#sometimes i wake up and have a hard time distinguishing my dream from reality for a bit

[goldsbitch]

can I request a Lando x reader where the reader’s weakness is when people stroke her hair? Her mind goes completely blank and she falls silent immediately when people stroke her hair and Lando uses it at his advantage.

Fluffy pls and ty🫶🏻

omg, i love this prompt so much - thank you and hope you like it!!

This is one is dripping with sweetness a little too much, don't say I did not warn you. No other warning.

Lando was born a tease, oscillating between clueless and shy, to unapologetic and bordeline dickish. It all depended on the setting, his relationship to the person and how much sleep he got the night before. Sometimes your boyfriend was the sweetest little thing, giggling shyly about everything instead of coming up with an actual response, and the other times he was a walking menace actively seeking every opportunity how to get you into a flustered state.

You and Lando were full on deep in the beginning of your relationship, the sweetest part of the honeymoon phase. To put it bluntly - fucking almost non stop. And the desire was never-ending. Blinding sunshine kissed good morning to every day you two got to wake up next to each other. Problems seem to be non existent. Bliss.

It was the way his hair curled when he got a little bit sweaty, his toned body what you were desperate to explore from every angle and the need to know every little secret trick that worked on him. It became some sort of a game, who would get better at knowing the other. Which one of you found all the buttons to push.

Lando rose up that morning and chose violence. Metaphorical one, of course. Snuggling up to you in order to wake you up as well for some morning work out, as he like to call it. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear and touching you all over your body. But you were just incredibly sore from the past few days, physically unable to keep up.

"Why don't you love me anymore," he pleaded jokingly as you murmured another weak appeal for your sleep.

"Lando, you know I love you more than anything," you replied, still half asleep. But it was hard to distinguish as reality resembled a sweet dream everyday lately.

"I remember when you used to want me, physically," he kept going.

"We literally had sex few hours ago, stop whining," you kissed him between your words. He looked at you with his incredible eyes, little devil dancing in each one of them.

"Exactly, too long ago. Wish I could go back in time when you were not sore and get inside you all over again."

You simply laughed, absolutely smitten with this lovey dovey side of him. His words made you melt like butter sitting under direct sun. You brushed your noses together and then he kissed you.

The best part of romantic relationships is the one that you cannot absolutely share with other people, the almost embarrassing pleas, desire and gross goofiness, simping at each other all the time.

"Fine, if you play by these rules, I'll come back with my own revenge," he said finally as you inevitably had to start getting ready to go to the paddock with him.

Today was the big day. You'd been spotted in public countless of times, the "girlfriend" title officially sitting on your head for weeks now. But this was the first time you were to join him in the paddock as a wag. You were trying to hide your nervousness, but he saw right through you. Before you exited the apartment, he made you stop and took your face in his hands. "I'm happy I get to do this with you. I love parading you around, for everyone to see that we're a team." You smiled, his words hitting like first snowflakes of the year. "Poor Oscar, I can't wait to finally trauma dump the shared misery you bring to our lives," you jokes and locked lips with him once again. "God, it's terrifying how much I like you," you said automatically, without having to think about it.

//

It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. It was definitely weird and strange, but not necessarily bad. Having Lando by your side as you passed the gates definitely helped. The photographers were lined up as people at a shooting range would and it did feel like that at first. But as quickly as you were initially overwhelmed, fatigue took over you and you blocked their ever-presence out. Trying to chat up those Lando introduce you to and memorizing the names. You knew how much some of these people meant to Lando, so you were trying to be at your best behavior. The thought that his friends would hate you in the same way as some of his fans haunted you.

In the middle of all the rush, you parted for a moment. To be honest, little peace of quiet and chill was something you appreciated. But remember, Lando woke up and chose violence this morning. And his plan was quite simple, yet bulletproof.

"Y/N! There you are, my love," you heard from coming from behind you. "I have someone to introduce to you! I'm very much sure you'll appreciate meeting him." As you turned, you saw Daniel Ricciardo walking your way with your Lando. You were a little perplexed as to why Lando was so cheerful about that. You clearly remembered him getting very upset when you admitted to him that at some point in the past, when formula 1 was a world far away from you, that you had a minor crush on Daniel. Which obviously went out of the window once you met Lando. That did not mean that Lando was 100% ok with it.

"Y/N, as I'm sure you know, this is Daniel, hell of a driver and good friend of mine," Lando continued and you knew him well enough to know he had ulterior motives. Not sure what to do, you smiles shyly and shook Daniel's hand.

"Hi, Daniel," you said, eyes flinching between him and Lando. You were full on preparing for anything. Lando's smirk almost had a life of his own at that point.

"Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've heard quite a lot things about you!" Daniel opened, life of the party as per usual.

You chuckled. "All good things, I hope!" And with that, Lando stepped behind you and put his arm around you.

"Only the best," he said, leaned closed and inconspicuously started to stroke you hair gently. Oh, he did not just go this low.

It was slow, yet like tidal wave. You stopped breathing for a moment. Your body relaxing, as if you'd just taken the world's best sedatives. The way his hands made you feel was etherial. It was the same sensation the luckier ones experienced when listening to ASMR and the less fortunate ones sometimes called an orgasm. Shivers slowly traveling around your whole body, every part becoming sensitive out of nowhere. You weren't able to look at Daniel, let alone continue speaking. Lando was more than aware of what touching your hair did to you. He'd discovered this trick quite early on. And it was his favorite one.

"So, where are you from?" Daniel attempted at small talk. But how could you possibly give a fuck at that moment. Not that your body would even allowed you to respond. The only thing you were able to take in from the outside world were the soft slow movements Lando's fingers were doing, blocking everything out instanteniously.

Daniel stared at you, waiting. From his perspective, this was a very awkward meeting.

Lando answered for you, with a smirk you did not see, but could feel from the tone of his voice. "You have to excuse her, she is bit shy in front of new people."

You could not give less of a fuck at that moment of what these two were saying. Your lips were starting to shiver from getting so sensitive. You took a short breath and someone who would be standing close and knew you well would know, that what escaped your mouth was not a nervous laugh, but something very close to a moan.

Lando and Daniel were saying words, but none of that was important, while Lando's fingers were working his magic. He would only leave your hair alone once he saw Daniel leaving.

You wanted to be mad at him. But you were still sort of high from all the sensation bomb Lando dropped on you. You slowly turned around to face him, coming down from your own personal nirvana.

You took a deep breath while he watched you without a blink and biting hims smile away.

"You promised," you let out air that got stuck in your lungs somewhere along the way. "You promised you would not do this in public." Your brain was slowly wiring up to normal again.

"I told you I'd punish you for the morning," he said as if it was the most amusing thing ever. "Also, if Daniel is my competition, I'm going to use all the advantage I have."

Lando had a way of looking at you that made you unravel instantaneously and there was no way of stopping it. There was just something about his smile that did it for you. As anyone who is properly in love, you could not imagine somebody being able tor resist that. In your love soaked mind, he was irresistible. To a normal mind, he was probably just a regular guy, but that idea was unfathomable to you.

"I'm pretty sure that after what I just pulled, you will not have to worry about Daniel liking me," you chuckled, having to accept that Lando won this one.

"I would never let my guard down...But yeah, I think this one is pretty safe," he chuckled once more. You kissed his overly proud face and promised to yourself to get back at him later, in the privacy of his bedroom.

[ghostly-penumbra]

Ectober Week 2021. Day One

“Headstone/Boo”

Ao3 FFN

Summary: Danny talks with a friend. This is a crossover with The Sandman, and knowledge of the character Death is required, and there are some spoilers for “The Kindly Ones” and “The Wake”.

Many thanks to my beta @ectoentity for their great pointers!

- - -

Here lays Daniel James Fenton

Son, friend, brother

A hero, an explorer

“Let’s play four truths, two lies.” A raven haired young man said, reading the epitaph in the simple tombstone that had nothing special to distinguish it from all the others in the Amity Park graveyard.

“That would be hard, because I can only see one lie.” Came a soothing voice from behind him, and when Danny turned to look at the interloper, he wasn’t surprised to see a goth gal who radiated power right behind him. “Boo.”

If she had said that the first time he saw her, when he perceived her as a skeleton in a hood wielding a scythe, he would have been scared shitless.

But now, having actually interacted with her, she just looked like a regular goth with more perky than gloomy in her, and the scythe had been replaced by an ankh. She reminded him of a mix between Sam and Jazz. Sometimes painfully so.

“Hi, Death.” He greeted his old friend with a small smile.

She came to stand next to him and brushed his shoulder with hers. It felt right. It felt natural. It felt like coming home after a long, tiring day. And yet they both knew he wouldn’t go with her soon.

“It’s nice. Simple, but nice. I thought you would go with a rocket, or say your ashes were thrown to space.” Death said lightly.

“When I was fourteen, perhaps. Now I think simple is fine.”

“There is nothing wrong with simple.” She agreed easily, knowingly.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, until Danny finally said what had been on his mind for a while now.

“Death, if… something like what happened with your brother –Dream– happened to you… would I turn into you?” Would he take her place with her family? Her position in the universe?

The Endless looked at him, saw him, understanding in a way only she could, and said, “If I die, you can, if you want to.” She would not put that weight on his shoulders, especially when it was anathema to his obsession.

But if some day they were both ready, only Destiny knew.

Or maybe not even him.

“Oh. Okay then.” Danny said noncommittally.

The wind blew by, rustling the leaves on the nearby trees, and that was the only sound for a while longer.

Finally, they perked up.

“Hey, race you to Mars?” The halfa asked.

Death snorted. “Danny, I’m already there.”

“Yeah, yeah, you are-”

“-everywhere.” They both said at the same time, and smiled, because they knew this fact by heart.

At the grave of the one who once was the son of ghost hunters, the friend of the endlessly loyal, little brother of a wise sister, who once saved reality itself and then went on to travel to faraway places, with a flapping of wings and a spectral laughter, only silence remained.

- - -

I really like the potential Danny Phantom and The Sandman have for crossovers, and yet I found out there was none in here, and I think to myself, "How will people fall down the rabbit hole if there isn't a rabbit hole to fall into?", so now I take it as my duty to make as many of these as I can, and if you like it and feel the same, take a shovel, buddy, we have some digging to do!

But, like, this week won't be just crossovers with the Sandman, sorry.

Also, a joke that didn’t make it to the cut:

Someone: Wait, you’re Death? But Death was a girl!

Danny: Yeah, don’t worry, this isn’t my first time transitioning.

[damn-stark]

The Trouble ch.7

A/N- sorry it’s taken so long to post but I plan on finishing this now, so expect more frequent posts. :)

Warning- angst, talks of death, ptsd, blood, light fluff

Pairing- Jesse x fem!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

——

You could still see it, as clear as day. You could still hear the sound of the gunshots, and the sound of his body thumping the ground.

That’s the only memory you could see now. The memory of Jesse's face contorted into that single painful memory of his death. Everytime you tried to recall a happy and blissful moment, he appeared with his bloody face and the wound that killed him.

As much as you tried to forget, his death haunted your dreams and your mind every waking hour. It wasn’t as bad as it was in the first couple of months after you returned home, but you still couldn’t be the same. You could never be the same. No one who went and came back with you was the same.

Sometimes...you could even see him appear to you…it was so strangely vivid, it seemed like he was actually with you. But you knew he wasn’t, he couldn’t be.

“Y/N, hey kiddo….” You look over your shoulder and notice Tommy welcomed himself inside the house.

You weren’t even aware when he walked inside, or if he even knocked. He most likely did, you just didn’t hear. Albeit sometimes out of instinct, he just walked inside the house; it happened once when Maria was home, she didn’t say anything though, he was the only one embarrassed.

“...I thought you’d be holed up in here,” he continued as he set down the tupperware filled with food.

You turn off the sink and completely turn around to face him, leaning back on the counter and shrugging nonchalantly. “I was just going to go out, you just caught me in here before I could.”

Tommy rests his hand on the counter across from you and releases an airy chuckle. “Right, with which friends may I ask? Maria says you’ve lost them all.”

Your eyes flicker away from him and you scoff as you nod slowly. “They lost me...man,” tears fill your eyes and you feign a grin, “..they...lost me.” You clear your throat and raise your head, letting out a quiet sigh and changing the mood before the tension rose. “Anyway, what’s with the surprise visit? I thought we were meeting for patrol later this week?”

“Well,” Tommy says as he shrugs and averts your gaze. “Just thought you might like the visit.”

You cross your arms over your chest and nod stiffly, smiling softly and then clicking your tongue. “Sure did. But,” you begin to say as you narrow your gaze on him, noticing he looked strange; his stiffened posture, his perplexed expression beginning to show itself on his face. It was hard to tell, he hid his true intentions well, but you saw the truth. “...you’re not here just to visit are you?”

Tommy stands up straight and drops his head to shake it without having to face you. “No,” he mutters before he moves his hand to search the pocket hidden inside his jacket, slowly scrummaging through it to pretend he was looking for something, when in reality he only had one thing, a folded up map. “I wanted to show you this.” He puts the map on the countertop and unfolds it on the surface to flatten it out and show a part of some state, he doesn’t reveal it right away, he instead just waves you over and waits for you.

However you don’t move right away, first you let your eyes scan the wrinkled paper, noticing the marks and the city names. You didn’t recognize the cities so you didn't instantly catch what his intentions were—it could be just some city he needed some supply from, some part of the state where he wanted to visit for some reason, you truly didn’t know. If you were being completely honest you didn’t want to know. Something was telling you to not press further. But you did.

After a couple seconds of hesitation you walk up beside him and take a better look at the map he was showing you.

“First of all, before I get to explaining, I want you to know that I’m not asking anything of you, you don’t owe me anything, okay?” Tommy explains as he turns his head to look at you, waiting in silence for you to assure him. “You understand that?”

“Yeah,” you nod hesitantly. “I understand...why?” You lift your eyes from the paper and meet his gaze. “What’s up?”

“Well,” he swallows thickly. “Recently this guy who’s heard my story, shared to me that while he was moving through California…..” he pauses and looks back at the map, waving his hand around as he chooses to continue. “He traded with a woman that he described was built like an ox.”

“Okay,” you nod, feeling the explanation he gave instantly matched with the women that also plagued your mind, knowing that he was referring to no one else but her.

“He said she was traveling with a kid with scars across his face.” Tommy proceeded to then shift the map around, pointing to a part of land by the ocean. “He said they were living along the coast in a beached sailboat. Right here.” Tommy says as he points to the specific location. “That’s gotta be her.”

Your eyes flicker up to him as you let silence take over for a few minutes as you tried to collect your thoughts, as you tried to process the news and what he was really asking of you.

“Is this…” you ask slowly as your eyes remain away from him. “About Joel?”

“No,” Tommy instantly answers, “not for you anyway...this is about Jesse.”

“I see,” you nod as you step back, feeling your throat begin to burn and your eyes begin to cloud with tears. “I see.”

And it’s at the sound of his name that you see him appear close to Tommy.

Jesse looked so real, so insanely real that it really seemed like he was there listening to Tommy with you. But that was the point, right? The game your mind tortured you with.

The only thing that distinguished him from actually seeming real was that he appeared to you how he was when he died; with the bullet that punctured his face, and the blood that poured from it. Otherwise you’d have a hard time actually believing he wasn’t real, otherwise you’d always be looking at his illusion your mind created, unlike how you were now, you couldn’t even fathom looking at him for more than a second before you looked away in horror.

Tommy noticed that reaction but he didn’t hold back. He was too mad to do so.

“I went to Ellie about Joel, but she let me down.”

“What?” You gasp as you snap your head up to look at him. “You went to Ellie? Why would you do that?” You demand with anger beginning to lace through your voice.

“Because she promised she’d do something about her.” Tommy remarked, making you shake your head and blink in disbelief.

“But why would you break that peace she’s trying to find? That’s why she and Dina moved.” You snap. “Why would you go to her with this?”

“That peace she’s trying to find his bullshit,” Tommy scoffs as he grabs the map and begins to fold it. “You know that.”

“That doesn’t matter!” You interject furiously, “why would you go to her?”

“Because she needs to do something about Abby, just like you do too. Are you really going to let her get away with killing jesse?” Tommy counters, instantly making you stiffen and feel your breath hitch at the sound of his comment. You wanted to talk back, but you were struck with disbelief and grief to manage to muster anything out.

All that you could show was the pain on your face, in your tear filled eyes. Tommy noticed that and hesitated, he stepped back and wanted to try and apologize, but he waited too long. Maria walked in and didn’t want an explanation, she recognized the pain on your face that she saw everyday since you returned. She, unlike Tommy, knew more of what you were struggling with and she wasn’t going to allow someone to just worsen the pain. Not even Tommy.

“What do you think you’re doing Tommy?” She demanded after she also took note of the map in his hand.

“Just came here to talk to her,” Tommy said as he hid the truth. “That’s all.”

“Well,” Maria scoffed, “then that’s enough for today. Get out.”

Said man didn’t argue, he stopped under the kitchen doorway to add one last thing to you. “Think about it y/n, you know I’m right. And then go talk to her. Do what’s right.”

You slowly look up at him and catch a brief sight of the anger burning on his face before he turns and limps out of the house, leaving you a scrambled mess and only causing you to see him again. It was brief, but you saw Jesse's dead figure under the doorway right before Maria broke you from your stupor and didn’t hesitate to embrace you, trying to comfort your withered soul. But not succeeding. Not like the times before.

——

“I’m giving you ten minutes.” Jesse informs you as he leans by the tree trunk a few feet away. “You better have your eyes closed already.”

“I’m already asleep,” you add sarcastically, “you just keep talking to me so.”

Jesse scoffs and keeps talking to you even after he gives you a time limit to take a very short nap. “We don’t have a lot of time to waste here if we want to catch up to Ellie and Dina.”

You pull the small blanket over your head and sigh. “If only we did have time. I’d love to stay here. It’s very pretty.”

You hear Jesse's feet shift and you imagine he was now looking at you over his shoulder, but you couldn’t know with your back turned his way. All the indication you had to know that he was still listening was the fact that he responded without thinking of his answer. “After we find them on our way back home, we could get “lost” and just arrive a few weeks after them.”

You open your eyes, but you don’t turn to face him, you keep yourself facing the forest you stopped in to rest and smile as you continue to play along. “They’d be worried.”

“Yeah, but we’ll go back, we’ll just be a few days, or weeks late.”

“You’re right,” you say as you turn back and close your eyes again. “And we won’t tell them that we just wanted to spend time together.”

“No,” Jesse agrees, “it’ll stay between us.”

“Sounds good,” you finish with a content sigh and a giddy smile. Jesse doesn’t answer, but you didn’t need him to know he agreed with you. You were content with the quiet comment he made a few minutes after the comfortable silence.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

——

“Goodnight...Jesse.”

You shift around in your bed and face the ceiling, wiping the tears off your cheeks and watching as the sun slowly begins to peek inside the room, slowly reflecting the soft light on the ceiling. You had gotten a few hours of sleep, but not so much, not as much as you would before. And well it seemed that Tommy’s words kept you up. You just couldn’t stop thinking of the fact that he had gone to Ellie, that he had tried to put salt over the wound.

You just couldn’t help but think of what she was doing. It had been months since you heard news of Abby, since anyone heard news of her, and it’s not like you or anyone else expected it, that part of everyone’s life was supposed to be over. That meant no chasing revenge schemes.

Yet here Tommy was, wanting people to chase after a woman he couldn’t. Knowing that he shouldn’t put such a heavy burden on anyone, knowing that you wouldn't do it, you weren’t that person….however that’s why he didn’t come to you first, that’s why he went to Ellie, because he had hoped she would.

Only you hoped she wouldn't….she went through so much, she has a happy life, a good family. Joel wouldn't want her to throw that away, not for some revenge plan that could end up with her dying this time—you hoped she knew that. You wished Tommy would realize that.

Yet...something told you she didn’t….shit—you let out a deep sigh while you sit up and swing your legs over the bed to quickly slide off. You hesitated continuing for a bit, but you needed to do this, you needed to talk to her.

No more holing up in your house, no more avoiding.

——

“This is it.” You mutter under your breath as you stop in front of the porch, looking away from the land that surrounds the house and looking at the house. “No more avoiding.” You draw out a small breath and walk up the stairs to make it to the front door, hesitating again but this time with your knuckles hovering over the door. Your eyes slide to your fist, and you’re tempted to pull it away and just walk back home since no one seemed to know you were here.

