dirt in the corners around the fence from him over-mowing. And I told my landlords multiple times "I work nights, I sleep in, please mow the lawn after noon." But it was nearly always around 10 or 11, and never on predictable days... just whenever the dude felt like it. And it would take all day. And it would rile my dog up and get her barking, so I'd have to chill her out and hang out with her, on like 5 hours of sleep... and that just became my life until the snow started falling again. I even offered to mow the entire lawn for them - they were retired and lived in a building on the same property - if they gave me a little deal on my rent, and they flat-out refused to even talk about it.

I genuinely don't know what to do. I feel like sleep disturbance is probably the most significant factor in my difficulty functioning in society and my difficulty in managing my mental health. And... I'm writing this at 4:30 AM.

I don't know what to do anymore.

I love the peace of these hours so much. I love the creative flow I get at this time. Plus... I just keep gravitating back to this schedule. I can't fucking help it, it just keeps happening. And it's been happening for like... half my life. What the fuck do I do about it? Do I write an email to my building manager, ask for a meeting and just chat with her about the problems I'm having and see what she suggests? Do I try to find out what room is right above me and leave them a note saying, "Hi, I live below you, you have really loud sex and I can hear all the screams and (no offense) I really don't want to hear that. I also would really appreciate it if you could keep it down a little bit in the AM hours, because I work nights. I'm assuming you don't know how loud you are because you don't have an upstairs neighbor, it's not the end of the world, but it's fucking with my sleep a lot so... if you don't mind keeping it down a bit I'd really appreciate it." Do I go with my plan of playing recordings of babies crying through a bluetooth speaker pressed directly against their floor while they're having sex? Do I find those noise machines that make annoying sounds that only young people can hear, and play that when they're making noise in the morning until they leave? I just... I don't know what to do.

I mentioned in therapy about my brainstorming on this here a few days ago. I struggle confronting people. Because it has gone so fucking horribly, traumatically wrong for me, so often. And not by fault of my own, by the way. That's the fucked up part that I'm really starting to wake up to.

God, okay... let's go down this memory road, because it's a super important one for me to remember. I was at the retreat place... trying to get off of meds that I was stuck on for what ended up being mental health misdiagnoses... living with about 10 people in their very early 20's. We were at a workshop with the eccentric founder, who was also the head of the Psych department at a local university. She was actually pretty cool, just... pretty out of touch with people like me, struggled to relate and communicate with me. She was running a workshop she called "The Shame Game"... where we all go around the circle and write a moment when we felt most ashamed, then we share it with the group, and hear what others think of it. I think it's a genius idea, and the fact that I'm referring back to it years later is pretty clear proof that it really is helpful for the right people. But it's a big step for people who aren't really... there yet.

For me, I wrote a moment that - at the time - happened pretty recently. This is probably not going to make any sense when I tell it, but I swear it's exactly how it went down. Let me get some ice cream first, so I can get through this, this one's a bit rough for me.

Alright, so it was Summer 2019 and I was well into my return to smoking weed and reconnecting with being an artist after my breakup and first experiences with death. I had been going out to the stream on my property every day with my dog, rearranging rocks to make the stream into a sculpted Zen Garden. I saw a standing dead tree trunk out there, about 4 feet tall. I was inspired to chop it down and make a bench out of it. I had no idea how, I was just going to figure it out as I went along. I called up my mom and floated the idea, because my hatchet and axe were over in her garage - along with the majority of my possessions. See... I used to live above that garage for about... 7 years? And I was assured that it was okay for me to move in at my own pace, and having my stuff there wasn't a problem. I felt some pushback from her on the tree trunk idea, and I have no idea... why? Or... why that was really any of her business? Like... I wasn't asking her permission, I was sharing an idea hoping for something like "wow, that's a cool idea" and just like... being respectful to let her know that I was planning on coming over (I lived 5 miles away) and getting my shit from her property, so she wasn't caught off-guard. I don't remember that conversation going poorly, but in the years since, she recalled it as very clearly telling me "no". ... As though she... has a right to keep my personal possessions away from me... her (at the time) 32 year old son... because she thinks I'm having a mental breakdown or something? That was the fucking paranoid narrative going around in that house. All because I was smoking pot and grieving a lot of losses alone, and reconnecting with art and spirituality.

But I digress... I... thought we were on good terms. I remember clearly, I was wearing a bandana and sunglasses, a white wife-beater with a big rainbow peace sign from the band Parkway Drive, camo shorts, barefoot. And I had my dog with me, with her bandana on as well. I got her in the car and we went over to get either the axe that I had used to hand-chop down a tree on my parents' property years prior... or my hatchet that I had since Junior year of high school. The hatchet I took on my 3-day thru-hike with me. The hatchet that had a ton of sentimental value to me. I pull in the driveway and my dog has her head out the window, because you know... she's a dog... And my parents are on the front porch. My mom's dog comes charging across the driveway at my parked car and the dogs start barking at each other. Her dog started to jump up on my car. See, despite these two dogs being around the same age, and very similar personalities... my mom outright aggressively refused to introduce the two. Despite my poor girl not having any dog friends, and being super sweet and social. And my mom's dog was a really nice girl too, who also had no friends. But my mom was fed some weird rhetoric like 20+ years ago that female dogs will fight to the death? And you never have female dogs around each other. And... I tried to disprove this to my mom. I tried to show her examples. My girl's first best friend was a big 2 year old mutt named Luna, they were wild, they played rough, but they would like... cuddle up together. There was never aggression, they were always overjoyed to see each other.

So... I'm guessing that panic primed the interaction. My mom came racing off the porch. I had already pulled her dog away from my car and closed the window on that side. There was no issue at all with the dogs and I took care of it swiftly and without incident. My mom starts freaking out on me. She started acting like I had done something wrong. Which, I'm now realizing like 4 years later is like... blatant reflexive gaslighting. Like, obvious. She's ashamed of how her dog reacted, so she makes me the bad guy. But that shit... it escalated quickly. And it got even worse when my dad came over and backed her up. I'm standing in her driveway, barefoot, and they're just like "what do you want? why are you here?" And I keep repeating, "I'm just here for my axe and my hatchet. I told you I was coming over. Are they in the garage? Are they in the barn?" And my mom starts telling me I can't have them. I remind her that they are my property... and she is simply storing them... and she can't really like... tell me I can't have access to my own tools... She doubles down. This escalated to them threatening to call the cops on me for trespassing if I didn't leave. And I still don't even fucking know why. Like... it's got to be panic. It's still so surreal looking back and going... "yeah, that actually happened."

They freaked out and went inside. I gave up on the axe and went into the garage and looked around for my hatchet in the last spot I remember it being. I couldn't find it. In fact, the area where all the tools had been was just... gone. I went upstairs where all my shit was stored and... it was a fucking warzone. She had gotten construction done on that building while all my shit was still there. There was drywall dust and spackle and paint and shit all over my stuff. My fucking college degree was bent and covered in drywall dust. I took fucking photos, it was so appalling that I was worried I might need them for a court case or something. Half of my tattooing supplies were ruined. I told my mom I was using this opportunity (since I was there) to organize my shit and get it the hell out of there ASAP. That if she was going to try to control and regulate my access to my own fucking possessions? And after seeing how horribly my shit was treated? I was getting my shit out of there as quickly as possible. And as I sorted important stuff very quickly, still in my search for the hatchet... I found some sentimental stuff from the past. And I... like a fucking crow with an abusive owner or something... brought sentimental things over to her back door and left them outside, as an offering. A reminder of who the person she was treating like this really was. Trying to elicit any fucking conscience or soul I could, through memory, to snap her the fuck out of whatever was going on. And... that was when I had the moment that... was my shame. Yes, I actually do remember why I was telling this story! XD The Shame Game...

I had the pile of offerings by the door. And my mom came over to the glass door and yelled at me to leave. And I tried one last time to beg her to reconsider. And my dad came over and backed her up. And she threatened to call the cops on me again. And I offered to do it for her. I offered to fucking do it for her. And I pulled out my phone and had the police station number stored in my phone and scrolled the phonebook to that number and had no fucking hesitation to do it if they threatened again. And... honestly? Maybe I should've called. Maybe I should've had a witness to that shit, and they'd have to explain how they were trying to call the cops on their 30 year old hippie son for "trespassing" when trying to reclaim tools for an art project. When he's a fucking artist, with a mangled degree in art.

I just want to note, for myself... I am trembling right now. It's not me being cold, it's not me being overtired... though those are factors... it's me reliving abuse. And it sucks. It's a unique feeling. Shaky, trembly, weak, tense. Yeah. Sucks.

But we're not quite to the part I was telling this whole story for yet. So... I didn't call the cops. And... my little brother appears behind my parents. And starts screaming at me to get off their property. I can see it in my head like a fucking nightmare, so vivid. The three of them silhouetted behind the glass door, screaming at me like chimpanzees behind the glass in a zoo exhibit. Very primal. And I... I broke. And I spat on the fucking glass, left the offerings for nature to take them, got whatever I could salvage and left.

And that was my shame. That I spat on the glass. That I let all three of them break me. I had a moment of weakness, and I did something petty. Out of aggression. Out of spite. Out of retaliation. And I'm better than that. I'm fucking better than that.

Can you see how strongly I feel about this?

But the point of all this was... when I told that story to my group... not only was there not a single jaw that hadn't hit the fucking floor... but people in the group were actually a bit upset with me because... because of how tame that was. Because no one could actually see themselves reacting that tamely in that situation. Like 10 people, all from different backgrounds, some very passive personalities, some more outburst-y... all unanimous that... I really didn't need to carry that shame.

But I do. And it showed me just how fucking important perspective can be. Especially for someone who grew up in or has spent a substantial amount of time in a manipulative, controlling and/or abusive environment.

So... now that you know that story... a little taste of my upbringing... Now you know what my brain thinks it's going to get as a reaction to spitting on a window and storming off. Imagine what my brain thinks is going to happen with... direct confrontation with a stranger.

You ready for a fucked up formula? The PTSD spiral? My trauma is set off by these people fucking up my sleep. And it gets to the point of crippling my entire life if left unchecked. How do I address it? Communication, right? Which... in this case... is almost exclusively confrontation. Confronting disruptive behaviors. And my ability to confront... is affected by how severely agitated my PTSD is. So... the more I need to confront people, the more my primal threat detection systems shut me down, the more I self-sabotage and find ways to talk myself out of confrontation. To protect me from blame, to protect me from shame, to protect me from harm. Be it physical (threat to housing stability, living near a known enemy), psychological (the way I think) or spiritual (the way I feel). My survival instincts will very quickly start to paint any narrative they can to keep me from confronting others and thus putting myself in harm's way - and lucky me... I've been fed plenty of easily believable self-protective (self-blaming/self-destructive) narratives my entire life, taught to me by my gaslighting family and toxic past relationships.

<heavy sigh>

Welp... it's 5:30 now. XD

It's exhausting living like this. And, in a fucking weird way... I envy the people who live above me. How simple and carefree their life must be!

But I have to remember... as much pain as I've suffered, as much as I have never deserved any of what I've been through. I've grown so much because of it. I am so fucking strong because of it. In so many ways, I am not a victim any more. I am a survivor. And though the war may be over... for now... I still carry habits, and I need to learn how to navigate things like this. Specifically confrontation and setting boundaries. And the only way to learn is to practice.

I'm just upset that I've been begging for help with this for years... just someone to go with me and hold my hand, or proofread shit, or something. And... that person just doesn't exist. And I don't think I've ever met anyone (except maybe my little brother) who needs help with that more than me.

Alright, enough of that for now. That was very intense.

I spent a huge chunk of the evening inking the skull. It looks so fucking cool. I know I had my doubts and shit, I always do... but... this is really sick. I, with my obsession for clean forms and details, decided to start inking with a wooden skewer instead of my tiny detail paintbrush. It allowed me more precision. So I spent most of the night dipping a wooden kebab skewer into Kuro Sumi outlining ink and inking an abstract design onto a goat skull. And the ink from last night did not bleed or smudge. It dried on it really well, actually. So I went buck wild with it, and I got... probably 2/3 of the abstract design that I penciled done. The ink flows incredibly well on bone, it's hard to really explain. I'm glad I polished it first. It feels like plastic, very smooth application which lets you make really smooth lines and fill areas really quickly. But unlike plastic, it's naturally porous, so a lot of the ink actually does subtle absorb into the bone. I enjoyed the process and look forward to working on it tomorrow! I'll most likely share the final product on here.

Since it's already 5:30, let's just go whole hog tonight and do tarot too. Fuck it. It's not like I have anything to get up for tomorrow, and there's like an 80% chance I'm just going to be woken up in a few hours anyway. Same spread as always.

First Position - Past - Two of Wands (Planning, scrutiny, taking risks and moving a plan forward.  The active force needed to put a plan into motion.) Second Position - Present - Ace of Swords, inverted (Intellect, apply logic and reason, Clarity and focus of mind.) Third Position - Future - I: The Magician (Balance between conscious and subconscious, unity between spirit and matter.  Indicates a period of ability to manifest will.)

Alright. So we're starting with a period from my past... a thread that originates in my ambition, determination and planning. This led to... present situations where logic and reason are actually causing dysfunction. Or... something's out of whack with my clarity and focus? Like my plans aren't coming to fruition because of a disruption in the Ace of Swords symbol in the Present. And... if that thread continues... there will continue to be a disruption in my equilibrium as a well-balanced person. Disrupting my ability to become the ideal version of what I strive to be.

I mean... it's a pretty simple message, really, right? My planning... through the lens of skewed focus and logic... leads to me not being able to manifest great things. And that logic skew is mostly surrounding shitty experiences and false lessons taught to me. Like some of the shit I talked about tonight. And... I'm actively working on that. So, that's good!

Cool, welp, that makes sense. Alright. Off to bed for me. Wish me luck. I'm bringing the headphones upstairs with me this time. Maybe when those fuckers inevitably make noise, I can just pop the earbuds in and roll over. Fingers crossed.

But on a brighter closing note? The skull is coming along really well. I'm excited to share progress once I get to a comfortable stopping place.

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

I'm just like on cloud nine about this so for all the ND people out there here's my review of my first time wearing noise canceling headphones to a loud and crowded restaurant:

The reduction of sound helped immensely. I cannot overstate this. It took what was an extremely loud roar and dialed it down to a manageable level. It was just like if your TV is on a really high volume and you adjust it down. Not muted entirely, but much lower volume level.

I had no issue hearing my family talk to me and talking back to them. There wasn't any like weird sound stuff happening with the audio of my own voice. It was actually easier to hold a conversation because the general environment wasn't so loud.

We had to wait about 40 minutes to be seated and I felt good until the 30 minute mark. What I could still hear of the sound started getting to me after sitting and waiting for that length of time. So it's not a complete cure, it just helped me be able to last a lot longer before feeling the anxiety and overwhelmed feelings. 30 minutes with no issue is actually incredible because before it would be the instant I stepped inside I started feeling bad.

Nobody made any comments about me wearing the headphones or looked at me weird

I did take them off to eat my food because I didn't like the sound of my own chewing with them on. This was okay because I was distracted by eating so I did fine and then just put them back on when I was finished.

It made me so happy to be able to go out with my family to a crowded and loud place and be able to stay calm the entire time and enjoy myself. I don't feel drained afterwords. I didn't have to go to the bathroom to calm myself. No meltdowns. I was just calm and felt fine the whole time? other than the little bit of anxiety at the end of waiting for the table.

I'm honestly surprised by how much the headphones helped. It made it an entirely different experience, and made the restaurant so much more accessible to me. Usually when I go to restaurants like this, I'm fighting off anxiety attacks the entire time, not wanting to be there, and just focusing my energy on getting through it without any incidents and getting home. Not this time.

If you struggle with loud public spaces like restaurants, I highly recommend looking into noise canceling headphones because it completely changed the game for me. Best money I have ever spent.

[thevalleyisjolly]

Hey, remember the awful audio quality back in C1, especially with the liveshows and the Skype-in episodes, and how nobody blamed the cast for having loud reactions or said that they should stop yelling and shouting despite the literal blowouts?  Hey, remember when Percy used to take over every other group conversation and push for his ideas over the rest of the party’s suggestions, and people just went “Yeah, he’s being a dick, but that’s the type of person Percy is and Taliesin is doing a great job of role-playing as this character”?  Hey, remember when Joe Manganiello came in with a clearly evil PC with his own agenda who ultimately ended up betraying the party, but no one complained that Joe was making the cast uncomfortable and should leave the show?  Hey, remember when Kashaw was interested in Keyleth back in the early days of C1, and no one mocked him for pursuing a PC who wasn’t yet in any canon relationship but had hints of romance with other characters?

Gotta take another peek at those standards because they sure are looking doubled right now.  But hey, I’m sure those are the only reasons why people are criticizing Erika so much for things that other cast members and guests get away with and are even praised for.

Now, this might be a wee bit of a controversial take, but the Critical Role cast are in fact adults who have been playing D&D on and off the Internet for a long time and who have invited many guests to play with them.  They’ve spoken extensively about safe play environments as well as open communication both at and away from the table.  If anyone was uncomfortable even for a minute with someone’s character choices or play style, they’d bring it up off-camera.  If Matt thought a character concept wasn’t a good fit for the table or the story, he’d work with the player to develop something that was. Hell, Erika is a long-time personal friend whom most of them have played with before. If they didn't like how Erika played D&D, or weren't comfortable with something they did in-game, they're perfectly capable of having that discussion with each other as friends and professionals.

Y’know, you don’t have to like either Dusk or Erika, but you do have to examine how you’re talking about them because right now, a lot of the flack they get boils down to “I don’t like them for doing the exact same thing that white cast members are doing/have done, and I assume that because I dislike how they're playing D&D, they must also be making the cast uncomfortable.” And it does not matter whether you had any conscious racist intent or reasoning, because the impact of your words is singling out the sole nonbinary person of colour at the table and treating them as some kind of aggressive "threat" towards the white cast members, whom I will reiterate, are their long-time personal friends who invited them to play in this campaign in the first place.

[itstheoneshot]

Junmyeon

104 and 143 🥵🥵🥵

Fem reader

Man, oh man this one was so fun to write, I’m losing my mind. I could’ve written so much more, too.

It feels like forever ago that Junmyeon enlisted, and while you still got to see him, and you speak to him every day, your house feels empty without him. Hours are spent staring at the portraits on the wall, as you text back and forth with your beloved husband once he has finished his long day at work. As usual, after a while, your messages are getting steamy, both of you growing desperate for each other.

Jun:

Yeobo, I can’t wait to spend next weekend with you. I want you all to myself, god, I have missed your body.

You:

I know, baby, me too.

You close your eyes as you await his reply, imagining him beside you, picturing all the things you will do together for his vacation at home. Time apart makes your time together more special, but you still wish that he never had to serve at all, especially not public service, the term was so long.

Jun:

Could you send me a hot photo? I need something to get off to.

You are a little shocked at how forward his request is, as you tend to take the lead most of the time when it comes to the humble, shy man that you married. Lucky for him though, you are well-prepared, already fully naked, laying in bed thinking of him. Your day had been stressful, so touching yourself to thoughts of your husband was all you wanted to do.

With your favourite dildo in hand, you find your best angle with your camera and you take the plastic cock as far down your throat as possible, eyes watering as you snap the picture and hit send. You press record in the video setting as you pull the toy from your mouth and move it down, moaning as you shove it deep inside you, with only your spit as lubricant, the stretch is a little much, but you do not mind it, crying out your husband’s name before the recording ends, and you send that too.

You are too busy pleasuring yourself to think about the fact that Junmyeon does not live alone. You are too busy to wonder whether he has headphones in, or whether the audio will play loud enough for the men he lives with to hear. You imagine the dildo is your husband’s cock, though no toy is even half as good as he is, and you almost miss the text message response not too long later.

