#but I'd have to clean my room first before calling maintenance

[burningcomputerpersona]

ADHD question of the day: should i take off the doors on all my cabinets

[usmsgutterson]

Nothing Feels As Good As Going Home - S.R

Okay!! My ao3 did see this one first (I had edited it late last night and honestly?? I was too lazy to post it on both platforms because I edited it on ao3 and was too lazy to copy, paste, and then write an authors note lmao) and I'm pretty unsure about this as a whole because I'm only eight seasons in and I haven't written for Spencer before, but I'm conquering my fears tonight.

Despite my bio (which will be changed at least fifteen minutes after this has been posted--I have two accounts and I want to do some maintenance for this one because it needs a little TLC I fear) my requests are currently open!! They're wide open to Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner, even though I'd also likely be willing to write for another criminal minds character if you asked.

Fic type - this one is tooth rotting fluff because I couldn't resist

Warnings - spencer might be a tad ooc because this is the first time I've written for him. This is also set either in or around season eight as, when I wrote this, I was about halfway through that season and I'm currently close to 2/3rds of the way done with it. Cats are also in this one, if you aren't a cat person.

Spencer used to hate going home. He felt like he’d never really know what would be going on the minute he opened the front door and stepped inside, and after his father left, that fear intensified bit by bit.  

After his father left, he never knew what it would mean, going home, so he stalled. He’d go to a local park and sit on a bench and read a few books in an hour, maybe two, in order to escape the fear he felt at the idea of going home when he had no idea what would be going on in that house, whether his mother was okay that day or not.  

When he went to college and was living in the dorms, he hated going back because it meant more isolation. More loneliness, more of the same, really. Only his books to keep him company and just about nobody else, unless Ethan called, which he usually did two or three times a week. Ethans calls were one of the only things that really helped him when he wasn’t looking after his mother whenever he was on break, typically around the winter and during the summer.  

After having his mother institutionalised, he feared going home because it meant that she wasn’t there, and the guilt that came with having her taken into a facility when it wasn’t something she wanted weighed down on him very heavily.  

In those last two years pre-FBI, he hated going home because it meant more of the same. More loneliness, more of the same nature documentaries he'd seen a thousand times before if he wasn't putting on the news, and more books that he’d already read several times before haunting him from wherever it was that they sat on his bookshelves, which had been scattered throughout most rooms in his apartment.  

But he joined the FBI at twenty-one and managed to meet you somewhere along that year, found out that you’d just started working with the Marshals and had lived only twenty five minutes out from Arlington, which put you about fifteen from Quantico as a whole, and he started hating going home a lot less after you guys had been together for four months.  

After four months of dates and getting to know each other, getting home usually meant going on another date or Spencer finally getting the opportunity to call you and stay on the phone for longer than fifteen minutes.  

Spencer is very careful about your relationship, though—very secretive, though he doesn’t really mean to be, to avoid teasing from Derek and, four or so years down the line, Emily and JJ, though even Rossi joined in on occasion.

It’s not until he’s on the jet, Alex sitting to his left, JJ across him and Derek diagonally so, that he has to spill the beans.  

He gets a text from you and it’s the way that he smiles that gives it away.  

Hey, Spence! I cleaned up the house a little bit and went to grab your favourite coffee beans from the bodega we both like. Also: meet Megatron. Her name deceives.  

Attached is a photo of a kitten that can’t be more than four or five weeks old, dark brown everywhere except for her paws and chin, which are white.  

“Who’s the lucky one, boy genius?” Derek asks.  

“Huh?” Spencer looks up, eyes widened slightly. “It’s nobody.”  

JJs head tilts. “You wouldn’t smile like that for a nobody,” she says. “Who is it?”  

“Is it the one with the dark blue Prius--” Alex starts before she pauses, realizing where she's fumbled. That gets Rossi and Hotch interested, both of whom come to sit in the seats across from the four.  

Alex is the only one on the team who knows about you apart from Penelope, which is pure happenstance—his car had broken down once when both she and Spencer had worked a late night, and so you’d offered to pick him up from work so that the two of you could go back to the house you shared and indulge in a shark documentary and some pizza.  

“It is,” Spencer nods. “Their name is Y/N.”  

“How long have you had a Y/N?” Derek asks.  

“Since I was twenty-one,” Spencer admits. “About a decade now.”  

“You kept a romantic partner hidden for a decade ?” Derek asks. “How? Does--”  

“Penelope knows about them because they’re in the group she goes to on Tuesdays,” Spencer says. “The one for knitting and crocheting—Y/N does the latter, mostly, but they did knit the cardigan I was wearing last week.”  

“And how did Penelope figure out about the thing you two have had going on?”  

“It’s more than a thing , Derek,” Alex says. “If it’s been going for a decade, it’s more than a thing.”  

“We’d gotten done with a case early, and Penelope had left pretty much as soon as we were on the jet so that she could make it to the aforementioned group. I asked them where they were and picked them up with their favourite tea as a surprise. Penelope saw me there, watched us hug, and just about lost her mind. Have I satisfied your thirst for knowledge yet?”  

He turns to Alex briefly, nods a bit to answer her earlier remark. “I just proposed last weekend, so you’re right. It’s more than just a thing I would say.”  

Derek and JJs eyes widen until their shock is clearly conveyed, and Spencer laughs.  

“You have a fiancee, and you just—didn't think to fucking tell anybody?” Derek laughs. “Were you ever going to tell us?”  

“I was—we've been busy with work, and it didn’t occur to me.”  

“Okay,” JJ nods like she believes it, and that’s good enough for Spencer because he’s telling the truth anyway. “What was the text about?”  