But, no. You needed to remind yourself that you were here for a reason. So you let your hand go and knock on the door and wait. And it actually didn’t take long before you spotted someone peeking out the creaked door, before they spread the door open and revealed their face.

“Y/N, hi,” Dina greets you with a very faint smile and swollen eyes. “What a surprise.” She steps forward and wraps you in a hug, seeming to use all the strength she could muster to keep you close.

“I know,” you smile as you return the embrace. “I’m sorry, it’s just been….hard,” you sigh, letting her be the first one to pull away after some minutes. “How’s JJ?”

“Good,” she assures you as she steps to the side. “Come in.”

You do so slowly to take in the nicely decorated space you’ve seen so far.

“He’s just sleeping,” Dina continues as she walks further into her house, while you come to stop in the living room and keep searching, this time for Ellie; “water? Tea?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” You assure her while you watch her peek her head out the kitchen. “Thanks. Uh, Dina, where’s Ellie?”

Suddenly at the sound of her name you see Dina stiffen once she’s out of the kitchen, she drops her gaze and shakes her head before she continues to walk and join you in the living room. “She’s...not here.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you take a step towards her to press for a clearer answer. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she left.”

“What?” You queried ere as you blink in disbelief, for the first few seconds not getting why. Not until it hit you. That’s when you let out a deep sigh and dropped your own gaze. “I’m guessing this had something to do with Tommy.”

“Something like that.” Dina scoffs.

You nod slowly in comprehension and clench your fists, choosing to share what happened to you too. “Yeah,” you scoff, “he came to me too. I came here to tell her not to go, to remind her that...Joel wouldn't want that for her.” You look up and see Dina was now closer to you, her eyes were watery and her frown was deeply formed. “But I’m late.”

“You know nothing would’ve changed her mind,” Dina shares as her voice quivers. “She’s stubborn.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I know. But at least then I could’ve tried something else.”

Dina stays quiet for a moment while her eyes search your face, her own seeming to come to a realization. “Don’t do it, y/n. Don’t go after her.”

“I,” you pause and think to yourself; you didn’t even think of doing so at this ínstant, the intention didn’t cross your mind. But it was beginning to slowly break through your mind, you suppose she got that impression before you did. Now it’s the only thing you could think of.

You exhale deeply and your impulse answers for you. “My friends' problems are my problems."

.

.

.

.

Tagged- @protect-lev , @expecto-nox, @vintage-and-hypnotic , @kokomaesadie , @0j-b0, @itsyellow , @minheoly @traceylader

[tardis-ghost-blog]

Did that feel real to you? (Simm!Master x Reader)

Rating: E For explicit sexual content Summary: The Master and you share a dream. Literally.

-0oOo0oOo0oOo0-

Ever since he had found out that being near you caused the drums to be a tad bit quieter, the Master had hired you as his personal assistant. Most of the time you only had to tidy up on the Valiant now, or make him tea. And in return you allowed him to connect your minds every so often.

At first it had been a strange, almost frightening experience, but after a few times you came to enjoy it. Nothing was happening, you two only sat there, the Master with his hands around your head and sometimes his forehead on yours. And sometimes you just watched his face becoming calmer, peeked at his lips that were so close to yours...

You had quickly found out about the drums and about his origin. You also learned that he could become downright insane if the sound in his head became too loud. And those times frightened you, because you could never be sure what might happen.

So when he came in that day and you spotted his deranged look, you were already about to quickly leave the room. But he grabbed you, tried to drag you back into the room and managed. You still wanted to get away, only help him later, when things had calmed down.

But the Master caught you again, pushed against your shoulders, making you drop backwards, where your knee pits hit against something. You got out of balance, fell over the sofa rest and onto the soft fabric. The Master rushed to you, his eyes were dark, clouded by madness. Hastily you got to your elbows and crawled backwards a bit, but he was already at your side, knelt in front of the sofa to grab your head within in hands.

"Make it quiet," he demanded and brushed his mind against yours, not waiting for your barriers to loosen, but simply tearing them down.

You couldn't hold back a sob as you felt his energy surging through your head. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, but one that made you feel so horribly vulnerable. And it drained you like nothing you had ever experienced before. The few times you had shared minds hadn't been that intense, not that forceful. Not so desperate.

Tiredness overcame you, no matter how hard you tried to fight it. A silent battle, you lying stretched out on that sofa, him kneeling next to you, shivering as if it were ice cold in the room. The image faded, slipped away into a black void.

"'M sorry," you heard the Master whisper, his voice strangely clear and free of the previous madness. "I need this. Just for a while."

Him apologizing... that was a first. But you no longer felt drained, only wanted to sit there for another while with closed eyes.

"You could have just asked," you mumbled back and felt weirdly... light.

Why were you sitting anyway? Just now you had been lying on your back. When your eyes opened, you found yourself suddenly in a completely different place. Perplex you looked around the silent forest, dense green spread all around you, soft grass grew under your fingers. The Master sat next to you, hands clawed into his hair. Some moments later he relaxed, threw his head back to sigh out a painful breath.

"Master?" you asked. "What... is this? Where are we?"

He looked back and opened his lids, blinking tiredly at you, then your surroundings. His eyes widened in mild surprise. "Huh? Mhm... right. Seems like I... slipped into your dreams."

"My... hey!" you protested and slapped his arm. "Those are private, you jerk!"

It appeared he was feeling a lot better now, according to the mischievous chuckle he answered with. "Och, don't whine. You might be the first human to have this experience." Cheekily he stuck out his tongue and got to his feet. "Although... I'm not entirely sure in whose head we are. Probably a bit of both."

You grunted annoyed and got up too. "Then wake me up again."

The Master turned, grinned.

"Nope!"

He let out a childish laugh and jumped from a stone, striding deeper into the forest.

"Hey! That's not fair!" you shouted after him. "First you overpower me like that and then you keep trampling over my private stuff."

"Mine too, just for your information."

"Okay, whatever." You crossed your arms as you halted near a clearing. It actually looked really nice. The vibrant green, the small creek that ran through the grass. "Wait... if this is a dream and we are aware of it... does that mean we can manipulate it?"

"Mhm..." The Master tilted his head a little. "Usually yes. But since we share it..." His eyes closed for a moment and the scenery changed. Trees vanished into dust, grass melted into the ground and suddenly you stood within the overgrown ruins of what once might have been an advanced civilisation. "Okay, that works..."

The scenery was quite beautiful in its melancholic state of long gone destruction. But right now you were not in the mood for something like that.

"Let me try!" you inquired and also closed your eyes. "Where could we go?" You thought for a moment, but your subconsciousness seemed to have picked up on your wish a lot faster than you. The smell of salt and water caressed your nose, a soft wind made goose bumps form on your forearms.

"The sea?" The Master asked, a smile audible in his voice. "Always a good choice. Bit boring, though."

A smile widened on your face as you took in the surroundings. It wasn't a place you knew, more like a collection of images, or rather the idea of sea that lived in your mind. There wasn't that much sand, more rocks, actually. You loved to climb around and be sprayed by the hitting waves.

And the weather was amazing! Perfect temperatures. Not too hot, not cold, either. Your ire was forgotten in an instant and you didn't even mind the Master following you as you explored the shore for a bit, picked up some seashells to admire how real they looked - and felt. As did everything else; the water, the wind, the sun.

You sighed happily and pointed at a round pool that had been formed between the rocks, too perfect of a spot not to investigate further.

"Let's go for a swim there, shall we?" you asked, beaming over your face. "Everything feels so real! I bet the water is amazing."

"Probably." The Master laughed and you joined in, happy to see how relaxed he was now. Here, the drums didn't seem to bother him and you had learned before that he could actually be quite the nice company in moments like these.

"But wait... I need some proper clothes." Again your eyes closed and you imagined the most comfy bikini you could think of. Nothing too revealing.

And still you suddenly felt eyes on you, wandering over your form. When you turned you found the Master not only staring at you with a subtle smile, but also now wearing only swimming trunks. Black, of course.

"Like what you see?" he wanted to know, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You snorted out a laugh and pointed down into the round basin. "I might be impressed if you jump down from here."

"Here?" The Master didn't seem impressed as he glanced down. The pool was maybe three or four meters below you. "That's not even a challenge," he mocked and promptly jumped.

Surprised you squeaked, your mind running a million scenarios at once how he might smash his head on a rock or maybe... No. This was still a dream. Immediately you relaxed and giggled to yourself. Nothing could happen to you here. So you did the only logical thing and jumped down too.

Air rushed around you, followed by the cool grip of water. You resurfaced with a happy laugh and swam around a bit until you found the Master again. He stood nearby, the water reaching only his waist. Behind him was wet rock that he leaned against with folded arms and still this calmly, satisfied expression on his features.

"Nice idea," he complimented. "Haven't been to any sea since... a long time ago."

It was seldom that he spoke about the past and you weren't going to ruin the moment by digging deeper. Instead your eyes wandered over his form, curious if you would find anything that set him apart from humans. This was the first time you saw him with so little clothes after all, his skin glittering with water drops, hair dripping.

"You look completely human, you know that?" you mocked and trod in front of him. "I had almost awaited you'd have... I don't know... scales maybe?"

A grin split his mouth and he let out a laugh. "Maybe I do and just altered my appearance in the dream?" He poked out the tongue between his teeth.

"Nah, I don't think so." You chuckled and couldn't resist running a finger over his forearm, feeling the skin and muscles.

He let you, simply watched as you trailed up and halted, raising your hand right over his chest, before gently placing it over the spot between his hearts. It was just a dream after all, no harm done in exploring a little.

When you looked up, the Master hadn't moved, but the black in his eyes had widened, was fixated on your face.

"Everything feels so real," you finally stated, your voice weirdly thick. A nervous laugh escaped you. "Strange to think this is only a dream."

He huffed. "You never had a dream before that was so real you had trouble distinguishing it from reality after waking up?"

"Yeah, but... it's different being conscious in it." You ran your hand through the water in front of you, almost so close to the Master that it brushed against him. "I wonder," you mumbled, thinking about just how close you stood together. "if everything feels so real."

The warmth pooling into your belly definitely did. And the heat you felt shooting right to your core when the Master suddenly grabbed your hip with both hands also did. His thumbs stroked along your sides, his eyes darkening a little more. Your gaze wandered down, wanting to break through the crinkled surface of the water to look between the two of you. Curiosity.

His hands left your hip and instead were on your arms, slowly caressing your skin until they reached your fingers. You let out a sigh, happy about the cool water so he wouldn't see you flush. Or did you anyway?

"That feels real too, doesn't it?" the Master murmured, almost absently. His hands left you and he used them to heave himself on a flat piece of stone nearby, his lower half still hidden under the water's surface. "Enjoy the water." The smile was back. "We're actually not in a hurry."

"Won't we wake up anytime soon?" you wondered, boldly stepping closer to him.

"Not if we don't want to." A mischievous twinkle was in his hazel eyes, the boyish smirk arousing you more than it should.

Shit. You shouldn't be aroused at all. He was still holding your entire planet captive. And no matter how nice he sometimes was to you, he still could be mad and dangerous and... You felt eyes on you again and only then realized your hand was again playing with the water between the two of you. When had you stepped so close? His knees were barely a finger width away from your belly. And your hand... Would this feel so real, too?

"I didn't even know you Time Lords can share dreams."

You stepped even closer, right between his legs, your skin touching the stone on which the Master sat. His head slightly tilted backwards, but his now clearly dilated pupils kept staring at you as if he was just waiting.

"Now you know," he said. "It's a nice thing. You can do whatever you want. Experiments, just having… fun."

"And no real consequences," you finished the thought. For a moment your eyes locked with the Master's.

His lips twitched slightly. It seemed he was perfectly aware of what you contemplated doing. So you did, dipped your hand below the water and let your fingers brush over cloth and the obvious bulge in it.

The mere fact shot another wave of arousal straight between your legs. Another, bolder movement along his erection didn't help either and when you sheepishly glanced up the Master had his eyes half closed, his breath hitching when, instead of your fingers, you let your palm run over his length.

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest all of a sudden and he leaned forward, catching your hand. "You've always been staring at me. You want me so badly, little one?" Was there really a hint of threat in his voice?

"Experimenting." The corner of your mouth twitched upwards. "It's only a dream, innit?" Your free hand crept forward, wrapped itself around his dick through the trunks.

His eyes rolled backwards the tiniest bit, his head dropping against yours as a grin blossomed on his lips. "Didn't know you were dreaming about me," he teased, breath shuddering delightfully when you started to slowly stroke him.

God, you wanted to feel him without those trunks, suddenly yearned to let your fingers wander over every inch of him, teasing, fondling, feeling every vein, every ridge. "Right now I do," you said breathy. "Don't worry, 'm pretty sure this is the first time."

Again he shuddered, hot breath ghosting over your lips. Then, with a swift movement that took you completely off guard, he grabbed your sites again and dragged you upwards, right into his lap with a loud splash. Both of you were hidden below the surface still, the water on your skin shimmering in the sun. A moan escaped your lips when your clit rubbed against his length, the wet cloth only adding to the friction.

Before you could even form a thought his lips crashed onto yours, one hand on the back of your head, the other slipping into your bikini pants. When you wanted to do the same to him, however, the hand vanished, grabbed your thigh and dragged you so flush against him that you had no chance to get anywhere near him. His lips were soft and warm, coaxing another moan from yours right as his fingers slipped back under your cloth and brushed against your swollen clit. Another finger slid down below your folds, teased the entrance for maybe a second too long.

You squirmed from your own need, opened your mouth and deepened the kiss, tongues stroking sensually against one another. His fingers finally pressed into you. The Master swallowed another moan, moved back and forth inside your heat, added a second finger and kept his thumb on your clit.

All of your senses were overblown with need and want and the smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue. You couldn't help but rock against his hand and also his erection in the same movement. He groaned, tried to keep you from moving while his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Somehow, though, you managed to slide back enough to fit your own hand between the two of you and promptly use the opportunity. Teasing fingers moved to the waistband of his trunks, slipped inside when there was no protest. Your hand wrapped around his dick firmly and finally you could do to him what he did to you. And he felt great in your hand, sliding up and down your palm, your thump teasing the slit and the sensitive area below. Even through the water you could feel a drop of precum, imagined how it dissolved in.

A low growl of pleasure rumbled through his heaving chest, his second hand vanished from your head, his mouth retreating. You wanted to look, wanted to see what you did to him. Damp hair clung to the Master's forehead, a perfect match for the glimmering sheen of sweat and salt water on his skin.

Again you firmly stroked up his length, hyper aware of his shuddering breath and jittering eyes. His free hand was between your breasts, the bikini simply gone. Carefully he pushed against your torso, bending you backwards a little, so you would have less opportunity to move on him.

His sight, the position, the thumb massaging your clit in firm circles, the fingers pumping in and out, hitting at all the right spots inside of you, it made you want to move again, made you desperate to find out whether or not you could really climax in a dream.

But the fingers vanished. You whimpered when you realized he wasn't going to continue. With both hands he grabbed your head and kissed your wet lips, fierce and hungry and groaning into your mouth when you boldly continued to stroke him.

Seconds later the Master broke the kiss, panted. "That real enough for you?"

All you could do was to swallow and nod with gleaming eyes. His mouth hovered over yours, hot breath ghosting your lips, his eyes fluttering shut. But there was also a blossoming grin and suddenly you realized that you were both completely naked now.

Right in that moment he grabbed your bum, lifted you up from him and sat you on the stone while he slid down from it. You wanted to protest, wanted to grab his arm, but he didn't vanish, as you had feared. Instead the Master positioned himself between your legs, grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to him on the wet stone so his dick could stroke through your folds and rest at your throbbing entrance.

If there hadn't been water you would have laid on your back, but now you kept yourself upright on your elbows, watching, enjoying how the Master teased your entrance. His eyes sought out yours. "You're ready?"

"Are you kidding me?" you moaned, too far gone for any modesty.

The Master chuckled, leaned forward, snaked an arm around your middle and pulled you up for another kiss, the head of his shaft still at your entrance, almost slipping inside when you moved slightly. But he wouldn't let you, held you in place and grinned against your lips at your desperation. The height of the stone aligned you perfectly and again you shifted your bottom, felt him slip into you the tiniest bit, already enough to spike the pleasure, the anticipation.

"Make me," he ground out, breathing heavily, almost restrained.

You let out a moan, tried to push yourself closer and him deeper. The Master gasped, pressed you against him for a mere second, but pulled out of you again, his look as desperate as you felt, breath quivering.

And you knew what he wanted, your brain still somewhat functioning, maybe more than his, in this very moment. Despite his own urge for control he slightly rocked forward, silently groaned when your centre swallowed the tip of his dick again. You could feel how much he had to hold back, how he still couldn't help but let himself sink in just a bit deeper, fingernails lightly scratching your back.

"Master," you moaned and felt him twitch against your folds. He wanted to be in control. He needed you to fully give it to him. "Master," you almost whimpered and he slid even deeper, not yet there, but also not horribly far away.

He carefully pulled out again, not all the way, only a little. "Beg me," he ground out. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you." You swallowed a groan when you felt him slightly move again, wondered how long you both could continue this without bursting. You had no intention to find out, leaned closer to his ear, muttering, "I want you to fuck me, Master."

And that was enough. He gripped your hip with both hands, pressed you flush against him, his length finally slipping inside. Both of you let out moans and for a short moment the Master stopped, his breath heavy and somewhat shaky. One hand dropped to your bum, his lips crashed on yours again and he moved, made you moan into his mouth when he pulled back out, only to slam back inside. He repeated it a few more times, building a rhythm that was both desperate and controlled.

You were barely aware of the water around you, of the sun and the wind. All you felt and wanted to feel was the Master moving in and out of you. You cried out when he hit an especially sensitive spot and he tilted you slightly backwards to get a better angle, the kiss getting sloppy as his pace sped up, stopped completely after a moment, both of you lost in the building pleasure. You let out a small groan each time he hit that spot inside of you. His hand slipped down your front, thumb circling firmly on your clit, adding to the tightening coil.

"Master, please," you groaned.

And he sped up his pace, kept his thumb moving. You sensed how close he was, felt that spot again, and again and you cried out, clenched and panted as the climax rushed through your body and set every nerve within it on fire. Your nails dug into his skin, you walls clenching around his slowing dick and with shuddering breaths you moaned out the orgasm, could feel its aftershocks ripple through you each time the Master thrust himself deeper. He was still slowing, still aware of your oversensitive state, but unable to stop himself, and you encouraged his action by rocking against him, another aftershock making you shiver when you felt him hit you deep inside.

It felt just too good, you wanted him to snap, started to speed up your own rhythm until he dug his fingers into your sites and almost stilled, suddenly capturing your lips, but only to make you swallow his groans while he pulsated and spilled himself inside of you.

The sound of wind and waves returned to your ears as the Master released your lips. Breath still calming, heart still racing. The Master pulled out of you, turned and hopped onto the stone next to you.

The scenery changed, but only slightly. Suddenly you lay next to each other on dry ground, flat stones, heated by the sun, your feet splashed by nearby waves once in a while. Both of you wore clothes again, light summer trunks and shirts.

You sighed content, still feeling your body calming.

"Okay,that felt real," you muttered with a smile. "I wonder what happened to our bodies."

"Sleeping." The Master answered.

"No shit." You laughed and slapped his arm playfully. "I mean, uh… you know."

He chuckled and looked at you, head resting on folded arms. "You might wake up a bit aroused," he teased. "But that's it. Nothing new while being around me."

A wink was cast in your direction, made you laugh. "Don't get high on it. When we wake up, first thing I'll do is slap you for being such a prick before."

His face darkened in an instant, eyes darting away almost as if… he felt guilty? Probably not.

"Is it quiet now?" you asked softly and his gaze returned.

"It never is. Not fully." He smiled and the expression was warm. "But it's so much more bearable with you around."

"I'll still slap you." You poked the tongue out. "And maybe laugh at you for having a morning boner."

The Master grinned and turned around to lay his head right next to your ear. "Dangerous idea."

"Oh?" You turned too, facing him. "Why would that be?"

Instead of an answer he snaked an arm around you and pulled you flush against him. Definitely no need to wake up, here, you realized. The wolfish grin on his face also didn't help. Neither did, that he grabbed you with both hands to turn you both and in a way that you ended up sitting on him.