Jun:

The fuck’s wrong with you? Are you in heat?

You laugh out loud at his response, because fuck yeah, you are fucking horny, for him, and you know by his words that he is for you, too. You try to think of something witty to reply, but your mind is hazy as you near your peak, and before you get the chance, Junmyeon texts you again.

Jun:

You just fucking wait til next weekend, Yeobo. I’m gonna have you screaming my name twice as loud as that.

———

400 followers special! ~ rules here!

[aonebear]

Haikyuu HeadCannon’s: You coming home extremely tired

SFW headcannon’s about how the boys would treat you if you come home extremely tired for various reasons. 

Includes: Iwaizumi, Semi, Daichi, and Koganegawa (all time skip) 

Iwaizumi 

Your shift was supposed to end four hours ago. Except your manager suddenly pushed a pile of work on to you. Claiming he had urgent matters to attend to and you were the only capable of finishing off the paperwork. You already texted Iwaizumi to let him know that you wouldn’t be home before him today. 

Putting your key in the front door and pushing it open the smell of food hits your nose. The smell was heaven and made you painfully aware of the fact that you hadn’t been able to eat dinner yet. Your boyfriend must have decided to make dinner when he got back from coaching the boys. 

Walking into the apartment you set your things down and head over to the kitchen. Where you see Iwaizumi leaning over the sink, the sleeves of his black button-up shirt pushed up past his elbows cleaning the dishes. The sight makes your heart swell with love. Coming up behind him you wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his back. Feeling the last of your stress from the day melt away and just leaving you feeling tired.

“Hey baby,” Iwaizumis voice rumbles in your ears. 

You just hmm back a greeting but don’t surrender your spot. The two of you stay like this for a moment until he turns off the water and shifts in your arms so that he’s now turned to face you with his back leaning against the sink and your face is now in his chest. He leans down and places a kiss on the top of your head and wraps you into his arms.

“I’m proud of you for working so hard today baby.” He said making your heart swell with love.

“Thank you,” you said, lifting your face up to look up at him “for taking care of me tonight even though you had to work as well.” 

“Don’t worry baby. Tonight’s my turn to spoil you.” He bends down and places a kiss on your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the dinner table we’re he already had the dinner plated and set out before you. He really was spoiling you tonight.

Semi 

A few more minutes you remind yourself as you type away at your computer. The thought of taking off your shoes and putting on your comfortable pjs being the only thing to give you any motivation. You had decided to make a trip to the library to finish your University paper because your boyfriend Semi stayed home to work on writing a new song and you just wanted to listen as he worked instead of writing this paper. Except it was due soon and you really needed to make a good amount of progress today.  

The sound of your keyboard was the only thing keeping you company until your phone dinged. You finished typing out the part you were working on afraid to lose your train of thought before checking the message. You smiled once you realized the message was from Semi. The only thing in the message was your reward and attached to the message was an audio file. Closing your laptop you plugged in your headphones admittedly no longer caring about the paper.

The stress and tension you felt in your body slowly began to melt away as Semi’s smooth voice began to feel your ears. The song was about a girl that he was deeply and madly in love with. He talked about all the things that she did that just made him love her more and more everyday. You could feel your face heating with a blush because who else could he be possibly talking about. Throwing all your stuff into your bag and shooting Semi a text saying you would be home soon you hurried out of the library.

Not really paying attention to where you were going, your only focus being on getting back home to Semi you didn’t notice the person coming towards you. You accidentally bumped into the but it didn’t slow you down much. You gave a quick apology for not paying attention and was off again.

“Where are you rushing to?” the soothing voice said to you.

You could recognize that voice anywhere. Turning around you are met with the sight of your boy smiling at you. His hands in his jacket pocket clearly he had been standing out here for a minute. He must have planned this once he finished working on the song. He made his way here and sent you the message and waited for you to come out to surprise you. He opened his jacket as if to say come here. Just like that you were rushing towards him and threw yourself into his chest wrapping your arms around him and you could feel his body shake as he laughed at you. 

“Thank you,” you say into his chest as he wraps his arms around you surrounding yourself in his warmth. 

“Your welcome,” he says before taking your hand and guiding the two of you down the street. “Let’s go home, you worked hard enough today.” He leans over to give a quick soft kiss on the lips before continuing home. 

Daichi

Everything hurt. Every single part of your body ached from your job. You worked part time and most days it was fine, nice even but when the truck came full of that week's stuff things were anything but nice. You and your coworkers spent the day opening boxes and shelving things. You were also in need of some extra cash before the new semester at university started and so you had picked up an extra shift that day. To say that you felt every muscle and they hurt was more of an understatement. 

When you walked into the room that you and your boyfriend Daichi shared. You didn’t even bother changing clothes before throwing yourself into bed. Daichi was still at the police station finishing off his shift for the night. He was older than and had already finished university and started working full time. Thinking back on it, when you meet your boyfriend in university he was a student of good academic standing, worked part time and was a part of the university volleyball team. How did he manage to juggle all of that and make it seem so easy you would never understand. You didn’t get much time to think about it either because your fatigue got the better of you and you drifted to sleep. 

The warm and heavy feeling of someone touching you startled you awake sometime later. The touch wasn’t unwanted though the hand was massaging the soreness out of your calf muscles.  

“Daichi baby?” You questioned sleepily 

“Yea I just got home.” He said his hands working their way up your leg now to your lower back we’re he continued to apply gentle pressure to your sore body. 

“How do you do it?” You questioned him thinking back to the thought you had earlier while also relishing in the feeling of his hands. 

“Do what?” He asked his hands now making their way to your upper back and shoulders where you carried the majority of your stress. 

“Everything. You do everything and do it all seemingly effortlessly but I know you pour your soul into everything also which is why I love you.” You say sleepy, “Sometimes I wonder if I’m working hard enough for not only myself but so I can continue to be by your side.” You felt his weight on the bed shift and his hands moved along with the rest of him. Even though his hands had just left your body you already missed their presence.

 “Please look at me (y/n).”  You heard him say. 

Slightly confused you sit up and turn around to face your boyfriend like he asked but you never get to see his face because his lips are on your as soon as you turn around. At first you are slightly shocked but it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself within his kiss. It was comforting and made you feel at home. Much too early for your liking he pulled away just enough so your lips were no longer touching but still close enough that he could lay his forehead against yours. 

“You are more than enough.” He said before he pressed his lips to yours once more. 

Koganegawa

You threw the door to your apartment open without much care and threw your bags next to the door. You knew you should properly put them up but right now you couldn’t be bothered all you wanted was peace. Your shift felt like it was much longer than it really was and it went on refusing to end. Then to top things off you ended the night with probably the nastiest customer you’ve ever had to deal with. 

“(y/n) is that you!!” You heard Koganegawa yell from somewhere within the apartment. 

The sudden loudness of his voice pierced through your already present headache. Which just added to your aggravation. You didn’t reply and just headed to where you thought the voice was coming from. You had guessed right because when you came into the kitchen you saw your boyfriend bent over the stove focusing intently on whatever he was cooking. Walking closer to him you saw that he was making your favorite pasta dish and it made you smile. Usually you were in charge of cooking and he did the dishes in the house. It was just how things had been since you two started living together. Every once in a while though he would surprise you by cooking and it usually meant that he had been practicing the dish in secret when you were at work. 

It wasn’t too long after you took in the scene before you that Koganegawa looked up and his face broke into a wide smile upon seeing you. “(y/n) welcome home! I made your favorite!” He said in his booming voice that normally would make you laugh but this time it only made you wince from the suvarity of your headache. 

He noticed right away and left his place in front of the stove and quickly ran over to you and cupped your face in his hands. Staring at your face he looked you over. You understood by the change in his facial expression that you looked as bad as you felt. You started to open your mouth but he put his finger over your lips and shook his head at you. Not sure why he wasn’t letting you talk, you gave him a confused look and all he did was shake his head and place his hands on your shoulders and turn you around. Once you are fully facing the opposite direction he walks you to the small table you have in the apartment and sets you down. Without a word he turns and heads back towards the kitchen. 

“Koganegawa?” You call after him confused and the sound of the kitchen cabinets opening and closing is the sound you are greeted with. 

Before long your boyfriend returns with a glass of water in one hand and his hand closed around what you assume is medicine in the other and you smile. He sets the glass on the table and waits for you to open your hand so he can deposit the medicine in it. You take it gratefully. Then he turns to leave again still not having uttered a word. Honestly you were pretty surprised that he could go this long without saying a word. You also knew that it was probably killing him to be so quiet. 

“It’s okay to talk, you know that just… not so loud this time please…” Again you were met with silence and you had a slight fear that you might have hurt his feelings. You were about to stand up and go after him when he came back with two plates in his hands full of pasta and placed it on the table. 

“Sorry,” He said in a softer voice this time “I didn’t know that you were hurting. I just wanted to help you after you got off of work.” 

You smiled and reached over and grabbed his hand. He was now sitting across from you at the table after setting the plates down. “You did help me.” you put a spoon full of pasta in your mouth to further prove your point. 

He stares at you like a puppy waiting to be told they did a good job and you can’t help but smile. “The pasta is perfect.” You say and give him a thumbs up. 

He brings your hand that was still laced with his up to his lips and kisses it before replying with a smile, “Anything for you.” 

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2686 Warnings: none unless you count awkward/cringeworthy moments

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: This is a slow burn people so sit tight! A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 2 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

You paced in your apartment for a few minutes, debating what you should do. The gift card was a lovely gesture but you can’t accept it, Bucky is a stranger even if he’s your neighbor, and even though he inconvenienced you it would be wrong to take this.

But then again, maybe he really meant no harm at all and it would be rude not to accept this. It certainly would be put to good use.

All of these thoughts raced through your mind as you walked the length of your apartment. The walls truly were thin and you knew Bucky was home, meaning if he heard you come home then he knew you had the gift card. Was he expecting you to thank him?

Fuck it, you’re going over there. You went to the bathroom to make sure you looked alright. You aren’t sure why you cared so much but you quickly brushed your teeth and dabbed a bit of perfume on your pulse points. With a final look at yourself in the mirror you put your phone in your back pocket, grabbed your keys and the gift card and shut your door.

Your teeth were clenched as you made a fist and knocked at Bucky’s door, holding your breath as you heard him shuffle towards the door to answer it.

“Y/N, hey!” Bucky seemed surprised to see you.

His hair was loose, falling on his shoulders. The blue of his t-shirt brought out his eyes, even in the dimmed hallway lighting.

“Hey Bucky,” you replied easily, as if the words fell naturally from your lips. Holding up the gift card you smiled and Bucky mirrored the gesture.

“I see you got it.”

“Yes, thank you. This was really sweet but honestly you didn’t have to do this.”

Bucky lifted his arm to rub the back of his neck, exposing part of his waist as his shirt ran up. Your eyes couldn’t help but catch the deep V line sculpted on his body, making you unconsciously lick your lips. As Bucky spoke you lifted your eyes to meet his again.

“I felt really bad. I didn’t mean to be a shitty neighbor. I’m not really used to this.”

“Having neighbors?” you asked with a giggle.

Bucky smiled. “Not ones so close.”

“That’s the city for ya,” you said awkwardly, looking everywhere else except Bucky.

“So listen,” Bucky began, clearing his throat. “You just got back from class right? If you wanted, how about I make you a cup of coffee? I definitely owe you a lot, even more than the gift card.”

The thought of having coffee with the embodiment of sex on legs made your knees wobble. You politely said you couldn’t impose.

“You wouldn’t be. I was about to make a pot myself, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

There probably should have been more insisting on your end, saying that you couldn’t come in because you also have a lot of work to do but somehow your mouth had a mind of its own as you agreed to coffee.

You wanted to keep things light, and so as you followed him inside you joked, “How do you get any work done with all that music?” but the moment you stepped into his apartment you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Bucky’s apartment was a mirror of yours with his bed and couch placed in the same spot against the wall, though it felt smaller with the dark taupe covering the walls, but what really made things feel cramped were the instruments scattered all over the apartment.

Several guitars were hung along the brick wall with a variety of amps on the floor. A large keyboard was laid out on the trunk that served as his coffee table in front of a black leather couch. An electronic drum kit sat beside a large desk, with wires attaching to a device beside his computer.

“Music is my work.”

You were stunned into silence, feeling completely stupid for asking him to not play music when you were home. You wanted to turn around and go back to your apartment where you could shake away the cringey feeling that rooted itself into your bones.

“Ohh,” you managed to squeak out.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, baring his teeth for an awkward smile at your revelation. “But don’t worry about the sound, I went out earlier and got headphones.”

Bucky turned to hold up a bag from the floor and you recognized the name of the professional audio shop.

“I never needed them before. My old landlord had lost most of her hearing so my music never bothered her.”

Bucky turned to the small kitchen counter to start preparing the coffee. He hadn’t offered you to sit, not that you saw a chair, so you stood watching his shirt cling to his muscles as he reached up to open the cabinets. They were different from yours, their honeyed tone showing a little age but not old by any means.

He pulled down a small coffee maker that was clearly made for a single person. You’ve already had more cups of coffee today than that tiny thing can produce in a sitting. Bucky was an obvious bachelor, even if you didn’t know about the revolving door of women you could see it in the way he kept his place.

He had been here just over a month but the apartment looked as if he had been settled in for years. Beside the bag he previously held up were others filled with things that hadn’t been put away. His bed wasn’t made, but the dark blue comforter was mostly strewn over the mattress with just the corner pulled a little too low.

His TV was opposite the bed on a dresser whose bottoms drawers hung open, with a bunched up shirt preventing the middle one from fully closing. Things weren’t dirty, it just needed a good tidying. Behind you was a large bookcase, with each shelf overstuffed with books and graphic novels, loose music sheets spilling out from the top, a few Funko Pops and some other knick-knacks.

“Milk and sugar?” he asked, turning around as one hand gripped the handle of the refrigerator.

You nodded with a smile as you continued to observe his apartment. Above the couch was a large framed poster of the movie Psycho and briefly recalling the conversation you heard this morning you really hoped he was actually talking to his mother.

“Shit.”

You turned around to find Bucky watching you stare at the poster, though his eyes moved to the couch.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked you to sit down,” he said, apologizing for his manners as he moved the keyboard off the trunk and on to his desk. “I don’t usually have people over.”

You both know his statement was a lie; he has people, women specifically, over every night but what he meant was he doesn’t usually entertain.

The couch scrunched under his weight as he sat beside you, handing over a mug of steaming coffee. He warned you it was hot and so you held it as the ceramic heated your skin before placing it on the trunk. Bucky had done the same and so you felt comfortable enough to do so as well, even though asking about a coaster would have been just as simple.

“So you mentioned you’re in school. What are you studying?”

You were aware of how close his knee was to yours as he turned to face you. Nerves made you grab the cup of coffee first, sipping on the still too hot liquid before answering.

“I’m going for my MSW. I’m nearly finished too, I just have this last class before I somehow have to fit a ton of hours for an internship into my schedule which is a little difficult to figure out.”

“You work full time too, right? It must be hard doing both.”

Bucky’s blue eyes were focused on you, deeply staring into your own. All you could do was nod your head in response. He was enchanting, clearly a great listener; it’s no wonder he can charm the world into his bed.

You fell into a conversation about Stark Industries and how you came to work there, going to school part time as you worked to pay the rent.

“It feels like I’ve wasted so much time because of the road I had to take. I keep picturing myself at the end, finally graduating, knowing all the stress and sleepless nights were worth it.”

Bucky watched as the passion you had for social work poured off your lips. There was something deeper than wanting to be handed a diploma, he could see the fire burning in your eyes that you had for this field, something you left unsaid.

“I’m sorry, again, if my music kept you up and distracted you.”

“No, I’m sorry Bucky. I was rushing to class this morning and I probably could have said things in a better way.”

You shared a quick smile with him, bringing the mug up to your lips to mask the way your cheeks wanted to stay pulled tight to cement the smile on your face. Staring at Bucky made you feel giddy and warm all over.

You suddenly realized how long it’s been since you’ve hung out with a man that isn’t Steve. With all your school work keeping you busy you hardly had any time to notice what was missing in your life, not until now where you felt butterflies fluttering away in your stomach. Wow, you definitely needed to get out again.

“So you said music is your work, what do you do?”

Bucky tipped the mug back to finish the last drop of coffee, before smoothing his fingers over his lips.

“I’m a composer actually.”

Well that was unexpected. You definitely judged Bucky too quickly, with the loud music and louder women. Without seeing him you figured he was some punk in a band, who stayed up all night and didn’t give a shit about his neighbors because he wanted to live out the party lifestyle of a wannabe rock star. But as Bucky explained you found out he was so much more than that.

From a young age he was musically gifted, picking up melody and sounding it out by ear as he sat in front of the piano. His mother Winifred had also played and taught him what she could until Bucky’s enthusiasm for playing outgrew the time and knowledge she had to teach him. She and his father George hired a piano tutor who noted how talented Bucky was, especially for a young child.

Bucky’s ambitions grew as he wanted to learn more instruments, guitar, violin, percussion.

“I can’t do horns,” he joked, not having the patience to practice proper breathing for the brass instruments.

Bucky has been composing music since the days you were pining over boy bands, selling his first work to a commercial for an international airline.

“Wow, I feel like the biggest asshole for telling you to stop.”

Bucky chucked at your admission, “It’s okay Y/N, really. I should have realized I’m not in Long Island anymore. I promise to use the headphones for every instrument that I can.”

“Thanks Bucky,” you smiled, sighing a breath of relief although you still felt embarrassed. While trying to lift the weight of guilt you somehow made it worse. “I’m sure our other neighbors would appreciate that too.”

Bucky’s face twisted with concern. “Shit. Have they complained too?”

Your palms covered your face as you shook off your stupidity. Why was this man making you say all the wrong things?

“No, not in a bad way,” you tried to convince him. “Have you met Clint? A bit shorter than you, dirty blond hair.” Bucky shook his head back and forth. “You must have seen his fiancée then, beautiful redhead, Natasha?”

Again, Bucky shook his head. “Well they live above you.”

Bucky cringed at the thought. If you heard all the noise they certainly have as well.

“So it’s actually kinda funny…” you began, telling Bucky that Clint takes his hearing aids out when he was playing. “They’re both really nice, you should say hello if you see them. Plus now I can tell Clint I won our unofficial bet.”

Bucky’s head quirked with curiosity. “Well, he called you the Guitar Hero,” you admitted, watching a smile form on Bucky’s face.

“I don’t just play guitar,” he said proudly.

You smirked, “I know. That’s why I was calling you the Music Man.”

Bucky’s hair blanketed his face as he tipped his head forward to laugh at your nickname. When he sat up again you noticed the crinkles around his sparkling eyes, and the way he smiled from ear to ear showed off perfect teeth, beautifully bright against the beginnings of dark stubble that started to fill in along his jaw.

Butterflies swirled around your stomach like a tornado as your heart rattled against your chest. This sensation was bubbling up the longer you stared at Bucky. Why were you feeling this way? You couldn’t distract yourself, not with a man, especially not this one.

“I get it now, the walls are thin,” he stated, still shining that beaming smile.

Your brain jolts to life again, as common sense starts to combat the small army forming to defend your developing crush. Your brain wins this round however, as you remind yourself the noise wasn’t just about the music.

“Oh yes they are. Our beds are on the same spot on the wall,” you said, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes to infer what you were talking about.

Bucky’s cheeks blush a deep shade of pink with embarrassment. “Oh… I’m….” He’s too nervous to apologize for what you both know you’re referring to.

