#Green Screen and Lights Utah

[creativestreamstd25]

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[dandelionsresilience]

Good News - July 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. Four new cheetah cubs born in Saudi Arabia after 40 years of extinction

“[T]he discovery of mummified cheetahs in caves […] which ranged in age from 4,000 to as recent as 120 years, proved that the animals […] once called [Saudi Arabia] home. The realisation kick-started the country’s Cheetah Conservation Program to bring back the cats to their historic Arabian range. […] Dr Mohammed Qurban, CEO of the NCW, said: […] “This motivates us to continue our efforts to restore and reintroduce cheetahs, guided by an integrated strategy designed in accordance with best international practices.””

2. In sub-Saharan Africa, ‘forgotten’ foods could boost climate resilience, nutrition

“[A study published in PNAS] examined “forgotten” crops that may help make sub-Saharan food systems more resilient, and more nutritious, as climate change makes it harder to grow [current staple crops.] [… The study identified 138 indigenous] food crops that were “relatively underresearched, underutilized, or underpromoted in an African context,” but which have the nutrient content and growing stability to support healthy diets and local economies in the region. […] In Eswatini, van Zonneveld and the World Vegetable Center are working with schools to introduce hardy, underutilized vegetables to their gardens, which have typically only grown beans and maize.”

3. Here's how $4 billion in government money is being spent to reduce climate pollution

“[New Orleans was awarded] nearly $50 million to help pay for installing solar on low to middle income homes [… and] plans to green up underserved areas with trees and build out its lackluster bike lane system to provide an alternative to cars. […] In Utah, $75 million will fund several measures from expanding electric vehicles to reducing methane emissions from oil and gas production. [… A] coalition of states led by North Carolina will look to store carbon in lands used for agriculture as well as natural places like wetlands, with more than $400 million. [… This funding is] “providing investments in communities, new jobs, cost savings for everyday Americans, improved air quality, … better health outcomes.””

4. From doom scrolling to hope scrolling: this week’s big Democratic vibe shift

“[Democrats] have been on an emotional rollercoaster for the past few weeks: from grim determination as Biden fought to hang on to his push for a second term, to outright exuberance after he stepped aside and Harris launched her campaign. […] In less than a week, the Harris campaign raised record-breaking sums and signed up more than 100,000 new volunteers[….] This honeymoon phase will end, said Democratic strategist Guy Cecil, warning the election will be a close race, despite this newfound exuberance in his party. [… But v]oters are saying they are excited to vote for Harris and not just against Trump. That’s new.”

5. Biodegradable luminescent polymers show promise for reducing electronic waste

“[A team of scientists discovered that a certain] chemical enables the recycling of [luminescent polymers] while maintaining high light-emitting functions. […] At the end of life, this new polymer can be degraded under either mild acidic conditions (near the pH of stomach acid) or relatively low heat treatment (> 410 F). The resulting materials can be isolated and remade into new materials for future applications. […] The researchers predict this new polymer can be applied to existing technologies, such as displays and medical imaging, and enable new applications […] such as cell phones and computer screens with continued testing.”

6. World’s Biggest Dam Removal Project to Open 420 Miles of Salmon Habitat this Fall

“Reconnecting the river will help salmon and steelhead populations survive a warming climate and [natural disasters….] In the long term, dam removal will significantly improve water quality in the Klamath. “Algae problems in the reservoirs behind the dams were so bad that the water was dangerous for contact […] and not drinkable,” says Fluvial Geomorphologist Brian Cluer. [… The project] will begin to reverse decades of habitat degradation, allow threatened salmon species to be resilient in the face of climate change, and restore tribal connections to their traditional food source.”

7. Biden-Harris Administration Awards $45.1 Million to Expand Mental Health and Substance Use Services Across the Lifespan

““Be it fostering wellness in young people, caring for the unhoused, facilitating treatment and more, this funding directly supports the needs of our neighbors,” said HHS Secretary Xavier Becerra. [The funding also supports] recovery and reentry services to adults in the criminal justice system who have a substance use disorder[… and clinics which] serve anyone who asks for help for mental health or substance use, regardless of their ability to pay.”

8. The World’s Rarest Crow Will Soon Fly Free on Maui

“[… In] the latest attempt to establish a wild crow population, biologists will investigate if this species can thrive on Maui, an island where it may have never lived before. Translocations outside of a species’ known historical range are rare in conservation work, but for a bird on the brink of extinction, it’s a necessary experiment: Scientists believe the crows will be safer from predators in a new locale—a main reason that past reintroduction attempts failed. […] As the release date approaches, the crows have already undergone extensive preparation for life in the wild. […] “We try to give them the respect that you would give if you were caring for someone’s elder.””

9. An optimist’s guide to the EV battery mining challenge

““Battery minerals have a tremendous benefit over oil, and that’s that you can reuse them.” [… T]he report’s authors found there’s evidence to suggest that [improvements in technology] and recycling have already helped limit demand for battery minerals in spite of this rapid growth — and that further improvements can reduce it even more. [… They] envision a scenario in which new mining for battery materials can basically stop by 2050, as battery recycling meets demand. In this fully realized circular battery economy, the world must extract a total of 125 million tons of battery minerals — a sum that, while hefty, is actually 17 times smaller than the oil currently harvested every year to fuel road transport.”

10. Peekaboo! A baby tree kangaroo debuts at the Bronx Zoo

“The tiny Matschie’s tree kangaroo […] was the third of its kind born at the Bronx Zoo since 2008. [… A] Bronx Zoo spokesperson said that the kangaroo's birth was significant for the network of zoos that aims to preserve genetic diversity among endangered animals. "It's a small population and because of that births are not very common," said Jessica Moody, curator of primates and small mammals at the Bronx Zoo[, …] adding that baby tree kangaroos are “possibly one of the cutest animals to have ever lived. They look like stuffed animals, it's amazing.””

July 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[terramcgarden]

Hitch hikers guide for Runaway animatronics. (Drabble)

So I'm still working on the main story (and beginning of it). But this idea kinda just wouldn't leave my head and I really wanted to write it. I'm checking but I apologize for the errors I miss.

Summery: It's been a month or two since You hit picked up your new companion(s). The relationship between the two AI's is about nonexistent and you want to help them. Maybe some child like wonder will do them some good?

The sun was setting. By this point you have pulled the blinds around your truck and lowered the lights. The shift between Sun and Moon have gotten better since the day you first met them. With a jerk and shift in color you're greeted with the darker half: Moon. He instantly glances at the time, something he does to gauge how much time you have before he forces you to sleep.

"You wasted no time switching us over I see. " He says still looking at the time. It was sunset outside, the sun should still be light enough out to have Sun but not enough to trigger their ecliptic glitch. He tilts his head to you curiously, red eyelights locked on you and bathing you in their soft red glow. "Yeah it's been kinda a busy day. A TON of driving and all. Ya know?" You beam back. Your smile was so bright you might as well be glowing yourself. He chuckles softly, amused by how gitty you get when your excited. "But I thought today was your day off. Surely you and Sun would have strolled around?" He inquires, obviously trying to bait you into revealing more of your day. More on Sun.

"Yeah sorta. We didn't feel like messing around with the wheelchair today. So instead I did something a little different!" You pull out your phone, scrolling through it. Moon glances down at his legs seeing that they are still not repaired. They finally agreed to get a busted wheel chair till they get their legs repaired. He concluded it must have been too much of a pain that day.

"Aha!" Moon snaps back up as you proudly hand him your Phone. It glowed softly with a blurred bright glow of browns and greens.

"Whats this?" He asks, just a bit confused, but sounding hopeful.

"I rented a normal car for the day and we drove to a park. Since you can't come out we video recorded it for you!" You say proud and excited for him to see. It sucks that when he's not out, he's completely shut out. Literally in the dark with what Sun does and vice versa. Small videos are their only connection to the other. They still haven't tried writing to the other yet.

Moon taps play and he's instantly greeted with his reflection. Sun.. He was swaying his head muttering to himself. "Whoops! Silly phone, no selfie video!" His bouncy voice rings from the phone. Moon visibly relaxes a bit, leaning against the seat. He almost touches the screen but stops, not wanting to pause it on accident. The camera flips and Sun laughs in triumph as he shows his dominance over this small brick of tech.

"There we go! Video has started Friend! Now tell me where we are and whats with these delightful cliffs!" Sun waves the phone over to land on you. You look a bit odd driving a normal car rather than perched up behind the wheel of your truck. You laugh and wave at the camera. "Awesome! Well Sun since we're driving past Utah again I thought this time I share with ya some of it's natural treasures."

The phone shakes while Sun waves and stems in excitement before remembering to keep the camera still. "Treasure?? Are we about to find some hidden gold?? I don't think Pirates got this far friend!" You laugh at that. "Nah no pirates, sorry pal, we'll do that later though. But, We're at Zion national park! It's known for its... well.... you'll see." The camera jiggles and Moon guesses that was Sun nodding enthusiastically.

The camera swings forward and it's shown that the car view is MUCH smaller than what he's used to. They may just have their thigh parts but it still looked fairly cramped in that rental. But Sun showed no complaint. Rather he can be faintly seen in the reflection swaying his face plate in delight. As they drove along Sun would move around with the camera showing mostly a rocky wall and trees that defied the horizon and grew wherever the pleased. The playful banter between You and Sun is all Moon really cared about. Hearing Sun talk, laugh, and joke. He was himself, not anxious, not mad, not even scared. He was his happy bouncing self again.

Soon enough the car had dipped into a dark tunnel, Moon should have came out but they came prepared. Turnning on a lamp they brought with them to Keep sun out as to not cause a sudden glitch. But it was worth it as Sun's reflection was much more prominent.

"Goodness friend, You sure it was okay I stay out? This is a perfect environment for him." The hand holding the phone tightens just a bit.

"No he wouldn't get to appreciate much. However there's some Natural caverns I would like to see if he can go through." You reply waving a hand to show a sudden break in the dark to show a small window of bright light.

"Besides, it be too painful for the two of you, let alone dangerous for flickering lights."

Sun hummed to himself understanding what you meant. "Yes, yes, you're absolutely right! We can't be endangering you!" He laughs and Moon curls into himself more. Finally there was a bright light ahead of them. "Oh! here we go! Sun aim the camera to your side!" You can be heard as Sun follows your instructions.

At first theirs only darkness and Sun's reflection. But it quickly glows up until they burst into the light. Both Moon, and the recording of Sun make a static sound that you have deducted was their way of gasping.

There was a drop on the passenger side with a railing keeping them safe. But beyond was a breath taking view of the many different layers of earthy tones stacking high up to form the Zion Utah mountains. The light castes over leaving shadows in just the right angles.. It was truly magical, and like a child Sun moved to press his face plate against the window, pressing the phone up against it as well.

"Wow.. Just- WOW! FRIEND! MY GREMLY FRIEND DO YOU SEE THIS!?! WHAT COLORS! WHAT BEAUTY! My stars I can't even begin to describe how INCREDIBLE this is!!" Moon couldn't help but chuckle at his other half's delight. The rambling went on and on and whatever you might have said was drowned out by the delight of the brightly colored animatronic.

"-Oh My what a wonderful treat! It's so..... I wish Moon could see this..." That last bit was soft whisper. It was never meant to be heard by anyone. But the Phone managed to pick it up. Moon stiffened upon hearing his name. Any audio he's ever heard where Sun referred to him, it was always "He...Him... the other..." Never his name. Static came out of his voice box as he lowered the phone and his red lights go out.

You panic scrambling over to him. Oh shit did he short circuit?? You put your hands on his shoulders and shake him gently. "Moon? MOON!? No no man please don't do this- AH!" He suddenly boots back on, he sits up and looks down at you. Their face plates were stuck in a permanent smile, and yet.. This smile felt genuine. He raises his arms to ask for a rare hug. You waste no time leaning in where your pulled into the passenger seat next to your Lunar friend. Static was thick when he spoke, like a radio slightly out of tune, but you could hear him.

"Thank you my friend..... That.... was a nice surprise..."

You spend the rest of your evening hugging your friend as he needs the rare comfort, humming him a soothing lullaby.

@lets-zofifi-stuff gonna tag ya since I know you've been waiting for something!

[ncisfranchise-source]

Just days before its debut, Fallout looks to be assured a second season thanks to a $25 million tax credit from California.

Officially, Amazon has not said yet that the Prime Video series is coming back, but, with some hints from executive producers Lisa Joy and Jonathan Nolan recently, it is pretty clear the money is doing the talking here. Receiving one of the largest allocations ever from the program for a relocating series, the post-apocalyptic drama is among a dozen shows awarded $152 million in incentives.

Primetime prequel NCIS: Origins, the Noah Wyle starring The Pitt, plus the Ryan Murphy executive produced Dr. Odyssey starring Joshua Jackson, and Grotesquerie starring Emmy winner Niecy Nash also were awarded credits through the California Film Commission run $330 million annual program – as you can see below.