Spencer shrugs, paraphrases.  

“They wrote me to tell me they’d cleaned up the house and picked up a stray, I think,” Spencer answers. “I mean, the stray part wasn't explicitly stated but—the kitten doesn’t look more than four weeks old, so the assumption was immediate, but they know I can’t say no to cats. They’ve been hoping that they’d find a stray while I was on a case since we first moved into a condo together. We bought our house six months ago now, and they’ve joked, every single time before I’ve left for a case, that it’s the perfect time.”  

“What’d they name it?” Rossi asks. “Assuming they didn’t ask for your input. I wouldn’t--I’d have a kitten named Einstein who could never live up to that.”  

Spencer can’t help the loving laugh that bubbles up from his throat as his fingers absently locate the chain around his neck, with an engagement ring of his own weighing the chain down just slightly so that the ring sits comfortably at the middle of his collarbone.  

“They named her Megatron,” he says nonchalantly. “Smallest cat I’ve ever seen, and still, she’s got big shoes to fill. Massive ones, actually.”  

That is enough to get Hotch to crack a smile. For a second, Spencer feels like he’s winning even though a game isn’t even being played.  

“Okay, so—how did you do it?” JJ asks. “I mean—ten years and a recent engagement? With only two people on our team discovering through that entire time? How?”  

“Penelope figured it out three years in,” Spencer answers. “Alex only figured it out recently, which is kind of surprising because I’ve never exactly hidden their existence. I just haven't talked about them because nobody has ever really asked but—I don’t know, either. We kept it low key because we both work law enforcement and it was just easier that way for the first little while, and then we both decided we liked the quiet so we kept things that way.”  

“They work in law enforcement?” Derek asks, his eyes narrowing. “Are they FBI?”  

“They’re a Deputy US Marshal, actually,” Spencer corrects. “They work in the Virginia office, which is 45 minutes outside of Quantico, up in Arlington. It’s why I have a twenty five minute commute—we both like our jobs a lot, and twenty-five minutes for me one way is only eighteen minutes for them the other, but I like driving so I don’t mind. They’re in talks for a promotion right now, and they were meant to hear about it today but so far their texts haven’t indicated anything about that.”  

It’s the most Spencer has told anyone except his mother about you since you’d gotten together, and while you both normally like to keep things quiet, bragging about you to the people he routinely trusts with his life is a very nice feeling.  

“US Marshal?” JJ asks. “They pretty commonly hire ex-military,” she says.  

“They’ve never been anywhere near the military,” Spencer laughs. “They did a two year degree at a community college, went to Glynco for training, and were employed by the US Marshals by twenty-one, around the same time I joined the FBI. We met each other at a coffee shop when they were off of work and their local one was closed, so our meeting was kismet.”  

Spencers phone buzzes again, and he ignores it that time. 

Alex grins at him, while Derek tuts and JJs eyes go to his phone as it buzzes once, then twice more, the fourth buzz coming four and a half seconds after the first, second, and third.  

“Check it,” she urges. “The jet is going to land in fifteen minutes, Spencer, so if it’s good news, you might as well.”  

SPENCER!! 

I have really really REALLY good news 

Please tell me your jet is landing soon or the very minute it’s landed call me please because you work twenty five minutes away and that means I can call and order from Antonios and by the time you’re home, you’ll only have to wait five minutes for pizza.  

Also, Megatrons full name is Megatron Ichabod Reid. Just so you know. I love you so much you stupid smart handsome tall man.  

Spencer doesn’t even try to fight his laugh as he reads.

“Good news?” Derek asks.  

“I think they got promoted, but I won’t know for sure til I’m home,” Spencer answers. “Also--Megatrons full name is apparently Megatron Ichabod Reid—their texts read like they’re hyper.”  

“I’d be pretty hyper if I got news of a promotion,” Rossi says. “Let us know if they did, though, kid. I’m hosting a dinner to celebrate your engagement regardless, but if they got promoted, it’s another thing to celebrate on the roster, and all the more of an excuse to meet the person you’ve kept hidden from the likes of us for a decade.”  

“You guys ordering Antonios?” Alex asks. “You mentioned getting Antonios for dinner the day after I saw you two together. I’m assuming it’s their favourite pizza spot—you don’t really seem like the pizza type. More like a pasta guy.”  

“We both love it,” Spencer answers. “There’s no pizza like Antonios—not where we live, anyway. It’s the middle ground between Quantico and Arlington, so there’s not a whole lot to do unless you drive either way.”  

“Antonios makes a good pizza,” Rossi nods.  

“Their pasta is better,” Hotch interjects. Spencer shakes his head, tries to go back to the book that’s sitting on the table in front of him but fails miserably, waits for the fifteen minutes til the jet lands to be done whilst the rest of the team talks amongst themselves.  

The second the jet lands, as he’s walking out of it, he dials your number and you pick up on the first ring.  

“Spencer Walter Reid, light of my life and giver of astoundingly lovely forehead kisses, please tell me you’ve landed,”  

Spencer laughs. “Just did,” he says. “The team knows about us now, by the way—I smiled when you texted and that lead to Derek questioning me, so there’s that. Also, if the good news is what I think it is, Rossi wants to hold a celebration dinner as an excuse to meet you. He fronted it with our engagement first, but I think he’s just shocked we’ve kept each other under wraps that long.”  

“You like Megatrons name?” You ask, giggling a bit, seemingly in spite of yourself. “I’m sorry, Spence—I'm hyper as hell, bouncing off the walls type. I’m going to open a bottle of wine, see if it calms me down a little. Get home as fast as you can, though! I miss your handsome face!”  