“I wear headphones to sleep to drown out the noise.” Great, just keep making it worse Y/N. “But on the bright side, the banshees all sound like they’re enjoying themselves.” Nope, that didn’t help at all.

Fear of saying something even worse had you quickly fumble up an excuse to leave, telling Bucky you had a paper to work on so you thanked him for the coffee and practically ran back to your apartment, dreading every future interaction you would have with him.

Later that night Bucky opened the door for a woman who swayed inside with determination. He offered her a beer and with lust in her eyes Dot licked the neck of the bottle before bringing the top to her lips. Bucky turned away, shuddering with embarrassment at how hard this girl was trying.

He knows what she wants, what they all want but Bucky hasn’t believed in relationships for a very long time. It’s something that works for other people whereas he enjoys the physical connection; release your needs and move on.

Bucky wished he cancelled tonight. He felt… awkward after you left. It made him shift his bed forward a few inches away from the wall. He didn’t realize just how much his entire presence has affected you.  

With his arms caged beside Dot’s head he moved above her, thrusting his hips and checking to see that the bed didn’t touch the wall as his motions rocked it. Her nails dug crescents into his back as she began to cry out in pleasure. Bucky forced his lips against hers, an action she felt in her heart but Bucky just wanted to shut her up, hoping you hadn’t heard her.

Shutting the door behind Dot who begged to stay Bucky went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his heated skin. His reflection stares back at him but he doesn’t want to look, wondering why his mind has been wandering to places he doesn’t want it going. He dries his face, letting the towel hang over the sink as he shuffles back to bed, staring at the wall for a few lingering moments before he turns over and hopes sleep will come quickly.

PART 4

[peachebunnys]

I’m thirsty for Carrillo 💦💦💦

Aren’t you in luck! This has been on my mind for a while now so I hope you enjoy this~ 

[Come with me]

Horacio Carrillo x reader

warnings: smut - phone sex, mutual masturbation

Horacio takes a swig at his flask, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the headache that he knew would soon come. The tapes, the bloody tapes that he’s been listening to for hours have done nothing but increase his frustrations, and he was already feeling the dull ache at the back of his head.

The sun had set, making the tiny lamp next to him the only source of light as he leaned over the dozen or so files that littered the desk.

He’s been cooped up in the office the whole day, replaying tapes after tapes in hopes of finding a new lead on Escobar. That maybe something, just something, would aid him in this blind hunt for the man. It was like taking a stab in the dark, pointless and exhausting and Horacio knew that his energy would only wear thin if it continued.

The police station was empty, save for some of his men that were stationed at the main gates, working their night shifts to protect the integrity of this place. Horacio’s office was silent, air stilling as he lit yet another cigarette that hung loosely between his lips.

He expertly changed the recordings, recklessly tossing the previous one away before wearing the tiny standard issued headphones on his head.

This is pointless, he thinks, there’s no way we’re moving forward like this.

He slams his finger against the stop button, leaning back in his seat to take a breather. The whole fucking day has been nothing but a mess, and he wished nothing more than to lay in bed next to you instead.

The phone suddenly rang, an abrupt scream that broke the silence of the night. The trembling of the phone shook the wooden desk slightly, and Horacio purses his lips to brace himself for the bad news that’s to come.

Pressing the receiver to his ear, he takes a drag from his cigarette again, tapping the bud lightly to rid the ash that barely hangs at the end. He half expects it to be one of his men, informing him of their status updates, or possibly even an unwarranted call from Javier with yet another lead from his “informant”.

What he doesn’t expect though, was your voice- soft and sweet, and mewling his name from the other end.

“Horacio?”

His breath hitches, recognizing that tone of your voice instantly. It was the very same voice you’d use when in the throes of pleasure, moaning out his name as he fucks your brain out. It threw him off-guard for a second, but he smiled as he took another drag from his cigarette. 

“Yes my love?”

He answers back just as sweetly, throwing the burnt cigarette in a nearby bin. He pushes away the tapes, resting his arms on the desk as he speaks to you again.

“Are you alright?”

“Horacio, ” you call out again, and this time there was no doubt you were aroused, “you haven’t been home lately.”

The guilt washes over him, and he sighs in agreement.

“I know baby, and I’m sorry.”

“I’ve missed you.”

He hears it, the moans you’re trying to suppress getting caught in the back of your throat. He straightens himself in his seat, rolling his tense shoulders as you continued to speak to him. 

“Horacio, I need you.”

He smirks as he takes a shot from the flask, cock hardening just slightly at the sound of your voice dripping with arousal.

“Where do you need me, my love?”

Cockiness. A trait in him that only came to him whenever he wanted you to beg for him.

Your moans echo through the phone, low and drawn out that almost has Horacio’s cock twitching.

“I need you in me Horacio, I’ve been feeling so lonely without you.”

He imagines you pouting, with your plump lips puckered out as you widen your eyes. He groans in response, leaning back in his seat as his cock starts to twitch harder in his pants. The straining of the material was starting to get too much and Horacio had half a mind to pull down his pants there and then.

He downs the remaining alcohol from the metallic container, feeling the buzz build up in him. “Have you been touching yourself?”

He hears your breath hitch, imagining your eyes widen as you trail your hands down to your panties. Your moans come out short and choked, and Horacio took that as a ‘yes’.

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes who?”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s my good girl.” Horacio smiles, looking around the empty room cautiously.

He spreads his legs just a bit wider, feeling the friction of the canvas pants rub against his hardened shaft. He could already feel the veins pulsating, and you barely said anything.

Fuck, he thinks, the way he’s already half hard at the sounds of your pathetic mewls and pet name. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, he hears the faint sounds of your wetness followed by a long drawn out moan of his name again.

“What are you wearing?” His voice comes out more authoritative than intended, leaving no room for noncompliance to not answering his question.

“Only panties and your home shirt, the big green one you always wear to bed.” He could hear you fumble with the phone, holding it closer to your mouth, “fuck, baby I need you so bad, I kept touching myself to you these past few nights.”

Horacio hums appreciatively, pulling his chair closer to the desk, “and what is it that you keep thinking about?”

Your pants now become louder, and your breathing was slightly heavier than it was before. “I— I keep thinking of your thick cock inside of me, pumping me full with your cum till it seeps out.”

Horacio feels himself becoming fully hard, moving his large hand down to palm the growing cock inside his pants. He lets out a soft groan, imagining the way you looked in his clothes and panties all sprawled out and ready for him.

“Keep touching yourself princess, exactly how I’d do it. Tell me, how does it feel?”

Your voice comes out as a purr, occasionally mewling out Horacio’s name, “It feels so good Horacio, but I need your thick fingers instead.”

“I know, princess,” He coos, “I know just how much you love my fingers curled up in your pussy. You’re always so tight, clenching around my two fingers whenever I fuck you open, aren’t you?”

“Yes, oh fuck yes.”

”How many fingers are you touching yourself with?”

“T—Three, but it’s not enough.”

That thought had Horacio groaning, throwing his head back in pleasure. He’s fighting off the urge to jerk himself off there and then, finding his current location a bit too unsafe to engage in such activities. He palms his cock harder, fingers ghosting across his length while his hips involuntarily jerks forward.

“I — fuck, Horacio —“ your voice becomes higher and he could hear your fingers speeding up its pace against your clit. “I — need your huge cock inside of me right now. Fuck, I need you so bad Sir.”

He couldn’t. He simply couldn’t take it.

Your begging was the final straw for him, and with one swift movement - Horacio unbuckled his belt and pulled his uniform pants down, hissing as the cool air stimulated his weeping cock. It laid proudly against his firm stomach, twitching while precum seeped onto his uniform shirt.

He runs his thumb over the slit of his cock, smearing pre cum against the reddened tip. He could faintly hear your voice, in the midst of all his filthy thoughts about you, calling out to him desperately. “W—what would you do if you were here now?”

Horacio could tell your voice was starting to get shaky, a clear indication that you were about to reach your climax soon. “Oh, my sweet girl. I’d absolutely destroy you. I’d have you writhing under me in minutes.”

He starts pumping the length of his shaft, feeling the veins become more prominent. “I’d first taste that pretty pussy of yours, making you cum with just my tongue. Should I suck on your clit, or should I finger you open while lapping at your juices? Which one do you prefer, princess?”

“Anything, please just eat me out. I just want your mouth on me.”

“Hm,” Horacio slowly starts jerking himself off to your pleads, “such a filthy, filthy girl. What else do you want, my love?”

“H—Horacio. I want to suck your cock so bad.”

His shaft twitches, fisting himself tightly in his right hand, soughting out release from just the sound of your voice.

Horacio leans further into his seat, hips jerking upwards involuntarily at your voice. “Oh baby, you have no idea how good your lips feel against my cock. Your pretty lips wrapped around me drives me crazy.”

You had let out a whine, and Horacio could hear your breathing becoming shallower. The night was cool, a stark comparison to the fire that was igniting within him. The arousal and the alcohol mix had made his head feel fuzzy, with only thoughts of you naked and playing with yourself replaying in his mind. 

“Play with your tits for me sweetheart, pinch those nipples as hard as I usually would.”

He hears your end rustle once again, audio only becoming clear after a few antagonizing long seconds. “Yes Sir. I’m s—o wet for you, fuck I desperately need your mouth on me Horacio.”

Horacio throws his head back, pumping his cock with fervor as he listens to you. He’s close, so close and he knows he just needs a bit more to send him over the edge.

“Horacio—Sir, I hnng— ‘m close but I want to hear your voice. Please, I need your voice to get me off.”

Horacio clenches his eyes shut, hips stuttering as he feels his balls tense. “Cum for me princess, let me hear you sing my name.” His cock twitches wildly, feeling the pleasure closing in.

“I’d get on my fucking knees to lick all your cum right now if I could, my mouth would drip with your release baby.”

“S—so fucking close, yes.” The blood rushes to his ears, a ringing as his orgasm washes over him, cumming all over his exposed abdomen to your broken moans and cries for him. You let out a string of curses, all of which loud and incoherent.

The both of you pant loudly into the phone, chest heaving as you came down from your high. Horacio was no doubt lightheaded, the orgasm ripping through him harder than anticipated. He lazily picks out a tissue and wipes his cum coated hand, resting his head in his palms once he was clean.

You were both silent for a bit, allowing the pleasure to slowly leave your system and to relax your body after such a strenuous activity.

“Horacio...” Your voice came out softer this time, hoarse from your earlier cries of pleasure, “that was fucking amazing.”

His breathing stabilized and he smiled into the phone, eyes half lidded as he answered back, “got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“I wanted you to cum in me, not with me,” Horacio could feel a small gasp leave his lips, realizing how absolutely filthy you were.

“I’ll do everything and more when I get back,” he promises, “make sure you’re ready for it.”

He slams the phone down, ending it hastily as he gathers himself to look decent. He leaves the office within minutes, not giving a second glance to his men he would usually greet on the way out.

Horacio smiles as he gets into the car, thinking of the ways he would punish you once he got home. If you thought that you’d get away with calling him while he was working, just to get yourself off to his voice - boy, were you in for a long night.

[exosmuttytalk]

Guardian

Characters: Do Kyungsoo, unnamed female OC (told from the perspective of DO)

Genre: angst.

Rating: mature.

Warning: this deals with topics darker than my usual. Death, suicide and mental health problems mentioned. Proceed with caution and take care!

Summary: there is no summary because the core happening of the story is what makes it as a whole, so you gonna have to read to find out lol

(excuse weird formating, I'm on mobile)

First thing I noticed the moment after you quietly stepped through the front door were the deepest dark circles I'd ever seen rimming your eyes.

Your eyes had always been beautiful. Big and bright, they usually shone with a mischievous spark of intelligence and expressivity. Many times I looked at you and wondered how it was me who became the actor when you seemed able to tell stories with your eyes. On the rarer occasion, your eyes also warned me of the times you slipped closer to your darker-than-reality inner world, that one you were able to scape from when you were barely older than a teenager, through sheer will, family support and a necessary dose of drugs to balance your neurotransmitters. But the longer we were together, the more fulfilled your professional life became, the better relationships you held with other people, the more you enjoyed your hobbies, the more seldom I got to see those hints of sadness barely concealed behind fake content smiles.

This time was not one of those rare times. This time, when I looked at you, I felt genuine fear for you.

This time, your eyes did not show sadness. They didn't even look tired. They were just...completely indifferent. They glossed over our living room and didn't even acknowledge my presence, although I had occupied my usual spot at the armchair for quite a few hours already. 

Greetings weren't exchanged either. 

I vaguely remembered last night's fight. Even though we used to pride ourselves in the fact that communication was easy for us, daily life, stress fuelled by our jobs and our inability to sometimes see each other as often as we wanted would put a strain on any relationship. But we always managed to solve those issues. They were never such a big deal for us. Or were they? 

As you carelessly dropped your oversized folder on top of the dining table, I remembered about the project you needed to hand in at the end of this week. 

"How did they like the design this time?" My question was aimed towards finding out what may have caused the icy expression in your eyes. You adored your job at the firm you and some colleagues had set up a few years after you finished your architecture studies. You never missed an opportunity to  ramble on and on about what was your life's passion project; even though most of the times I wasn't able to follow every explanation, I was always happy to listen. 

Not this time. You turned on your heels swiftly and walked into the kitchen, followed closely by Jackie, but leaving me behind with my unanswered question. 

Was it bad enough to deserve this silent treatment? 

I could hear you rummaging through the shelves and then I saw you making your way back to the living room, Jackie swiftly walking behind you. You always cradled Jackie for a little while before opening the can of delicious cat food that would go into her plate. You absolutely adored that little rescue cat and the feeling was mutual; a relationship I had never been able to partake in. But this time, you simply dumped the contents of the can into the bowl and gave the animal a absentmindedly pat on the head. You didn't even look at her. 

After that, you lied down across the sofa in the same clothes you'd gone to work in and pulled out your phone and headphones. That made me wonder where my own phone could be. I was always aware of my terrible memory even if there were more pressing issues at hand. Headphones were covering your ears just seconds after and I was left there, silently wondering what the hell was wrong. 

Maybe you'd had a truly awful day at work? Maybe you were overworked and needed to rest? Could you actually be that mad at me? I truly don't remember what I said, but whatever it was, I'm so sorry. 

As I got lost in my thoughts, Jackie had already finished her food and, after grooming herself a bit, she hopped onto the sofa and nestled herself up against your belly. That was the only moment I saw you react. You briefly glanced down from your screen to the cozy creature in your lap. But you didn't smile. You didn't pet her. But I got to see your eyes and there was no indifference in them no more. They were miserable. 

I was so scared, baby. I had never seen you so unresponsive and distressed in all our years together. From experience, I knew better than to try to touch you in some instances, so I went for the second best option. I got up and rushed down the hallway to our room, where I supposed I had left my phone. It was time to call your mother, your best friend, whoever was around you when you first had an outbreak. They would know what to do better than me.

I had barely started looking around when I heard the door bell ring. Then I heard it again, insistent. I stopped on my tracks and listened, expecting you to go get it, as you were closer. By the third time, the visitant had switched to knocking and I guessed you weren't able to hear it due to the headphones, so I turned around and rushed back to the front door. 

I peeked through the peephole and felt a rush of relief when I recognised your best friend. Bless her soul, she may actually have some sort of mental connection with you. 

"It's Sarah!" I shouted in your direction, getting no response back. Just before she knocked for a second time, I reached out for the door knob. The door didn't open. I stared at the door knob in confusion. It was the same piece of silver metal that had been attached to that door since we first got the apartment together years ago. The same familiar and innocuous whatnot I made use of every single day. Maybe it was stuck? 

Once again, I reached for it, although this time I was intently watching my right hand. 

My fingers. 

They went right through the knob. As if it wasn't actually there. As if it wasn't even corporeal. 

The impression made me fall down on my butt, but I didn't have time to process anything, as Sarah gave a final loud bang to the door and shouted. 

"I know you're there. You either open yourself or I'll call the police" 

The threat finally made you stand up and go open the door. From my position down on the floor, I could see how you were easily able to grab onto the doorknob to at last let her in. Being sort of your polar opposite on that regard, Sarah immediately latched on to your neck and you stoically responded by patting her back with one of your hands. As for me, I stared at my own hands in disbelief. 

What the fuck was going on!? Could I be dreaming? I tried pinching myself hard and I felt it hurt, but nothing else happened. I was freaking out and seeing both of you in front of me behave in such a mellow way only increased my alarm. 

Of course, Sarah lead the way to the kitchen, pulling your arm and stepping right beside me as if I wasn't having a straight up meltdown down at the floor. Jackie had trotted behind you to the hall and was now looking straight at me with what seemed to me a full of disdain expression. At least someone recognised my presence. 

"When was the last time you ate?" Sarah's usually loud voice came booming from the kitchen. This question was odd enough to spark my interest, so I stood up and headed that way. 

"Yesterday," you responded in a monotone voice. 

Sarah, who had started stocking up plastic boxes full of already prepared food in the freezer, turned around to look at you with an eyebrow raised. 

"You sure about that?" 

"Yeah. Also, there's no point in that, I'm not even hungry," you answered again before turning around to occupy the spot you'd left at the couch. 

To be fair, she had filled the sad looking fridge with at least a week worth of meals for two. Was the fridge that empty last time I checked? 

"Baby, you can't be doing this to yourself."

"I'm not doing anything, OK?" you suddenly snapped back at her. I had never heard you speak to her in that tone. "I am fine and I will be fine. I just need you all to leave me the fuck alone!"

With that said, you went back to adjusting the headphones over your head and to rummaging through your phone. Sarah stared at you with a dispared look on her face.

"And you know that is definitely not healthy. I am done with this. I'm looking for a therapist and you're coming to an appointment on Monday."

"Do whatever the fuck you want. I am not telling you how to live your life." 

Sarah sighed and nodded in response.

"I can't even imagine what you're going through and how absolutely devastated you must be feeling right now. And I know it's barely been a month, but you can't let yourself slip this way, not with your records." 

A month since what? 

You shrugged her worry off. 

"I'm leaving. I will call you later. If anything, please, at least send me an emoji or something so I know you're okay."

You grunted at her before she kneeled down next to the sofa to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Then, she left the house without even glancing at my direction.

I had witnessed the whole scene from a corner of the room and I had grown in my bewilderment with every spoken word.

As soon as I heard the front door softly closing, I walked up to the sofa and circled it, so I was able to see what you were doing that had caused such disagreement. 

"KSoo <3" read the letters at the top of the easily recognizable screen of the chat service we used on a regular basis. As I approached you even closer, I could hear my own voice coming from your headphones. I remeber sending you that audio barely a week ago, when I asked you to make a quick run to the grocery store before coming back home, as I needed some more ingredients for that night's dinner. 

Your eyes were filled with silent tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second part: GUARDIAN II

MASTERLIST!?

Other Kyungsoo shizs

Everyday

Stories of my downfall  + Kai

@exosmutxoxo​

[aperrywilliams]

Hot Genius (Spencer Reid x Maxine Brenner)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist - Requests

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Maxine Brenner.

Request: I'm anon cause I'm shy but a quick fic where Prentiss asks Spencer and Max to act as bait for a serial killer that attacks newlyweds or married couples however you write it will be perfect.

Summary: Spencer is not very happy at Emily's suggestion that Max help them catch a serial killer. But despite his apprehensions, he has no choice.

Word Count: 3040.

Warnings: Some curses. Suggestive sex talk. Fluff.

A/N: This is my first formal request. Thank you Anon for suggest a Spencer-Max fic. I hope you’ll like it. I’ll take the boldness to tag @andiebeaword​  and @dreatine​ since it’s a maxcer fic.

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"Thanks for bringing me today. With the failure in the subway it would have taken me a long time to arrive,” I said when we had reached our destination.