Set to premiere on April 11, Fallout, based on the best-selling video game franchise, is almost as big a get for the CFC as it is a swing for Amazon Prime Video. Ever since the Golden State’s  tax incentive imitative was revamped in 2014 to be competitive with the lucrative likes of Georgia, New York state and the likes of British Columbia and Quebec up in Canada, snagging series from other jurisdictions has been the jewel in the crown for the program.

Big budget Fallout, which filmed its first season in the Empire State, Utah, New Jersey and Namibia, is the 33rd series to relocate to California in the last decade thanks to the tax credit program. This latest round of TV projects unveiled this morning includes one relocating series, three recurring television series, and eight new television series, according to the CFC.

Of course, being awarded the tax credits, even big bucks like what Fallout has reaped, is no guarantee a project will go forward. The allocations are conditional on certain timelines being met, and a number of films and shows, like Season 2 of Amazon’s spy saga Citadel, have dropped out of the program after getting a green light.

Still, the credits can make the difference between a show going ahead or not — and that’s vital in an industry where work remains scant right now and in a state with a heavy budget deficit. The 2024 revised program centered its criteria on job creation and economic growth, an endgame that seems even more poignant than ever right now.

To that end, Fallout is estimated by the CFC to employ around 170 cast and crew for its second season and contribute approximately $153 million in qualified expenditures to the state. Overall, the 12 projects awarded in this round are expected to spend about $1.1 billion in the state during production. Besides the immediate tax revenues and support to local vendors, the projects are anticipated to provide jobs to 2,300 crew, 2,200 cast, and 50,000 background performers, says the Colleen Bell-run CFC.

“We’ve had the immense privilege to create stories with the talented crews and individuals in California for years,” said NCIS: Origins EPs Mark Harmon, Sean Harmon, Gina Lucita Monreal, and David J. North. in a statement accompanying this morning’s announcement for the home of Hollywood. “With the support of the California Film Commission, we are thrilled to film NCIS: Origins in Los Angeles, utilizing all of the fantastic resources, locations and most importantly, the talented people in this city we love and call home.”

With that, the application period for the next round of TV projects is June 3 – 5, with allocations made public around July 8. For the big screen, the next online application period is open from July 29-31, with projects announced on September 2.

[lizzbaldini]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Wind Chime Pierced Abalone Shell Earrings.

[jcmarchi]

Nematode proteins shed light on infertility - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/nematode-proteins-shed-light-on-infertility-technology-org/

Nematode proteins shed light on infertility - Technology Org

We have two copies of each chromosome in every cell in our bodies except in our reproductive cells. Sperm and egg cells contain a single copy of each chromosome with a unique mix of genes from our parents, an evolutionary trick to give our offspring genetic variability. The sperm and egg are made during meiosis, the process by which cells with two chromosome copies reduce their chromosome numbers to one. For meiosis to work, the two chromosomes must align perfectly and exchange the correct amount of genetic information. Any deviation puts fertility at risk.

A cartoon of paired homologous chromosomes (blue) with the synaptonemal complex (SC, green) assembled between them. Below, from top to bottom, are cartoons depicting the localization of proteins in a normal SC, in the SC of the researcher-bred infertile nematodes, and in the SC of the nematodes with the suppressor-mutation. Image credit: Lisa Kursel and Maria Diaz de la Loza

Enter the synaptonemal complex (SC), a zipper-like protein structure that lines up and anchors the two parental chromosomes together, end-to-end, to facilitate successful genetic exchanges. Failure to regulate this exchange is a leading cause of age-related infertility in humans and could compromise fertility across the tree of life. Humans, fungi, plants, worms and anything that reproduces sexually uses the SC to make reproductive cells, known as gametes. Despite its importance, we don’t understand how proteins within the SC regulate chromosomal interactions because this multi-step process happens in internal organs and has been impossible to recreate in a lab.

In a new study, University of Utah biologists developed a method for illuminating the intricate interactions of the SC in the nematode C. elegans. The authors identified a trio of protein segments that guide chromosomal interactions, and pinpointed the location where they interact with each other. Their novel method uses a technique known as genetic suppressor screening, which can serve as a blueprint for research on large cellular assemblies that resist traditional structural analysis.

“This is a way to lock in on systems in cells that are too ‘loosie-goosey’ to use methods that rely on crystallization,” said Ofer Rog, associate professor of biology at the U and senior author of the study. “A lot of the interactions in cells are loosely bonded together. You can’t look at it under an electron microscope because nothing is stable enough—everything is constantly moving. Our approach allows you to study even the interactions that are relatively weak or transient.”

The study published in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (PNAS).

The birds and the bees… and the nematodes

Let’s dig into meiosis. Chromosomes are thread-like structures made of DNA that carry genetic information when cells divide and from generation to generation. Regular cells have a certain number of chromosomes; humans have 46 and C. elegans have 12. Chromosomes come in pairs called homologous chromosomes that carry the genes we inherited from each of our parents—one from our mom, one from our dad. When meiosis begins, homologous chromosomes arrange themselves into elongated structures organized along a backbone called the axis. The axes of homologous pairs are aligned lengthwise to each other while at the same time, the synaptonemal complex (SC) forms between the parallel axes. The homologous pairs have matching genes arranged in the same order, with small variations within the genes—these are the variations that make each individual unique.

“You can think of it like a zipper,” Rog explained. “The axes of the chromosomes are like the two sides of your shirt. The synaptonemal complex is kind of like the teeth of the zippers that lock onto each other and can pull and align the two sides of the shirt correctly.”

Scientist previously knew that the SC of C. elegans formed between homologs, but the U biologists are the first to pinpoint the exact position where the SC interacts with itself to facilitate genetic exchanges.

“When you exchange information between the chromosomes, you want to make sure that at the end you still have two complete chromosomes,” said Rog. “The way the cell does it is that the two chromosomes are perfectly aligned. So, when you exchange segments between them, you’re not losing any information in the process.

How to analyze loosie-goosey structures

The researchers bred 50,000 nematodes that had temperature-sensitive defects in the SC. At high temperatures, the worms were unable to form the SC protein zipper needed to join the chromosomes together. Without the zipper, the gene exchanges during meiosis either didn’t happen at all or didn’t occur at the right number. Lisa Kursel, postdoctoral researcher and lead author of the study ran the experiments.

“We grew the worms at the permissive, cooler temperature, then exposed them to a chemical that caused millions of mutations along their chromosomes and watched to see if any of the mutated worms could reproduce at the warmer temperature,” Kursel said. The chemically induced mutations that corrected the nematode’s infertility are known as suppressor mutations. “Then we’d know if the suppressor mutations restored their fertility.”

To identify the animals with mutations that made them fertile again, the researchers put the nematodes on agar plates filled with yummy bacteria. The agar plates that had fertile nematodes were soon empty as their progeny ate the food. The agar plates with sterile worms died off before they could clean their plate, allowing the bacteria to flourish.

Once they had fertile nematodes, they could test if the mutation “fixed” the protein zipper. They then screened every single base pair on the DNA—100 million base pairs—and identified which mutations restored the worms’ ability to reproduce. They found that all the helpful mutations occurred in short segments of three proteins, SYP-1, SYP-3, SYP-4. Moreover, the mutations carried distinct signatures of interaction. For example, while the original mutations changed the electric charge from positive to negative, the helpful mutations flipped the charge back.

“This was a strong indication that SYP-1, SYP-3 and SYP-4 interact with each other like magnets, with positive and negative regions attracted to each other,” said Rog. Such “sticky” interactions could also help tether the chromosomes together.

Jesus Aguayo Martinez, a senior biology major and co-author of the study, looked at the behavior of the suppressor mutation in nematodes without the original SC-disrupting mutation.

“We thought that since the original mutation alone produced a fertility defect, then the nematodes with the suppressor mutation alone would also have a fertility defect. That wasn’t the case,” said Aguayo Martinez. “Surprisingly, normal worms and worms with only the suppressor mutations produced similar numbers of progeny.”

Next steps

Uncovering the SC’s role in meiosis may help to better understand fertility in humans. The SC has a similar role across all eukaryotes, from nematodes to fungi to plants to humans. Previous research by the Rog Lab at the U showed that the structure itself looks the same and acts similarly to bring in parental chromosomes to facilitate exchanges. However, the actual sequences of the protein components are different between organisms. Such a pattern is unusual: Most cellular structures that carry essential, basic functions like cell division, genome duplication or metabolism are highly conserved, and could in fact be swapped between different organisms.

“A question that we think a lot about is what is special about the SC? Why can it do the same thing and look the same way, but consist of different building blocks?” Rog asked.

Source: University of Utah

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[spencerreidsconverse]

When Evil Doesn't Sleep

summary: Spencer has been gone far too long on a case and when he finally returns home, reader shows him just how much she missed him.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, implied dom/sub undertones, pet names

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Female Reader

A/N: My first fic!!! I hope you all enjoy! <3

“Y/n I’m really sorry but it looks like the case is going to take a lot longer than we thought. We had a recent development and the profile is now pointing to a partnership so now we’re hunting down two unsubs”. You sighed as Spencer rattled off his apologies through the phone before putting him out of his misery “Spencer honey, you don’t have to apologize. Quit worrying about me and focus on catching the bad guys.”

To say you missed Spencer would be the understatement of the century. He had been in Utah for six days already and now with a pair of psychos your odds of finding him in your bed by the end of the week were growing increasingly slim. It didn’t help that you had been swamped prepping for an extra class you’d agreed to take on at Georgetown where you worked as a Criminal Psychology professor. Between both of your hectic work schedules you hadn’t had a real weekend to yourselves in a few months, and while you knew when you first started dating Spencer that it was an inevitable of his job, it had never been this crazy before. They say evil never sleeps but lately it hasn't even taken a catnap.

“I love you Y/N. I promise I’ll come home to you soon and take you out on a real date. I’m sorry darling, I have to go. I’ll text you when I get to the hotel tonight and if you’re still up we can talk for a bit okay?”. “Alright Spence, I love you too. Stay safe okay?”. “I promise, goodbye love.”

Your farewell barely made it past your lips when the dial tone cut you off and once again your boyfriend of three years vanished from your side of the country. You let out an exasperated sigh before reminding yourself that there were other people who needed his help and that you could wait for his attention - at least until that night. Continuing the trek up the stairs of your and spencer’s shared apartment, you managed to haphazardly balance your grocery bags in one hand while unlocking the door and disabling the security alarm, internally cringing at the high shriek that rattled through your brain.

Walking through the living room, you sat the bags on your kitchen counter and began reorganizing the small fridge space to fit all the perishables you had brought home, absentmindedly hoping they wouldn't spoil now that it would be just you for several more days. Moving to the cupboard you replaced the few grab and go snack boxes you had made up to try and encourage Spencer to eat more throughout the day and refilled the paper plate stash that quickly became a requirement after you realized neither one of you could tolerate doing dishes every night. You ripped open the cardboard packaging of yet another microwave dinner and set the timer before leaving to change into more comfortable attire.

Opening the door of your shared bedroom, the smell of vanilla wax melts and dryer sheets hit you like a brick and immediately sent a pang of loneliness through your chest. Spencer was usually around by the time the chores needed done, and you rarely had to do them yourself. Unfortunately, the laundry was piling up and you needed something to distract you so you spent the day running errands and cleaning the apartment more thoroughly than necessary. You walked over to the stack of black dresser drawers and pulled out the first pair of pajama pants you touched, Spencer’s old caltech sweats that now fit you far better than him considering he had received them when he was 14. They looked more like capris on him now and it was embarrassingly difficult to convince him to buy a new pair that fit him properly. You slipped on a tank top and pulled your hair back before making your way lazily to the bathroom to take off the remnants of your simple makeup.

After scrubbing your face clean and pulling your dinner out, you moved to ready the couch for yet another night of binge watching cheesy 90s movies. You selected Clueless and watched the vibrant colors pop across the screen while you dived into your meal, making a poor attempt to ignore the slight freezer burnt taste that lingered after every bite. You finished your dinner and set the bowl aside before covering yourself with a blanket and allowing yourself to sink into the cushions, desperately awaiting Spencer's text.

You were jolted out of your doze by the loud buzzing of your phone against the wooden coffee table. Clumsily you reached for it and managed to swipe the answer pad before it sent your genius to voicemail. “Hello?” you managed before a yawn ripped its way through you suddenly. “Hey Y/N, I’m sorry it’s so late. I didn't mean to wake you, I figured you’d still be up. You should go back to bed love.” For the first time, you noticed the neon green numbers on the microwave. 12:30. You stifled another yawn and shook your head in an effort to wake yourself further “No way, I just dozed off while watching a movie. I was waiting to talk to you. Besides, I’m up now anyways so you might as well stay on with me for a bit. Did you get any further today?” “Well, JJ had the idea that the partners were originally a typical dominant/submissive partnership but that something in the dynamic must have changed because the MO began to deteriorate. We think the partners must have split up now, because we’re finding similar pieces of the previous MO at separate crime scenes.”.