“Just gotta finish a file or two and then I’ll be home,” he says. “If you order the pizza now, I’ll only be like, five minutes late—the pizza won’t be scalding, like it usually is because of their ridiculously well-working warmer bags.”  

“I love you, Spence,” you say, tone turning a little serious. “Get home safe, please.”  

“I will,” Spencer nods. “You okay?”  

“Hyper but yearning,” you laugh. “I just miss you, ‘s all.”  

“I miss you too,” he says. “I’ll be home in forty minutes, tops. I promise.”  

The phone call ends, and he doesn’t miss the knowing smiles that are on Derek and Rossis faces. JJ is looking at him mildly confused as the tone of the conversation changed near it’s end, but he doesn’t want to explain, and so he chooses not to say anything.  

He goes back into the office, completes what remains of the files he has to work on, and after he submits the paperwork in to Hotch, he just about speed walks out of the office, toward the elevators.  

Derek is leaving at the same time as he is. “Goin’ home to Megatron and the singular person who’s managed to keep up with you for the past decade?” He asks teasingly as the doors close.    

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “I know you guys will tease me about it til the end of my time here, but—yeah. I get to go home to a stray cat the love of my life probably found in the parking lot of a Joanns, and the love of my life themself.”  

“I’m all done with my teasing, for now,” Derek says. “I’m just a little confused—why'd you keep them from us for this long?”  

“I don’t know,” Spencer admits. “When we’d first started dating, they’d just started out with the Marshals and they were scared having a partner in the FBI would get them special treatment, and then, when the stuff with Tobias Hankel happened and I got into Dialudid, I was scared that I’d make an enemy and then they’d find out about Y/N and use them to hurt me, and it just—we’re the quiet type, so we had reasons til we stopped needing them. I was going to tell you guys before we got engaged, but stuff has just kept happening so quickly in these past couple of years, and it’s kept slipping my mind.”  

Derek shrugs, but smiles understandingly. “I get it,” he says. “Lookin’ forward to that dinner Rossi is planning, though. I can’t wait to meet the singular person who probably would let you talk their ear off because they find you handsome or like your voice or something else that’s really sweet. You have a good night, Spence.”  

The elevator dings and the doors open, and the two leave separately. Spencer drives a little above the speed limit in the interest of getting home, which isn’t something he’d ever thought he’d do but is doing that night because it’s been a week since you’d last seen each other and he misses you like mad.  

When he inserts his key into the lock, unlocks the door and steps inside, he’s not filled with dread or fear or anxiety or loneliness or anything like that—instead, it feels like exactly what it’s supposed to.  

As he steps out of his shoes, hangs his bag on the coat rack and hears the sound of your laugh, he registers just how much the place he calls home feels like the word used to describe it.  

As he greets you with a hug and a few kisses to the forehead, it feels so much like home that it almost causes an ache in his chest. As you tell him about your promotion from Deputy to Chief Deputy and he hears Megatron the cat meow for the first time, happiness swells within him. Home, for the first time in his life, truly feels like a home. A place where he can unwind and be with those he truly loves, a place in which happiness is practically never-ending.  

Going home has never felt so good as going home to you, and Spencer is unsure anything will ever beat it.  

[thelovelymissbigbadwolf]

The Stardew Valley Disaster

They create their characters as usual, with Cloud hosting the server, Angeal, Sephiroth and Genesis requiring the help of Zack to enter.

How did they got the game in the first time? Zack humbly asked Kunsel to find out their emails and hack them in order to create accounts for each, of which Kunsel was responsible for creating.

Even though Zack begged Kunsel to play, he refused, saying he had played enough for the year (aka 400+ hours of SDV)

G: How the hell did you even made those accounts for us?

Z: Secret Santa.

S: You're not smart enough to figure it out on your own. Kunsel or Reno?

Z: Secret S— UH, RUDE?!

A: Rude knows how to hack?

Z: NO! I'm calling Sephiroth rude!

S: No you.

C: Alright server's done, you guys can come in.

After long thirty minutes of AGS making their characters, they went to the loading screen. Since they each had their laptops on the conference room, they could just go local.

Cloud chose Meadowlands, meaning they each started with 15 Hay pieces instead of Parsnip.

And, after Cloud telling them to skip the cutscene, the chaos begun.

Spring, Day #1

The Firsts are shown the Coop and the two chicks, Chip and Dale.

Angeal immediately fall in love with the game.

S: Can we eat them?

A: *slaps the nape of S's neck*

S: OW WHAT GIVES?!

A: Touch them and you're dead meat.

Sephiroth did not ever touched the chicks again or got close to the coop.

Zack teaches Angeal to set the Hay, simple enough.

Genesis got out to explore the sightings, commenting on whoever he sees.

G: Why is there a hobo here? Is that his tent?

C: Oh, must be Linus, he—

G: Can I toss rocks at him and make him leave?

C: ... This is not Animal Crossing, sir.

G: But I don't want a hobo in my village.

C: Too bad, suck it up.

G: Are you forgetting who you're talking to, Cadet?

Z: Uh... Guys?

A: Genesis don't be an asshole at the first person you meet.

G: Ugh. "A stranger? Hello. Don't mind me. I just live out here alone." Hobo.

C: Talk to him one more time.

G: "... Have you come to ridicule me? I'm just minding my own business."

C: And what're you doing?

G: Ridiculing him and I'd do it again.

Zack punches him and starts calling him names, Angeal took him out, scolded the living hell out of him and Genesis has a black eye. It's still 7am in game.

Zack then went to Pelican Town and greeted everyone excitedly and gave a Wild Horseradish.

Z: I'M SO SORRY FOR MY STUPID DUMBASS FRIEND, LINUS!

