#although the generic pill kind wasn’t effective/didn’t realize you

[miss-floral-thief]

Oh I didn’t realize bc the color was similar but accidentally grabbed the generic kind instead of liquid Imodium oh well prolly saves money too

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: The Moonchild

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

I feel like this one was inevitable. As soon as I decided to bust open the doors on literary mediums like books and comics, this guy was always going to loom over me. Well, let’s just bite the bullet and talk about him. 

In the final portion of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Centuries, we are introduced to Oliver Haddo’s ultimate creation… a creation he is incredibly disappointed in. You see, the Antichrist or Moonchild is a whiny, miserable young adult strung out on prescription drugs because he went mad after realizing what he was being manipulated into. He is the subject of derision by all who know him, and is treated like a punching bag by most of the narrative, up to and including God literally telling him he’s a bitch. Our villain here is just a miserable, whiny, kind of misogynistic brat who doesn’t even want to be a villain, and in general is just unpleasant and ineffective save for a school massacre he pulls off.

Oh yeah, and his real name is Harry Potter. Kind of an important detail, that.

Motivation/Goals: So as the antichrist, you’d think Mr. Potter might, you know, maybe want to bring about the end of days and all that. But no! He actually pops pills and isolates himself in Grimmauld Place so that he doesn’t do that! He doesn’t want to be the Antichrist and, really, who would? Most of his screentime is thus spent whining, until he ultimately decides to embrace being the Antichrist because he feels  he has no other choice. We’ll get into all of that in a bit, but honestly, his motivation is extremely weak despite the incredibly graphic setup we’re given to his downward spiral: when he first discovered he was being manipulated by Satanists, he went on a magical school shooting, shown to us in a first-person perspective to emulate the games that were often blamed for real school shootings. We get to see Harry slaughter Ron, Hermione, Snape, Dumbledore, and so on, we get to see what he did to Hogsmeade and the Hogwarts Express, and absolutely none of it is pleasant. 

With setup like that you’d expect maybe a little more intrigue and indecision, maybe some sort of conflict between fate and choice or something beyond Harry sitting around half-naked, high off of antidepressants, being a whiny little bitch, but you might be giving the dude who wrote a porno where the kids from Peter Pan engage in underage incest a bit too much credit. 

Final Fate: So Harry has gone absolutely bonkers and it seems that nothing can possibly stop him; our heroes seem to be written into a corner. So what does Moore do? He has God - who in this universe is Mary Poppins - descend from the heavens and have her say how she protects the imaginations of children and how she just straight up hates Harry. Never mind that Harry is quite literally an abused child who was twisted by the cruel machinations of a body surfing wizard, apparently he’s a child not worth protecting or caring about and is unworthy of sympathy. Anyway, Mary Poppins just turns him into a chalk drawing and that’s the end of that. 

Great writing, Alan Moore, critically acclaimed creator of Watchmen!

Best Scene: Saying Harry here had a ‘best scene’ is seriously pushing it, because literally every moment he’s on the page the comic just beats you over the head with Moore’s biases. I wish I could put the school shooting sequence, because the idea behind it is legitimately intriguing, but the whole sequence is just interwoven with Moore whacking off his hateboner for the series. But on the subject of boners… well, I think there’s only one panel that can truly and adequately sum up this entire character and how much of a miserable failure he is. Those who have followed me for a long time knew this was coming, but for the rest of you, behold - Harry Potter Dick Lightning:

Final Thoughts & Score: Quite frankly, this is the worst thing Alan Moore has ever done.

I’m not even mad as a fan of Harry Potter; Moore was honestly ahead of his time in hating the franchise to this level. The issue I have is that he doesn’t really deconstruct or criticize in any meaningful way, he just is doing edgy “take that” stuff that you’d expect from a chump like Garth Ennis. Like, the concept here is incredibly solid and intriguing - this version of Harry has been groomed from birth by Satanists to become the Antichrist, with all of his adventures fabricated and all of his relationships manufactured to keep him under the illusion he is a hero to mankind. Upon discovering the truth, he snaps, massacres everyone at his school for their role in his manipulations, and went into exile to stave off the apocalypse, although he ultimately and bitterly accepts his role because he feels he was never given a choice… and he wasn’t! He’s an incredibly depressing and miserable deconstruction of the concept of “The Chosen One,” and yet the whole thing falls apart on multiple levels.

The first is that the Harry Potter franchise already deconstructs the concept of “The Chosen One;” the text goes out of its way to point out that Voldemort’s own actions are what is creating a self-fulfilling prophecy by targeting someone with the will and drive to fight back against him. Harry’s not so much chosen by fate so much as forcibly chosen by an evil manipulator… and that’s basically what we have here, but with less substance. Moore doesn’t really comment on anything, instead leading into the second big issue - Harry’s whole role is to be a strawman punching bag villain so that Moore can complain about modern fantasy franchises. Moore seems to view Harry as the epitome of the lazy regurgitation of the same story over and over that modern blockbuster culture so often falls into… except that Harry Potter was an original product developed by one person and had no artificial longevity slapped onto the franchise in the form of unneeded sequels or spinoffs to extend the lifespan of the franchise at the time Moore wrote this. Throw in the fact Moore just in general seems extremely contemptuous of any post-70s pop culture in Centuries and how Harry is ultimately taken down by crusty old characters from older literature really just leads to Moore coming across as a grumpy old man who hates anything new, not helped by his tired criticisms of millennials and their perceived lack of culture. Maybe Moore would have had more of a point if he created this storyline today, but he didn’t. Thus, he has no point and he just looks like a miserable old fart.

Sure, you can argue that maybe Moore’s basic parody of the character by exaggerating his tendencies to their logical extreme and attacking elements of the plot that had been criticized to death by fans to begin with has its place, and perhaps you could even say that the take in the comic is just an extreme take on how Harry acted in the fifth book, what with the lashing out at his friends and his general feeling of a lack of control, and there is some merit to that, or there would be if Moore’s own unrepentant bias didn’t undermine everything. Look, you can hate Harry Potter, but then why slap it into your work? It’s supremely cringey when people insert characters they hate into fanfiction and just completely derail their characters so that they can treat them like garbage with the narrative, and is that not what Moore did here? Is League not just public domain fanfiction? There’s a reason why I coined “Harry Potter Dick Lightning” as a phrase used to showcase a moment where a fanwork’s contempt for a character becomes so extreme that it not only jumps the shark, it rockets over it into the upper atmosphere. Any criticisms or messages Moore is trying to convey is tarnished by his blatant, seething contempt for the character, and that gets in the way of good writing and good storytelling. Having two characters express pity at having to murder an abused child who was warped by Satanists into being a tool of the apocalypse does not make up for how the narrative constantly mocks, belittles, and treats him like garbage to the point he really can’t function as an effective villain that can be taken seriously.

All of this adds up to what I’d argue is the absolute worst villain in all of fiction, bar none. There is just not a single redeeming quality about the Antichrist as a character. None. Nothing. I cannot think of another villain that so completely fails on every single level as this one does. He doesn’t work as an antagonist because most of the bad things he does are offscreen and he doesn’t come into conflict with the heroes until the very end, and most of his screentime features him doing nothing of note. He doesn’t work as a critique, because he is acting as a criticism for things his character never really represented in the first place. He only really functions as the sort of garbage you’d see in My Immortal, where the characters you know and love are turned into evil jerks because the writer hates them - but he even fails at being that, because at least My Immortal is funny about it! 

I am going out on a limb and saying that there cannot possibly be a villain that so utterly fails at everything it sets out to be as hard as Harry does. I don’t even want to try and believe it. And so, without hesitation, I am giving Moore’s shallow Potter parody a 0/10. And I pray to Mary Poppins that this is the only one of those I ever dish out, because I really don’t want to imagine what could possibly be worse than Harry Potter Dick Lightning.

[maximelebled]

2019 & 2020

Hello everyone! So yeah, this yearly blog post is about three... four months late... it covers two years now.

I did have a lot of things written last year, last time, but the more things have changed, the more I��ve realized that a lot of things I talked about on here... were because I lacked enough of a social life to want to open up on here.

In a less awkwardly-phrased way, what I’m saying is, I was coping.

Not an easy thing to admit to in public by any means, but I reckon it’s the truth. Over the past two years, I’ve made more of an effort to build better & healthier friendships, dial back my social media usage a bit (number 1 coping strategy), not tie all my friendships to games I play, especially Dota (number 2 coping strategy), so that I could be more emotionally healthy overall. 

Pictured: me looking a whole lot like @dril on the outside, although not so much on the inside. (Photo by my lovely partner.)

To some degree, I believe it’s important to be able to talk about yourself a bit more openly in a way that is generally not encouraged nor made easy on other social networks (looking at you, Twitter). I know that 2010-me would be scared to approach 2020-me; and it’s my hope that what I am writing here would not help him with that, but also help him become less of an insecure dweeb faster. 😉

Not that recent accomplishments have stopped me from being any less professionally anxious. Sometimes the impostor syndrome just morphs into... something else.

Anyway, what I’m getting at is, the first reason it took me until this year to finish last year’s post is because, with my shift in perspective, and these realizations about myself, I do want to keep a lot more things private... or rather, it’s that I don’t feel the need to share them anymore? And that made figuring out what to write a fair bit harder.

The other reason I didn’t write sooner is because, in 2018, I wrote my "year in review” post right before I became able to talk about my then-latest cool thing (my work on Valve’s 2018 True Sight documentary). So I then knew I’d have to bring it up in the 2019 post. But then, I was asked to work on the 2019 True Sight documentary, and I know it was going to air in late January 2020, so I was like, “okay, well, whatever, it, I’ll just write this yearly recap after that, so I don’t miss the coach this time”. So I just ended up delaying it again until I was like... “okay, whatever, I’ll just do both 2019 and 2020 in a single post.”

I think I can say I’ve had the privilege of a pretty good 2019, all things considered. And also of a decent 2020, given the circumstances. Overall, 2019 was a year of professional fulfillment; here’s a photo taken of me while I was managing the augmented reality system at The International 2019! (The $35 million dollar Dota 2 tournament that was held, this that year, in Shanghai.)

If I’d shown this to myself 10 years ago it would’ve blown my mind, so I guess things aren’t all that bad...!

I’ve brought up two health topics in these posts before: weight & sleep.

As for the first, the situation is still stable. If it is improving, it is doing so at a snail’s pace. But quite frankly, I haven’t put in enough effort into it overall. Even though I know my diet is way better than it was five or six years ago, I’ve only just really caught up with the “how it should have been the entire time” stage. It is a milestone... but not necessarily an impressive one. Learning to cook better things for myself has been very rewarding and fulfilling, though. It’s definitely what I’d recommend if you need to find a place to start.

As for sleep, throughout 2019, I continued living 25-hour days for the most part. There were a few weeks during which I slowed down the process, but it continued on going. Then, in late December of 2019, motivated by the knowledge that sleep is such a foundational pillar of your health, I figured I really needed to take things seriously, and I managed to go on a three month streak of mostly-stable sleep! (See the data above.)

Part of what helped was willingly stopping to use my desktop computer once it got too late in the day, avoiding Dota at the end of the day as much as possible, and anything exciting for that matter... and, as much as that sounds like the worst possible stereotype, trying to “listen to my body” and recognizing when I was letting stress and anxiety build up inside me, and taking a break or trying to relax.

Also, a pill of melatonin before going to bed; but even though it’s allegedly not a problem to take melatonin, I figured I should try to rely on it as little as possible.

Unfortunately, that “good sleep” streak was abruptly stopped by a flu-like illness... it might have been Covid-19. The symptoms somewhat matched up, but I was lucky: they were very mild. I fully recovered in just over a week. I coughed a bit, but not that much. If it really was that disease, then I got very lucky.

(Pictured: another photo by my lovely SO, somewhere in Auvergne.)

My sleep continued to drift back to its 25-hour rhythm, and I only started resuming these efforts towards the fall... mostly because living during the night felt like a better option with the summer heat (no AC here). I thought about doing that the other way (getting up at 3am instead of going to bed at 7am), and while it’d make more sense temperature-wise, that would have kept me awake when there were practically no people online, and I was trying to have a better social life then, even if had to be purely online due to the coronavirus, so... yeah.

I’ve been working from home since 2012! I also lived alone for a number of years since then. For the most part, it hasn’t been a great thing for my mental health. Having had a taste of what being in an office was like thanks to a couple weeks in the Valve offices, I had the goal of beginning to apply at a few places here and there in March/April. Then the pandemic hit, so those plans are dead in the water. I wanted 2020 to be the year in which I’d finally stop being fully remote, but those plans are now dead in the water.

Now, at the end of the year, I don’t really know if I want to apply at any places. There’s a small handful of studios whose work really resonates with me, creatively speaking, and whose working conditions seem to be alright, at least from what I hear... but, and I swear I’m saying this in the least braggy way possible... there’s very little that beats having been able to work on what I want, when I want, and how much I want.

This kind of freelance status can be pretty terrifying sometimes, but I’ve managed (with some luck, of course) to reach a safe balance, a point at which I’ve effectively got this luxury of being able to only really work on what I want, and never truly overwork myself (at least by the standards of most of the gaming industry). It’s a big privilege and I feel like it’d take a lot to give it up.

Besides the things I mentioned before, one thing I did that drastically improved my mental health was being introduced to a new lovely group of friends by my partner! I started playing Dungeons & Dragons with them, every weekend or so! And in the spirit of a rising tide lifting all boats, I managed to also give back to our lovely DM, by being a sort of “AM” (audio manager)... It’s been great having something to look forward to every week.

Something to look forward to... I’ve heard about the concept of “temporal anchors”. I had heard about how the reason our adult years suddenly pass by in a blur is because we now have more “time” that’s already in our brains, but now I’m more convinced that it’s because we’re going from a very school routine such as the one schools impose upon us, to, well... practically nothing.

I thought most of my years since 2011 have been a blur, but none have whooshed by like 2020 has, and I reckon part of that is because I’ve (obviously) gone out far far less, and most importantly there wasn’t The Big Summer Event That The International Is, the biggest yearly “temporal anchor” at my disposal. The anticipation and release of those energies made summer feel a fair bit longer... and this year, summer was very much a blur for me. In and out like the wind.

I guess besides that, I haven’t really had that much trouble with being locked down. I had years of training for that, after all. Doesn’t feel like I can complain. 😛

(Pictured: trip to Chicago in January of 2019... right when the polar vortex hit!)

Work was good in 2019, and sparser in 2020. Working with Valve again after the 2018 True Sight was a very exciting opportunity. At the time, in February of 2019, I was out with my partner on little holiday trips around my region, and, after night fell, on the way back, we decided to stop in a wide open field, on a tiny countryside path, away from the cities, to try and do some star-gazing, without light pollution getting in the way.

And it’s there and then that I received their message, while looking at the stars with my SO! The timing and location turned that into a very vivid memory...

I then got to spend a couple weeks in their offices in late April / early May. I was able to bring my partner along with me to Washington State, and we did some sightseeing on the weekends.

(Pictured: part of a weekend trip in Washington. This was a dried up lakebed.)

After that, I worked on the Void Spirit trailer in the lead to The International. In August, those couple weeks in Shanghai were intense. Having peeked behind the curtain and seen everything that goes into production really does give me a much deeper appreciation for all the work that goes unseen. 

Then after that, in late 2019, there was my work on the yearly True Sight documentary, for the second time. In 2018, I’d been tasked with making just two animated sequences, and I was very nervous since that was my first time working directly with Valve; my work then was fairly “sober”, for lack of a better term.

(Pictured: view from my hotel room in Shanghai.)

For the 2019 edition, I had double the amount of sequences on my plate, and they were very trusting of me, which was very reassuring. I got to be more technically ambitious, I let my style shine through (you know... if it’s got all these gratuitous light beams, etc.), and it was real fun to work on.

At the premiere in Berlin, I was sitting in the middle of the room (in fact, you could spot me in the pre-show broadcast behind SirActionSlacks; unfortunately I had forgotten to bring textures for my shirt). Being in that spot when my shots started playing, and hearing people laughing and cheering at them... that’s an unforgettable memory. The last time I had experienced something like that was having my first Dota short film played at KeyArena in 2015, the laughter of the crowd echoing all around me... I was shaking in my seat. Just remembering it gets my heart pumping, man. It’s a really unique feeling.

So I’m pretty happy with how that work came out. I came out of it having learned quite a few new tricks too, born out of necessity from my technical ambitions. Stuff I intend to put to use again. I’m really glad that the team I worked with at Valve was so kind and great to work with. After the premiere, I received a few more compliments from them... and I did reply, “careful! You might give me enough confidence to apply!”, to which one of them replied, “you totally should, man.” But I still haven’t because I’m a massive idiot, haha. Well, I still haven’t because I don’t think I’m well-rounded enough yet. And also because, like I alluded to before, I think I’m in a pretty good situation as it is.

It’s not the first encouragements I had received from them, too; there had been a couple people from the Dota team who, at the end of my two week stay in the offices, while I was on my way out, told me I should try applying. But again, I didn’t apply because I’m a massive idiot.

(Pictured: view from the Valve offices.)

To be 200% frank, even though there’s been quite a few people who’ve followed my work throughout the years, comments on Reddit and YouTube, etc. who’ve all said things along the lines of “why aren’t you working for them ?”, well... it’s not something I ever really pursued. I know it’s a lot of people’s dream job, but I never saw it that way. I feel like, if it ever happened to me... sure, that could be cool! But I don’t know if it’s something I really want, or even that I should want?

And if you add “being unsure” to what I consider to be a lack of experience in certain things, well... I really don’t think I’d be a good candidate (yet?), and having seen how busy these people are on the inside, the last thing I want to do is waste their time with a bad application. That would be the most basic form of courtesy I can show to them.

Besides, Covid-19 makes applying to just about any job very hard, if not outright impossible right now. And for a while longer, I suspect.

(Pictured: the Tuilière & Sanadoire rocks.)

I’m still unhappy about the amount of “actual animation” I get to do overall since I like to work on just about every step of the process in my videos, but well. It’s getting better. One thing I am happy with though, is “solving problems”. And new challenges. Seeking the answers to them, and making myself be able to see those problems, alongside entire projects, from a more “holistic” way, that is to say, not missing the forest for the trees.

It’s hard to explain, and even just the use of the term “holistic” sounds like some kind of pompous cop-out... but looking back on how I handled projects 5 years ago vs. now, I see the differences in how I think about problems a lot. And to some extent I do have my time on Valve contracts to thank a LOT in helping me progress there.

Anyway, I’m currently working on a project that I’m very interested & creativefuly fulfilled by. But it has nothing to do with animation nor Dota, for a change! There are definitely at least two other Dota short films I want to make, though. We’ll see how that goes.

Happy new year & take care y’all.

[therainroguefanfiction]

༄ How To Save A Life… » original

Genre: Slice of Life, Angst

Word Count: 2,003

Pairing: None

World: Original

WARNING: This fic mentions anxiety, social anxiety, loneliness, self-harm and depression.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

It’s amazing, how such a simple gesture can mean so much to a person. They may not even realize the impact that they made, despite how big it may be. Human beings have the power to connect in a way that goes beyond any other species, but they don’t always choose to do so. With a simple act, a person can change another’s life, whether for good or bad. That kind of power is dangerous, so I suppose it’s a good thing that most human beings don’t realize they actually possess such a thing.