You processed the information he fed you slowly due to your semiconscious state but eventually you put your words in order well enough to respond. “That should be helpful though yeah? I mean, they’re used to working in a partnership so being suddenly separated from your other half so to speak would throw you off track quite a bit right?”. You could practically hear him smiling through the phone as you drew the conclusions the team had come to only a few hours prior. “Yes. We’re hoping to be able to draw them out and trap them. Play them against each other.”.”Does that mean I can stop sleeping on the couch soon?”. You heard him let out a dejected sigh - you knew he hated that you would force yourself onto the cramped couch when you had a king sized bed a few hundred feet away but he understood.

When he had come home in the early hours of the morning after an abrupt end to a case a few weeks after you had moved into his place, he had caught you curled up on the sofa with a throw pillow stuffed under your head. When he questioned you about it the next morning, you simply answered that the bed felt too big without him and that you couldn’t stand the empty feeling. “Sooner than later I hope my love. Y/N I really wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself. It’s horrible for your body. It can put you at a much higher risk for chronic back and neck pain as well as-”. “Spence. I’m not a giant like you are. I fit on the couch much better than you do, and I barely notice the difference.”. You both cringed, hearing the lie clear in your voice. Still, Spencer must have felt bad because he humored you. “If you're sure. What did you do today my love?”. You smiled sadly hearing in his voice just how desperate he was to escape from his reality and come home to you.

”Well, I straightened the house. In fact, it’s so clean i think we could use it as a sterilization room.”. He let out a soft chuckle and you could hear him begin to relax as you recounted the rest of your day, excluding the part about the microwave dinner. Spencer loved to tell you how many of the ingredients were one step away from processed garbage and you decided to opt out of the lecture for the evening. He had more than enough to worry about without having to focus on your diet while he was away. After a half hour of light conversation, a loud yawn betrayed you as you were excitedly discussing the cute puppy you had met on the way to the market. Spencer immediately requested that you hang up and get some more sleep but you refused. After a few minutes of bickering, you relented on the condition that he would read to you until you had fallen asleep. You curled up under the fluffy blanket as Spencer’s even voice recited the collection of Grimm’s fairy tales quickly lured you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning as sunlight peered through the curtains, stretching your body out to ease the aches from the previous night. You smiled softly as your screen lit up with a text from Spencer wishing you a good morning and an update that they had a solid plan for boxing in the two unsubs that afternoon. “If all goes to plan I should be carrying you to our bed before midnight tonight.”. Your smile widened and you sent back “Can’t wait to truly see you - and love you- tonight. I’ll be waiting.” You plugged your phone into the charger and straightened up from the night before when your phone went off again. The one word message glared at you from the screen and you let out an involuntary giggle. “Tease.”. You hoped it gave him something to look forward to until he was back in your arms. You sent back a simple “XO” before deciding to reread one of your favorite books for a few hours to kill some time. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch and had a few glasses of water as the clock slowly ticked by. You were over halfway through the lengthy novel when you received another message.

“We apprehended both unsubs. Hotch is postponing the paperwork until Monday so we can go straight home. I’ll see you in a few hours baby.”.  You jumped slightly in celebration before finishing your current chapter, marking your place, and all but skipping to the shower to shave and exfoliate your skin. You knew Spencer would still be heavily worked up once he arrived home and luckily, his favorite release included intertwining your bodies as close as possible and loving you sweetly and slowly.

You took your time in the shower careful not to nick yourself with your razor. You scrubbed your scalp with your nails, letting your stress and soreness melt away under the steam. You waited until the water ran cold before turning the knob and stepping out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel and blow drying your hair until it layed perfectly even. You applied lotion all over your skin and stepped out of the bathroom to slip on your black silk robe, knowing it wouldn’t be worth it to dress up further. Spencer would be desperate to feel your skin against his and any fabric in his way didn't stand much of a chance.

You made an actual meal for dinner, a pasta dish with chicken that could be easily reheated for Spencer when he grew hungry later in the night. You helped yourself to a serving and after quickly cleaning up the kitchen and storing the leftovers, you retreated to the bedroom to wait for his return.

You were half paying attention to the feed you opted to scroll through on your phone when you heard the door creak open and bags drop to the floor. You set your phone on the bedside table and ran towards the foyer, all but throwing yourself at the exhausted man in front of you. He took a step back from the impact but still enveloped you in his arms and pulled you impossibly tight into his chest. “Hi baby.” you whispered against the scruffy skin of his jawline, peppering kisses up towards his earlobe. He let out a long sigh of relief and picked you up off the hardwood floor, wrapping your thighs around his waist resulting in a high pitched giggle to erupt from your throat. He kissed you then, slowly at first but quickly building more passionate. Your lungs were burning when he finally allowed you to pull away, opting to kiss down your neck to your collarbones and the skin of your chest that was newly exposed as your robe slipped open.

He carefully made his way back to your room, continuing his kisses back up to your shoulder, stopping only to leave marks you knew would only grow darker as time passed. At the very least he was sure to only mark you in places you could cover with little difficulty. “I missed you so much Y/N. The entire ride home all I could think about was you waiting for me in our bed. My gorgeous girl.”. You felt your chest heat up at his words of admiration, wrapping your fingers into his curls and pulling his lips towards your own once more.

You felt him groan against you and moved to quickly unbutton his shirt, slipping it down his arms and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. He pulled you up with him then, so you were both on your knees, chest to chest as he pulled your robe fully down your back to the swell of your ass where he grasped at you through the slick fabric. You let out a whine and you pulled his belt off, undoing his jeans desperate to continue. He grinned against your neck and pushed you down so you laid flat on your back, completely exposed to him. He kissed at your stomach, making his way down to your inner thighs. He licked a slow wet trail from your pelvic bone to the top of your clit as you whimpered desperately. “Spence, please… I need more”. He humored you, creating slow small circles with his tongue moaning at the taste. You cried out as he created the perfect amount of pressure on your clit, legs threatening to close around his head when he moved to slip one of his fingers easily inside you as the mix of your own wetness and his saliva aided him. He smirked as he felt your thighs flex before using his left hand to throw one of your legs over his shoulders at a time. He pushed a second finger in, curling them up to perfectly reach your g-spot with every thrust. Soon though, you grew impatient with just his fingers. You needed more and you knew just how to get it.

“I want you so bad Spence. I’ve waited for so long and I just can’t anymore. I need to feel you deep inside of me.”. You were positive those words would leave him just as needy as you were and he proved you right when he kicked his pants the rest of the way off and went to line himself up against you. “Wait.”. He stopped immediately, examining your face for any indication of what was wrong. “What’s the matter baby? Are you okay?”. You shook your head and smiled at his concern before switching your positions so his back was resting against the pillows as you straddle his thighs. He smirked at you as he caught on, trailing his hands up the front of your legs to rest at your hips. “You gonna ride me angel?”. You responded with an eager nod and he squeezed your hips, pulling you up further so you were hovering above him. “Sit pretty like my good girl then.”. You whined softly at his words before slowly sinking yourself down around his length, sucking in a harsh breath at the stretch. Even with how wet you were, the adjustment took longer than usual due to the dry spell you were both suffering from as of late.

When you finally felt stretched out enough to move, you slowly ground your hips forward flush against his. He groaned out, lifting you back up so you were almost completely off of him before pulling you back down. You moaned both at the sensation and the idea of being manhandled by the genius below you. You realized what he was asking though, and began bouncing yourself up and down his cock, stopping every few thrusts to grind your clit down on him. You let out soft moans, and after a few more minutes you felt his fingers dig deeper into your hips and his breaths quicken. You knew he was close and as if on cue you started rubbing fast circles against your clit as he spoke again.

“Baby girl I’m getting close. You gonna cum with me angel?” You nodded furiously in response and you felt him start thrusting up to meet you. You panted as you hurried towards the edge of your orgasm, holding on until his thrusts grew sloppier. “You ready to cum with me baby? You gonna cum on my cock?” “Yeah.. gonna cum all over your cock Doc.” You fought to keep the grin off your face when he moaned at the title. He thrusted deep into you twice, before he ordered your release. “I want you to cum now baby. Cum all over my cock.” You felt your orgasm rip through you, electricity shooting through your limbs. Spencer groaned loudly as you tightened around him before pulling you down deep and releasing inside you.

You both fought to catch your breath as you rode out your highs before you found yourself slumping against his chest, suddenly drained from your activities. You felt him chuckle at your drastic change in energy as he wrapped his arms around you again. “I know you just washed the bed sheets and we’re both sweaty but do you think a washcloth will suffice for tonight?”. You nodded against his chest before slowly lifting yourself up and off of him, rolling onto your back on the other side of the bed. Spencer swiftly made his way across the hall, returning to wipe you down gently with the warm fabric. You shivered as the cool air dried your skin, watching him move throughout your room.

He slipped on a fresh pair of boxers before tossing the washcloth in the hamper along with his previously discarded clothes. He hung your robe on the back of your bedroom door then flipped the light switch off before rejoining you in bed to slip under the blankets with you. You immediately curled up into his chest, sighing contently as the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears. You kissed his chest and whispered goodnight, drifting into your first real sleep since before he left.

The next morning you and Spencer went shopping after you successfully convinced him to upgrade to a smart phone with video call abilities. He had begun to shut down the idea as he always had before but after the mere suggestion of what it could do to better your late night hotel room chats he was the one pulling you towards the nearest phone shop. You smiled politely while Spencer took his sweet time weighing the pros and cons of each model, letting your mind drift to the first time it would come in handy. As you finally neared the checkout counter, you took Spencer's hand in your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. After running his card through the machine, the salesgirl gave him the small plastic bag and wished you both a good afternoon.

As you exited the shop, you looked up at him, nudging him to get his attention “What do you think of an app controlled vibrator?”. He stared at you incredulously for a few moments, almost stopping dead in his tracks. After recovering from the initial shock at the vulgarity of your suggestion, he shook his head with a soft smirk and nudged back against you. “Tease.” he called you once more. “That’s the reason you love me right?”. He pulled you into his side, kissing you softly. “One of many Y/N. One of many.”

[wowbright]

Fic: Petulant

Tan Hands and Tan Lines Sophisticated Word Challenge 2021: petulant

Words: ~1500 words

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Blaine doesn’t want to share the Gospel with Chandler.

I’m belatedly going through the prompts for The Tan Hands and Tan Lines Summer Event 2021 to flesh out my Mormon!Klaine universe. This one takes place after Wordplay (my most recent post) and before Cedars of Lebanon (which I've moved up in the chronology).

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: A filler ficlet. Schwester Rose is Marley Rose and Fräulein Pilzburg is Emma Pillsbury. If you have any questions or typo corrections, feel free to use my ask box!

_____

Elder Hummel was at the kitchen table, lining up his pens and highlighters in a neat row in preparation for their planning meeting, when Blaine’s phone buzzed. He smiled to see Schwester Rose’s name on his screen.

“The sisters say they'd love to help Fräulein Pilzburg to move.” Blaine sat down next to Elder Hummel and held up the phone so he could see the screen.

“Good,” Elder Hummel said, but he didn't smile. He pursed his lips in a businesslike manner. “We've already ticked one thing off our meeting agenda. Now we just need to set up a time. Elder Anderson, would you lead us in prayer before we start?”

Blaine did. Elder Hummel thanked him and opened the two-ring binder where all the notes for investigators past and present in this part of Ingolstadt were kept. His businesslike demeanor vanished. He broke into a grin. Light seemed to dance in his eyes like sunlight off rustling green leaves. “Ah! Chandler Kiehl. Let’s start with him. What are your thoughts on how we should approach our first lesson with him, Elder Anderson?”

Blaine felt his heart sink.  “I don't know. I don't really have a good handle on him.”

“Well, we know he’s a performing arts student, so maybe we can ask a few questions about that. If he likes choral music, we could introduce him to MoTab?”

“Sure. Everyone loves the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.” Blaine used to daydream about joining it, before he realized you had to live in Utah to be part of it. As much as he loved the church, he couldn't imagine himself living in a place with so many Mormons.

“And I don’t know how religious he is, but he seems close to his family,” Elder Hummel said. “So we could emphasize that part of the lesson, how the restoration shows that families help us learn to be more like Christ.”

Blaine nodded. This was how they’d been taught to proselytize: Start with what the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had in common with investigators’ existing values. As investigators accepted these similarities, they became prepared to accept little differences. As they accepted little differences, they became prepared for the bigger differences. You didn’t want to jump straight into Heavenly Father living near a star called Kolob or Eden being in Missouri, because those ideas would seem alien and jarring. Missionaries were meant to spoon feed the gospel bit by bit to investigators. Give them milk before meat, the scriptural admonition went. 

But milk before meat didn’t seem like a very fair approach with somebody who would obviously be miserable in the church. Since meeting Chandler, Blaine had continued to weigh in his mind whether or not his dislike of the Captain Ahab-wannabe was homophobic. Maybe Blaine just didn’t like to be reminded of how miserable it had been to read Moby Dick in high school. He still wasn't sure. But what Blaine knew for certain was that the church was homophobic. And Blaine and Elder Hummel should be up front about that.