Alright. You grinned back. No waking up yet, then.

[punksarahreese]

“You had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it.” + reesker (any au)

Night Terror | Bloodletting

Occult!au; Sarah’s past continues to haunt her and Ava wishes she could take it all away

Prompt: “you had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it.”

Word count: 1768

CW: nightmares, crying, mention of Sarah’s trauma (gun tw, death tw, murder tw), Ava makes death threats 🤭

***

The breeze was warm as it ruffled through the trees, making the wind chimes hanging from the balcony jingle musically. Ava had left the glass doors open, letting the wind and warm air into the study they were occupying. Barely evening, the July sun was still warming the surrounding forest and its inhabitants. Even still, Ava was the only one awake, the human on the lounge beside her having fallen asleep over an hour before.

Sarah had rested her head in Ava’s lap, patting down the silky fabric of her dress so it cradled her head better. Ava never complained, though she did tease Sarah about her mortal need for sleep. Sarah argued that she deserved a nap, especially after chasing Estia through the woods all afternoon, listening for the immortal child’s excited giggles from the trees to give away her position. Really, Ava quite enjoyed when the woman would cuddle up to her like this, no hint of fear or caution when Sarah settled down and sighed happily when Ava ran a gentle hand through her hair.

So that’s why Ava remained unmoving for so many hours, just soaking up the now familiar comfort of her presence and letting her mind wander. It was easy for her, staying so still and finding peace in the stillness. Over a century of life later, the vampire learned to welcome any peace and quiet, since it seemed to be hard to come by in any era. Plus, she happened to be in great company; which certainly helped the situation.

Alas, the peace and quiet never lasted. It’s end was rather abrupt though, not expected by any party, and it had the hair on the back of Ava’s neck rising. As quickly as she had been sound asleep, comfortable and silent, Sarah started to cry. It wasn’t even soft whimpers or a single tear, no it was the whole waterworks. Her thin body started to shake, disturbing the tight curls that had been spread out on Ava’s lap like a fan. Her pleading words were barely intelligible, or at least they would be on a human scale, yet the other woman heard her fine.

“No,” her voice broke and shook even in sleep, “L-leave her… alone! Mom!”

Had it still had a rhythm, Ava’s heart may have skipped at the pain in her human’s tone. She hated the sound, the way fear twisted her favourite sound into such a heartbreaking one. Unconsciousness had always been the one escape from the perils of mortal trauma, in Ava’s experience, yet it seemed that Sarah couldn’t even escape it in rest.

The scream that followed was piercing and had Ava shaking her awake, unable to bear the thought of her being scared any longer. She leaned closer to try to wake her, repeating her name and brushing large tears off her cheeks. Sarah’s eyes opened, big and fearful, yet she could see that they didn’t quite reach Ava’s gaze. She was still paralyzed by whatever had plagued her unconscious, making the other woman frown. Even when Ava pulled her up into a sitting position, hoping it would wake her more, all Sarah could do was cry.

“Sarah, you’re safe,” she spoke as one would to an injured animal; calm and cautious. She waited a moment, the only sound Sarah’s half choked sobs. A gentle and cold hand on her cheek caught her attention a bit and Ava could almost see the mental battle that was raging in an attempt to distinguish reality from memory.

“Darling, it’s Ava,” she prompted patiently, “I’ve got you, okay?”

It was those words that had Sarah slumping forward, tears falling a bit harder as she sobbed in relief. The blonde caught her before she fell completely, strong arms drawing her close immediately. Neither spoke for a while, since Ava didn’t wish to startle her any further. Instead they stayed like that, rocking lightly as Ava tried to soothe her similar to how she used to calm Estia during bad memories of her turning. It was a comfort she vaguely remembered her mother doing with her and Anikka as well, a gentle swaying to coax them back to reality if dreams felt too real.

It took quite some time but eventually Sarah started to relax, first her shoulders slumping and the sobs ebbed away to sniffles and the occasional whimper. Ava kept holding her, whispering a reassurance with any sound the human made. This kind of comfort had been scarce for the both of them for a very long time, so it felt incredibly sacred in that moment. Despite differences and the span of life, the two had found each other in exactly the way they both needed and Ava was happy to hold Sarah like this for as long as she needed. She was her human, her darling, and she silently vowed to keep her safe and happy with all her might.

When she felt Sarah soften a little in her hold, her face now hidden in the cool skin of Ava’s neck, she spoke again. It took a little prompting to get Sarah to look at her, maybe a lot of coaxing is a better descriptor, but eventually she pulled back just enough to meet her blood red eyes.

“What happened?”

Sarah shook her head almost immediately, clearly not in the mood for sharing. Ava knew she wouldn’t give it up that easily, yet she also knew that she wanted to talk. This was something that plagued Sarah way more than she let on and she imagined she needed another soul to speak to. One who could answer, anyway, since Ava was sure Autumn had heard the stories endless times. As human as that cat seemed to be sometimes, she couldn’t talk these things out with her owner, so her therapeutic role could only go so far.

“My cherished one,” Ava’s tone held a little warning because she knew she could be stubborn, “You had a nightmare, now tell me what it was about so I can fix it.”

“Ava…”

“I have all of eternity to wait and listen,” Ava replied before she could protest, “But it would be more convenient if you told me now.”

That had Sarah pouting, knowing she would feel better if someone else knew about it. Ava was always happy to share the burden of her thoughts, especially the bad memories that popped up at the worst times. They always snuck up on Sarah, coming back just when she thought she was recovering again.

“I-,” she sighed heavily, “My mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Sarah didn’t fight the hand that came up to smooth down her hair, nor did she fight when Ava pulled her a bit closer. She only shimmied a bit closer, evading her eyes again as she felt overwhelmed at the thought of reliving the dream. Ava knew this and kept her hold on her waist, one hand cradling her head gently since she knew it made Sarah feel safer.

“The same one again?”

“Kinda… a little different.”

“Do you wish to talk about it, love?”

“It was just mom’s death again but this time I tried to get between them. When dad… he choked me and threw me to the ground…”

“That didn’t happen,” Ava promised, “And he'll never get a chance to do such a thing.”

“It still feels like his hand is there,” Sarah choked out, her own hand coming up to her throat. Ava could see some shallow scratches that must have happened during Sarah’s unconscious thrashing, they were superficial but still an angry red against her skin.

She was quick to replace Sarah’s hand with her own, running delicate fingers over the marks in a gentle pattern. Ava was casual about it, as casual as one could be in such a situation anyway, but Sarah knew what she was doing. The soothing touch, careful and loving, was meant to erase any lingering thoughts of her dream.

“He’s still out there, Ava.”

“I know,” she murmured idly, thumb brushing over her jawline, “But that man will never lay a hand on you again.”

“You can’t be so sure…”

“Sarah Reese,” the vampire’s tone was stern as she looked at her almost incredulously, “I can promise you that I will kill your father the second I see him, if ever. Though I would love for him to rot in jail as the disgusting creature he is, I don’t trust human law one bit. So I would much prefer to take matters into my own hands.”

“You… you would do that?”

“Of course,” she nodded firmly, “Anything to keep you safe, darling.”

“But you don’t-” Sarah took her hand off her neck to instead hold onto it tightly, “You are not violent; you told me you wouldn’t kill again if you could help it.”

“That is true. I never enjoy taking a life,” she agreed, “But I do not feel remorse for your father.”

“No?”

“Not after what he did to you, that is unforgivable in my book. It would only be fair, really. A man who has no regard for another life does not deserve to live a free one of his own.”

“But.. what if he hurts you?”

Ava almost wanted to laugh at that, the worry knitting Sarah’s brows together was endearing. 130 years of vampirism and countless lives lived, yet here was this little human so worried about a mortal man harming her. Her care for Ava was adorable and it warmed her from the inside out, it was the closest feeling to being unwaveringly loved that she had felt in quite some time.

“Sarah, my sweet Sarah,” she chuckled darkly and squeezed her hand, “He wouldn’t be the first disgusting excuse for a man I’ve killed. He won’t even see it coming; though he will certainly feel it.”

[stillness-in-green]

Idk if anyone told you but the MVA OST leaked, with themes for both the League and the MLA. If you haven't listened to it yet, please do! And if you have, what are your thoughts? I think Mine Woman and RE-DESTRO slap for 2 characters that got shafted hard by canon so I appreciate them a lot.

I have listened to them, and I like several of them! I feel like I need to lead with that, because I'm about to add some criticism about my previous responses to BNHA's score for context, so it's important to know that I genuinely do enjoy quite a few of these.

So, I haven't listened to a lot of Yuki Hayashi's scores, but he's definitely done work I've liked! He composed the music for several of the more recent PreCure shows, including their movies; I particularly loved his finale for the 15th anniversary film, which prominently featured a truly delightful medley of every team's opening theme. I'm also very fond of some of his pieces for Kiznaiver and Welcome to the Ballroom.

His BNHA work, though, I feel like suffers from two main problems: the tracks are too short to work up a good head, and yet, despite that short length, they sometimes feel exhaustingly over the top. (Did Shigaraki's theme really need crying children to get across the point that he's bad news?) I've long felt that the BNHA anime wants me to feel like everything is way more Epic and Stirring and Dramatic than I actually find the material to be, so curiously, the music winds up having a distancing effect rather than drawing me in. This is frequently compounded by placement choices that feel so staggeringly poor that I'm often left wondering whether the staff chose the music out of a hat! (Seriously, why does a fairly rote test of character in Nighteye's office warrant doom choirs?)

As to the MVA tracks specifically, I wish there could have been tracks that sounded a bit more fun or heroic, given that the League in MVA really are the heroes for the arc, complete with Shigaraki suddenly having access to Shonen Nakama Tropes and getting all these little comedic reaction takes. It'd be nice if the music could cue in and let the League have some aural triumph without being all doom all the time ("Oh, no! The villains are winning!" Yes, they are; let them have this for one arc, would you?)

But that said, I do rather like most of these! There are some that I do suspect will fall prey to the This Is Too Much Drama, Would You Please Ratchet Back? problem, but there are also some that I can imagine playing better in the context of the show than they do in isolation, and some that feel like they could even be exactly what I was dreaming about, if they go where I hope they will. For some individual thoughts, see below:

The Mission of the Stealth Hawks: A reasonable enough little tense atmospheric piece. Doesn't jump out at me.

Different Ability Liberation Army: I always approach the MLA as styling themselves as an army, but in reality being more of a sect--far more cult than militia-- I appreciate that if they can't have a good dramatic march despite having Army, like, right there in the title, I'm glad I could get church bells instead. On the whole, though, this is a good example of the first problem I mentioned having with Hayashi's work for BNHA--his pieces tend to be pretty short, and it takes them so long to land on a melody that by the time they find one, there's hardly any time to develop it before the song ends. Even a lot of the hero pieces are like that, and the villain songs, even more so. That said, I do like the horror strings that creep in around the 1.25 mark, blossom at 1.45, and float on through 2.10. I just wish they went on longer. Admittedly, "erratic church bells and horror strings" is still not the choice I would have made for the MLA's main theme. I really would have preferred something with a more militant air; as it is, this sort of feels like it scores a creepy prologue that plays before the opening credits kick in and then the episode proper starts. Which isn't a bad description for the way the dinner scene played in the manga, but thanks to the anime's decision to reshuffle everything, I don't think that dinner scene's going to maintain that feeling of "prologue" when we finally get to it.

My Villain Academia: Better on the melodic front; I enjoy the drama at .43, the dancing tension at 1.05, and particularly the minor strings from 1.25 that just keep climbing until everything else drops out around 2.10. I do wish it found a better place to end rather than noodling on for a further thirty seconds, but the melody will get a more central, and more bombastic, treatment in the final track, so it's probably okay for it to trail off here. (It's also apparently a reprise of a villain theme from the very first season's OST, which is rad. More on that in the Track 11 blurb.)

Second Coming: This is a bizarre one because, while I complained that Hayashi's BNHA tracks are usually short, this one is a full six and a half minutes--except that it falls clearly into movements of about a minute each, with clear lulls in between. I wish it was twelve minutes and everything was twice as long! As it is, I'm highly doubtful that we're going to hear this one played in its entirety anywhere, since I can't imagine what scenes would require this specific sequence of musical passages at this length. 0.00 - 1.01: I love that the song kicks in comparatively quickly; the first minute's passage has a great, thrumming drive that very nearly hits major key towards the end. 1.02 - 1.53: The drive picks up pace in the second minute before the chorus arrives, and for once, I am very prepared to love a BNHA choir piece. I hope this is what plays when Deika's going up in ash. 1.54 - 3.01: I love the melodic line being carried by the intentionally hard to distinguish violin and whatever brass instrument the violin's trading off with in the third minute. It's bit out of place with the rest of the track, but I like it quite a bit on its own, and it does have a similar sound as some of the "dirty" brass in RE-DESTRO and Mine Woman. It's probably too long for RD's childhood flashback, but I wonder if it'll play for an MLA character somewhere? 3.02 - 4.07: The fourth minute has some very fun drums, but otherwise doesn't jump out at me as much of the rest of the track. I'm very curious to know when this will play, though. 4.08 - 5.32: The fifth minute, god bless, has some proper march drums--I like this passage a lot, particularly when it come back in the sixth minute accompanied by the choir. I like this because the key is minor but it's not "oooo scaaaary" minor; it's more dramatic, a bit tragic, but triumphant too--pretty much perfect for Re-Destro, Spinner and Machia's moment of revelation in the crater. I wish it were longer. 5.33 - 6.36: And here for the end we're back to the driving guitar and some fun low-thrum strings and percussive chain sounds. Like the fourth passage, it's fun, but jumps out at me less, particularly as the song's finale.

Gigantomachia: This is an extremely boss kaiju song. Seriously, that brass in the opening could come right out of a Toho flick. Extremely good walking calamity number, love that distorted synth stuff towards the end. It's going to sound great when (if) it plays over Machia leaving the villa, the hand rising up through the floor behind Toga, Momo and the other students surveying the desolation left in his wake, and so on. (I know that's all Season Six material, shhhh. I hope they use this piece there.)

Mine Woman: This is so fun. And so extremely superior that that awful Christmas insert song! I'm glad Curious got this at least, and I love the moment the beat drops at the one-minute mark, and that interwoven sax. So good. It's hard to imagine the fight between Toga and Curious being paced to this song, mind, but it's real good, anyway.

TOGA's Nature: This one showcases the other problem I have with Hayashi's BNHA work, especially his stuff for the villains: it feels very on the nose in a way that tips over into being Too Much. The birdsong, I think, is on the nose but in an effective, playful way, with the natural beauty of the birds undercut by the lovely but ominous piano/synth melody. I am considerably less kindly disposed to the creepy child laughter, which just feels on the nose in a thuddingly obvious way--though I do like the way it slides in when the birdsong fades. I like, too, the sort of cloudy roaring reprise of the melodic line that kicks in around the 1.10 mark. It feels like an effective echo of Toga--cute but creepy as a young girl, and then, after she snaps, creepy in the same way but now you can't ignore it.

Symbol of Fear: The beginning doesn't do much for me, but I enjoy the howl that gives way to the organs at 1.15; while it's too action-heavy to be Tenko, the transition does still put me in mind of Tenko wandering the streets, internally crying for anyone to help him, and the person who finally does is--well. I like that the organ nurtures that howl into something considerably more dire, though you still get a return to that guttural cry periodically. While it is, again, difficult to imagine this scoring the scenes between AFO and Tenko's first meeting and Tenko being formally named Tomura--it's much too bombastic--it does still feel like an excellent representation of AFO sculpting Tomura's formless, aimless rage into something that really could tear down the world.

I Don't Kill My Friends: It would have been really nice if they'd let the most significant, unadulterated personal triumph of the arc sound actually fun. Why does the Sad Man's Parade song sound so upset?? @aysall predicts that it'll play over Twice's confrontation with Hawks and death scene, and I can see it working extremely well there, but it's a pretty weird call for the Dead Man's Parade bit, if that is indeed what this is intended to evoke. Quibbling about the title aside, I do like the way this pulses and throbs, something like an exposed wound, which is not a bad description of poor Jin's mentality. I still hope this isn't what scores his breakthrough, though. As I said previously, the villains are the heroes for just this one arc, and it'd be nice if the score could reflect that at least a little.

RE-DESTRO: I like this one a lot. I love the interwoven layers of that dirty sax and the Big and Dramatic orchestral strings + brass, but both of them undercut with that regular, machine beeping that could almost be a heart monitor, but mostly isn't--right up until the long beep at 1.52/1.53. It feels like a strong illustration of the titular character's different personas--his attempts at casual, friendly villainy (like menacing Giran or chatting with Shigaraki on the phone), him when he's thundering full-volume about the weight of his legacy at people (THE BLOOD OF DESTRO FLOWS THROUGH THESE VEINS I AM RE-DESTRO), and, beneath it all, the constant little thread of stress that Rikiya can never escape (right up until Shigaraki). I probably wouldn't love it so much in isolation, but I'm easy to win over with the right character association. XD

Paranormal Liberation Front: Very fun grubby guitar intro. It also has much the clearest melodic throughline, which inclines me towards it. What inclines me to it even more is the knowledge (per @aysall again) that it's the same main melody as the track Villains Theme from the very first season's OST. That track already having used its allotted Doom Choir quotient, this track makes do with less synth and a lot more orchestra and chunky bass backing, which is much to its benefit, I feel. I do wish it had any of the MLA's theme in it, to represent the merger, but admittedly, it'd be hard to make that very audible when the MLA theme has…next to no central melody, percussive rhythm, etc. Still, as an evolution of the League to something bigger, classier, and far more dangerous, it's real good--just long enough to develop into itself and explore its central leitmotif. Probably my favorite track simply on its own merits.

Thanks for the ask, anon! I'd listened to the tracks once driving around for work, but sitting down with them properly gave me a greater appreciation for them, and now I'll definitely have an ear out for them when we get to this material in the anime…

….whenever that winds up being. *sob*

[damn-daemon]

Prologue for The Pity of War

I’m not sure when I’ll write more, but the prologue was really calling to me, so I’ve decided to post it on here and get a reaction from everyone. This story is something I’ll probably write a few chapters of before I do anything with it. 

The prologue takes place during WWI. I don’t claim to know everything about it, but I certainly try. 

Above all, I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. -Wilfred Owen

 Prologue

They called him ‘the blue-eyed soldier.’ Said that he came into the field hospital thick with filth and grim like all the others. It made the hue of his eyes stand out, as bright as the sky and haunting. His uniform was tattered, the leather of his boots rotting, and there were no distinguishing marks on him, the insignia having peeled from his jacket and the orderlies having yet to collect his name.

But the eyes, they told her. You’ll know him by the eyes. 

Ruth Coleman had listened to their gossip and shook her head quietly. She hadn’t approved of their whispered judgements, but far bet it from her to stop them. They all had their ways of getting by, and little acts reminiscent of their old lives were what kept their grip of reality from slipping away. She liked to draw, when she could. A sketch of a flower or a drying sheet caught on the breeze.

But never their faces.

It would not have been hard to do so, those faces so clearly engraved upon her memory that in her mind’s eye, she could touch them and know how coarse the skin was beneath her fingers. But one day, Ruth thought, those faces might finally fade, and to commit them to paper was just another way to draw out the agony.

She’d been sketching a bird she spied earlier in the evening, her efforts dimly lit by a lantern close to empty. It had been strange, seeing the little creature. Aside from the war horses and the rats that plagued the cooks, Ruth had seen no sign of other animals. They were the intelligent ones, fleeing the war while man charged ever onward. But a flash of yellow had caught her eye, and there it was, perched on a rotting fence post. It called out once before taking to wing, in search of kinder surroundings, but that moment had resonated within her; it reminded Ruth of things she did not think of anymore, of before and the life she dared not dream to have again.

There was only the present in war, the ever plodding, colorless present.

A flash of light had caught her attention, or so her mind believed. The officers insisted they could not see the illumination rounds from where they were stationed, but Ruth had become well acquainted with lies. Lies to keep the peace, lies to ease the pain, lies to assuage the fear of a young woman so far from home. Perhaps one day, she would appreciate those little lies, but for the time being, they made her feel like a child again, unable to control her emotions, so the truth was kept from her, dictated by those who knew better.

