#Granted what I want is to buy five pairs of shoes and wear those five pairs of shoes for the remainder of my life but that's not an option

[wordswithkittywitch]

Anyone want to give me a thousand-dollar gift card to American Duchess? Anyone? Ah. You want to but you can't. I understand. I feel the exact same way.

[lost-your-memory]

okay but what about mechanic Kara and the small garage she owns in midvale. Cat lives just outside and her husband at the time is some big business man and really wants to buy the land that the garage is on. and cat one day she has real bad car trouble. so she meets kara and then she starts to fall in love with the mechanic with the massive grin and an oil smudge on her cheek. NC x

Alright, I’m not entirely satisfied with this because at first, I wanted something rated M or even E but in the end, it didn’t fit. So this is really soft.Also, I am NOT a mechanic so nothing here is accurate, merely the fruit of some research to avoid being too far off. Hope you like it! 

—

A beautiful, golden morning greets Kara when the metal shutters of her garage opens.

The square across her shop is still half-plunged in the relative darkness of the end of the night but already, the first rays of a winter sunlight are hitting the buildings around it, highlighting the church tower. A few shop owners are opening, pulling up the metal shutters and adjusting their frontages, amicably waving at the few morning souls that are already up and heading to work.  

The air is cold and crisp, with morning dew hanging from the trees and flowers that add a touch of color to the little village. Behind the heady smell of freshly baked goods coming from the bakery next to her garage, Kara can still discern the distinct scent of salt water that come from the ocean, carried around by a very light winter breeze.

“Morning Kara,” Lucy waves, walking up the street to come drop a kiss on Kara’s cheek. “Beautiful day isn’t it? I have your usual bear-claw and a hot cocoa for you.”

“You are just the best, Luce,” Kara beams, taking the styrofoam cup and the pastry from her friend’s hands. “Wanna come in for a moment?”

“Not this time, sorry! I’m already late as it is,” Lucy shakes her head and drops another kiss on her friend’s cheek before going away, back to the bakery. “See you tonight, don’t be late!”

“I’m never late for game night!” Kara protests, despite her mouth full of bear-claw.

Lucy only laughs and then disappears into her shop.

—

“Thank you so much Kara! I don’t understand why it keeps breaking down”, Winn whines, climbing on the passenger side of Kara’s tow truck.

“Winn …” Kara sighs, waiting for her friend to close the door before starting the truck. “Honestly, I’m kind of impressed that your car still starts when you turn on the contact. I would know, I’ve disassembled and reassembled your car at least five times and I still don’t get it. Old doesn’t even begins to cover it, Winn. Your car should be in a museum, not on the streets.”

“I know, I know but … It has a sentimental value. I’m not ready to let it go,” Winn whispers and Kara doesn’t insist. She knows how much the car means to her friend and so she keeps trying to fix it, even though it’s not possible.

“Alright, then back to the garage it is,” Kara smiles, turning on the volume of the radio.

They’re about to enter Midvale when a car pass over them at an alarmingly high speed.

“Now that’s a fine car, even though the driver is crazy …” Kara whistles, admiring the back of the car before it disappears. “ A Ford Mustang Shelby, GT500 … probably a 2019 but it could be a 2020, I didn’t get a great look.”

Winn throws her a weird look and Kara arches a brow.

“What? Why are you looking at me like this?”

“You’re telling me you never fixed that specific car?” Winn sounds incredulous but then a thoughtful look flashes in his eyes. “Well, that makes sense actually. It’s Cat Grant’s car.”

“Cat Grant?” Kara frowns. “The name doesn’t ring any bell …”

They’ve just arrived in front of her shop and so she carefully maneuvers her truck to be able to easily enter her friend’s car in the garage.

“Really? Cat Grant, CEO of CatCo, the media conglomerate? The company’s headquarters are in National City but she’s recently moved here, in Midvale, with her young son and her new husband …” Winn says before he exits the truck and follows Kara into her office, all the way at the back of the garage. “Whom you probably heard of, his name is Alaric Byron-Price.”

Kara freezes and grits her teeth.

“I see why you’d think it makes sense that I never fixed Miss Grant’s car, then,” Kara says, coolly. “Since her husband is trying everything he can to buy my garage, I imagine she won’t be using my service anytime soon.”

Winn is about to say something when a voice echoes in the garage.

“Kara, I need some help over her!”

“Coming Alex”, Kara replies instantly.

She gestures for Winn to follow and quickly crosses back her shop to join her sister in front of it.

“Alex? What the hell?” Kara asks, eyes widening at the sight of her sister’s car. “How did that even happen?”

The blue and white Ford Police Interceptor in front of her is showing various stage of destroyed.

The word “police” usually plastered on the right aisle is scratched beyond readable, with lacerations so deep it almost show the inside of the car in some spots. Both windows on this side of the car are exploded and almost non-existent, aside from some piece of glass still hanging around the corners, and the driver’s door seems to have been hammered with such force it’s now bending in the inside.

“Errr …” Alex starts, looking a little uncomfortable. “I got carried away while chasing this mobster we’ve been after for months and … I didn’t realise the street would be too narrow for the car.”