Blaine thought back on meeting with Samir and Nuriya on his first day in Ingolstadt. They’d been raised in Lebanon as Muslims, but they’d had so many questions about Joseph Smith and God, and Blaine had felt them inching toward the Gospel. He'd been mildly surprised when Elder Hummel hadn't challenged them to be baptized at the end of the lesson.

Later, Elder Hummel had explained they wouldn’t be baptizing the couple, ever. They weren't allowed to baptize Arabs if there was any chance they might return to their country of origin. That was the rule for all investigators from nations with restricted religious freedom. Baptism could lead to persecution and sorrow. And the whole point of the Plan of Salvation was “men are, that they might have joy.” If membership in the church would cause misery in mortality, the ordinances should be delayed until after death, when a person’s spirit could freely accept them.

Why was it any different for gay people?

They needed to lay everything out on the table—that there was no room in the Plan of Salvation for flirting with missionaries or registering for a civil partnership. That you would have to sit through conference talk after conference talk telling you that the only path to exaltation required marriage to a woman, now or in the afterlife.

Maybe Chandler would be okay with that. Elder Hummel apparently was, though Blaine couldn’t quite understand why. But in case Chandler wouldn’t be, they needed to be upfront. It was only fair.

“I was thinking—” Blaine started.

Elder Hummel’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the message. “Speak of the devil! It’s Chandler! He’s sent the address of a coffeeshop where we can meet.”

“Wait.” Blaine felt dizzy. First, Chandler texting right when they were talking about him. Second— “He has your number?”

Elder Hummel was all business again. “Of course. I was texting him last night. Remember?”

“Yeah.” Blaine did remember. He’d been sautéing the spices for Moroccan couscous, and Elder Hummel had been waxing poetic about how good it smelled, and somehow this turned into an Aladdin soundtrack sing-off that Elder Hummel managed to win even though he was simultaneously responding to text messages from investigators. Blaine suppressed a sigh. “I thought you used my phone.” He hoped he didn't sound as petulant as he felt.

“I started on your phone, but your keyboard doesn’t have autocomplete turned on. So I switched.”

Blaine’s sternum felt like a rope being twisted too tight. “Elder Thompson told me not to use autocomplete so I get better at my German.”

“That’s good advice,” Elder Hummel said. “Your senior companion should probably take it.”

Elder Hummel returned to talking about Chandler’s lesson plan, but Blaine couldn't focus. There were only two things he could think of to say: I don't want to meet with him, and I think it's wrong to meet with him. And neither of those would be acceptable contributions. It wasn't Blaine’s place to second guess Elder Hummel on this. It didn't matter how conflicted Blaine felt about the whole thing. He needed to follow his senior companion’s lead.

“Are you okay, Elder Anderson? You haven’t said much.”

Blaine’s mother had often said the best way to get out of a funk was to pretend you weren’t in it. It was like with faith. If you didn't have any, the solution wasn’t to give up on the church. You needed to act as if you had faith, and eventually you would feel it.

If Blaine wasn't happy, he needed to put a smile on his face and act as he would if he were happy, and eventually the happiness would manifest itself. “I’m fine.” Blaine smiled. “Great, actually.”

Blaine wasn’t great. He washed his face over the bathroom sink later that evening, wishing the water would rinse away his doubts along with dirt and dead skin cells.

Blaine was failing his companion, wasn’t he? He needed to be supportive. He needed to like Chandler, because Elder Hummel deserved to be surrounded by people who liked him and made him smile. And Blaine needed to get behind sharing the gospel with him, because Elder Hummel apparently thought it was the right thing to do—and Elder Hummel was gay, so he would know better than Blaine about the ethics of luring someone into a life of celibacy.

Blaine needed to trust that his senior companion knew what was best.

The next morning in personal study, Blaine looked up scriptures on friendship. Ruth placed her trust in her friend Naomi, moving to a foreign land and learning to worship God in a new way, and was rewarded with a happy life. John the Beloved was Jesus’s best friend and unceasingly loyal to the Savior. Zoram and Nephi met under Less than ideal circumstances—Nephi killed Zoram's boss—but Zoram realized that Nephi had done the right thing and they remained friends for life. Jonathan, son of King Saul, took the shepherd David into their home and they became best friends, and even when Jonathan didn’t agree with David’s decisions, “he loved him as he loved his own soul” and supported him in fulfilling his destiny.

That's what Blaine needed to do, wasn't it? Support Elder Hummel in fulfilling his destiny, in following the path that God had laid out for him. The direction of that path wasn't for Blaine to decide. And if Elder Hummel thought that God wanted him to share the gospel with Chandler, then Blaine needed to follow.

[starlit-mansion]

bringing your work home with you (FNaF: Security Breach, 2K words)

AO3

She doesn't quite feel like herself lately.

(In which it takes a QA tester a long time to realize this latest project is living in her head rent-free.)

***

[This work contains some symptoms of fictional possession that manifest similarly to mental illness, as could be interpreted to be depicted in the secret tapes in Security Breach, as well as referenced depictions of common bad work cultures at video game companies including overwork and harassment.]

***

She gets a migraine at work, but she can't leave until she finishes these tests. Green spots bloom in her vision, pulse and grow and make it impossible for her eyes to focus on the VR screen an inch away. Instead of wrenching off the headset, she closes her eyes, even makes an effort at some familiar miming, batting at phantom camera panels and door buttons, trying to let her muscle memory take hold.

It's not a stress headache, nor one caused by hunger or lack of sleep. She knows the difference intimately. Her brain throbs, a spike of pain like an invisible stake plunged into her eye socket. She wonders, down in the part of her mind that observes her own pain with terrible boredom, if it means her cycle is about to start. Maybe it will thunderstorm later.

The aura passes within ten minutes, leaving throbbing and nausea in its wake. When she opens her eyes, she's in the debug area again, the one with the audio files. Did her flailing send her back here? She hopes no one notices what the last few minutes of her gameplay has looked like. You'd think a company as skin-flint as this one wouldn't have so much time as to review every minute of a QA tester's day, but there's always a chance that an algorithm grabbed an anomaly, and someone will notice.

On her next break, she grabs the store brand Motrin from the pocket in her purse where she keeps tampons and swallows it with bottled water. The caffeine in the pills might help. Another coffee might help too. She has a long way to go until she's done for the day.

Her vision feels a little blurry, and she worries for a second that the aura is back. She closes her eyes, examines them. No, just tracers from the light, painted in her retinas from when she tilted her head back to swallow. It's nothing.

She heads toward the break room proper, and pours herself a lukewarm black coffee. It's so bitter, so overwhelming, that she almost spits it back into the mug like she's a child trying it for the first time. Quickly, she adds creamer, and it's still just as overwhelming, but not as bitter. She chokes down as much of it as she can stand before heading back to her station.

Her heart races as she lifts the headset. Just the caffeine.

***

She should be resting her eyes on the bus ride home, but instead she's looking at her phone. Social media is plastered with news of a wildfire in California, whole towns swallowed. Her stomach pulses with anxiety immediately, then it settles down into apathy. Who does she know in California? Nobody special, maybe some old college acquaintances. No one she'd ask after. It's not likely to blaze hundreds of miles over land to Utah. Not her problem.

She closes the app, then opens a game. Princess Quest. She should be sick of games after the day she's had, but Princess Quest isn't vertigo-inducing work. It's something to poke at mindlessly, and it's less upsetting than the news. She skirts the monsters on screen effortlessly. 

She misses her stop by one, zoned out, and gets off a few streets away from where she should have been, hurrying past buildings made unfamiliar with darkness. Her heart is slamming against her ribcage by the time she makes it to her apartment door, fluttering with exertion and the last traces of over-caffeination. Tmp-tmp-tmp-tmp. No space between the beats, no rhythm.

It isn't until later, as she's getting ready for bed, that she notices she's burst a blood vessel in her eye, a watery splotch of red in the white. Her first thought is to hope no one notices. Her second is to hope that it's nothing serious.

***

There are no more migraines for the rest of the week, nor during the overtime she does on Saturday. By Sunday, she is so exhausted that she only makes it out of bed to forage through her cupboards for a couple of granola bars, and take them back to bed. The light coming through her window seems stark, painful, and she closes the curtain, sinking down into the covers and the dim pale glow of her phone screen.

She makes it further than she ever has before in Princess Quest, then orders a pizza on her phone after she dies. She starts another game, and it seems like only seconds until there's a knock at her door to startle her from her concentration. The princess dies in the game, and she tosses her phone aside.

When she opens her apartment door, a flat cardboard box is sitting on the ground. She can't tell if it was delivered by drone or human, but she also doesn't care. She'd only tipped the minimum on the app.

When she brings it back to her little nest, it's so warm that it tricks her brain into feeling a shred less lonely. When she takes a bite, the mixture of cheese and sauce and pepperoni grease slams through her tastebuds into her central nervous system. It's so good. She moans before she can help it, then is immediately mortified even though she's alone. Well. It's the only moaning her bed has borne witness to for quite a while. Work keeps her so busy. So tired.

She devours the slice of pizza, even though it's hot enough to hurt the roof of her mouth. She must have been hungrier than she thought.

***

The deadline is coming up, and they're going to miss it. The last level is a mess, and she's testing the latest rehauls. The game spits her into a flickering void before crashing, and she sighs as it boots up again.

Back in the main hub, she feels a strange sense of… unease. It's like the opposite of deja vu, like the strangeness of a bedroom in the darkness becoming unfamiliar, a coat thrown over a chair turning into a monster. She knows she's been here before, knows it hasn't changed, but she also has a feeling that she can't put into words that something is off. In her mind's eye suddenly, the prize counter is closer, dingier, smelling of stale candy and the faint chemical whiff of cheap plastic and processed textiles.

And yet, it doesn't alarm her, the not-deja vu. She is simply dreamy, dissociated, as her avatar moves to the prize counter. One of the plushies is clipping into the ground, flickering rapidly, its little legs sticking up in the air. It's yellow. Must be a Chica.

She picks it up. It's not Chica. It's Bonnie. It's the wrong color. 

She removes her headset to flag the error. It isn't until she tries to type that she notices her hands are shaking.

***

Despite everything, the game comes out, and it’s finally out of her hands.

She can't help but trawl social media, alternately searching out praise and hatred. Maybe it's simply a maladaptive attachment, but she feels a strange amount of ownership over the game. She wants to see it do well, wants to defend it and excuse the flaws for which she saw so much work sunk into smoothing down to mere bumps instead of jagged mountains.

Somehow, she ends up skimming a piece from one of the "thinky" gaming outlets that sidebars into a long discussion about the indie games that inspired the virtual reality experience, and about the real life events a half century ago that inspired said games.

"After the charges were dropped, the 'Missing Children Incidents,' as they came to be known among hobbyist investigators, were relegated to the cold case files. The instances of abducted children, totaling 14 over a span of 11 years..."

Fifteen, she thinks to herself, noting the error. No one ever missed C--

Her phone hits the ground, slipped from her fingers. She stoops to pick it up, stabs the article closed with a pointer finger, afterimages of something too sick to speak of flashing in the darkness of her mind.

That… that was an intrusive thought. Just an intrusive thought. Like the idea of jumping while standing near a tall ledge. Like the idea of kissing a teacher while standing in front of his desk being scolded. Strange, inappropriate, but human. Whatever crossed her mind in odd, anxious moments did not define her.

Panic is welling in her, intimate in its familiarity. She feeds it this time, hyperventilating, working herself into tears. It was a ghoulish project; she ought not to be surprised that she's having a delayed reaction, having weird thoughts about dead kids that've been dead longer than her parents have been alive.

The tiny part inside of herself that's always watching herself, bored of her own pain, is afraid too now, still and trembling and alert to danger.

It takes a long while to calm down, tracing her way through mental exercises she was taught when she was still on her parents' insurance, gulping air and wiping away spit and snot and tears until her sleeves are wet with it all. When there's nothing but trembling aftershocks left, her fingers find her phone, lighting it up with just her touch. Her thumb brushes the icon for Princess Quest and the screen blooms blacks as it loads.

Something mindless will calm her down.

*** 

She doesn't feel quite like herself lately. 

Then again, she hasn't felt quite like herself since she started working 70 hour weeks testing a VR game that made her increasingly dizzy and nauseous and on edge. She hasn't quite felt like herself since she moved away from everything familiar to take a job with a worrying turnover rate in the middle of Fucking Nowhere, Utah because it was the only place hungry enough for a warm body.

She hasn't quite felt like herself since that holiday party where one of her managers cornered her, red-cheeked and slightly clumsy with alcohol, and opined in no uncertain terms which of her… assets he personally thought had earned her a position with the company, while she froze like a prey animal in his sights, heart racing and brain emptying.

She hasn't felt like herself in so long that whatever self she imagines she was might never have been there at all, just a mirage in the distance, hope and ignorance with nothing underneath. 

Also she's been having a lot of cravings for sweets lately? Low fat yogurt and portioned bags of cookies aren't cutting it anymore.

There is a round of unceremonious layoffs at the company following the release of the game, even though it's decently successful. After all, there won't be anything much that needs testing for a while. She barely dodges the axe, not sure what exactly saved her. Luck? Her performance on the job? The… other thing…?