Whatever the light had been, the front or her imagination, it led Ruth to a small figure walking toward her.

Her name was Mary. She was slight of frame, with gold locks the soldiers loved. How they begged her to remove that head scarf. One offered five quid to touch just one of her curls.

“Bed three is expected,” she said quietly. “I’d have stayed to do it myself but…”

Ruth shut her journal. “It’s alright, Mary. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you at dawn.”

He had been from Cardiff, the boy who passed, no older than eighteen. She’d known many boys who had lied about their age, as young as fifteen. They fought and died the same as the rest, although sometimes she wondered if they weren’t a touch braver than the others. They knew so little about the world, about themselves, and yet they were a world away from home, bleeding out on fields that they might have never seen had there been no war.

The orderlies did not take the dead at night, for fear of disturbing the wounded and what little sleep they received, but Ruth would not leave him in such a state. It was her job, and her honor.

She closed his distant, dark eyes and saw to it that his clothes and bandages were not caught on anything. Quietly, Ruth covered his body with a thick, green blanket, from head to toe, and placed his boots on his legs. She’d taken one of his tags, and saw to it that his personal effects – of which there were not many, a letter, a picture, a broken watch – were placed in a small basket that would remain in her possession until the morning. Desperate soldiers tended to steal whatever they could, but none should have need for a small photograph of a young woman with dark hair and bright eyes.

Ruth crossed herself and said a small prayer. She’d stopped believing that God listened ages ago, but felt compelled to act nonetheless.

It was as she finished, that she heard the sound: the quiet whimpers of a man trapped in his dreams.

Sometimes, that was all it was. The man would fidget, his breathing would even out, and there wouldn’t be another peep from him until the sun broke over the horizon. But other times, they were not so lucky. They would thrash about and call out, screaming as if they were at war right then and there. It would wake the others, sometimes triggering their own dangerous episodes. Men had been hurt this way; men had died this way.

When the first thrash came, Ruth dropped the basket and fell to her knees before the man’s bed. She threw her arms upon him, hoping to keep him as still as possible, as she began to speak into his ear.

“You’re not in the trenches,” she spoke quickly, her arms struggling to keep his down. Most of the men were stronger than her, doubly so when they believed their lives in danger. “Listen to my voice. You’re safe. You’re safe here.”

He threw her off then, hard and violently. Unable to catch herself in time, Ruth felt her forehead slam onto the frame of the next bed over. Her eyes felt crossed, and the world spun briefly.

As she sat there on the ground, momentarily stunned, Ruth noticed the bed creak.

The soldier occupying the bed she’d hit had stood up, and was using his body weight and free arm – the left having been tightly wrapped in a sling – to hold the frantic man down. She heard his deep voice saying something, calm and authoritative, but it seemed to have no effect.

Shaking her head, Ruth returned to action, grabbing both sides of the poor man’s face as her elbows held down his shoulders. Her new assistant was practically straddling the bed, holding the soldier’s legs down with his own as his right arm struggled with the two their patient possessed.

“Listen to me. Listen to me,” Ruth spoke, her voice as sweet as she could make it be. “Everything is fine. You’re alright, soldier. Look at me. Look at me.”

“His name is Danny,” the man behind her said.

“Look at me, Danny,” Ruth continued, caressing the poor man’s face. His skin was so thick with sweat, and hot to the touch. “Danny, listen to me and open your eyes.”

He did so then, wide, frightened pupils staring up at her like she wasn’t there. But she could see them slowly coming back into focus, awareness pulling at the edge of his mind. He was out of danger. Now it was time to bring him home.

“There you are,” she said softly, running her hand over him again. “Everything is fine now, Danny, alright? Everything is fine.”

His breathing slowed, eyes looking about the tent, reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Then they focused back on her.

“Oh God, did I do that to you?”

It was only then that Ruth felt the warmth alongside her eye, the pulsing just above her brow. She doubted the cut was large, but the head always bled the most and longest. There was no doubt in her mind that it looked worse than it was.

“Don’t worry about that, Danny,” she said, attempting a smile. “I’m a nurse. I can handle it, I promise. You just get some rest.”

She stood then, pulling her head scarf from her dark curls.

“You’ll be alright now, Danny,” she heard the other soldier say.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

Ruth watched the other man stand as she bunched up her scarf and raised it to her head.

“Allow me,” he said, hand outreached. She could make out the blisters on his palm. “I’m no doctor, ma’am, but I can see that wound better than you.”

She acquiesced, handing the bunched cloth over rather than make another scene. They had undoubtedly woken up a few of the other soldiers, but they were very good at pretending they weren’t listening.

As the man pressed the cloth against her brow, Ruth got a good look at him. His face was thin with high cheekbones, his hair shaved at the sides like many soldiers hoping to prevent lice, and his eyes…

They were right. She did know ‘the blue-eyed soldier’ by them.

Her hand reached up, grabbing the cloth from him and placing pressure of her own. “You should go back to sleep, soldier. You just got in today, from what I’ve heard.”

He nodded slowly, settling back onto his bed.

“I want to thank you, ma’am,” he said, looking up at her. Most soldiers tended to look away when they spoke, perhaps at their hands or something else just to the left or right of her, but this man looked directly at her, with no hesitation or sign of moving away. “He’s a friend from back home.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” she admitted, never a fan of praise herself. “You’re a good friend to him.”

Now he did look away, to Danny, who had already fallen asleep again.

“I don’t know about that.”

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked, hoping to avoid him slipping into melancholy as most soldiers were prone to do.

“Sergeant Thomas Shelby, Small Heath Rifles, ma’am.”

“Well, Sergeant Shelby, I’d offer to shake your hand, but my right one is occupied, as is your left one. I’m afraid it would make for an awkward affair.”

He nodded. “So it would, ma’am.”

The rest of the night was blessedly quiet, allowing Ruth to see to the wound she had received. In the morning, the orderlies took away the boy from Cardiff and replaced him with another wounded soldier from some other town nowhere near where they were. She watched the affair quietly, as did Thomas Shelby and his blue eyes.

Before she turned in, Ruth returned to his bedside and held out her right hand.

“I believe I owe you this, Sergeant Shelby.”

There was a ghost of a smile on his face when his hand took hers, his grip strong, callouses like sandpaper against her skin.

That was the first of seven days Ruth Coleman knew Thomas Shelby during the Battle of the Somme.

Seven days was all it took for neither to ever forget about the other.

[padfootagain]

More Than Coffee (II)

Part 2: Right Stranger

Okay, here comes part 2, because I'm a hopeless romantic, really, and I need cheesy softness in my life.

Also, just so you know… yeah, I'm a scientist. Yeah, I majored in nanosciences, which included thorough classes on nanotechnologies. Yeah, I've spent a lot of time in cleanrooms. Yeah, all the science in this is accurate. If you need some illustrations for what I'm talking about, ask me.

So damn cute, so damn cute… be prepared!!

Gif not mine

Word Count: 4376

He had not come back to the Starbucks in four days. It was his second try since that rainy morning.

No matter how hard he tried to play it cool, he couldn't get you out of his head. Every time he let his thoughts drift off, they landed onto you, waves forever rushing to the shore.

He tried to force his mind to stay away from you, but failed miserably each time. He repeated himself again and again that if he never saw you again, then it was nothing. There were no regrets to get from the mere fact that his path and yours would not cross again. But then, why did he feel like he was missing something important by being unable to find you? It was a feeling that started down his stomach and spread through his frame up to his heart until it left a sour taste in his mouth. Something bitter. Something he needed to erase. But how could he, besides by finding you? He saw no other way.

Perhaps when he would see you again, he would realize that there was nothing particular about you at all. Perhaps you were nothing more than cute. Perhaps you were just attractive. Perhaps the radiance he had seen emanating from you was just a game of the light, perhaps your eyes were not really so magnetic, perhaps your features didn't look as kind as he remembered.

Surely his brain had exaggerated simple features and characteristics he had noticed, when in reality, there was nothing more about you than a very ordinary woman.

He had always believed in love at first sight. His friends had mocked him often for it, but he didn't really care. It wasn't about being cheesy, it was about acknowledging the truth that sometimes, people you barely knew took up an important space in your life, and you didn't really know why. It was like gravity pulling a planet towards a blackhole. It was impossible to get out of it once caught in its force. And if the feeling was not real love at first, it was still indescribable and strong. He couldn't think that this was what was happening now though, he reckoned he was overreacting to the whole thing. He just had to get you out of his head.

No, no matter what idea he came up with, the only solution was to see you again to finally get you out of his system.

His blue eyes scanned the Starbucks in search for your face as he stood in line to pass his order. He let his gaze wander through the room, hope making his heart beat a little faster. One time, two times, three times his eyes roamed the café and could settle on nothing but empty chairs and tables and strangers' faces. He couldn't refrain a disappointed expression as he accepted that you were not there.

He sighed as he walked to the counter. He forced a smile for Mary and asked for his favourite tea.

She hesitated for a moment, but there were no customers after him, so she reckoned that a little chat wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Don't look so sad! Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he replied with another forced smile. "It's just a silly thing… nothing really."

Mary was not as shy as you. She had a talent to dare and accomplish things you would never even dream of. And she proved it once again, as she bluntly made assumptions that ended being correct, although Richard struggled to admit them even to himself.

"If you're looking for Y/N, she's already gone to work, you're a little late."

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, but his blushing cheeks and the red colouring the tip of his ears betrayed the truth.

"I wasn't looking for her."

"But you remember who she is even after almost two weeks…"

He let out a breathy laugh, his cheekbones turning crimson.

"I… I do, yeah…"

He winced, flattening his lips until they formed a thin pink line.

"You've kind of caught me there, haven't you?"

"Looks like it."

"I must sound like such a creep," he tightly shut his eyes and winced even harder, letting out a low, frustrated groan that started in his lungs and echoed through his ribcage before passing his gritted teeth. "I'm not a psychopath, I swear. I just…"

"Well, you couldn't take your eyes off of her that day…"

"No need to insist, I think we've both got your point…"

He passed a hand on his face.

"I was just being silly. Don't mind me," he shook his head, and right then Mary's colleague called his name and he picked up his cup of Earl Grey. "Have a nice day."

But Mary was not done yet.

"She comes here every Friday evening, around 6."

Richard froze. He had taken only a couple of steps. He turned his head ever so slightly towards Mary, but his back was still to her.

"She comes here and we go out for a walk or a drink. If you come back on Friday, she'll be here. Just thought you might be interested. At least, you won't need to stalk her anymore."

"I ain't stalking anyone," he replied with a touch of outrage in his voice.

But Mary laughed.

"Again, you're free to come or not. But you should. She's an amazing girl. And she couldn't take her eyes off of you either that day."

His eyes drifted back towards the exit door. The sun shone shyly, hidden by thin clouds. The street was busy with strangers and cars and bicycles and winds blowing. He couldn't see any of it though.

"Really?" he asked, his voice a little more fragile.

"Yeah. Really. So… will you come?"

A small smile curved up his lips, but he didn't even notice.

"We'll see."

And with that, he stormed out of the café.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

 What kind of week was that?

As you waited in the cleanroom for the thin layer of metal to be deposited on your sample in the vacuum chamber, your mind was wondering off. You kept an eye on the pressure inside the chamber and the voltage applied on the metallic target. The metal was now being sputtered by ions moving with high energy through the plasma formed inside. You checked one more time the inside of the chamber, but the characteristic purple colour of the argon plasma showed that all was fine in there. The ions accelerated by the voltage applied on the target at the top of the chamber hit the metallic circular piece, thus tearing atoms from its surface. It was then a slow fall for the metal atoms towards the substrate at the bottom of the chamber, as their neutral charge made them unsensitive to the voltage applied through the chamber. Your eyes travelled down to your sample, but it was a little too dark in the reactor for you to distinguish anything yet, the cylindric chamber would have to be open for you to see any detail on your substrate. You checked the time. Twenty minutes of deposition left, then shutting down voltage, waiting for the plasma to die out as the pressure dropped again, then come back from vacuum to the pressure of the room… yeah, you were stuck in there for an hour more or so.

You were starting to feel hot in there, your body covered from head to toe by your white cleanroom suit, overshoes on your feet, your hair imprisoned under a hood, your mouth and nose covered by a mask, to which you had to add for security purposes gloves and goggles. Besides these two items, everything you wore was not meant to protect you, but to protect your samples from the dust and hair and bacteria and tiny cells of skin that you dropped in your wake. The only piece of skin that was not protected was the thin line of your cheeks between the goggles and the paper mask. Every breath you let out made condensation appear on your goggles. The pressure in the clean room was higher than outside, to make sure that the polluted air of the corridor could not enter the room, but after three hours spent in there, you were starting to feel a little dizzy. To that, you had to add the orange light that bathed the entire clean room. As you used photosensitive resins to prepare your printed circuits, it was obviously necessary to get rid of the white light from outside that would without a doubt destroy your resin. But after such a long time spent in a room with orange light, you were certain that when you would walk out again, the rest of the world would be blue to you.

You heaved a sigh as you wrote down the value of the tension applied, which was perfectly stable, and had been for the last ten minutes. That wasn't the most interesting part of the job, but it had to be done.

But all this wasn't the weird part of your day, and it wasn't even the weird results you had gotten out of electronic microscopy, no… it was the fact that… actually there were several weird facts about week :

-Your colleague Jeremy had not been complaining about the fact that your experiments meant spending three hours with you in the cleanroom. Indeed, for security reasons, as you were in a closed environment, no one was allowed to go in the cleanroom alone. When you started in the lab, you were paired up with a colleague, and it was then your job to try to make your two schedules fit to go in there together without impacting too much the work of the other. You thought again about the fact that you were the only woman in the team, thus had been paired up with a man. You just hoped that you wouldn’t ever have any chemical on you that would require you to go through the decontamination shower, because that would mean getting naked before Jeremy. He was a sweetheart, to be honest, and gay, so he would not take advantage of the situation in any way. Still, it would be strange. Although, now that you came to think of it, you would probably not care much about getting naked before Jeremy if that was to happen and you got, let's say, hydrofluoric acid on you. Then you would just try to not die.

But you brought your train of thoughts back to the fact that Jeremy had not complained about how long you would need to be locked together in this room, which was extremely rare. He was a sweetheart, but he also loved to complain.

-Your mother had called in the morning asking for your Christmas present. It was September still…

-Your boss had for once not been talking with you for an entire hour straight. Instead, he had calmly asked you about your weekend and had found himself contented with your short answer, before disappearing in his office.

-Your calculations were working. It was so rare, you had checked them four times just to be sure, but they were working.

-And finally, the weirdest of all, Mary had talked about the handsome stranger again.

Yes, the one who had almost burnt you with your own coffee just a couple of weeks before. She had mentioned he had come back. But you couldn't see how that information mattered. After all, the only thing you knew about him was that he was called Richard. And that he was handsome as hell. And that he drank Earl Grey tea.

That wasn't much…

Why had Mary mentioned him again?

A knock on the door leading to the decontamination airlock made you jump on your stool, and you hurried towards the door, while Tao was already opening it, but staying outside the clean room and inside the airlock as he wasn't wearing any protection needed to access the lab.

"What's up?" you asked, welcoming him with a smile he couldn't see under your mask.

"McEwan wants to see you," he said with a discreet Chinese accent. "Now."

"I'm in the middle of an experiment…"

Jeremy appeared by your side.

"What's going on?"

"McEwan wants to see her," Tao repeated.

"I can keep an eye on your sputtering," Jeremy offered. "I'm done with my etching."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. I'll write down your tension and take care of shutting it all down if it takes you too long. And knowing how chatty McEwan is, you might not see the daylight again today…"

You heaved a sigh.

"Alright, thank you to you both," you nodded to your colleagues and closed the door of the airlock behind you as you stepped in with Tao and started to take off all your protections.

A couple of minutes later, you were stepping in the corridor again, but needed to stop for a few seconds before being able to walk ahead, your head spinning.

Yep, the entire world appeared blue. And that was most disturbing. No matter how many times this had happened to you, you never got used to it.

But eventually, the colours came slowly back to normal, and you were able to walk down the stairs to visit your boss.

Pr. Daniel McEwan was a distinguished scientist in the community of nanoelectronics and materials. His major breakthrough had allowed to diminish the size of the capacitors and thus, the thickness of mobile phones…

But you couldn't help but feel a little nervous. He was not the kind of man to summon a fellow scientist in his office. Were you in trouble?

You didn't even have time to knock that your boss was already welcoming you with a smile partly hidden under his large white beard.

"Ha, come in, come in! Y/N, good news! We have to plan things out right now, the hotels can be hell to book."

"Hotels?" you asked back with raised eyebrows. "What?"

"Do you remember the nanoelectronics conference in October?"

"In New York? Yes…"

"Well, congratulations, you're presenting there."

"What?!"

"You're abstract was selected. Congratulations, you have a full session!"

Your mouth dropped and for a moment you couldn't hear the elder man rambling about the conference and the things to book and…

You were going to New York?! To the conference on your area. And you were going to give a talk.

You felt your head starting to spin again.

"But I've only been here for six months, I don't have enough results…"

"You have almost two months left, it's more than enough time to get a fair amount more! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have all you need. Now, come on, take a seat, take a seat. We're going to book our hotel and flights and everything right now."

You didn't question the fact that he was going there too, after all, he was a reference in the field.

A smile slowly started to form on your lips…

You were going to New York!

 -----------------------------------------------------------------

 You were overexcited as you told the news to Mary. You hadn't even bought a coffee, you had merely stormed in the quiet Starbucks and burst into this excited little bomb you were now.

"I'm happy for you!" Mary answered with an excited smile that matched yours.

"I'm going to have so much work…"

"Don't think about it yet, Y/N. For now, you just celebrate."

"Let's go get some drinks then!" you happily exclaimed.

Mary laughed.

"Alright, but there's something you have to take care of first."

"What is it?"

"Someone has come to see you."

"What?! Who?"

"Do you remember the handsome guy from the other day?"

"Who… Richard?" you asked before heaving a deep sigh and pinching your nose in annoyance. "When are you going to stop mentioning that guy? I'll never see him again anyway."

"You do remember his name, though…"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide your discomfort.

"Yeah… well… he was hot, after all."

"Then, you might be happy to know that he was looking for you."

You frowned hard.

"Looking for me?"

She nodded, mischief sparkling in her brown eyes.

"And he's sitting at the table right over there."

You followed her glance and…

… indeed, there he was.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Finally. There you were, standing by the counter. Even more beautiful than what he remembered. He could feel butterflies flying through his stomach, his heart was rushing, he was nervous all of a sudden and yet so excited. He couldn't look away, it was as if his gaze had been captured. He tried to force his brain to obey, but it didn't, and he kept his blue eyes fixed upon you. There was this warm, fuzzy feeling coursing through his very soul as he looked at you, like he was safe, like he was happy, like he was home…

He had always believed in love at first sight. He wasn't of the cynical kind. He did think that two people, just by seeing each other, could establish a connection. Of course, it wasn't actual love, the real feeling came with knowing each other, with laughing together, with crying in the other's arms, with comforting the other, with kissing, joking, being silly, getting through fights and then apologizing and breaking the other's heart just like our own but repairing it everytime, singing out of tune in the car on the highway, looking after the other when they're sick, teasing, offering gifts, listening, talking, being there…

But this bond he felt connected him to you? It was just as real. Was it what love at first sight felt like?

Over the days flying by, he had managed to convince himself that this string he had felt pulling on his heart and guiding him to you was nothing but a flash of madness. A result for his lack of sleep, at best.

But there you were again. And he couldn’t deny the truth that his body reactions showed him very clearly.

He liked you…

You seemed happy. You were talking with Mary, and you were smiling and you looked excited. He guessed you were bringing some good news. God… how gorgeous you looked when you smiled…

But then you turned towards him, and caught his eyes when he wasn't expecting it, and he found himself short of breath, short of thoughts, short of nerves, short of… everything.

He mentally slapped himself for reacting so stupidly, but he couldn’t help it.

He saw Mary pushing you a little, and you glowered at her, before focusing on him again. And you actually started to walk to him.

He was panicking. Which was ridiculous, because he had been wanting to see you, although the reason for his desperation to find you again was merely to get over this silly crush of his and forget all about you, but things were clearly not going as planned, and now… hey, hey… Now he was rambling in his own head, wonderful…

He swallowed hard and stood up to join you, meeting you halfway.

