#Concrete Carpark

[ymcconcreting]

Concrete Driveway Contractors: Your Guide to Choosing the Right Professionals.

Concrete driveways have become a popular choice for homeowners and businesses due to their durability, versatility, and low maintenance requirements. When it comes to installing a concrete driveway, choosing the right contractors is crucial to ensure a high-quality finish that will stand the test of time. In this guide, we’ll explore the benefits of concrete driveways Contractors, what to look for in a contractor, and the installation process.

Why Choose a Concrete Driveway?

Concrete driveways offer several advantages over other materials, such as asphalt or gravel. They are durable, long-lasting, and can be customized to fit the aesthetic of your home. Here are some of the key benefits of choosing a concrete driveway:

Durability: Concrete driveways can last for decades with minimal maintenance. They are resistant to cracking, fading, and weather damage.

Low Maintenance: Unlike gravel or asphalt driveways, concrete requires minimal upkeep. Occasional sealing and cleaning are typically enough to keep it looking great.

Aesthetic Appeal: Concrete can be stamped, stained, or colored to create unique designs, making it a versatile option for enhancing curb appeal.

Eco-Friendly Option: Concrete is an eco-friendly choice as it doesn’t release harmful chemicals into the environment and can be recycled.

What to Look for in Concrete Driveway Contractors

Choosing the right contractor is essential for ensuring your concrete driveway is installed correctly and will last for many years. Here are some factors to consider when selecting a concrete driveway contractor:

1. Experience and Expertise

When looking for a contractor, it’s important to choose someone with extensive experience in concrete driveway installation. Contractors with years of expertise will be familiar with different types of concrete finishes and will know how to handle various site conditions. Be sure to ask for examples of previous work or check their portfolio to assess their experience.

2. Positive Reviews and Testimonials

Reputation matters when hiring a contractor. Look for reviews and testimonials from past clients to get a sense of the contractor’s professionalism and the quality of their work. A good contractor will have a track record of satisfied customers and successful projects.

3. Licensing and Insurance

Ensure that the contractor you hire is fully licensed and insured. A licensed contractor has the necessary skills and qualifications to perform the job safely and effectively. Insurance is equally important as it protects you from liability in case of accidents or damage during the installation process.

4. Fair Pricing

While cost should not be the sole deciding factor, it’s important to get a clear understanding of pricing. A reputable contractor will provide a detailed estimate that outlines all costs, including labor, materials, and any additional services. Be wary of contractors who offer extremely low prices, as they may cut corners or use subpar materials.

The Installation Process for Concrete Driveways

Understanding the installation process will help you communicate better with your contractor and ensure the project runs smoothly. Here’s an overview of the steps involved in installing a concrete driveway:

1. Site Preparation

The first step in the installation process is preparing the site. This involves clearing the area of any debris, grass, or plants. The contractor will also grade the site to ensure proper drainage and level the surface to avoid water pooling.

2. Building the Framework

Once the site is prepared, the contractor will construct a wooden framework to define the shape and size of the driveway. The framework will hold the concrete in place while it sets and hardens.

3. Pouring the Concrete

With the framework in place, the contractor will pour the concrete mixture into the designated area. They will then spread the concrete evenly using specialized tools to ensure a smooth and even surface. This step is crucial for achieving a professional finish.

4. Finishing and Curing

After the concrete is poured and leveled, the finishing process begins. This can involve smoothing the surface, adding textures, or stamping the concrete to create a decorative design. The concrete will then need time to cure, which typically takes 24-48 hours. During this period, it’s important to avoid walking or driving on the driveway.

Tips for Maintaining Your Concrete Driveway

Once your driveway is installed, proper maintenance will help extend its lifespan and keep it looking great. Here are some tips for maintaining your concrete driveway:

Seal the Surface: Applying a sealant to your concrete driveway can help protect it from moisture, chemicals, and stains. Sealing should be done every few years.

Clean Regularly: Remove dirt, leaves, and debris from your driveway to prevent stains and discoloration. Pressure washing can be used to clean the surface effectively.

Repair Cracks Promptly: If cracks do appear over time, it’s important to repair them as soon as possible to prevent further damage. Small cracks can be filled with a concrete patching compound.

Conclusion

Hiring the right concrete driveway contractors is key to ensuring a durable, aesthetically pleasing driveway that adds value to your property. By selecting a contractor with experience, good reviews, and proper licensing, you can trust that your driveway will be installed correctly and last for years to come. With proper maintenance and care, a concrete driveway is a long-lasting investment that enhances your home’s curb appeal while providing a functional surface for parking and everyday use.

Visit US - https://www.ymcconcreting.com.au/concrete-driveways/

Contact US - Phone - 0432335363 Mail ID - royunus90@gmail.com Timings - 9:00 AM - 7:00PM

[gumbuk9]

hey, remember this shit? yeah, that kinda sucked, huh?

i made it better

ff_carpark_a2 (alpha 2)

ignore the fact there's still dev texture assets i couldn't be bothered with this version 💔

(excuse my shoddy virtual photography skills)

the laptop i made this on has a desaturated screen & looking at this on my phone for the first time jumpscared me

also i was gonna composite the images in a grid but then realized i didn't want to do that because you couldn't see detail at a glance

also also the runoff tunnel caps of with matsys_regressiontest/background.vmt, this has been the case for as long as the tunnel has been present

also also also here's the unedited loadingscreen screenshot

[irl-dogboy]

fuck sydney

[iamamro]

Sky light #concrete #carpark #21stcenturybuilding #film #analogue #brutalist #beautyinthemundane #shadows #inpraiseofshadows #tanizakijunichiro #kawabata (at Liverpool City Centre) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmhDmvnsG17/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bertmango]

"Park Dine n' Rent" is the future architecture you knew you always never wanted

[ecoblast-pressurecleaning]

Pressure Cleaning in Albany Creek

Pressure Cleaning Service in Albany Creek is essential for maintaining the cleanliness and appeal of your property. At Ecoblast Pressure Cleaning, we specialize in delivering top-tier solutions to meet all your exterior cleaning needs. Our Albany Creek pressure washing services are designed to effectively remove dirt, grime, and buildup from surfaces, leaving them looking brand new. Our team…

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Playboy || PG10 {3}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: Pierre proves himself and makes promises. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

Wind whipped through the gaping hole in the back of the Ferrari and you shivered from the cold, curling your knees up to your chest as Pierre drove back to the city. You expected him to take you home but he pulled into a far nicer apartment block and spiralled down the ramp to the underground carpark. 

Slipping out of the car and into the well-lit carpark you saw the full extent of the damage and shook your head at the new paint job that was needed. “I’m sorry,” you murmured as you ran your fingers over the worst chips and dents. 

A pair of hands came to rest on your hips and Pierre rested his chin on your shoulder as he looked at his car. “Don’t worry about it, insurance will cover it.”

“I was apologising to the car,” you said with a smirk but the move only served to split the cut on your cheek and fresh blood welled to the surface as you winced. “Do you have a first aid kit I can borrow?”

Pierre laced his fingers with yours and nodded as he led the way to his apartment. The elevator ride was quiet and you felt the tension rising as you idly played with the thick ring on his thumb. Looking away from the jewellery, you realised it was a mistake as you met his eyes and knew the feeling wasn’t one way, but the elevator was not the place to start what you had in mind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Pierre all but groaned as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Like what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side and peeking up through your lashes.

“Like I’m a playboy who will fuck you on the first date.” There was a sinkhole in the ocean of his irises and it was stealing all the colour from them the longer that he looked at you. He reached out and hit the button for the 12th floor again as if it would magically make the ride go faster. “I’m trying to prove a point and you’re making it hard.”

“Is there a rooftop here?” you asked as you thought of a solution.

“Yeah, for maintenance I think. Why?”

“Take me there first,” you urged and he frowned as he hit the button for the level above his. The elevator opened to a short hallway and you saw the stairs that led to a metal door so you tugged his hand and made your way outside, sticking a brick in the door to keep it from locking you out. “Lay down.”

“You can be quite bossy,” he chuckled but humoured you as he did as he was told, joining you on the cold concrete roof top. “What are we doing?”

“Stargazing,” you said as you turned to him, propping your head up on your hand. “It seems like a reasonable second date.”

“A second date already, hmm,” he smirked as you sat up and leaned over him with a matching smile.

“I think that officially means you aren’t a playboy.” You dipped your head down and he met you halfway, his large hands grabbing your waist to pull you onto his lap as he sat up and kissed you. 

“Very clever,” he murmured against your lips, making you smile more. 

“I’ve been known to have a few good ideas on occasion.”

He chuckled as his hands roamed your body, brushing along the hem of your dress and edging it up. “Any others you can think of?”