The more I think about it, the more it scares me. But I guess that doesn’t mean much, seeing how afraid I am of other humans in general. I really didn’t like other people, and I absolutely hate the way they make me feel when I’m around them. I go out of my way to avoid other people, and I make sure that I don’t get into any type of fights or altercations with others. I seem to have a skill, though, that makes people hate me with every fiber of their being. It’s been that way since I was a child.

Back then, I strived to get close to other people; all I wanted was a single person I could call a friend. It didn’t work out like I had hoped or like it always does on television. I didn’t fit in with any of the groups around me, even though I went out of my way to change myself to fit them. I did many things I shouldn’t have, that I still regret to this day, just to get them to like me, but they wouldn’t, they refused to accept me. They used me for what they could get, got a good laugh, and then dumped me to the side like roadkill.

It was frustrating, sure, but more than anything else, it just plain hurt. It wasn’t physical, so there was no amount of medicine that I could take that would cure the pain. I refused to do drugs and I refused to go out and get drunk just to forget. I suppose what I did choose to do was just as bad, though. Instead of drugs or alcohol, I turned to cutting. It terrified me every time I placed the smooth blade to my pale skin. Even though I was in so much pain, I didn’t want to die.

I was afraid to die.

I loved the world, I just hated the people in it.

Still, I slid the blade across my skin despite my fear. It was never deep enough to put me in harm’s way, which proves how much of a coward I really am – it’s pretty sad. It was no deeper than a cat scratch, but it still stung and throbbed, and little diamonds of blood covered it like a blanket. It was enough to make me feel better, for a few minutes, before I started to feel stupid for what I was doing to myself. That just made the situation worse.

I already hated myself for various reasons – fat, ugly, and above all else, unable to do anything right, just to name the main ones – and now I had cutting to add to my list. I was a despicable human being, I still am, but at least I can handle it a bit better now. I don’t cut anymore, though it does cross my mind occasionally.

Perhaps that’s a side effect of the crazy pills that I’m on now.

Though the pills do ease the fear of human beings, it can’t take it away. It’s still there, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting for me to feel safe and secure before it winds its black arms around me like death coming from the shadows. It grips my throat until I can’t breathe, and chains my heart so tight that it hurts every time it beats.

Sometimes I would envision myself in a barren wasteland, filled with nothing but rock formations that towered over me like skyscrapers. I could see chains binding my wrists to a metal plate in the ground, one that refused to budge so much as half an inch. The ground would crack beneath me, and lava would begin to seep through, but I couldn’t run away.

I could never run away.

I often wondered if someone could come to my rescue, to take me away, but I hated how that sounded. One thing I didn’t like – besides people -, was being a damsel in distress that needed a knight in shining armor to come to rescue her. Really, I’d be fine with just having someone that was a true friend, but after a while, I started to doubt the meaning of that word. I actually looked it up, and the definition only filled me with misery, knowing that I’d never have such a relationship.

Sure, there were people that tolerated me and my smart ass quips, like my co-workers, but something deep down told me they didn’t actually like me. I’m positive they only act nice because we have to see each other every week, and often are put together on projects. The day goes by in a painfully slow manner when you’re working with someone and there’s nothing but lightning between you – sadly, I know this because I just recently learned the true nature of my friend, who believes she’s done nothing wrong.

But I’m probably mostly to blame, anyway.

I guess I got a little off point, here, and for that, I apologize. I’m sure my ramblings mean nothing to you. So, let me spare you further hell, and begin telling you my boring, bang-your-head-against-a-brick-wall story.

Everything began when I was twenty-years-old, working at the local J.C. Penneys in the mall. It was my second job, and although my bosses were lenient and pleasant to be around – most of the time -, I still hated it. Not only because I was lazy, but because I hated having to deal with customers. Dealing with the people I worked with was one thing, but having the thought of being thrown onto the register with a customer was like staring my own death in the face.

Wait, I take that back. I’d rather stare death in the face than be on the register with customers.

Thankfully, this rat has learned to hide and run from customers – which would probably get me fired if anyone knew I did that since the company was one of those customer first types. That’s also why I do my very best to keep these thoughts tucked away from prying eyes. I mean, I hated being out there with people, but I needed the money. And in what other job would you be able to cower in an air-conditioned stock room by yourself, with no one to deal with but the massive racks of clothes that needed to be priced? It was heaven, really, but it didn’t happen very often.

I guess in a way I rely on my co-workers more than I should. With them around, I can roll the customer off onto them and get away scot-free. They don’t mind since they can actually handle having a simple conversation with other people.

It was the beginning of Spring, the beginning of April, and although it had been slightly chilly as of late, Florida was beginning to warm up. I didn’t mind the rare thirty-degree weather, it was the eighty-degree humidity covered weather that sent me to the floor panting and begging my family to move to Antarctica. I was very sensitive to heat, of any kind, which is another thing I can add to my pathetic list.

Nothing really special was happening in my life at the time, not like it ever did at any other time. I woke up last minute, rushed off to work, grit my teeth and tried not to harm myself just to be sent home, and when I finally would make it home, I’d flop in front of the computer where I stayed until it was time to go to bed.

See, rather than being one of those kids that goes out and parties the night away, having sex with every guy that smiles at her, I’ve always been the nerdy kid that sat at home, with no friends, playing video games and screwing around online. If anything, that’s the only thing I can say I like about myself. Of course, I probably would have done those things if I had actually had friends to coax me into them – I cave easily, remember?

That Monday, I expected the same routine.

I was only working six hours, so I just bit the inside of my cheek and decided to bare it, just like I did every other day that I worked at this godforsaken clothing store – I didn’t even like fashion, for fuck’s sake. That should be pretty obvious since I only ever come to work in t-shirts, jeans, and dirty sneakers that were falling apart – thank you, Walmart, for your wonderful quality in shoes.

I said goodbye to my mother, and promised to call her which I had no intention of doing – I mean, come on, I only get fifteen minutes, and I fully intend on spending those minutes trying to stay alive!

Since it was seven in the morning, and the store did not open until ten, I was forced to stand there looking like an idiot, pushing the little white button until my supervisor came power walking to the door with the keys. The older woman would smile and greet me with the typical good morning routine before telling me what I would be doing that day.

After her explanation, I’d take the elevator to the second floor – and god was it slow – before heading to the pricing office. Just like always, my team was already back there, scrambling around getting pricing books and sheets, picking out the cart they wanted, and trying to find a scanner that actually worked – those were few and far between, believe me.

The women would greet me, but it was nothing beyond a simple ‘good morning‘. Though I wanted to say something else, I never did, because I never knew what to say, and I knew I could never hold a conversation without doing something I’d regret. It was easier just to keep it short and simple. Seeing these women did make me feel a bit happy, even though we weren’t friends. I liked their presence, and they could be rather funny when they worked together.

Today we were looking for clearance in the Men’s department. Apparently, we had about fifty sheets of stuff to find, though I was sure we’d only be successful in about half the list, if that.

When nine-forty rolled around, I attended the meeting just so I could sit down for a few minutes, though nothing they discussed had anything to do with my team and, to be completely honest, I could care less about who got the most ICAPS, and who got the best reviews on the survey.

Good for them.

Give ’em a damn cookie and move on.

I took my time after the meeting ended because I decided to take my break now, so I could have fifteen more minutes without the threat of customers. I always did this when I worked six-hour days; it was starting to become a routine.

With those fifteen minutes, I spent them in the air-conditioned break room, in the back corner – or emo corner, as I’ve officially dubbed it -, trying to collect my thoughts and prepare myself for the horrible experience I was going to be throwing myself into it. It took a lot to calm myself down, but I managed it, just like always.

If only I had known how different that day was going to be.

If only I had known what was really going to happen to me that day.

I really should have stayed home.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[grey-oceans]

Things are feeling weird in the past few days and I’m not even sure which of these things I’m looking to actively resolve and which I just wish would fade away on their own.

I think that one of my old dental fillings fell out/broke a couple of days ago beause I got this slowly increasing pain in my bottom jaw and I’m terrified of it growing to unbearable levels by the time my dentist appointment arrives next week. And I’m even more terrified that I might need yet another Root Canal because the past 3 years feel like a neverending dental session. But whatever, this is super manageable and will literally be resolved within a week.

Everything else feels much heavier on my heart and even tough I’m 100% sure no one will ever read it, I’m going to hide it because It will be: probably long, most likely triggering at some level, and definately something I will never want to reread myself. I just need to get this out of my system because it’s been forever since the last time I did so (but it’s also been a while since I felt like this, honestly).

I miss my best friend, I miss her so much that I my whole body hurts. We haven’t been friends for way over a decade at this point because of how badly I fucked things up between us when we were finishng high-school. It actually took me almost 10 years to realize what a shitty friend, and person in general, I was and try to apologize to her. I did end up doing it almost 2 years ago (via Instagram DMs but it’s an acomplishment nontheless) and I still love her, still miss her and still think of her as my best friend. Because no one can ever replace her in my heart. 

I wanted to text her a while ago, to ask if she’d like to meet. But I was too afraid to do it and so much time had already passed that I feel like I lost my chance anyway. Also, I really don’t think she’d want to meet. I wouldn’t if I was her.

-

One of the main things covered by the news here for the past couple of weeks is a gang rape of a 16-year-old girl. It’s heartbreaking and every time something like this comes up in the news I feel like I can’t breath and I think about is 14 and 15 and 16-year-old me who was lost, confused, angry and lonely, in these dark places with no one to reach out to. I couldn’t find anyone who cared and I slowly drifted away.

On May 29, 2018 I received a phone call from a former classmate who apologized for things he remembered going in 8th grade. I cherish his apology, not because I felt like he owed me one. In fact, he is one of the people I most fondly remembered from back then. I cherish his apology because it painted some of the darkness slightly brighter.

-

Back to ages 14-16, out of those who did things for which I deserve apologies - no one ever reached out and I doubt ever will. But fuck them, I really don’t care about any of them.

Except for one, who was the sea into which all my rivers used to flow all these years ago. I feel completely rediculous as a thirty-fucking-one -year-old grown ass woman to even be bothered by memories of things that happened half a lifetime ago. But these memories made me doubt myself and my worth for so long, long after I met the most incredible and kind person in the universe, who’s been my partner for many years now (and many more to come). These are memories of me not being good enough to date but okay for occasional hook ups whenever his girlfriend wasn’t around. Memories of staying home and skipping a class trip because I was experiencing the worst possible side effect to a morning after pill (there was always always consent and we made sure to use protection but that one time the condom broke) - and when I was back in school after several days, he insisted that he tried calling me to see how I felt although I didn’t have any missed calls from him and he couldn’t show me the call on his phone since he “deleted it so no one will figure out”. What an asshole.

Again, this is mostly me being petty over bullshit teenage drama but at the same time it annoys the shit out of me. Because all I got was a crappy half-assed "honest talk” right after high school gratuation that was less about honestly talking to me and more about low-key trying to get me into bed. And a couple of years later we were chatting on FB and it quickly went to reminding me what a slut I was in school and assuming I still was. So yeah.

I don’t want an apology from him either becuase I realized a while ago that it wouldn’t do anything for me really. I do however wish I had a chance to talk to the grown-up, matured version of him - to see his take on things, what he learned from that experience, if anything. I’m sure he’s changed over the years and so have I, and more than anything I just hope he didn’t put anyone else through this sort of fuckery. Maybe if I knew for sure I’d finally stop thinking about him.

-

If anyone read this through - thank you. I actually feel better writing it all down.

[icanseeyoufromhere]

On lists and lessons

March 26, 2018.

December 10, 2018.

January 14, 2019.

February 26, 2019.

April 24, 2019.

June 20, 2019.

These are dates that I’d like to say I’ll always remember, but I probably won’t. I mean, I am terrible with names, dates, all that good stuff. 

For example, I often confuse my kids’ birthdays. 

This gaffe is not totally unreasonable. Camilo was born on 9/18/15, and Magdalena was born on 9/14/17. Both are September babies, and all the other numbers in their birthdates sit in the ‘teens, really close to each other. But I’ve had people look at me twice, because I get the dates wrong. You do not want the receptionist at the ER questioning your maternity in the middle of the night when your kid has got croup.

So I’d like to say I will remember the dates of my six surgeries, but I am just not sure. 

Happily, I have this little blog, and now the dates are forever archived somewhere in the ether, for generations to come:

1. March 26, 2018. First (unilateral) mastectomy on left side, to remove cancerous tumor, with removal of lymph nodes and insertion of expander.

2. December 10, 2018. Emergency replacement of expander with silicone implant so that I could have an MRI of my ovaries. Fat grafting to help fill out the implant so it would look more natural.

3. January 14, 2019. Second (unilateral) mastectomy (prophylactic this time) on the right side, with insertion of expander. Excision on the left side to scrape out some remaining tissue that wasn’t fully cancer free and also to remove a patch of skin that was dangerously thin.

4. February 26, 2019. Total hysterectomy, including removal of tubes and ovaries.

5. April 24, 2019. Emergency replacement of expander on the right side because skin had become blistered and eventually ruptured. 

6. June 20, 2019. Replacement of expander with silicone implant on the right side. Fat grafting on both sides to help fill out the implants.

My kids’ grandkids didn’t even know they wanted this list! And now they have it. You’re (all) welcome.

Anyway, I have had six surgeries in just over 15 months. Four were planned. Two were not. My body has been through the ringer. I’ve taken so many drugs of so many kinds--antibiotics, opioids, acetaminophen, stool softeners, even a bit of valium; had lots of JP drains (including one currently); and have so many scars all over my torso, my breasts, and between my legs.

It shouldn’t surprise that, over the course of these medical procedures, I’ve learned quite a bit about myself. I thought I’d list a few of those lessons here, alongside (or just below, really) the list of dates of the surgical interventions that have marked my life (and my family’s life) since I had my first mastectomy last March 26.

A short-term thing (god, I hope it’s short-term):

1. I now go to bed with the reasonable expectation that I will be up for at least half the night (often more), unable to sleep. 

Early menopause has not been completely unkind to me. The hot flashes are hot, but they’re manageable. I’m feeling generally pretty good emotionally, although now when I get mad (not an uncommon thing, heh) I tend to get really mad, really fast.

But I don’t sleep. I mean, sure, I will fall asleep, often as early as 8:30 (because I’m so damn tired). But I will quite reliably be up again, sometimes at 10, sometimes at midnight, but always before 2 am. And then I’m up. Like, really up, often for a really long time. Hours and hours. With phone, without the phone (I know the screen messes with our sleep cycle), it doesn’t matter. And I am so fucking tired. 

During those sleepless hours, I spend a lot of time wondering. I wonder how long one can function with so little sleep. I wonder if lack of sleep can cause cancer. I wonder if this world will be around long enough for my kids to have grandkids. I wonder about concentration camps and my kids drowning in pools and if I passed along my genetic mutation to either (or both) of them. You get the gist. These are not pleasant musings. I try to shift course, meditate, play Wordscapes on my phone. I run through my old high school balance beam routine, over and over in my head. I get up, kiss my kids, drink water...I NEED TO SLEEP. So, so desperately. 

I’ve learned, in short, that early menopause for me means coping with temporary insomnia.

Other, longer-term lessons:

2. Each surgery has required at least a couple days of repose. I have learned, however, that I. Cannot. Just. Sit. Still. Four hours after my total hysterectomy I was picking up toys and sweeping the floor. You know, just some light housework after having a few reproductive organs removed. It’s rather sick. I’m not proud of this. My inability to lie in bed probably helped produce some of the physical setbacks and at least one of the emergency surgeries (#5. April 24, 2019). It has not, however, produced ANY FUCKING SLEEP. So go figure. 

3. I am a lazy medicator. I mean, I took my antibiotics every six hours for seven days, as per doctor’s orders. But I’m really bad with pain management. To wit: I still haven’t taken the 500 grams of acetaminophen that I was supposed to take two hours ago, even though I feel quite a bit of pain under my right armpit, where the scar is healing and the JP drain is protruding from my skin. It’s the same when I have a headache, or when I used to have menstrual cramping. I just ride out the discomfort, as if science hadn’t created tiny, magical pills to take away the pain. I don’t know why I am like this. I literally just typed about my need for acetaminophen. I have the acetaminophen right next to me, as well as a glass of water. And I still haven’t taken it! What is wrong with me? 

(I just took the acetaminophen.)

4. When I woke up this morning (after falling asleep some time around 4 am), my feet were where my head should be. As in, I decided to flip around and put my pillow at the foot of the bed. As a long-time poor sleeper, I, at some point along the way, realized that this shift in perspective could at times help me fall asleep.

Matias mocked me earlier today about this, saying something to the effect of: “What do you think that does for you? It’s ridiculous.” 

(Oh, the hormonal-induced RAGE.)

Setting aside my offense for a moment, let me put on my social scientist hat. There could be science at play here. Flipping the person is not unlike flipping the mattress, right? And there is loads and loads of research (read: un-verified websites like this one) on the benefits of a flipped mattress! So, yeah, when I cannot sleep, I have learned that turning around at night can help. Insomniacs, take note.

5. Finally, and perhaps rather cheesily, my body is fragile and also fierce. 

When I had the emergency expander replacement (again, surgery #5, April 24, 2019), my plastic surgeon used both stitches and staples to close up the space where the bad skin used to be. It was the most Edward Scissorhands-y of all of my surgeries. The suture crossed my breast, from about 2:00 to 8:00, just missing the nipple. It was creepy. I couldn’t look at it. I didn’t even document it with a photo, so I can’t share the evidence with you here. (Sorry...or, perhaps, you’re welcome?) 

In the matter of a 1.5 hour surgery, my body had been opened and then sealed shut, with metal and twine and glue. For weeks after, I looked like a sewed up ragdoll from the stories (and nightmares) of my childhood. 

My skin, so delicate and yet so robust. Today, you can barely see the scar. 

When I look at my JP drain, my scars, my new breasts, my newly curly hair (it’s called “chemo curl”), I think that we, as humans, are simultaneously strong and weak. So prone to damage, and also so highly resilient. Vulnerable to illness and yet up to the challenge of fighting it. 

I don’t seek to resolve this paradox. I marvel at it sometimes. I cry about it too. I’ve lived with it for months and think it probably best to simply describe rather than explain its existence. 

I will say this. The duality of our physical reality (its fragility and its ferocity) does give me hope, for my kids and for us as a society. (When I get real dramatic I extrapolate all the way out to humankind as a whole.) 

We impart pain, we receive it, we recover. We hurt and we heal. Hopefully, we learn at least something from the process. 

It’s been seven days since my last surgery, and I’m still spending a lot of time in bed, despite a (growing) list of work to do, an impending move to another country, and a house that is just begging to be cleaned. It took six surgeries, but I now know that rest is important--indeed, necessary--for our fragile bodies to recover their strength. 

Add that to my list of lessons learned.