"Hi," he smiled.

He couldn't breathe. He reckoned he was lucky to have been able to let out a single word. He could feel that he was blushing and hated himself for it. He buried his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans and stood before you in an uncomfortable way.

And you would have been lying if you had pretended that you didn't notice all these signs. Was he… nervous? Could you really make a man like him nervous?

Well, he for sure could make you nervous. You reckoned that all these symptoms, he could find them written all over your frame too.

"Hi," you answered with a shy smile. "Mary said you wanted to… see me?"

He closed his eyes and winced, dropping his chin against his chest and heaving a sigh that turned into a groan in his throat.

"I know that sounds bad and creepy, but it's not… what I meant all this to be."

"It's okay," you reassured him.

He looked up at you again, and you recognized a glint of hope in his eyes.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's fine."

"Just so we're clear… I've just come back here and hoped to see you again in this Starbucks, but I haven't done anything weirder like… following you or trying to get your number or anything…"

You laughed.

"I believe you," you reassured him again. "I… don't really understand why you wanted to see me, though."

He raised an eyebrow, and his blue stare turned a little more intense than before. There was a tension then that wasn't there a second ago, and you felt your heart pounding in your ribcage.

"Do you really have no idea?"

His Scottish accent was like honey in your ear. There was something almost magic about it. What was it? It couldn't be just his accent, it had to be something about his deep voice too, his deep, low voice…

You felt your knees tremble a little and rested a hand onto the back of the closest chair for support.

"I… I don't know."

Which was actually true. You had no clue what was going on whatsoever at this point.

He opened his mouth to answer, but looked for his words for a moment, stuttering in a very adorable way.

"I… hmm… I just… I… Okay, this is terrible, I'm sorry. Huh… I just wanted to see you again and… hmm… I hoped to have, perhaps… if you'd like that… a chance to talk with you. About yourself and… and you."

He hated himself so much at this point, he reckoned he would have rather jumped under a bus than face this humiliation he was experiencing right now.

Meanwhile, you reckoned that his shy behaviour was the cutest thing you had ever seen. But wasn't it all completely crazy?

"I… I don't know, I mean… We don't know each other at all," you replied.

"Yes, but that's why I'd like to see you. We could… grab a coffee or eat or do anything you'd like, really."

He stopped himself from rambling too much.

"I mean… we can't get to know each other better otherwise. And I really would like to know you better. Or at all, for the matter."

You both laughed, which seemed to make the two of you relax a little.

"What if we just come here and grab a coffee together," Richard proposed. "It doesn't have to be more than just that. Just… one coffee. And if you don't like me at all, you can call it a day and I'll never bother you again, I promise."

You considered the offer for a moment. You knew nothing about him. And yet… how could you feel like you had known him all your life? You wanted to say yes. God, how much you wanted to say yes. You were terrified, but you reckoned it was more than time for you to stop letting your fear win.

"Okay," you nodded. "We can see each other here."

He smiled the brightest of grins.

"Great! Next week? Or… does it feel creepy if I offer tomorrow?"

You laughed at him.

"Tomorrow sounds good. Let's say… at 5, here?"

"Brilliant. Perfect. Great."

He mentally slapped himself again and it seemed enough to stop his rambling.

"I'll give you my number, just… if you need to call for whatever reason. Like… if you have a problem and want to change the time or something."

He looked through his pockets and found a pen but no paper, so he walked back to his table to grab his empty cup and wrote his number on it, before handing it to you.

It's only at the sight of your amused smile that he noticed that this was pretty ridiculous.

"I… You could have put it directly in your phone too…"

"Yeah… but that's okay. It's cute."

He chuckled in response.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," you smiled at him, and he nodded.

"Yeah… huh… have a nice evening then."

"You too."

"Yeah…"

He walked backwards to grab his brown jacket, smiling at you, but he bumped into a chair and jumped at the contact. You both exploded with laughter.

"You haven't seen that. It never happened," he ordered, still laughing.

"Of course… Never happened."

He grabbed his coat and waved at you, letting one last 'bye' before striding towards the door. He couldn't stop himself from turning around one last time though as he pushed the door open, and you waved at him too, mouthing a 'goodbye'.

He walked out and didn't stop until he had reached the corner of the street a few meters further. He rested his back against the stone wall and let out several breaths, gasping a couple of times, a grin on his lips and his eyes round with disbelief. He loudly laughed with a high-pitched voice.

"Wow…"

He bent down to slow down his heart and try to force his brain to realize what had happened, resting his hands on his knees, although he could feel his entire legs shaking.

He had a date.

With you.

The next day.

He was certain he was having a heart-attack now…

He finally stood straighter again, leaning against the wall behind him, and he looked up at the grey sky with disbelief oozing from his entire being.

"Holy shit…"

And while he could barely believe what had happened and tried to convince himself that all this was real, you were still in the coffeeshop. You had dropped on the chair closest to you the second Richard was out of sight, and Mary was now shouting hysterical shrieks through the café.

"YOU HAVE A DATE WITH THE HANDSOME STRANGER!' she shouted at the top of her lungs, and you were both lucky the Starbucks was empty at the moment, but for the baristas, who seemed to be used to Mary's craziness by now.

"I have a date…"

"YOU HAVE A DATE!"

"I have a date…"

You repeated the words again and again as to force sense into them, but you could barely realize what it meant.

You were grinning as you whispered.

"Holy shit…"

**************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi

@htariq @infinitelyforgotten @theringostarfanclub @davidbuddbg @kimmietea @xphantomphanphanaticx

[mottledscales]

LFRP - Muunokhoi Gloamwarder(Ayol)

The Basics ––– –

Age: Appears mid-to-late 50s

Race: Xaela

Gender: Cisgender Man

Sexuality: Homosexual

Marital Status: Widower

Server: Mateus

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: White, cropped close

Eyes: Steel grey, white limbal ring. No left eye.

Height: 7′11″

Build: Strongman build. Thickly muscled but not cut definition. Looks healthy...and enormous.

Distinguishing Marks: Various white splashes and dapplings where his scales become starkly white instead of black. Said scales grow prolific and asymmetrical, favoring the left side of his body over his right. Scars and tears, silvery and faded, are numerous throughout his body but similarly, they favor his left side. Muunokhoi’s tail is exceptionally long and has a loose set of scales that sit atop the spine. It, like the rest of him, is mottled. Big sharp teeth.

Common Accessories: Muunokhoi doesn’t seem given to adornments beyond armor or clothing. One may see him with a satchel or heavy pack filled with tools or materials for work orders, but nothing more.

Personal ––– –

Profession: “Handyman” It’s sort of difficult to nail down exactly what Muunokhoi does these days, though best he could explain to you, he fixes things. Tables, bookshelves, walls, tears in the fabric of reality, stools and chairs, floors,  he’ll tackle most projects with diligence and a skillful hand. He tends to prefer working with wood and stone, however.

Hobbies: Furniture craft, carving, storytelling, sparring

Residence: A flat located in Limsa Lominsa.

Birthplace: The Tail Mountains

Religion: Primarily animistic reverence of spirits and ancestors, which ultimately takes a backseat to the worship of Nhaama.

Patron Deity: Nhaama

Fears: Failing to provide and prepare his daughter for the world. An unspecified loss of control. His own mortality. Not seeing an opportunity until it passes him by. Being insufficient. 

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: Asato[Husband] - Deceased

Children: Narangawa[Adopted Daughter] - Alive

Parents: -Bayari [Mother] - Alive -Kokegan[Father]-Deceased

Siblings: N/A

Other Relatives: Sarangerel[Aunt] - Alive Numerous other aunts, uncles, and cousins

Pets: Black cat named ‘Cat’ [Catarina Catatonia Catatrix]

Traits ––– -

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open-Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious 

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Themes and More: I’ll be forthright. Muunokhoi’s story started rather basic with the intent of taking a sharp left turn into ‘deep dark’ themes both edgy and sad. Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way... There’s a lot here. I’m talkin’ magic, mysticism, the struggle between tradition and progress, between one’s old life and one’s new. The effects of duty, failure, devotion to family and faith, violence, having some rad bad dreams. That sort of thing. Oh and if it was not entirely obvious, I like exploring monsters and what it means to be one. Muunokhoi happens to be one of my foremost outlets for that.

What I’m Looking For: Long-term story. I get a lot of slice-of-life already, but I do have a story I want to tell with Muunokhoi. And I want to help some folks tell their stories too. Like monstery things? Want to talk about xaela history, magic, faith, and the blurring lines between myth and reality? I’m your guy. Like subtlety but are completely okay with getting hit with a brick sometimes instead? I’m also here for you because I can’t tell the difference.

Must love[tolerate] dad-jokes.

Romance optional [who doesn’t like a good romantic subplot?] but keep in mind this man’s old and he’s not looking. Furthermore, it’s highly unlikely he’s going to be into anyone young. Just, keep that in mind. I don’t really care about slow or fast burn it all depends on character chemistry and interaction.

RP Hooks ––– –

Handyman: Need something fixed? Carpentry happens to be Muunokhoi’s forté, he might be able to help. Especially if it is related to structural or furniture repair. That said, if he can’t fix it, he probably knows someone who can and will point you in the right direction. 

Edge of the Ejinn: About twenty years ago a pale man with mottled scales showed up on the far borders of Ejinn territory, beaten and bloody from conflict. While he was allowed to stay on the condition that he warned the tribe of approaching assaults, he was not allowed close to camp. The strange nature of his scales and pallid skin earned him the name “Chagatai” and a rumor that he might well be cursed. Furthermore, he took into his care a child born ‘marked’ by an eclipse, an omen to join an omen.  Doma, Oh Doma: Thirty-five years ago, in a village along the One River, a raen doctor lived surrounded by a neighborhood that served the Rijin clan. Attending him was a tall xaela, quiet and poor in speech, covered in strange scales. Though apprenticed to a local carpenter, this xaela -known only as ‘Shiro’- was known better for keeping the peace when the lord’s samurai were away. With the coming of the empire of Garlemald both the raen doctor and his xaela shadow disappeared, presumed dead in the wake of the neighborhood’s burning. A Mountain To Break: Ul’dah’s blood sands briefly held a xaela amidst their number in the past five years: a roughly-hewn man known to take intense amounts of punishment with ease. A few remnant gladiators yet have a score to settle with the old bruiser, and others simply never got the chance to face off against him. “Handyman”: They say that Muunokhoi’s talents for repair extend beyond the material, and into the metaphysical. While it is not clear where precisely his talents lie, his very clear awareness of otherworldly energies and void taint seems to suggest he may share some sort of connection. Or at the very least, that he can feel the tears in the world as they are rent. Yet, stranger still is the present ‘wrongness’ about him, a sensation not unlike the prickling of gooseflesh. 

Contact Information/About the player ––– –

Hey. I’m Fishy, or Mister Eyeteeth. Either works well enough. If you’d like to contact me I’m most readily available through tumblr’s messaging system, though ingame @ Muunokhoi Gloamwarder is also applicable. 

My schedule shifts around due to the nature of sleep, health, and various other contributing factors. Suffice to say: I’ll get back to you when I can, so if you’re looking to set something up, give me time! I will thank you for your patience.

I’m pretty big on communication but I can function pretty well with little. The only thing I ask is that you communicate any problems or limits to the story you have. I won’t be upset and I won’t push anything you do not dig. Dig? Also, if there is something you’d like to see in a story, talk to me about that too! I’ll do my best to make it happen.

Finally, I’m not terribly social on my own and don’t like getting confused[and I’m very easily confused]. Be forthright and direct with me, and I’ll give you the same courtesy.

[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

In late November, the Justice Department unsealed indictments against eight people accused of fleecing advertisers of $36 million in two of the largest digital ad-fraud operations ever uncovered. Digital advertisers tend to want two things: people to look at their ads and “premium” websites — i.e., established and legitimate publications — on which to host them. The two schemes at issue in the case, dubbed Methbot and 3ve by the security researchers who found them, faked both. Hucksters infected 1.7 million computers with malware that remotely directed traffic to “spoofed” websites — “empty websites designed for bot traffic” that served up a video ad purchased from one of the internet’s vast programmatic ad-exchanges, but that were designed, according to the indictments, “to fool advertisers into thinking that an impression of their ad was served on a premium publisher site,” like that of Vogue or The Economist. Views, meanwhile, were faked by malware-infected computers with marvelously sophisticated techniques to imitate humans: bots “faked clicks, mouse movements, and social network login information to masquerade as engaged human consumers.” Some were sent to browse the internet to gather tracking cookies from other websites, just as a human visitor would have done through regular behavior. Fake people with fake cookies and fake social-media accounts, fake-moving their fake cursors, fake-clicking on fake websites — the fraudsters had essentially created a simulacrum of the internet, where the only real things were the ads.

How much of the internet is fake? Studies generally suggest that, year after year, less than 60 percent of web traffic is human; some years, according to some researchers, a healthy majority of it is bot. For a period of time in 2013, the Times reported this year, a full half of YouTube traffic was “bots masquerading as people,” a portion so high that employees feared an inflection point after which YouTube’s systems for detecting fraudulent traffic would begin to regard bot traffic as real and human traffic as fake. They called this hypothetical event “the Inversion.”

In the future, when I look back from the high-tech gamer jail in which President PewDiePie will have imprisoned me, I will remember 2018 as the year the internet passed the Inversion, not in some strict numerical sense, since bots already outnumber humans online more years than not, but in the perceptual sense. The internet has always played host in its dark corners to schools of catfish and embassies of Nigerian princes, but that darkness now pervades its every aspect: Everything that once seemed definitively and unquestionably real now seems slightly fake; everything that once seemed slightly fake now has the power and presence of the real. The “fakeness” of the post-Inversion internet is less a calculable falsehood and more a particular quality of experience — the uncanny sense that what you encounter online is not “real” but is also undeniably not “fake,” and indeed may be both at once, or in succession, as you turn it over in your head.

The metrics are fake.                        

Take something as seemingly simple as how we measure web traffic. Metrics should be the most real thing on the internet: They are countable, trackable, and verifiable, and their existence undergirds the advertising business that drives our biggest social and search platforms. Yet not even Facebook, the world’s greatest data–gathering organization, seems able to produce genuine figures. In October, small advertisers filed suit against the social-media giant, accusing it of covering up, for a year, its significant overstatements of the time users spent watching videos on the platform (by 60 to 80 percent, Facebook says; by 150 to 900 percent, the plaintiffs say). According to an exhaustive list at MarketingLand, over the past two years Facebook has admitted to misreporting the reach of posts on Facebook Pages (in two different ways), the rate at which viewers complete ad videos, the average time spent reading its “Instant Articles,” the amount of referral traffic from Facebook to external websites, the number of views that videos received via Facebook’s mobile site, and the number of video views in Instant Articles.

Can we still trust the metrics? After the Inversion, what’s the point? Even when we put our faith in their accuracy, there’s something not quite real about them: My favorite statistic this year was Facebook’s claim that 75 million people watched at least a minute of Facebook Watch videos every day — though, as Facebook admitted, the 60 seconds in that one minute didn’t need to be watched consecutively. Real videos, real people, fake minutes.

The people are fake.                        

And maybe we shouldn’t even assume that the people are real. Over at YouTube, the business of buying and selling video views is “flourishing,” as the Times reminded readers with a lengthy investigation in August. The company says only “a tiny fraction” of its traffic is fake, but fake subscribers are enough of a problem that the site undertook a purge of “spam accounts” in mid-December. These days, the Times found, you can buy 5,000 YouTube views — 30 seconds of a video counts as a view — for as low as $15; oftentimes, customers are led to believe that the views they purchase come from real people. More likely, they come from bots. On some platforms, video views and app downloads can be forged in lucrative industrial counterfeiting operations. If you want a picture of what the Inversion looks like, find a video of a “click farm”: hundreds of individual smartphones, arranged in rows on shelves or racks in professional-looking offices, each watching the same video or downloading the same app.

This is obviously not real human traffic. But what would real human traffic look like? The Inversion gives rise to some odd philosophical quandaries: If a Russian troll using a Brazilian man’s photograph to masquerade as an American Trump supporter watches a video on Facebook, is that view “real”? Not only do we have bots masquerading as humans and humans masquerading as other humans, but also sometimes humans masquerading as bots, pretending to be “artificial-intelligence personal assistants,” like Facebook’s “M,” in order to help tech companies appear to possess cutting-edge AI. We even have whatever CGI Instagram influencer Lil Miquela is: a fake human with a real body, a fake face, and real influence. Even humans who aren’t masquerading can contort themselves through layers of diminishing reality: The Atlantic reports that non-CGI human influencers are posting fake sponsored content — that is, content meant to look like content that is meant to look authentic, for free — to attract attention from brand reps, who, they hope, will pay them real money.

The businesses are fake.                        

The money is usually real. Not always — ask someone who enthusiastically got into cryptocurrency this time last year — but often enough to be an engine of the Inversion. If the money is real, why does anything else need to be? Earlier this year, the writer and artist Jenny Odell began to look into an Amazon reseller that had bought goods from other Amazon resellers and resold them, again on Amazon, at higher prices. Odell discovered an elaborate network of fake price-gouging and copyright-stealing businesses connected to the cultlike Evangelical church whose followers resurrected Newsweek in 2013 as a zombie search-engine-optimized spam farm. She visited a strange bookstore operated by the resellers in San Francisco and found a stunted concrete reproduction of the dazzlingly phony storefronts she’d encountered on Amazon, arranged haphazardly with best-selling books, plastic tchotchkes, and beauty products apparently bought from wholesalers. “At some point I began to feel like I was in a dream,” she wrote. “Or that I was half-awake, unable to distinguish the virtual from the real, the local from the global, a product from a Photoshop image, the sincere from the insincere.”

                                       The content is fake.                        

The only site that gives me that dizzying sensation of unreality as often as Amazon does is YouTube, which plays host to weeks’ worth of inverted, inhuman content. TV episodes that have been mirror-flipped to avoid copyright takedowns air next to huckster vloggers flogging merch who air next to anonymously produced videos that are ostensibly for children. An animated video of Spider-Man and Elsa from Frozen riding tractors is not, you know, not real: Some poor soul animated it and gave voice to its actors, and I have no doubt that some number (dozens? Hundreds? Millions? Sure, why not?) of kids have sat and watched it and found some mystifying, occult enjoyment in it. But it’s certainly not “official,” and it’s hard, watching it onscreen as an adult, to understand where it came from and what it means that the view count beneath it is continually ticking up.

These, at least, are mostly bootleg videos of popular fictional characters, i.e., counterfeit unreality. Counterfeit reality is still more difficult to find—for now. In January 2018, an anonymous Redditor created a relatively easy-to-use desktop-app implementation of “deepfakes,” the now-infamous technology that uses artificial-intelligence image processing to replace one face in a video with another — putting, say, a politician’s over a porn star’s. A recent academic paper from researchers at the graphics-card company Nvidia demonstrates a similar technique used to create images of computer-generated “human” faces that look shockingly like photographs of real people. (Next time Russians want to puppeteer a group of invented Americans on Facebook, they won’t even need to steal photos of real people.) Contrary to what you might expect, a world suffused with deepfakes and other artificially generated photographic images won’t be one in which “fake” images are routinely believed to be real, but one in which “real” images are routinely believed to be fake — simply because, in the wake of the Inversion, who’ll be able to tell the difference?

                                       Our politics are fake.                        

Such a loss of any anchoring “reality” only makes us pine for it more. Our politics have been inverted along with everything else, suffused with a Gnostic sense that we’re being scammed and defrauded and lied to but that a “real truth” still lurks somewhere. Adolescents are deeply engaged by YouTube videos that promise to show the hard reality beneath the “scams” of feminism and diversity — a process they call “red-pilling” after the scene in The Matrix when the computer simulation falls away and reality appears. Political arguments now involve trading accusations of “virtue signaling” — the idea that liberals are faking their politics for social reward — against charges of being Russian bots. The only thing anyone can agree on is that everyone online is lying and fake.

                                       We ourselves are fake.                        

Which, well. Everywhere I went online this year, I was asked to prove I’m a human. Can you retype this distorted word? Can you transcribe this house number? Can you select the images that contain a motorcycle? I found myself prostrate daily at the feet of robot bouncers, frantically showing off my highly developed pattern-matching skills — does a Vespa count as a motorcycle, even? — so I could get into nightclubs I’m not even sure I want to enter. Once inside, I was directed by dopamine-feedback loops to scroll well past any healthy point, manipulated by emotionally charged headlines and posts to click on things I didn’t care about, and harried and hectored and sweet-talked into arguments and purchases and relationships so algorithmically determined it was hard to describe them as real.