She can't tell if she's grateful to keep her position or not.

You deserve better than this, she thinks to herself, and she isn't sure why it took her so long to come to this conclusion. After all, it would be so simple to just try applying for some other job. This one isn't serving her anymore. 

It couldn't hurt to look, anyway…

She waits until her break to open an incognito window and search for jobs in the area. The hiring sites give her dead ends until she broadens her fields significantly, and realizes that she keeps seeing the same company flooding listings for hospitality, data entry, IT…

And it's the same company that already bought out this very game studio two years ago and moved its base of operations to this tax dodge ghost town with a skyline of two malls and an Ikea. Great. Just perfect.

She moves to close the tab, and her hand stills midway. 

She clicks on a listing.

***

The transfer seems to take forever, and also no time at all. 

This is for the best, she decides, sometime between shopping for modest blouses and touching up her roots with a kit in her apartment's mildewy bathroom. She's not a little kid. She can't just play video games all day long and call it a job. Eventually she was going to have to move on anyway.

There are three rounds of interviews, and at every one, some well-fed man with a close-cropped beard or woman with scrupulously restrained makeup tells her how important it is to the company to promote from within.

And in return, she smiles at them, and certain tiny muscles in her face twinge, as if she's never held them in that exact position before in her life.

[ldsqueerstakeofficial]

We've made this Bingo card! It's intentionally blank with a list of 48 Happenings that you can either write in or cut and paste in. Your challenge is to make 2 different Bingo Cards using the Happenings, submit them to a google form (posted soon) by 4/3/2021, at 9 AM Mountain Time (8 AM PST, 2 PM GBT, 5 PM CET).

During conference, fill them out!

By Friday, 4/9/2021 (one week from today) at 5 PM Mountain Time ( 4 PM PST, 10 PM GBT, 1 AM CET), send in your completed bingo cards.

Anyone who gets more than 2 bingos per card (vertical, horizontally, and diagonally), will win a special prize in the queerstake server!

Happenings

-Manti temple murals

-COVID-19 vaccine encouragement

-"its good to protest.... as long as you follow the rules of the institution"

-Choir sings acapella

-Pioneer ancestors are mentioned

-Childrens choir

-Jesus mention

-German sheperd mention

-A bishop speaks

-Shadow/light metaphors

-Poledancinng is hereby a sin because of Lil Nas X

-FEAR NOT

-Enforcement of strict gender performance

-Pictures on screen

-Indexing or Family History Resesrch is encouraged

-Airplanes

-Someone mentions mission to South America

-"Suffer from same sex attraction"

-Nauvoo

-Quotes from the Book of Mormon

-Speaker awkwardly references the song just sung/played

-"Be like the little children"

-A speaker references either their or their child's struggles as a teen and how they found relief in the church

-Catholic or Evangelical churches mention

-Priesthood or baptism mention

-Encouragement of prepping for natural disaster

-Another week long social media abstinence plan

-Chastity/abstinence

-Animation/video on screen

-The importance of ministering during COVID is mentioned

-Someone wears a green tie

-Satan is the real imposter among us

-Piano is mentioned

-New Utah temple

-"As my family read come follow me this year..."

-The importance of temple ordinances mention

-Mothers: the most special members of society

-The Karen or Debra haircut on a female leader

-Joseph Smith mention

-Announced weekly follow the Prophet vlog

-COVID is implied to be one of the prophesied plagues of the end of times

-Someone mentions Alma the Younger or the Prodigal Son

-"How firm a foundation"

-A white sister wears blue with silver accents

-Mission in Japan/China stories

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Checksum

[Previously...] [Next]

Chapter 2: Profit Margins

PILOT ORVILLE FREEBORN MCS JAMES MACALLAN // TITAN BAY 4 EN ROUTE PLANET TYPHON, IMC-CONTROLLED SPACE

The simpod's indicator light winks green. Orville watches it, lulled slightly by the deep hum of the egg-shaped machine while his colleagues talked around him. They were clustered together, talking freely about the two men semi-unconscious in front of them, though he had long since lost the thread of conversation. He never paid much attention to gossip and he wasn't about to start now.

Besides, the rifleman wasn't that interesting. He seemed quiet and never looked anyone in the eye. What Lastimosa saw in the man, Orville didn't know. But Lastimosa had only told them what he was doing-- not why he was doing it.

The kid could be his son, for all he knew. At the end of the day, the lone notion of the kid simply became the Marauder Corps's worst-kept secret.

"Say, Freeborn," Shaver says, nudging his shoulder.

Orville starts, dragging his gaze away from the 'pod to focus on his mate, Crane. He raises an eyebrow.

"You think Anderson and Grenier are even alive by now?" Crane asks.

His tone is light and conversational. Orville hums, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Sure, right? Why would they be dead?" Orville says.

He glances up at the crouched Titan behind them, BT-7274. It's focused intently on Captain Lastimosa, but he hasn't any doubt it's eavesdropping on them. Captain Cole has taken to opening and closing an electric lighter repeatedly, filling the space with anxious clicking.

"Apparently, the SRS outpost we had here went dark," Crane explains.

"So? That's just standard protocol. We've had ops like that more than once, Shaver," Orville says, gaining an edge to his voice.

"But this one just seems weird, y'know? Some backwater IMC planet, a mystery testing facility... Very hush-hush, I've heard."

"El-Tees Shaver and Freeborn," a deep, smooth, but still clearly synthesized voice erupts, "you are in violation of confidentiality codes regarding Oscar-Two-One-Seven."

Crane has the good sense to wince and Orville crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. For a second, he wanted to retort, but...

BT wasn't wrong. With Cole and the rifleman in the hangar, they really shouldn't be so loose-lipped.

"Sorry, BT," Orville says.

There's a pause as they both wait for a response from the Titan. Predictably, he says nothing, but the shutters in his optic suddenly twist, that blue pinpoint of an eye leveling on the 'pod. Orville, Crane, and Cole all turn their gazes to it, curious.

The green light was now blinking. It turns solid amber.

"They must be finished," Cole says.

BT-7274 draws itself to its full height with an abrupt scrape of metal. At the same time, the lights in the hangar stutter, plunging them in a half-realm darkness. Orville reaches for the pager at his belt, tapping the screen on, his chest already tight with alarm.

There's nothing on the pager. The lights flicker again.

"I thought they fixed this shit back at Harmony," Crane says.

Tai jerks to life with a start, the same instant the simpod beeps and pops its latch open. Orville turns to stare at a dazed Jack Cooper.

Alarms start blaring. Five pagers go off at once, shrill with the sound of a non-standard alert. The intercoms crackle, but it's not the ship's AI that speaks. It's the captain.

"All hands, abandon ship."

"Abandon-- but we haven't--?" Crane stammers, shocked. "What?"

"Get off your ass and go, pilot," Tai snaps. "Prepare for Titanfall, everyone. Rifleman--"

Orville hurries after Crane, where his Titan resides, already crouched and open for embarking. He jams his helmet on and flops into her palm.

He had a bad, bad feeling about this.

BT-7274 MCS JAMES MACALLAN // TITAN BAY 4 IN ORBIT PLANET TYPHON, IMC-CONTROLLED SPACE

The faux field BT-7274 finds itself in is reminiscent of the prairie surrounding much of the Militia's HQ back at Harmony. He takes it in cautiously, scanning the horizon for threats despite being fully cognizant of the simulated war fog obscuring the distance. A considerable distance away, Tai and the rifleman stand, both excited.

"That's my partner, BT. He's a Vanguard-class. Homegrown Militia technology... "

BT-7274 pushes himself upright.

"The first Titan chassis we designed ourselves. One we didn't have to steal from the IMC. Now, go ahead, Cooper. Call in your first Titan."

He flicks his gaze skyward to witness the sky ripple, a pixelated rift bubbling and expanding, spitting the under-rendered silhouette of a Titan-- a mere copy of himself-- to the ground, high-speed.

Before it can land, that rip in virtual reality explodes. The system error that rocks the simpod flashes in the corner of BT's own HUD. Quietly, he detaches  itself from the program.

Titan Bay 4 is in chaos. Pilots and ground crew run between his legs, shouting orders and clambering for their gear. BT-7274 checks his own inventory compulsively.

"They're killing us down there, rifleman. Trying to, anyway," Tai says.

SHIP AI UTAH to ALL UNITS: ABANDON SHIP. REPEAT, ABANDON SHIP.

BT-7274 splays his massive hand out flat for Tai to step onto, cockpit already open, obscuring its vision. It would take them fifteen seconds to return to their ejection stall. In a few ticks, he was pulling sensitive information from the ship's AI and the MacAllan's internal systems reports.

"We're going to see a new planet today, Cooper. Maybe even die on it. I'll see you down there, alright?"

Tai settles down with a grunt that's lost in the din. He shuts the hatch before BT can get to it, but pauses, allowing the neural link to wash through them both.

"Transferring controls to pilot," BT-7274 says. "You know I do not like it when you say that."

Tai chuckles. "But it's the truth, BT."

"Again, I ask-- do you want to die on these planets?"

The conversation keeps its nerves, so to speak, steady, as they move with haste to their stall. The platform dips beneath BT-7274's colossal weight, groaning in protest as it carries them into position.

"The 9th Militia Fleet has encountered a formidable screen of orbital defenses. Apparently, two of our own have already been lost," BT explains, summarizing the data he'd just pulled. "It seems our intel from Anderson was wrong."

The ship shakes violently.

UTAH to BT-7274: GET OUT OF THESE CHANNELS.

BT-7274 to UTAH: I will soon be out of effective range.

Odd, that it's now that Utah chooses to stop BT from looking where he shouldn't. He extracts himself from the MacAllan's diagnostics.

Tai and BT-7274 hunker down and lock their joints for impending Titanfall. The automatic ejection system rotates them outward, even as another hit jostles the mechanism. BT shutters his optic against rapidly strobing lights.

"Please wait," intones a modulated, cheery voice. "Titanfall in 10... 9... 8-- 8--"

The hydraulic frame holding BT-7274 and Tai in place shudders, then appears to fold in on itself, collapsing the floor and pushing its chassis through. Coordinates, speed, and other targeting information flies through BT-Tai's head, coalescing into a single point.

"Well, that wasn't normal," Tai says cheerfully.

"Planetside in 17 seconds," BT states, splashing a timer in a corner of their HUD. "Expect heavy IMC forces."

CLAY NGUYEN CICHLID SQUAD, 34th DIVISION JUNGLE CANYONS TYPHON, IMC-CONTROLLED SPACE

Clay wipes the sweat off his hands and compulsively triple checks his station, useless as it was in the deep, suffocating darkness of the jungle-like canyon. He could see nothing beyond the loose perimeter his team had setup, a consequence of the moonless nights that had been become the new norm, as well as the lightning storms that started around the same time. But who was keeping track, really?

Not him, surely.

"The Militia should just hurry up and get here," his partner grumbles.

"Why? So you can watch the drones do all the work?" Clay shoots at her.

It wasn't like they were going to be doing any fighting-- not against ground forces, anyway. But they'd been here for hours already, since the sun went down, and had nothing to show for it.

That was fine with him. His team? Not so much.

A bright flash illuminates the darkness. Clay looks around for the source before finding the good sense to look up-- where a web-like pattern had flared to life, suspended and writhing miles above their heads.

"The anti-ship cannons," Clay breathes. "Jesus."

"Look alive, Cichlid," crackles their radio. "There's reports of Militia drop pods starting to enter Typhon. Look out for ships, too-- it's quite the fireworks show above our heads."

Clay can sense his partner starting to move, but he's fixated on the sky above. Pinpricks of light were rapidly exploding into white streaks that descended into obscurity.

"Archer's showing potential targets," Suvia announces. "Would you get off your ass already?"

She shoves his shoulder. He pushes her back, momentarily rankled, but hurries to where the second rocket launcher stood. The tiny digital screen offered several potential targets, but no locks.

"I think it's just--" Clay starts to speak, but a colossal, bone-shaking boom drowns him out.

His teeth chatter, then his world turns over, as four distinct booms impact the earth. It's all he can do to keep his grip on the Archer despite the hail of rock and soil raining on his position.

"Suv, you okay?"

"I've got dirt in my mouth!"

When the initial spray clears, Clay sees fire, smoke, and the battered, conical frames of drop pods. He has to remind himself that they're Militia. The IMC war paint was from capture and thievery, but only two had met the ground levelly.

The other two had smashed against the jagged rocks hard enough to ignite something in their internals.

"Some of the pods hit the rocks," Clay says tightly. "Shit,  they're firing."

"They don't know we're here," Suvia says. "Here comes our birds."

He watches the Archer's targeting system instead of the evolving battlefield. He wasn't interested in the slaughter. He wasn't interested in facing a Titan, either, but...

The Archer chirps. Clay adjusts his grip on the launcher as it automatically adjusts itself on the tripod, tracking a blue blip in a sea of red and yellow.

"Titan," Clay calls. "Tone's good."

"Tone's good," Suvi repeats.