G: THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!

C: SHUT IT THE TWO OF YOU OR I'M TURNING THE SERVER OFF!

They did shut it.

Angeal went on to clean the farm complaining on the poor maintenance of the place and how lazy their (in game) grandfather is, he then passed out of exhaustion and Cloud calmly explained the mechanics.

A: But that makes no sense, if I'm already a farmer, why would I pass out because of some trees?!

Z: They fell on your head. *Giggle*

A: WHAT?! THAT'S A THING IN THIS GAME?!

C: No! It's not, and we were not farmers prior to that, we worked in an office.

A: Since when— WHY WOULD HE LEAVE A FARM IN SOMEONE INEXPERIENCED?!

C: Why would people hire an inexperienced idiot for a high ranking job?

A:

S: He has a point.

G: Can't deny that.

Z: It's like the vice president.

S: Spoiled kid getting his way before throwing a tantrum.

C: It's not really our case in the game, though, but anyway...

Angeal asked Sephiroth to finish his job since he still had a full energy bar and so he went. He passed out of exhaustion.

Then Genesis went to the beach and met Elliot.

G: Oh! He's elegant! "Ah, the new farmer we've all been expecting... and whose arrival has sparked many a conversation! I'm Elliott... I live in the little cabin by the beach. It's a pleasure to meet you."

C: He's one of the six bachelors.

S: What's a bachelor?

Z: Means you can romance them!

G: WHAT?!

A: There's relationships in this game?

G: AND SEX?!

C: Yes and NO!

Z: But with mods—

C: WE ARE NOT USING MODS!

G: "I can't seem to find the inspiration to begin writing my novel...” HE'S A WRITER??

Z: UGH! GET OFF YOUR FUCKING DUNGEON YOU EMO! I WANNA BEFRIEND YOU GODDAMNIT—

Genesis goes back home once it darkens and Cloud instructs him to sell whatever he found.

Zack goes back and puts what he found.

Cloud does the same.

In the end, there were a few forage items from Genesis. Spring Onions from Cloud. Trash from Zack.

To be continued...

[alvfr]

The Ex from Hell - Part 2

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

I think this is related the demonic ex prompt I wrote here. I’m not sure if this goes before or after, but I’ll figure it out and link accordingly. I'd love to hear your thoughts if you take the time to read and feel free to reblog if you want <3

WIP: The Ex from Hell Excerpt rating: T Word count: 1.74k

It was a dull Sunday in March when Cousin Kathy knocked on my door. The sleet of a poor man’s winter clung to the black felt of her wide-brimmed hat, and she huddled in her fashionably oversized coat, also black, where she stood on the steps of the sober living house I currently called home. She looked like the singular inked character in a pencil sketch, all sleek black lines separating her from the muted gray background that made up the neighborhood. The deep, rich black of her clothes clashed with the vivid red of her hair, toning into her pale skin that tinted pink from the nippy weather.

“I would say it’s good to see you,” she said after being ushered inside, her voice thin and girlish. Just like her face was seventy percent eyes and two percent nose. So pretty, she almost looked fake. A doll. “But that would be a lie, so I’ll abstain. I would also say that you look good, but alas, another lie. You’ve gained weight.”

“You know, for a second, I was actually happy to see you, Kath.” I left her standing in the hallway that was under constant maintenance and always smelled of paint, and I trudged up the stairs. All too aware of how my steps made the old wood creak with discomfort and remained mum when Cousin Kathy flittered up to follow me. “Not surprised, though. Figured it was only a matter of time before one of you showed up to gloat.”

“I wish I was here to gloat.” Like the rest of her, Kathy’s voice felt foreign in the somber house. Too thin and too sharp, like a stiletto dagger piercing the delicate ecosystem within the walls. Disrupting the relative peace of people like me just existing. Shuffling around and doing their chores, trying to get one day to turn into the next. Kathy kept her hands inside her coat pockets and gave the impression that if she’d had a handkerchief, she would have held it over her nose and mouth. Like she had entered a phthisis ward and not a sober living facility. “Alas, I have come for more serious business.”

If the house was a sanitorium, my room was the plague pit. Kathy visibly recoiled when entering, the bare landlord-white walls and naked linoleum floors apparently too much for her sensitive disposition. I would be the first to admit that it was not much to look at — a bed, a nightstand, a desk, and a chair — but it was clean and organized, all of my meager belongings safely tucked away in the closet. Orange floral curtains, probably donated by a previous resident, covered the windows, and I could picture someone adding the pop of color as an afterthought. Maybe hoping it would help brighten the place up and instead only emphasized the dreariness of the room.

I kicked off the soft slippers I wore indoors, sat cross-legged on the bed, which I made every morning before inspection, and gestured for Kathy to have the chair. It was the polite thing to do, after all. Seeing her squirm, caught between gentility and repulsion, was just an added bonus. She ended up perching on the very tip of the chair, trying to sit on it and not touch it at the same time, and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

It had been years since I last saw Kathy, and I knew those years had been less kind to me than her. Both in our early thirties, we looked roughly two decades apart. Some due to genetics, and the rest probably due to makeup and other kinds of camouflage.

It would be a tough sell to convince anyone about both our shared age and our relation, so opposite in every sense of the word. Kathy’s red hair swept around her face, so perfectly blown out it belonged on the cover of a magazine. In contrast, my curly locks hung limp around my face, scrubbed of all volume and shine from the industrial-strength shampoo provided in the communal showers. And while Kathy’s skin could be described as porcelain, white, and smooth, I was more like an old tablecloth, pale and riddled with mysterious spots. Only our eyes were alike, light gray and unblinking, with one pupil slightly bigger than the other.