"Let's say you were lucky that today was my day off," Max replied as I opened the car door in the FBI parking lot.

"I know. Don't you want to go up for a while? Penelope will surely be happy to see you considering that you have not seen each other in several weeks.” Max thought for a few seconds about my proposal.

"Yes. It's not a bad idea. You could offer me a good coffee too. The one in this morning was a disappoint, I must say,” she replied, looking at me with disapproving eyes.

“Hey! The online order has taken longer than I expected. It was the only type of coffee in home this morning." I tried to defend myself, but without much success.

"I'm amazed at how imprudent are you Dr. Reid with such important thing.” Max shook her head, continuing in her disapproving tone.

"I'm sure you're going to torture me all week for this, am I right?". I answered before giving a defeated sigh.

"Of course I’ll do," she said, laughing.

"Okay. I deserve it"

When we crossed the glass doors of the BAU the first person who saw us arrive was Penelope. She couldn’t hide her happiness from seeing Max. Since we started dating, the two became quite close, even Max had joined more than one of the BAU girls' nights. I must confess it made me nervous at first, but the girls adore Max so I relax easy with that.

"Is not the great Max who deigns to appear in these places?". Penelope exclaimed from the other side of the bullpen .

"Hey Penelope. I think you are overstating a little…” Max replied to Garcia's questioning.

"Of course I’m not overstating. We have not heard from you in centuries! Besides, Boy Wonder is not one of those who talks a lot, so every time we ask him about you he only answers 'She is fine…’” Garcia complained.

"I have a very chatty boyfriend as you can see ..." Max replied laughing and winking at me.

"Ok, ok. Let's take advantage of the fact that you are here and we go to my Batcave to talk for a while”. Garcia was unable to finish speaking and was already pulling my girlfriend down the hall to her office. Max looked me muttering a 'sorry'. I just shrugged with a farewell wave.

I hadn't noticed Prentiss was outside her office staring at the scene that had just occurred.

"I see Penelope kidnapped your girlfriend." I turned to look at her and with a grimace drawn on my face I replied.

"Yep . So it seems"

"Well. Since you're here, shall we meet in the conference room? I need to discuss a case with you."

Luke, Rossi, Matt, Prentiss and I were in the conference room. Emily started talking about one of the cases that was torturing the DC police in recent days. We had worked on the profile just the day before, but apparently the police's efforts to locate the unsub were not being very effective.

“Given this context, we agreed with the police that in order to attract the unsub we need a newly-married couple in the club. It is the only way to get him out of his hiding place,” said Prentiss.

"Okay. But... ¿are we sure the unsub hunt there?" Rossi asked.

“When reviewing victimology yesterday the only crossing point was that club," said Luke.

"Wouldn't it be enough to stand guard and wait?" I asked hoping that the profile delivered the day before was enough to locate him.

"I think we would be making a mistake if we let the local police try to do that on their own . We know that the unsub is very methodical. You have to be subtle with him and the local police is anything but that from what we have seen” Prentiss replied.

"Well. So, will we have to do it? Who?” Luke asked.

“Until half an hour ago I had no idea about that. But now I know. Spencer and Max will do it” . Prentiss spoke as if she was talking about what she had for breakfast in the morning.

"Wait… what? Max?, me?... No. No way. Forget it!"

Prentiss was crazy if she thought I was going to accept something like that. Already this covert operation seemed like a bad idea to me, worse if I had to involve my girlfriend, who was not an FBI agent by the way.

"Spencer, please. We don't have many options and we have to act quickly.” Prentiss pleaded.

No options?, there is a whole building full of agents ...

“But Emily, it's dangerous. We all saw the photos of what this guy does to his victims. There has to be another way." I tried to reason with her.

“That is why you’ll be there with her and us monitoring the situation all the time. It’s the only chance to do this quickly and prevent more victims."

Great. The argument of the victims. Don't get me wrong, I’m fully aware of the importance of this work. But the risk was doubled if we added a civilian - my girlfriend by the way - to the equation.

"Why can't it be another couple? Luke with Tara, or Matt with JJ?”

“JJ is sick from Henry's flu. Tara is conducting interviews for the Georgia case.” Prentiss replied.

I could see the disapproving look of Luke, Matt and David on me. Sure, the antihero in the story was me now, refusing Emily's brilliant idea.

"What about you?" I asked as a last resort.

“Are you kidding?, I'm not for that kind of mission anymore. Also I’m not the target type of the unsub and someone has to supervise the operation,” Prentiss defended herself.

"Max won’t to do it...". That was more a thought to me than something I wanted to say out loud.

"We haven't asked her," said Emily.

At that precise moment, Max entered the conference room, accompanying Penelope.

"What is it I won’t want to do?" Max asked curiously.

"Great ..." was the only thing I could say under my breath. Knowing Max during this time I already knew what will be her response. Independent my opinion or all the protests I might have.

"Max. We have to talk about something…” Prentiss said inviting her to sit in one of the chairs in the room.

That was how that night with Max we were outside the club where we hoped to locate the unsub. Our cover was to pretend to be a newly married couple having a good time in that busy place.

I was reluctant to enter yet. Max could feel my hesitancy and took my hand squeezing it to look at her.

"Spencer... I know very well I’m not an FBI agent and I have neither the training nor the experience for this. But I'm just trying to help."

"I know. I know. I'm not mad at you for that. I'm rather... concerned. What if I can't protect you? What if I fail?”. It was a fear more than founded. There were so many things that could go wrong.

"Don’t think about that. You are good at your job and there is also a team behind supporting you right now. I promise not to do anything stupid that could put us at risk.” I let out a sigh.

"Yes, okay, okay. Let’s go to catch this bastard". I said , trying rather encourage me to myself. Max smiled and wrapped her arms around my neck.

“Furthermore, it’s not necessary that we should pretend much. Although these rings are fake, the kisses and embraces that we can give ourselves in there do not have to be," she said playfully. So she rose to his feet and caught my lips with hers. God, how I love those kisses!. I didn't want to be in that club at the time. I would have preferred to be in her place!.

"This will make it difficult to concentrate me..." . She started to laugh without letting me go. I caught her lips with mine again. When we parted, we hold hands and entered to the club. Just then, the audio in our headphones started working. Prentiss will be the one giving the instructions this night.

"Alright guys. Go ahead. Let's do this and let's do it fast. The first thing you have to do is go to the bar and order a drink. From there start a conversation and try to scan the place discretely"

The first obstacle was precisely finding a place in the bar. The club was crowded with people. How is it possible that so many people enjoy places like this? it was very hot, people sweating and the floor was a combination of germs and residues of perhaps what other things. Max did a good job finding a spot to access to the bar. Once there, I gestured to the barman to give us two drinks. We leaned against the bar counter and began to 'talk' as we slowly sip our drinks.

"What do we have to look at?" Max asked. I leaned down to speak into her ear so I wouldn't have to scream. The music was very loud.

“If our profile is correct, it is a white man between 30 and 40, with strong features. Tall. Semi-formal dress. He should be alone, but he should be confident. Hardly nervous. Very observant. He would have to be looking all over the place looking for his new victims. You have to look at those who watch couples either on the dance floor or here at the bar.” Max gave a loud laugh that at first shocked me, then she came over to speak in my ear.

"So I guess we should attract his attention, right?... I didn't laugh out loud because I found it funny, by the way..." she told me.

"Clever girl!" Prentiss chirped over our headphones. "Well lovebirds, while you look at your surroundings, take advantage of playing around a bit.”

The statement made me blush. Max gave a nervous laugh. I leaned closer and hugged Max around the waist as I rested my head on her shoulder. She raised her head a little to kiss me. Besides pressing her against my body, I didn't know much to do. I mean, I could think of millions of things to do... but not in a public place, if you know what I mean...

"Spencer, it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to kiss my neck so we can have a better view of the opposite side..." Max suggested.

"Are you sure ... ?"

"Yes... why not? ... not that we haven't done this before..." Max replied.

"I know, I’m sorry. I'm a little nervous."

It was true. I was nervous. I was with my girlfriend in a club and I need to pretend something I would love to be doing in private. How the hell is something like that controlled? Anyway, I took Max's suggestion and started kissing her neck slowly while my eyes scanned the place. She let out some giggles because of the tickle while she also was looking around.

"Spencer, near the bathrooms I see a suspicious man looking at us, red shirt, black tie and black jeans..." Max whispered in my ear.

"I see another one looking at us from behind the dance floor, black dress pants, white shirt and black jacket...". I replied.

“We have to clear doubts before any movement. Raise your bet guys,” Prentiss instructed. What the hell did that mean?...

Without warning, Max tugged at my hair so I had to look at her and then tugged at my tie and pulled me into one of the most passionate kisses I got in a long time. Just to make it even more believable - I thought – she raised slightly one of her legs and began stroking one of mine. I couldn't help but freeze for a few seconds. Max noticed my nervousness at her bold move.

"Hey hot genius, just think like we're on the couch of your place..." Max said as she started to kiss my jaw. The moment those words came out of her mouth we heard chuckles from the earpiece. I could only to dig my head into Max's neck trying to hide my embarrassment.

"Sorry, I forgot they can hear us..." Max apologized, also blushing.

"Don’t worry about us... you continue to do your own thing... at least what can be done in public... remember our mission." Prentiss replied trying to maintain her composure.

“Ok… the man who was on the other side of the dance floor came closer to us, now he is leaning against one of the walls that gives the back exit. The one who was near the toilets, in a red shirt, went with a woman to dance,” I said after identifying the unsubs.

"What do you think Reid, is he our unsub?" Prentiss asked.

"I'm almost sure. He is looking very eagerly at our hands and rings… and he fits the profile”.

"Perfect. We started phase 2 now,” instructed Emily. I took Max's hand and we walked to the back exit, making sure to stop for a few minutes near the unsub so he could get a closer look of us and hear us. With my hands I took Max's cheeks and after giving her a burning kiss I began to speak.

“Baby, I’m so happy I had married you. Now you are mine and nobody else, always remember that... only mine, understood?". Saying that was part of the character. The unsub hunted couples where the man showed possessive traits in the relationship and was what he sought to annul by killing them first in front of their partners.

"I know baby. I’m yours and nobody else's. Show me right now that I belong to you and only you”. Max replied as she put her arms around my neck and we kissed again. Convinced that the unsub had heard us, we began to move towards the back door without break our embrace.

As we stepped outside, the cold in the alley hit us. It was true that the club was burning inside and not only because of the large number of people on it.

I cornered Max to one of the walls, allowing her to have a view of the door so she could to notify me when the unsub left the club. Only two minutes passed and the unsub went out into the alley. Max's warning signal to me was a sultry "Oh, Spencer... baby." I took her by the waist again, pretending a fiery make out session in that dark alley.

"Is it time for the arrest?" I asked without detaching myself from Max.

"Not yet Reid. We have to wait for him to try to attack you before we can do something,” Prentiss replied.

"Great..." I muttered under my breath .

"Spencer... he is approaching very fast..." Max said quickly.

"Is he armed?..." I asked.

"He has a kni…". Max couldn't finish the sentence when I felt an arm pull me to turn violently.

"Leave her alone!" the unsub yelled waving a knife to threaten me.

“Hey! Hey! ... what's going on ?, what's your problem man...?” I said faking confusion.

“She is not yours! You don't deserve her. You are like all the bastards inside this fucking club. You don't really love her,” he shouted frantically. I had my eyes fixed on the knife while trying to get Max out of his sight with my body and arms.

"Take it easy man... nobody has to get hurt..." I tried to reason with him.

"Of course it is, and you will be the first!". My eyes and mind were so focused on the knife he was waving with one of his hands that I didn't notice his other hand that struck my face with a punch that knocked me to the floor.

Stunned I tried to get up quickly when I saw the unsub begin to approach Max. But I was dizzy, I couldn't find stability. Fortunately before he could touch her, Luke appeared out of nowhere and leaped him, knocking him to the floor. Matt appeared behind Luke to help him in the arrest and lead him to the police car. Prentiss approached Max to see how she was doing. I was still on the floor.

"If anyone cares, the bastard punched me in the face..." I complained as I put one of the palms of my hands on my now more sore face.

Max quickly approached to see how I was doing. Prentiss held out a hand to help me up.

"Let me see that face..." Max said as she saw what would be a big bruise in a few hours.

"Don't complain Reid, you will survive," Prentiss joked.

"This was not in the script," I protested. Emily nodded.

"Yes I know. The two of you did a good job, by the way. Max, you keep me surprising. Congratulations" Prentiss said smiling.

"Thank you Emily…" Max replied and then turned her eyes to me, examining if she found any other wound on my face.

"Spencer, like a reward for you good job in this case, tomorrow you have the day off..."

"How generous Emily…" I replied ironically.

"That's how I am. You know that. Well maybe that gives you enough time to finish what you started in there… right hot genius?” Prentiss sentenced, laughing and patting me on the back before leaving the place. With Max we both flushed like tomatoes.

"Sorry..." Max muttered.

"It's okay. Although you can be sure that even the director of the FBI will know about this tomorrow"

"So... what if let's put it into practice so they can speak with reason?, don´t you think?..." Max suggested winking at me and intertwining our hands to start our way home.

“Yeah, you’re right. I have no reason to protest for such excellent suggestion” I said with a eager smirk.

——————–

[blerdstatic]

Microsoft Surface Headphones Review: 1st vs 2nd gen, and why they're great to Work-from-Home or anywhere.

So you're on the market for some new gear, and in your search you stumbled upon Microsoft's Surface Headphones, but you're not ready to make the plunge until you get some more research under your belt, right?

I don't blame you. The right head candy can be an expense these days, but hopefully this short and concise review can help!

Let me start by acknowledging that sound and music are more personal in nature, and everyone has their natural preferences. I happen to dig all kinds of music from musical soundtracks and trap to neo-soul and hip-hop. That aside...

Let's begin!

How much do Microsoft Surface Headphones cost?

Surface Headphones (1st gen) - $139.89 on Amazon

Surface Headphones 2 (2nd gen) - $250 from Microsoft Store

What's the difference between them visually?

To be honest, not much has visually changed at first glance. The design was pretty slick the first time around, and was well received. Even as I rode the subway or walked through the aisles of the grocery store, you could tell people admired the unique modern look. It's simple and clean just like the original.

The first gen headphones are grey/off-white while the second gen are charcoal black. They are beautiful shades, however it does make me wish for more colors. It would kind of be a good look if Microsoft offered four more colors that matched the colors of their logo (red, yellow, blue, green). But, I understand the safer play as opposed to going bold.

So what are some key differences that stood out?

Buttons: The 1st gen headphones had buttons that were almost flush with the cup, which was annoying. There were plenty times where I had to search frantically for the power button. The second gen fixes that by making the buttons pronounced.

Ear-cup Size: The size/diameter of the 2nd gen earcups are definitely larger, which is welcome because I have Will Smith ears. But not only that, it makes for an over all cozier feel.

Earcup Swivel: The Surface Headphones 2 earcups can spin around almost 360, which is great because I have more ability to wear them comfortably around my neck! I'm glad they fixed it this time around.

Multi-Bluetooth Connection: I was easily able to set up multi-bluetooth connections to my various devices, including the Android Pixel4a and Pro7. It was amazing to listen to music or video on my phone, then continue right where I left off on the Pro7.

Grease: One other thing to note...don't touch the black Surface Headphones with greasy hands, it shows much more than if you did with the white 1st gens. That's a user issue though, not a hardware one.

How do they feel once you pick them up?

Without a doubt, the difference is night and day. The 2nd gen headphones are more weighty, and for me that's a great thing. I honestly don't like my hardware/electronics to feel too light, because it makes me think there's not much going on inside to produce a quality experience.

Once I picked up the Surface Headphones 2, then picked up the Surface Headphones (1st gen), I was properly excited to listen. The extra weight provided a sense of anticipation that there would be more UMPH, in terms of low, mids, highs and bass tones.

Setup Time?

It took literally less than 5 minutes to open and pair the headphones to begin listening to music. It was quick, easy, and intuitive for me. I enabled blue-tooth on my phone, then powered on the headphones. Found the name of the headphones from my phone's blue-tooth list, and followed the onscreen/audio instructions, and boom I was setup.

Now if it's someone older or unfamiliar with blue-tooth devices, they might need some help going into their blue-tooth settings, etc.

What about the Sound?

I preferred the sound of the Surface Headphones 2 over the 1st gen. During my test I played all kinds of music at a 95% volume (almost on max...yes mom, I know it's not good for my ears).

One of my main gripes on Surface Headphones (1st gen) was that on higher volumes, and listening to music with more bass, it started to sound like 'rattling', as if the headphones could not handle the true sound.

The Surface Headphones 2 fixed that issue completely. I listened to all sorts of bass heavy music and not a single time did I hear rattling.

The treble is also more solid this time around, and truly shines when listening to slower soundtrack or classical music.

I would say that I'm highly satisfied with the sound on both fronts. And if you're curious here are some of the songs I listened to on both Surface 1st gen and Surface 2nd gen.

And here's the rest of the list in case you're curious or want some new jams:

Story of OJ - JayZ

Cyberpunk 2077 - Pacific Dreams Radio Playlist

Father Figure - Tobe Nwigwe

Will (Remix) - Joyner Lucas & Will Smith

O-o-h Child - The Five Stairsteps

This Land - from Lion King original album

Black Panther - Ludwig Goransson

Break You Off - The Roots

All the Stars - Kendrick Lamar & SZA

Nothing Without You - Tanerelle

Adonai - Sarkodie

Be Here in the Morning - Joy Denalane

Noise Cancellation and Ambient Amplification:

The noise cancellation is solid. With no music playing and maxed out ambient filter on, I couldn't even hear myself snapping fingers next to my head, or my wife talking to me in her normal voice (which is occasionally kind of loud - no shade).

The noise cancellation was great on SurfaceMulti (1st gen) but it's now even better with the 2nd gen, especially when drowning out annoying sounds when walking outside (such as people, cars, trains).

I also love the ambient amplification feature, that's easy to use by dialing up the level on the left ear cup. I use that regularly if I'm listening to music, but want to also know if someone says something to me directly. Or the other day, when I was in the grocery store and walked up to the cashier to checkout, I didn't have to take the headphones off. I was able to up the ambient amplifier to max, and speak with the cashier. Once I finished, I immediately turned my music and noise cancellation back up. It was pretty seamless.

Charging and Battery Life:

Officially the 1st gen gets 13 hours and the 2nd gen gets 18.5. After a full charge, and then turning on the Surface 2, the voice said I had 17 hours left. I typically only listen in 1 - 3 hour spurts at my highest usage, so that pans out to about a whole week almost without needing to recharge.

Overall Verdict:

I'm highly recommending the Surface Headphones 2. For the price point and quality, I feel like the Surface Headphones 2 are your better buy, especially considering how they stack up against similar competitors. I felt like Microsoft paid attention to all the things that actually needed improvement, instead of trying to switch everything up. That impressed me more than anything honestly, how they paid attention to the minute quality of life details. Compared to other headphones I've tried in the same range, excluding the Sony XMs, I'd say these are very well priced and outdo the predecessors as well as the competition. But even compared to Sony XMs, which are prices $100 to $150 more, the sound on the Surface Headphones 2 are definitely comparable. I certainly don't think you'll be saying "I'm really glad I spent that extra $100+ on these Sony XMs".

I would have no problem recommending these to anyone trying to figure out what to spend their next stim check on!