“One or two,” you breathed as his fingers slipped beneath the material. “But not here.”

There was a new urgency as you rose on unsteady feet and Pierre’s arm curled around your waist as if the distance to walk at your side was too far for his liking. After three quick presses of the elevator button and no instant result, he growled and you looked at the stairwell before kicking off your heels.

His laugh echoed off the concrete walls and he was quick to make chase as you raced ahead of him down the next floor where his keys were already in his hands and rushing to unlock the door. It crashed open as he turned and pulled you with him, your bodies sealing close together while your lips collided with a deep hunger. 

He blindly kicked the door shut behind and his large hands splayed across your ass before gripping tightly and using his strength to pick you up. A moan escaped you as your legs wrapped around his hips and you felt just how bad he wanted you.

“Wait.” Your eyebrows lifted at the order he gave as he sat you on his kitchen countertop, his chest rising and falling with quick pants.

“Wait?” you echoed in disbelief, the needy sound making him smirk. 

“You’re still hurt,” he reminded softly as he reached under the sink for his first aid kit before nudging your knees apart so he could step into the space. “Let me take care of you first.” He was gentle as he cleaned your cheek, the gauze turning pink with your blood, and he apologised when he opened the antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a bit.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Curiosity filled his eyes as he dabbed the skin dry before putting a little butterfly stitch over the cut. “What happened?” he asked as he cradled your jaw in his hand to keep you from looking away.

“That’s something that would need to wait until at least the third date,” you said with a shake of your head. “I thought you were going to take care of me.”

A cocky smile played at his lips as you challenged him and his hands brushed your dress up over your hips as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, I’ll take care of you, Beautiful.”

The first aid kit was scattered across the kitchen floor where you had knocked it off the bench in the throes of your first orgasm. He had enjoyed taking his time with you laid out, writhing under the talent of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. 

The next victim was your dress, his impatience and strength breaking the zip in the frenzied need to remove all barriers between your bodies. Your hands had tugged his sweater over his head before pulling his shirt open, little white buttons popping off in all directions.

“Jesus,” you moaned as you ran your fingers down his body, feeling every hard ridge of muscle until you reached his jeans. “I knew you were going to be fit but fuck…”

He grinned proudly at the remark and took over removing him of the denim keeping you from reaching what you wanted. The thin pair of boxers did little to hide the length of him begging for freedom from the constricting material but before you could tug them down he was tugging you back into his arms and leading you to his bedroom.

“I’ll lose all my common sense if you touch me, beautiful, and then we will be in trouble,” he admitted as he laid you on his bed, kissing you before pulling back and rifling through his drawers for a condom.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to feel your legs again anytime soon. The man was obsessed with making sure you were in a constant state of bliss and you were almost relieved when he couldn’t hold back his own release any longer. He had collapsed beside you with a deeply satisfied sigh before disposing of the condom so he could recover with you in his arms, your head on his chest. 

His fingers danced lazily across your hip, tracing invisible letters and shapes on your skin until he noticed the changes in texture, the slight bumps on an otherwise smooth surface. Lifting his head, he pushed the sheet away and spied the scars in the dim light. “What happened?” He had seen the scars that littered your knuckles and palms, victims of the job you did - but these were different. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, pulling the sheet back around your body as you sat up. “I should get going.”

“Stay,” he urged, but you were already leaving the room to find your underwear on the messy kitchen floor. “It was just a question.”

It was a question that there was no easy answer to. It was a question that opened the door for more questions, and they would surely lead to memories that were better off left in the recesses of your mind.

“It was just sex, Pierre,” you said as you felt him following you, “that doesn’t mean I have to bare my soul to you.”

You pulled your dress on but it hung open at the back so you grabbed his shirt and shoved your arms inside before he pulled you back into his arms and his lips pressed to your neck.

“It wasn’t just sex to me.” The quiet admission had your eyes closing and your head tipping back onto his shoulder. “Please, stay.”

“I can’t give you the answers you are after.”

“You already have.” He turned you in his arms and you could see the sadness swimming in the ocean of his eyes. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Men make promises they can’t keep.”

“Not real men,” he said with a little laugh. “You’re probably thinking of those playboys.”

You rose on your toes and brushed your lips softly over his. “I don’t trust people very easily, but I’m trusting you. Please don't make me regret it.”

His smile made your heart skip a beat and when he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead you knew you weren’t going anywhere. You let his shirt fall back to the floor before brushing your dress straps off your shoulder, taking his hand and leading him right back where you started.

“So sex in your car is out of the question,” you giggled as you watched the playback of the dashcam. The man had a camera on the front, at the back and, more crucially, facing the driver so everyone could see exactly who it was that won the race. They would also see the heated kiss you shared after coming to a halt at the lookout. “A shame really, we look pretty good together.”

“I’m adventurous but not that adventurous,” Pierre admitted with an amused shake of his head. “You ready?”

Your finger hovered over the button to post the video, tagging D as well as the other Street Kings. “Long live the King,” you muttered as you hit it, uploading the file almost instantly. “No going back now.” Closing the laptop, you spun around in his gaming chair and looked up at Pierre. “Now what do we do?”

He glanced at his watch and saw it wasn’t even noon. “I know a place where we can kill a few hours.”

“The bedroom?”

He smirked and caged you in his chair, nudging your legs open with his knee. His oversized shirt you wore rode high up your thighs and his eyes lingered on the bare skin before he dragged them up your body to your face. “You don’t need to convince me, but I was thinking about something outside of the apartment.”

Less than an hour later you were pulling up at a racetrack on the outskirts of Nice, half a dozen cars already there.

“Hey Pretty Boy, how’s your girl running?” you greeted Charles as he stepped out of his Pista.

“Very well, thank you.” He looked between you and Pierre, his smile growing as when he saw the possessive arm curl around your waist. “Now you can finally stop calling me that.”

“Why would I do that? Pierre would have seen your mid-teen-crisis too. Plus, I have a better name for him now.”

“This should be good, let’s hear it,” Charles chuckled until you pressed your forefinger to your lips.

“Sorry, it’s not for innocent ears.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled with an idea of where it was heading and shook his head before leading the group inside. “Whose team are you going to race on?”

“What are we racing?” you asked as you walked past a line of Porsches but continued along to a few garages open.

“Not this time,” Pierre teased as he pointed to a smaller track you hadn’t noticed to the side. At the start line, Joris, Ilies and Arthur were already picking up their race suits and you cocked an eyebrow at the mode of racing chosen.

“Karts?”

“I thought you could race anything?” he challenged playfully. “It has an engine and four wheels.”

You cracked your knuckles and accepted the helmet and race suit he grabbed for you. “I suppose I could do with a warm up before the big race.”

“What race?” Charles asked with concern before looking at his friend. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble are you?”

Pierre couldn’t help sending a wink your way before he clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. I’ve got this.”

Click here for chapter four.

[orpheusilver]

im gonna be real the day i learned that brits call it pavement and yanks call it a sidewalk was a bonkers crazyinsane day for me like. its a footpath. a path for your feet. its that shrimple. is a greenway still a sidewalk? do you even have greenways or is it illegal to have free public plants? and you can pave anything is. like is a carpark pavement? is it just a synonym for concrete/tarmac/whatever the fuck? also why would you complicate carpark too its where you fucking park the cars. what the hell is a parking lot

[boysbellyrubs]

Can we get Alistair with the stomach flu 🙏🙏

thanks for the ask, another anon also asked for this so here you go :)

—-

Alistair was used to getting stomach aches; he often ate food that he knew would upset his stomach, ate too much, or just was chosen that day to suffer with a tummy ache. He was very brave about it, okay! However, bravery was lost for this stomach ache. Along with an achy belly, he was feeling lightheaded, sweaty, nauseous and couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. There was no doubt about the fact that he was definitely sick.

He was unsure where he would have picked up a stomach bug. It could have been from stress, as right now his drama class were preparing for their annual production and he was one of the lead roles. The line learning stage had passed, but they were still touching up some of the blocking on some scenes, which meant he was focusing very hard to quickly write everything down before the director moved on. As he was writing, he could physically feel his pencil slipping in his grip; his sweaty hands making writing nearly impossible.

The others around him were already finished writing in their notes when he looked up, and were staring at him. He felt his insides curdle.

“Sorry, butter fingers today.” He joked. Most of the cast giggled a little, but the director was giving him a stern look. Alistair needed to pull himself together, he only had another hour to go. He could do this.

The scene played out more, and Alistair was now giving one of his monologues. He tried his best to not look down at his script, and project to the audience. Nikau was down there, watching him while he waited for his part. Alistair’s couldn’t help but move his eyes over to him, smiling and looking proud of his boyfriend.