“So, what’s new?” I leaned back on the bed where my gray sweatpants blended in with the bed sheets that had probably been white a couple of hundred washes ago. “What serious business brings you all the way across town?”

“We think it’s time you come home.”

Once, those words would have slapped me right into sobriety. Pity I had taken the hard way there instead. It cost every iota of self-control to keep still, to avoid bursting into laughter or tears or hysteria at those senseless, reckless words she had just uttered like she was commenting on the weather. That was Kathy for you, she did not beat around the bush.

“I am home.”

Kathy narrowed her eyes slightly, squinting in hopes of seeing me more clearly. As if her dear old grandmother suddenly had grown pointed ears and a mouth full of fangs. I did not move from my spot, biting my teeth together as hard as possible and hoping she did not see how my jaw tightened. It was not a lie, I reminded myself. Technically and legally, this was my home.

“You know what I mean,” Kathy eventually said as if daring me to contradict her. “We feel that now that you have served your sentence, you are ready to return to the Manor.”

“Which one?”

“There is only one Manor, Cousin.”

“No, no, I mean, which sentence are you referring to? My two-year stint in Pollwood or my lifetime banishment from our family?”

She stared at me while I stared back, neither of us blinking for an unnaturally long time. A game we had played as children and brought with us into adulthood. A game I had always excelled at, and sure enough, it did not take too long before a hint of a nervous smile played upon her doll-like lips. “Both.”

“Lifetimes sure aren’t what they used to be,” I said and kept staring unblinkingly at her to look for any clues. “What’s changed?”

Kathy’s little mouth pursed into a pin-prick before she answered, clearly choosing every syllable with care. “We need you back.”

“Need is not the same as want.”

“I never said it was.“ She rose from her chair, smoothed her hands over her coat, and nodded to herself. “A taxi will come around tomorrow at eight. That should give you plenty of time to pack and settle whatever affairs you might have.”

“Yeah, uhm, I’m not leaving.” I settled further in the bed, subconsciously emphasizing my words. “No matter when the taxi comes around, really. So you just run back to the Manor and let them know that, as far as I’m concerned, my lifetime is still rolling. I’d thank you for stopping by, but I won’t.”

Kathy paused, looking like a magazine clipping pasted into the trepid room. “You are aware that your accommodation is sponsored by our funding.”

Not a question, did not beget an answer and yet I failed to keep quiet. “My inheritance after Granny pays for my accommodation.”

“An inheritance that is managed by the family, as stipulated quite clearly in Grandmother’s will. A copy was sent your way, but I suppose you were too busy to bother reading it. Like you were too busy to attend her funeral.”

“Funerals are for the living,” I said, a mockery of the whole truth, but an acceptable substitute ever the same. “But I managed without your cash for about ten years. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Managed.” Kathy smiled, showing off teeth that seemed too large for her head. “I suppose you can call it that. But I don’t suppose you have a plan. Except maybe taking your ex-husband back to court, see if there’s a chance of reinstating the alimony? I would suggest hiring a proper attorney this time. He did get out of your previous deal quite fast. Just as the marriage itself.”

“So you have been keeping tabs on me all these years. Good to know. I don’t recall seeing your name on the registry for our wedding though. Not that you were invited, of course, but when has that ever stopped Katherine the Great?”

“Never.”

“Yeah. If you must know, I’d rather cut off my own arm than accept any kind of help from him again. And I would cut off my other arm rather than return to the Manor. You can quote me on that when you go back to kiss Hester’s ass.” As predicted, Kathy recoiled at my crude word choice. “Close the door on your way out, please.”

She remained immobile where she stood on the floor. “This is non-negotiable, I’m afraid.”

With a shrug, I picked up my phone and swiped through non-existing notifications to feign disinterest. “It often is with you guys.”

“You guys,” Kathy parroted and my neck prickled from the power of her stare. My phone screen flickered and went black, forcing me to look up at Kathy’s pinched face. “You guys. How many days do you have now?”

“Ninety-one.”

“Not those days.” Kathy swivelled back to face me, feet and hands together, like a ballerina. “Don’t give me that look, you know what I mean. Don’t make me ask you outright.”

“Like I said, it’s been about ten years now.” I tried to shrug, to give of the impression of ease, to distract from the way my teeth ground together. “So three thousand days, maybe, give or take.”

“Three thousand days since you practiced,” Kathy’s head tilted to the side, like a predator catching the distant pattering of prey, “or three thousand days since you tried?”

The strain from my jaw planted up to my temples, setting off thumps of a brewing migraine. “Yes.” We stared at each other, waiting for the other to blink, but now Kathy had the upper hand and she knew it. I swallowed the sharp edge in my throat. “No.”

Instead of the victorious smirk I expected, Cousin Kathy’s eyebrows softened and she gave a sad nod. “Come home, Harmony. We need you to come home now.”

“Why?”

“Because people are dying and we need your help to stop it.”