[heart-eye-harrington]

hold me closer, tiny dancer

Summary: based on the Elton John song

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: one (1) curse word

Author’s Note: hello! this is my first mulit-part writing and I am so excited! I’ve wanted to write this idea for so long and am happy with it so far! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Hope you’re staying safe and sane, sending love♡

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

Quiet towns were inhabited by two different types of people; those who were content with the quiet, who bought houses in a cul-de-sac, settled down, and found comfort in routine patterns of life, and those who despise it, counting down the days to when they could get the hell out, when they could run away to somewhere they felt would be exciting. People bought their tickets out in a variety of ways, some worked dead-end jobs to save up money, others poured their efforts into talents or skills that would ensure them good cash once they were gone.

Very few straddled the line in between wanting to stay and wanting to leave. They could see the charm in the tight-knit community and small buzz in the streets, but something deep within yearns for more. 

One breath of life in the stagnant air was art. Being able to create something new, express oneself in more than words. While it wasn’t something the entire community took notice of, it was all a small subset clung to. Like dandelions growing in the cracks of the sidewalk, breathing new life into the existing set solidarity. It wasn’t easy, but life would find a way. 

The small theatre in Hawkins was never as crowded as Hawk Cinema, meaning the owner welcomed any performers with open arms; the Hawkins High drama department, starting bands, amateur comedians and dancers from the local dance studio.

The owner was a kind old man, Mr. Dave, who knew how much the space meant to people. He allowed the aspiring artists in almost every day, and most took full advantage of it. His only condition, he was allowed to check in every once in a while to observe. 

⋆★⋆★⋆★

The shopkeeper’s bell chimes through the small lobby, causing Mr. Dave to lift his gaze from the day’s newspaper. A grin spreads to his ever rosy cheeks when his gaze falls upon you and the duffle bag resting on your shoulder.

“Good morning sweetheart.”

“Good morning Mr. Dave. How are you today?” his cheery expression only grew with your words. You adored him and always made an effort to strike up conversation, the least you could do for everything he did for you and the community.

“Doing alright, how bout yourself?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Is there?-” he laughs, cutting you off before you could finish. He knew how shy you were about dancing in front of other people. He was honored to be the only exception

“No sweetie, no one else is here. Go in there and dance your heart out.” You flash him a smile full of appreciation, and with a quick nod, you enter the auditorium. 

He was telling the truth, it's nothing but you and the stage. A familiar warmth and excitement wash through your body, tingling with anticipation. You felt your muscles cry for joy. Your body craved ballet like it did a warm fudge brownie, and your craving was about to be satisfied. Not wanting to wait a second longer, you rush to the stage, eager to start.

Placing the duffle bag on the worn wooden stage, using your now freed hands to take off your jeans and sweatshirt, revealing the leotard underneath. You place the discarded fabric into your bag, exchanging them for your pointe shoes and cassette player. 

You knew Mr. Dave wouldn’t mind if you used the audio system, but there was something so intimate about having the music to yourself. It was just you, the singer, and the stage. You were free to move however you wished. 

You place the headphones over your ears and clip the player to the waistband of your stockings. Clicking play, a soothing voice begins singing. You stand, take a deep breath, and move.

The music is soft at first, allowing you to slowly warm-up. Small, precise movements allow your muscles to awaken, but when they do, they want more. As the music grows and swells, so do your movements. Arms move to create stronger lines and spins get tighter and faster. As your mixtape goes on, the music slows again. Feeling warmed up enough, you go into full pointe. The moment you fully extend and place all your weight on your toes, you fall.

Hitting the floor with a soft thud, you mentally curse yourself. You knew these shoes were dead, but wanted to milk them for any life they had left before shelling out more money on a new pair. You had a spare, but that didn’t mean you wanted to use them yet. A groan rumbles through your chest as you sit up, drawn from your thoughts by movement in the dark auditorium. 

“Sorry Mr. Dave, I hope the noise didn’t scare you. I’m alright,” you call to the shadow. When it doesn’t respond, instead continuing its journey to the stage, unease slowly adjusts its grip on your heart. The feeling isn’t long-lived, as the shadow makes its way into the lights illuminating the stage. 

He wears a concerned and embarrassed expression on his undeniably beautiful face. He rakes a hand through this mop of wavy brown hair, which you can instantly read as a nervous habit disguised as an attempt to keep cool. 

“You sure you’re ok?” his voice is sweet, making you feel a sense of comfort around the stranger. You reach to your shoes and begin untying the laces.

“Yeah, thanks.” your gaze stays trained on your handiwork, feeling a sudden shyness under his watchful eyes.

“You were amazing. I’ve never seen someone move like that. It was like I could hear the music you were dancing to without even needing to listen” There’s a sense of wonder in his voice, its tone soft yet true.

“…. I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner, I-I just couldn’t bring myself to interrupt.”  you blush at his words, standing to put your shoes away and stealing a look at him. His hands are dug into his pockets, eyes trained on the ground near your feet. You allow a smirk to grace your face at the nervous energy you both emitted. 

“I’ve never seen you here before. Are you a performer?” you look up to him as you dig through your bag. 

“Oh God no. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. My friend Robin’s in a band and they’re practicing today. She wanted me to watch them, something about L.A.” your ears perk up.

“L.A.? What are they gonna do out there?” 

“Beats me, but she’s wanted out of this shithole for as long as I can remember.” you nod, zipping up your bag after getting the new shoes, ribbon, and sewing kit. Looking up to him, you pat the space on the stage next to you. He takes the invitation with a small smile and sits. 

“What’s all this?” his words are full of curiosity, a door to a world he had never seen opening before him. You giggle at his tone. 

“I have to break in a new pair. Pointe shoes are basically an extension of your body, so you have to fully customize them.” You place the ribbon on the side of the new slipper, taking out the needle and thread, and expertly sew the ribbon and attach it to the shoe. All he can do is watch in awe and the speed and grace in even your sewing skills. It’s evident that you could do this in your sleep. You’re done both shoes in record time, and hold one out to him. After the expected quizzical look he shoots you, you place it in his hand. 

“Feel how hard it is near the toes?” His fingers move across the smooth satin before gently pressing on the toe area, afraid to break the seemingly delicate footwear. Upon pressing down, he’s surprised to feel how hard the area is.

“It’s to support your foot when you go up on your toes. My old pair were used to death so they got flimsy. That’s why I fell, no support.” You hold out your old shoe, urging him to feel the difference. It is softer, and he’s surprised you didn’t break an ankle.

“So, we have to break these new ones in. Wanna bang?” He looks at you with wide eyes, the conversation taking an unexpected turn. Looking from the shoe in your hands and up to him, you instantly realize your mistake, nervous laughter filling the air. 

“Easy tiger, it’s not what you think. Banging is when you bang the shoe against something hard to make it a bit more malleable. Like this.” You grip the arch of the slipper and slam the toes against the stage, a loud bang echoes throughout the theatre. You watch as the tension in his shoulder releases, replaced with a goofy grin. He holds the shoe just as you did and taps the ground. You laugh, urging him to go harder. Hesitantly he follows your advice, the bang echoing just as yours did. 

“Yeah! You got it!” Before you know it the two of you are wailing the shoes against the stage, the cacophony mixing with your shared laughter. For a second you forget you’re strangers, embracing the oddity of the situation. The moment is short-lived, as a voice edges through the noise.

“What the hell is going on in here?” The question doesn’t come from a place of anger, but of pure confusion. You and the stranger stop the pounding and laughter, embarrassment trapping it in your throat. You look up to see a girl with short dirty blonde hair followed closely by two guys; one with a buzz cut, the other a mess of curls. The boy beside you sits up, clearing his throat.

“He-hey Robin! What’s up?”

“I think I asked you first, dingus.” she chuckled, shaking her head. She leaves him alone for mere hours and he’s already finding his way into another story. 

“We’re banging,” he replied effortlessly. The smile playing his lips gone the instant the words left his mouth, realizing the band was just as clueless to the meaning of that phrase as he was mere minutes ago. The realization came at your expense as he felt you awkwardly shift beside him.

“Her shoes, we’re banging her shoes” he sheepishly taps the toe against the hard wood of the stage to demonstrate. The trio in the audience do their best to calm the giggles brought about at the scene before them. 

An awkward heat fills your entire being. You hated sitting here in front of strangers as they laughed at you. You knew it was of no fault to the boy beside you, whose name you assume is Steve after hearing Robin call at him. Eyes locked with the worn stage, you raise your gaze just enough to see the pointe shoe hanging loosely in Steve’s hand. As if scared your motions will activate another horror, you slowly reach for it. He almost jerks away, sadness etched in his features at how his blundering could change your joyous demeanor so quickly. He lets you take your shoe back, relaxing when you give his hand a reassuring squeeze, silently telling him it’s ok. 

“I should probably get out of your hair” your words don’t seem to be aimed at anyone in particular, head ducked down. 

“Wait. We were laughing at him, not you. You don’t have to leave just yet, it’s gonna take a bit for us to get our gear in here.” Guilt was evident in Robin’s words as she attempted to fix the awkward first impression. Her bandmates behind her reflect her remorse.

“No, no it’s ok. I have to get back to the studio anyway. But, thank you. I appreciate it.” The band nods and makes their way out of the theatre to get their equipment. You surry behind the curtain on the side of the stage to put your sweatshirt and blue jeans back on. Walking back into the light of the stage, you see Steve still standing there, a sheepish look on his face. 

“Sorry about that.” was all he could muster, the motion causing your heart to flutter. 

“Steve, it’s fine” you giggle, doing your best to convince him. 

“Wait, how do you know my name?” 

“Your friend Robin said it.”

“Now I feel like a dickhead not knowing yours”

“No one said it.” You both laugh at the small back and forth. After a moment you give him your name, and he gives a warm smile in return. 

“Well, y/n, will I see you again?” joy washes over you like the hot sun. It’s a feeling you could get used to. 

“Yeah, you will. I’m here almost every day.” You stare into his eyes. They’re some of the prettiest you’ve ever seen, the stage lights twinkle in the mix of hazel and honey, or maybe they were always like that. Either way, you could get used to getting lost in them. You blink, snapping out of your trance. 

“I’ll...see you around” You sheepishly turn, hoping he didn’t notice the blush rising to your cheeks. Maybe if you hadn’t been so worried about yours, you would have noticed the pink creeping onto his face as well.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 65

I am so, so sorry for getting this out so late in the day.  I know this should have gone up almost eight hours ago. Entirely too much has been going on.

Thank you for bearing with.

“Final systems check,” Grey announced, glancing briefly over from the display and nodding at me.

Noah waved its left liw and vomu in a very human gesture, albeit in multiple. “Proper recordings of every Terran scientific paper in our database are prepared to be communicated directly into your translation implant.”

“He means audio,” I stage-whispered to Conor and Maverick.  Tyche had marched out and read them the riot act after she and I cleared the air.  Their abashed apologies once she dragged them back were still under consideration, but I felt safer with them in the room.

I was also a bit loopy on the sedatives they had given me for my blood pressure. So sue me.

Rolling her eyes, my sister turned to Antoine. “And the connection?”

“Strong and clear,” he confirmed.

Maverick cleared his throat to get our attention. “If we can stream all this information directly into her implant, why aren’t we using this for learning?”

Antoine leveled a half-scathing glare – I couldn’t tell if I was more impressed he mustered any degree of ‘scathing’ or that he was tired enough to let it slip through – before explaining. “Any information retention will be trivial at best, and that would be largely because of Sophia’s exceptional memory. She is still essentially hearing several lectures in a row and repeating them back as soon as she hears it.”

Poor Maverick looked devastated.  Unfortunately, his pout was almost comical, and it took every bit of what little self-control I had left to keep from laughing.

It seemed I wasn’t doing as good a job as I thought, because Tyche turned away with a growl, hands flung in the air. “Okay, papers are queued up, connection to the implant is good. Did we get the medication figured out?”

“Confirmed,” Grey asserted without looking up. “Sophia, you will be in REM sleep, but still lucid.  This should let you control the dream and speak to Else.”

“So I’ll be hypnotized.”

Grey scoffed, but Antoine cut them off. “We discussed this, Dr. Hodenson. While you may not believe in hypnosis, it is a proven phenomenon.  While difficult to accomplish deliberately, I have witnessed Sophia subject to this mental state.”

“Wait, what?” My neck hurt from turning so fast to look at him.

“When you read. When you cook. When you wrap presents,” he ticked off on his fingers.

“I’m not hypnotized, I’m in the zone,” I argued.

Tyche rolled her neck and cocked an eyebrow at me. “That is literally hypnosis, specifically when you read.  I remember seeing you sit in a house with no heat, in January, in shorts and a t-shirt, sweating bullets while reading a book that ended up taking place in Mumbai in summer.  You get cravings for whatever foods your favorite characters are eating, even if you hate the food.”

“That’s not hypnosis, that’s suggestion,” Grey stated flatly.

“And hypnosis is the induction of a state of consciousness that makes you particularly susceptible to suggestion,” Antoine pointed out, equally flat.  With these two, it was practically a shouting match.

Heading off the galaxy’s calmest blow out, I spoke up. “So, creation’s most boring audiobooks, check. Overkill-quality headphones, check. Deep-fake VR drugs, check.” I pointed at myself with both thumbs, “Stoned and willing guinea pig, double check. Let’s get this done.”

Two hours into spouting off what seemed to be hematological extracts, I was considerably less stoned and significantly less willing.

“A low packed cells volume usually indicablood loss due to cell destruction or failure in bone marrow production, while high mean corpuscular hemoglobin concentrations – “

Please. Stop.

“Oh thank fuck,” I gasped, allowing myself to tune out the stream of information piped directly into my head. “Else, is that you?”

Yes, I am here.

“Well, at least it worked… you’re talking quite a bit better now.” I glanced around at the landscape.  While focusing on reciting two hours of scientific papers, I had to ignore it all.  Since the last time I was here, I managed to figure out that the Ark in my dreams was an analogue of my health, from Else’s perspective.  Right now, everything looked okay.  The walls were cracked, but all the pieces were in place. No water. All the lights were functioning. “Also, good to see I’m not dying.”

We wouldn’t let you die.  We need you.

“Not all of me,” I pointed out to thin air.

Your hemoglobin, Else’s voice admitted.

I nodded. “That sounds more accurate.  You eat iron, right?”

Yes. And there is so much here.

“That sounds sinister,” I mused.  Since Else has been able to read my thoughts in the past, I made a point in the dream to speak out loud. It was more for me than the bacteria, since literally all of this interaction was happening in my head anyway. “Is that why you are on the ship.”

I didn’t ask to be here. Humans brought me here.

“The same humans you’re eating. Were you in the core samples we gathered?”

No. I came later.

“But that is the only time we have taken anything on board since we left Earth.” This wasn’t making sense.

I am from the Ark.

“Else, you aren’t making sense,” I took a deep breath. I imagined taking a deep breath. Something.  I was definitely getting a very real headache. “If you only came after the core samples, but you come from the Ark, how does that work?  Are you another alien race? What planet are you from?”

I am from the Ark.

“I mean what planet – “

No planet. I am from the Ark.

“Wait, what? You mean… Life on Earth evolved from the primordial soup that existed after Earth formed. From… amino acids, then proteins…”

From the oceans, to be simple.

“Right, from the oceans.” I mused. “But we’re in space, with all the radiation you could want, plus exotic trace minerals that may be in those core samples, and a big god-damned – “

Language, Else admonished.

“Oh, now you have a sense of humor,” I huffed. “We have a big lake with all kinds of biological experiments going on in BioLab 2. Is that where you come from?”

Not just the water. Experiments, too.

“Fuck.”

None of that.

“So we made you.”

Yes.

My knees spiked in agony as I hit the deck below my feet. “It was an accident,” I begged in a hoarse whisper. “All the shitty things we have done to ourselves and each other, please tell me it was an accident.”

Did you know if you were an accident before you were told by your parent?

“That is such a low blow,” I scowled. “You and Tyche are the only ones who know that.”

But fair.

“Unfortunately.” I huffed an imaginary lock of hair that just appeared in my face for the sole purpose of doing so. “I am going to assume this was an accident.”

Ouch.

Indulgently, I stomped around, fists clenched, growling the entire time. “I am negotiating with a sentient colony of bacteria, one that humanity made, somehow, and now you have hurt feelings!?” I was screaming by the end of it, and a distant part of my brain registered a chilled sensation in my arm. “Stop sedating me, I’m pissed!” Breathing heavily, I tried to calm down. “I get that it’s insulting, Else, but trust me, you do not want humanity to have made you deliberately.  If that was the case, your only actual function is to kill people and destroy buildings.”

I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to live.

“As a former intended entrée, I can sympathize. But you are killing us, Else.” Hot tears filled my eyes. “I’m okay so far, but that is only because Miys is constantly infusing me with freshly made, iron-rich blood. What happens when we’re out of resources? Or reach our destination?”

Nutrient rich plants, engineered to grow on the new planet.

“Conor,” I gasped, covering my mouth as the tears I was trying so hard to hold back fell down my face. “The catnip he gave Tyche. He said it was a failed experiment.”

He does not know he created us. The gift was in good will.

“Is that how you infected her?”

No. She likes to swim. And she loves you.

“Difference between intelligence and sentience: that was exactly the wrong thing to say,” I hissed. “The only body you have are the ones you stole from my family and the crew, so I can’t actually hurt you. But I am this close,” I held my fingers so they were barely not touching, “to having Miys filter you out of our blood and flush you into space.  The only reason I am here talking to you is because we knew you were sentient before we realized you were killing us.” Another deep breath. “Try. Again.”

She was infected when she went swimming. It was not intentional. We needed iron.

“Much better.”

We did not mean for the mermaid to be injured so. There was so much iron in her blood. I did not know that taking it away would harm her.

“You harmed us all!” I screamed. “All of us!  You made Grey absent-minded and forgetful. You undermined their confidence. You made Conor, Grey, and Antoine angry,” I spat. “The biggest betrayal of all. Three of the calmest, most reasonable people I know, the ones who would have rooted for you, and you took that away from them!”

I –

“Conor and Grey made you!”

Did not know. Not then. But I-we know that now. And we are sorry.

”Are you? Or are you pleading for your life?”

I-we want to live.

“That I believe.”

But we want you to live, even if we are not within you.

“How the fuck do you think we do that? Humans are the only source of iron on the ship.”

I-we am-are bacteria. I-we can be isolated.

“And then, what? Leave you on some poor planet to kill some other species? I hate to tell you, but you went from birth to genocide in alarming fashion. All of humanity that is left, is on this ship, and you are killing what’s left. From what we understand, the Galactic Council would frown on what you’re doing.” I focused on sending the information I had gotten back to Miys and everyone listening in. “I can’t let you do this to another species.”

Barren planet. Old one, where no more life will survive.

“One that is at the end of its life cycle?”

I-we do not believe I-we am-are vulnerable to heat.

I waited patiently for information before I responded. “Miys says we can isolate you and test for you heat resistance before booting you off in a nebula that you can’t fuck up. Is that sufficient?”

Humans cannot live in a nebula.

“We can’t live in a pylon either, but you ate it all the way through.”

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: Waterlogged

(For @whumptober2019 day 27, I chose to use the Alternate prompt Waterlogged! Poor Danny. References @bleeding-demon-teeth‘s OC Lyken again, because Bram is just a super big fan. TW: for implied/referenced noncon, some torture/abuse)

Water pours in a rush from the deep gray sky and it feels more like midnight than mid-afternoon. The clouds fight each other, rolling and tumbling in shades of deep dark greenish-gray he’s never seen before, but he tries not to look up any longer - the water just gets in his eyes, then.

At least there’s no lightning, no thunder to terrify him. Only rain - endless, eternal pouring rain.

It’s been raining since this morning, and Daniel has been out here in it since he’d overturned a bowl of food on Abraham’s head after Abraham had slid his hand up underneath his shirt when he was serving breakfast.

He’d felt, for just a second, a snarling furious strength in him, the return of the man he used to be - the person - and it had all happened in a flash of time he couldn’t take back.