“Alistair! Focus please, we need to see more emotion. It sounds like you’re reading from the script.” The director yelled, cutting off his words. He looked over to her, the room spinning. He stumbled a bit,

“Yep.” He quickly said, trying to keep his stomach in place. Standing up for so long was terrible for his head, his feet weren’t his own and he swore the stage lights were making little figure eight movements. Alistair looked down, desperately trying to compose himself. He wasn't about to have a ‘Pitch Perfect’ moment.

Thankfully, he got through his monologue without any more issues and he was allowed a break. He rushed off stage, one hand sitting gingerly on his belly and the other carding through his sweaty hair. Alistair felt like he was dying, the air around him was too warm and suffocating, the smell of old costumes and props filled his nostrils and he nearly gagged. Without even thinking, he went out the backstage door and into the carpark, breathing heavily through his nose.

The fresh air did wonders for his head, but now the smell of petrol and rubbish replaced the mothball stench and he doubled over with a hearty heave. Nothing came up. His chest seized and a cough sputtered out of his mouth. Alistair had to stabilise himself on the wall next to him, forehead meeting the cold concrete. Stomach now worked up, he felt his lunch bubble and churn inside him, desperate to be out.

He moaned, “Fuckk,” rubbing his stomach did little, he was going to throw up in this grotty car park like a drunk, “Where’s Nikau when I need him.”

Alistair was swallowing thickly and rapidly, holding back burps and gags like his life depended on it. The cool wall was doing little for his scorching fever and he forced himself to crouch down as the nausea ramped up to a 10. He whined, saliva gathering in his mouth. It hit him in an instant; a burp and then a loud gag and suddenly his lunch was splattered in front of him. When the first lot came out, it prompted everything else to and soon enough he was spitting up more vomit.

It burned his throat and chest, and his gags were throaty and knocked him off his feet. His knees hit the ground harshly, and he quickly caught himself with his hands, splashing into the puddle of vomit. He lost control and coughed up another round, disgusted with himself and the mess he was making. He wondered if any passersby were staring at him. Alistair groaned at his stomach churning, still nauseous and angry despite most of his lunch being in front of his face.

At least he had crouched down first before he got sick, with the way his head was spinning he didn’t think he would have been able to stand up properly. He was also thankful it was cloudy today; having the sun shining down on his overheating body would have tipped him over the edge.

Alistair spat a little before sitting back on his feet. His hands were splattered with sick, and he shook them a little before letting them sit palm up on his thighs. He was a pitiful sight. He swore he was swaying on the spot, ground sloshing around like the bile in his tummy. He thought about going back inside, but then made eye contact with his vomit soaked knees and thought maybe it was better to just stay out here. Perhaps he would die out here, covered in vomit. God what a sight that would be.

His stomach gurgled. It was still very upset and hurt like a bitch. Alistair threw his head back, closing his eyes as the cramp tore through his body. A lone raindrop landed on his forehead. Well, at least the rain could clean up his mess easily. More rain fell and soon Alistair was just sitting out in the rain, sick and tired. His classmates were probably wondering what he was doing. He didn’t really care. He just needed his bed, and maybe his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. Nikau was definitely wondering where he had gone. Alistair’s phone was in his back pocket, and with now semi clean hands he pulled it out. He flicked a text to Nikau and waited. The door flew open, hurting Alistair’s head. But then, he saw Nikau crouching down next to him, touching him all over and wiping away some of the hair stuck to his face.

“Oh my gosh, Star, have you been out here this whole time?” He looked at the remnants of vomit on the concrete, “Oh, jeez. I had a feeling. You didn’t look so good on stage.”

Alistair looked at him, giving a small smile, “Yeah. Feel awful,” His stomach chose that moment to gurgle and cramp again, and he winced. The rain was now starting to make him shiver, and he was pissed that his jeans were now wet, “Can you take me home?” Nikau nodded and muttered ‘yes’ before gently lifting Alistair up.

“You’ve got a bad fever, sweetheart. You’re like a heater.”

“Yeah.” He leaned into Nikau, using Nikau’s steps to make his own. He kept his eyes closed, needing the darkness to not throw up again. He heard the whispers of his classmates and tried his best to focus on Nikau’s hands.

He opened his eyes and recognised the carpet of the audience seating, and waited for Nikau to gather up all their stuff. The director came over to the two.

“Alistair? Where have you been?” She looked him up and down, noticing his saturated clothes.

Alistair shuffled his feet sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well Miss. I need to head home.” He said those words and she took a couple steps back, but spoke with a gentle tone.

“That’s okay. Email me if we need to call in your understudy.” Alistair saw a small smile on her face and then she was gone, shouting again at the rest of the cast. Nikau rubbed his arm with his knuckles,

“Ready to go?” Alistair nodded, turning to his boyfriend. Nikau guided him out of the door and to the car. It was bliss to sit down, and he leaned back in the seat. However, he wasn’t excited for the drive home.

“Try and drive careful?” He asked, already holding his belly. Nikau hummed in confirmation and set off.

As they were driving, Alistair could feel every little movement the car made and it translated to tidal waves in his brain. He was so dizzy. It was a mission to keep his head still, while also feeling like his stomach was going to explode out of him once again. Alistair’s hands were shaky and warm, fingers digging into his cramping stomach.

Because he had terrible luck, the underlying nausea turned into full blown nausea and he jolted in his seat. Suddenly, it felt like he was being thrown into lava and was seconds away from puking. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, hand tightly over his mouth. He heard Nikau curse, and then a bag was in his lap. Without questioning where he got it from, Alistair promptly puked into it. His back curled, his fingers held onto the bag like a lifeline.

The cars movement did nothing for him. No matter how hard he tried it felt like he was spinning, “Oh, Nikau, I’m-” he gagged, “everything is spinning.” He whined, unable to say anymore as he gagged again. Nikau had rolled the windows down, cool air washing over him. Alistair sat back as far as he could, holding the bag up to his mouth just in case. He needed stability.

“That’s it, Star. Just breathe. Relax, you’re sitting perfectly still.” Nikau’s words calmed him a little. He moaned as he felt the urge to gag again, and spat up a little more bile. He dropped one hand to his stomach, if he didn’t hold it he felt like it would slip out from inside him. The nausea slowly passed, and he was able to tighten off the top of the bag and hold it down by his feet.

“You good?” He was at a red light.

“Yeah, I think so.” Alistair murmured. His throat was scratchy and sore, his body was aching. He kept his eyes closed, and when that didn’t work he chose to look out the window. He kept his eyes locked on one spot in the horizon, and watched as the roads slowly got smaller and soon he was looking at their front door of their flat. Nikau’s hand was heavy on his knee.

“Come on, sickie. I know you’re feeling terrible.” Alistair whined at him. It was heavenly to finally get inside and lie down, with clean, comfy clothes and Alistair curled up on his side. The day’s events finally caught up to him and he felt his muscles slowly lose their tension. Nikau knelt down next to his face.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I wanna get some medicine in you. That fever is concerning,” He touched Alistair’s forehead, warm and sweaty. He tsked through his teeth, “You should’ve told me sooner you weren’t feeling good.”

Alistair murmured. Nikau was right, “Sorry. I thought I could get through rehearsal.” His head spun, a quick bout of vertigo forcing him to close his eyes.

“It’s okay. Are you dizzy?” Alistair nodded his head minutely, whining a little. He felt Nikau’s warm hands travel down his body and then he felt a kiss planted on his forehead.

Alistair felt Nikau’s presence disappear, and so he rolled onto his back gingerly, keeping his head still and placing a hand on his stomach. It was still hurting him, and was bloated and gross. The gurgles were sickly and he was probably going to be puking all night. Oh, he was so excited. Nikau returned, carrying the proper materials for a sick night. He gently forced Alistair to take some medicine, and then to make up for it, he lied down next to Alistair with the promise of rubbing his belly.

“I’m sorry you’re so sick, sweetheart.” Nikau whispered into Alistair’s hair.

“Mm, it sucks. But, you make me feel good.”

“Okay, I’m glad. Just rest, Star.”

[misseviehyde]

BITCH AND RUN

Erin shivered in fear as she watched the door of the pink Humvee slide open and with a clop of designer high heeled boots, her best-friend Chloe dropped to the floor of the carpark.

Chloe had changed. She was taller and thinner now, her body crushed into a tight white corset and her once short hair now long and blonde around her smooth perfect shoulders.

Chloe's once innocent face was now prettier - but with a mean bitchy expression as she eyed Erin dismissively. Long acrylic nails shot from her fingertips and she was surrounded by a cloud of Chanel perfume.

Chloe's once flat chest now bulged with Alpha girl tits - growing larger by the day as she continued her evil transformation into the biggest bully at school.

"Oh hey loser," she purred in a sexy voice, "I came for old times sake - but after this you and me are fucking done. I don't need you anymore."