Where does that leave us? I’m not sure the solution is to seek out some pre-Inversion authenticity — to red-pill ourselves back to “reality.” What’s gone from the internet, after all, isn’t “truth,” but trust: the sense that the people and things we encounter are what they represent themselves to be. Years of metrics-driven growth, lucrative manipulative systems, and unregulated platform marketplaces, have created an environment where it makes more sense to be fake online — to be disingenuous and cynical, to lie and cheat, to misrepresent and distort — than it does to be real. Fixing that would require cultural and political reform in Silicon Valley and around the world, but it’s our only choice. Otherwise we’ll all end up on the bot internet of fake people, fake clicks, fake sites, and fake computers, where the only real thing is the ads.

[catnapscholar]

✦ let's mcfreakin go

As much of Linhardt’s time was spent asleep, it was often hard to determine what was and was not a moment between rests and what might be a dream. There were so many dreams of the mundane, dreams of spending the time in the peace of laying on a field and basking in the sun, dreams of attending events with friends and going about them with smiles upon their faces and not a qualm to be had. Dreams like these, when had back home, were easy to distinguish from the harsh realities. The wars they were engaged in made it easy to tell when a false peace was found. That was the unfortunate truth.

But here? In a place that was free from those terrors? It was much harder to determine. Even faces they hadn’t seen since coming to the city couldn’t help determine whether or not if the events were fantastical or otherwise. Because they could have shown up. They could be in the city now, living with them. Going to the events, spending time together. Living a peace they all deserved.

It sometimes made them go through their days in a haze.

This would be one of them. And it must have been evident in their expression, as Claude waved a hand in front of their face to garner their attention. Blinking twice, they turned slowly to look at him, eyes a bit owlish as he looked back with a raised brow and half smile.

“What’s up sleepyhead, dozing off while we research?”

“Sorry,” they sighed out, closing their eyes to stretch a bit before reopening them. “My sleep schedule has been a bit off lately. It’s impossible to get any rest when I can’t tell if I’m asleep or not.”

The answer seemed to bring more questions, and before Claude could ask any of them they cut in with an answer. “My dreams have been too reflective of the real world. It’s hard to tell at times where they end, and my day begins.”

“Can’t say I’ve had that issue before,” he responded, giving a slight shrug before his cheek came to rest in his palm as he leaned on the table. “Why not try pinching yourself awake? Age old tell tale way to know.”

“What, cause myself pain to wake myself,” they scrunched their nose at the thought. “I’d rather not.”

“Well how about this.”

As Claude spoke, he had begun to lean forward, and Linhardt recognized easily what he was referring to. Meeting him half way there, they leaned in as well so that their lips met. The kiss was nothing special, and in fact it felt almost like nothing at all. Ah, the thought was near instant, so this is---

“Hey, Linhardt, wake up won’t you?”

Blinking awake, they sat up in their chair, yawning and stretching as they let the sleep exit their body. Opening their eyes fully, they looked over at Claude, who was staring at them, pen in hand that had been used to poke at them seconds prior.

“What were we discussing, again?” The question was asked in earnest as they looked down at the book their head was laid on, trying to figure out what it was even about. “Sorry, I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. Can’t tell my dreams from reality a bit.”

“Oh really,” he asked, interest piqued from their words, apparently. “So what was this dream then, were you asleep in the library just like now? Was I in it?”

Giving a warm smile in response to the questions, they couldn’t help but laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

They accepted the smile given in return before the two returned to their work, exchanging theories and information. And while the work and company kept them alert, their thoughts kept drifting back to the dream, and eyes kept trailing to the other’s lips.

Ah well, perhaps another day they would learn what that kiss felt like.

76 reasons to kiss✦ randomized--->33. kiss in a dream

[nadziejastar]

Isa’s TRUE Personality: Pisces

Pisces Personality Traits

“Cool, collected, and mature beyond his age. He’s good friends with Lea.”

Saïx has a weapon called Twilight, which is shaped like a trident, the symbol of Neptune. Neptune is the ruling planet of the zodiac sign of Pisces. Pisces is the 12th, and last astrological sign in the zodiac. This means, it is one of the oldest and most wise signs. Pisces tend to be considered “old souls” and act much older than their age. The typical Pisces is an an extraordinary creature whose ideas and philosophies are wise beyond their years. Yet on the surface, like water in a lake, you'd never suspect how deep those waters run.

Driven by its strong connection to the spiritual world, this sign knows how to balance cold, hard reality with the warmth of love and understanding. Pisces feel a great deal, and they also feel misunderstood much of the time. They’re not quite pushovers, but they’re certainly sensitive. They are compassionate, easily feeling another’s pain.  

Joshua: “Imagine my surprise when I realized dreams take bodily form in this world. It struck me--by linking their dream pieces back together, maybe I could make them exist again. Maybe I could give them another chance.”

Riku: “It can't be that simple.”

Joshua: “Well, why can't it? By ourselves, we're no one. It's when other people look at us and see someone--that's the moment we each start to exist. All they needed was for someone to see them, connect with them.”

At times, however, Pisceans can have difficulty distinguishing fact from fantasy; they tend to get caught up in their ideals of how things should be. Pisces see the world through rose-tinted glasses. This perspective casts a dreamy gauziness on their words and actions that can be quite attractive to others. They place great weight on what they are feeling. Emotions define the Pisces zodiac sign, and it’s not uncommon for them to feel their own burdens (and joys) as well as those of others. The intuition of the Pisces-born is highly evolved. Many people associate Pisces with dreams and secrets, and it’s a fair association, since those born under this sign feel comfortable in an illusory world. 

Pisces: Twilight

“As the seasons converge and change, the last dregs of winter mix with the first blush of spring. Breath still curdles in the air, but pale green shoots start to unfold from the soil. This sense of “in-betweenness” is the essence of the Pisces star sign.

It’s the time of day when both the sun and moon are visible, the magic of twilight, and an unwavering trust in the Universe. As the last sign of the zodiac, you’re born with an innate sense of wisdom that takes the rest of us a lifetime—or lifetimes—to accumulate.”

Twilight is the time of day that Pisces is associated with symbolically. It's the last sign of the zodiac. It implies the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. Hence it has been said that it signifies ‘rebirth of matter after death’. It carries the same meaning as the waning crescent moon on Isa’s jacket, and the sunset of Twilight Town. Pisces denotes the final moment which contains within itself the beginning of the new cycle. It’s the time of being in-between.

Isa---“A quiet and cool-headed youth. Though he does come out of his shell when talking to his best friend Lea, toward others he is distant and untalkative.”

Pisces are generally gentle, easy-going folk, who are on the shy and reticent side. They are filled with so much compassion and empathy, they often put others’ needs before their own. The willingness of personal sacrifice is one of their major characteristics. They are remarkably wise and self-sacrificing when it comes to helping the vulnerable or those down on their luck. Hands down, they are the most selfless sign in the Zodiac. Ruled by Neptune, Pisces is intuitive and incredibly creative by nature. With a soul as deep and vast as the oceans, Pisces thrives in a world of fantasy, where its imagination can flow freely.  

Axel: “Go on, you just keep running. But I'll always be there to bring you back!”

On the down side, they get hurt and demoralized very easily. While it's very true that Pisces' can count kindness as one of their greatest assets, their desire to escape becomes prevalent when the going gets rough. Water, like any other element, is filled with power. Further, water can be calm and placid, or stormy and destructive. Pisces often embodies both these characteristics. Neptune also rules all forms of escapism. If Pisces can steer clear of the pull of escapism while embracing their inner truths, they'll be quite successful in life.

Even with all the talent and resources they possess, their low self-esteem becomes a hindrance in their path. Pisces tend to be oversensitive. They take everything to heart and become emotional in the extremes. They tend to look at the negative side more than the positive side of things. Cancer and Pisces are considered the top two most emotional zodiac signs. I think this capacity for such emotional extremes is why Isa was considered such a good potential vessel for one of the 13 Seekers of Darkness.

Pisces’ Color: Light Green

Naminé: “Some people think pain is something you can just wipe away--and sometimes, maybe, you can. But not all pain can be erased. The only way to deal with it is to accept it head-on. And if the hurt is too great for you to bear it alone--well, then you turn to a friend close to your heart.”

Sora: “Because the hurt will bring us closer together, and make us stronger.”

Unlike Saïx, Isa’s natural eye color is light green. The mystical and magical nature of Pisces is enhanced by the lightest tints of green. As the color of life, light green represents renewal and inspiration, encouraging the healing and rejuvenating energies that Pisces is known for. The softer the green, the more Piscean it becomes.

♆ is the symbol of the trident of Neptune, or Poseidon. Ψ is the Greek letter psi, which is used as a symbol for psychology, psychiatry and pharmacology. It’s also where the name Poseidon comes from. Our word “psyche” is derived from the Greek word “psuche”, a word beginning with the letter psi. Translated, it means “a person’s heart and/or soul”. And this weapon has a prominent Recusant’s Sigil on it. Isa definitely needed healing.

Pisces’ Symbol: The Fish

Axel: “Well, I think you can be inseparable, even if you’re apart. It’s like, if you feel really close to each other. Like best friends.”

The zodiac sign Pisces is embodied by two Fish, and its glyph represents an image of these Fish, linked together for eternity. It’s important to know that it is not just one Fish, but two. They are a representation of Pisces’ ability to exist simultaneously in both a conscious and subconscious world. As the last sign of the zodiac, Pisces is also connected to the idea of cycles – that every ending is a new beginning – which is represented by the two Fish swimming in opposite directions. 

There's a persistent rumor among astrologers that you can always spot Pisces' by their crossed legs, even if they're standing. Like many clichés this one has a grain of truth in it. Perhaps this is because Pisces' symbol, two fish tied by an invisible cord as they swim in opposite directions, is being expressed. 

Isa---“Often scolds Lea, who has an opposite (though complementary) personality.” 

The fact that two fish (as opposed to one) represent the members of this sign also speaks to the duality of Pisces, and their yin and yang sensibility. The last sign of the zodiac embodies the idea that the world is created by opposite energies that complement and balance one another. Pisces is the living embodiment of yin and yang.

The story behind the fish is that one day, Typhon happened to see Venus, the goddess of beauty and her son Cupid, the god of love on the banks of a river. To escape from his clutches, Venus and Cupid turned into fish and swam into the depths of the river. They had tied their tails together so they would not be separated. In the river, they were saved by other fish, who were later hung in the sky as a token of gratitude. This was done to commemorate the day when the goddess of beauty and god of love were saved from being destroyed.

Pisces’ Ruling Planet: Neptune

Yen Sid: “In the Sleeping Worlds, real time does not flow. Unless one restores the world by waking it from its slumber, it will stay locked in a dream forever.”

The Third Eye chakra, located on the forehead, is ruled by Neptune. Fantastical and dreamy Neptune rules over the zodiac sign Pisces. It is the planet of our subconscious minds, influencing our dreams and fantasies, our imaginations, hopes, beliefs and our connection to spirituality. Those of the Pisces horoscope sign alternate between reality and non-reality in keeping with their introspective natures; their voyage between consciousness and an unconscious dream state says much about their intuitive, almost psychic natures.

In Roman mythology Neptune is the God of the Sea, and the planet Neptune’s influence is just like the vast, flowing, nebulousness of the ocean. The currents of Neptune allow Pisces to swim through a neverending world of dreams, imagination and spirituality where anything is possible. Neptune represents the invisible web that supports us when we let go of control and trust that we cannot fall out of the universe. It’s like falling asleep or floating in water. 

Among the 12 Zodiac signs, there is one specific sign in which a planet functions at its optimum. This is called its sign of “Exaltation.” Venus exalted in Pisces. Venus signifies our aspiration to beauty and truth through which we can realize the power of infinite love beyond our senses and pleasure that is the love of God, or realization of the God within ourselves.

The Rabbit’s Personality

Mystery Gear: "A weapon that draws forth its wielder's personality." 

Pisces is a sign of self-sacrifice, giving oneself over to the larger whole. The Rabbit in the Chinese Zodiac is the equivalent to Pisces in the Western Zodiac. The Rabbit is associated with new beginnings, and symbolizes character traits such as creativity, compassion, and sensitivity. Their sensitive nature makes them shy away from aggressive or competitive situations. They keep a modest attitude and maintain a pleasant relationship to people around. Rabbits are introverts and emotional.  

While they enjoy the quiet life and artistic pursuits, they are also very cunning. You'd never guess that they were strong willed. They tend to get their way through kindness. They are friendly and easy to get along with. They rarely get into serious trouble. They are discreet and usually land on their feet. Rabbits may appear detached, but it is their way of protecting themselves from harm. They can be rather moody at times. They can be rather opportunistic, but are easy to take advantage of.

The Chinese Rabbit is popular and shy. Rabbits are compassionate and protective of their inner circle of family and friends. They are rather delicate, and in order to thrive they need a supportive base behind them. Without sufficient support, they tend to fall apart during times of conflict. Emotional disruptions can actually cause them to become physically ill. They don't like arguments and conflict. They may become pessimistic and depressed. The desire for remaining in safe, comfortable environments keeps Rabbits from taking risks which sometimes causes them to miss out on good opportunities. 

Isa---“A serene and self-possessed boy who always has time for a quick quip at his best friend Lea's expense.”

Rabbits usually have soft and tender personality traits, and their serene nature keeps them from becoming visibly upset. They will not be irritated easily, and they also avoid quarrels and conflict as much as possible. The Rabbit is intelligent and compassionate, but also can be timid and afraid of change. Everywhere they go they create peace for others, but compromise their own inner harmony with sudden mood changes and fear. Rabbits are full of heart and love to take care of the wounded body, heart and soul -- they are gentle and kind. Rabbits can speak eloquently and knowledgably about many things. Their interests are wide-ranging and global. They can be generous to a fault -- a Rabbit would give away his or her last penny to someone in need. Rabbits can be very successful as long as they keep their fears in check. 

They love everything and everyone, but self-love is a challenge for them. You may think you know a Rabbit, but it’s very hard to find out how they really feel, as they are so discreet about their true thoughts and feelings. They feel vulnerable when others know too much about their private life. If you have a Rabbit friend, make sure you honor his or her heart. Chinese Rabbits tend to move through life at their own pace, no matter what anyone else thinks. They are lucky and have long lives. They are very gracious and are natural diplomats. 

Those born in the year of the Chinese Rabbit tend to stifle their feelings inside. They are very loving and giving in relationships. Rabbits may have unrealistic views of how a relationship should be, and when one ends they can be devastated. It takes them a long time to recover. The need a partner who won't take advantage of them. When they find the right partner, the relationship is very strong. They love company and love having someone special even more. They are romantic, and prefer to act in more indirect methods.

Pisces’ Tarot Card: The Moon

Luna Diviner---“Second in command who longs for the heart he does not have. Only the moon breaks his icy calm.”

The Moon, in all its mystical and idealistic wonder, is the Tarot card of Pisces. The Moon card represents our ability to rely on our instincts and intuitions, while Pisces is known as the most intuitive sign of the zodiac. Just as we live by the cycles of the Moon, The Moon Tarot card encourages Pisces to go with the flow of nature, instead of swimming against its currents.

A sensitive Water sign, Pisces is represented by two Fish, earning the nickname, “the Fishes with wishes” because of their powerful imagination and creative spirit. If you’re looking for kindness and empathy, Pisces is THE most compassionate sign of the zodiac. Pisces rules the 12th House of Privacy, Escape, and Secrets. In addition to being a Water sign, Pisces is ruled by the planet Neptune, also known as the God of the Sea. The dreamy little fish are spiritual and intuitive, with Pisces being the most psychic sign of all.

The Moon is a symbol of dreams, intuition, higher consciousness, and spiritual wisdom. The dews represent human thoughts and also stand for peace and calmness. While the crayfish reflects emotional needs and desires, the pond symbolizes unconscious mind. The towers refer to the two sides of the brain, and the path in the middle with its twists and turns shows that the mind prefers being controlled by instincts rather than intellect. The wolf and the dog represent fear of the mind when facing an unknown situation.

Pisces and the Moon

Fairy Godmother: “Strong rays of sun create dark shadows. Light and dark go hand in hand. You can't have one without the other.”

Like Pisces, The Moon card is associated with the subconscious and often highlights idealism – suggesting that things are not as they may appear. The Moon card also represents our secretive side or “shadow self”. The dog and the wolf in this card represent how our wild side blends with our tame side. This recurring theme of unity can also be found in the towers. They symbolize the practical life that most of us lead, while the path between them reminds us of the more meaningful life that we desire.

This is very true to the nature of Pisces, who are always dreaming of something more fantastic than what is actually in front of them. The water on The Moon card symbolizes the subconscious. The crustacean emerging from the water represents “coming into consciousness” and the possession of psychic abilities, which is often true of those born under Pisces.

Neptune’s Tarot Card: The Hanged Man

Ansem: “So many are still waiting for their new beginning, their birth by sleep. Even me...and even you.”

Many decks associate The Hanged Man with the zodiac sign Pisces (a mutable Water sign), ruled by Neptune (planet of mystery, illusion, imagination, and mysticism). The card in Tarot symbolizes trial or meditation, selflessness, and sacrifice. When the Hanged Man card is upright in a Tarot reading, it symbolizes suspension, change, reversal, sacrifice, readjustment, improvement, and rebirth. The card means it is time to stop resisting and gain illumination. It is the time for reflection before moving on. No matter what's going on in your life, you can right the ship and keep moving forward.

Pisces is the 12th sign of the zodiac, and is known for being sensitive, compassionate, spiritual, and non-materialistic -- but also prone to confusion, alcohol and drug addiction, mental illness or breakdown, self-delusion, self-escapism through drugs, fantasy, and illusion. In The Hanged Man, unconditional love is needed to balance out intuition and sensitivity with discipline and logic. 

Axel: “Hey, Roxas. Bet you don't know why the sun sets red. You see, light is made up of lots of colors. And out of all those colors, red is the one that travels the farthest.”

Pisces represents "loss to the outer world, solution, and handing over the results of one cycle to the following one.” Here we face "the things which we have not yet mastered and those whom we have failed to understand or who have failed to understand us.” The card is seen to represent "sacrifice, release, acceptance, temporary abeyance or pause, emotional losses, and ending attachments to worldly, material goods." When ill-dignified, The Hanged Man can suggest "meaningless sacrifice, rejection of spiritual values, and confusion caused by mental illness, especially severe depression." 

Through the process of suspension the Hanged Man turns his focus towards the unconscious and experiences Neptune rising out of his watery kingdom. Neptune reminds us that remaining attached to old patterns, habits, or addictions perpetuates the endless cycle of martyrdom and victimization. 

Pisces’ Ruling House: 12th House of Subconscious

Sora: “The light in the darkness. It was you. You’re the one who kept me from fading away.”

Kairi: “All I did was believe that you wouldn’t.”

The 12th House of Subconscious is ruled by Pisces, the 12th sign of the zodiac. The 12th house represents your connection to spirituality, the deep and personal emotions you feel, and the openness of your heart. It is the reposit of humanity's deepest fears and governs the primordial waters it swims in before the first breath of life. It is also the house of secrets. Pisces’ understanding of quiet contemplation and emotional speculation is heavily reflected in the 12th House of Subconscious. This house is all about taking time for healing and rejuvenation before beginning anew. 

Pisces’ Element: Water

Yen Sid: “He needs you to believe. You see, Ventus's heart hangs in the balance. It sleeps in the place between light and darkness. From all I can perceive, that means he will be looking for a friend--one who believes in him, to show him the way home. Just as long as you love him...then Ventus will be able to find you when he wakes. He can follow that love back to where he belongs-- the realm of light.”

The element of Water flows through Pisces as a wave of devoted empathy and intuition. The Water element is all about our emotions, and Pisces is known for its deeply sensitive and spiritual connection to its own feelings, and the feelings of others. As large as the ocean, Pisces' heart is capable of expressing infinite compassion and love toward all beings. Without a doubt, the Water element is the most sensitive and intuitive. 