Clay searches the sky briefly. It's difficult to make head or tails of what he sees, but the enemy Titanfall attracts his gaze by triggering its Distortion Brakes. IMC technology again, a little voice reminds him.

The enemy Titan unfolds itself and sticks the landing gracefully.

Two Archer rockets zip toward it, trailing smoke.

[ill-skillsgard]

is faith dealing w being away from fausty? I miss them so :(,, I hope you’re well love xoxo

Warning: 18+ Mentions of sex/phone sex, mentions of alcohol and drug use, violent threats, non-consensual touching, brief mentions of rape.

Note: I missed writing Faust stuff so much over the holidays. He’s definitely one of my favourite secretly soft boys. I can’t wait to get back into the swing of writing. Thank you to the lovely anons who haven’t given up on this pairing yet! I will try not to go 2 months between posts for these guys.

Summary: Faith starts to miss Faust so much while he’s away on tour that she goes to his apartment to spend the night in his bedroom. However, her plans are interrupted by the people Faust warned her not to hang around.

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke in a sweat, chest pumping hot torrents of blood to her head as the ceiling came into view, the walls containing her after a flight through a nightmare faded into obscurity. She rolled onto her back, her flimsy cotton nightgown sticking to her dewy skin, and tossed the comforter from her top half. Streetlamps and passing cars cast geometric blocks of light on the ceiling, illuminating the dust motes floating by her face. Faith breathed in and out, shaking her head free from the gripping terror of unconsciousness.

She had dreamed of receiving a phone call from Faust in the middle of the night, and when she answered, he explained to her in a laconic, matter-of-fact voice why they shouldn't continue seeing each other. He was too busy to maintain a relationship with a girl who's path would never intersect with his goals. She was too young, too naive, too proper. Too this and too that and in no way matched him. The terrible sinking in her chest returned as it had in the dream, but she dismissed the sensation. It was all a silly dream, a manifestation of her worst fear. Faust loved her and would never break up with her—least of all over a phone call.

The cellphone next to her pillow came to life, vibrating a couple of times before she found it and squinted at the bright screen. Faust. She sat up, and her lungs froze, the cavernous hole opening up under her skin. When she answered, voices and loud music came through like warring radio waves.

"Hello?" She whispered, not wanting to wake her dorm mate.

"Faith? You there?"

"Yes," her voice crawled from her throat, no louder than a rasp. She cleared her airway and said again, "Yes."

"Aw, are you sleeping, babe?"

"No," she whispered.

"Hm? I can't hear you. Hang on, let me find a quieter place."

Faith swung out of bed and left the dorm to go to the shared washrooms where she could speak. She entered a stall, put down the toilet seat and sat atop the cold plastic, waiting for Faust's deep voice to tickle her ear again.

"You there?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"That's better, yeah. I can hear you now."

Faith squeezed her knees together, his voice like warm liquid flowing into her stomach. She sighed, relieved.

"Sorry, I know it's late for you. We had a really late soundcheck, then I was in the green room until we went on. I didn't forget to call."

Faith nodded, smiling, though Faust couldn't see the respite his words gave her after the unpleasant dream that had jarred her awake.

"It's okay. Where are you again?"

"Utah, probably a couple hours behind you. We're out of the venue now."

"How was the show?" Faith asked.

"It was good—big stage. Couple hundred people, but maybe a quarter of them were there for us. We sold a lot of merch, though."

"That's great, babe. I'm glad you're having fun."

"Yeah," Faust sighed. "I miss you, though. Can't believe there's still another three weeks of this."

Faith leaned her head against the stall's metal barrier, reading the scandalous notes engraved in the chipped paint. "I know. Seems like forever."

"You're still good to come to our last show?"

"Yes. I told my parents I'm going to a friend's cottage for the weekend."

"But really, you're getting on a Greyhound and coming to see me."

She closed her eyes and giggled. "That's right."

Faith wondered if she should tell Faust about her bad dream. She knew what he'd say to her: it was just a dumb dream, and he would never break up with her, so she shouldn't let it bother her so much. She accepted this assurance without bringing it up.

"I'm in my bunk now," Faust told her.

"I'm in the bathroom," said Faith.

"Wish you were here, though. It gets so boring sometimes, driving from place to place, listening to these dumbasses argue over the shower."

"It's the same here. I've started taking showers at midnight just to avoid the headache and bargaining. These girls all have the same night routine. There's always a line-up to use the shower."

"Mm," Faust grunted. "Yeah. Stupid."

A moment of silence passed between them. Faith savoured his soft breaths coming over the line, wishing she could feel the warmth behind them. She craved his scent, the smell of his shampoo, the distinct mentholated freshness of his deodorant. She wanted to stroke his face, and touch his biceps, inspect the hair underneath his arms until he told her she was weird for finding such things fascinating. She wanted to feel the twin ruts coming to a peak below his navel, leading down to his groin where he'd snatch her hand and berate her, ultimately relenting and letting her stroke the soft skin underneath the band of his plaid boxers.

"I wanna touch you," she whispered.

"Fuck," he drawled. "Me too, babe."

"I had a bad dream you called me in the middle of the night to break up with me... then you actually called. Do you think that's weird?"

Faust scoffed in that indignant way he always did. She pictured the corner of his mouth snagging, his brows descending at such a silly thing.

"That's kind of weird."

"I hate not being able to sleep next to you."

"Don't worry, babe. I'll be home soon. You can get through the next few weeks."

"Yeah, but... Do you miss sleeping next to me?"

"Oh, definitely. I really miss you hogging the blankets, pushing me to the edge of the bed, punching me in your sleep."

"I don't do that!"

Faust snickered. "Yeah, you do. But it's okay. I'm like way stronger than you. I can move you like nothing."

"Don't remind me," Faith groaned.

"Don't remind you of what? How strong I am?"

Faith made her voice small. "Yes. I can't think of that kind of stuff right now."

"You can't think about me overpowering you?"

"Sh. Quiet."

"What? Don't want to think about me pinning your arms above your head with one hand while I finger you? S'that what you don't want to think about?"

"I hate you," she said.

"Hate it when I pick you up and fuck you against the wall?"

"Yes."

"So...You're definitely not thinking about my cock, then? You haven't been playing with my pussy while I've been away? Pretending your fingers are mine? Or using that toy you bought to fuck yourself in your dorm when your roommate isn't there?"

"Oh my gosh, Faust. Please."

"You don't make yourself cum to the thought of me eating out that pussy? You don't miss my fat cock stretching out that poor little slit? Making you bounce on it? Sucking it until I cum buckets down your throat?"

"Faust," she whispered. "You're bad."

"Answer me. Do you think about riding my cock every night before bed? Rub yourself against a pillow between your legs?"

"Yes, I think about it all the time."

"Can you do me a favour?" Faust asked. Faith agreed before hearing the terms of said agreement. "Tomorrow, I want you to go to all your classes without wearing any panties under your skirt."

Faith's cheeks burned from his request. "What if it's windy and it blows up my skirt?"

"I don't really care," he said. "Know what? Never mind. Scratch that. This isn't a request; it's a command. I want you to take pictures while you're in class to prove you listened."

"I can't! Someone will see."

"Think I give a fuck? Sit in the back if you have to."

"I'll try," said Faith, toying with the sleeves of her nightgown.

"That's my girl."

They spoke for a few more minutes until Faust's bandmates flooded onto the bus, yelling and searching for the drummer who'd stowed away in the bunks. Faust said his goodbyes, made sure Faith understood her instructions for tomorrow, then said goodnight. She heard his friends mocking him in the backroom, calling him pussy-whipped, listened to him threaten their lives and giggled.

"I love you," Faust said, loud enough that anyone around him might hear. His unabashed affection filled her to the brim with warm fuzz.

"I love you, too," Faith replied, then looked at the phone screen until he hung up.

Later in the week, Faith started having trouble sleeping. Even if she filled her days with activities, studied into the night, ate properly and read before bed, her mind swam with anxiety. She told Faust about it, but he had no solution other than to stop by his place to grab one of his hoodies to sleep in, maybe one of his blankets if she missed him so much. Delighted, Faith accepted the suggestion, and Faust texted his roommate to leave the apartment door unlocked for her. She made her way over after dinner one night and walked in on Faust's roommate hosting a party.

The apartment was in disarray—worse than she'd ever seen. Beer bottles and cigarettes overflowing the ashtray was commonplace, but now there were grease-stained pizza boxes open on the floor, salt stains on the rug from people coming in and out from the balcony. The sofa pocked with several more burn marks, the dishes hadn't been washed since Faust left, and the entire living room reeked of stale food and smoke. Not only that, but she'd come in at the precise moment the music transitioned, and every eye in the place went to her.

She recognized half the people in Faust's apartment from other parties—Anika, the most familiar face that turned in her direction. The tall, blond girl smiled and pushed a guy's hand off her shoulder before approaching her. The metal music picked up, drowned out the silence, and Faith relaxed when Anika hugged her.

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming!" Anika exclaimed.

"I wasn't... Well, I didn't know anyone was here. I just came to get some stuff from Faust's room."

"Oh, cool. How is Frosty? I haven't seen you guys since Halloween!"

"He's good," Faith said, voice tapering off when she saw a pair of malicious eyes grilling her from across the room. "You know... Just touring."

"Yeah, I heard. That's awesome. Hey, you want anything to drink? We have beer in the fridge," Anika said.

Faith felt awkward standing in the middle of the front hall, while groups of people occupied her boyfriend's apartment. She realized she had very little dominion and shrank into herself until Anika pulled her into the kitchen. The blond pulled out two cans of domestic beer and handed her one, noticing Faith's unease.

"What's the matter?" Asked Anika.

Faith wondered if Faust knew about all the people in his apartment, if his roommate had asked him if he could have a party and invite all the people Faust talked shit about—the people he warned her not to hang out with.

"Uh, nothing. Just feels weird being here without Faust," said Faith.

"Aw, it's okay, girl. We party here all the time."

Faith questioned the verity of Anika's claim. She couldn't recall them having any big parties there since she started dating Faust eight months ago. Faust didn't like too many people in his space. Whenever they partied, it was always at someone else's house or out in the bush around a fire.

The same pair of blue eyes had Faith in a stranglehold. She cocked her head, and Anika noticed her attention locked on a man with fine blond hair touching his collarbone.

"Is that—?"

"Sven? Yeah. You probably remember him from that time we went camping."

Faith wished to turn in on herself, abandon the can of beer Anika had given her, grab what she needed from Faust's room, and leave. Anika sensed her discomfort and placed her thin hand on Faith's shoulder.

"Don't worry, he won't bother you. He has a girlfriend now."

"He's a creep," Faith muttered.

Anika shot Sven a look over her shoulder, and he turned away, pulling on a beer and wiping his mouth. Faith remembered the stench of his burnt hair in the fire, how Faust had punched him and dragged him through the dirt toward the pit where he held his face in the flames. Sven complained about the scratches and scrapes on his arms and legs from Faust dragging him the entire way home after they cut the trip short. The same tension that pierced the atmosphere in the van while Sven took the front seat and Faust held her hand in the back seat was the same strain she felt now as he stole glances at her. His wispy mustache had grown back along with his eyebrows and pale lashes.

Faith felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but dismissed the feeling with a swig of beer and Anika's encouragement. Faust would get angry with her if he knew she felt even an inch of remorse over what happened. Sven deserved what he got, and that's what she kept telling herself throughout the night as she drank a couple more beers with Anika and took a hit off a joint someone offered her out on the balcony.

A few of Faust's friends asked her about him, and it filled her with pride knowing everyone there knew who she was, who Faust was. She told them where the band was that night, where they were slated to go next, that they had sold out of merchandise and had to place an emergency order and have it shipped to the next venue. After a few hours, Faith felt the tug of exhaustion creeping over her shoulders and told Anika she had to head out, though she'd already missed the last bus and had little money in her bank account for a cab. Faith considered asking someone for a ride back to campus, but nobody seemed sober enough to trust behind the wheel.

Instead, she went to Faust's bedroom and shut the door and all the noises behind her. In his room, she took in a deep breath, and then another, filling her senses with the comforting scent of pine, stale air and the boyish aroma Faust carried with him. She went to his closet and brushed a hand over the black t-shirts and one of his leather coats. Next, Faith opened the third drawer in the lowboy and pulled out a hoodie that had shrunk in the wash and didn't fit Faust anymore. She often wore it when she came over, but he refused to let her take it home until now. She slipped it on over her blouse, smoothed it over her skirt and wrapped her arms around her ribs. The hood still smelled of Faust's hair.

Without thinking much, she arranged the objects on his dresser into an organized system rather than a mess of pens, splintered drumsticks, guitar picks and snack wrappers. She shovelled the waste into the garbage can under his desk, made his bed, fluffed the pillows, cleared the dirty clothes off the floor and kicked it all into the closet. If there wasn't a party going on right outside the door, she'd have done his laundry and took the dirty plates and forks to the kitchen sink. She did what she could without having to set foot outside the bedroom, and by the time she finished folding the clothes in his dresser into neat stacks, it was far too late for her to go anywhere.