He wants so badly to take it back.

Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit, don’t fucking touch me, Daniel had snapped, dumping the food on him, jerking himself away. For just that one second he hadn’t given a damn about the rules, about being good, about any of it. For just a second he’d remembered that he had been a senior in college once, just a few months from graduating - he had a younger brother - he had a family - he had people who cared, who would miss him.

For just a second, all Abraham’s hard fucking work to train him had fallen away and Danny was a human again, knew he was a human, knew he deserved better than this.

Then Abraham’s hand had snapped out to grab him by the wrist and Danny had realized he’d fucked up, just a few seconds too late.

Now that’s very bad indeed, Abraham had said with eggs still in his hair, heedless of the mess, Nate sitting across the table staring wide-eyed at the both of them, fork still halfway to his mouth.

Just fucking kill me, you dick, Daniel said, half-pleading the words, already trying to back away until Abraham stepped on the chain that hooked his ankle to the ring in the wall and Danny stumbled and fell backwards onto the floor. I don’t want to live like this, just fucking kill me already!

Dead would be too easy, puppy, Abraham had snarled at him. I can think of so much worse for you.

B-B-Bram, no, h-h-he’s just h-having a b-bad day, it’s n-normal, he’s going to h-h-have bad d-d-days, remember when I-

Shut the fuck up, baby. The puppy’s been bad. He needs to be fixed.

N-no! Just, l-look, just l-l-l-let me t-talk to him, B-Bram, please!

I fucking hate you!

So angry, little Red. You know damn well that puppies don’t get to be angry. Puppies want to be good. They love their owners. I’m going to make sure you want to be good.

Bram, please, please d-d-don’t, please don’t d-do this, don’t-

I just want to be me again! You can’t force someone to love you! I don’t want to be good and I don’t want to fucking love you!

The last time anyone gave a shit what you wanted was the moment you pointed a gun at my face, Red. You need to remember what the fuck you are. And I can force you to feel anything I want.

He’d tried to fight back, but he didn’t eat enough, and he was so tired, and hungry, and hurting all the time. It wasn’t long before Danny was sitting in the wet mud with a brand spanking new black eye, hands tied hard behind his back, rope wrapped around them all the way to his elbows until he ached with the effort of keeping them held out straight, that steady, pulsing pain in his rib - and the metal grid cutting hard into his face, forcing him to be quiet, to remember his place.

He hadn’t meant to be bad, to get angry - he tried to be good most days, he really did - but sometimes the parts of him that used to exist found their way out.

They exploded in a riot of yelling and anger, and it always ended with a punishment. It was never worth fighting, but somehow he couldn’t seem to stop.

He had made a mistake, this morning - and now there is this.

The rain has long since soaked his hair, pressing the normally wavy red flat against his scalp, hanging in his eyes, darkening it to something closer to auburn. Droplets of water run down the side of his face, briefly magnifying the freckles that stand out as he grows paler and paler.

The raindrops blend with the blood that wells up around the jagged line of metal cutting hard into his jaw, his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose. They mix with the tears that run from his eyes, unnoticed, just more water behind the grid. The trails of pink run to the corner of his mouth, to slip the slightest taste of salt and copper onto the tip of the tongue trapped behind his teeth. Some of it slides down the sides of his neck, becomes another bit of wet in his shirt, or drips right onto the ground.

Water finds a way to free itself of the cage of his skin, but Daniel is trapped in it.

The leather pulls tight against the sides of his face, wraps snugly around the back of his head. He can’t move his jaw even a fraction of an inch, and it hurts, it hurts and it’s bleeding, but he can’t even scream - only whine, low in his throat, with no way to escape the prison of his mouth.

All he can manage is a keening sound swallowed up by the rain.

He can’t seem to find the someone else that lives inside of him, the body that takes over when this thing is on his face. Every other time, he can go away in his head, but today Daniel feels trapped in reality, in what’s really been done to him, and he can’t seem to find his escape.

He wants to escape - he wants to be someone else - he wants to go away in his head, to let the body take over, to let the body feel the ache and the pain and the mud, but he can’t.

It’s probably because of the headphones, because of the smug fucking voice he can’t get away from, loud enough to drown out the rain that has turned his fingers into wrinkled prunes, rubbed his arms and wrists raw with the rope around them until he’s pretty sure they’re bleeding, too.

The headphones are wrapped in plastic to protect them, settled carefully onto his head, the fuzzy speakers pressed against his ears. The noise won’t let him slide away, won’t let him give himself over to somebody else.

He could handle the rain - and the pain - and he could go away from the muzzle, because there’s someone else who lives in his body that comes out to take the muzzle and deal with that for him.

But he can’t fight the voice.

It’s not Abraham’s voice - no, it’s the other voice, the man Abraham listens to on his phone, the man who talks about dog training - only he’s not talking about real dogs, people like Abraham are the people he’s talking to.

Daniel’s head droops, hunching forward, the padlock that keeps the leather straps securely buckled gently tapping against the nape of his neck.

I understand that some of you are struggling with disobedience - too much energy used in all the wrong ways. The man is smug, so goddamn sure of himself, of what he’s doing, of the evil that Abraham and others like him.

There’s a horror there Daniel doesn’t want to access, in the reality that there are others in the world like this - he pushes that back, back into his mind, even further than the anger he’s no longer allowed to feel, the anger that drained out of him with the rain.

His voice is a little hypnotic, nothing like Abraham’s spellbinding singsong - but it catches your thoughts and holds them, and Danny can’t stop listening no matter how hard he tries. Obviously the most efficient method is simply to contact me for one-on-one counseling sessions - my rates are very fair, and I have been known to personally oversee the most troublesome cases myself.

But if you’re dead set on individually working this out on your own, who am I to stop you? The man’s voice in his ear has a thread of unkind laughter to it, and there’s a sound in the background somewhere of the audio - a thunk and something like a cut-off curse, then some other laughter, three or four other people. Shut the fuck up, assholes, I’m recording. In any case, if you really must do this yourself, I’ll tell you - the secret to really succeeding at this is to ensure that you engender a real, true desire to be good, to do good, to behave according to your expectations.

Without that desire, all you’ll see is bad behavior. Maybe it’ll be covered up for a while, you’ll think you’re seeing progress - but all you’re seeing is a lie. Without the desire, the real nerve-deep need to be good, you will never achieve true or total success.

I never settle for a half-trained mutt, and I mean never. There’s no dog out there who can’t be taught to want to be good with the right reinforcement.

As I said, my one-on-one rates are fair and I do offer online video conferencing for clients in locations as far away as Europe and Asia for a small added fee. If you’re unable to make appointments in person, I’d be happy to speak with you via Skype. You can find my rates, well - more laughter, from the man and from everyone else. There’s the sound of a thwak in the background, a sound Daniel knows too well, feeling his own back muscles jerk in sympathy. You have to know who to ask to find my rates, but if you’ve found this, you probably already know who to ask, right?

So ask them.

Now, in today’s episode I want to start off by reading a letter I recently received from a very satisfied customer - and later we’ll talk about, well.. Let’s call him a friend of mine, who is the perfect example of someone dealing with occasional backsliding because he’s not using my methods, just slapdash creating his own like an asshole.

You know who you are, E.

The voice numbs him. It wears away at him. The knowledge that there are other people in the world like this - and that they have in-jokes and friends and whole lives - is terrifying, and Daniel can’t seem to maintain any other real feeling but fear out here, soaked to the bone and starting to shake with the cold still nipping the air.

The terror slowly dulls and blends in until all he has left is a confused mixture of regret and loathing and confusion as to why he ever tried to fight back at all.

He’s been out here for four hours or so, he thinks - he’s listened to four of these things and he’s pretty sure they’re about an hour long. So that’s something, that’s something he can hold onto, but still the voice sinks into his head, twines around Abraham’s, leaves him feeling hollow and empty and inhuman.

Just a puppy.

His arms throb from being forced so hard behind his back for so long. He’s cold and wet and caked in mud all along the backs of his thighs, his legs, coating his feet. Mud cakes the outdoor chain hooking him to the ground. All he wants is for Abraham to take the muzzle off, let him back inside, let him dry off and get warm by the fire.

But he can’t go inside unless he’s ready to be good, unless he wants to be good, just like the hateful fucking voice in his ears won’t stop saying. He can’t go inside unless Abraham believes he wants to be good.

And he can’t call for help. He can’t ask. He can’t do anything but listen, and listen, and listen, and wish that he’d never done such a stupid fucking thing in the first place as try to pretend he’s a person when he knows, deep down, that Daniel Michaelson is gone.

My name is Red.

I am the puppy.

No one wants me but Abraham now… and Nate.

His jaw aches, the top of his nose is a riot of pain as the wire cuts further and further into it. His rib hurts, his eye throbs, his arms hurt, he’s so tired - so fucking tired - of everything hurting so much.

When he’s good, only a couple of things ever hurt at a time. When he’s good, sometimes he goes whole days without a new wound. He could have fixed all of this by just not being bad this morning.

He could just be good, and none of it has to happen, right? That’s what the voice keeps saying.

He’s locked inside of himself, staring dully down at a single blade of grass, trying not to hear the voice of the man in his ears, in his head, the man that Abraham laughs along with and says, now here’s someone else in the world who understands.

He can’t get up - can’t even move his hands.

He can’t escape the rain.

He can’t take off the headphones, can’t get away from the voice that tells him, in so many different ways, that Abraham can unmake him - probably already has.

The voice - the man, the King - laughs at people like Daniel and tells them they can be changed, undone, remade into less than they were, into the puppies that aren’t allowed to be angry.

He’s not allowed to be angry - that was a rule, a rule he had broken, and he’s sure he’s been punished enough. He could prove it, if Abraham would only come back out and let him show it, let him show that he was tired of being in trouble, and that he could be good.

He wishes, so deeply within himself, that he had never done what he did this morning. He wishes he had just served breakfast like he did every day, let Abraham touch him, ignored the coiled twisting hate inside himself, pushed it down until it went away entirely. He wishes he had only tried harder.

When he tries really hard, he can usually be good.

If he’d just been good, he wouldn’t be sitting out here feeling a sort of pressure building in his lungs, an urge to cough against the rain that probably doesn’t bode well for him. He gets sick so much, now - and when he’s sick, he gets punished for being weak.

But when he gets fevers, he sees his brother, and so maybe getting sick isn’t so bad, not if he sees Ryan again.

He must have closed his eyes at some point, maybe even dozed off with the voice still in his ears - because suddenly there are warm hands on his face.

He jumps, jerking back and away, instinctively trying to apologize for flinching - never pull away from Abraham - but all he does is try to force his jaw against the cage and he whines sharply at the pain.

The headphones are slipped off of his ears and the voice - the voice is gone. Danny’s so grateful to Abraham, gratitude that cuts him as sharply as any knife. Thank you for taking the voice away. Thank you for this. Thank you so much.

Be grateful for every gift you are given.

Letting him stop hearing the voice is a gift.

“Sssshhhh, it’s m-m-me,” Nate says softly, and Daniel opens his eyes in surprise, looking up to see Nate crouching in front of him in a raincoat and boots, letting his black hair get soaked but the rest of him stays dry. The mossy green eyes are focused right on him, and there is no mockery there, none of Abraham’s laughing superiority, no sense that he is looking at a disobedient puppy.

Nate sees a man.

“It’s j-j-just me,” Nate says, voice gentle and deep, and the feel of his fingers against the metal grid is so welcome Danny nearly starts to cry.

He whines again - trying to plead, to beg to take the muzzle off his face to let him say how sorry he is, how good he can be.

Nate smiles, a little sadly. “H-hey, Danny,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Daniel’s forehead.

His lips feel so warm against the bone-deep cold settling under Daniel’s skin. He doesn’t even think to shake his head at the name that isn’t his any longer. He just makes a noise in his throat, something he hopes can say thank you and I might love you and kiss me again and save me.

“B-B-Bram sent m-me out. Y-you can come back i-in now. He says it’s b-been long en… enough. I… I c-c-c-convinced him.” Nate’s eyes slide away from his when he says the last bit, and part of Danny wonders what he’s agreed to do for Abraham to earn Danny the right to come in out of the rain.

Nate has the little key that unlocks the padlock at the back of his head. He undoes the buckle, slips the metal grid off of his face, and Danny doesn’t even wince at the tear of torn skin. All he can feel is joy at the freedom, opening and closing his mouth just to move his jaw even though it aches, just because he can.

“Thank you for taking the muzzle off,” Danny mumbles, “and for taking the headphones off my head.” As the ropes unwind from his arms, he slowly lowers them back to his sides, shoulders screaming in protest after so long locked in place, looking down with relief as he realizes they weren’t bleeding at all, just ringed in deep red grooves that will bruise and then fade. “Thank you for taking th’… the ropes off.”

Nate doesn’t say anything - he knows the rules as well as Danny does - but there’s a look on his face Danny can’t quite read. It’s not pity - it’s something like grief.

Like Daniel is already gone, and Nate is going to miss him.

Once the metal cuff welded to his ankle is unlocked from the chain in the yard, Danny gets slowly to his feet, Nate’s good hand on his elbow to help him up. They make their way back across the yard, Nate in his raincoat and boots, Danny barefoot and soaked so deeply he has begun to wonder if he’ll ever, ever feel dry again.

He stumbles back in the door, water dripping down his face still, new wounds carved over old scars, the red lines made by the muzzle still weeping thin trails of blood. Standing on the welcome mat (step inside our happy home, it declares in cheerful rainbow letters and Danny kind of wishes he could tear it apart with his bare hands), he looks from under wet hunks of red hair at Abraham sitting at the kitchen table.

The inside of the cabin is warm, and dry, and Daniel wants to be warm and dry, too. He’ll say anything. He’ll do anything.

He is exactly what the man in the recordings says he is.

“So?” Abraham asks. The fireplace is crackling in the living room, and Danny wants nothing more in life than to sit in front of it, dry off, feel something other than this saturated wet awful. “Have you rethought this morning’s misadventure?”

“Y-yes,” Daniel manages, keeping his shoulders hunched. “I was, um, was wrong.”

Nate slides the raincoat off and hangs it on the hook by the door, sets the wrapped-up headphones and little mp3 player on the countertop, dumps the muzzle beside it with an audible breath of disgust.

Nate hates the muzzle. He only ever calls it ‘the thing’.

Danny turns carefully away from it, trying not to look at the blood still winking red at the ends of all the tiny sharp pieces that jam into his skin when it’s on. He hadn’t been able to go away. He hadn’t been able to be someone else. He’d been Danny in a muzzle - he’d been Red, the puppy, getting punished for thinking he was real.

He feels a sob caught somewhere in his throat, and he manages to choke it back, but only barely.

I’m not real. The man is right. We’re not really real people at all.

“Oh, little Red,” Abraham says with patronizing affection. “Did we have fun out in the rain?”

Danny shakes his head, mutely, and he doesn’t flinch when Abraham laughs, the high-pitched barking sound that rattles his bones inside his skin, shatters apart any sense of himself he had.

Everything is so much easier when he doesn’t fight. Why does he keep trying to fight?

When Nate turns back around, Daniel shuffles a little closer to him, until he can feel the solidity of Nate’s presence beside him, the only person who doesn’t want to hurt him. The only mercy Abraham has is Nate Vandrum, the only affection Danny gets that isn’t tainted and horrible and hurting.

Does he maybe love Nate, or is he just desperate for a feeling other than pain?

After a second, he feels Nate shift a little bit, too. There’s the slightest hint of warmth as Nate’s bad hand - the hand Abraham bashed and broke and never even tried to help heal right - settles at the small of his back, over his shirt.

“What did you learn, then, from your time out there?” Abraham’s smile is a snake’s grin, and his eyes are cold. Danny leans slowly, subtly back into Nate’s touch, trying to use it to give himself some form of strength even as his knees want to give and buckle him to the floor.

If I have to be a dog, I wish I could be his, not yours.

He can hear himself dripping audibly onto the tile. He can feel the water - and some of it is blood and some of it is tears but he doesn’t know which is what any longer. “I l-learned that I d-d-don’t want to be in trouble anymore. I’m s-s-sorry, Abraham. I won’t do it again, I promise. I won’t.”

“Good. That’s what I want to hear. Tell me who you are.”

“My name is Red,” Daniel Michaelson says, meeting Abraham’s eyes, and in that moment he is, he really is. He keeps forgetting - and Abraham keeps reminding him.

Daniel Michaelson slides away, the anger and hate and insistent refrain of I used to be a person fading under the weight of Abraham’s voice, his stare, and the echoing voice of the man in the headphones, the pressure of knowledge that Abraham isn’t the only person who knows that there are people like Daniel in the world, people who only exist to be hurt.

Daniel Michaelson is gone, and Red takes over.

“Your name is Red and…?”

“My name is Red and I belong to you, and I, and I want to be good for you s-so I don’t have to be in trouble again. I do. I want to be so good, Abraham.”

Abraham’s eyes move up and down, taking in the red hair plastered to his forehead, the angry wounds on his face, water trickling slowly down his neck. 

Abraham looks over the T-shirt pressed in folds against the lines of his body, showing the torso made skinnier by never enough food, the pajama pants that are slick against his legs, the raw skin underneath the iron cuff that never leaves him, the toes pressing into the bristles of the welcome mat.

Danny shivers under the attention, hugging himself, wishing he didn’t know what Abraham was thinking, wishing it wasn’t written all too clearly on his face, in the gleam of a sudden dark interest in his eyes.

Nate’s hand against his back is the only anchor he has.

“Good boy.” Abraham gestures towards the living room. “Strip. Then you can sit by the fire and dry off, Nate will bring you a towel.”

“Strip? Right… right here?” Daniel feels his face flush deep red, the sting as blood rushes to the newly reopened muzzle wounds. Even as he wants to hesitate, his hands are moving to the hem of his T-shirt, twisting until the fabric wrings out and a sudden patter of droplets hits the floor. “Right now?”

“Right now. Your body doesn’t belong to you, Red. It belongs to me. I feel like I’ve proven that a couple hundred times over by now in every possible way.“

Daniel feels his face flush and keeps his eyes on the floor, skin crawling with the touch of phantom hands, with the knowledge that his body has been broken and bent for someone else.

“B-Bram,” Nate says softly. “C-C-Come on, hasn’t he been p-punished en-enough?”

“You’re the one who begged me to bring him back in. This is what you wanted, right, Nate? Don’t tell me you don’t like seeing him take his clothes off just as much as I do. I know you, sweet thing.” Those eyes slide back to Danny, and all the rain in the world cannot wash the grime off his skin. “Red. Take your fucking clothes off or I’ll do it and then we’ll see if we can’t make those cuts on your hands any deeper.”

Danny meets Nate’s eyes, for just a second, and then pulls his shirt off over his head, peeling the soaked cloth off his skin, dropping the puddle of fabric into the sink.

"Love to see those ribs, sweet thing,” Abraham breathes, and Danny has to close his eyes against furious tears.  Then he slides his pajama pants off, keeping his eyes down, his face bright scarlet with the humiliation of it, tossing those in the sink, too.

“Could cut myself on those hips.”

I wish you fucking would, and bleed out, you piece of shit.

No. Be good. Be Red.

When he’s done, he curls into himself, as if there is any modesty left for someone who hasn’t been a person in nearly three years.

He stands naked, dripping onto the floor, rubbing absently at the itching, bleeding circle cut into his face, waiting.

He waits patiently, shivering.

He is good.

Abraham lets the silence draws out, stretching what is left of Danny between revulsion and a desperate need to do whatever it takes to get next to the fire. Finally, in a low voice thick with joy, Abraham says, “Go on. Nate, grab a towel and go with him. No clothes, Red. I want to see my good boy tonight.”