This element is capable of nourishing our soul through a deep, psychic understanding of what makes us operate. The element of Water is in touch with the source of creation and can sense that we, too, are a part of this divine birthplace. Water signs are incredibly empathic and can feel the emotions of others. Water can also drown in another person’s emotional abyss if not careful because water has no boundaries. It soaks into us. The element of Water can conform to the elements around it. When mixed with fire it creates steam, with earth it creates mud and with air it creates rain.

[lizzzybooo]

In my arms

Summary:

'“Why did you get up so early?” Dan asks, and he knows that his voice sounds a little accusing but he’s still tired and he’s still worried and saying “please don’t ever go anywhere when I’m not right there to follow you,” seems a little too much as a response to a morning shower.'

(it's the day after phil went to the hospital, and dan just wants to take care of him a little)

Words:2756

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652137

this fic is for @quercussp ,who deserves all the hurt/comfort fics she desires! 

Dan wakes up on Monday morning to an empty bed and a sick feeling in his stomach. The room is uncomfortably warm (Dan remembers Phil feeling slightly chilly the night before, and his own panicked overreaction that made him turn on the heat higher than they usually would, instead of just getting another blanket, despite Phil’s protests).

In his half asleep state, Dan notices that the light coming in from the window is faint, keeping the quiet room dim, almost dark, but as that doesn’t really mean anything at this time of year he picks up his phone from the nightstand and checks the time, squinting against the sudden bright light. 8:30 AM, he reads. Too early to wake up when they haven’t set an alarm to force them out of bed, he thinks. And definitely too early for Phil to be awake and functioning when he’s on bed rest (doctor’s orders, of course, but it’s not like Phil is one to pass on an opportunity to stay in bed and get babied when he’s under the weather, even without an open invitation).

Dan’s uncomfortable sick feeling intensifies for a moment, making him close his eyes and take a deep breath to calm himself down. His mind is showing him horrible pictures from yesterday morning. Pictures of a pale, weak looking Phil lying on the floor and calling for him with a panicked voice. The pictures are, truthfully, a lot more dramatic than the reality actually was at that moment, but he’s allowed, he thinks, to be a little dramatic about this. No one, he reasons with himself, can really blame him for that, he’s sure.

He can feel his body relaxes a bit when he starts hearing the sounds of running water, meaning that Phil is most definitely taking a shower. (He tries to push back the instant, new images that make their way to his mind. Images of the same pale, weak looking Phil, only this time he has a stream of water covering his body while he lies still on the shower floor).

He pushes himself up from bed all at once at that, a bit too fast, making himself dizzy for a second but not wasting time to compose himself, making his way to the bathroom where he hears the water coming from.

He’s fine, he tells himself. He’s okay.

Good enough to get up and go upstairs and start the shower, he keeps reassuring his mind. In addition, before they went to bed, Dan made him swear to wake him up if he feels so much as an uncomfortable tingle on the tip of his nose, so he knows, for sure, that at least for now, Phil is okay.

That doesn’t stop the overwhelming wave of relief from washing through his body when he hears Phil’s voice say, “yes?” after Dan knocks on the door, probably a little too urgently for 8 am. Dan is only in his boxers, so it doesn’t take him long to get in the room and chuck them off to the side, getting into the shower and under the stream of warm water.

Phil welcomes him silently, by turning his back to his front and leaning into him, pressing his head back into Dan’s shoulder and letting out a sigh.

After 9 years, Dan likes to think that he’s pretty fluent in Phil language. He takes pride in it and gets a strong, possessive kind of satisfaction in knowing that no one can understand that language quite as well as him. He even brags about it from time to time, when he has a glass too many of a nice wine at the Lester house, encouraged by a teasing Martyn and laughed at fondly by the Lester parents, usually while being shushed by a pink looking Phil.

And this, as far as reading Phil goes, is as easy as it gets. It screams ‘hold me tight and don’t let me go until we can’t possibly stand under this stream of water anymore,’ and Dan has no intention to refuse.

He wraps his arms around Phil’s waist, fingers skimming over a soft stomach, head resting on a bony shoulder (gently, careful not to put too much weight on Phil, who suddenly feels more delicate than usual in his arms).

Phil smells like nothing in particular right now. A little of his fruity soap, a little of Dan’s shampoo, but no distinguish smell like he had the day before. No sanitizers and disinfectants and the nauseating, stale smell of a hospital room. He presses his nose to his wet shoulder and just breathes him in, feeling Phil’s long fingers coming up to rest above his, squeezing his hand.

“Why did you get up so early?” Dan asks, and he knows that his voice sounds a little accusing but he’s still tired and he’s still worried and saying “please don’t ever go anywhere when I’m not right there to follow you,” seems a little too much as a response to a morning shower.

“Couldn’t sleep anymore,” Phil says. His eyes are closed and his mouth is slack and he looks just fine, but Dan’s stomach still does a little unpleasant flip inside his body.

“Is it your head again?” Dan asks, and he tries to sound casual, because as much as he worries he knows how easily Phil’s hypochondriac mind gets wound up by his reactions, always has. He learned to control himself, over the years. Sometimes, when Phil needs it, he can be the calm one, the grounding one. Sometimes, when Phil needs it, he can to be whatever Phil wants him to be.

Phil shakes his head against Dan’s shoulder, and he turns his face a little to place a kiss on Dan’s jaw, letting his lips linger. Phil hasn’t shaved yet, so the kiss feels a little scratchy on Dan’s skin. It’s a simple gesture of affection, familiar sensation, but today it makes Dan hold him even tighter against himself. Makes his chest feel even tighter as well.

“It’s my dick,” Phil says, and he moves Dan’s hand down on his body, until he gets to Phil’s semi hard on. He didn’t even notice. “Had another Chris Hemsworth dream, but this one was weird even for me,” he turns around in Dan’s arms, wrapping his own around his shoulders, gliding them down Dan’s wet back and burying his head in the crook of Dan’s neck. He kisses him there softly, starting to push his hips slowly against Dan’s thigh. “Didn’t want to wake you so I thought I’ll take care of it myself.”

He’s still tired, and he’s still poorly, Dan can tell. He’s leaning most of his weight on Dan’s body and his lips against his neck are barely there, lacking energy and enthusiasm.

“You should have woke me up,” Dan reprimands, but he does it softly, kissing the side of Phil’s head right after so that Phil knows it’s okay, it’s fine, he just wants to be with him right now, he just doesn’t want to let him out of his sight.

“Well, you’re here now,” Phil says, and he speeds up his movements a little, pressing closer to Dan’s body.

Dan’s hands are griping Phil’s sides harder, keeping him steady, keeping him from leaning away. Keeping him safe from falling down ever again. “Yes,” he says, kissing Phil’s head again, “I am.”

****************************

It doesn’t take a lot for Phil to agree to lie down on the couch while Dan makes them breakfast. As Dan suspected, Phil is still not in the best shape, and after one shower and one orgasm he doesn’t have much energy to do much else other than finally get the rest he needs.

“What do you want to eat?” Dan asks. He’s leaning over Phil’s blanket covered body, pushing his hair back from his face. They both know he’s checking his temperature, but both are willing to pretend it’s just an affectionate gesture. Usually, Phil can get quite stubborn about that, especially when he says he’s fine, but today neither of them has the energy or the desire to bicker and get annoyed, so Phil lets Dan check, and Dan lets Phil nuzzle into his hand even after he’s done checking.

“Toast?” Phil says, and there’s a small, mischievous smirk at the corner of his mouth, but it makes Dan’s stomach feel funny again nonetheless.

“Don’t joke about that,” he says, moving his hand away.

Phil looks up at him. He looks a little surprised, as if he genuinely thought Dan would find it funny. It makes Dan feel guilty, somehow, because he knows Phil wants the feeling of normalcy right now and he wants to give it to him. But seeing Phil on the floor at 5 AM, feeling lost and not knowing what to do when instead of wanting to go to the hospital Phil started giving him specific food requests, well, that wasn’t a funny reminder to him. At least not yet.

“What, are you the only one allowed to joke about this?” Phil asks, but he doesn’t sound annoyed, he sounds curious and a little worried but mostly he still sounds really, really tired.

Dan leans down, kissing Phil’s forehead and then his lips. Phil’s lips are pliant under his, not kissing back much but just letting himself be kissed, but Dan isn’t surprised when he’s still trying to chase after him when he pulls away and straightens back up, letting out a small noise of protest. Phil really likes to be kissed like that, sometimes, when he needs to feel taken care of.

“I’ll make you pancakes,” Dan says, matter of fact. “American Pancakes,” he adds, watching the way Phil’s eyes sparkle at his words.

Phil sneaks his hand from under the blanket, taking hold of Dan’s and pulling it to his face, pressing his lips one, two, three times right to the center of his palm, fingers rubbing circles against his wrist.

“I love you,” he says. And even thought Dan wants to say something sarcastic about Phil loving him only for his willingness to make pancakes, it just doesn’t feel right at that moment.

“I love you too,” he says instead. “So much,” he adds. Because sometimes, he thinks, it needs to be said. And judging by the way Phil looks at him after, all soft and warm and happy, sometimes, it needs to be heard as well.

*****************************

Dan’s been trapped sitting on the sofa for the last hour, staring absentmindedly at the great British bake off reruns playing on their TV.

Phil is sleeping on his lap, his face pressed to Dan’s stomach, snoring softly, one hand clenching Dan’s thigh.

He lost all feeling in his left leg at this point, and he stupidly left his laptop in the bedroom, so really, he can’t complain when his phone suddenly starts vibrating in his pocket, making him carefully shift Phil to a pillow so he could get up to get the call (Phil makes a small protest sound, but a simple “shh,” from Dan and a pet on the head is enough to soothe him back to sleep.)

He’s not surprised when he sees who’s calling him.

“Hello?” Dan answers when he’s out if the room, still trying to keep his voice down. Phil is a heavy sleeper, but for some reason it feels more appropriate like this.

“Hello dear,” he hears Kath’s warm voice say, “How are you boys doing today?” she asks.

Dan called Phil’s parents the day before, despite Phil’s protests that they should wait until they actually know what’s wrong. “They are going to see twitter anyway,” Dan reasoned, to which Phil had nothing to say. It’s better to tweet about it, they’ve decided, before someone else beats them to it. ‘Dan and Phil were spotted at the hospital’ sounds much worse coming from someone else’s mouth than it is from theirs.

“We’re okay, better,” Dan says. “He’s sleeping now.”

Dan makes his way to the kitchen, too restless to stay still.

“Did the hospital call?” she asks. She sounds calm now, collected, but yesterday her voice was worried and tight even though Phil reassured her multiple times he was feeling a lot better.

“Not yet. They said it could take up to 3 days until they can do an MRI.” He puts the kettle on without even noticing, takes out two mugs from the cupboard automatically.

“He’s going to be okay,” she says, and he’s not sure who she’s trying to reassure, him or herself. “He’s a strong lad, takes after his mother,” she says, and Dan’s lips stretch into a smile.

“He sure does,” he says, pouring himself a cup of tea, green, no sugar.

“But even so, keep an eye on him, okay?” she says. “I know I don’t need to ask, but a mother never stops worrying about her babies, even when they have someone else to take care of them.”

Dan stops himself then, noticing that he’s about to make Phil’s usual afternoon coffee for him. Milk and two sugars. He wants to laugh. Taking care of Phil has become such a second nature to him, a habit, he’s doing it even when he really doesn’t intend to. And he hopes, selfishly, that he’ll get to keep doing it for a long long time. (He would have said forever, if he was like Phil. But he’s not, so he’ll settle for another 80 years or so, at least).

“Won’t let my eyes off of him for a second,” he says, and suddenly he really wants to end their conversation and make good on his words.

“I know you won’t,” she says, and she sounds warm and fond and Dan has a weird feeling like he should thank her. For trusting him. For letting him take care of her son. For taking care of him so well all those years before Dan was in the picture. For taking care of him for some of the years he already was but wasn’t able to do everything that he wish he could at the time.

He doesn’t say it though. He doesn’t want to get all weird and emotional for no good reason, and besides, he knows that she knows. He knows by the way she welcomes him into her family and by the way she hugs him when they see each other and by the way she calls his number instead of Phil’s from time to time to ask after their wellbeing. She knows how grateful he is. Sometimes, things need to be said. But other times, it’s also okay to leave them implied, he thinks.

They finish their conversation after that, saying their goodbyes, and Dan promises to update her the moment he knows anything.

He ends up not drinking his tea, making his way back to the lounge and finding it empty.

He doesn’t feel quite as panicked as he did in the morning, but the feeling of not knowing where Phil is is still an uncomfortable one, and he doesn’t fully relax until he steps into their bedroom, finding Phil curled under the covers, phone in hand.

Phil turns his head to him for a moment before flopping back down on his pillow, putting his phone aside and taking his glasses off. That’s Phil for ‘come cuddle me now, please,’ Dan knows quite well, and he wastes no time to oblige.

“Who were you talking to?” Phil asks while Dan settles on the bed next to him.

“Your mum,” Dan says, manhandling Phil to his side, back to Dan’s chest, wrapping himself around him.

“Is that a ‘your mum’ joke?” Phil asks, and Dan buries his face in the back of Phil’s neck, letting out a loud laugh.

“No, it was your actual mother, the woman who gave birth to you and had to raise you even though you were a demon child,” he says, and he feels Phil reach behind him to try and give Dan a slap on the thigh, but it feels more like an affectionate pat and it makes Phil’s body press closer to his front, so he’s really not complaining.

“Was she worried?” Phil asks. Phil hates making his mum worry, even more than he hates making Dan worry.

“She was,” he says, kissing the back of Phil’s head. Phil wiggles a bit, wrapping his own arms around Dan’s. “But it’s okay,” he adds, squeezing Phil a little harder. “She knows you’re in good hands.”

Notes:

thank you for reading! i didn't have time to write recently, but i had such a good time writing this! hope you liked it ^.^ please let me know what you thought!! <3

[curlsincriminology]

Six Days of Silence - Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After a week of silence and fighting, the team comes up with a plan to get you and Spencer back on good terms.

A/N: This fic is Maeve erasure!!! Sorry! This takes place (in my mind) around season 8/9. Also this is the longest piece I have written in a while so sorry it took a while to get up! holy moly

Criminal Minds Masterlist | Complete Writing Masterpost

He was a hard-core coffee aficionado; you preferred the taste of freshly steeped tea.

He liked it more when things stayed static; you would wake up at 3am with the urge to repaint the hallway.

 He was a string of numbers while you were the brush stroke of an ancient painting.

He was a tidal wave, a crash of facts and rapidly spoken words that jumbled together as a result of quick mind and a slightly slower tongue.

 You were a blizzard, a flurry of confusion and excitement that left an awe-filled silence as a result of the beauty you created.

 But you fit together perfectly.

He was your voice of reason; you were his sense of adventure.

 He was your anchor and yet you were his wings.

 You built off of each other’s strengths while guarding each other’s weaknesses.

 He was not your Romeo and you were not his Juliet. Your love was not a quick fuse- blinding and destructive; it was the crackle of the fireplace on a cold winter night. It was warm and embracing.

 Like fire, you were not the stuff of fairy-tales but of harsh realities. You would blaze brighter at some moments before returning to your comfortable glow. You would spit embers when pushed too far. Sometimes it took some help to keep the spark from distinguishing. But this time, you weren’t sure what it would take.

 ***

 You’d never been this long without talking. Spencer was never usually one to be quiet, his constant rambling a comforting background hum that filled the silence of even your darkest days.

 But it had been six.

 Six days of silence and the feeling that maybe you both had gone too far. It was affecting your work, and the team had noticed the absence of your subtle hand touches and intimate smiles. They knew something was going on between the two of you, but not what.

 The team was lucky; they weren’t present for the screaming match that happened the minute the two of you got behind the closed door of your apartment after the first day. They didn’t know that you had temporarily moved out of Spencer’s apartment, and were currently living in a shifty motel minutes away from headquarters.

 But they knew something was wrong.

 On day seven, you arrived in the office early in an attempt to bury yourself in casework, knowing Spencer was still at least an hour away from arriving. Your eyes were red and swollen from the angry tears you had shed on your drive over, and no amount of eye drops had allowed it to subside.

 On your way in Penelope, her eyes clouded with concern, stopped you as you exited the elevator. “Y/N, what’s going on, honey? Please talk to me.”

 You bowed your head in an attempt to ignore her, walking quickly through the glass doors towards your cubicle but the technical analyst was hot on your heels. “Just… not now, okay Penny?”

 The click of her heels followed you despite your protests and you sighed, exhausted by the prospect of sharing how you felt and talking when all you really wanted to do was cry. Your world felt like it was crumbling around you; it felt like you were losing your best friend of almost a decade and your boyfriend of almost four, and that wasn’t something you exactly wanted to gab about.

 She caught up to you nonetheless. “No, Y/N, please. Sweetie, you and Spencer aren’t okay and the team has noticed, especially when you two didn’t sit together on the flight home last night. I mean, I noticed and I’m not a profiler. I don’t want to push—.”

 “Then don’t.” You snapped, throwing your bag onto your desk and turning towards your co-worker. The hurt in her eyes made you feel awful and you let out a choked sigh, rubbing your face roughly. “Penelope, I’m so sorry. I just can’t talk about it right now… I just need to work.”

 You could see that despite everything, she was trying to understand. She gave you a sad smile and reached out to you tentatively, patting your arm with a gentle look. The two of you stood there for a moment before she gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”

 You gave her a tired and grateful nod and she bobbed her head in confirmation before quickly skittering off. You took your seat at your desk and bowed your head in your hands, taking a moment to breathe before opening the first file you saw.

  Spencer was suffering. Never the one to be lost for words, he couldn’t put his finger on why things had spiralled in the way he did. In the apartment the two of you shared… used to share, he fiddled absentmindedly with buttons of the cardigan you had thrown over the kitchen chair. It still smelled like you.

 He tossed it away with a frustrated groan.  He knew he was to blame in all of this. He was… on edge.

 Maybe he was looking for an excuse.

 The ring was in the inner pocket of his messenger bag, carefully placed amidst the case files and briefs, waiting for its moment to shine. It had resided there for six months… waiting for him to find the right time to present it to you along with everything it represented. But he couldn’t.

 Now he didn’t know if he ever would. The young doctor raked his hands through his hair anxiously.

 “Where do you see us in the next few years?”

 You had been cuddled together in bed, his slender fingers tracing lazy circles on your arms as you fiddled with his hair. The question had been innocent enough—but he had frozen at the question, and you had noticed. Of course you had noticed. “I, uh…” You had both expressed your desire for kids and marriage and a future together, and your most recent case had dealt with a jilted ex-fiancée. It was only natural this conversation would come up eventually.

 You had noticed his change in attitude over the last few months. He was quieter than usual, and when he spoke his thoughts trailed off frequently. He was spending more time away from the house, more time in his head when he wasn’t. And there were the phone calls.

 You tensed. “Spencer.”

 “I don’t… know.”

 You had sat up abruptly, jerking away from him and causing him to scramble into an upright position. “You ‘don’t know’.”

 It had all gone downhill so quickly from there.

 God, why had I said that, he thought. Of course he had known where the two of you would be in a few years—he had the ring for a reason. But with you looking at him so full of unadulterated love, he had felt guilty because he knew you deserved everything in the world, and he was so afraid he couldn’t give it to you.

 ***

 You were still off sulking and Spencer had yet to arrive. Penelope didn’t know how much time the team had before either of you entered the office and went in search of the missing members of the BAU, so she had to move quickly.

 “I’ve asked you all here because our sweet like Boy and Girl Genius are at odds and I will not stand to see my dream couple torn apart after everything that’s happened with TomKat, and Heidi and Seal. My bleeding heart cannot take it.”

 “Tom Kat?” Rossi’s quiet scepticism was met by Emily’s subtle eye roll as she leaned towards him to explain.

 “She’s talking about Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise.”

 “Oh.”

 Penelope’s noise of derision returned the room’s focus to her. “They are not important! What’s important is that Y/N and Spencer are clearly not in good places right now and we need to fix that!”

 Emily leaned back in her seat, considering the complexity of the situation. “Garcia, what are we supposed to do? How many times have we seen them fight in the last four years? Twice, maybe? And those fights lasted what, a total of two hours tops? It’s been six days. Clearly this isn’t something small.”

 Penelope’s face drooped as she nodded sadly. “I know, but we can’t just sit here while they drift apart.”