[thatbeauadams]

new territory || adeau, 8.4

WHO: Beau Adams and Adam Sylvester ( @dominantsylvester )

WHEN: Sunday, 8.4

WHAT: Adam and Beau don’t have sex (gasp) but talk about things like rules, expectations and feels are had.

Beau was still feeling the effects of the sleeping pills he and Ryan had taken, a bit tired and quiet. But thanks to the sex marathon and the shower, he was feeling all right, clean and fresh as he approached Adam’s door. He had no idea what to expect from tonight, but he was looking forward to being with the Dom anyway. Unsure, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, before kneeling before the door and knocking. Beau looked up and smiled shyly at Adam. “Hey, Sir.”

Adam didn't have a plan in the same way he did when Beau would come over for a scene.  Despite how much he'd reassured Beau, Adam was feeling somewhat nervous himself.  Mostly he was nervous that Beau would react badly to this, or be too uncomfortable.  But as he went to answer the door, he made sure to project nothing but calm, knowing that any anxiety from him would only make Beau worry more.  "Hey, beautiful," he answered, reaching down to run his fingers through Beau's hair for a moment, then holding out a hand to help him to his feet.  "Come on in.  Go and kneel by the couch for me, please.  I've had an idea of something that I think will help you relax, and I want to talk to you about it."

The very idea of Adam wanting him, wanting to keep him, should have had him running in the other direction. Yet here he was, nervous and unsure of what was to come but unable to make himself stay away from the handsome Dom. He smiled nervously as he got to his feet, leaving his bag by the door. “Okay, Sir...” his trepidation was probably obvious, but he walked over to the couch and knelt anyway, biting the inside of his lip as he looked up to Adam. Something to help him relax? Had he acted stressed? “If its a blowjob, you’re certainly right,” Beau said, trying to get himself back into familiar territory.

Adam laughed, taking Beau's remark as a joke to try to ease his own tension.  It was painfully clear how anxious the submissive was.  "No, that's not it.  Not that blowing me is off the table.  It's just not first on the agenda."  He sat on the couch in front of Beau and ran his fingers through the sub's hair, a repetitive soothing motion.  "You said to me that you don't know how to behave in a a situation like this.  You don't know how to be submissive outside of a scene.  And that that's part of why this makes you nervous.  So I've decided, if you consent of course, to give you a set of rules for the time you spend in my room.  At this stage, they only apply in my suite, since I can't give you standing rules yet.  And they're negotiable, of course.  They're here to help guide you, not to be unpleasant."

Beau let out another laugh, trying to let off some of his tension. Why was this turning him into such a mess? "Good to know, Sir," he said, leaning into the fingers in his hair. The proposition intrigued and frightened him - though he was beginning to recognize that was usually the case when Adam suggested something like this. Someone who wanted to give him regular rules, which he had to admit was something the submissive side of him wanted. However, it felt like a commitment, like something that could be wonderful and shatter like glass with the wrong touch. He let out a few slow breaths, mulling over his response. "I... will there be punishments if I forget them at first, Sir? I wouldn't... do it on purpose or anything, obviously," he clarified hurriedly.

"Nothing bad enough to warrant worrying about.  I know that having rules to remember like that is new, and having to remember them only when we're together is more difficult than remembering them all the time, so I'm not going to be unreasonable about it.  You'll forget, I'll remind you gently, you'll say sorry and fix it, and that's that.  If it becomes an issue, there might be punishments, but not at first.  And your intentions matter, an honest mistake is always going to have a gentler correction."  He moved his hand down the back of Beau's head, cupping his neck and playing with the short hairs at the base of his skull.  "I want to emphasize, too, that none of these rules will go into effect without your consent.  I'm not trying to limit or trap you.  I'm trying to guide you.  I'm trying to make you more comfortable, not less."

Without thinking, he moved to lean against Adam's legs, taking comfort in the Dom's touch. Licking his lips, Beau nodded his understanding, running over everything in his mind. This was new territory. Not even the closest thing he had to a regular Dominant had wanted to give him any kind of rules. "What... kind of rules would they be, Sir?" he asked, looking up at Adam, his nerves and curiosity shining in his dark eyes, his expression full of trust.

Adam hadn't really realized he was feeling tense as he spoke until he felt himself relax when Beau leaned against him.  "Good boy," he murmured, squeezing his neck lightly, because he liked having Beau lean against him for comfort so much that he wanted to make sure to reinforce it.  When Beau spoke, he could hear the tentative nervousness still in his voice, but all he saw in his expression was an openness that told Adam that he wasn't afraid.  Nervous, but not afraid.  He was trusting Adam to do right by him, and that spoke volumes to the Dominant.  "Rules about how you're expected to behave when you're in my suite, basically.  The idea is that if I've defined the rules for you, you won't have that feeling like you don't know how to be submissive without being sexual.  I have ideas for them, but they're not decided yet.  We have to decide them together.  You're allowed to suggest rules, too.  One of my ideas, for example, would be that when you're in my suite, you're expected to kneel next to me rather than sit on the furniture, unless you ask permission."

His praise and the squeeze to his neck helped Beau relax against Adam even further, the sub letting out a little sigh. One arm wrapped around Adam's leg as he leaned against him, holding the Dominant. his lips pursed in thought, perusing the idea in his head. "Would... something like... not being allowed clothes in your suite be something that would work, Sir? And would everything be... behavioral? You're not going to start asking me to do chores or anything, right?"

"That's definitely something in the same vein," Adam said with a nod.  Despite Beau's hesitations, Adam was starting to feel like this was going really well, just because of how easily Beau was touching him and leaning on him.  Adam loved that Beau didn't think twice about reaching towards Adam for comfort when he felt uncertain.  "Only if you wanted to do chores for me," Adam said with a shrug.  "We're not at a point in our relationship where I'd expect you to do more than maybe help me with dishes if we eat together.  And in general, I don't need my submissive to be a service sub.  I won't suddenly need you to  turn into the kind of sub who wants to be a homemaker."

Well that was comforting at least. "I can definitely do dishes, Sir, I'm really very good at that." Beau smiled, his cheek resting against Adam's shin. "That's probably good, Sir. I can't cook for shit so if you were expecting me to do anything like that, you'd be nothing but disappointed," he said without thinking, not even aware that he was already thinking in longer terms - in actually, maybe being Adam's submissive one day.

Adam laughed at that and stroked Beau's hair.  "Oh yes, it was your promise as a home cook that drew me to you from the beginning, and now my hopes are dashed."  He grinned down at Beau.  "I'd like you to help me come up with a list of rules.  I really need you to be honest with me, though.  Don't worry about disappointing me if you say no to something.  And even if you say yes to something and then find out you hate it, I expect you to tell me so we can adjust.  In fact, that's the first rule.  If you find any of the rules difficult or uncomfortable at any time, you are to tell me so that we can discuss and adjust as necessary."

He snorted a laugh. "I'm sorry to ruin all of your dreams like that, Sir, but I just had to be honest," he teased. Beau shifted a little, propping his chin on Adam's knee to look up at him more easily. The first rule actually did help him relax. He was allowed to not like something - and Adam wouldn't just write him off for it. "Is there... anything in particular you'd really like to have as a rule, Sir? Aside from the furniture thing? Just so I can contribute more to the conversation since this is all... real new."

Adam laughed again and tugged lightly on Beau's hair, a playful gesture.  His fingers immediately went back to gently scratching over Beau's scalp.  "What I need most from you is two things, really.  The first is anything that makes you nervous.  Any situation you can think of where you don't know how to act.  Anything confusing or uncertain.  Because I can make rules to try to mitigate that.  And the second is rules you think would be enjoyable to you.  Like you mentioned a moment ago, being naked.  I know you're not shy and you like to show off.  I assume that's a rule you'd enjoy?  Although I think I might amend it to say that your clothing or lack thereof is at my discretion when you're in my suite.  Because there might be times I want you to be partially or fully clothed, for a lot of different reasons."

His fingers unconsciously rubbed over the back of Adam's calf. "I'm not... sure about the first part, Sir. This is all so new and... it all kind of makes me uncomfortable. Like, not knowing if I should be flirting with someone else while I'm under your orders, or if there's something you want me to do or... what I can ask for when I'm here, you know? And the naked thing, yeah, I'd like that because I like how you look at me when I'm naked. But I uh... I also like when you pick what I'm wearing so... I think I could be okay with letting you choose. Though I am curious what reasons might make you want to have me partially or fully clothed."

"Two reasons," Adam said with a little smile.  "One, it isn't always about sex, and having you clothed can help steer the mood in a non-sexual direction.  And two." He smirked.  "You know how I feel about seeing you in tight, slutty shorts that reveal more than they cover.  Sometimes clothing can be as sexy as nudity."  He grinned and ruffled Beau's hair.  "As for that first part, though, that's okay that you're not sure.  It did make me think of a second rule, though.  If at any point you encounter something specific that makes you uncertain or uncomfortable, you are to tell me and I can decide if a rule needs to be established.  As to the more specific things you mentioned, I assure you that if there's something I want you to do, I will tell you.  You've never known me to beat around the bush, have you?  I'm perfectly comfortable giving you orders.  If I haven't, it's because there's nothing else I specifically want right now.  And you can ask for anything.  I mean that.  Anything.  The worst that will happen is that I'll say no.  You know how much I always talk about giving you what you need when we're in a scene.  That's because I like providing for a submissive.  I want to know what you want so that I can be the one to give it to you."

That made sense - though he had to admit that it would be difficult for him to not want things to go in a non-sexual direction with Adam. The second reason made him smirk. "I mean, I do know how you feel about that. I think you can still see the hickeys if you squint," Beau said, clearly pleased about the thought. A strange warmth was settling in his chest as they kept talking though. From the way Adam was speaking, the rules and parameters, the way he was reassuring him through his insecurities... no one had ever done this for him before. "So... you can be the one to give it to me," he repeated, hugging his arms tighter around Adam's leg. "I like the sound of that, Sir. A lot."

Adam moved his hand down to put his fingertips on Beau's neck, where a faint shadow was all that remained of the marks he'd left in the utility closet.  He smiled at the memory and then moved his hand to cup the back of Beau's head again.  Beau's response made him smile even bigger, looking down at Beau with a deep sense of affection.  "Good," he murmured.  "Because that's a big part of who I am as a Dominant.  I'd like to give you more rules along those lines, if you're comfortable with them.  Just generally if you want something, you ask me.  As simple as asking if you can get a glass of water instead of just going and getting one.  Asking for a kiss when you want one.  Asking for permission before touching my cock.  Or yours for that matter."

He shivered lightly when fingers slid over his skin where those marks had lingered for days. Marks that he kind of wanted back. Beau stowed that thought for now though, focusing on what Adam was saying. His eyes widened a little. “That’s just... while I’m here though, right?” He needed to clarify but even though it probably came off like he didn’t want his pleasure controlled he kind of liked the thought of Adam sometimes refusing to let him have pleasure even when he wasn’t under his orders... but probably not time to bring that up. “I think I like the sound of those kinds of rules, Sir. It’s... nice. To not have to make those kinds of decisions. To trust that you can make them for me.”

"Only while you're in my suite," Adam was quick to confirm, nodding.  For a second he was worried that he'd pushed too far, but then Beau said he liked it, and Adam grinned.  "That's it exactly," he said, looking pleased.  "You're trusting me to give you what you need.  You can ask for anything, because you know that if you really need it, I'll give it to you, and if you don't really need it, I'll decide whether I want to give it to you or not.  No worrying about whether you're asking for too much, or asking for something I don't want to give.  If I don't want you to have it, and you don't actually need it, I'll say no.  But it... it pleases me to give you things.  Do you remember... after the camping trip, I told you about how having you here and keeping you safe satisfies that deep-down primal dominant urge in me to protect what is mine?  That territorial urge, not just to know that you're safe, but to be the one who keeps you that way.  This is the same thing.  I want to give you things because it feeds that deep-down need to be the one who takes care of your needs."

As scary as this all still was, it was beginning to sound good. Like, really good. Beau licked his lips as he absorbed everything Adam was telling him. The corners of his lips turned up slightly. “I think I’m beginning to understand your Dom!logic, Sir. Even if I’m not still sure why you want to do this with me... I’m starting to understand it,” he said slowly, his slight smile lingering on his lips. “But I think the whole realizing why me thing is definitely more about me and not about you because you’re like... definitely explaining everything well and making me less uncomfortable with everything. I want to let you make those decisions and to take care of those needs for me when I’m here with you.”

Adam chuckled at the mention of his "Dom!logic" and ruffled Beau's hair affectionately. His expression went back to being more serious as Beau continued, and he nodded, and then smiled softly when he finished. "Good, I'm glad that I'm helping. Like I said, I don't want this to be a bad thing for you. This should be something that makes you feel safe and valued and free to be yourself." He paused for a moment, then tipped Beau's chin up and leaned down to kiss his lips sweetly. It wasn't sexual, just a gesture of affection. "Should we come up with more rules?"

Safe and valued. The concept seemed so foreign to him but god did it sound so nice. he ached to hope for this, that this could continue and be real - but he still couldn't let himself fall into that again. Not yet. the kiss made him shiver happily, and the smile on his lips was soft and warm as he looked up at the Dom. "Yeah. I think I'd like that. Um... this is probably going to sound like, super stupid, but could I maybe sit on your lap while we keep talking about this, Sir? Or beside you? I just... fuck, it's... I just want to be closer. If that's okay."

Adam's expression grew stern when Beau called himself stupid.  This wasn't the first time he'd heard Beau say things like that, and he didn't like it, at all.  "It's not stupid," he said firmly.  He moved his hand to grip Beau's chin lightly, keeping him from looking away.  "I told you to ask for what you want, and you did, and I'm pleased and proud that you did.  Tell me that it's not stupid to ask to be closer to me, and then you can come sit in my lap."

He bit the inside of his lip when Adam took his chin in hand, and he resisted the urge to lower his eyes, instead looking up at the Dom. The concept of asking for something like this was so foreign to him - such clingy behavior had been quashed pretty early in his sexual experience when the men and women he'd been with had shied away from any contact that wasn't strictly sexual. This new intimacy was so strange, and the fact that he was allowed to want it and ask for it was even stranger. "It's not stupid to ask to be closer to you, Sir," he finally said after a moment, carefully climbing up to tuck himself onto Adam's lap, his head resting on the Dom's shoulder.

Adam knew that saying this was probably difficult for Beau, and that Adam was definitely pushing him by asking it of him, but he thought it was important.  He couldn't let Beau frame his desires as something stupid, it defeated the whole purpose that Adam was trying to accomplish by making him ask for things.  He wanted Beau to get to a point where he felt safe expressing what he wanted, and that he wouldn't be ridiculed.  "Good boy," Adam praised, smiling warmly and opening his arms for Beau to crawl into.  He held Beau close and kissed the side of his head.  "I love holding you.  You should never be ashamed to ask for this."

Beau let out a soft sigh as he leaned against Adam's chest, his anxiety easing a little when he heard the praise and affirmation that he wasn't the only one enjoying himself. He slid his hand over Adam's opposite shoulder, lightly sliding his fingers through the ends of his dark hair. "I didn't think I would ever need anything like this," he said after a moment of just sitting against him, enjoying the closeness. "The first time I ever... really felt and like, admitted to myself I needed this was during the... the punishment," he admitted softly.

Adam frowned softly, remembering how adamant Beau had been that he didn't need aftercare.  He'd had to order Beau to let him take care of him.  He'd  known that it was the right decision at the time, because aftercare was a physical necessity after a punishment like that, but this confirmed it.  "...What was it that made you need this?" he asked softly after a moment.  He wanted to hear Beau's thought process.  He wanted to understand.

He bit the inside of his lip lightly. "It... I mean, it sucked for everyone. I know it did. But everyone else had... someone. Someone to tell them it would be okay and it would be over soon and... I kept telling myself I was being pathetic and I was fine and I shouldn't need anything like that but I really did. I tried to keep the girls I was with calm, and I would have done it anyway but the Doms running my cell kept telling me to stay strong for them. Strong for the girls. They were the ones that mattered. I was just kinda there, and I would have been okay with it except for the uh... the box punishment. I got that one and it kinda fucked me up."

Adam had asked, he wanted to know all this, but it still hurt to hear.  He hadn't realized most of that.  He'd been preoccupied with his own room, and he hadn't known Beau all that well back then.  He hadn't thought to check in on him.  But as Beau spoke, Adam found himself tightening his grip around the boy.  "You weren't being pathetic," he said quietly.  "You were the opposite of pathetic, Beau.  You deserve to be cared for as much as anyone else."  He kissed Beau's forehead and then leaned his cheek against Beau's hair.  "Do you want to tell my why the box was so difficult?"

He leaned further against Adam, appreciating how the Dom held him tighter. He’d been so resistant to this before, not even two months ago. Maybe he was still setting himself up for heartbreak but he couldn’t stop. “It... it took my voice, Sir. My sight. I thought I could get through it but I couldn’t see or hear, and it just... being trapped like that was terrifying. I know it was only what, an hour? It felt much longer,” he said with a shudder

"It was an hour," Adam confirmed in a barely audible voice.  He only knew because the times had been specified in the punishment options.  Everything had felt longer in there.  His mind was going back to that place, the anger and frustration he'd felt, but now compounded by imagining Beau enduring all of that.  He knew it was illogical, since he and Beau had only just met the week before the school wide, but thinking back now, he felt guilty for not messaging Beau and talking to him.  Beau had felt totally alone, and Adam could have helped, and he hadn't.  "I wish I could go back and take that away from you.  Would it be helpful if I promise not to gag you ever? I don't play with them often anyway, but if having your voice taken from you is difficult, I'll never do that to you."

He slid both arms around Adam’s neck, pressing himself fully against the Dom. He wasn’t sure why, but he just felt the other man getting tense, and his instincts were telling him to soothe. To comfort. “Yes... if you ever... I mean, if it was something you really wanted, I could try, but it’s like choking for me, Sir. Having my voice taken is my worst fear. I know I’m annoying as shit sometimes and I talk way too much but I can’t have that taken from me.” He was doing it right now, talking too much. What was it about Adam that made him want to reveal every secret he’d ever had?

Adam pulled back a little so he could tip Beau's chin up with one hand and press a soft kiss to his lips. "I will never knowingly do something to you that would make you feel that way. Gags are a limit. We won't touch them." He kissed Beau again softly, but when he drew back his face grew stern. "Now. Do I need to make a rule about the way that you speak about yourself? Because that's twice in as many minutes you've said something derogatory about yourself."

The soft kisses and gentle reassurance eased the tension in his own shoulders, and he let out a soft breath. "thank you, Sir," he murmured. Beau frowned a little when he noticed the expression shift on Adam's face, his brows drawing together in confusion. "Am I not allowed to do that, Sir? It's not like it isn't something true. Some people just find my annoyance more charming than irritating," he said, shrugging his shoulders, his lips shifting from a frown into a hint of a cheeky smile.

Adam sighed softly, looking off at a middle distance and frowning in thought.  He didn't want to tell Beau he was wrong, because Adam had no right to invalidate Beau's experiences.  But there had to be a way to get him to stop talking down to himself.  "I do not find you annoying," he said firmly.  "Obviously I can't speak for the whole world.  But I do not like it when you talk about yourself in negative terms.  Because I don't like that you believe those things about yourself.  I think you don't believe that you are valuable, and I hate that."