Nate nods, taking Danny by the arm pulling him through the open doorway into the living room. Danny pauses at first, waiting to have his metal cuff hooked to the living room chain, but Nate keeps him walking until they’re right next to the blissful crackling heat of the fire.

“W-wait,” Daniel says, still speaking in a half-pained whisper, trying not to open his mouth enough to hurt his jaw. “My, my chain, you have to chain me up-”

Nate’s own jaw is a hard line, something flinty and cold in his face. “I a-a-asked him to l-let you g-g-get closer. You d-don’t have t-t-to wear it yet.”

“What did you give him?” Daniel isn’t sure he even wants to hear the answer, to know what part of himself Nate still has left to barter.

“D-doesn’t m-m-matter. Sit down.”

Daniel sits next to the fireplace, folding his knees up to his chest, feeling the burst of warmth, dry and welcome and so wonderful on his soaking skin.

Nate towels his hair, and Danny closes his eyes at the unfamiliar form of affection, tilting his head back to make it easier.

Just a puppy, but I wish I were his.

Finally, Nate pulls back. “Y-you can s-s-sit here until y-you’re dry. He said.”

“Will you, um…” Daniel speaks shyly, feeling like a middle schooler asking his first girl to a dance. Or boy, in his case. “Will you stay? Sit with me?”

Nate glances over his shoulder. Abraham is still at the kitchen table, and Daniel can hear the start of a new one of the man’s awful episodes playing on his phone.

Then Nate turns back and drops to sit beside Danny, leaning slowly against him until the fabric of his T-shirt sleeve brushes Danny’s bare arm.

“I c-c-can’t keep w-watching him hah-… hurt you.” Nate’s voice is heavy with the grief Danny had seen in him earlier. “I can’t k-k-keep being cuh-complicit in this.”

“It’s okay,” Daniel says, taking the towel to cover himself over his hips, to find even one small hint of personal privacy. Even if only for a moment. “If I just learn to be good, he won’t anymore. I just have to be good. I can try harder, Nate. I can learn to be good, if I, if I just try harder. I have to want to be good.”

Nate sighs, sliding an arm around Daniel’s shoulders, pressing a furtive, hidden kiss against his hair.

“You w-were already g-g-good. I’ll s-s-save you,” Nate whispers into his ear. “S-somehow, Danny.”

My name is Red, Daniel thinks automatically, but he stays quiet and pushes himself a little more into Nate’s side, tucks his head into the crook of the older man’s neck.

Nate doesn’t say anything about the damp hair. He only holds Danny a little tighter and begins to hum, low in his throat, a song Danny doesn’t know but feels somehow immensely reassured by.

The only other sound is the crackling of the fire and Abraham’s occasional laughter from the kitchen.

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (4)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.9k (this chapter), 13.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Phil did not invite Chris and Sophie to come to Rossendale with him. Not because he doesn't like spending time with them, but because he wouldn't know how to explain a situation to his parents that he doesn't even understand himself. To his knowledge, PJ also did not invite them.

"Change it," Chris whines from the backseat. He'd lost the scuffle against Phil to claim the front, and he's been complaining about Phil's music choices for half the trip so far in retaliation.

"You like McFly," Phil huffs, continuing his search for an album that won't elicit a loud sigh from behind him.

"That's fucking slander, is what that is. You hear that, PJ?"

"Oh, I hear you both," PJ says, flat. "Loud and clear."

They've only been driving for probably forty minutes and PJ already looks like he wants to kick them all out of his car. Phil doesn't exactly blame him, although he resents being lumped in with Chris in the 'annoying background noise' category.

He has no idea how they've managed to invite themselves along, but Phil was too polite and PJ was too smitten to tell them off when they came out to the car with their bags.

So, this is a group activity now. Phil's parents had been thrilled to hear it when he texted them the updated situation - they're taking it as a sign that Phil has a motley crew of good friends again, like he'd had as a kid and again in uni. He supposes that they're not wrong, exactly, but he's definitely anxious about introducing them to Chris.

"I like this song," Sophie says, mild, and Chris closes his mouth.

"Fine, this one is alright," he says begrudgingly. Phil glances at them in the rearview - Sophie is patting Chris' knee and giving him the sort of smile that always makes Phil feel like he shouldn't be present. He looks back down at his phone so he doesn't have to sit with that feeling too long.

PJ turns up the volume, probably to curb any more bickering before he has to toss them all out of his car, and Phil tries to just lose himself in the music for a little bit.

His friends sing along at varying levels of obnoxiousness and Phil tries not to keep opening the Tumblr app to see if someone has messaged him. Well, someone specific. I'm going north today!, is the last message sent between them, and Phil is still waiting for Winnie to offer to meet up or something.

After their non-starter interview, Phil and Winnie kept missing each other's free time to finish it over Skype. Phil kind of wants to hear more from them before he checks it out himself, but that's not looking likely at this point, especially if he's lugging his housemates along with him all weekend.

Phil opens a puzzle game on his phone and lets the mostly-mindless swiping distract him. It's a long drive up to Rossendale, and the last thing Phil wants is to be left alone with his thoughts.

--

Phil's parents love having guests round almost as much as they love to have him home, so Phil isn't at all surprised to walk in and smell a roast cooking. He expects that treats will be made as soon as the oven is free, because that's what his mum is like.

"Hello," Phil calls into the house, kicking off his shoes. His friends follow his lead - PJ puts his boots carefully on the mat that Phil didn't bother aiming for, and Sophie struggles with a particularly stubborn knot in her laces - as he hangs up his jacket. "Mum? Dad?"

"Child," his mum greets him happily, appearing in the entry to the kitchen and making grabby hands at him until he envelops her in a hug.

"Missed you," Phil tells her, quiet enough that his friends won't hear to make fun of him.

"Oh, I missed you," she says, giving him a kiss on the side of his face. She turns her beaming smile onto his housemates, who all pause in what they're doing like a frozen tableau. It's a little funny. "More children! Hello! I'm Kathryn, it's so nice to meet you. And so nice to see you again, PJ," she adds in that somewhat pointed voice that Phil hates so very much.

"Hello, Kath," PJ says, grinning wide. He gives her a hug, too. Chris holds out his hand for her to shake when she's done squeezing the life out of PJ, but Kath will have none of it.

"Don't be silly," she says, wrapping her arms tight around Chris' waist with a laugh. "We hug in this family."

"Really?" Chris asks, and the look he gives Phil is almost more embarrassing than if he'd asked 'so why isn't your son a hugger?' out loud. "Something smells absolutely delicious, Kathryn. Is that you, or is supper cooking?"

Phil stops himself from groaning out loud, but barely. He probably shouldn't be surprised at all that Chris' cheeky, flirtatious charm extends to mothers as well. Kath laughs and smacks lightly at Chris' chest before she turns to Sophie.

Skilled at making people feel comfortable in four seconds flat, Kath chatters away about supper and how lovely Sophie's curls are and how long it's been since she's seen Phil, did they know how long it's been? She herds them all into the kitchen like they're cattle and insists that Phil take their things upstairs while she puts the kettle on.

"Er, alright," Phil says, looking at the small collection of bags that they'd brought with them. Their clothes and toiletries are all there, of course, but so is all the filming and hunting equipment. He'll have to make at least two trips.

"Your father got the guest room and Martyn's room all set up before he went out," she tells him, either not noticing or ignoring his internal struggle.

Oh, wonderful. Phil had somehow forgotten about the part where they had three beds for four of them. He's positive that his housemates won't mind sharing with each other, but now he's been tasked with the anxiety-inducing puzzle of whose bags to put where.

"Okay," Phil says again, even though they've moved on to talking about their favourite kinds of cakes so that Kath can wow them all with her skills. He tries to catch PJ's eye, but PJ is too wrapped up in a conversation about strawberries to notice.

Alright, well. Phil grabs as many bags as he can carry and brings them upstairs, feeling some tension deep inside him get a little tighter as he notices that most of their personal effects are packed away, either in storage or already on the island, and his childhood home looks more like a show home than he's comfortable with. The stairs only creak a little under his weight, nothing like the old house in Brighton, but Phil still feels unsettled.

In the end, he throws PJ and Sophie in the guest room. It's a selfish move more than anything, because he's brought PJ for enough visits to be familiar with the way his parents look at each other every time PJ teases him.

They don't ask. They're not the type of people to pry, and Phil isn't the type of people to offer information unprompted. They've all been in this limbo for years where Phil doesn't tell them that he likes boys and they don't outright question if PJ is just a friend and, frankly, Phil is tired of it. So, Chris can sleep alone.

He takes his own bags up last, because he knows that stepping into his bedroom and seeing all the personality stripped from it is going to make him feel things he isn’t prepared to feel. Phil takes a deep breath before he goes inside, and releases it shakily as he drops his things on the floor.

The beige carpet is almost mocking him, telling him that it's time to grow up, and Phil leaves the room as fast as he can.

--

God it is so hard to get anything done here. Sorry to complain at you randomly but like... I forgot how hard it is to work when my parents are hovering and asking a million questions lmao

Winnie still hasn't responded to Phil's early morning message, but the frustration of his parents distracting him and his friends from their work is starting to get to him. Chris has completely charmed them, somehow, and both Sophie and PJ are too polite to put headphones on and ignore them the way Phil has decided to.

Surprisingly, he gets a reply right away: omg how have i never considered the fact that you had to tell your parents you wanted to hunt ghosts for a living thats so fucking funny also that sucks i live in a house full of students and i always have to go to the coffee shop to work on essays and shit

There's nothing good like that where my parents live. Your coffee place is in the city, right?

“No! He didn’t!” Chris is laughing, somewhere in the living room, and Phil has to turn up the white noise on his headphones. The idea of his parents and housemates trading embarrassing stories about him while he's holed up at the table with audio files he hates makes him itch.

yeah, Winnie says. Phil is so thrown off by the short message that his fingers pause on the keyboard.

Is he annoying them? He doesn't mean to. Phil thinks over the messages they've exchanged since talking on Skype, the wheel of worst case scenarios spinning quickly.

Before Phil can apologise or even really get his anxious mind to settle down, his laptop bloops again, once, twice, three times. Relief from the worry that Winnie doesn't like talking to him curls around Phil's shoulders, relaxing them.

It's a screenshot of Google Maps with an address pulled up, a different building circled in a bright blue. yeah i hella recommend and it's really close to wilkins as well, is the message accompanying the screenshot. Then, right afterwards, 10/10 hot chocolate if i do say so myself.

Phil isn't very big on hot chocolate on its own, but he is very big on quiet coffee shops.

It takes a lot of cajoling and promises that he won't be out too late for Phil to convince his parents that they'll be fine to drive to the city by themselves. His dad gets the same look on his face that he always does when Phil talks about work, but his mum merely pats his cheek and says, "Oh, love, be careful. I'll be cross if I have to get you from the police again."

"That was one time," Phil says, feeling his face flush as Chris looks at him with glee.

"One time too many," Nigel says, a bit too sternly to be a joke. Phil wonders if his friends pick up on it or if they just think he's banting like he's been all through supper, that same dry humour that Phil can see in Martyn making him funnier than his housemates had expected.

PJ and Sophie both laugh a bit, so... probably just Phil's knowledge of his dad making it more pointed than it really needs to be.

The coffee shop is open late, so Phil and his housemates decide to do some recon at the Wilkins place. The sun hasn't quite set yet, and the street isn't completely deserted or anything, so they have to wait for a good moment to leave the car.

They're careful. They've done this before.

The Wilkins place is an older townhouse in Rusholme with windows that have been boarded up since the early noughties because they kept getting broken. Technically, someone still owns the property, but the Wilkins family either didn't care about it or had forgotten it existed, because it's been abandoned as long as Phil can remember.

It also isn't very scary in his memory. It's draughty and has rats scurrying about, but the electricity and heating still worked, somehow, and the social situations he'd gotten thrown into at Martyn's shoulder were definitely more nerve-wracking than the house itself.

All of these things are still more or less true, according to everything Phil has been told, but when Phil climbs in through the loose boards of the kitchen window, the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. He hesitates for so long on the sill that Chris pushes a bit at him, reminding him to move before some annoyed neighbour calls the police.

It's dim inside but not so dark that Phil's eyes strain; the streetlights and setting sun filter in through the boards and showcase the dust covering every surface.

Phil helps Sophie and then Chris through the window, PJ giving them boosts from the outside. They take the various bags from PJ and Sophie immediately pulls out the camera, ignoring the thuds that PJ's feet make as he launches himself up and clambers in like a monkey.

"Sexy," Chris drawls as PJ nearly tumbles onto his face. He's grabbing out equipment of his own, and so Phil is tasked with getting PJ through the window safely.

"At least I've got a modicum of upper body strength," PJ says. Neither of them are bothering to whisper, and that's making Phil anxious.

He can't put his finger on it, but... it doesn't feel like they're alone in here. There's probably someone hiding out from the chill of late October in one of the various empty rooms, and Phil's worst case scenario wheel is spinning so fast it's making him dizzy.

"Do you hear that?" Sophie asks, hushed. That stops PJ and Chris from continuing their bickering, and all three men freeze as they strain for whatever it is that Sophie's hearing. After a moment of complete silence, Sophie shakes her head. "It stopped. Hopefully the mic caught it over you lot."

PJ looks appropriately abashed, but Chris just shrugs. He's got a flashlight and an EMF meter, and he slings one of the bags over his shoulder before disappearing.

This is technically for Phil's channel - they're checking the place out, and Sophie is filming just in case something happens - but Phil still feels weird when PJ ducks off in another direction and Sophie stays at his side instead of following one of her boys, camera steady in her hands and the tip of her nose pink from the cool air.

"What did you hear?" Phil murmurs, beckoning her further into the house. The sound of creaking wood is so loud, like it's right above their heads, and Phil can only hope that it's one of his friends going upstairs.

"It could have been the wind," Sophie says mildly. "Or rats."

"Is that what it sounded like?"

Sophie blinks up at him and her mouth twists in an emotion that Phil can't place. "No. No, it sounded like a person talking."

Yeah, that's what Phil was afraid of. "Someone might be living here," he whispers, focusing on the dark hallway and trusting that Sophie is following.

The creaking again, this time from beside them, and Phil peeks his head around the corner to confirm that the staircase is what he's hearing. Chris is halfway up it, flashlight off between his teeth as he grips the railing like he's afraid the stairs are going to give out under him.

Phil hates this part. He'd rather do this completely alone than have to herd his friends like sheep. He leaves Chris to his own devices and moves into the lounge. This is where the majority of the litter is, empty bottles and cans and crisp bags everywhere. Phil takes a couple photos of it all and sends them to Martyn.

Remember your friend who used to bring a garbage bag to every party? Looks like he was the only one lol

He pauses. All too aware of Sophie's eyes and possibly the camera lens on him, Phil sends the photo to Winnie as well with a different caption: Does it always look like this?

Neither of them respond by the time Phil has picked his way through the first floor, which is at least good for his focus, but it doesn't explain why the house feels so much different than it had seven or eight years ago. Phil feels unsettled here in a way that he doesn't usually get anymore, goosebumps down his arms that aren't from the cold and the constant, unnerving feeling that someone is looking at him from the shadows.

Phil's phone buzzes as he and Sophie debate in whispers if they should go upstairs. Phil hates leaving anything to someone else, even if it's just a few rooms that surely PJ and Chris are capable of exploring on their own. He's in the middle of trying to explain that to Sophie when his voice catches in his throat.

"Peej says we should go," Phil says, interrupting himself. "He found something weird in the attic."

"What's he doing in the attic?" Sophie hisses.

"Dunno. I didn't even know there was an attic."

"We should go, then," says Sophie, like that decides it. Although it does rankle a bit to be lower on the totem pole of his own project, Phil has to admit that Sophie is right. If PJ is saying that it's time to go, then it's time to go.

Phil climbs out of the window first, taking the equipment with him, and then helps hoist Sophie safely down. She's so small that it's not even a strain, really, even with how little exercise Phil gets. They wait, huddled together, and Phil feels some of the knot in his chest start to loosen when he hears Chris and PJ arguing in whispers before the window boards get slid out of the way again.

"What did you find?" Phil asks immediately, and PJ hushes him on his way down.

"Let's go, I'll tell you at the café," he whispers, leading the way down the pavement with strides so purposeful that Phil wonders if he's been in this area before. It's all the rest of them can do to keep up with him, and Phil spares a moment to feel sorry for Sophie and her short legs.

He hangs back with her and lets Chris keep pace with PJ. Chris is still talking at a silent PJ in a hushed, passionate tone, like he's fighting with a brick wall, and Phil doesn't need to be involved in that.

The coffee shop is only a couple of streets away, but the tension that the Wilkins place and PJ's subsequent discovery has brought to the group makes it feel much further. PJ stops in front of a purple door, and Phil has a begrudging respect for his ability to remember where something is after simply being told the address. The shop is small and a little dingy, but the lighting inside is soft through the narrow windows and there's a fireplace that Phil longs to curl up in front of like a cat.

Chris scowls at PJ and holds the door open for him in the same breath. Phil doesn't understand their relationship and at this point he's too afraid to ask, but he ducks into the inviting warmth anyway to try to get the goosebumps off his skin.

The two employees behind the counter look at the door like they've been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. A girl with brightly-coloured hair is holding a bunch of marshmallows, a hand poised mid-throw, and an unreasonably tall guy with an unreasonably large mouth is gawping as one of the marshmallows hits him in the chin.

"You missed," Phil informs them, grinning a bit as he unwinds his scarf.

"Oops," the girl laughs, setting the marshmallows down and pulling up a customer service smile. "What can I get for you guys?"

While PJ and Sophie pore over the menu and Chris starts asking if she'll throw marshmallows into his mouth if he asks very nicely, Phil's eyes drift to the other worker.

His mouth is still open, a bit, and his face flushes when their eyes meet. "Er," he says, glancing behind him as if Phil is looking at someone else, and that's so endearing that Phil is sufficiently distracted from the mystery down the street.

Phil isn't extremely self-conscious or anything, but he also knows he's not going to be the hottest guy in a room, so he's a bit flattered and a lot confused about this guy's reaction to him.

The thing is, the guy is very attractive. A couple of perfect curls poke out from under his cap, and there's some type of shimmer on his face that Phil could not put a name to if you paid him. He knows literally nothing about makeup, but he knows that it makes this giant of a man look softer and his blush even more obvious when it deepens.

"Hi," Phil says, giving him a little wave. He can still hear Chris chattering on and Sophie debating the merits of a hot chocolate versus a cappuccino, so he's pretty sure nobody is paying them any attention. The guy twitches like he wants to look over his shoulder again, but he stops himself.

"Uh, hi? Sorry to be, like, weird, I just - I didn't expect -"

The voice is familiar, the rambling is familiar, and then it clicks. "Oh, hi," Phil says again, warmer this time. He steps closer to the counter and grins up at them - an unusual thing in itself, since Phil doesn't meet many people taller than him. "You didn't mention that you work here."

Winnie's shoulders slump forward in a kind of relief, and they scratch the back of their neck, looking awkward and out of place even in an outfit that coordinates with the colour scheme of the whole shop. Phil looks the uniform over and immediately regrets it, because he didn't mean to see Winnie's name tag and now he feels weird about knowing something he wasn't actually told. He doesn't feel too weird about being here, though, because - well. Winnie had technically invited him.

"Honestly, I didn't know you'd be 'investigating' so soon," says Winnie. They're still blushing and the finger quotes are somehow cute, even though they're being used to poke at Phil's career. Their nails are dark and sparkly, and Phil desperately needs to stop noticing things about their hands. "I would have told you, probably, or I'd just - I dunno, try to make a better first impression."