 “Frankly, I agree with Garcia.” There was a room-wide expression of surprise at Hotch’s interjection. His stern face was pinched, a hand rubbing at his temple as he continued on. “Apart from whatever implications it’s having on their relationship, it’s affecting the team’s dynamic. Y/L/N and Reid are both clearly not in the right head space to complete anything properly, and I’d rather not make their relationship a cause for professional reprimand.”

 The silence of the room was broken a moment later by JJ, her voice subdued as she fiddled with a piece of paper on the table. “He bought a ring, you know.”

 “He what?” Despite the general shock, Derek was the one whose voice rang the loudest.

 The blonde agent was clearly conflicted with how much of her confidential conversations she should be sharing with the group of experienced profilers. “Six months ago. He’s been waiting for the right moment to propose but you know how he is. He’s spent so much time with me and Will, constantly trying to perfect his proposal that he’s probably driven himself crazy.”

 Rossi clucked his tongue, his brain shifting quickly with the insight of new information. “We did just finish that case regarding the woman who killed the ex-partners of her fiancé.”

 “And the fighting started the day after, didn’t it?” Emily’s face was drawn tightly, an almost pained look of concern shaping her features. “Do you think he proposed and she turned him down?”

 “Now, I know Pretty Ricky’s a little slow on the social cues but there is no way in hell that boy would choose to propose after a train wreck of a case like that. Even I wouldn’t want to think about settling down after what we just saw.”

 “Whatever it was, it was bad, guys. Y/N is miserable all the time, and I don’t think Reid has said more than a few hundred words this entire week.” Penelope had taken to pacing back and forth in front of the head of the table, the tap of her heels echoing through the room. “But I have a plan…”

 ***

 The words in front of you might as well have been written in some lost language that no one had deigned to learn in the last several centuries. You slid the case file away from you, suddenly overwhelmed by the clutter that surrounded you.

 It had been several hours of this, this stressed false productivity that you were sure had resulted in numerous case reports you would have to re-do later. But at least you weren’t on a case and at least you had been left alone. Spencer had shown up an hour or so later after you had, quickly avoiding your gaze as he hurried past your desk to his own, and you had resigned yourself to another day full of silence and heartache.

 The remaining members of the BAU had also been suspiciously silent, and you had caught them staring at you or Spencer multiple times throughout the day before resigning to strained whispers. You tried to ignore it as best you could, not needing the stress of your team on top of your own.

 It wasn’t until the end of the day anyone spoke to you aside from the usual pleasantries and small talk. Derek had sauntered up to your desk to find you staring blankly at a crime scene report and he sighed at the sight. “Lil mama, you’re breaking my heart over here.”

 You glanced up at him warily as he took a seat on the edge of your desk, picking up one of the many case files you were feeling buried under. “Hm?”

 “You’re bringing down my mood, girl! I was totally set to have a day-off from the field and I can’t even enjoy it because you and Little Boy Blue over there are harshin’ my groove. So you’re going to follow me, and we’re going to get out of this sad little bubble you’re in and do something to bring a smile back to that pretty little face of yours. Alright?”

 You gave him a hesitant nod and he awarded you with a mega-watt grin when the hint of a smile graced your lips. “Alright!” He cheered jokingly as he gently raised your chin to admire your attempt. “She still smiles!”

 That did it, and you felt yourself smiling genuinely for what felt like the first time in forever. You reached for your bag and wallet, but Derek shook his head as he grabbed your hand. “Nope— Adventure’s on me, sweetness.” You shrugged and left your bag where it sat under your desk, following Derek as he pulled you along.

 Spencer watched your interaction from behind his cubicle walls, a growing pit in his stomach as he watched Derek finally draw the first smile from you he had seen since your fight. He was happy you had support, but that didn’t make it any easier to witness. JJ was the one who finally broke him out of his reverie, pulling his gaze from you as you and Derek walked away.

 “Hey.” The young agent turned to face his confidant with a desolate smile.

 “Hi, JJ.” Her gaze followed the direction of his as she watched Derek chatting to you animatedly while you waited for the elevator. She let out a sad sigh and looked pityingly at the man in the chair.

 “Oh, Spence…”

 His face crumpled at her words, and he dropped his head into his hands. “I really messed up, JJ.” She knelt down in front of him, placing her hands on his knees in an attempt to regain his focus. She tried to regain eye contact, but with his head bowed, dark curls and large hands obscured her view. JJ squeezed his knees reassuringly.

 “Let’s go for a walk and we can talk about it. Okay?”  

 Spencer nodded from behind his hands, allowing the agent in front of him to stand and pull him up from his seat before she wrapped a supportive arm around his waist.

 ***

 Derek had made you wander around outside, leading you down a small path behind the building towards a sprawl of restaurants and coffee shops. You had, for just a moment, thought you had seen Hotch and Emily standing inside one of the French restaurants you had passed, but it was probably just a non-descript dark haired couple. Somehow, before you knew it the sun was quickly setting, and you realized you had managed to spend a stress-free hour or two without thinking about Spencer once.

 On your way back to the office Derek stopped, you grabbing your arm gently to pull you into a surprising hug. It was a welcomed comfort. “I just want you to know, kid. We’re all rooting for you.” The sincerity of his statement was sweet, if not a little out of place, but you smiled gratefully in spite of your confusion.

 “Thanks, Derek.”

 He gave you a final squeeze before motioning you inside so that you could grab the things you had left behind. It wasn’t until you reached the elevators that you realized he was no longer behind you, somehow slipping away silently after his words of encouragement. You shrugged it off, knowing he probably needed to get home to Savannah, and that it would have made no sense for him to follow you upstairs just to return down to the car park.

 It was a lot later than you expected when you got off the elevator and began the walk towards the BAU’s office segment. Luckily, that meant you didn’t need to talk to anyone or stay for particularly long.

 Yet when you pushed through the glass doors of the BAU, you froze.

 The bullpen was…awe-inspiring. It didn’t look anything like the space you were used to, the cubicles covered in gauzy white sheets strung with fairy lights that gave an ethereal glow to the entire room without the harsh overhead lighting. In the centre of it all was a small table, intimately dressed with a fine tablecloth and a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. You couldn’t tell what was on the plates from where you stood but it smelled incredible.

 It wasn’t long before you realized you weren’t alone.

 Spencer cleared his throat, causing you to jump as he gave you an apologetic grimace. “Grabbing this?” He was holding your purse delicately as you looked at him quizzically, the question ‘why are you here?’ clearly evident on your face. He cleared his throat again before looking down at his beaten up shoes. “JJ asked me to grab a file she had forgotten.”

 You shook your head wearily, nodding towards the table and the folded piece of paper that rested on top.

 “I think we’ve been ‘Parent Trapped’.” You murmured under your breath, your arms wrapping tightly around your stomach in an attempt to soothe yourself. Spencer’s slender fingers reached out to pluck the note off the table as he set your purse aside, reading the short letter with a vaguely humoured expression.

 “Dear Spencer and Y/N,

 We don’t like it when Mommy and Daddy fight.

Please make up.

 Love, the Team.”

 He held the note out to you and you took it, quickly recognizing Garcia’s curvy scroll.

 You groaned. Suddenly your outing with Derek and his constant watch checking made a lot more sense. Spencer gave you a timid smile as he stepped forward and gestured towards the expensive champagne Rossi had undoubtedly supplied. “At least we don’t have to pay for it?”  

 You stood stoic, your arms tense as you made no attempt to move towards the table and Spencer sighed. “Y/N.”

 The chance of the doors out of the office being unlocked was slim, especially if the whole team was involved. They had learned the hard way that you were frustratingly stubborn, and they would have wanted to remove any and all ways for you to avoid facing the situation at hand.

 Spencer stepped towards you, a dejected frown on his face when you unknowingly took a step back. “Y/N, please.”

 You stared at him wordlessly before walking silently over to the table and taking a seat. He followed behind you sullenly, taking his seat and watching you fiddle with the napkin beside your plate. It was clear now, seeing the elegantly plated ratatouille and cheese plates that it had been Prentiss and Hotch you had seen earlier… everyone had had a part to play, it seemed.

 It was some time before you found the words that had been floating around your head for a week. “Do you not love me anymore?”

 Spencer spluttered, the fork he had been balancing in his hand making a loud clang as it fell to the table. “What?”

 “Do you not love me anymore?” You repeated, raising your eyes to his so he could see the hurt and doubt reflected in them. Immediately, his hands reached to grab yours—he held them tightly as if you would leave him that very moment if he let go.

 “Y/N. I can’t even—I don’t—I wouldn’t…”

 Now that the silence had been broken, it was hard to stop talking. “Because if you don’t see a future with me, Spencer, even if you do love me, I would want to know now.” It was harder to breathe as spoke and your words were coming out with more difficulty. “I – I love you, Spencer, but I can’t stay with someone who after four years doesn’t love me like I love them. I can’t stay with you if you’re scared of a future with me.”

 Spencer stared at you in disbelief, his heart aching as he watched you hold back tears. He took a deep breath, realizing that if there was ever a moment where he needed to take the leap, this was it.

 “Y/N, you asked me a week ago where I saw our relationship going. And… and I panicked. Not because I didn’t see us having a future but because there was no future I could see for myself without you in it.”

 You held your breath, somehow feeling numb and like every nerve ending in your body was on edge at the same time.  You stared down at your intertwined fingers, and marvelled at the way they had always fit together so perfectly. Spencer’s expression was soft when you lifted your gaze back to his.

 “Every day, we leave home, our home, and we face monsters. We see people at their lowest moments, when they’re dealing with unimaginable loss and pain.” He swallowed nervously as he gripped your hand tighter. “And from the moment I met you, I began to imagine what that would feel like. Because if I lost you, I don’t think I would ever be able to recover from that.  I’m so in love with you it scares me sometimes, because every time we leave home, I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you.”

 You let out a gentle sigh. “Spencer…” He shook his head to signal he wasn’t finished.

 “And I know I don’t need to be because you are more than able to take care of yourself. But I’m still scared every single day that I won’t get to wake up next to you for the rest of my life, or I won’t get to raise a family with you. That is what terrifies me, Y/N. Not being with you, but being without you.”

 The tears that had slowly been building behind your eyes had silently begun to overflow; you brushed absently at your face in an attempt to wipe them away while Spencer used the moment to reach inside of his book bag. The small navy blue box that had appeared in his hand did nothing to slow your tears. His voice came out slightly choked at his first attempt and he cleared his throat before trying again.  You had somehow missed him getting on his knees. “Y/N Y/L/N, you have made me a better person in every single way possible, and if you’ll have me, I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. Y/N, will you marry me?”

 You weren’t able to hear the giddy squeals and surprised gasps coming from Penelope’s office, but they would have only added to the surreal nature of the situation. You nodded your head vigorously, the words stuck in your throat. Finally, you manage to choke out a, “yes”.

 Spencer beamed up at you, slipping the band over your finger before pulling you into a tender kiss as your hands moved up his shoulders to weave into his hair. You stood like that for what felt like a small lifetime, intertwined and giddy at the realization of what you both had just committed to.

 “Thank God she said yes, you little Casanova, otherwise I would have accepted for her.” The two of you pulled apart in shock, the voice coming from the overhead system startling you from your idyllic moment. It took just a few moments before the cavalcade of BAU agents descended the stairs, swarming to you like moths to a light. Garcia led the procession, and as such, was the first to engulf you in an ecstatic embrace. “I’m so sorry for interrupting but I couldn’t help it.”

 Derek was grinning from ear to ear as he clapped Spencer’s shoulder in celebratory manner. “Man, I can’t believe Pretty Boy popped the question before me. Definitely didn’t expect that.” He proceeded to pull you into a bear hug, raising you off the ground in his excitement and eliciting giggles from you in return.

 “Congratulations, you two. May you learn from every single mistake I made in my three marriages and never repeat them.” Rossi chuckled.

 JJ pulled Spencer into a tight hug, “I’m so proud of you, Spence.” She whispered as he squeezed her tightly.

 Hotch and Emily offered their congratulations as well, before Hotch began to round up the group. “Alright, alright. Let’s leave them to it.” Final smiles and hugs were exchanged as Hotch turned to face the two of you. “We got the maintenance crew to hold off cleaning until tomorrow. Enjoy yourselves.”

 “But not too much.” Emily chipped in cheekily, winking at Spencer who quickly developed a healthy flush at the insinuation.

 “I have cameras everywhere.” Garcia said with a pointed grin, as Derek pushed her towards the doors. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Which still leaves you with a lot.”

 You watched them begin to leave and you stepped forward hesitantly, calling out to your team, your family, that had done everything they knew how to fan your spark when you didn’t know where to start.

 “Guys?”

 The members of the BAU turned back to face you as you smiled appreciatively. Spencer’s hand had found his way back into yours and you were more than happy to realize there was no reason you would ever have to let go again.

 “Thank you.”

___

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[celebrimbor-of-eregion]

The Wants of My Heart

(angsty silvergifting; Celebrimbor has some heartbreaking thoughts in his cell)

My heart, my truest love. Where are you again? Have you forgotten your way to me? I am always here, waiting for you, impatient and terrified at once. Oh how I wait for your sweet steps that used to bring me only joy. Your light feet would sound so quiet against the floors in my home, and I would turn my head towards the door and smile in anticipation, because I know, oh I know you would envelop me into your warm, heart-melting embrace and share with me what you’ve found, what you’ve learned, all in that smooth, velvety voice of yours. Sometimes I still expect that, little merry bells ringing in my chest as I see you, until I notice your stern stare, and it squeezes my chest so painfully with realization it becomes difficult to breathe.

It is hard not to forget for brief moments, even amidst so much pain. You still have those little habits of yours that I love so much. You bite your bottom lip when you are concerned. You tap the tips of your fingers together when you are frustrated. You play with your hair when you’re thinking, and it is a different color than it was then, a few months ago in what seems now another lifetime, but I assure you, I love your hair all the same, red or blonde, you are beautiful. I often want to tell you how beautiful you are, how much I love you. Maybe sometimes I do; I cannot quite distinguish between dream and reality in this place. I want to hold you whenever I wish, and I want to give you little gifts as I liked to do so long ago, to show my love and appreciation, but I look around and only see empty walls, and nothing to use to make gifts for you. Sometimes I recall what gifts you truly want: not my little things, not the nice flowers that grow along the banks of Glanduin, not my small cards where I tell you how much I love you, not the silks I carefully selected to suit your style and taste, not the silver or gold or mithril I worked with your name on my lips. You want my secrets, as if my heart was not enough for you, as if everything that I am had to belong to you and only you. And then I remember that I hate you, or that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of. I remember that you are not my sweet friend and lover but a menace to everything I know. I remember that our story, decades and decades of love and cooperation and domestic happiness is nothing but a lie. Even the name I’ve spoken so many times, the one I moaned, squirming in rapture, whispered, waking up to lazy happiness, laughed in wine-induced glee - the very name was a cheap trick, a forgery. And yet I love you, and I call you by the only name you gave me. Sometimes I forget where I am, what is happening to me. Forgive me if I am asking you if it’s breakfast time yet or wondering why no one is opening the curtains. I do not mean to return us both to days long past; it’s just that my silly mind insists on going back to the time when I was happy with you. The past is the only time that matters to me now; the present is too painful to even begin to comprehend, and the future is obscure. If, by some miracle, I receive my freedom, how can I live without you? Even the pain you are bringing me is something I can have from you, something you give me, like one of your gifts. I will take it, my dearest love, if that is the only thing you can offer to me. I will never stop loving you, not for a second. So where are you, darling? I hug myself, maybe because it’s so cold here, but I can also pretend, for a tiny little moment, that it’s you holding me, warmly and lovingly like before. You are saying, Don’t worry, Tyelpë, it is going to be alright, I love you, and I believe you. It is but one of my illusions, but are you yourself not an illusion, everything I know and love about you? Why cannot I then shape this illusion according to the wants of my heart? Hold on, my love; I will sneak into the kitchen to get some bread and butter, and apples, I think you like apples. I’ll put all that into a basket along with a red blanket, I know red is one of your favorite colors. The hillside is beautiful and covered with soft green grass, white flowers peeking out here and there, and we will have a nice time there, just the two of us. I will kiss your hands, and…

Oh, there you are. What would you like to share, my love? A hug? News? I look at you with hope in my eyes, but you have a whip in your hand; that’s what you bring. I would like the hillside and your soft hands in mine, but you have only pain for me today. I cry and hope; not for your mercy, as it is futile, but for a little break among the pain, so that I might dream about the hillside and the white flowers again. Is that too much to ask? Maybe it is, indeed, too much. For that, I apologize.

[samuelandthewilburbots]

One Year in Music: Week 20

Howdy Folks, this week’s song is called

Overwhelmed

. It is a fictional account of someone who is having serious trouble falling asleep. After weeks of what she perceives as sleeplessness, in the middle of one night out of sheer desperation and exhaustion, she makes a deal with the devil: her soul in exchange for some sleep. Next thing she knows, she wakes up well rested. Now she sleeps peacefully each night, but she can no longer distinguish between the dreamworld and when she is “awake”. She is caught forever in a subconscious like state. This song was inspired by a night of tossing and turning. Restless leg syndrome, too hot, can’t get comfortable, minutes turn to hours, all of a sudden your alarm clock goes off and you swear you never caught a wink. You must’ve slept a little. Right? I am fascinated by the times when we can’t determine whether we are dreaming or awake. Once again we come to perception vs. reality. Does it really matter if you slept 6 hours if you felt like you slept 0? Unless you are doing a sleep study, you won’t really know the difference.

When I started writing this song I started singing it from the first person perspective but when I was singing, “I sold my soul to the devil, so I could sleep at night” I felt a little uncomfortable that I might summon Lucifer by accident. Changing the perspective frees up more emotions. I think people’s natural assumption when they hear a song is that it is a firsthand account. Often times it is, that’s the point, to be vulnerable and share your truth. But sometimes, you get tired of sharing your truth, or your truth doesn't really feel that interesting at the moment. Ditching the first person point of view, opens up a judgment free world of possibilities. 

One thing I think everyone can relate to is a restless night. The first half an hour of tossing and turning isn’t so bad, but once you acknowledge you aren’t able to fall asleep it slowly manifest into a self-fulfilling prophecy. The harder you try to fall asleep, the harder it gets. I feel like all of your senes become more acute and you notice the most minor discomforts of temperature and sound. You being to obsess over how long it is taking you to fall asleep, and how tired your going to be in the morning. Soon you are overwhelmed and you could see how someone could make a deal with the devil. 

The last lines of the song I repeat, it’s you and no one else. Even if you are sharing a bed with a loved one, if it’s you who is unable to fall asleep it is such an isolating feeling. It feels like the whole world is sleeping peacefully and you are the only one still awake. It’s you, an no one else...

Process: I wrote this song over winter break this year. I was out of my studio and all I had was my small midi-keyboard. I started messing with a bunch of new synths and found some fun sounds. At this same time I was listening to a lot of Trent Reznor and early Nine Inch Nails. I had never really gotten into NIN before, and I was blown away that Pretty Hate Machine came out in 1989. For the Chorus I was really trying to blend industrial synths and guitar to make things rock extra hard. Did it work???

Lyrics: Well I confess to say It's kind of hard to miss if you never go away It's kind of hard to kiss if you never ever stay right by my side She sold her soul to the devil so she could sleep at a night Now she gets 8 hours or more but still she don't feel right Oh nevermore, she can't make it right oh never more

Why are you so overwhelmed Why it’s you and no one else Why are you overwhelmed It’s you and no one else Why could I confess I never get replies to my home address I never get denied when I repress my ancient light of nevermore  My ancient light Oh nevermore She sold her soul to the devil so she could sleep at a night Now she's lying in the middle both her after lives Oh never more, Both after lives, forever born Why are you so overwhelmed Why it’s you and no one else Why are you overwhelmed It’s you and no one else Oh I confess to say I haven't been this high since second grade I haven't seen a light shine down on me Long lost goodbyes forevermore  She sold her soul to the devil so she could sleep at a night Now her dreams are nothing more than just a tunnel light Forever more, she'll never reach that light, forever more Why are you so overwhelmed Why it’s you and no one else Why are you overwhelmed It’s you and no one else

Are you overwhelmed? It’s you and no one else It’s you and no one else It’s you and no one else