Faith took off her panties and skirt, changed into a pair of his pyjama pants and sat on his bed with her hands folded, wondering if Faust would care if she spent the night in his bed. The fluffy pillows called out for her head. His comforter promised visions of them together again. She considered texting him to say she was staying over, but there was a knock on the door as she went for her phone.

She lifted her feet off the carpet and tucked them under her thighs, balled herself as small as she could until whoever knocked got the hint and walked away. The knock came again, and Faith's throat tightened.

"Yes?" She called.

The door opened, and she expected to see Anika's blond head poking in, but it wasn't her. The person was blond, but the face was not smeared with white foundation, nor were the blue eyes overlined with charcoal black. Sven stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked.

"What are you doing in here? This is my boyfriend's room. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Sorry," said Sven, opening his palms to show he meant no harm. "I wanted to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?"

"I don't see why that's necessary."

"Mmkay, well, you don't have to be a bitch about it. Your boyfriend is the one who almost burnt my face off."

"Well, you were being weird. You're being weird now by coming in here. You should probably go."

"Sucks when he's not around to intimidate everyone that ever wants to start a conversation with you, huh?"

Faith pressed her lips together. Was he threatening her? She wasn't sure. He kept his distance, though his eyes ricocheted off the valuable objects in the room. The Gibson guitar hanging on the wall, the vintage RD bass in its stand just below, the electric drumset next to the desk, Faust's five-thousand-dollar computer, and finally, her. Faust's prized possessions all in one room.

"What do you want to talk about?" Faith broke the silence, sweating.

"I wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot back in the Summer. I was really drunk. I shouldn't have said that shit."

"Okay, well, thanks for the apology."

Sven gestured at her, pale eyebrows high on his freckled forehead. "And?"

"And what?" Faith asked.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"You can apologize on behalf of your psycho boyfriend. That’d be a start."

Faith scoffed, heated by the insult. When it came to Faust, she never wanted to hear the negatives. It reminded her of her father's disapproval, filled her with useful venom. "Sorry, if you want an apology from Faust, he’d have to give it to you, and I don’t think that’s happening any time soon."

"Wow," Sven said with a click of his tongue. "And I thought you were a nice girl."

"I am nice, but right now, you're in my personal space, and it's making me uncomfortable."

As she spoke, she noticed Sven's knees wobbling. He was drunk. His beer breath filled the room. Faith shifted closer to the wall, clutching her crossed legs, silently begging for him to leave. He took a step closer, and she gasped.

"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Jesus, you chicks watch too much TV, thinkin' every dude is a rapist or something."

"Whatever you say, man. Look, if you're done, I think it's time you leave."

"Why? You going to sleep?"

"You just shouldn't be in here. If Faust were home, you wouldn't set foot in this room or even think about talking to me."

Sven threw his head back and laughed. "Just because he caught me off guard once doesn't mean I'm afraid of him. He can suck my dick, and so can you."

"Get out," Faith said.

"Hey now, hey... It's all good. Christ, I'm just trying to mend bridges, but you're being a total bitch when I'm here apologizing."

"You just told me I could suck your dick. You're literally insulting me to my face. I've asked you to leave, and you're not!"

Sven pushed air through his teeth, teetered closer to her and sat down on the foot of the bed. Faith's body froze, her limbs stiff as boards as the man laid on his back. His face was a foot from her.

"If it weren't for your boyfriend, I'd be on tour right now. I'd be the one selling out venues and merch, signing shit and having people ask me to take pictures."

"It was your fault."

When the words floated from Faith's mouth, his forehead crinkled, and he shot up. She gasped, scrambling against the wall like a cornered rodent.

"Fuck you! Stupid fucking slut! Faust is a way bigger piece of shit than I am. Ask anybody! Everyone knows how much of an asshole he is. Nobody actually likes him. They're just afraid of him because he threatens to kill anyone whoever disagrees with what he says."

The venom roiled in Faith's stomach, blistering up her neck and filling her mind with violent static. Her hands shook as adrenaline pumped into her veins. One more minute alone with Sven and she thought she might lose control of herself.

Sven got off the bed and went for the bass. Faith hissed at him not to touch it, so he leaned over and spat on the finish.

"Get out!" Faith cried. "Get the fuck out right now!"

The music outside the door must have drowned out her yells, for nobody came looking for her. She stood up on the bed, back pressed against a poster. Sven grabbed at her ankle, but she kicked and slapped the top of her foot against his forearm. He laughed and swiped again as she danced away.

"LEAVE!"

"Make me!"

"I'll fucking call the cops on you!"

"Do it, bitch. I'll knock you out and do what I want before anyone even realizes I'm in here."

"Help!" Faith hollered. "Rape! Rape! He's trying to rape me!"

"Woah, woah, calm down. I didn't say that—"

The venom boiled over, shot up through her esophagus and escaped her mouth in panicked screams. Stunned by the banshee shrieks ripping through the air, Sven backed toward the door, feeling around for the doorknob while Faith screamed her face red, blood vessels popping in her eyes, throwing explosions of stars across her vision until he left the room and she dropped onto the bed, crying. Faith felt around the bed for her phone and called Faust.

He answered on the first ring.

"Faust," she blubbered.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm coming home right now."

"W-what?"

"Look over at the computer."

Faith wiped the snot from her nose onto the hoodie's sleeve and glanced at the desk where the computer monitor stood. "Huh? I don't understand."

"See that light right beside the monitor? Wave at it."

Faith lifted her hand. She squinted at the blue dot belonging to a small camera set up between a speaker and the monitor.

"I installed a Bluetooth camera before leaving for tour. Don't trust people to not go into my room and touch my stuff."

"You mean—?"

"I saw everything. Heard everything, too. It's motion-activated."

Faith paled at the thought of Faust watching her cleaning his room, the way she'd caressed his clothes on her face and huffed his scent before Sven came in.

"What should I do, Faust? He's still out there."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Should I call the cops?"

"No, don't call anyone. Don't say anything. I said I'll take care of it."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Faith, I'm serious. Let me handle this," his voice was stern.

"What're you gonna do?"

Faust went quiet for a moment until she motioned at the camera. He sighed. "I can't tell you right now."

The adrenaline depleted, and Faith let out a sob. "I need you, Faust. I'm scared."

"Don't be scared, babe. I got you. I'll be home as soon as I can, but I need you to be strong. Don't talk to anyone about what happened until I get there, understand? Nobody. Not your friends, not your parents, don't write it in your journal or breath a word. I promise I'll make it better."

[ottermeat]

“How was it?” asked the mother of the young man about a summer I spent in New Mexico 31 years ago. “It was great,” I said and looked at the young man and repeated, “It was great. You’re going to have a great time.” That’s all they wanted to hear. She just needed to be reassured and he didn’t care what an old man did last century. So that’s all I said.

But what I should have said was, “It was great. You’re on the cusp of the most cinematically perfect summer of your young life. Every shot perfectly framed. The script crafted by master storytellers. If you had pressed record the minute I stepped out of the back seat of my parents’ rental car onto the pink dirt parking lot in base camp still freshly shaven from high school graduation wearing a Class-A Scout uniform shirt, standard issue Scout shorts, red and fatigue green standard issue Scout socks gathered at the ankles, and Samba Classics and kept recording for 66 days straight until the final shot of me in cowboy boots, dirty jeans, belt buckle, flannel shirt, cowboy hat, unshaven in Raton, New Mexico at sunrise boarding a Greyhound to Denver where a jet plane will fly me impossibly, unimaginably far away from this world, having just spent the night in a motel room next to the bus station losing my virginity a couple of times to a 19-year old Morman woman from the deserts of Utah who drove me there in a t-top Trans Am she borrowed from a guy named Smiley, just before I ascend the steps, pivot left, and disappear down the aisle, the bus hisses, the bus door closes, the bus groans and pulls out of frame revealing sunrise over the New Mexico tablelands under a bed of morning summer monsoon clouds glowing light pink like charcoal briquettes and far out on the horizon where the clouds end somewhere over the Texas panhandle a narrow band of brilliant gold extends across the screen. Fade to black. It would have been cinematically perfect. You’re going to have a great time.”

That’s what I should have said.  

[volkswagonblues]

I wish you would write a fic about piandao and jeong jeong, like just anything about them but i'd read the SHIT out of the modern au you told me about where they bicker about politics

SO. This is the WORST time to be writing 1.5k of fiction about a modern (well, 90′s) AU starring two dudes who have never even spoken to each other in canon, but uh, the world is awful and I consider creating rarepair content a form of self-care, so here we go.

The context for this is of course, JJ is second-generation Korean-American from LA, Piandao is a foreign student from Taiwan pursuing a doctorate in the US. The year is 1993 and ideas about race, activism, the term “Asian-American” are all up in the air. We are one year post the ‘92 L.A. race riots and four years away from antiretroviral therapy becoming the new treatment standard for HIV. The AIDS crisis is in full swing, as it has been since the 80′s. Welcome to America.

--

“Jujube”

The week after his appendectomy, Piandao is up and moving around by the end of the third day, a full four days ahead of schedule. His shoulder aches, the scar on his stomach hurts, but still, he is up and moving, even though Jeong Jeong rolls his eyes when he catches him walking up and down the length of his bedroom, working the muscles that are suffering more from being bed-bound than from surgery. 

Jeong Jeong, underneath the surly exterior, is a surprisingly maternal caretaker. Piandao has no appetite for anything flavourful in the first few days, which the nurses said was normal. So for every meal since he’s back from the hospital, Jeong Jeong cooks him a bowl of porridge and does it with a degree of care that Piandao honestly did not know he possessed. Piandao wouldn’t have minded just plain white rice and water, but Jeong Jeong, in his typical Jeong Jeong-fashion, disagreed. He spends a long time in Piandao’s kitchen every morning, making what he claims is the superior (ie, Korean) juk that his mother makes, but is really exactly similar to the zhou Piandao is used to back home, only it’s made by an angry Korean man swearing at the morning cable news, taking only occasional breaks to bemoan the sad state of Asian grocery stores in Midwest college towns.

“I’m feeling well enough to cook,” Piandao says on the morning of his fourth day home. “JJ, relax. You don’t have to do everything around here.”

Jeong Jeong looks up from his work: crushing sesame seeds in a plastic bag with the back of a soup spoon. “Shut the fuck up,” he says easily.

“I can at least wash the dishes—“

“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Bill Ritter.”

Piandao looks at the television in the corner. A news show was on, some Sunday morning thing he doesn’t remember seeing before. Currently, it was showing them three glossy-looking American hosts sitting on glossy-looking American couches. A man in a beige suit was saying something very earnest about the President and Haiti and also taxes. Piandao guesses that he’s Bill Ritter.

“Fucking Clinton already retracting on his fucking word,” Jeong Jeong mutters, then smashes the spoon down with ferocious force; in their plastic bag, the sesame seeds die and ascend to paste in an instant.

Piandao bites back a smile. He switches the channel: ads now, more glossy Americans driving glossy American cars, big and square. The ad changes: a family of four arriving at a motel, everything even bigger and squarer than the previous one. The mother in a big square jacket; the father smile with big square teeth. The kids chatter in excited tones: We’re so happy to be at Holiday Inn Express! Then Piandao hits the off button, and the American family disappears; the screen puckers up into dark silence again.

He slowly feels his way into the kitchen instead. He rather watch Jeong Jeong cook.

On the stove, the porridge bubbles. Jeong Jeong adds the pounded sesame and gives it a stir, then adds more sugar, then milk. He ladles it into two bowls and brings it over to the kitchen table, which is also the living room table, which is also Piandao’s desk where he grades students’ lab reports and corrects exams. There were a few back issues of various astrophysics journals still stacked there; Jeong Jeong puts them to use as coasters. Volume 10, issue 4 of Space Science Review goes to Piandao’s bowl; the special Winter 1992 edition of Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics to Jeong Jeong. Piandao, trailing behind him, brings the spoons. They sit down, knees almost touching.

“How is it?” asks Jeong Jeong.

Piandao blows on his spoon and takes in a mouthful. “Not bad,” he says. “Although it’ll be better with some – I don’t know the word – but those little red fruits.”

“Jujubes,” says Jeong Jeong, and then: “Fuck off, be grateful for what you’ve got. You know how long it took me to even locate some sesame seeds in a Salt Lake City grocery store?”

Sunday morning slants in from between the slats of the crooked window blinds. In the sharp angle of the light, his features look different: the sun picks out the bronze-ish tint in his dark hair, makes the shell of his ear glow pink and red. In front of him, the steam from the porridge unfurls in delicate, thin grey spirals.

Piandao put his spoon down. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You really didn’t have to. The plane ticket from Los Angeles must have been expensive.”

A shrug. “Couldn’t let you die alone in Utah, of all places.”

“It was just an appendectomy. How much did you pay for the flight? I can…I can pay you back, the university gives me a stipend, I can afford it.”

Jeong Jeong sets his spoon down too, picks up the bowls and takes them over to rinse in the sink.