His smile and attempt to lighten the mood clearly failed, the expression fading off of his lips. He didn't say anything for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts. This was honestly difficult for him, because his self-worth was so wrapped up in sex and submission and had been for years. His family hadn't been overly generous with praise, and the only time he'd gotten it - aside from his listeners - was when he was naked and being used. "I'll try to stop, Sir," he finally said, not sure what else he could offer Adam, because he didn't know how to explain everything without talking about the things he really didn't want to talk about.

Adam looked back at Beau again and gave him a small, reassuring smile.  "Thank you," he murmured, and kissed Beau's forehead again.  "I don't like that you think you're annoying, or that you're not worth people's time, because it's so contrary to how I see you.  When I look at you, right here in my arms, I see a beautiful submissive with a clever mind who deserves to be cared for and cherished.  When you belittle yourself...  It feels to me that you're demeaning something I find incredibly valuable."

It was still so confusing, how much he wanted those words and how scared they made him at the same time. His fear of Adam ending this... whatever it was, was lessening little by little, but it was by no means gone. Beau rested his head against Adam's shoulder, fingers lightly playing with the Dom's shirt as if to distract himself from the conversation. "I guess I just don't see myself the way you do, Sir. Kind of always thought of myself as... I don't know, just another slut in the crowd or whatever."

"We can never really see ourselves the way other people do, I guess," Adam said with a note of sadness.  "But you are far from another slut in the crowd.  You are an exceptional slut, for one thing.  And you aren't just a slut.  You're so much more than that.  You're sweet and generous and funny, you have your podcast, you have interests beyond sex.  You're not just some slut."

His lips twisted in a sad little smile, and he nodded. It was true. Everyone was their own worst critic in the end. Beau kept twisting his fingers in Adam's shirt, the sweet things he was saying making warmth bloom in his chest, barely fringed by the icy terror he couldn't control. "Would you be okay with your claim having a career of their own, Sir?" he asked after a few moments, trying to appear casual but honestly wondering if - a big if - Adam did claim him, he would be able to continue pursuing his dream.

Adam looked down at Beau, a little surprised by the question.  But he shouldn't be surprised, he knew.  His own mother's sub didn't have a career, after all.  "What I want most from a claim is that my submissive and I support each other in a way that neither of us feels stifled.  I wouldn't want you to feel imprisoned at home.  I've told you before, I don't need a service submissive who keeps house and cooks, unless that's what my submissive want."

Beau just nodded and bit the inside of his lip. He was considering still trying to learn that stuff, the whole house-sub thing was super not appealing to him but he knew it was the expected thing to some degree. But he wanted to have his own career. And the way Adam so casually said 'you' in relation to his future claim was not lost on Beau. "Just curious, Sir," he finally said, leaning against the Dom's strong chest.

[phoutube]

while the rhythm of the rain keeps time: chapter two

ao3 link (kudos appreciated!)

from the beginning: ao3

Rating: General Audiences (subject to change)

Pairing: Dan Howell/Phil Lester

Chapter Word Count: 4,604

Full Word Count: 8,670

Summary: Phil didn’t very much like the rain, but at the same time, he didn’t very much dislike it, either.

It had a distinctly lonely feeling, like if he allowed himself to get lost in the sights and sounds and smells of the rain everything else would disappear and he’d become the only person in the world.

A little odd, yes, but some days he’d ache for this feeling. He wasn’t sure why, but sometimes all he’d crave was utter solitude, so he’d have space to think his own thoughts and exist without being a bother to anyone else.

a/n: a special thanks to my beta readers, @freckliedan, @shrugs-are-kinky, and @edgylester for making this fic possible! Go show them some love!

likes and reblogs appreciated!!

Chapter Two: Melt Your Headaches, Call It Home

Phil didn’t very much like the rain, but at the same time, he didn’t very much dislike it, either.

It was okay, he supposed.

It made his mornings a bit slower, he mused, but it was also kind of peaceful, listening to it pound the outside world tirelessly.

It had a distinctly lonely feeling, like if he allowed himself to get lost in the sights and sounds and smells of the rain everything else would disappear and he’d become the only person in the world.

A little odd, yes, but some days he’d ache for this feeling. He wasn’t sure why, but sometimes all he’d crave was utter solitude, so he’d have space to think his own thoughts and exist without being a bother to anyone else.

The rain was melancholy and somber, and it put Phil in an odd sort of mood where all he wanted to do was lay down outside in the grass and let it wash over him.

If it was warm enough. Cold rain was the worst. He was staying inside for that shit.

Today, unfortunately, he didn’t have any time to ponder the different ways rain made him feel, because he had a double shift at the Starbucks next to Tesco and it started in less than an hour and he hadn’t even gotten out of bed.

He’d recently taken up a second, part-time job because as it turns out, a job in graphic design didn’t exactly make the most money--and to put it bluntly, he was broke as fuck.

He went in to the office three times a week, and was expected to finish his assigned projects at home if they hadn’t been completed at work. Which was all fine and dandy, but the little ADHD monster that lived in his brain tended to grab the controls and make him do something utterly ridiculous like hyperfixate on the interesting article he was reading about children’s brain development instead of doing literally anything else he was supposed to.

He had actually been offered a home office, which would have been excellent in the fact that he would have been able to wear nothing but socks and a pair of boxers while working, but it also meant that he probably would have ended up lying on his back and watching the blades of the fan spinning and trying to count how many times they go around in a minute instead of getting any work done.

He was glad, at least, for the fact he had a steady income and he didn’t absolutely hate his job, no matter how slow it got sometimes.

Anyway, whenever it got boring he’d always end up doodling straight onto the desk he was sitting at (he’d have to wipe it off later) or coming up with elaborate daydreams in his head about scenarios that were completely unrealistic (that was the fun part).

Speaking of daydreaming--Phil reluctantly pulled himself back into the present and realized that he’d wasted ten minutes allowing his mind to wander as he sat in bed, being about as useful as a garbage bag full of rocks.

That was the one thing he didn’t like about his job--his mind wasn’t allowed to wander or else he’d lose track of time and five minutes turned into ten and ten minutes turned into thirty and suddenly he’d been thinking about absolutely nothing for the better part of an hour.

Unfortunately for Phil, he got most of his best ideas when he let his mind roam free, and sitting at a desk all day was the perfect way to kill all of his inspiration.

He wasn’t completely oblivious to what was going on inside his mind, however; he had seen a doctor about medication for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and while it had worked pretty well at first, at some point or another the doses stopped working as well and it felt like the pills were only taking all his ADHD-fueled ideas and guiding them in the general direction of where they were supposed to go. The side effects were also awful--sometimes it seemed like any noise that was too loud or sudden could launch him into a panic attack and he often felt like vomiting.

He hadn’t had the time to go back to the doctor who had prescribed them in the first place, and so he’d just put the bottle on a high shelf and tried to forget about it.

Alongside battling his attention-disorder, Phil also had to deal with being both physically and mentally exhausted to the point of breaking due to his new part-time as a Starbucks barista.

He barely had any free time, either, and he usually spent his blessed days off sleeping for fourteen hours and ordering takeaway and playing Mario Kart on his couch alone.

Lovely.

With these thoughts in mind, Phil finally rolled out of his bed and dressed in the boring all-black that his job required he wear.

His mind still muddled with sleep (though thankfully warmed up by his wandering thoughts), Phil shuffled his way into the kitchen to get breakfast.

Pulling the coffeemaker towards himself and shoveling generous amounts of ground coffee inside it, Phil wondered if he’d have time to shower before heading to work. Probably not.

He lived close enough to walk to the cafe where he worked (not that he particularly wanted to--it was all drizzly and cold outside) and so he never had to worry about finding a method of transportation (he was awful at driving, the Tube gave him anxiety, and he didn’t have money to spare on cabs). He had a bit of time before he had to leave, enough to finish breakfast and sit and stare at the kitchen counter beneath his mug (or perhaps the telly) and wonder whether it was really worth getting out of bed this early for a job.

Shuffling around the kitchen and pulling a box of cereal from a cabinet, Phil made himself The Breakfast of Champions with little more than dry cereal and a big enough bowl (likely because of all the times his mum had chastised him for eating cereal with his hands straight out of the box, which resulted in a squirmy guilty feeling every time he did it).

There was, however, no point in using a spoon for dry cereal, which really only meant less dishes to wash later.

Pushing his glasses up his nose and sitting in front of the television, Phil wondered whether he could turn it on and watch half an episode without all his self-control going down the drain. Considering… er, previous events, Phil decided to keep the telly off or else he very well might end up marathoning The Office or Food Wars! instead of going to work like he was supposed to.

At least he knew what he was doing tonight.

Before he knew it, fifteen minutes had passed and he had to be at work in ten and he hadn’t even gotten his shoes on- but that was okay because they were just by the door, and so were his house keys-

Running back into his room to grab his phone and to turn off all the lights, Phil skidded back through the kitchen and nearly hit his head on a cabinet door he had forgotten to close.

Damn cabinets.

Phil slid his shoes on and slammed the door behind himself, barely remembering to lock it.

Walking briskly through the lobby of the apartment complex (his flat was on the ground floor, which was by far the Least Cool place he’s ever lived) and stepping through the double doors, Phil immediately found himself standing in the pouring rain.

He wished, as he always did whenever it rained, that he owned an umbrella.

It’s not like an umbrella is always first on his mental list of Things To Buy whenever he went to the store--after all, there were always much cooler and conventionally useful (he had always had trouble preparing for the future--which was why he currently lived on the first floor of an apartment building with one job in graphic design and another at Starbucks).

Phil resigned himself to walking along the sidewalk, already soaking wet and freezing. For God’s sake, it was June! Why was it so bloody cold outside?

Checking his phone and realizing that his shift was supposed to start in three minutes, Phil started walking slightly faster. He could always blame the rain for his tardiness.

--

By the time he finally set foot in the coffee shop and stepped behind the counter, the rain had relented slightly (although Phil was still very wet).

At the sound of his arrival, Devon (the shift manager) turned and regarded him with a look of slight disapproval.

��Phil, you’re late. Again.”

Phil swallowed. “I’m sorry, Devon- I lost track of time and it was pouring rain and I uh, forgot my umbrella-”

Devon dropped their stony disposition and grinned. “Yeah Phil, I’m sure you forgot your umbrella that totally exists. C’mon, we were gonna draw straws-” They guestured in the general direction of Alex and Liz, who waved, “-but since you’re the late one, you get to wipe the tables!”

Phil groaned exaggeratedly.

“C’mon, Devon, I did that last week! Besides, I’m all wet and-”

Devon held up their hand to hush Phil, and turned towards the back room, chucking an old towel at Phil.

Phil then proceeded to get hit in the face with said old towel, to which the people behind him burst out laughing.

Ignoring Liz and Alex’s giggling, Phil ripped the towel off his face and surveyed Devon with a look of mock disgust on his face.

“Fine,” Phil said haughtily, “but believe me, you’ll regret making me do this!”

Devon snickered.

“C’mon Lester, we don’t have time for dramatics. Just wipe the damn tables down and be done with it, okay?”

Phil rolled his eyes, hiding a smile on his face. Doing actual work might suck, but at least he wasn’t totally alone. His coworkers were pretty cool.

--

After wiping the tables down, Phil was instructed to make drinks for the morning stragglers with Liz as Alex manned the registers. Devon was in the back doing inventory- something that Phil was very glad he wasn’t in charge of.  

Making drinks was fairly simple for the most part--save for the insanely complicated ones. Phil still hadn’t gotten the hang of doing the fancy ones with the custom flavors and customers who knew the menu better than he did--especially the Starbucks “secret menu,” which simply took drinks that already tasted good and added a bunch of complicated ingredients to them. Liz was in charge of those. Phil was fine with making lattes and frappuccinos and tea for now.

He and Liz made a great team, with Devon scrawling the abbreviation of the drinks on the cups and passing them to Phil, who glanced at the order and determined whether or not he could make themself. If not, he would have to pass them to Liz, who had been here for years and knew every possible combination like the back of her hand (that metaphor confused Phil. There wasn’t really anything that distinguished the back of  one hand from another, unless you had a tattoo or something). Phil had only been here about a month, which immediately meant he was tasked with the more physical jobs, like sweeping the floor after the shop closed and taking care of the registers when nobody else wanted to.

Phil, Liz, and Alex continued working until about ten-thirty, when the lunch rush was just beginning.

That was when Alex, who looked even more exhausted than usual, took off her apron and hung it in the back. Devon stepped out, and stood in front of Liz and Phil.

There was a chocolate chip in their hair.

“Okay guys, Alex is taking her break and I need Phil to watch after the registers. I’ll be helping Liz make the drinks, and as soon as Alex is back, she’ll help Phil. Got it?”

They all nodded. Alex walked out the back door, likely to go sit at the plastic table out back. In the pouring rain. Sometimes Phil admired Alex for her complete inability to give a shit.

Phil took up his place at the register, and plastered on a smile for the growing queue of customers waiting to order.

God, people were scary.

Taking orders was quite stressful, and he had to remember the correct abbreviations of the drinks and try to understand what the customer said their name was- Riley? It was probably spelled Reileigh or Rylie (he’d had both already) or some other monstrosity sent from hell.

It was during a lull in business that Phil took the opportunity to slump against the counter and stare at the door to the shop, desperately hoping for no one else to walk through so he wouldn’t have to get up.

Devon looked at him pityingly.

Phil glanced down at the counter, swaying slightly and studying the swirling design of the plastic countertop and the crumbs that had managed to stick there.

Lo and behold, someone else stepped into the shop, and Phil smiled automatically while stepping forward to take their order.

An hour later, his head throbbed from talking to so many people, and with a nod from Devon, Phil stepped out of view from the customers and perched himself on an old stool in the corner.

This was exhausting.

Tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, Phil took a few deep breaths. Only a few hours until his break, and Devon was being kind enough to let him relax for a few minutes.

He was already so tired, but that didn’t mean he could slack off his job like this.

After a few minutes of sitting down, he’d surely be able to stand up again and go back to work without wanting to die.

...Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but Phil was a gay twenty-something and also happened to be exhausted to the point of collapsing. He figured he could cut himself some slack.

--

When the boy with curls damp from the rain and eyes the color of the coffee Phil was making stumbled into the shop like some great force of nature, Phil couldn’t help but glance up.

And he kept glancing, but then he somehow ended up taking longer looks that lasted only a few seconds and then only a few seconds turned to even more seconds until suddenly Phil realized he’d been outright staring at the man for at least a minute.

Behind him, Liz cleared her throat loudly.

“You can’t stare at the pretty boy while I do all the work, Lester,” she teased.

Phil nodded, taking his eyes off the stranger and finishing the iced tea he was making.

At that moment, Alex stepped back into the store, her short hair soaking wet and her clothes dripping water on the floor.

“I’m off my break,” she announced.

“You do know that someone will have to clean that up later, right?” Devon inquired dryly.

Alex said nothing and stepped behind the counter, putting her apron back on and gesturing drippingly to Phil to help her with the cash registers.

Devon sighed and stepped back to help Liz with the drinks.

It was at this moment that the boy (who was still slightly damp and who also seemed to be having some internal battle) stood up from his seat and made his way over to the counter.

Phil’s heart did a funny swoop thing and he was pretty sure he could hear the blood rushing through his ears.

Did he really fall apart this easily whenever an attractive person breathed in his direction? Honestly.

The stranger, who still hadn’t noticed Phil yet, surveyed the pastry cases and stepped closer to study the menu.

With a jolt, he seemed to realize that Phil was there, and proceeded to stare at him, a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

Phil was aware of the fact that his own face was likely bright red.

“Er, hello,” Phil began. “I’m Phil. What can I get for you today?”

It was a miracle he hadn’t embarrassed himself already.

“Oh, er, well- I, I actually haven’t decided yet? I mean, uh, yeah.” The stranger’s tongue seemed to trip over itself in an attempt to get the words out. “Sorry,” he added as an afterthought.

Phil felt his heart soften at the boy’s nervous stuttering.

“It’s fine. Take your time! It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” Phil managed, and then felt himself cringe as he realized that it probably sounded he was implying that the boy needed Phil to make an order, or something. God. Why was Phil always embarrassing himself like this?

The stranger cleared his throat, and Phil snapped back to the present.

“I- could I actually have, um, the er, the Caramel Mocha Latte? That’s good, right?” He paused, considering. “Could I also get an, er, a blueberry muffin?”

“What size?”

The man blinked. “Sorry?”

“What, er, size do you want your drink?”

“Oh, sorry. Um, medium, I reckon.”

Phil nodded, pulling a grande cup towards him. “Could I get a name?”

The stranger looked confused for a second, and then seemed to realize what Phil meant.

“Oh, right. Uh, Dan.”

His name was Dan.

Phil scribbled that on the cup, along with the abbreviation for the drink.

“That’ll be, er, £8 .50. Cash or card?”

Dan, who had seemed to be staring off into space, seemed to jolt himself back into the present. Phil could relate.

“Oh, yes, card, sorry,” Dan said, fumbling for his wallet and extracting a credit card.

Phil nodded and took it. Dan’s eyes were very pretty. So were his curls, and the light dusting of freckles across his nose- Phil shouldn’t be thinking about this.

Dan, as if oblivious to the effect he was having on Phil, seemed fascinated with the way Phil’s hands moved as they swiped the card.

If the twinge of pink lining his cheeks were anything to go by, Phil could guess that it was either very cold outside or Dan was still embarrassed about the loud entrance he had made a few minutes previously. There had to be a reason he was blushing like that, right?

Phil handed the card back to Dan, who now appeared to be staring at Phil’s mouth. Embarrassed, Phil wondered whether he had food stuck on his upper lip or if he had missed a spot shaving that morning.

Ducking his head and reaching into the pastry case, Phil pulled out Dan’s muffin. Tucking it into a paper bag, he set it on the countertop between them.

Clearing his throat, Phil waited for Dan’s gaze to snap back up to his own. God, his eyes were gorgeous.

“Er, your drink will be ready in a few minutes over there-” he gestured towards the end of the counter, “-and here’s your muffin! Enjoy your food,” Phil added, smiling at Dan.

Dan smiled back. He had a dimple. Phil immediately wanted to kiss it. He also wanted to bury his face in the crook of Dan’s neck and stay there for a while, but he had a job to do and also Dan was a complete stranger and- God, Phil was probably so creepy for thinking like this.

As if on cue, Dan took the muffin between them and gave Phil an awkward wave before walking back over to his table and sitting down.

Turning back to face his coworkers, Phil was immediately unsurprised to see all three of them gaping at him. Even Alex.

“That was literally the most awkward interaction I have ever seen.” Devon said, their hand over their face.

“Oh my God you guys, get a room,” Liz quipped, trying not to laugh.

Alex just stared, an expression of shame on her face. “God, Lester, what was that? Have you ever successfully flirted with anyone, I don’t know, ever?”

Phil rolled his eyes, his heart beating unfairly fast in his chest. “Can you guys just make the drink? I wasn’t even trying to flirt at all! I was just taking his order! He probably doesn’t even like guys, for fuck’s sake.”