[callsign-relic]

hello, crush kink initiate back again. i cant actually call myself that because itll get really confusing with ckg, but i dont know how else to announce who i am.

anyway, ahhhh im glad i didnt overstep! i am so Scared but i have. so so many ideas and being very unwell over silverline is enough to overcome any fear agrhfhfjbrjej,,, hes handsome and mean and i love him dearly. 🥺✨

also, 🤝 @ ckg, getting trapped in silverlines panels is also 1000% where my brain went after sending that ask tbfjfksbfmnsmfbjgk

i like to imagine something like that happens a bit later- the first time you get lucky(?) and slip free at some point, and you manage to get away without him noticing you... (not without getting doused in a heavy dose of transfluid of course.)

you stumble away and clean yourself off, dazed by the experience. but the thing is... you still have to go to work. you still have to continue doing maintenance on the massive mech who had you plastered to his dick.

as soon as you enter the room and see him, towering above you, you're hit by the sense memory of being crushed up against his spike, the heat and weight of it, the taste of his transfluid in your mouth as you struggled against his digits... being overwhelmed without him even trying, without him even noticing.

trying to keep things professional is difficult, to say the least. (you're going to strangle whoever decided to put a walkway at silverlines hip height!!!) during your shift you keep sneaking glances at his panel, reliving the memory.

maybe you end up finishing maintainence a lot quicker than usual- desperate to be anywhere else so you aren't thinking about his spike. except when it comes time to leave, you can't help but linger a little each time, just to see if he does it again.

obviously this comes to bite you in the ass as one day you get too close, and you end up in the same position as you did before. you think it'll be fine- it was fine last time- except... you find yourself stuck to his spike even as it softens, and his panel closes over you, trapping you in the sweltering darkness.

i'd imagine it'd be a hard choice between struggling and staying still- if you struggle, you run the risk of him finding you, which is sure to be a whole mess in itself. but... what if he never finds you, and you're forever doomed to the hot, sticky confines, only let out when he wants to self service, completely oblivious to your presence (...perhaps you like that idea a little too much, but surely thats just the heat getting to you, right? ...right.)

this is. so long. im so sorry but also im not because i love thinking abt stuff like this fhdjcbsj,, where is this motivation when i want to write fics. help. ill be back in a bit with more. i need a break from furiously typing but im thinking more about being stuck in his panels.

Welcome back crush kink initiate!!! I’m happy to see you return :) maybe to differentiate you from ckg we can just call you initiate? 😆

But AAGHHHAGHSHD this is so good omg. Having to do maintenance on him again when you were trapped in his panel the night before… you can’t keep your gaze away from his panel, not that he cares to notice you down there.

But ouhghh being stuck to his spike even as it softens and you’re lodged in the space of his panel…. It’s unbearably warm in there, riddled with his scent. Only seeing light from the outside for but a second when he opens his panel just to wrap his hand around his spike again, and the cycle starts all over again… the only reason you were spared is because he didn’t know you were there. Nothing but an inconsequential bit of dust on his spike as he worked himself to completion <3

And please don’t apologize!!! It means so much that my guy is inspiring you so much!! I’m looking forward to hearing back from you again hehehe :)

[skysometric]

Taking Up Space

sad news: over the weekend we had to say goodbye to our beloved Smokey Joe, a gray tabby cat of 16 years, and one of four cats in our household. early last week we found him paralyzed in his back legs and tail, and his health simply declined from there. he lived a good long life filled with love, so we have no regrets.

this video sums up his personality. taken by my partner @harmonyfriends, as with all of the pictures here.

smokey was a playful, talkative, affectionate kitty. he would talk back when we said his name or asked him questions, answering with little "myows" and "mrahs." he was never much of a lap cat, but he loved to curl up next to us and rub up against us. he enjoyed playing chase around the house, just for the thrill of running back and forth.

Smokey in his Morph Ball form.

his very favorite place was the "cat pile," our big bed of comfy blankets and pillows, where my partner and i and all of the cats would go curl up after a long day. he was usually the first to join us; he'd situate himself between our legs and bury his nose in his favorite blanket, purring as loud as can be. the cat pile is already emptier without him, and we'll miss his presence dearly.

Smokey (back) is survived by his sister Lily (front).

but, like many cats, he was also a little menace sometimes.

for every nice thing i just listed, he had an annoying side. he was talkative, sure, which led to him wailing at 4am for no particular reason other than asking for company. he enjoyed playing rough – sometimes without warning, leading to lots of sharp scratches. he loved to curl up with us in bed, but when he was unhappy he'd pee on the bed, forcing us to clean up after him and lock him out of the room for a while. this, in addition to all the regular maintenance that comes with a cat (or rather, four of them!).

so when he wailed i'd get up and wrap him in a blanket so he'd get some sleep. and when we played i learned how to avoid his sensitive spots, just as he learned how to keep his claws from coming out. and when the bed smelled like pee, we'd clean it up and welcome him back on the bed with us before long.

after all, he's worth that love, and i wouldn't trade him for the world.

nestled in a blanket, happy as can be.

i'm sure in your time on the internet you've come across some flavor of post that says "you deserve to take up space." if you're like me, growing up to be proud of how little space you take up, it probably hit you hard! but it also paints a picture of something we've never been allowed to see. what does it look like to take up space, to not be pushed away, to still be deserving of love?

it looks like Smokey Joe, who we affectionately called a "pissbaby" in between hugs and kisses.

smokey's story is an illustration of what it looks like to take up space, how the same ways we share joy are sometimes the same ways we go overboard. but it's also an illustration of how to love someone who takes up space, how to be patient with them and grow with them.

so i want to carry his memory by living both sides of that coin – sharing more of myself even when it's ugly, while allowing others to do the same. after all, how else are we supposed to show our love?

[bonnie-is-bumbling]

Ah, the joys of working with the public!

I don't even know where I want to start with this one. Can people not accept that I'm not at work to get a date?

I'm at work to pay my bills. You know, these things we have to pay, if we want to keep electricity on. I'm totally open to the possibility that I'm just overdramatic- But why do people think it's reasonable to walk up to someone that's clocked in, and clearly busy to try to shoot their shot?

I suppose you can't win if you ain't in, but I can't fathom the idea of walking up to an absolute stranger for the first time and saying "I know the bar here is closed, but you can be my bar."