That much was true.

Since Chloe's bitchy step-mom had bought the pink Humvee and insisted Chloe drive it to school - everything had changed.

As soon as her hands had closed around the wheel of the car for the first time, Chloe had become more confident. She was soon hooked on riding in the pink vehicle and her wicked transformation had begun.

In a tank like this, Chloe found she could bully other cars off the road. She began to enjoy the power and attention driving the vehicle gave her. She'd moan as she pushed down the accelerator and felt the vibrations of the car throb through her body.

Hair lengthened, tits grew, bones stretched and the more she drove her new humvee the bitchier she got.

Within days Chloe had ditched her loser friends and was now one of the popular girls. She'd give them lifts in her pink car - giggling as she became more and more like them with every moment.

Soon Chloe had become their leader. The trips in the car almost seem to have brainwashed them into thinking Chloe had always been the Alpha girl.

"Chloe - please. I know it must feel good to be so pretty and popular, but this isn't the real you. You have to break free of the humvees control. It's turned you into a fucking bitch."

Chloe laughed, wiping a fake tear from her perfect cold blue eyes. "Ohhh boo hooo hoooo. I have to break free from being brainwashed... by my car? You really are a fucking loser freak. Even if what you were saying was true... you think I'd give up this power?"

Erin shook her head. "No I guess not. Which is why I have a backup plan."

With a sudden movement, Erin shoved Chloe hard and the other girl gasped as she flew into a concrete pillar hard. Her car keys flew from her fingers and she slid down the pillar winded and disorientated.

Snatching the keys, Erin leapt into the Humvee and quickly engaged the locks.

Standing up in a cold rage, Chloe's lips twisted into a sneer of contempt. "You fucking dweeb - you can't even drive."

Erin's heart raced. It was true, she'd not got her license yet. She had a wild plan of starting the humvee, crashing and destroying it in the carpark. Perhaps that would free her friend.

The interior of the vehicle smelt of expensive perfume and hot girl. Erin put her hands on the wheel. They felt... good... there.

She groaned as her short fingernails lengthened into a hot pink manicure. At the same time her head filled with knowledge and like she had done it a thousand times before, she switched on the ignition.

"No! NO!" screamed Chloe who was looking at her hands in horror. Her sexy nails were gone. "Stop that... you don't know how to drive. That's MY vehicle."

Chlor banged the doors - but they were sealed and the thick armour plating and reinforced glass could not be breached.

Inside the car Erin put the Humvee into drive and she groaned as the vehicle throbbed and growled like a hungry predator.

She felt so fucking powerful sat up here and she looked down at Chloe with contempt as she pushed her foot down onto the accelerator and felt the pink humvee leap forward.

Grabbing the wheel Erin whooped in delight, her eyes shining, as she spun the humvee round the carpark with a screech of tires. Vibrations pulsed up through the seat making her pussy throb and she groaned as she threw back her head and felt her bones crack.

Falling to the floor Chloe groaned and sobbed as her blonde hair began to shorten and her big tits started to shrink. Her body grew shorter... plumper as the power of the humvee flowed into Erin and left her weak and bereft of power.

Meanwhile in the car Erin moaned as her hair turned blonde and her pretty pink lips curved into a wicked smile as she felt tight pink leather flow around her body and make her into a spoiled fucking bitch.

She jammed her six inch pink heels harder onto the accelerator and with a final twist of the wheel pulled up in front of the sobbing, weeping Chloe.

Mmmmh it felt so good to be a bitch. Her shaven pussy was dripping wet and she was already excited about the thought of driving to her boyfriends to get railed. Or maybe she'd fuck his best-friend some more?

Erin was now a popular, spoiled bitch. Everything Chloe had done had now transfered to her. She was the popular bitch now and the car was hers. There was even a license with her name on it inside her pink handbag.

Dropping out of HER car and locking the door - Erin giggled as she loomed over the little loser nerd in front of her.

"Oh like... mmmmh guess this is like MY Humvee now and I'm the Alpha girl. Oh and if you ever try to come near me and my car again, I'll fucking reverse it over you? Got it loser?"

Leaving her threat hanging in the air Erin relaxed back into the driving seat and drove out of the garage to start her new spoiled life...

THE END

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Burn Bright White - Chapter Two.

Previous Chapters - One

Tag list - In the comments. DM to be added/removed

Words - 2,464

Warnings - 18+ content, minors DNI! Also, while I have tried to remain as true to how Niklas is in reality as I can, I have to have a little creative freedom of my own with him in this. If you don’t like it, simply scroll on by. Bitching isn’t tolerated here. At all. Remember, it’s fiction, not a documentary ;) It’s also worth mentioning that while Taissa has qualities of being quite charming at times, she is not, by any means, a good person.

A quick Google search between her drops had alluded to just enough information on the man she’d dealt an eighth to earlier that evening in order to be armed appropriately. He had a nylon fetish, and liked it when women wore high heels. Two things she just so happened to be very fond of herself, too. Whether wearing them or seducing another woman in them. Often both.  

Make yourself prey, but always, without deviation, remain the hunter.  

Pulling her sleek, black BMW into the overnight carpark, she grabbed her bag and shoes (six-inch heels were not practical for driving) slipping her feet into them and buckling the straps, exiting her car. She paused, checking her reflection. Perfection, as always. Then again, prolific, well-connected drug dealers were never anything other than immaculate. They could afford to be. 

She’d chosen a tight, black dress short enough to show the lace tops of her nylons, the type that adhered to her long, toned legs without the need for a garter belt, her PVC pin heels echoing upon the concrete as she walked to the elevator. Once inside, she quickly re-glossed her lips, giving her long, loose curls a quick ruffle.  

“Lady, you look like walking sex,” she purred to her reflection, snapping her Chanel compact shut. “He doesn’t stand a chance.” 

And god, how he wouldn’t.  

The Roadhouse was a little low brow for her tastes, but at least the music would be decent, she reasoned. The doormen knew her well, too, let her deal in there for a very generous cut of the profits. In her world, everyone could be bought. Plus, wherever she went, there’d be a likely throng of people waiting to party with her.  

Hell, Taissa was the party. Young, rich and beautiful. Everyone wanted to gravitate in her orbit.  

“Hey sexy! Can I take you home?” a man hollered at her as soon as she was out on the street, her lip curling immediately. 

Spinning on a heel, she looked him up and down, smirking. “Stay in your lane, little boy. I’m too much woman for you.” 

His friends howled like wolves at her audacity, the man throwing a barrage of abuse she didn’t have the inkling or the time to give any kind of witty retort to, continuing her walk.  

“Evening, princess,” Oliver, one of said doormen welcomed her with, making a point to check her bag, of course ignoring the two ounces of cocaine in small wraps concealed within the middle pocket, and her ever present knuckle dusters. “Looking gorgeous, as ever. Have a good night.” 

Smiling, she pressed two fifties into his hand with a wink. “You too, Oli.” He held the door open for her, Taissa sauntering in with her usual feline glide, the music absolutely deafening. Ahhh, old school night. The pounding of Feed the Gods by nineties metal band White Zombie erupted in her ears as she strode for the bar, a few familiar faces turning to welcome her.  

She didn’t really have friends, more hangers on, but she liked the group who all greeted her enthusiastically.  

“Tai! Get over here!” Pieter, a very good-looking man who she knew well roared, kissing her cheek, Taissa beaming, reaching for his girlfriend and planting a kiss on her lips.  

“I’m stealing your girl. Look after my bag,” she began, clicking her fingers at the barman and pointing to the smooth, black wooden surface dividing them. “Jim Beam, two bottles.” 

Whatever the lady wanted, the lady got, two bottles of the aforementioned bourbon produced, the barman knowing of course she was good for it. As well as a very generous tip. Off she and Pieter’s girlfriend – a good-looking girl whose name she nearly always forgot – went, dancefloor bound. If she didn’t have almost every pair of male eyes upon her from the moment she’d strode in, she definitely did once she began to gyrate against the pretty redhead. A certain pair in particular. 

“Man, you need to turn around. Free show on the dancefloor. Fuck!” 

Sinking another shot of San Jose, Niklas turned to see what Bjorn and his elbow digging were alluding to, feeling his heart quicken in an instant. There she was, the blonde.  

“Hey, so are you gonna buy me a drink, or what?” 

Those words, cooed in his ear by a girl who’d attached herself to him as soon as he’d arrived at the bar barely registered in significance, not now he’d spotted the object of his extremely aroused desire a mere twenty feet away from him.  

“No.” 

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re an asshole.” 

“I am, now fuck off. You bore me.” He didn’t even look back at her to watch her storm away in a cloud of her own chagrin, his eyes locked onto the blonde, entranced, reaching for another of the many shots lined up and sinking it without tearing his gaze away. “You’re too attractive for your own good.” he muttered, feeling Bjorn nudging him again. 