"You're making a fine first impression," Phil assures them.

Winnie snorts. "Oh, bullshit."

"Phil," PJ says, nudging him. Phil suddenly remembers that there are, in fact, other people around him, and he can't just keep looking at Winnie's long, dark eyelashes. "What are you having?"

Honestly, Phil hasn't even looked at the menu. He's so easily distracted by pretty boys with big hands and - oh, right, he's got to be careful about that, even in his own head. Especially in his own head. Winnie isn't a pretty boy, he really shouldn't be thinking about them like that at all.

"Uh," Phil says eloquently. He's very particular with his hot drinks, usually, but he's got a lot going on in his mind right now and it's easier just to shrug at Winnie than to look away and think. "Dunno, actually. Surprise me?"

Winnie smiles, and Phil's stomach twists. "I can do that."

[guaminator]

Inspirational Artist Links: Performance Art

electric stimulus to face by Daito Manabe

My immediate reaction to this piece was one of discomfort. The dissonant, swelling electronic pad that was ever present while the chirps and beeps were going off gave it an almost unsettling feeling. A very curious piece, that’s for sure. All I could really think about is how uncomfortable each person must have felt. The way each of their faces reacted in a similar way to each stimulus was actually quite interesting. Syncing the pulses up with the sounds was really clever. Alter Bahnhof by Janet Cardiff I felt that this piece was really intriguing. The video feed from the phone’s screen and the “live” feed behind it really gave it depth. The perspective of having the hand holding the screen up and the sensation that wearing headphones gave was extremely immersive. When the dog ran up and started barking at the dancer it startled me, making me react as if the dog was in the room with me. The monotone and calm voice narrating and giving instructions was relaxing. The verbal descriptions of what was on the screen paired with “walking through” where everything happened was very well done. Bike Lanes by Casey Neistat Very amusing and very effective at conveying the message regardless of the text on the screen. I feel the message he was getting across would have been heard loud and clear even if the text was removed from the video. I applaud the dedication to the falls that he took. The background music added a more humorous feel to the piece. The finale was brilliant as well. Legend + Queen by Candice Breitz The concept of these videos was really cool. I found the little ad libs that certain individuals added to each song really interesting. Having no actual music playing really stripped down each song and emphasized the little “mistakes” people would make now and again. Taking a moment to focus on a single individual was also fun to do, watching how they danced (or didn’t dance) kind of showed off their personality. It felt as if each individual was plucked from a concert and had their voices isolated. Really cool piece(s). Meat Joy by Carolee Schneemann This piece was incredibly strange to me. I couldn’t really understand what was going on. It felt like a sensory overload with everything happening. I did feel the movements of the people seemed very fluid as if they were all a single organism. The music felt really out of place as well.

Vanessa Beecroft Interview + VB40 by Vanessa Beecroft It felt as if the subjects in her pieces were basically living statues. I like how the instructions she provided made the piece dynamic. Since each individual got more and more fatigued at different times it really gave the performance motion even when there’s very little movement involved. Very thought provoking in regards to beauty and body image. The Quintet of the Astonished by Bill Viola I remember this piece from an earlier module. I feel this piece really displays the spectrum of human emotion and how wide it can really be. As time passes you can really see the nuances in their expressions even though they aren’t exactly changing how they’re emoting. There really is something about being able to slow real-time down and sort of admire or examine everything.

Staging by Maria Hassabi

Just as she said in the interview, since the movement of the performers is incredibly slow, one can focus more on the space that the performance is taking place. Unlike “The Quintet” the slow motion in this piece is acted out which I found to be very intriguing. Watching the visitors of the exhibit during the interview was particularly captivating. The visible curiosity while people walked nearby was a spectacle in itself. Talking Tongues by Lisa Steele

During this piece I was listening the entire time but something about the delivery was awkward for me. It seemed very scripted but the story still struck me. Even though the story was ultimately fictional, I felt empathy for her. The sense of dread and just being absolutely fed up with everything she had experienced was very apparent. 

Perimeter of Square by Bruce Nauman

I found myself almost zoning out while viewing this piece for a few minutes. I started to switch my focus between the audio of the metronome and the movements the performer was making. I couldn’t exactly discern a meaning from it, personally. The repetitive nature didn’t inspire much thought or curiosity from me but maybe that was the artist’s intention all along. Punk Prayer by Pussy Riot

Knowing about how protesters and other activists are treated in Russia really made this piece more intense. There was a very clear message to both the government as well as the church through the lyrics. The use of vibrant colors on their outfits really contrasted against the cathedral interior. Their balaclavas showed a sense of anarchy and made the necessity of anonymity when speaking out against the Russian Government. Cut Piece by Yoko Ono

I think the call to action of this piece was what intrigued me the most. I’m not sure I would want to participate in this performance if I was able to. The interview stated something I found pretty interesting. There isn’t always exactly a “point” persey necessary for pieces like this. The art of the piece would have also been present even if no one decided to take the scissors and cut, I find that to be pretty interesting. Interior Scroll by Carolee Schneemann Reading the description of the piece it definitely was intended to shock. The amount of symbolism in this piece is very pronounced. Where the scroll was located and how she read it back while she extracted it was a clear, “I don’t care about what you think about my art.” There is an intense amount of feminism displayed from this piece. Shocking yet powerful.

Bound Mouth + Foot by Kate Wingard

I was anticipating more of the words written in pudding to be stepped on when it cut to the wider shot. The audio in this piece served as another artistic element, it was very difficult to listen to, personally. I was curious as to why the artist chose pudding, honestly. Wholesome by Megan Carnrite

This was difficult to watch, which I feel was the goal of the creator of this piece. I thought of the gluttony that seems to be overly apparent in America. The way the performer was framed was also intriguing, no identity, just a mouth constantly being fed. Roll of a Woman by Javid Rezvani

I thought this was incredibly creative. Something natural that every human being does is described in such a way that attempts to make the audience assume it’s a euphemism. Clever play on words in the title as well. How to Earn a Glass of Water by Dallas Scott

It really made me think of how those of us with easy access to fresh drinking water take that amenity for granted. The amount of patience necessary to watch a full cup of ice melt is insane. The runtime of the piece was something that I had trouble with. Even with it being sped up it took quite a long time for the finale of him finally drinking the water. Can Knot by Alexandra Gutierrez

The frustration was immediate for me once I saw the mess of cords and cables she started to unwind. Something that almost everyone can relate to be it with headphones all the way to extension cords. It made me think about how much time someone might take untangling cords throughout one’s lifetime. Just as the frustration set in immediately, the relief was immediate after seeing them all untangled and separated. Clever idea.

[waltzofthewifi]

Kota Chapter 6: The Sleepover Scandal, Part 1

Beginning | Previous | ToC | Next

"- so we'll be doing a pop quiz on chemistry," Mendeleev continued, finally making Lacy's mind snap back to present.

She cursed under her breath. Alix swore a little more loudly, Sabrina let out an "eek" and Marinette looked like her eyes would fall out from her head.

Mendeleev turned around and sighed. "If you've been keeping up with my lessons, this should be easy for you. Ms Hatzi, Ms Bourgeois, I have some catch up work for you to do instead."

"Catch up work!" Chloe snapped. "My grade is perfect in this class."

"Because you're not doing it," Ms Mendeleev said. "Mr Agreste, if you'd pass out the tests for me."

Chloe crossed her arms and fumed.

Lacy forced down her nausea - she could use a little help catching up, after all, and Mendeleev may be tough but she did want her students to be successful. It wouldn't be like the last couple times she was called out by a teacher.

Right?

Chloe and Miss Mendeleev walked out together, staying in the hallway where Miss Mendeleev could still keep track of the class, but no one could hear her conversation.

"So are we doing a make-up sleepover some time?" Alix asked. "Since last night got ruined?"

"We should!" Rose said. "And maybe Lila and Alya can come!"

"If we do it tonight I should be free," Alya offered.

Juleka shook her head. "Not tonight. Luka's having friends over."

"Well, we can do it some place else," Marinette suggested. "Maybe we could hang out in the park this afternoon, and then the girls can come stay at my place and the boys somewhere else?"

"I'm close to Marinette's," Kim offered. "You can totally come to my place! I have an awesome gaming station - partially provided by Max, of course."

Nino sighed. "Why must I be stuck babysitting?"

"What about you, Lila?" Rose asked. "Sleepover at Marinette's?"

"Sounds great!" Lila agreed. "I would love to come over!"

Lacy mentally groaned. A sleepover with Lila did not sound like fun. Still, it was a chance to hang out with Alix and Nathaniel. And Lila didn't notice Lacy most of the time anyways.

"Marinette, are you okay?" Adrien asked.

Right. Lacy wasn't the only one who dreaded Lila's presence.

"Oh no," Lila said. "She probably doesn't want me there. It's okay - I don't have to come if you don't want me, Marinette."

"Don't be ridiculous," Alya said. "Everyone's invited."

"That's not your place to say, Alya," Adrien said.

"You're right, Lila," Marinette said coldly. "I don't want you in my house."

"Marinette!" Alya scolded. "This is a class event! You can't leave Lila out."

"If you want Lila to come, we need to have it someplace else," Marinette said. "I'm not letting her in my house."

"But there's no where else we can go!" Alya argued.

Lacy felt herself scowl. "You shouldn't force her to let someone in her space she doesn't want!"

"Yeah!" Alix agreed. "I mean, I have a room I don't let anyone into - even my old man! If Marinette doesn't feel comfortable letting Lila in her room yet, that's her decision."

"But we can't leave Lila out!" Rose argued. "Marinette, aren't you the one always talking about including everyone!"

"It's her own personal space," Lacy argued. "That's different. It's not like she's telling Lila she can't hang out with us at the park."

"Lacy's right, Marinette," Adrien added.

Marinette sighed and slumped her shoulders. "No, Rose is right. I can't preach inclusion and then leave Lila out."

"How about this? Lila can come over, but we all stay in the living room," Alix suggested. "That way, we're all included but no one is invading your space."

"That's a good idea," Marinette agreed.

Lacy frowned, not happy with the idea, but Marinette seemed defeated. Lacy sighed and decided to let it go.

Chloe came back into the classroom, frustrated, followed by Ms Mendeleev.

"Ms Hatzi?"

Lacy followed her teacher out of the classroom.

Ms Mendeleev handed her a tablet with headphones. "Our school has agreed to participate in an experimental program aiming to help students with reading difficulties like dyslexia. This tablet has audio recordings of some of the readings I gave."

"Oh thank the gods," Lacy blurted. Sure, she had some focus problems when it came to audiobooks and similar recordings, but anything beat reading.

"Don't thank them, thank me," Ms. Mendeleev grunted.

"Thank you, Ms Mendeleev," Lacy said. "This will help me a ton!"

"I do believe you to be a good student, Lacy," Ms Mendeleev said. "But you can't learn the same way as the other students. Learning is a process a lot like science, and sometimes it takes some trial and error. Don't be afraid to experiment a little more. Now get back in there, I still have a test to give."

.

Alix and Lacy were the last ones in from the park, so they were forced to sit on the ground for the movie.

Marinette offered to wait for them to change into pajamas, but Lacy felt perfectly comfortable in her day clothes. It was part of the Aphrodite magic - in the same way that Piper and Drew can charmspeak, and Mitchell naturally repels stains, Lacy's clothes always adjusted for a perfect, and comfortable, fit. It was a nice power, if a bit useless. Likewise, Alix never wore clothes that weren't comfortable for her, so she didn't feel the need to change.

Besides, Alya was starting to get impatient.

"What should we watch?" Marinette asked when they all settled in the living room. Juleka and Rose was sharing one seat, Alya and Lila in the other, and Marinette, Mylene, and her other friend Kagami had taken the couch. Lacy and Alix were squished at the base of the couch, sharing two fuzzy blankets.

"Disney!" Rose requested.

"Ooh, yes!" Lacy agreed.

Alix sighed. "Oh come on. Let's do something with a little more action in it."

"There's Disney movies with action," Alya said. "Mulan, Tangled, Frozen-"

"Not Frozen," Lacy interrupted.

"But Frozen's my favorite," Rose whined.

"What about Brave?" Alix suggested.

"What's the point of Disney with no romance?" Lacy found herself asking. The words sounded like something one of her sisters said - but wasn't there some truth, even if she liked the movie Brave?

Rose nodded. "I love Tangled! Let's watch that!"

"Lila, any requests?" Alya asked.

"Tangled's fine," Lila said. "I actually know someone who-"

Alix sighed, just loud enough for Lacy to hear.

"- so they all said he saved the movie," Lila continued.

"Can we start the movie already?" Marinette asked.

"Marinette!" Alya admonished.

"I agree with Marinette," Kagami said. "If we're going to watch a movie, we should watch the movie."

"Couldn't put it better myself," Alix agreed. "Movie it is!"

About halfway through the movie, Lila excused herself to go to the bathroom. Something sounded off in her voice, so even though Lacy didn't want to miss the movie, she followed her.

Lila bypassed the bathroom completely and started up the stairs to Marinette's room. Lacy felt a surge of panic - she knew something was off, but what to do about it? Call Lila out now and risk getting on her bad side? Go warn Marinette and risk being too late?

Or maybe I can just feign innocence, Lacy thinks. If she thinks I found her by accident she can't get mad at me, right?

"Lila?" Lacy called. "The bathroom's this way."

Lila froze, her shoulders tensing for a moment before she relaxed and turned to Lacy. "Oh, thank you. I have such a poor sense of direction." Lila walked down a few steps before pausing. "Were you looking for something?"

"I was grabbing a drink when I heard someone on the stairs," Lacy lied. "Since this was your first time here, I figured you must be lost."

"You're such a nice friend," Lila said, taking a step towards Lacy. "Especially for someone who didn't want me to attend this sleepover."

"What?" Lacy asked, scrambling to remember what she meant. "You mean what I said during science class? That wasn't about you! It's just, you see, my dad's a therapist and he always advocates for personal space, and I guess when Alya started p- encouraging Marinette to invite you, I kinda blurted that out. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings!"

Please please don't be mad at me.

Lila smiled. "Of course. I knew you were too nice to exclude someone like that. I just- you know, I used to think the same about Marinette, but she's been so mean to me lately-"

"Lacy it's your song!" Alix called, interrupting Lila's monologue.

"Coming," Lacy called, jogging back to the living room.

.

"My shirt's ripped," Lacy said, pulling the pajama shirt out of her bag.

Alix looked over at the shirt. "That's a nasty rip. How'd you manage that?"

"I don't know," Lacy replied. "It was fine when I got out of the dryer the other day-" Lacy sighed. "I'll go ask Marinette if I can borrow one of hers."

"I'm sure you can," Alix said. "Hey, maybe she'll even fix it for you!"

Lacy smiled. "That would be nice. It's such a soft shirt I'd hate for it to be ripped." She stood up, leaving the corner where all the sleepover bags had been thrown and walking back to the main living room with the rest of the girls.

"Hey Marinette," Lacy said. "Can I borrow a shirt for tonight by any chance?"

"Sure." Marinette untangled herself from where she and Alya were watching a video. "Come up with me."

Lacy followed Marinette up to her room, and watched as she dug around for a shirt. Her shoulders were hunched, and her movements were sharp. Lacy couldn't help but feel worried.

"Are you okay?" Lacy asked.

"Mhm." Marinette straightened up. "Will this work?"

"That'll be just fine," Lacy said. "Thanks!"

"Lacy?"

Lacy and Marinette both froze, recognizing the voice easily.

Lila poked her head up.

"Yes?" Marinette asked with a scowl.

Lila feigned a worrier expression. "I just wanted to make sure Lacy found something. After all, I brought an extra shirt with me."

"Thanks," Lacy said. "But Marinette already found me something."

"Good," Lila said, finishing her walk up to Marinette's room.

"What are you doing up here?" Marinette demanded.

Lila frowned. "I just said-"

"Lila." Marinette's voice dropped down. "Get out of my room."

Lila's eyes widened. "But I was just-"

"Now!" The word came out as a shout, echoing around the room.

"Girls?" Alya called from downstairs. "Everything alright up there?"

"I don't know," Lila said, faking distress in her voice. "I was just checking on them when Marinette started yelling-"

Alya appeared next to Lila, concern written over her face. She putting her arm around Lila and gave Marinette a pointed look. "I'm sure Marinette didn't mean to yell, right girl?"

"Maybe I did," Marinette snapped.

"Marinette!" Alya replied, taken aback by the comment.

"I want her out of my room," Marinette demanded.

"I wasn't doing anything!" Lila replied, beginning to sniffle. "I would never-" she leaned against Alya's shoulder, acting like she was crying.

"What's going on?" Rose asked from down the stairs.

"Marinette's yelling at Lila for no reason," Alya said.

"What?" Marinette demanded, stomping her foot. "I told her I didn't - she's intruding on my space-"

"You can't just exclude her-"

Both girls were steaming from the argument, and Lacy took a deep breath and tried to intervene.

"Alya," Lacy interjected. "Maybe you should listen to-"

"Stay out of this," Alya snapped.

Lacy felt herself take a step back, completely caught off guard.

"Don't snap at her," Marinette said.

"Can we move closer into your room?" Rose asked. "We shouldn't be arguing like this near the stairs - what if someone gets hurt?"

"Lila's not taking another step into my room," Marinette snapped.

"Don't snap at her," Juleka said. "She's just trying to help."

"Help who?" Marinette demanded. "This is my room and-"

Lacy shrank into herself as the voices around her rose in volume. Rose broke into tears, and Marinette was getting closer to Alya with every word she said, but Lacy stopped being able to make out words among the shouting.

It felt like the room was closing in on her, and the air was getting heavier, and hotter, and she wasn't getting enough air, and

"Lacy?"

Lacy blinked, noticing that at some point she had moved up to the balcony. The cold air brushed against her skin, giving her something sharp to focus on.

"In... hold... out..."

Lacy took a deep breath, following the instructions. She could feel Alix next to her, her voice smooth as she brought her through the breathing exercises. Marinette sat across from them on a lounge chair, worry etched in her face.

Lacy exhaled. "What happened?"

Marinette made a face. "Lila happened."

"Everyone got in a big argument," Alix explained. "And you started disassociating."

"The other girls all left in a huff," Marinette added. "Something about me being unreasonable."

"I'm sorry," Lacy said.

Marinette shook her head. "I should have known better than thinking tonight would turn out any better."

The trapdoor to the balcony opened, and Marinette's mom walked in, followed by Elisabeth.

"Lacy? You feeling any better?" Elisabeth asked, sitting on the other of Lacy. She rubbed her shoulder empathetically.

"A little," Lacy replied, leaning into her stepmom's chest.

"Come on, let's go home."

Since she already had a sleepover bag packed, Alix decided to stay the night at Lacy's.

.

They arrived just as two of her dad's coworkers were leaving, so they helped clean up dinner and put on another movie - this time one of Alix's favorite movies - on Lacy's laptop and cuddled up on her bed. They were about half way through the movie when the doorbell rang.

"I got it," Elisabeth called from down stairs.

A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door and Nathaniel peaked his head in.

"Hey," Alix said. "What are you doing here?"

"Our sleepover ended early," Nathaniel said. "Mylene called Ivan in tears and he went to pick her up, and then Markov started having software problems-"

"Kim's fault?" Alix asked.

"Basically," Nathaniel said. "It was his dare that started it."

"It's always him and his dares," Alix said.

"Anyways, I thought I find you two." Nathaniel peaked at the screen. "Of course you're watching that movie again."

"Its a good movie?" Alix defended.

"Want to watch it with us?" Lacy offered, scooting a little closer to Alix and patting to the bed next to her.

"I think I could recite it for you at this point."

Nathaniel still hopped up onto the bed, leaning in just enough to see the screen.