^This is a paraphrasing of something said to me, tonight by, you guessed it: A man I have never met before that knew I was working. Yes, I do stop to see if I can help someone, be it with something about the establishment, or just a recommendation of a local coffee shop because they're tired of petrol station coffee. Or they want to chat, which is fine, within some limits.

On the subject of chatting, I really am sick of the ones who come up, chat me up, and then linger for hours and hours.

A fellow, who I'll call G, did this a couple of days back. The trouble is, G didn't do like the usual and go back to his room and leave peacefully in the morning when he couldn't get any.

No, G tried to hold me up for around two hours. And really, I'm glad the maintenance guy was willing to stay after his shift, even if he had already clocked out to see to it this guy went to his room, in a polite and calm manner.

G originally checked in, and had an easy room to navigate to. (And when I say easy, I mean, easy. Not just easy for someone who knows the place.) He walked away, then came back to ask to he led to his room. Which is when maintenance guy came in, overheard, and took G to his room.

An hour later, G is back. And he would like to get a few things he forgot. I'm glad to provide, as it's what we do. A hotel often has little deodorant sticks, razors, shaving cream, and toothbrushes. To be nice, I found him a little bag to carry it all. But he begins to hold seemingly pointless conversation with me, about how he's a good guy and doesn't drink, kind of out of nowhere. Maintenance is in the back office. And after a while, he comes out to join the conversation. G seemed to be trying to get him to head off without actually saying it.

Maintenance stayed the whole time, until G left. A few hours later, G calls the front desk phone. Mind you, this is 2 in the morning or so. He's trying to get information about when I'm off, and offers me money to come to the truckstop to clean his truck. Asking about where I lived, what I drove... All of which was only setting off more red flags. And he tries to keep me on the phone. I pretend there's a guest waiting. I don't hear from him again. I roll my eyes and go on my day off. 8 AM, almost approximately, he goes to find me. As I'd told him I was off at 8. (I was not. But as a general rule, I don't disclose my times unless I know the person.

G harrasses almost any vagina-owning, 30 or under being that was in uniform. He leaves around 12, leaving a bad taste in plenty of mouths. But we all roll the eyes, shrug it off. It's a fairly normal occurrence that we have a weirdo or two a night. Anyone that has worked with the public, worked alone, and/or at night probably has a story or two.

The next day, G calls at night, to ask about me, and when I would be on shift. He happened to get my elder sister on the phone, who also works there. She advised me on the next day. The lady who had covered my shift on my day off informed me that G stopped by the hotel and loitered in the lobby, not even looking to do business. Looking for me. Managers banned him from the hotel.

Can I just say I'm bothered? Like, why, sir? Can you kindly not?

[that-fema-corps-blog]

Day 7

August 9, 2022

Got up at 6:00 to eat before physical training at 6:30. Ugh. We took a walk and it was cool outside, so I wasn't too upset once I got out there. We returned to the dorms and changed into the AmeriCorps T-shirt and shorts for the next training. Now that we have uniforms, we are expected to wear them every time we're accruing service hours, and training counts.

We walked to the main room at 8:30, and the presenter informed us that shelter-in-place is over early! Our team is now considered a "family unit," and we are now allowed to be unmasked when only our family unit is present. We are also allowed to enter other team members' rooms (with permission) and leave the campus with our team. This city still has a high COVID transmission rate, so we must wear masks when around people outside of our family unit, even when outdoors.

We each received an AmeriCorps Member Handbook and our team collaborated to fill out a worksheet based on the information in the handbook. Turns out leave days are less restrictive than I thought. A couple members asked whether being at an event or protest during a leave day would negatively impact them, but it turns out it's probably fine as long as you aren't in uniform. So it looks like I'd be able to use a personal leave day to go to pride next year, if I'm in an area where they have it. I've never been to a pride march before, so I do hope I get that opportunity.

We got a short break (unfortunately not enough time to eat) before one of the benefits staff gave a presentation on what health benefits we get through NCCC. This AmeriCorps insurance is through the International Medical Group, and you must use Teledoc or go to a doctor's office that is in network with First Health Network (if one is within 35 miles to get coverage; otherwise any office can be visited). Private insurance is considered primary, and AmeriCorps insurance secondary. If one only had Medicare or Medicaid, then AmeriCorps insurance is treated as primary. Pre-existing conditions are not covered, although some prescription medications for them are. I imagine several of these policies change frequently, so who knows what it'll be like in a year.

We got off early for lunch at 11:30, and returned to the other side of the main building at 13:30 for a presentation about the vans. Each driver must be NCCC certified (driver's license and 3 years clean driving record alone won't cut it). Every corps member must drive with a "safety," the person riding shotgun who will keep a lookout for the duration of the ride. The safety will also stand outside and direct the van driver when parking, backing up, or making other tight maneuvers. Team leaders are allowed to drive alone in a pinch, but it is not recommended. The maximum driving time is 550 miles or 10 hours per day (whichever comes first), with drivers needing to swap out every 2 hours. Each time the van is driven, it must be logged.

Each team will keep their van for the entire year, and usually one person takes on the role of the vehicle safety tools and checks that the van is being properly maintained. All maintenance is paid for using the General Services Administration (GSA) card, which only allows $100 per transaction unless approved by the GSA (larger repairs require a call and authorization). In addition, every time the van needs gas (which will be frequent; not supposed to go under 1/2 tank), the gas station must be able to accept the GSA card, and the van ID and the odometer reading must be reported. Yay bureaucracy. We took a quiz on what we had learned and had a short break.

Then we listened to a 40-minute driving safety video. This was...a very slow presentation. I almost fell asleep, and upon getting out, immediately made my way to the dorms to take a nap. There wasn't anything else I needed to do afterward, so I made some dinner with a teammate and relaxed for the rest of the night.