Devon snickered. “You mean to tell me, the master of gaydar, that that man wasn’t ogling your ass when you turned around to get his damn muffin?”

Phil sighed. These people were relentless.

Alex grabbed his shoulders, looking like she was ready to shake him. “Phil, I swear, if you don’t have that guy’s number by the time he leaves this place, I am going to personally walk to his house and get it myself. You hear?”

Phil shrugged her off. “C’mon guys, seriously. Can you just make his drink?”

Liz raised an eyebrow. Devon smirked. They all backed off a little, although the looks they shot each other definitely meant they weren’t going to leave this alone.  

A few minutes later, Dan’s drink was ready and Phil had taken orders from three more customers. Liz had called Dan’s name and he had come up to collect it--and Phil definitely didn’t miss the intense stares all of his coworkers had given Dan as he walked away.

“Nice ass,” Alex commented slyly, eyeing Phil to see his reaction.

Phil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Again. Honestly, at some point his eyeballs were going to pop out of his head and onto the floor, just like his mum told him they would when he was a teenager.

Phil’s co-workers weren’t the only ones staring at Dan, though. Phil had to admit it was actually quite hard to keep his eyes off the man’s figure, hunched over the table and scribbling in what looked like a journal of some sort.

He was left-handed. Phil wasn’t sure why that was important to him, but it was.

Once or twice, he was sure that Dan was looking at him as well. It was hard to tell, though, and anyway, why would someone as pretty as Dan be looking at Phil?

When it was nearing the end of Phil’s shift and he was glancing anxiously at the clock every few seconds, Devon seemed to take notice of this and casually made their way over to Dan, who was still sitting at his little table.

Phil was too far away to properly hear what was going on, but when Devon first began to speak, Dan’s head jerked up, like he hadn’t expected anyone to take notice of him.

Dan only seemed to look further confused as Devon went on, but when they jerked their head back in the direction of the cash registers, Phil began to have an idea of what was going on. Dear God, he wished he didn’t.

Hiding his face in his hands, Phil wished dearly that Devon had only walked over to inquire about the quality of Dan’s drink, or the weather, or literally anything other than what Phil knew it was about.

Peeking through his fingers, Phil saw just in time Dan scribbling something on a napkin and offering it to Devon. Dan’s face was quite red.

When Devon turned around with a smile big enough to engulf their face, Phil groaned and stood up fully, hands gripping the countertop.

Dan, whose face was still beet-red, stared at the floor and tucked one ankle behind the other nervously. Phil turned his attention back to Devon, who slapped the napkin down on the counter proudly.

“You’re welcome, Lester. I just got you a pretty boy’s number, and you bet your ass you will call him, or I’ll do it for you! ”

Phil sighed. “Like how you got his number from him for me as well?”

Devon rolled their eyes. “C’mon, I’m doing you a favor. He was so cute about it too! I thought if his face got any redder, he’d explode!”

Devon looked at him expectantly.

Phil swiped the napkin off the counter and tucked into his pocket. “There. Happy?”

“Obviously.”

--

Phil was sitting in his flat.

The rain was still drizzling outside, and the sounds of it hitting the pavement echoed off the tall London buildings and created a peaceful, rumbling sound--like a cat purring loudly or the far-off sounds of a train on the railroad.

The sun was setting, and the darkening sky seemed to breathe with the city, creating that special sense of calm that only a rainstorm at night could produce.

All the curtains in his flat were open, as if trying to welcome the last streaks of washed-out daylight left in the world, and the room was getting darker and darker at such a pace that if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to watch it happening.

Phil, oblivious to the rest of the world, was clutching a brown, wrinkly Starbucks napkin with pen marks messily scratched onto its surface.

His handwriting was adorable. It had a slight left slant, and he had drawn a smiley face next to where he had scrawled his number for Phil.

His number. For Phil.

Phil wondered if he had even gotten out of bed that morning or if this was all a dream.

God, he hoped not.

It was around six in the evening, and Phil, in lieu of turning on Netflix and binging a series like he normally would, was sitting on his couch with his phone in his hand and debating whether to call the number on the napkin.

Oh God, what if it was fake? What if Dan had just given a pretend number to make Devon go away? Phil wouldn’t blame him. Oh God. This was so embarrassing. Phil didn’t even know what Devon had said to acquire the number, and to be completely honest, he didn’t want to know.

This was nerve-wracking.

Should he call or text? A call might look like he was trying too hard, but a text might look like he wasn’t trying enough- oh, he was insane. He definitely wasn’t going to call Dan. Did he have a deathwish? Phone calls were awful.

Before he could overthink it, Phil typed out a quick text.

Hey, Dan. It’s me, Phil, from Starbucks!

Okay, that was simple enough. Phil highly doubted Dan had met another person named Phil and had also given them his number on the same day, but it never hurt to make sure, right?

Phil sent it before his brain’s irrational panicking could get in the way, and tossed his phone down on the coffee table as if it were a bomb.

Staring at it, Phil waited for something, anything, to happen.

Nothing happened.

Phil was forced to acknowledge the fact that no, sending a text before he got the chance to over-think it was definitely not a guaranteed way to stop his anxiety from going into overdrive. If anything, it was worse.

Flopping back against the couch, Phil stared up at the ceiling. Maybe it was a fake number. Dan probably wasn’t going to reply, and Phil would never be able to face his coworkers after this embarrassment.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed with an incoming text, and Phil lunged for it.

hi phil! to what (or whom, i suppose) do i owe this pleasure? :)

Grinning to himself in the semi-darkness of his flat, Phil typed out a response to the boy with the coffee-colored eyes and a blush that happened to be the exact shade of the begonias growing in the dirt outside the building.

Maybe rain wasn’t quite so melancholy after all.

[puthyflapps]

NFWMB chapter five

Merry Christmas, happy holigays! I’m back with an update. Sorry, it took a little longer than usual. I was sick and then Christmas happened and all that jazz but, I'm back now. Warning for this chapter: graphic depictions of sexual assault/rape. Read at your own risk

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Morning finds her showered in golden light and surrounded by exquisite furs. She realizes she is no longer in her resting spot on the floor but rather in the Commander’s bed. The brunette seemed to have a habit of transporting Clarke in her sleep (not that she minded). The mattress beneath her beaten body is so soft it feels like she’s sinking into the material. The alpha’s scent engulfs her senses and soothes her in a way she’s never experienced before. She was typically repulsed by alpha’s and their overbearing scents, however, Lexa’s soft pine scent seemed to have her taking deep breaths just to catch as much of it as possible in her lungs. 

Clarke feels a slight stirring next to her and turns over to find the source of her current favorite smell. The alpha laid flat on her stomach with her chestnut tresses free from their usual intricate braids and splayed all over the pillow beneath her head. There was no trace of her usual black mask anywhere on her face and if Clarke looked close enough she could see the lightest dusting of freckles covering the brunette’s nose. Dropping her cerulean eyes down to the woman’s plump lips she noticed that the alpha also had one tiny freckle resting on her top lip. The alpha had such soft features for a woman who seemed so hardened by the world around her. It was an interesting juxtaposition and the blonde couldn’t help but to reach her hand out towards the other woman’s face and use her finger to lightly trace the highs and lows of her face.

She ran her small, porcelain finger from the top of the alpha’s forehead where her thick hairline began, down to the tip of her nose. Clarke could barely bite back her smile at hearing the alpha purr at her motions. She continued to drag her finger from Lexa’s nose over her pillowy lips to her chin. The Omega can almost feel the alpha’s purrs in her own chest as they increase in volume. Clarke would be lying if she said it wasn’t possibly the cutest thing she had ever experienced. She had never seen such a strong alpha behave so softly. In fact, she had never experienced an alpha as kind as Lexa.

It had only been what? Two days and the woman before her had treated her better than any other alpha she had ever come into contact with besides her mother. Lexa had made sure she had fresh clothes, she had sat on the ground and ate with her the previous night, and she had held her as she sobbed uncontrollably — unable to confess the horrors of what she experienced in her camp. Something about Lexa made this feeling of warmth bubble in her stomach and rise to fill her chest every time she was near the alpha or thought about her. Clarke had never experienced anything like it and it relaxed her and made her anxious all at the same time. The female alpha calmed her and she couldn’t help but feel drawn to her and like she could trust her. But she also felt nervous because of her past. Last time she thought alphas weren’t bad had been before the 100 figured out she and Raven weren’t one of them.

The day Clarke was forced onto the dropship and informed that she and 99 others would be testing the earth to see if it was inhabitable her mother had been able to slip her two suppressants. The pills should’ve lasted six months but when she had met Raven and discovered she too was an omega she made the decision to take one pill and give Raven the other. The pills had done their job for the most part. Two months went by and no one had suspected anything. The suppressants had caused them to appear as though they were betas rather than omegas. Although they weren’t regarded as highly as the alphas they were still treated rather well until the third month of being on the ground had rolled around. 

By the third month, the effects of the pills had started to wear off. Their scents weren’t nearly as dulled and Clarke had begun experiencing symptoms of her heat. She and Raven tried their best to hide it but it was no use. Octavia Blake was the first one to figure it out and broadcast it to the whole camp. Sometimes Clarke would sit and think if Octavia was proud of outing the omegas if she felt a sense of pride at ratting them out to her psychopathic brother. When she freely walked past them in their cage did her chest swell with satisfaction at the sight of the omegas withering away? It was something that dug away at her constantly when she spent her days and nights locked up like a zoo animal while the betas and alphas reveled in their new found freedom from the ark.

“Why did you stop?” Asked the powerful female alpha, not even bothering to open her eyes. The question was enough to draw her out of her reverie.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologizes quickly removing her hand from the tan face before her. Lexa finally cracks her eyes open revealing those beautiful green orbs of hers. Lifting a long, tan finger of her own she traces the same path down the omegas face being careful not to bother any bruises or scrapes along the pretty face.

“It is okay, I found it rather soothing,” the woman admits shyly. Clarke smiles at the memory of the Commander’s purrs. A giggle slips past the blonde’s lips causing the corners of Lexa’s mouth to twitch up into a smile.

“You were purring like a pup,” she teases.

“No such thing happened,” the alpha argues back in faux sternness. “I am Heda, Commander of the twelve clans. I do not purr,” she states puffing her chest up in arrogance that soon vanishes when the omega draws her finger along the brunette’s chiseled jawline causing another purr to escape the back of her throat. Clarke lets out a boisterous laugh before teasing Lexa once more, “…Pup.”

The Commander rolled her eyes and let out a huff at the omega’s antics. “I am glad to hear you laugh Klark kom Skaikru, even if it is at my expense.” She watches as the happiness that was just etched across the other woman’s face slowly disappear and become replaced by a solemn look. “I feel guilty for it,” she admits. “I feel guilty for smiling, for being in this bed. I feel guilty for finding you.”

“Klark…”

“It’s not fair that I’m here with you, being treated so well while she’s stuck there with them. It’s not right.” Tears well up in her ocean eyes as she thinks about all the possibilities of what Raven could be going through while she lays wrapped up in the Commander’s furs. Lexa makes quick work of wiping away any of the omega’s stray tears before replying, “We are going to help her, Klark. Anya has assembled a group to travel with her to your people’s campsite to retrieve your friend and my General has made it abundantly clear that she is not returning empty-handed.” 

Clarke sniffled as she attempted to get her emotions in check. She wants to believe Lexa. She wants to believe that Anya will return with her friend by nightfall and the two won’t ever have to worry about Bellamy or any of the other delinquents again. Everything in her wants to believe she’ll be reunited with her friend in no time but part of her, the realist in her knows that it won't be that simple. Nothing is ever that easy when it comes to the ark alphas and the only thing she can do is hope and pray that Bellamy had enough mercy not to kill Raven. The Omega doesn’t know what she would do if Anya returned with the news that her friend had been beaten to death. 

“When does she leave?”

“They’re probably still preparing the horses for the journey so she will set out in about an hour,” the alpha answered.

“Can I speak with her before she goes?” Clarke asked timidly.

“Of course. Allow me to bathe and dress and I will take you to her.” The omega smiled weakly at the Commander’s willingness to grant her wish. She mumbled a soft ‘thank you’ and watched on in amusement as the alpha rolled onto her back before quickly reaching for a pillow to place over her lap. The brunette’s cheeks were tinged pink as she tried her best to slide out of the bed while making sure the pillow stayed in place. Clarke wasn’t naïve, she knew what was happening in Lexa’s pants. 

The omega was well aware of the issues that arise in the morning for alphas and the Commander was not exempt from it either it seemed. She watched on as the woman clumsily made her way through the tent trying to ignore the goings-on in the spandex of her shorts. The blonde couldn’t help but tease her one last time as she made her way to the area of the large tent that housed the pseudo bathroom, “Pup.” 

Clarke couldn’t help the laugh that escaped when the only response she received from the alpha was a playful growl followed by a soft utterance of ‘not a pup’ as she continued to make her way into the bathroom.

———————————————————————————————————————

“Then you die.”

Anya watches as the weight of her words settle on the skaikru’s shoulders. Their once smug faces are now coated in fear at the information. Good, the alpha thought to herself. It was only right that those savages felt the same kind of fear that they had made Clarke and Raven feel. It was Anya’s goal to one day make each and every one of them especially Bellamy, feel the same kind of pain that they had inflicted upon the two omegas. It took everything in her not to rip the arrogant man limb from limb. She had to muster all the strength and self-control she could to turn her back to him and signal for her warriors to follow her out of the camp.

The group of grounders had only made it a little ways past the camp before Cypress, a beta from the Trishana Kru, voiced his concerns, “General, we did not find the omega, Reivon. What are we to do?”

Anya stills her horse and waits for the others to gather around her before speaking, “I need the fastest rider among us to send word to the Commander of what we have learned about the Skaikru’s camp.” It was important to the alpha that she informs her friend and leader of the conditions of the camp and those who inhabited it. The image of that cage that she had seen seemed to be burned into her brain and she can’t explain why. Something about the smell of shit and piss mixed with blood and the knowledge that whatever was held in there was clearly not take care of almost made bile rise and burn in the Generals throat. The voice of one of her warriors is what finally manages to free her mind of the horrid memories.

“Is that all?” Asks Orion, an omega from Delfikru, as he prepares himself for the journey knowing that he is indeed the fastest warrior among the bunch. The blonde shakes her head gripping the reigns of her mare so tight that her knuckles begin to turn white. “No, I request that you inform Heda that we will not be returning to camp. Tell her that we will not be leaving these forests until we find out where they are hiding the omega,” her voice booms with nothing but pure power. 

The female alpha can’t help the aggressive pheromones that roll off of her at the mention the missing omega. She had promised Clarke that she would not return without her friend and she had made it a personal mission to find the beautiful woman in the thick foliage of the Trikru lands. She can feel anger rumbling in her chest and radiating out to every nerve in her body. The sound of her blood pumping with a combination of adrenaline and authority filled her ears as she rallied her troop. “When we find Reivon kom Skaikru, we will find her abusers and we cut their heads off and hang them outside the gates of Polis as a warning to those who enter of what happens when you place your hands on an omega.” 

The General can feel her warriors energy beginning to match the intensity of her own. Those not on horses begin to stomp their feet and staffs against the ground as the others raise their raise their weapons to the sky. It is unclear where it starts but once it has begun it can't be stopped. The grounders, whether they were alphas, betas, or omegas all joined together to chant in unison:

“JUS DREIN, JUS DAUN! JUS DREIN, JUS DAUN! JUS DREIN, JUS DAUN!”

———————————————————————————————————————

Raven has no idea where she is. It's been so long that the usual searing pain in her leg has been replaced by a dull throbbing in her shoulder. Her body is so cold from being exposed to the frigid night air that it almost feels as though her skin is burning. The only thing she has resembling an article of clothing is a thick strip of cloth that the alpha had tied around her eyes to keep any semblance of light out. She has no idea exactly how long she’s been hanging but the rope has started to dig into her wrists causing blood to trickle down her arms. The only thing she’s been able to smell since he drug her out here was the iron of her own blood.

The omega isn’t sure how much longer she can last. If she doesn’t die of her injuries then the malnutrition will do it. She remembers being cooped up in the pen with Clarke and being able to run her hands over her torso and watch her fingers bump along caramel skin as they trailed over where her ribs should’ve been hidden. She had always been rather thin, it came with the territory of being an omega with an alcoholic mother who sold what little food rations she got for her booze but this, this was different. She could barely manage to stay awake for more than an hour at a time. It would only get worse when he would return to find her passed out and beat her awake. 

As she hung there she could feel herself coming closer to unconsciousness as her body swayed back and forth. Her toes lightly drug along the forest floor as she rocked to and fro. The omega couldn’t even bear to try and stand on her tiptoes anymore and it came as no surprise when the weight of her swinging body caused the bindings on her wrists to tighten even more creating a tourniquet effect. The Latina remained like that for a few short moments before her right shoulder gave out. All she heard was a pop followed by agonizing pain as she drooped lower signaling that her shoulder had been dislocated.

Raven’s eyes water behind the blindfold as she does her best to hold in a scream at the painful injury. She can feel her heart thumping in her chest and she can hear her blood pumping in her ears. The pain is so intense that it causes the omega to rid her stomach of what little content is in there. The vomit burns her esophagus and when her stomach cant wretch out any more matter she begins to dry heave for several minutes. The battered woman only pauses her ministrations when she hears what appears to be the sound of sticks and leaves crunching under the weight of someone’s foot. Raven is so exhausted that she doesn’t even bother to move as the person approaches her weak frame.

The omega inhales and she can smell it — smell him. The alpha had always smelled like a combination of aggression and something else, perhaps gasoline. It was a harsh scent and it always burned her nostrils whenever she would catch a whiff of it and it was no different now. She knows he’s close and when he reaches out his calloused hands and runs them over her naked form it almost makes her puke again. His hands trail from her shoulder blades down to grope her rear before continuing their path to the front of her body where her sex is. More tears begin to fall from her covered eyes as she hyperventilates and begs, “Please…please don’t.”

Raven hears the man shush her as he unzips his pants to reveal his hard member. The alpha presses himself up against her making her squirm which only causes even more pain to shoot through her dislocated shoulder. He must have decided that he didn’t like the angle because she can feel him step away briefly and her body crumples to the ground shortly after. The relief she feels from finally being cut down from the tree doesn’t last long. The Omega can feel the alpha mount her from behind and use one of his large hands to push her face down into the earth beneath her. 

Dirt starts to fill her mouth and she can hardly breathe with him on top of her. She tries her best to move but he’s so heavy and her leg hardly works and she just can’t shake him. All her movements seem to do is anger him. The woman can feel him line his shaft up with her entrance before slamming into her. She’s not wet and he used no kind of lubrication thus causing his thrust to feel as though she was being impaled. It hurt so bad that it had her seeing stars behind her blindfold. 

“She came looking for you today,” he pants in her ear as continues with his harsh movements. “One of those grounders; said she was their General.” His words intrigue her and she tries her best to listen but the intensity of the pain she’s feeling between her thighs is becoming so unbearable that it's hard to maintain consciousness let alone pay attention to whatever it is the alpha was telling her. Raven can feel his thrusts becoming less rhythmic signaling his release was coming soon. She can also feel his knot forming and she prays that he isn’t cruel enough to insert it in her tight entrance.