“She’s fucking hot, huh?” 

His mouth twitched into a half-smile. “She’s definitely something.” 

“That's a very reserved statement for you, my friend,” he observed, taking a shot and knocking it back. 

“Trust me, what’s on my mind is not.” His words roused a booming laugh from his friend, Bjorn slapping him on the back, pulling him near to kiss his head.  

“Go get her, man! Because you don’t take a ride on that tonight, I sure as fuck will!” 

Niklas continued to watch, leaning closer to him. “She can come to me.”  

His stance flew in the face of what Taissa had told him, that he’d have to work for it, but he didn’t care. He had his ways. Besides, he knew what she was doing. He could see her making sure he was watching her dance wildly out of the corner of her eye, so simply turned his back and continued talking with his friend. 

He never said he wasn’t hard work, too. Her game was something he knew very, very well how to play. However, Taissa knew how to play it better, going about her night without giving him a second look, ensuring that as soon as he realised she was no longer actively seeking his attention, that was the exact thing she received.  

Being ignored did not sit well with him.  

“Tai, here,” the barman spoke, sliding over a tall shot glass across the bar a while later, jerking his head in the opposite direction. “From Kvarforth. On one condition; you have to drink it without using your hands.”  

Her eyebrows fluttered, her group making an array of interested noises at such a proposition, Taissa looking over at the man who’d bought it for her. She knew he’d find some way to get her attention, eventually. Holding her hair back, she leaned to the bar, wrapping her lips around the glass and straightening, the golden liquid tingling her throat as she swallowed it neatly.  

Niklas clapped casually, his mouth curling upward. He’d enjoyed watching that more than he thought he would, observing as she poured a shot of bourbon into the glass, picked up her bag and made her way over to him. Two could play his game, but she’d play it better.  

Arriving in front of him, she lifted the glass, sticking it between her tits, looking back up at him with a little smirk. “Now you drink it without using your hands.”  

Standing a little taller, his eyebrow rose a tad, a grin of mirth spreading across his face before he bent to her level, retrieved the glass with his mouth and swallowed back the contents. God, she had skin like a peach, sweet scented and smooth. He ignored the approving howling of Bjorn at the display of flirting, becoming lost in the pale blue of her eyes, his heartbeat jacking up with every thud. 

She held him there in a trance, reaching for him, her long nails curling at the sides of his neck as she leaned into to him, pressed her body against his, and promptly licked his cheek. 

“Mmm, you taste as good as you smell.”  

He leaned to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “I’m sure I could say the same about you, too.” 

“Would you like that?” she teased, leaning back, reining in his stare once more, watching him nod, about to speak. Any words he had were stolen from his throat as he observed her hand sliding down her body and under her dress, the noise of Bjorn going wild at his side, the thundering roar of music all fading as he watched in semi-disbelief as she pushed her hand into her underwear momentarily, and then her fingers into his mouth.  

If Taissa knew one thing well, if was how to make a man’s brain short circuit completely.  

Letting him suck on her fingers, a look of bliss spread across his face at the taste of her dancing over his tongue. Oh, she’d hooked him. Grasping his jaw, she yanked him to her level, pushing her tits against his chest, her teeth nipping his earlobe. “Now you know what you have to work for, so work for it.”  

Every girl in that club could have learned from her in the lesson ‘how to get Niklas Kvarforth’s attention in one easy move’, the man himself so aroused, he almost bit her fingers off.  

Yanking them from his mouth, she scowled, her hand striking his cheek in a hard slap that took him by surprise, but delighted him in equal measures. He enjoyed when women stood up to him, showed a little fire, weren’t as boring and predictable as the rest.  

“Work for it, big guy. Then you get to bite me.” Puckering her lips at him, she ran her fingernail along the curve of his jaw, turning and walking in that alluring glide towards the door. Pulling her cigarettes from her bag, she placed one between her lips, counting in her head. Five, four, three, two... 

A tattooed hand came into her line of vision, flicking his lighter for her. Sparks preceded the flame, lighting her cigarette before doing the same with his own, staring down at her. The taste of her still lingered on his tongue, acting like a drug, luring strongly, pulling him in.  

“Let's cut out all of this bullshit, huh? I want you, you want me, blah, blah blah. Let me take you home and trust me, that hard work you want? I’ll put it into making you come so many times, you can’t shut your legs.” 

“A bold statement,” she asserted, drawing on her cigarette languidly. 

His face didn’t flicker at all. "One I can back up. Trust me.” He leaned to her, his gaze predatory, hungry, almost wolf-like. “I would fucking ruin you, honey." 

She chuckled, teasing him by making a show of licking her highly glossed lips, letting him imagine it, how they’d feel all over him, especially sliding over the place her free hand reached to stroke. “Not before I ruin you, Niklas. Because I will, don’t say you weren’t warned.”  

“Doubtful, but I’ll look forward to you trying to prove that.” The tickle of her nails over his crotch had him rapidly hardening, Taissa impressed at what she could feel gaining thickness and heat against her touch.  

“You probably will, but not tonight.” 

“Then when?” he asked, his hand gliding down her bare arm. It sent an instant shiver through her. She wouldn’t be easily swayed, though. No matter how electrifying his touch. If that was how it felt when he stroked her arm... 

Her hand grasped, squeezing his cock, placing a kiss full of syrupy heat at the side of his tattooed throat, a faint, soft little moan of approval at his hardness fluttering against his neck. How he could have mauled the skin from her bones in that very moment.  

“When you work for it.” 

He chuckled deep in his throat, a low, predatory rumble, eyes glinting. “Little girl, unless you like being burned, don’t play with fire.” 

Of course, she had an answer for him, her face nearing his once more, just enough to make him yearn for it, crave the kiss she wouldn’t grant. “Niklas, please. I am the fire.” 

Turning, she left him there feeling like his blood was scorching a rapid trajectory through his veins, heartbeat thundering in his ears as she whistled sharply, holding her hand out to hail a passing taxi. She jumped in without looking back once, gone into the night, leaving her target there exactly how she desired him to be. Frustrated.  

That frustration spurred him into action. Back into the club he went, finding the next most attractive woman in there.  

“Wanna fuck me?” 

“Yes.”  

Easy, willing, boring. But it was what he needed after the thorough stirring he’d received, taking the girl home and fucking her so hard, he was surprised he didn’t break the bed. Or her. All the time, too, it wasn’t the pretty, raven-haired woman he was with that he imagined. In his mind, all he saw was himself fucking the blonde. And he would. Eventually. Maybe sooner than he thought.  

[the-fandom-abyss]

Here’s a sentence prompt for you:

The skies opened, droplets splashing against the pavement, creating a gloomy atmosphere.

The skies opened, droplets splashing against the pavement, creating a gloomy atmosphere. The weight of what you had just seen digs you deeper into the concrete below your knees. If only she had listened, if she had taken a moment to think about her actions, about what could happen.

A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, commanding your attention. The static filled the air, causing the hairs on your arms to stand. Something was drawing you to look up, seek the skyline further. It urged you with a gust of wind, forcing your eyes to look forward.

Another bolt of lightning, struck close to the empty parking lot. Supplying enough light to illuminate Camille’s abandoned car and the small puddles that began to form. And that was when you saw it, a figure that you so desperately wanted to forget.

A scream rippled from your throat, pure fear shooting through every nerve ending. There stood Camille, torn to shreds in her blood soaked clothes. Just as quick as the lightning had offered light, it was taken away. The carpark was left in darkness, like it once was when you arrived.

Yet that didn’t stop Camille from entering the full light of the corporate sign to reside right in front of you. In pure horror, no sound could escape you, eyes frozen to the figure in front of you. She crouched down, her glazed eyes staring into yours. A sad smile curved her lips, while her cold hand reached for your cheek. It was the only comfort she could provide, the last comfort she’ll ever be able to give and you both took solace in that.

1k Follower Celebration

[crystaljins]

Stars Above | 10

Characters: Taehyung x Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Synopsis: Your nagging roommate is desperate for a third person to help meet the rent and your university just so happens to be running a fully-funded government grant for anyone who signs up to participate in the Intergalactic Exchange program.

Having an alien for a roommate is just asking for all kinds of trouble, though.

Alien!Taehyung x reader

Rating: Teens

Notes: We’re at the second last chapter!! Where did the time go? I sneezed and 2022 had passed me by!!!

Anyway it’s not a proper goodbye yet but I’m starting to get really emotional to think that not only are we at the end of this series, but of this blog. I’m going to miss you guys!! 