[inahazzze]

Concept: imagine if Harry was like... the maintenance worker or landlord for your apartment building, maybe the two of you are friendly with each other, and one day you call him up to take a look at the leaky faucet in your bathroom, and forgot that you'd left out your vibrator, or something else a bit embarrassing!!! I'd imagine him to be so cheeky about it

I’M DEAD!!!! I just frantically wrote the following 1.2k words and… it’s just a lot.  A LOT. But thank you for this, I love you very much and I owe you my life

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Of course the bathroom faucet is leaking, and of course it’s happening on your first day off in two weeks. It’s been so stressful at work that you crawled into bed at 7 p.m. last night instead of going out with friends, and you’re still so unbelievably exhausted. You don’t regret your decision to stay in, though – you quite enjoyed your night with Netflix, wine and your vibrator. And that is exactly what you planned to continue doing today on your day off, but clearly the universe had other plans for you.

All you want to do is hide under your covers and ignore this problem, but a nagging voice in the back of your mind yammers about the waste and the water bill. Begrudgingly, you scroll through your phone to find Harry’s number and send him a text to ask if he can come over. It’s not the first time that you’ve had to ask for his help for something gone wrong in this shitty apartment and it probably won’t be the last.

The first time you met Harry was at a mutual friend’s party, and he’d tried to chat you up – with no success. Well, there was some success for you. Harry certainly wasn’t expecting that instead of getting your number, he’d be giving his away with an offer of free help if you need a handyman.

You’ve now seen Harry enough times that it’s not weird to text him or see him at another of your mutual friend’s parties. You can talk to each other casually without it getting awkward and he always seems happy to see you. And you have to admit that you’re always happy to see him too.

You worry that Harry might be mad at you for texting at 9am on a Saturday morning, but he responds to your text within a few minutes. He agrees to stop by in a half hour so you scramble to shower, get ready and make your morning coffee.

When Harry arrives, he looks like he just jumped out of bed. His hair is mussed up and pointing in all directions, and his wrinkled white Rolling Stones shirt could’ve been lifted from the top of the laundry pile. It oddly suits him, though. He looks comfortable, soft and sexy at the same time. You wonder whether this is what he looks like after he’s just had sex – messy and satisfied and at ease. But no – you tell yourself that the flush on his cheeks is from the morning breeze and his hooded eyes are probably due to him being sleepy or hungover.

You try to rid yourself of the dirty thoughts about the man standing before you and welcome him into your apartment. You offer him a drink and he accepts a black coffee with a polite thank you. Unfortunately, your bathroom is only accessible through your bedroom, so you have no choice but to lead him through the messy room. You wish that you’d had time to clean up a bit and make your bed but there’s nothing you can do about it now.

He follows you into the cramped bathroom and immediately spots the problem of the leaking faucet. He assures you that it should only take a few minutes to fix and shouldn’t be a problem. You let out a sigh of relief that the tap can be fixed easily but your muscles refuse to relax as Harry is standing uncomfortably close to you. Your heartbeat picks up and you’re sure that you’d see a blush flowing over your cheeks if you turned to look in the mirror.

There’s a moment of silence where you both stand in the tiny space and don’t know what to say. The only sound in the room is the soft pitter patter of droplets escaping the tap to land on the porcelain sink. The air is thick with tension and unspoken questions. You know that the smallest movement would let you touch his skin and the thought overtakes all rational parts of your brain. However, something clicks to ground you to reality and you realise that Harry is waiting for you to get out of the way so that he can get to work. You move to stand in the doorframe and watch him lean into the cupboard under the sink to inspect the pipe. His hand reaches above his head to rest on the countertop for balance, and you feel your mouth salivate at the flexing muscles of his arm. You can also see the muscles bulging through the thin and worn material of his shirt and your eyes are glued to them.

You know the moment that Harry fixes the leaking pipe because the dripping sound in the sink stops with a deafening silence. He looks up at you and you move your eyes away from his back muscles a moment too late. One side of his mouth quirks up into a smirk at the realisation, and you feel your blush deepen even more.

You lead him back into your bedroom to give you both some more space than the bathroom allowed for. You feel like you can breathe again, even though his presence is still intoxicating. You don’t want to make eye contact with him after being caught ogling his back, but you know that you need to be an adult and have a conversation. He did come over to help you fix your sink at a moment’s notice on a Saturday morning, after all.

You look up at him, ready to thank him profusely, but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking at your bedside table with his head stock-still and eyes wide. You follow his line of sight and your mouth drops open in absolute mortification.

Is this actually happening? Is this some kind of awful dream? A hallucination? A cruel joke?

You didn’t think that you could experience this level of embarrassment before now. But it’s flowing through you in awful nauseating waves, telling you that this is definitely happening and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Standing tall on your bedside table is an oversized neon pink vibrator and your favourite purple bejewelled butt plug. There’s a large bottle of lube next to them, a box of tissues and a container loudly exclaiming that it’s a sex toy cleaner. It’s so damning that it almost looks like you’ve set up the scene intentionally. Except you didn’t. No one was meant to see this – least of all, Harry. You’ve been so stressed and tired from work that you didn’t even notice that you’d left the evidence of last night’s activities to proudly exclaim themselves next to your bed. You berate yourself on a loop, wondering how it could have possibly slipped your mind. The moment seems to extend impossibly, dragging out the torturous silence for what feels like forever.

Harry eventually turns back to face you, looking you dead in the eyes. The look is intense, and you hope that you’re not imagining that it’s also full of longing.

“Do you have anything else that needs fixing, love?”