“She didn’t find anything though. She didn’t find you and she won’t ever find you. She won’t ever take you away from me because you’re mine, understand?” He asks. His hot breath beats against the dirt and blood stained cheek of the omega below him as he keeps hammering into her. Raven can feel her eyes beginning to roll into the back of her head as unconsciousness rapidly approaches her. The woman can’t form any words so the man gets his answer by way of marking her. The alpha digs his teeth into the spot on her neck where her scent gland resides before he finishes pumping jets of his seed into her and whispering, “Mine.” He only releases his hold on her throat when he’s done filling her.

He removes himself from the omegas battered sex leaving her to lie on the cold ground for a moment as he readjusts himself. The alpha moves to hang the Latina on the large tree once more. When he deems his job well done he turns his back and makes his way back to camp leaving the omega suspended in the air as a mixture of blood and semen slowly start to drip down and coat the now unconscious woman’s inner thighs.

[peccolias]

Carousel (aka Recipe for Disaster)

Naruto OC fic

M rating for coarse and crude language, substance abuse mentions

Humor

~2k words

Take one young and shameless flirt with a new lease on life and nothing to lose. Combine with every poor shmuck unfortunate enough to live in Konoha. She’ll spend the world right ‘round, and ‘round, and ‘round. OC Rebirth fic.

(WIP preview under the cut)

The girl was well-mannered.

Perhaps a little off-color at times, but charmingly so. Enough that people laughed at most of her jokes, anyway.

Not entirely memorable, but with the kind of face you could recognize in a crowd. A little plain, but her bright and colorful personality made up for it.

Her name was—

The scrawling pen stopped. Pushed a bit too hard on the paper—splattered shiny black ink across the page.

Tōmei cursed under her breath and tried to wipe the wet splotches of ink away with the side of her hand—panicked, and too late realized that only made the mess bigger. “Fuck! Shit! I just wrote that!” She picked up the entire notebook and held it aloft in both hands, flapping it around in the air, trying to get it to dry before ink dripped elsewhere.

Not such a great idea.

Her writing space wasn’t the cleanest area—just a cushion and a low table shoved up against a wall, really, with several books, opened and closed, strewn around the floorboards. One of those books had the gall, the sheer audacity, to grab her by the ankle and trip her up.

The notebook flailed in the air—arms pinwheeled as her body arced and she tried to correct her balance. “Wait! Wait wait—stop!”

No such luck.

She fell on her butt, hard, and hissed through her teeth before just dropping flat against the ground and releasing a whoosh of breath.

Another book dug into her back—she didn’t mind it, much. It pressed into the spot just on the side of her spine that twinged with a persistent pain leftover from a poor and unpracticed attempt of dealing out the smack down to a teammate with a German suplex.

The notebook had fallen, scattered, pages folded, wrinkled, against her arm.

Well, it was a shitty start to the story, anyway. And stories were kind of her thing—she had to raise the bar a little. Challenge herself. Break outta the comfort zone. Check in to Narnia.

She closed her eyes and ran her hand across her face, letting it and the long sleeves of her red sweatshirt rest across it heavily, fingers massaging her forehead. Hiding her bloodshot, sleep-deprive eyes visibly shadowed even through her olive-tan skin. Laying on the floor wasn’t that bad, really. Maybe she’d just stay there forever. Never get up. Never go outside. She’d spend the rest of her days as a shut-in. She’d lay there so long, in fact, that her body would grow into the dusty floorboards. Melt together as one.

Her nose wrinkled at the thought. “Sorry, I don’t ship that.”

No—she had to get up. Because a knock sounded outside the door.

She craned her head sideways against the floorboards to see a shadow swaying vaguely on the other side of the sliding door panel.

“Tōmei-chan!” the shadow called. “Are you home? I brought what you asked for.”

Ah, what a sweet voice. The voice of a friend. A savior in her time of crisis.

She tried to get up—moved too fast, felt a sharp jerk as her head spun like a wild Beyblade, wheezed, and collapsed again. Back onto the book that dug into her back, and this time not too kindly. A groan left her lips as she shimmied away from it until the floor was flat beneath her. As it should be.

“Yeah, uhhh, I’m gonna need you to let yourself in. Door’s unlocked.”

The latch released—the door slid in its tracks to reveal the upside-down face of her good ol’ reliable friend, Nohara Rin. Rocking those burgundy thigh-highs and a fashionable bob haircut, which hung around her face in a curtain as she stared down at the other girl in full dismay.

“Jeez, you’re like an old lady. How long have you been down there?”

“If I’m old, I sure as fuck have fantastic and supple skin for my age,” the girl shot back with a toothy grin—canines, a bit too sharp, incisors slightly crooked. Because, no matter how you looked at it, the two girls were no older than twelve. Not even teenagers yet—but in their terrible pre-teens. Right on the cusp of puberty and crushes and unrequited first loves and growth spurts and trips to the corner store to sneak peaks at the porno mags.

Although for Tōmei, it wouldn’t be her first rodeo.

As always, Rin’s thin, shaped brows furrowed together at the crass language—she was a proper lady, for the most part. Only cussed when she was good and pissed. Which…never happened. Not that Tōmei had ever seen—and she’d seen a lot of the girl. They attended the Academy together, some few years ago. Weren’t on the same genin team, or chūnin squad, but remained mutual friends through some weird twist of fate.

The purple marks on her cheeks creased slightly as she grimaced. Then allowed a tolerant smile as she held out a hand. Just one, because the other held a pouch filled to bursting with sweet, sweet meds.

Tōmei reached for it and grabbed on tight, bracing herself as the other girl hauled her into a sitting position. Almost got to her feet, until the stabbing pain returned. This time, through her skull. She let go immediately and fell back onto her ass, gripping her head in her hands. “Ow, ow ow… Think you could hand me one of those amazing painkillers you brought first? Pretty please?”

Rin’s patience knew no bounds. She pulled her hand back and opened up the bag—pink, like Tōmei requested even if it was off-hand—and retrieving a round ball that looked for all the world like a determined dung beetle’s pièce de résistance with the way it reflected the lighting, but in reality was a specialty health pill. A lesser version of the ones issued to shinobi in combat, because she was pretty sure those were laced with something not-so-legal, especially for kids. These were over-the-counter grade. Perfectly legal. Because abusing narcotics was bad and should never be done, ever. Ever.

Not that she’d complain if Rin had access to a surplus of soldier pills, but she had to take what she could get.

She tossed the pill her way, and Tōmei watched it trace a perfect arc through the air before landing in her mouth. She crunched it with the full force of her teeth, without mercy. Crushed it into powder to leech its power—those precious acetaminophen particles that would morph into tiny loyal knights and beat the pain beasts into submission. Her eyes shut as she released an elated sigh. “You’re such a doll, Rin. Thank you. Thank you. You’re a goddess.”

“Don’t thank me, just don’t forget the cake you promised in return,” Rin replied with a half-smile, tilting her head just slightly to the left as she observed her friend. “Do you want me to check you?”

“You can check me out any day.” Tōmei shrugged, massaging her temples as she waited with bated breath for the effects to kick in. She held out a hand, palm-up. “Gimme another. Just for precaution.”

Rin reeled back, clutching the medicine bag to her chest, a frown marring her face as she tightly buttoned the flap closed. “You know it’s one a day. You promised! Don’t make me drag you to the hospital. Although, Taji-sensei would love a new patient.” Seeing the easygoing grin that settled onto the other girl’s lips as she let her hand fall away from her face and rest against the floor eased her worry. “…Don’t joke like that, Tōmei-chan. You know I worry.”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout me. Headaches kinda just happen. The back thing was an accident, though…”

Rin heaved a sigh—a bit dramatic. Maybe her presence was rubbing off on her. “Sometimes I think we’re only friends because I’m the medic.”

“No way! No way—c’mon, who else would I take early morning jogs with so we can ogle our shapely fellow athletes as they pass us by? Remember when—” she lowered her voice into a not-so-quiet stage whisper, cupping her hand to one side of her mouth. “Remember when we saw Minato-sensei with his shirt off?!”

Rin’s face tinged pink—only briefly, before she pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t say that out loud ever again. You might slip up and mention it around Kushina-san. That… I can’t imagine what would become of you.”

Tōmei shrugged, but her expression had glazed over. “He’s such a mild guy. I never knew he had a six pack. ‘Yellow Flash?’ More like Yellow flash me.”

“Puberty is going to be an awful time for you, Tōmei-chan.” All she could do was shake her head in pity.

“Mmm, probably.” A decidedly catlike grin overtook her face as she looked directly into her friend’s eyes. “Buuut you can’t tell me you don’t try to catch Kakashi’s shirt slip up a little when y’all’re training.” After dropping that bomb, she casually examined her uneven, bitten fingernails, eyebrows raised.

It didn’t faze her. “Oh, please. You’re the one constantly speculating on random women’s bust sizes. Shameless ogling is your area of expertise.” Her sweet smile remained. “A shame, really. If you applied that kind of passion to your studies, you could have passed at the top of our class, too.”

Tōmei flicked a booger in her general direction, earning a shriek.

Rin tossed the medicine pouch toward her and turned on her heel with a huff, feigning irritation. “Well, I have to get going. Medical lessons.” She stopped as she neared the door, throwing a concerned look over her shoulder as her friend remained on the floor. “Let me know if you have any more problems. And remember—one per day.”

“Doctor’s orders,” Tōmei saluted as she pushed herself to her knees and then rose to her feet, back ramrod straight, before half-jogging to the door to see Rin off. “And the cake you asked for should be ready tomorrow.”

Humid air blew in through the door as soon as she opened it—a bit chilly, but not chilly enough for the thick red sweatshirt zipped all the way up to the girl’s throat. The full-length, black leggings, much less. Her bare feet pattered along the flat expanse of dirt as she followed her to the road, waving her arm in a large arc as she waved her farewell. “Tell Obito I saw him in a dream last night, if you see him!”

Rin smiled—tensely—and shook her head as she returned the wave, though much less enthusiastic. By now, she’d grown accustomed to her friend’s wily, crude behavior—but it was still embarrassing when she spouted it in public.

Tōmei set her hands on her hips as she watched her friend depart, proud that they’d reached the point in their relationship where she could honestly shoot down her facetious request. Then, her attention promptly drifted to a passing civilian man wearing extremely tight pants, and in that moment all that existed in the world was that finely sculpted derriere—

A steady stream of icy water splattered against her face, hitting her right cheek and splashing across her nose, stray droplets sparkling in the morning sunlight as the rest soaked her from the shoulders up. Her mouth dropped open as she dragged her horrified gaze to the side to see a particularly exhausted individual eyeing her with tired disdain. He also held a water hose in his hand, which innocently hydrated a potted plant on the windowsill. Like it didn’t just drench her.

“I see you’ve upgraded from the spray bottle,” Tōmei observed with no hostility, hands still on her hips, though rigid. Clinging tightly to the fabric of her jacket’s waistband. “But I told you, I told you, Kakashi, I’d wear a white T-shirt if you didn’t cut that out!” She gripped the waistband and yanked it upward in one swift motion to reveal the hem of a white shirt, which crawled up along with the sweatshirt and revealed a good bit of her stomach as she pulled it up over her grinning face—her coup de grace. But backfired. The shirt fell down into place again, dry and covering what it was supposed to, but the sweatshirt—not so much. Not with a fully-zipped zipper, still bunching the neckline at her throat. It remained stuck at her chin no matter how hard she pulled, legs bowed and braced against the earth as if it would give her the strength she needed.

“You are so embarrassing.”  

She gave another tug at the sweatshirt before giving up and dropping it, letting gravity drag it back down her torso. Like her pride, her hair, a dark brown—almost black, especially when soaked—didn’t escape unscathed, either. Flyaway strands stuck out in every direction, especially from the braid pinned at the back of her head with a clip. Inversed, with the thin tail end sticking straight up from the back of her head like an antenna. Skewed, because of the struggle. Sticking to the right a little more than usual, wilted.

With as much composure as she could muster, she straightened the antenna and smoothed down her jacket, sticking her hands into the pockets on either side of the zipper. Looked away—down the road, watching a few neighbors mill about—before she snapped her head toward her immediate neighbor and feigned a gasp, hands splayed in front of her mouth, eyes wide.

“Oh! Morning, Kakashi. Didn’t even see you there!”

He sighed, audibly. The mask covering his face didn’t even muffle it.

She waited a moment, wondering if he would return the small talk, and shrugged when he didn’t. Not a talky one, that kid. “Anyway, those plants are growing great! Don’t you know the girls—and boys, too—love a guy who can raise a garden?”

The hose splashed her full in the face, this time.

“I—I didn’t even try to make that an innuendo! It was a genuine compliment!”

Such was life, being the unfortunate and long-time neighbor of Kamiyama Tōmei.

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Nesting Part 2

A/N: This is the third and final one shot I promised to write as part of my 2000 followers celebration so long ago that I honestly don’t remember. It’s been months, I think. So many months. Anyway, Be sure to read PART 1 HERE before you go reading this. I mean, you don’t have to, but it will help. Thanks to @manawhaat for telling me this doesn’t suck. If I’m ever bored, I have an idea for a smutty third part, but don’t hold your breath. It would be years. You’d definitely die.

Summary: Dean takes the Reader into his bedroom and the hormones cause tears and confessions.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, older reader, Dean not caring about the Reader not using a 20% off BB&B coupon and being super sweet in general.

Word count: 1828 words

By the time Dean carried you to his room, doubts had already begun zipping through your mind. Sure, he wanted you when you had your clothes on and you rocked his world with angry sex. What’s to say he wouldn’t feel differently after he saw how your boobs totally didn’t do the bra thing without the bra, anymore? Things jiggled, now, and not in good ways.

Dean sat on his bed and laid you out with your head on his new pillows, hovering over you while his lips gently met yours. Thoughts fled your mind while Dean simply kissed you over and over again. It wasn’t hurried, it wasn’t angry, it wasn’t rough, it wasn’t just a prelude to something else; it was just gentle, undemanding, exploratory kissing. Another adjective sprung to mind, but you pushed it away before more than the first letter could be explicitly thought. The warmth that spread through your body from Dean’s, though… combined with the sweet way his tongue slid against yours with no set goal in mind other than to just feel… you felt tears begin to well up in your eyes as you clung to Dean, both hands spread across his back.

Dean stopped kissing you when he tasted the salt on your skin.

“Y/N?” He backed away, taking in the tears on your cheeks while he brushed a lock of hair from your face. “Did I do something wrong? Did you not want this?” His hands left your body fast as lightning as he put them up in surrender.

You shook your head and sniffled, grasping at his shirt so he wouldn’t back even further away, trying to swallow down all the emotions that were choking you. “It’s not that, Dean! I did want this. I—I do want this! This isn’t bad crying, it’s just… I’ve just got so much going on inside of me right now that I can’t seem to… I don’t know why I’m crying, Dean, but it’s not your fault, I swear!” You sat up and launched yourself back into his arms, burying your face in his shoulder.

Dean wrapped his arms around you, and as he gently rubbed your back, a thousand knots in your body slowly loosened, leaving you nearly boneless. Your tears dried up and all you could focus on was the feeling of being in the safest place on earth and the rhythm of your breaths as you took in the scent of Dean.

“Do you want to talk about what’s got you acting like a crazy person?” Dean asked, tempering his question with a tender kiss to your head.

You pulled in a deep breath of just Dean, letting it give you strength. “I, uh,” you stammered, not sure exactly where to start. Sitting back, you glanced at Dean’s face, which was screwed up in worry. “It’s nothing bad, really. It’s just, I’m not pregnant,” you rushed to reassure him, “but I haven’t had, you know, shark week in almost six months, so I went to the doctor.” Dean nodded, obviously trying not to jump to conclusions. “They took more blood than a starving vampire for tests, gave me a complete exam, and the doctor put me on a medicine to try and kickstart something. She doesn’t think it’s anything serious, just probably early menopause or something, but the medicine is making me twelve kinds of crazy, right now.” You tried to laugh but it got a bit choked off from the remains of the tears still lodged in your throat. “Today is Day 3 of ten days with these pills, and I’m climbing the walls, here!”

Dean looked so confused, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“One minute, I want to bake a pie and organize closets and I’m obsessed with thread counts, and the next I want to rip you and Sam apart for leaving the toilet seat up and the coffee on the counter, but before I can take a breath, you’re prancing around in those short shorts wearing just the one layer and all I can think about is riding you into next week!” Dean’s eyes got impossibly wider and he cleared his throat while his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink and his mouth turned up in a cocky smirk. “And then, you brought me in here and just kissed me like I’m something special, like I’m something precious, and I just couldn’t… I—” Tears started welling up in your eyes again, so you shook your head to clear it of the excess emotion. “I’m just feeling about half a dozen more feelings than I’m used to all at one time, and that’s when I’m not thinking about the idea that I might be in menopause and what that means.”

Oh, menopause. You’d been looking forward to it since you were twelve years old. The end to the cramping, the bleeding, the bloating, the hormonal insanity, the laundry, the binge-eating, the always trying to find new places to hide pads and tampons, the many different forms of birth control (each one worse than the last in terms of side effects), the fear of getting abducted and held for days during shark week without supplies, not to mention the fear of being half a second too slow during a hunt because you were exhausted from bleeding and felt like someone was stabbing a hot poker into your vagina. You’d cheered on every grey hair and wrinkle because it meant you were that much closer to fucking FREEDOM.

And now that it might be here, now that you were facing the prospect of hot flashes and night sweats, but nearing the end of all that irritation and discomfort, all you could think about was what you couldn’t have. What if you did meet someone and they decided they didn’t want you because you were too old? You’d never wanted kids, but now that the prospect was almost definitely off the table, were you sure? And now, with Dean sitting in front of you, looking like the possibility of so many things, it felt like a door was closing behind you and all you could see in front of you was walkers and adult diapers.

Dean took your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. “I can’t even begin to imagine everything that’s going on in that gorgeous brain of yours, right now.” His thumbs wiped across your cheeks, clearing away tears you hadn’t realized were falling again. “All I can do is tell you that I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here. You want to kick my ass? We’ll spar in the training room. You want to ride me into next week?” One eyebrow popped up and he gave you a cocky smirk. “You just say the word, gorgeous,” he said with a wink that made you smile. “You want to bake pies?” His smile suddenly outshone the sun. “Baby, you know, I can eat pies,” he said with a chuckle that made laughter bubble up from your chest. “You want to organize closets and buy sheets? I’ll get you new cards to shop with.” Dean took a breath and sighed, but his gaze never wavered from your eyes. “And if you want to be kissed like you’re something precious, that’s no problem, either.” He pulled you towards him and left a chaste kiss on your lips before wrapping you up in his embrace again, holding you close to his chest. “Because you are something precious, and you deserve to be kissed that way if that’s what you want.”