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

The warp terminal is a sleek, modern building. It could be mistaken for any generic sort of office building, nestled in the very heart of the city. It has steep rates for the underground carpark, to the point that it’s almost risking the fine to park on the street right next to the entrance, and there’s a steady stream of people flowing in and out of the building throughout the day. 

Sighing idly, you kick your legs as you rest against the low concrete wall that skirts around the base of the building. You hadn’t realised there was quite so much bureacracy in merely stepping into a terminal that instantly transported you to a planet galaxies away, but you suppose it is in the best interest of both planets to closely monitor the traffic across the warp. Taehyung had promised the warp would be quick- he’d nip across, ferry his sister back, and be in the car before the parking fee could click over to two hours, but it’s now pushing three hours. 

You glance at your watch- you’ve already bought lunch from a nearby cafe, and then a fancy iced beverage. There’s a little clothing boutique that you browsed through as well. Your phone’s battery is sitting at the 44% mark but you know that there’s only so many sudokus you can do before you start dreaming about numbers in your sleep, and you’ve always stubbornly ignored Nayeon’s advice to have more mobile games than just the sudoku one downloaded. 

You’re briefly contemplating just going home and texting Taehyung to catch the bus with his sister when you feel an abrupt chill on the back of your neck. 

To your credit, you only leap about a metre in the air, whipping around to address the stinging cold to find a grinning Taehyung brandishing a chilled drink at you. 

“Was your waiting time very extended?” He questions. 

You send him a flat look- it’s not really fair to take it out on him, given it’s not like a simple text would traverse the numerous light years that separate Earth, and his home planet. But still, you feel it lacks tact to comment on the absurdly long waiting time. 

“What took so long?” You question, biting back the complaints to stretch out a kink in your neck. The backs of your thighs are chilled from contact with the concrete and they’ve left little imprints on your skin. You accept the drink- it’s sweet and tangy and leaves a pleasant fizz on your tongue but it’s not a drink you’ve ever sampled before.

Taehyung flashes you that guilty smile, the one that has been getting him out of any and all trouble ever since that damned birthday trip with Nayeon, and internally you scold yourself for being so whipped. 

“My sister had not packaged her belongings.” He admits. He steps aside then, gesturing to a young woman, probably only a few years younger than Taehyung, hovering a few metres away. 

She doesn’t resemble Taehyung that much, in all honesty. They both bear that striking beauty that is shared across their entire species, but where Taehyung’s feature are sharp and handsome, hers are soft and delicate. Her eyes are rounded and her cheeks are soft and smooth. The only thing she shares in common with Taehyung is that unique look to her eyes, like galaxies are hidden in their depths, the blue sheen and the 5 pointed pupil, like little stars nestled amidst a dark velvet sky. 

However, there’s something decidedly unfriendly in the way her gaze roves up and down your form, and instantly you are on your guard. 

“Well,” you say to him, not shifting your gaze from his sister. “I hope you know you’re covering the parking rates.” 

Taehyung nods obediently before darting over to his sister. She doesn’t have any baggage on her, but you know from experience that likely it’s just stored in some sort of tiny, neat rectangular device in her pocket, like Taehyung’s were when he first arrived. 

“This is Jina.” He says, and she offers you a curt nod. Taehyung frowns briefly at her before offering you an awkward smile. “She is shy.” He offers by way of explanation, although you suspect it runs a little deeper than mere shyness when she huffs and turns, already stomping off in the direction of the parking lot. 

Shaking your head, you sigh and follow after her before she can get lost on the way to the parking lot. If she has anything close to her brother’s sense of direction, then once she steps out view she’ll be lost amongst the 7 billion plus people and the couple of extra aliens that roam this planet forever. 

“So you had to pack for her and that’s what took three hours?” You ask Taehyung as he falls into step beside you. His knuckles briefly brush yours and you know he senses the mild irritation and the wariness you’re experiencing but he smiles blithely like he can’t. 

“Something like that. We had many things to discuss before she started her visit with earth.” He confesses. Briefly, ever so briefly, his smile drops just enough for you to realise that he’s putting on a brave face, for whatever reason, and instantly your irritation softens into concern. 

Without the veil of your own vexation, you’re suddenly alert to the tiny signals Taehyung has been giving off- the tense hold to his shoulders, the tight curve of his smile, the way his eyes don’t spark with that usual mirthful mischief that makes him so unique himself. The goofy, cheerful smiles had been forced this whole time. 

You hesitate just long enough for him to gain about a half a step’s lead on you. It’s just enough time to gather your composure, and this time you’re the one to allow your knuckles to brush along his. It’s a trick you’ve picked up since discovering your own feelings- if you focus on one emotion hard enough, then that is the one Taehyung picks up on. It’s helpful for hiding certain emotions, but it’s also helpful in letting him know what you’re thinking and feeling. In this instance, you let your concern filter through.  

“Everything ok?” You ask softly. His gaze remains fixed on his sister’s determined stride ahead of the two of you- she’s starting to falter as she draws near the parking lot, probably realising she doesn’t actually know the way. 

“Yes.” He answers absently. “Just….. fatigued.” 

You don’t have to have his alien ability to read emotions to know that it runs a little deeper than that. 

++

Despite her obvious distaste for you upon your first meeting, Jina isn’t a particularly bad room-mate. She’s quiet and sticks to herself, mostly. She brought over most of her meals from her home planet and refuses to touch human food, so you don’t have an extra mouth to feed. She sticks to her room, when you are home, so you never have to compromise in shared spaces. And Taehyung takes her out for most of the day, so you aren’t stuck ferrying her around like you had been with Taehyung when he first arrived on this planet. 

You have nothing to complain about with regards to her visit, and yet something niggles heavily at you. 

Taehyung hasn’t been himself. 

It’s nothing huge- in fact, it probably indicates that you spend far too much time thinking about him for you to even notice the change. None of your other friends seem to notice anything is amiss, after all. He’s as smile-y and happy-go-lucky as ever. He dotes on his sister, which fits perfectly with how you’d thought he’s be towards her. He’s chatty and conversational over dinner. 

It’s in just the briefest moments that it’s obvious something is wrong. Like how he’ll get home after a day out with her and then immediately head straight back out again, leaving Jina to sit in his room. Or how he’ll finish dinner and the smile will slip off his face for moments before he heads back to his room. It’s tiny, it’s minuscule, it’s none of your business…

And yet you’re worried. You don’t know how much of it bears its roots in newly discovered feelings and how much just stems from general empathy, but that pathetic little half-smile of his makes you feel like he’s punched you in the throat

You’re about a week and a half into Jina’s visit with roughly another week to go when you finally confront Taehyung over it. It’s at a bit of an impulse that you bring it up- you’d settled into the couch to watch something on netflix and are surprised when Taehyung settles next to you. 

As is his usual habit, his fingers inch towards the nearest available patch of skin. Today, it’s the top of your foot, stretched out across the cushions. It’s distracting enough that you find yourself watching him instead of the mindless comedy playing in the background. It’s been a while since it’s just been the two of you, what with Taehyung’s lengthy adventures showing his sister around the city. She doesn’t particularly like mixing with you or Nayeon, so the most interaction Taehyung gets is a brief conversation over dinner before he retired to his room or a quick and tired “good morning” before you set out for the day after breakfast. 

“How are you?” You find yourself asking. His thumb, which had been absently tracing along the arch of your foot, pauses as dark eyes flicker to you. He looks tired; his colour just seems leeched and lifeless and there’s something lacklustre about his demeanour. 

“I’m ok.” He answers weakly, offering you a tired smile that markedly contradicts his words. 

It makes you frown because Taehyung has always been open with you. From the littlest things like how his day went to bigger things like fights with his family or stressful assignments. For him to suddenly go against this is disconcerting. 

You’re not sure what he feels flicker across the point of contact between you, but it is surely unpleasant. Perhaps the flicker of hurt, or the mixture of concern and surprise. Whatever it is, it has him sighing in defeat. He leans forward and with his free hand gentle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You feel your heart race and your cheeks heat and it makes Taehyung’s smile widen. 

“Little human,” he says affectionately. It’s not a name he’s called you by before and you’re not sure where it comes from but something about the inflection makes your heart stutter in your chest. “I am not content with the thought of your worry.” He confesses, before leaning back to settle against the couch with a sigh. “That is why I’d prefer to carry my own burdens, right now. Please do not be hurt or upset.”

His eyes slide shut and his breathing is steady, exhaustion written into every line of his face. You think you understand the sentiments behind his reluctance to share, but the fact is, you can’t help but worry when he looks like this.

“I’m already worrying.” Is the soft answer you give. One of his eyes blinks open in surprise, and then the other opens to follow. “Don’t…. Don’t make me sit here and make up reasons for why you’re like this. I’ll only worry more- I can’t not worry when you’re not yourself.” 