“When I got the call from the secretary,” he says, not looking up from the dish sponge. “She didn’t say what happened. She just said, please can you be informed that Mr. Liu has been taken to the hospital for a medical emergency, she had just gone down the list of his emergency contact numbers and you happened to be the first one who picked up, and then she hung up. I barely got the name of the hospital out of her before she did. Nothing more. I called back and got a busy line. And then I thought – I started thinking – I didn’t know what I was thinking. I got scared. I just came back from SF that day – I went to see Johnny and Gene at the General, and when I got back in and the phone rang and the woman said you were sick too…I don’t know.”

The bowls, scrubbed to death, are getting beyond clean. Jeong Jeong throws the sponge down, where it lands with a wet smack.

“I know you’re not like me,“ he adds wretchedly. “I mean, I know you’re not a homosexual. And besides: fucking Utah? Of all places? I knew it was probably nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Piandao says.

Jeong Jeong stabs a finger in his direction. “But don’t you dare pay me back though. Don’t you even try that shit on me. I will actually punch you if you try.”

Piandao says nothing. He pictures the cramped kitchenette of Jeong Jeong’s apartment off Hoover Street, with its ugly green plastic phone duct-taped to the wall, opposite to the grimy stove and the eternal stacks of takeout containers and the Proud Berkley Grad of ’87 fridge magnet that Piandao had bought him as a joke, when Jeong Jeong finally carried through on his threats and really dropped out, for good this time. He pictures Jeong Jeong stumbling back in fron the hospital, exhausted, and then accepting a long-distance call from Utah anyways.

Jeong Jeong had taken the call and flew out the very next morning. He had came in such a hurry that he brought nothing with him other than the clothes he was wearing and a backpack full of California oranges, because he had some idea that vitamin C was vital to every patient’s recovery, no matter the ailment. He had come to Piandao.

Times like this, Piandao wishes his English is better. Even now, after five years in this country, he has no way to express how he feels, right now, standing in the doorway of his kitchen while Jeong Jeong slams dishes and utensils back into their drawers, shoulders hunched over. Something hot and formless is coursing through his chest, but Piandao can’t shape it. He can’t forge the thing into words.

Perhaps there’s no words at all for this in English. Not in Chinese, either, and not in Korean. There are no words for this in any language in the world.

So Piandao reaches out instead. He touches a hand to the curve of Jeong Jeong’s back, and when Jeong Jeong looks over, questioning, he clears his throat and says:

“I liked it. The zhou.”

“You mean juk,” Jeong Jeong corrects him, as contrary as ever.

“Alright, the juk. It was very good.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not shitting me?”

“No. I should call your mother, tell her what a good chef her son is becoming.”

“Fuck off,” Jeong Jeong says, but he smiles anyways.

Piandao smiles back. His hand is still where he put it, resting on Jeong Jeong’s back, and he does not move it away. This, also – this is an unspoken message, but not for forever. Already Piandao can see the shape of it in his future. Something was unfurling between them, as delicate as steam, as marvellous as light.

[allsassnoclass]

Prompt: 28, 10 and Lashton

You said lashton in an art gallery.  I said Off-Screen circa 2017 (aka Luke’s Utah Era).  this might feel a little out of context, because it is. the theoretical prequel that I'm writing would explain more of the surrounding circumstance, but the most important thing to note is that Luke moved in with Ashton in Utah after the end of the SLFL tour.  This takes place in January of 2017.

lashton: “Where are all of my hoodies? Did you borrow literally every single one of my hoodies?” + art gallery

The last guest has left when Luke arrives, the gallery technically beginning to close for the night.  Ashton is tired, all of the frantic energy from the past few months building up to this evening of schmoozing and revealing the deepest parts of his soul to be judged by the art community, and he feels empty now that it has passed.  There’s a glass of some sort of fancy alcohol in his hand, but he hasn’t had the chance to drink it all night, and his suit feels like it doesn’t fit his shoulders correctly.  It’s been bothering him, but he’s been too focused on smiling genially and making nice with every single person who passed through the doors to look at his art to do anything about it.

The sound of the main doors opening is loud in the quiet of the space, and Ashton tenses where he’s talking to the owner of the gallery.  He relaxes once he sees that it’s not another art snob or a random person who got lost, but Luke.  He stands at the threshold awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of one of Ashton’s college hoodies, beanie stuffed unceremoniously over his hair.  It’s getting longer, and he’s been letting it curl more instead of spending hours styling it and trying to get it to sit right.

He looks just as breathtaking as ever, and Ashton is almost overwhelmed with how lucky he feels to be one of the only people to see famous rockstar Luke Hemmings with his guard completely down.

“Luke,” he sighs, relief too obvious.  Luke just smiles and wanders, stopping short when something in a painting catches his eye.

“Friend of yours?” the gallery owner asks, and Ashton turns his attention back to her.  It’s too easy to forget that anyone else exists the moment Luke enters a room.  Ashton needs to get a grip.

“Yeah, that’s my housemate.  Do you mind if we look around for a bit?  He couldn’t make the normal gallery times.”

He logistically could have, because Luke doesn’t have responsibilities here in Utah, but Ashton knows that the idea of him having to look nice, be in a crowd of people, and possibly be recognized almost sent him into a panic attack.

“Sure.  I’m locking up by 10, though, so be out before then.”

Ashton thanks her profusely, and the look she gives him is a bit too knowing for his taste.  Still, she heads towards the back with an artistic grace, and Ashton joins Luke where he’s staring at one of Ashton’s paintings.

“Hi,” he says quietly.  Luke leans into him in a practiced move, shoulders brushing together.  Luke has always been familiar and comfortable, despite how little they see each other.

Ashton knows he should feel bad that Luke felt so lost in LA that he had to come all the way to Utah and Ashton to try and find himself, but selfishly he’s glad.  For a few months, he gets Luke to himself, curled up on his couch and eating at his kitchen island instead of off traveling the world and meeting adoring fans.  Besides, having Luke here helps.  Ashton can’t take care of another person if he’s drunk every night, and meals are easier to prepare when there are two people to eat them.  It’s easier to fall asleep if someone else is breathing slowly next to him.  It’s easier to keep the loneliness at bay with Luke stepping into the gaps in his life.

“Was it a good showing?” Luke asks.

“It was,” he replies, resisting the urge to do something inappropriate like pull Luke closer and tuck his face into his neck just to breathe him in.  “I even sold a few paintings.”

“You did?” Luke lights up.  “Ashton, that’s amazing!  Which ones?  Wait, I want to see them all anyway.  Walk me through them as we go.”

Ashton does, trying his best to remember the thought process and inspiration behind each of the paintings hanging in the gallery.  For the earlier works it’s easier, because objects inside are more defined and they have clearer stories.  For recent creations featuring bold strokes and swirls of color and more ambiguous shapes, the inspirations shift towards ideas.  Some of them he created while drunk, and he has to check the title cards to figure out what he was going for, because while drunk Ashton isn’t good for much, he at least always writes titles in his notes app when he paints.

His professors made him include some of those works, saying that a few are profound and mesmerizing and probably your best work.  It makes Ashton feel like he can’t create anything if he doesn’t have a few drinks in him.  It’s a mindset he’s trying to move away from, but it’s hard.  At least he has endless inspiration with Luke in the house.

Luke looks at a piece entitled Longing for a few minutes, and Ashton prays that he doesn’t ask who or what he was longing for while painting it.

“Come on,” he says when the swirl of blues and purples (with just that shimmer of gold to represent the person of desire, possibly forming a hazy constellation of Luke to anyone who knows what to look for) becomes too much.  “I want to show you the synesthesia section.”

“Section” is a generous term, because it’s actually just four paintings on the same wall.  He has many more paintings for various songs and albums back home, most of them on smaller canvases he can get from the craft store, but there are a few songs that evoke such strong, beautiful visuals that he had to paint them properly.

The first painting has a primarily blue background, mixing with black in short strokes by the edges.  Traveling diagonally across the canvas are an assortment of other colors, mostly yellows and reds until they meet strokes of white in the middle.  The paint is thick, creating textured mountains where the colors meet, and that’s Ashton’s favorite part about painting, really.  He’s not very good at 3D forms, but paint never lays completely flat.  He likes how dynamic it is because of it.

“Gravity,” Luke croons as he looks, “is working against me.”

Ashton loves hearing him sing.  He was worried for those first few weeks Luke came to him, because he rarely heard it, but now he can count on random melodies filling the house at all hours.

“John Mayer makes nice songs to look at,” he says.  Luke smiles at him, then they move on to the next one.

This painting has a bit more variety in color.  Ashton remembers mixing them on his pallet, unbothered by the streaks it caused in the brush strokes, knowing that it was necessary to capture what the song makes him see.  A dark background gives way to a curve of reds, purples, pinks, blues, ending in some greens and yellows and a hint of orange.  He splattered white and black on afterwards, just a little bit near the middle of the curve, and Luke leans forward to see all the small dots.

“This one really does look like ‘Karma Police,’” Luke says.  “Even I can see it.”  He straightens and gives Ashton another grin, and he knows that he can’t capture that smile in a painting (he’s tried, so many times), but he still wants to attempt it again.

“I can’t believe how talented you are,” Luke says.  “It’s almost unfair.”

“Thanks,” he says, ducking his head.  Luke nudges him with his elbow and moves on to the next painting.  This one follows a similar pattern to the other two, a dark background with color in the middle, but it’s messier.  Blue and purple feature the most, but there are hints of orange and yellow, and white overtakes the painting in peaked chunks and thin streaks.

“You’d think that for a Prince song, there’d be a bit more purple,” Luke says, tilting his head.

“Maybe he should have written more purple songs, then,” Ashton shrugs.  “‘Joy in Repetition’ has more blue.”

“Wait, is “Purple Rain” even purple?” Luke asks, alarmed.

“Yes, that one fits the title.”  Luke looks reassured at that, and they continue to the last painting.  Ashton feels nerves clench in his stomach.

He didn’t submit any of his photographs or colored pencil sketches of Luke, not even the really good one of Luke sleeping in his bed with an arm over his face that Ashton drew one night when the insomnia was hitting him hard, but this painting could be just as damning.  It’s different from the other three because it’s slightly bigger and oriented differently, vertical instead of horizontal.  The background is also based in white instead of black, primarily creating a pale blue to match the cautious optimism of the song.  More blue meets with seafoam green, peach, and white in the middle, dripping down the canvas until all the colors fade into just the green.  The lines of this one are smoother, blended together evenly, but there are bursts of gold in the middle and near a few edges that he bought a specific brand of metallic paint for.  Ashton watches as Luke’s eyes trace the painting before he turns to the name card.

“Luke?” he asks when a few moments have gone by with him completely frozen.

“Really?” Luke asks, voice cracking.  “This is what you see?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says.  He knew he was going to end up painting the song as soon as he first heard Luke’s voice singing about tasting the ocean.  “It’s mostly “Outer Space,” but I incorporated some of what I saw for “Carry On” at the bottom.”

“Oh,” Luke says, then turns and tucks himself into a hug, squeezing Ashton tight enough that he feels short of breath.  Ashton wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and letting Luke cuddle into him in a way that he’s almost getting too big for.

“I take it you like it?” he asks, just to be sure.  Luke nods, and when he does finally pull away he swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of Ashton’s sweatshirt.

“Can I buy it?” he asks.

“Luke, you can have it for free.”  Luke shakes his head vigorously.

“No, you’ve already given me too much.  I want to buy it from you.  You should be paid for your art.”

“Okay,” Ashton says quietly.  Luke’s eyes are still fixed on the painting, and Ashton comes back to slide a hand around his waist again.  “We can negotiate a price later.”  He presses a kiss to Luke’s temple, because that’s something he can get away with still.

“Don’t try to give me a discount.  I’ve already stolen your food and half your clothes.”

“Speaking of,” Ashon says, “I’m absolutely positive that this hoodie was the last one in my closet.  Where are all my hoodies?  Did you borrow literally every single one of my hoodies?”

“Yeah,” Luke says sheepishly.  “They’re comfortable.  They smell like you.”

Luke is going to kill him like this.  Ashton can’t even be upset, because what a way to go, but things like that are not helping him keep a lid on how absolutely head-over-heels he is.

“I’d be more upset if you didn’t look so good in them,” Ashton says before he can stop himself.  Luke’s breathing stutters, but he doesn’t do anything besides lean a little closer.  Ashton’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“Come on,” Luke says.  “I still want to see the rest of your pieces, then we can go home.”

Home, Ashton repeats to himself.  Luke thinks of your house as his home.

They wander their way through the last few canvases, then stop briefly in the photograph and colored pencil room before stepping out onto the street.  Their hands brush as they walk, and Ashton wonders if he can get away with grabbing Luke’s.  This night feels significant in so many ways.  Something has shifted, and he’s not sure if it has to do with his art career or the man beside him.  He wants it to be both so badly he aches with it.

When they have two more blocks to go before reaching the house, Luke reaches over and threads their fingers together.

A/N: I don’t have synesthesia, but the first three song paintings really exist and can be found here. the one for os/co was made up by me.