Your brain halted, then reversed, and replayed the last five seconds over again. Dean couldn’t possibly mean what he was implying, could he? You closed your eyes, unable to hear much of anything over the beating of your heart, and tried to sound nonchalant. “You don’t have to say that if you don’t really mean it, Dean. I’m not your usual flavor and I know it. I’m older than you, I’ve got grey hair and wrinkles, things sag, and… and there’s a lot I can’t give you, it turns out.” Although you were giving him an out, you couldn’t stop yourself from hoping he wouldn’t take it.

“I do mean it.” His chest shifted next to you as he took in a nervous breath. “Every word.”

Disbelief and wonder coursed through you while Dean’s hands continued rubbing your back in a soothing rhythm, the motion only disturbed by a slight tremor.

“I’m no spring chicken, either, you know,” Dean continued. “I mean, I’m older than I ever thought I’d get, and when I look at you, I just see the most impressive, most badass, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.” Dean sighed, the whoosh of the air going through his chest sounding louder than before as his heartbeat became a drum in your ear. “You take no shit, which is why I never thought you’d ever have anything to do with me.”

Keeping your face buried in his chest, listening to the rapid beat beneath your ear, you replied, “You’re something pretty special to me, too, Dean.”

You felt more than heard Dean’s sigh of relief when he loosened his hold on you so he could cup your face and kiss you again. There was kiss after kiss after kiss, with only enough space between them for a breath or a happy noise. When he finally slowed down, there were words interspersed between his chaste kisses.

“I’m so—” kiss, “happy—” kiss, “to hear you—” kiss, “say that.”

Kissing became nearly impossible as you both started smiling too widely to pucker up, anymore. You gave up on proper kissing and just sat there for a minute or so, your foreheads pressed together as you both smiled like giddy schoolkids. Eventually, Dean shifted a little underneath you and then gave out a disgusted groan.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, I really need to clean up from what happened in the library. It’s getting grossly uncomfortable.” He helped you slide off his lap and stood up, shifting in his shorts with a grimace. “Yup. Need a shower.”

You stood up and wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a nervous smile. “I should clean up after my attack on the library, too. Meet you back here in half an hour?”

Dean gave you a cocky smile while he ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling your curves. “Instead of showering next to each other, with a wall and a couple of shower curtains between us, how about we shower together and save water?” His eyebrows positively waggled with lascivious intent.

Laughter burst from your mouth so loudly it surprised you, your hand flying to your mouth to contain it. “Save water, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said with a sexy smile. “We can see how well those new shower curtains keep Sammy from hearing what we’re up to.”

Read PART 3 HERE!

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[mccumbersalecsander93]

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[zhannabelle-eng]

How group activities change your life for the better

6 reasons to join the group

Successful in her career, with her predestination revealed, happy in her personal life. This is what the perfect picture of your life looks like. In the morning, when you open your eyes, you realize that you are still lonely just like before. It is frustrating and you want to feel sorry for yourself, but you have to act to change your life. To make it perfect, like in dreams. How? Start attending Zhannabelle's group classes!

Reason one: to find your perfect partner

So, your perfect partner. You have a good idea of him, don't you? What kind of soul mate do you think he dreams of? I'm sure he dreams of having a stunning, confident, sexy beauty with shining eyes, a charming smile and a kind heart.

He can perform any feat, to do any incredible thing for such a woman. 

"It's very interesting," you'll agree, "but there is a small obstacle: this whole story is not about me. No man would perform a feat for me."

You are very wrong about it! This story is about you! You just don't know about it yet. You just have not yet been taught how to reveal the most important superpower of any woman - her femininity. Of course, it's not taught at school or college.

There is good news for you: this is what you will learn at Zhannabelle's group classes. She will teach you the most ancient sacred techniques and practices. Thousands of years ago, the greatest women in the world used them all the time and were happy. With the help of these exercises you can increase your self-confidence. They will save you from problems and activate your sexuality. 

These practices turn an ordinary woman into a woman of Power, to whom no worthy person can resist. 

What is so special about Zhannabelle's group activities, because they bring great results very quickly? It all happens because people strengthen the energy. The more students participate in a ritual or practice, the greater the effect they give. Thousands of Zhannabelle's students can prove that. Take your chance and see for yourself!

Reason two: to solve all financial issues

You think you'll never have expensive things? You don’t even dare dreaming of a new spacious house in a prestigious area?

It’s not like that! You deserve so much more! Money is energy. You can learn to manage this energy. It's really possible. Zhannabelle speaks about the issue of financial well-being in great detail at her group classes. 

How are the group classes unique? Imagine, the universe can see us. A lot of people attend group classes. And when they come together, they practice, for example, to open up a well-being channel. Everyone standing next to you increases the power of this request. 

The Universe sees this group not a small particle, but a rather noticeable spot. If you put maximum forces into your emotions, the group will be a luminous sphere, which will be visible from anywhere in the galaxy. 

And as a pattern, someone from this group gets a new car as a gift, someone receives a large sum of money unexpectedly, and someone gets a new position and a high income. 

If the universe pays attention to you, it will have an immediate and most positive impact on your financial well-being. 

Will a boundless substance like the universe be able to see one person? Of course, one universe may not even notice one person alone.

If you stay at home all alone and ask for something, the universe must be able to see and hear you with difficulty, or perhaps not at all. 

That means that your wish is unlikely to come true. Or you will have to wait so long for your request to be fulfilled that you will be able to forget what you asked for. That's why group lessons are so effective.

Reason three: to be healthy

We used to get sick from time to time even before the coronavirus outbreak. Women's diseases in general seriously violate the hormonal background, cause infertility, decorate the female face with wrinkles and leave a feeling as if you were run over by a truck. Back and forth.

Doctors prescribe a whole list of drugs and procedures, but they treat not the cause of the disease, but its consequence. Vaccine for exhaustion has not been invented yet. 

However, such a vaccine exists and has been known for a long time. It's an amazingly powerful female energy. The higher its level, the stronger, more active and healthier you become. You can not increase this level with the help of sports. But Zhannabelle can. She's not an ordinary person. She's a guide of the Power. Zhannabelle has the highest level of energy and shares it generously with her students. 

That's why group lessons have such an incredible effect - many students forget about all their diseases right in the class. 

For example, one of Zhannabelle's students, Julia, returned home after another group session. It was only in the evening she noticed there was missing a thing she couldn't do without for the last fifteen years. She left her glasses at the class and didn't even notice that she could do without them until the evening! But Julia had very bad eyesight, which she had lost as a result of her injury many years ago. 

Blindness had progressed with each passing year. So the woman couldn't do without her glasses. And besides that, she was constantly suffering from the worst headaches that she had right during the practice. Although post-traumatic migraine tormented her for years, and no drugs or doctors could help her. And, after only one session, the pains disappeared. Forever. 

Another Zhannabelle’s student, Nancy, Assistant District Attorney, has been taking pills for over eight years. Her collection included medication for all sorts of diseases. She didn't have time for treatment. She wasn't into a healthy lifestyle either. And the constant stress at work didn't make her healthier. 

That's why Nancy lived by the principle: if you get sick - take a pill – and keep going. 

After six months of group classes, Nancy found a bunch of drugs in her locker accidentally that she hadn’t taken for months. After all, lately she's only been drinking freshly squeezed juice to keep her alive.

And such stories happen all the time!

Reason four: to find true friends

It was such a fun to have noisy parties with girlfriends when you were a student. Every day, some adventure, an explosion of emotion. Your whole group went to the movies, to a cafe together too. Then everyone did yoga together (and dumped together, but that's not the point). And now all the girlfriends have families or make business. Nobody  has time. Finding time for fun together is a whole problem. 

You dream of finding your soul mate to be with a person on the same page. You want lively human support, sympathy. Don’t you? So no need to wait in vain for it. Zhannabelle's group activities will be the best option for you to make friends and meet like-minded people. You'll be accepted here for who you are. 

Here you will always get help and support, and your success will be enjoyed as if it were their own.

Reason five: to become happy

Everyone understands happiness in their own way. As a rule, we call happiness what we lack. When a child is sick, happiness is their health. When your efforts at work are not appreciated, happiness will be your career advancement. When you suffer from loneliness, happiness is the person you love next to you.

It doesn't matter what is happiness for you. What matters is that it is possible! Zhannabelle's group activities change the lives of all her students. Any problem they come to the class will be definitely solved.

For example, one of Zhannabelle's students, Maria, was convinced that happiness is having her own home. For many years she lived renting a room because she could not afford to buy even a small apartment. 

And it would have taken Maria nine lives to pay off the mortgage. Like Felix's cat.

When she came to group classes, Zhannabelle did a diagnostic and gave her special recommendations. Maria did her best, she wouldn't miss them. She bought amulets, watched all of Zhannabelle's videos on YouTube channel, attended seminars and a few months later received a job offer ... in Paris!

She now lives in the heart of this beautiful city in her own cozy apartment and gets a huge salary! 

Small one but in a nice area near a big park. Can you believe it? You can meet Maria at Zhannabelle's classes, and ask her yourself))).

Reason six: to avoid fatal mistakes

Why learn from your own mistakes, if someone has already done it before you)))) And you shouldn't believe anyone who says that someone else's experience is useless. Of course it's useful! If we hadn't relied on the experience of our ancestors or other people, we'd clearly be extinct like mammoths.

Zhannabelle's group classes are a great way to learn the priceless experience of other students. 

For example, Hannah was able to save ten thousand Euros thanks to the group! During one of classes, she told her friends that she had met a wonderful person online. Maximilian was a famous Spanish football player. They began to have passionate correspondence on the Internet. 

The Spaniard was pushy, sang of his love and promised the moon. 

A few weeks later he proposed to Hannah, and offered an apartment in the suburbs of Barcelona and a villa in Marbella. To match the wedding dress he sent his bride a diamond tiara, which was once worn by Catherine Medici.

But the precious thing had to be cleared. And that's not cheap, ten thousand Euros. Well, the tiara wasn't ordered from the Chinese website. Of course, Maximilian said he'd pay Hannah back that amount as soon as he came to visit her.

The woman didn't have that sum of money, so she decided to take a loan. Before that, she shared the situation with other students in a group class. They helped her see the story at a different angle. Maximilian turned out to be a classic internet gigolo.

Unfortunately, many of Zhannabelle's students had encountered such scammers in their lives. But now they are better than Interpol to track down any scammer and not become his victim. 

Zhannabelle's students told Hannah who Maximilian really is and practically saved her.

So do not hesitate to use someone else's experience, because another bump on your forehead is unlikely to make you more beautiful!)).

Now you know that Zhannabelle's group lessons can solve any of your problems. All of them are effective, but it is communication with the coach always gives a faster effect. If for some reason you don't have the opportunity to participate in the seminars alive now, you shouldn't stand idle. Start changing lives today - register for Zhannabelle online school. 

The school consists of several workshops aimed at solving different problems: with relationships, health, career, and predestination. Let this be your first step towards a successful and prosperous life. Zhannabelle will do everything to make it happen.

[captainsimagines]

Kill ‘Em With Kindness - PART TEN

Bucky Barnes x Reader

You had been detected. You were now on their radar.  You were recruited for one mission only.  You’re trained and put to the test.  With your background, everyone realizes it was a mistake recruiting a college student who would soon be faced with the thing that drove her to kill in the first place.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of sex

Word Count: 2,515

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen... I want to ruin you.”

“You’re too late.”

PART TEN

     A lot of things surprised you: pick-up lines, people who spread the ketchup on their fries, and men in general.  When it came to pick-up lines, you loved the cheesy ones.  For example, “Did it hurt? When you fell from Heaven,” was usually a line that would have you blushing like mad.  Although, the last person to ever flirt with you was four years ago.  The second you walked into the kitchen the next morning, Bucky introduced himself with that line, wrapping his arms around your waist as you poured your coffee.  Even though you enjoyed the effort, it was clearly being debated by the rest of the team.  

     During lunch, Bucky decided to join you in your room.  The second he poured his ketchup over all his fries, you swore to never speak to him again.  You complained and judged, watching as he ate his fries and rubbed it in your face.  You could never stay mad at him, every insult you threw at him accompanied by a howl of laughter.

     Bucky would go to his room to shower and come back to yours at night.  No nightmares, no sleepless nights.  You both weren’t entirely fixed, however, the two of you getting a total of 3 hours of sleep altogether.  You didn’t complain, though.  Being wrapped under the covers with a man who was indeed massive in every sense of the word, cuddled up against you keeping you warm throughout the night was one of the most relaxing feelings in the whole wide world.  Of course, your feet got sweaty or his metal arm pinched your skin sometimes, but you remained tangled- the fear of removing yourself from your haven equating to an act of betrayal in your book.

     You were certain Bucky would be the only man you would ever love with all your heart.  Three weeks was all it took.  You had built your walls so high they poked the sky for three years and Bucky had knocked most of them down in three weeks.  Although he didn’t make it obvious, you had knocked down most of his as well.  He couldn’t describe it, the process so naïve and troubled that the blinding side effects only pressed at his heart, pinching and poking to make it beat again.  It bothered you, the fact it was so easy to do frightening you.  

     Overthinking was to be your destroyer, but the moment Bucky hugged you into his body a little tighter you forgot about any traces of doubt that had been following you.  You didn’t regret it.  

     Bucky surprised you about twenty minutes after you had sex, the blood leaving his face and his eyes bulging.  He yelled and thought it would be a perfect time to mention he had forgotten a condom in the middle of a crowded elevator.  You swallowed thickly, determined to keep your laugh in your throat until the people in the elevator with you left quietly.  Once they exited, you turned to a worried Bucky who was running his hands through his hair and setting them on his knees moments after.  You snorted, shutting him up and telling him you were on the pill.  He knitted his eyebrows together, asking if you were sure.  

     Rolling your eyes, you stepped out of the elevator and tried your best to ignore Bucky’s ridiculous questions about how you were absolutely sure you hadn’t forgotten to take one.  Finally, you decided to put him out of his misery and swallow the pill in front of him that night, making a big deal about how it took a few seconds to disintegrate and how you could literally feel it tying your tubes together.  Seeming pleased with the validation, Bucky made love to you again that night.  Men.

     You didn’t think men across all age ranges were that helpless.  In fact, you hadn’t spoken to Peter at all this week.  Asking around the tower for the kid wasn’t difficult, but before you could get him in the same room as you, he would disappear.  His grand escapes were beginning to annoy you.  When the weekend rolled around, Peter was sure to spend his nights at the compound.  He was trying to avoid you, but being around the Avengers would always win him over. 

    It was around six in the evening when you convinced Steve to help you out and trap the boy after dinner.  Steve came up with ridiculous excuses to keep him at the gym.  

     “Your posture is horrible, kid!”

     “Try to take me out with one punch.”

     “You should adjust your feet this way.”

     “C-Captain? Is this really necessary?” Peter groaned, adjusting his feet to match Steve’s stance.  Steve gave a thin smile, looking towards to see if you would make an entrance.

     “We’re going against HYDRA in the next couple days, kid.  You’ve never done that.  You need all the training you can get,” Steve replied, blocking Peter’s punches and stepping around him.

     “Wait, so Aunt May said ‘yes’?  I thought she wouldn’t allow it! Not after… well, you know.”  Due to his distraction, Peter met the mat with a loud ‘oomf’ after Steve’s last swing.  You took this as your time to enter, standing and leaning against the door frame as you watched Steve pull Peter back up onto his feet.

     “We need all the help we can get with this mission.  Why do you think we recruited her?” Steve pointed at you, waving slightly and grabbing his gym bag.  “I’ll leave you to it.”

     Peter opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it when you stepped onto the mat and raised your fists. “Fight me.”

     Peter stuttered, dragging his limbs inwards and crawling into his fragile demeanor.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

     “I’m not a fragile human being.  Kick me, punch me, snap my neck- I don’t care,” you circled Peter, keeping your voice low and demanding.  “Just don’t ignore me.”

     Peter sighed, dropping the laces from his sweatshirt and looked up at you.  “How are you feeling?”

     You lowered your hands, standing up straight and facing Peter again.  “I’m fine.”

     “I almost killed you,” Peter spoke. His voice was low, each sounding more of a whimper than a regular statement.  You stepped towards him cautiously, trying to make your body language as comfortable and inviting as possible.

     “But you didn’t.”

     “I could have paralyzed you!” Peter’s eyes filled with tears.  He sucked in his bottom lip and bit it for a while, almost as if he was warning you he was going to burst into reckless sobs.

     “But you didn’t,” you tried to reassure him again.  You reached out and grabbed his shoulders, his soft cries puncturing your heart while Peter’s nails punctured the tender flesh of his own palms.

    “Stop being so forgiving!” He brushed your hands off his shoulders, turning around and grabbing his gym bag.  Before he could leave, you stepped in front of him and challenged his actions.  The glare you shared lasted for a few seconds, Peter finally sighing and sitting on the bench.  Peter placed his hands over his face so you continued speaking.

     “Peter, if you hadn’t caught me I would have fucking exploded!”

     “But I could have killed you.”

     “Okay, you know what?” Your voice demonstrated anger, your eyes about to steal Peter’s soul.  He was a kid- keep your cool. The saddened expression consuming Peter’s innocent face prompted you to lower your voice.  “Yes, you could have killed me! You could have paralyzed me! I still have neck pain!”

     You twisted your neck and cracked it, the sound making him flinch. “But you didn’t! Get over it, Peter.  I’m alive and you did not… kill me.” Catching your breath, you dipped down to your knees and tugged his hands from his face, holding them while you gave him a small smile.  

     “I’m sorry,” he said for the millionth time, searching your face for any signs of hate.  

    “I know you are.” You got up and sat down next to him, gripping his shoulders and giving him a hug.  “You saved my life.”

     “I guess.”

     “I know how scary it is, okay? My first kill was hell and I was never the same.  I mean, look at me now,” you said, pain evident in your voice.  

    “No offense, but you aren’t really a great role model,” Peter chuckled.  

    You cleared your throat, “Not what I meant.”

    “But it could happen. I’ll never be the same.”

    “Stop closing yourself off to the real world, Parker.  You told me that.” You shook Peter slightly, trying to cheer him up.

     “That’s what Mr. Stark told me,” he chuckled again.

     “In order to save the world, some people have to die to make that happen.”

     “You would have been team Captain,” Peter scoffed playfully, straightening his back and smiling at you.

     “I never picked a side,” you smirked, patting him in the back.  He stood up and threw his gym bag over his shoulder.

     “But you did choose to continue killing.”

     Your smile faltered, but you quickly regained yourself.  “Yeah, I did.  I’ll focus on that, while you continue to kill them with kindness, okay?”

     Peter pursed his lips and gave you a tiny wave while he exited the room.  “I’m still sorry I hurt you, Y/N.  I’ll be more careful next time.”

    “Yeah, let’s hope there isn’t a next time,” you yelled, hearing Peter laugh in the hallway. _________________

    “-.. .. -.. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. .. -. -.. / .... .. -- ..--..” Did you find him?

    You giggled and stumbled out of bed, running to the wall and almost smacking against it.

      “.. / -- --- ... - / -.-. . .-. - .- .. -. .-.. -.-- / -.. .. -..” I most certainly did!

     “-.-- --- ..- / ... --- ..- -. -.. / .... .- .--. .--. -.-- .-.-.-“ You sound happy.

    “.. / -.-. .- -. .----. - / .-..-. ... --- ..- -. -.. .-..-. / .- -. -.-- - .... .. -. --. .-.-.-“ I can’t “sound” anything.