A long silence follows your admission and then finally Taehyung speaks again. 

“I cannot seem to win where you are concerned.” He laughs wryly to himself. “Very well. I had just hoped…. That perhaps my sister would find more enjoyment of her trip.” He confesses, like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sad, round eyes flicker to you and you’re reminded of a kicked puppy. “I thought she agreed to come to Earth for my support…. But she came to convince me to return home.”

Suddenly it clicks into place- the long time it took Taehyung to arrive back at the terminal, his sister’s belligerence, his exhaustion and misery…. He’s confessed on separate occasions to you during the past few months that his relationship with his family is rocky at best. You’d mistakenly thought maybe they’d moved past it, considering his enthusiasm for her visit. But no- all this time he’s been facing pressure to give up his exchange, likely from both his sister and his parents. So it makes sense that he’s so disappointed now, and accounts for the way he’s been off. Even someone as cheerful and determined as Taehyung would begin to feel the strain to have his hopes repeatedly stepped on like that. 

“You…” he looks at you like he wants to say more, but then seems to think better of it, changing the subject quickly. “I tried taking her to the places we attended together, since I found a huge enjoyment in those experiences. But she’s so determined to not have any enjoyment that it just keeps going poorly-“ he shoves a frustrated hand through his hair. “I… don’t know what else to do to have her convinced.” 

You bite your lip. This is important to Taehyung. For whatever reason, he really likes Earth, and it’s a fairly simple and reasonable request, to have his family support that. Especially in a planet as community-based as Taehyung’s. And if it’s important to Taehyung… it’s important to you. As silly as it is, you want to do whatever it takes to make this goofy, ridiculous alien happy. 

“Well,” you speak up. “Maybe there’s one place I haven’t taken you to that might win her over?”

++

You’re not sure why you specifically thought the local showgrounds would be the place to convince Jina. But, when you think of fun, earthen events, this is the place you think of. Amusing, mechnical rides, interesting foods, and a general sense of festivity. This is the peak of humanity. 

Taehyung, at least, is thrilled. His eyes flicker from stall to stall, taking in the games and rides. Children run screeching past him, brandishing toys that flash in neon lights. The smell of fried food lingers in the air and at the end of the path, a giant, twinkling ferris wheel towers over the park. 

“This place is amazing!” He confesses, shuffling closer to one of the games where a young couple are taking turns to toss a small ball into a bottle. The guy fails and groans in defeat and then the girl smugly sinks the ball into the bottle. 

Jina is less thrilled- she hugs her arms around herself awkwardly, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The evening has well and truly set in and the last traces of sun have leeched from the horizon yet she still wears her black baseball cap like it will shield her from the onslaught of people pouring between stalls. 

“Would you like something to eat?” You ask her. 

She’s managed to master a look that conveys her sentiments towards you- a sort of squint to her eyes that screams “you are a bug and I would love to squash you”. She levels that particular look at you today and it’s sent with extra potency. 

“I don’t like human food.” She sniffs, hugging her arms around her more tightly. 

Oddly, it reminds you of the twins. They both went through a particularly fussy phase and they handled it in a similar way to Jina- you can vividly recall the pouts that is now mirrored upon Jina’s face. 

“Just one bite?” You coax, stepping in a little closer. Such an action is dangerous- you could be stepping into the den of a lion or a kitten and you won’t find out until it’s too late. “I’ll choose something and if you hate it, I’ll finish the rest?”

Something in her posture slackens just a little- you know she’s on the verge of caving. It’s nearing dinner time, after all, and likely her hunger is warring with her determination to be standoffish and angry. You spare a glance at Taehyung, who had been watching the exchange with a sort of hopeless, despairing expression. 

“Are there any flavours Jina prefers?” You question him. He frowns and pauses, muttering under his breath in the way that he often does when struggling with a translation. 

“Ah…. Sweet?” He says, posing it like a question, as if you would have the answer. But then his gaze sets into something more certain and he nods to himself. “Sweet foods.” He asserts. 

A quick glance around confirms an abundance of sweet foods, so Taehyung’s recommendation doesn’t prove very helpful. Finally, you spot a fairy floss stand a few stalls up. There’s very little that can go wrong with spun sugar and the novelty of soft, coloured and sweet clouds is hopefully enchanting enough to overcome Jina’s aversion to human foods. Idly, you shift your weight back and forth as you wait your place in line. 

The momentary space from Taehyung and Jina means the freedom to think. You think of Taehyung, and his simmering anxiety, the desperation he feels for Jina to see something good. It’s not that he cares much for her opinions of humans, although he’s gentle enough that her dislike has him feeling sorry, but that he seeks her approval. That seems to be what Taehyung has always sought, even when he’d first arrived on Earth, wide-eyed and searching for a place that would accept him. You’ve thought and known this before.

But today, you allow yourself to think of Jina as well. The year cycle on Taehyung’s planet is slightly shorter than Earth’s- numbers-wise, both Taehyung and Jina have larger ages than you. 

But time-wise, the time she has been alive is shorter than yours. It had been a point of confusion during the early days of contact between your two planets; currently, it is understood that the lifespans between your two peoples are similar and yet the other race had presented ages so much larger than humans expect to live to. It’s funny then, that in reality she is little older than a highschooler despite her age being more than yours. 

You picture your own younger siblings, and how they’d feel if you suddenly moved to another country. They cry every time you leave home to return back to your apartment- they beg you to stay with tears streaking their little faces. 

You think that Jina’s attitude may be something similar. With each new place Taehyung brings her, she sees what he likes. She sees the things he enjoys. She sees that he’s happy. You hadn’t known him before Earth, but you knew the timid, distantly polite alien that had arrived and the boisterous, eager, joyful soul that remains. For whatever reason, Taehyung loves Earth. And to Jina, that love is stealing him away. 

So perhaps the secret is not to show her the good things of Earth, but rather that Taehyung will not leave her. Well, physically he may, but at the very least, for as long as he lives, he will love and adore his baby sister.

With a sigh, you accept the stick of the fairy floss from the stall worker- it’s two toned. Soft, pastel blue, and a sweet, warm pink colour. You hold it carefully, weary of the sugar melting against your hands and leaving it sticky. 

You find the two siblings seated in a quieter section, away from the crowd. Taehyung stretches his legs out against the grass, while Jina hugs her into her chest. It’s not so well-lit here, which is perhaps it’s so quiet. Above them, the ferris wheel towers. Likely, the bright lights would tamper with the view of the outstretched city you’d gain within the carriages of the ride. The park owners had deliberately left it dark. From one window, the showgrounds would stretch in a brightly lit path, and you could watch the people the milled through the stalls- from the other, you could glimpse the sprawling, twinkling metropolitan lights. 

Taehyung would like the ferris wheel, is what you think as you settle beside them.

You stretch your arm out, towards Jina, offering her the fairy floss. She squints at it suspiciously, before accepting the wooden stick between wary fingertips. 

“It’s a sweet.” You say. “It gets very sticky, but you can pull off little pieces and eat them, or you could bite it straight off the stick.” 

She takes a small amount, nibbling at it tentatively. The way she chews is like a little rodent. 

She must enjoy the taste, however, for her mouthfuls become more sure and she plucks off larger chunks to eat. 

Finally, she pauses and her gaze flickers to you and Taehyung, watching expectantly. She swallows her mouthful and stares back for a long moment, before speaking at last. 

“I’m thirsty.” She announces. You blink a few times, before nodding and sighing. She, like Taehyung, refuses to take anything with animal products in it, but a can of soft drink should be relatively safe. 

But she stops you. 

“Him.” She demands, like she is a commander giving orders to her army. “He knows what I like better.”

A silent current passes between the siblings that warns you not to protest. They seem to settle upon some sort of agreement, for Taehyung clambers to his feet, brushing away the dirt that clings to the back of his jeans. 

“I’ll return in a quick moment.” He assures the two of you, before darting back towards the main path of the showgrounds. 

It leaves you alone with Jina, which you never actually have been before. She always makes a conscious to either avoid acknowledging your existence, or glaring at you so hard you wish she’d just ignored you. 

The silence is awkward until Jina breaks it. Then the awkwardness of the conversation is worse.

“You tempt him.” She observes. For a moment, you stare at her, incredulous, and perhaps the baffled look to your eyes conveys that you don’t understand. Her mouth sets in a thin line of frustration before she tries again. The words are slow and you wonder if maybe she’s just struggling to translate her thoughts into your language. “You lure him away. From home.”

You grimace at her. 

“I do no such thing.” You assert, slightly offended that she thinks you’d ever do something like that to Taehyung. All his actions are his own, and you’d never deprive him of the valuable right to choose his own path. She shakes her head angrily, still frustrated. 