     You abandoned the conversation and rushed to your door, your smile growing with each step.  You knocked on his door and composed yourself, your smile becoming smaller but nonetheless joyful.  Bucky whipped open the door and grabbed you by your waist, carrying you into his room and then his bathroom.  

     “What are you doing?” you laughed, holding onto Bucky’s hips as you hung over his shoulder.  

     “I need help,” Bucky stated, placing you on the floor and filling the bathtub with soap.  You watched as the soap evolved into bubbles and you raised an eyebrow.  

     “Help with what?” Bucky took his clothes off, instructing you to do the same.  

     Completely bare, you didn’t expect Bucky’s predicament to be the one he just mentioned. 

     Bucky held up a shaver and gave you a small smile.  Your eyes bulged out of your head.  “I don’t mind helping you shave but I drop that in the tub and we’re dead!” Bucky rapidly nodded and wrapped the plug back up.  

     You gave Bucky a surprised yet puzzled look while he fished through his bathroom drawer for something more reasonable.  He pulled out a simple razor like the one you used to shave your legs. “Okay, that could work.”

     You got into the tub first, playing with the bubbles as they swallowed you up.  Bucky followed you, sinking below the water and pulling your legs over his.  You were in close proximity, chests a few feet apart but your legs tangled in a complete mess.  It was delightful, the feeling of overwhelming calmness filling both bodies at the same time, hollowed voids becoming consumed by it and met with the acceptance of the inevitable.  You two were in the perfect place, so close and naked both literally and figuratively.

    You grabbed a handful of bubbles and smooshed them all over Bucky’s beard, his toothy smile accidentally allowing bubbles to settle on his tongue.  He spits them out, your laughs echoing throughout the room.  You brought the razor to the right side of his face first, softly running it through the thick hair Bucky had let grow out for far too long.

     “You want it all gone?” you asked, cleaning the razor in the tub before resuming.  Bucky hummed, staring at your face while you were in concentration.  You were careful not to prick his skin, dragging the razor expertly along the curve his jaw.  You raised your eyes to Bucky’s, giggling from his current appearance.  

    Bucky laughed, “What’s so funny, doll?”

     “You look like Santa Claus,” you stated, cleaning the razor as Bucky gasped quietly.  

     You finished his right side, cupping water in your palm and cleaning his freshly shaven face.  Picking up more bubbles, you placed them on the left side and got to work.  

     “Suck in your lips,” you told him, smiling and biting your lip when Bucky made the most childish face as he did so.  “Perfect.”

     You stared at Bucky, his clean face one that you didn’t recognize. You put down the razor and cupped his face, feeling his skin and pinching his cheeks.  “Why the sudden interest in not looking homeless?”

     Bucky splashed water at you, your mouth following open in a surprised squeal and you splashed him back.  “It was getting old!”

     Taking his answer as a truce, you raised your finger up to him as if telling him not to start again.  

     “Okay, should I shave your face now?” Bucky grinned, grabbing the razor and twirling it in his fingers.  You shrugged.

     “I don’t have anything to shave!” Looking around the tub and down at your body, you chuckled before raising your arms.  

     Bucky burst into laughter, his eyes crinkling so much you were sure tears pricked the sides.  You nodded towards your armpits, “Well, get to work!”

     Bucky caught his laughter and trailed the razor down your armpits, removing the small hairs that were beginning to grow.  Once he finished, you lowered your arms and pulled his face towards yours.  Kissing his newly shaven face was remarkable, the shape of his lips somehow becoming more prominent and noticeable.  You drowned in the feeling, biting his bottom lip every so often.  

     Moments like this also surprised you.  For so long, human contact was limited to small talk between classmates, professors, waiters, and Mark.  Being so close with someone now terrified you but you were ready.  You were going to prove everyone wrong and get your sister back, be with Bucky, and keep the new friends you had just made.  You might not want to become an Avenger right now, but the idea wasn’t that far-fetched.  If it meant remaining happy, having “avenging” be your side job after you get your degree was just what you needed. Of course, the moment you and Bucky stepped out of the tub and reentered the real world, your little fantasy was again laid out on a rocky slope.  Your mission to Paris had just been moved up to tomorrow.    

TAG LIST:

@chipilerendi @owhatshername1 @buckyappreciationsociety @4theluvofall @g0back2bed @purplekitten30 @bunnymother93 @katykyll @shaexoox @polkadottedpillowcase @jonnavgl @thefridgeismybestie @sumafamouxx @huntermichelle @s8sense @lovable-harmonica @almondbuttercup @wowiebro @secondsandstars

[a-r-i-a-n-i-s-h-e-r-e-blog]

25 Negative Effects of Technology

Here are 25 negative effects technology can have:

1. Isolation

Social isolation is characterized by a lack of contact with other people in normal daily living, such as, the workplace, with friends and in social activities. We isolate ourselves by walking around in our own little world, listening to our iPods or staring at the screen of the latest mobile device even when we are around other people. Studies have shown that people who are socially isolated will live shorter lives.

2. Lack of Social Skills

The use of online social media outlets causes us to meet face-to-face with much less frequency resulting in a lack of much needed social skills. We lose the ability to read body language and social cues in other people.

3. Obesity

The more time people are spending engrossed in video games, talking to friends online and watching funny cat videos on YouTube, they are spending less time being active or exercising. Also the likelihood of mindlessly eating unhealthy food increases as people are hypnotized by the latest episode of Honey Boo Boo.

4. Depression

Technology creates the perfect recipe for depression with the lack of human contact, overeating and lack of exercise. There is a reason the use of antidepressants are on the rise and the blame can’t be completely dumped on the pharmaceutical companies. They aren’t carting people into the doctor’s office and force feeding them the pills. This isn’t to say that depression isn’t a real problem, but some people could cure their depression by living a healthier lifestyle.

5. Poor Sleep Habits

Some of the negative effects of technology can be linked to the effect it has on sleep habits. We get sucked into online activities that keep us up too late and the constant stream of information can make it difficult to turn off our brains. Also, the ambient glow from screens can affect the release of melatonin, the sleep chemical. Keeping technology out of the bedroom would be a very healthy habit to acquire.

6. Pollution

With the rapid-changing world of electronics and technology, the turnover rate for upgrades is staggering. This constant stream of out with the old, in with the new is adding to the levels of toxicity in our air and land. E-waste is not always disposed of properly, causing deadly chemicals to leach into the ground. Plants that manufacture the electronics are emitting toxic fumes into the air. Plus there is little to no regulations on the disposal of personal E-waste.

7. Increased Bullying

The use of technology has caused an increase in bullying and escalated the degree of severity. Kids are no longer able to escape their tormentors once they reach the safety of their own homes. Bullies infiltrate the security of their victims’ homes through online avenues. It is also easier to get more kids involved in bullying because people are more likely to say things online that they wouldn’t say in person. The increase in cyber-bullying has also led to an increase in teen suicides.

8. Lack of Privacy

The internet has stripped the world of privacy. Long gone are the days of having an unlisted telephone number and staying offline to keep your information safe from prying eyes. With a few flicks on a keyboard the average person can find anyone’s address and contact information. For those with more sinister intentions, the use of phishing, viruses and hacking helps to find any information they wish to obtain. Plus, people have no sense of privacy online. They don’t think twice about tweeting every move they make, freely giving out their location on Google Map and putting their entire life story on Facebook.

9. Higher Level of Deceit

On the flip side of having no privacy, people use the internet to deceive others. Most people don’t dig too deeply when doing a search on someone to check them out. By creating a few false profiles, people are able to pretend to be whomever they want. People are being “catfished” on dating sites. Hell, you could be talking to someone on the FBI’s top ten most wanted list and not realize it until you see them getting arrested on the news.

10. Warped Sense of Reality

Using the internet as an escape from real life is very easy to do. In real life you only speak to a few people each day, there’s no Photoshop or avatar for the reflection in your mirror, bills must be paid and saying smartass things is frowned upon. However, online you are a freaking rock star! You have enough “friends” to form a small country, you look great in your pics or you have a kickass avatar, plus you get rewards or points for saying clever things (more if the clever thing is also mean-spirited). Unfortunately we must live in the real world whether we like it or not.

11. Stress

Constantly being “plugged in” and “connected” causes an extra layer of stress that wasn’t present before the overuse of technology.

12. Blackberry/iPhone Thumb

Tendonitis in the thumb, a.k.a. Blackberry/iPhone Thumb, is a form of repetitive strain injury caused by the frequent use of thumbs to press buttons on mobile devices. The same injury can also be obtained from playing too many video games.

13. Lack of Social Boundaries

Much in the same way that people over share on social media sites, there is an increasing tendency to cross social boundaries. Cyber stalking someone or sending unsolicited nude photos are examples of grossly crossing social boundaries.

14. Lack of Sexual Boundaries

Exposure to sexual content is more likely to happen at a much younger age. Before the internet the only chance a child had of being exposed to pornography was if their dad didn’t hide his Playboy magazine well enough. Now, well, let’s just say you pray your filters are doing their job when your kid searches for “Puss and Donkey” from Shrek.

Sexting is also a concern with technology being used at such a young age. There is no way in hell a girl would have taken a nude photo of herself and handed it to a guy before the popularity of texting. Yet, using your phone to snap a quick boob shot and texting it to your boyfriend seems to be no big deal. If you wouldn’t print the picture out and hand it to the guy, then you shouldn’t text it. And guys — girls do not want pictures of your penis. So stop sending them.

15. Lack of Social Bonds

Creating a lasting bond with other people requires face-to-face interaction. The more we isolate ourselves with technology the fewer bonds we will form. People are expected to do more work at home which takes away time they would be spending with their families. Also, younger people prefer communicating online versus face-to-face. When people are in the same room and communicating via text or instant messaging instead of speaking to each other, there’s a problem.

16. Constant Distraction

When we are focused on a device instead of what’s going on around us we miss a great deal. Think of the number of times you have been texting or talking to a friend and missed the opportunity to flirt with the hot guy standing beside you. There is also a rise in the number of injuries incurred by people texting while walking.

17. Neck and Head Pain

Constantly looking down at devices can cause neck pain and over time will cause the neck to lose its natural curve. Eyestrain can also cause headaches, blurred vision and migraines.

18. Shortened Attention Span

The use of social media has shortened our attention span from 12 minutes to 5 minutes. Constant news feeds, getting information in 140 characters and videos that are 10 minutes or less has literally rewired our brains. People who are online an average of 5 hours a day have trouble remembering people’s names, forget pots on the stove and even their own birthday.

19. Addiction

People are not only dependent on technology they are also addicted to it. Studies have shown that when cell phones are taken away subjects heard or felt fathom vibrations, continuously reached for phones that weren’t there and became fidgety and restless. These are some of the same withdrawal symptoms you would expect from doing drugs.

20. Lack of Empathy

The constant stream of violent scenes on video games, TV, movies and YouTube causes people to become desensitized to destruction of any kind. The normalizing of bad things happening and the culture of narcissism created by social media creates a society of people who lack empathy. When people stop caring, the world goes to hell in a hand basket.

21. More Violence

After people lose empathy and are accustomed to violence, it becomes the social norm. Teenage girls are videoing themselves violently beating another girl; the number of school shootings are rising and videos of people attacking homeless people are a few examples of violent behavior caused by media.

22. Higher Energy Consumption

Although individual devices are becoming more energy efficient, the increased overall use is causing a higher consumption of energy. People don’t turn their devices off; they keep computers on or plugged in, mobile devices charging and televisions plugged in. Also manufacturing all of these high tech toys causes an increase in greenhouse gas emissions.

23. Developmental Issues in Children

Children are using more technology now than they have ever used in the past. All of the negative effects that social media and television is having on adults are far greater when it comes to the developing minds of children. There is no way to know what long term effect technology will have on our children because this is the first generation to have unlimited access.

24. Neurosis

Technology causes people to suffer from mental and emotional disturbances, such as anxiety, phobias and delusions, which are all symptoms of neurosis. Being convinced you’re very ill after looking up strange diseases on WebMD or thinking you are famous because you have had a viral video are a couple of ways technology neurosis manifests itself.

25. Loss of Hearing and Eyesight

Using headphones and ear buds can cause people to lose their hearing over time. Likewise, straining your eyes looking at computer and device screens can cause people to need glasses much earlier in life.

Be more mindful of the time you spend using technology. If you have longer conversations with Siri than you do with real people, it’s probably time to put the phone down. Force yourself to have an electronic-free day or weekend. When you go on vacation, don’t take your phone or at least put it on “do not disturb”. Creating balance will help you enjoy the benefits of technology without becoming a mindless internet zombie.

[concertcollector-blog]

“Part Two” by Chase Atlantic (Review)

With fans still recovering from “Part One”, Chase Atlantic fueled their ongoing fire with the release of “Part Two”, the second EP of what I’m assuming to be their take on an electrifying musical saga.

The EP was released on March 31st, 2017, and I was very eager to hear it. Although I myself am a relatively new fan of Chase Atlantic’s music, “Part One” completely blew me out of the water: compared to their older stuff, it was a major step forward in terms of their lyrics, musical production, and style. My only hope for "Part Two” was that it would be similar to its counterpart, if not better.

After finally sitting down and listening to the new EP, I had some mixed feelings about it. Although I was pleased regardless, because I like this band a lot, I’m not quite certain whether this one shook me as hard as “Part One” did.

Let’s break it down song by song, shall we?

Track 1 - Triggered. 

My very first impression of this song was a quick snort through the nose. Not going to lie, the title made me chuckle. I wasn’t sure if the band was genuinely pissed off about something, or they were just making fun of Twitter users’ lingo. Either way, I was interested to see where this opening track would lead to. 

Personally, I’m a sucker for dramatic album introductions. And this song had just the right amount of mystery, lust, and grunge to immediately draw me in. 

The song started out with a relatively chill introduction, but the first 10 seconds definitely built up. It was quiet at first, but as soon as I heard the car revving its engine in the background, I knew I was in for a bumpy ride.

Immediately after the car sounds, I was hit with lead singer Mitchel Cave’s distinctive voice and a brand new beat.

If I was to describe this song in one word, I would use the term badass (or is that two words?). There was something about the heavy bass, deep rhythm, and the slickness in Cave’s voice that immediately painted a dauntless picture in my mind. I imagined myself thrown into the middle of a high-speed police chase after my hot boyfriend and I just robbed a convenience store. He would be driving a black SUV with tinted windows, I would be perched up in the passenger seat, and Triggered would be our get away song.

Although the chorus could’ve been fuller in my opinion, the verses and the bridge of this song were what really brought it to life for me. Lyrics like “driving ‘till we killing love” and the repetitive use of the phrase “won’t slow down” strengthened my inner feelings of love and rebellion as I bopped my head to this song’s steady beat. 

The lyrics and overall theme of the song helped me realize that perhaps the meaning of “triggered” was not a reference to overused internet slang, but maybe it was referring to the shotgun my hot boyfriend was firing as we swerved on the 405, desperately trying to get away from the cops. Once again, the visuals that this song brought to life were killer (haha - see what I did there?).

In conclusion, the more I’ve listened to this song, the more I’ve come to really like it. From the lyrics, to the melodies, and to the delinquent realm it creates, Triggered is definitely my favorite tune on this EP. 

Overall rating: 9.4/10

Track 2 - Cassie.

This song, unfortunately, did not woo me as much as its preceding track. 

First off, what I appreciated about the song was how unique it was. In my opinion, this song was the complete opposite of Triggered, and very different from what I’ve been associating with Chase Atlantic’s more recent music. Coming right out of the sinister world of Triggered, Cassie was like a breath of fresh air and a field of blooming sunflowers right in front of me. 

The general vibe of this song was very easy to pick up on within the first lines of the first verse. The light and airy beat that continued throughout the entire song reminded me of a symphony imitating the gentle ticks of a clocktower. It made my heart, still calming down from Triggered, feel all warm and fuzzy again. 

Another thing I appreciated about this song was how the lyrics and the music contradicted one another. A bubbly melody is a rarity among Chase Atlantic’s newer releases, but somehow they managed to pair the uplifting beat with lyrics about drugged up veins and an impatient girl named Cassie in a way that actually worked quite well.  

However, the unique airiness of this song just didn’t seem to completely win me over, though I did appreciate it. The main reason why this song did not particularly knock my socks off is because throughout the whole first listen, I kept feeling as if something was missing. Especially in the chorus, I felt like there could’ve been something else - a tempo change, another instrumental element, faster lyrics - to make it more exciting. Although the song was cute and a little brighter than the other two tracks, it was kind of forgettable. 

Overall rating: 7.8/10

Track 3 - Why Stop Now.

This track has become known to me as the cool-down song, because I found it to be very chill and relaxed, but nonetheless a very interesting listen.

The introduction features a few intriguing elements that quickly brought me to the edge of my seat: more undistinguishable sound effects (were they popping pills?), the lazy strum of an electric guitar, and Cave’s muffled voice singing a few catchy lines, as if he was teasing me of what’s to come later on in this song. 

The introduction slowly built up, but then quickly flushed me into the first verse. The band was back at it again with the alternative hip-hop beats, this time singing (rapping?) about self-hatred and a desperate search for Mitchel’s cell phone. 

The transition into the chorus was rather quick, but nonetheless it still worked pretty well. By now I was able to conclude that this song would be slower than the other two, but I wasn’t complaining about it. 

The lyrics of this song once again displayed a level of contradiction to the other elements of the tune. Lines like “Life in the fast lane. You live then you die, babe ... so why stop now?” were somewhat depressing lyrics, yes, but the way Cave’s gentle and soothing tone of voice meshed together with them was quite menacing, sending shivers up my spine. If I’m thinking out loud here, he has a very sexy singing voice. Don’t @ me. 

In some ways this song almost felt half-assed, but thats what I kind of like about it. Although it is slower than the other 2 tracks, Why Stop Now has this kind of vibe to it that fuels my inner desires to just “not care”, which I assume is a common mood fellow Chase Atlantic fans feel while listening to their music. And that’s not a bad thing. Being a moody 18-year-old whose just trying to figure her shit out, I need music like this to listen to from time to time. Sometimes we all just need to “not care” and chill TF out.

The reason why I still wasn’t completely blown away by this song either was the same reason as Cassie. I felt like there was something missing from this track as well, though I still can’t put my finger on it. Either way, it’s still a good jam, and I can see this one becoming a lot of fans’ favorite. 

Overall rating: 7/10

Overall, the “Part Two” EP did not meet the high expectations “Part One” set for me, but that is quite all right. Triggered is a major gem of a song and I’m still going to be blasting this EP in my car for the next few weeks. Perhaps there will be a “Part Three” and maybe even a “Part Four” to help us further envision where Chase Atlantic are headed next. These EPs are obviously just a mere taste of what they’ve got in store; I feel a debut album coming soon, and I cannot wait to devour it. 

AN: This is the first music review I’ve literally ever done, so please go easy on me! Hopefully you enjoyed it - I tried to keep it as honest as possible, so I apologize if any of my opinions offend/upset you, but they are just my opinions. If you liked this, let me know! I’d love to do more reviews in the future.