“No, you don’t.” She agrees. “I don’t mean that you do it with active intention. I mean that your being is why he’s here. Your presence. He stays because of you.”

You purse your lips, startled at the implication, and it takes you a few moments to find words for a rebuttal. 

“He doesn’t.” Is the genius comeback your brain supplies you with. 

She gives you a flat look and plucks another chunk of fairy floss, chewing at it with more aggression than is perhaps warranted for a soft, spun-sugar snack. 

“Humans lack so much.” She complains. Sharp eyes flick to you- in this lighting you cannot make out the distinct points of her pupils- instead to round black circles stare you down. “He loves you.”

There’s a beat of silence, laden with meaning. Children laugh in the background, and snippets of the unintelligible babble of conversation float through on the night time breeze. 

“He doesn’t.” You say, because you don’t know what else to say. Truthfully, you don’t know if he does or doesn’t. You’d studiously avoided ever dissecting his actions, out of a desperate sense of self-preservation. To over-interpret his actions and be wrong would hurt. To be correct would be terrifying. Your heart is a tight ball of anxiety- the answer of “does he” or “doesn’t he” feels like an enormous, hulking beast, one you can never hope to defeat. 

Jina snorts. 

“Obviously he does. I know my brother- I see how his look has you in it. I know that he has taken changes. I know how our people have love.” Her gaze turns sharp. “And I know that he has enough of foolishness to keep him home at Earth for a human girl.” 

You swallow past a dry mouth. Should you believe her? Should you deny it?

Your heart releases, a traitorous, happy flutter. You picture that morning, at the camp- the way the sunlight had washed his hair gold, the galaxies that swum in his irises. You remember a bright smile with strawberry-stained lips. You remember tired but tender gazes as he returned from a long day. You remember the tickle of his fingers in your hair as you fought back sleep. 

Could he? Could he really love you? 

Jina groans and rolls her eyes, burying her face in her hands. She has long since finished her fairy floss. 

“Make sure that he makes visits.” She sighs, through her hands. “If he insists on staying, I mean. He has not any sense, but you do. I will accept you if you promise his visits.” 

You never give an answer, because Taehyung returns at that moment, proudly brandishing a tall, strawberry-coloured drink that probably cost an absurd amount of money. 

And yet, nevertheless, while Jina remains grumpy for the rest of her trip, there’s something gentler about her. 

And Taehyung goes back to his normal self, cheerful and relaxed, even if he looks a little sad as she steps into the warp terminal after she says goodbye. 

“You can visit her.” You remind him. “Warp travel is pretty fast, I hear.” 

He glances down at you, and his smile is sweet, fond. 

“I know.” He answers. And then he turns away. There’s a bounce in his step as he leads you home.

[goatguy7399]

So my boyfriend inherited a house, right? And not just any house, but the house his great grandfather built the majority of. I’m talkin this thing was two, maybe three rooms when he got it, and he more than tripled the floor plan plus there’s two basements. Dude put in a lot of work. I’m renting a room and helping him fix it up.

Unfortunately it seems dearest great grandfather decided that it was important to save money (reasonable) and do too much by himself (unreasonable). What are the issues that I complain of, you may ask?

1. Every door frame is a different size. The office alone has three different door frame heights, four different door frame widths, and three different types of doors. There are four doorframes in that room. ALL OF THEM ARE DIFFERENT. This trend continues throughout THE ENTIRE HOUSE.

2. A large majority of the electrical outlets do not have the standard grounding slot. This means that anything that is more than a lamp requires an adapter in order to be connected to electricity. I am a simple American I just want to plug my things in to the wall. Oh and not only are most of the outlets two prong compatible instead of three, the majority of those ones are also upside down! Fantastic! Thank you so much great grandpa you have truly outdone yourself.

3. There are two huge Asian elm trees in the front yard. That’s good right? Lots of shade? WRONG. These trees are less than six feet from the front porch. The front yard is MAYBE 12 feet from the street to the porch. These trees have destroyed the concrete slabs that have been laid for the carpark and the walk up to the door, been replaced, and they’re in the process of re-destroying them. They are sending roots into the foundation. They are destroying the sewage line and clogging the ever-loving shit out of it. We were without the only bathroom for over a week. We STILL can’t use the shower.

4. Somehow, and I’m not sure how the math works on this one yet, the floors are really weird. The original three rooms (1900s build date) are all more or less level with eachother. The living room is level with the first two. The bathroom and hallway is level with the office. The hallway is not level with the living room by an entire step. How did you manage that??? What wizardry were you participating in?

5. For some reason the ceiling in the original three, the hallway, and the bathroom have been artificially lowered with the foam tiles you typically see in such places as school buildings or perhaps a doctor’s office. Metal supports and all. Why, praytell, would anyone lower a ceiling? In any economy? Well my assumption is that the wood paneling he picked out in lieu of drywall was simply Not Tall Enough to reach the ceiling proper. So instead. He decided. To lower. The Ceiling.

6. He decided to install 70s carpet (not shag, the normal length stuff that had a rubber backing on it as “padding”) directly on to particle board. This resulted in the floor in the original three to be, essentially, a sponge. A sponge his daughter did not keep up care for, and ended up absorbing a LOT of urine. Specifically dog and cat urine. Also, the backing on that carpet had literally disintegrated after 50 years, leading my boyfriend to believe it was dirt. Nope. Rubber dust. Super fun to breathe in.

7. Someone decided it was a grand idea to paint the cinderblock walls of the finished basement, I.e. the FOUNDATION. It is now cracked and leaking in several locations and I fucking swear if I see another idiot paint brick, stone, cinderblock, or concrete I am going to set them on fire and use the ashes to scrape the paint off of the poor assaulted stone-based building material. Fuck you. Most idiotic thing I can fucking think of.

This isn’t even all of it, just the most interesting parts that I can think of.

In the interest of fairness, I must say the man knew which tools to buy. All of the old ass electric tools still work (although they do complain) and I have been using them to re-do the office. 10/10 great selection, got a whole hardware store downstairs essentially. I occasionally ask his ghost where tools are and he lets me know (more or less). I’m just glad he’s no longer messing with the lights.

[poetofthefall]

things you said after it was over

[written for @mormorproposal​ 's prompt request]

It takes every ounce of Sebastian's self control to keep his pace measured as he beelines through the crowded streets of the City. It's a long walk from the hospital; by the time he reaches the parking garage, there simply isn't any left. 

He turns the corner off the pavement and breaks into a sprint, tightly controlled facade crumbling until he's bolting through the carpark at full speed, dignity be damned. 

The hollow click of dress shoes rings through the structure as Sebastian descends, down and down again, trying to identify which floor Jim is parked on. A swell of frantic rage is washing over Sebastian. He has to be here, waiting for him. He fucking has to. 

Why? Because you need him? 

Because Jim has ever, in his life, done anything he didn't want to?

Sebastian's throat seizes. He should have asked for a floor number. Should've replied to the text at all, but he'd been so fucking tired. 

Concrete and empty cars blur past, interspersed by spotlight bursts of sickly yellow light in a repeating pattern. Simple and uncaring as computer code, there's a ramp and a curve and a long stretching corridor, and a ramp and a curve and a corridor, and another, and another. 

It feels like a hallway dream, like a sick fucking nightmare. Running until his legs start to falter but not getting anywhere, heart pounding in his ears.

Sebastian hates the trend of his thoughts, hates the growing doubt in the back of his mind, but Jim's always been unpredictable, and these days Sebastian barely knows him at all. The last half-year would've been enough to shake the faith of a saint, and Jim isn't appearing, no matter how close he gets to the end of the line. 

With no Jim there's no future. No meaning, again, and Sebastian can't go back to his old life, not after he's had this. 

There's nothing he can do to close the space between them or the rotten festering wound the flat has become. 

No time left to fix things, to beg if that's what it fucking takes, okay, he'll degrade himself that far, to at least claw back whatever violent, fucked up, dysfunctional slice of happiness they had before Holmes, before Jim's big mad fucking brain started to gnaw itself into a pulp. 

Today is the day it ends. It's supposed to be over.

It's supposed to be over, now.

Sebastian stumbles. He's down to the sub-basement. There aren't any levels left. He turns the final corner, and Jim-- Jim isn't there.

But the car is. Sebastian stops dead, staring. The windows are tinted dark as sin, impossible to see through. 

It's only a few short feet to the sleek automobile. Sebastian walks across them on numb legs and reaches for the rear door, because Jim never sits shotgun, never drives.

Jim doesn't even look up from his phone.

"Come on, then."

Sebastian feels a hundred years old, a thousand, only ten, learning about God for the first time. He gets in, hands trembling. He doesn't say anything. He can't trust his voice.

They leave London for the last time in silence.

[ecoblast-pressurecleaning]

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