“On the bright side,” Susan smiles next to Alex. “We got the guy and he’s now going to pay for his crimes!”

Kara doesn’t even smile, looking at the car in utter horror.

“You can fix it, right?” Alex asks, sounding all too hopeful. “The boss says that as long as the car comes back in the shape in which it left, he’s not going to care. Otherwise, it’s …”

“Some disciplinary sentence,” Susan grimaces.

“I …” Kara starts, moving around to circle the car and study the damages. She winces and frowns a lot before coming back to stand in front of the two cops. “I’m going to try but it’s going to take some time.”

“You’re the best, Sis’,” Alex smiles widely, exchanging a relieved glance with Susan. “We’ll come help this weekend, it’s the least we can do.”

Kara nods and then gestures for everyone to follow her back to her office.

It’s going to be a busy couple of days, she thinks.

—

“Another try from Lord Byron-Price?” Alex asks, waving a piece of paper with a golden logo at its top.

“He’s relentless,” Kara replies from under Winn’s car.

“He’s offering more money than either of us can make in a lifetime,” Alex muses, sounding amused. “How many time have you said no, already?”

“This is his ninth attempt,” Kara grunts, struggling to remote a piece of metal that shouldn’t even belong to this specific zone. “I’ll pop some champagne for his tenth try.”

Alex laughs and then walks to her sister, standing on the side of the pit in which Kara’s working, the car above her head and her table of tools next to her.

“Susan’s on her way, she says she wants to stop by Luce to buy some donuts.”

“That’s a bright idea,” Kara says before throwing away the piece of metal she finally managed to remove. “I need some help down here.”

“Sure,” Alex nods. “Let me put on some work clothes, though.”

She steps away, removes her favorite leather jacket and jumps into some red overalls before joining her sister.

“Hellooo!” Winn’s voice echoes in the garage. “Anyone here?”

“Down here Winn, we’re working on your car until Susan gets there,” Kara explains, waving at her friend. “Then we’ll try to do something to fix that police car my sister managed to destroy …”

“Hey! I was only doing my job,” Alex protests, greeting Winn with a wave and a smile before handing over some tools to Kara. “I really didn’t know the street would be too narrow.”

Kara throws her an unamused look and then focuses back on the fuel tank deflectors.

—

She gets a call from an insurance dispatcher one day, asking her to go pick up a car and its owner a few miles away from Midvale. She doesn’t get much more intel, just that the car has broken down on the side of the road.

It’s one of those rainy spring day where the sky is low and grey, where the nature is bending down under the weight of the water and where a cold, bitter wind is adding to the apocalyptic atmosphere.

It’s only when she sees the car that she realises who she is here to pick up.

The blue Ford Mustang is messily parked on the side of the narrow campaign road and with the back of it still on the asphalt, it looks dangerous. The rain is thick and dense, falling on the world like a curtain.

Kara stops her truck ahead of the Mustang and climbs out, running to the car to knock on the driver’s window. She’s already drenched by the time a woman opens it, and the look in her eyes is distraught, slightly distant.

“Ma'am, are you alright?” Kara asks, noticing the shaking hands on the wheel. “Let’s get you out of here, you’ll be more comfortable in my truck while I handle your car.”  

It takes a moment before the woman nods and lets go of the wheel. Kara guides her to the passenger side of her truck and leans over to crank up the heat.

“It’ll take ten or fifteen minutes, don’t worry,” Kara explains before closing the door.

It takes a little longer, because the rain has caused the car to get stuck in the mud. Kara struggles to drag the sport car onto her tow truck’s platform but eventually, it’s all set. She’s shivering when she climbs back in front of the wheel.

“Are you alright?” Kara asks again, glancing at the woman on the passenger’s seat.

She takes in the wet blond hair that barely reaches the woman’s shoulder and the hazel green eyes that still looks a bit distraught. Cat Grant, since it seems to be her, is wearing a navy-blue trench coat Kara recognises as a real Burberry, a pair of blue-jeans that are too well cut to be casual and high-heels of a daring red color. Idly, Kara wonders how it is possible to drive a car as capricious as the Ford Mustang with such impractical shoes.  

“I’m … fine, thank you,” Cat replies with a quick hand gesture Kara doesn’t know how to interpret. “What’s wrong with my car?”

Kara throws her a disbelieving look. She didn’t exactly stay under the rain to have a look under the hood so Cat couldn’t possibly believe Kara would have an answer to that question.

“I don’t know, I have to take it back to the garage to analyse it,” she replies, slowly pulling away from the side of the road and driving them back to Midvale. The pouring rain makes the drive really tricky, with big puddles that catch her tires and slow them down.

“I don’t have time for that,” Cat states, sounding deeply annoyed.

Kara forces herself to stay calm and to mentally count until ten. She should have guessed Cat Grant would be nothing else than a spoiled rich white woman, given who her husband was.

“I have to … pick up my son,” Cat eventually adds, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It’s brief but Kara notices it anyway.

“Oh,” Kara breathes, not having expected such a reasonable reason for Cat’s hurriedness. She quickly thinks and then asks “Hm … when do you need to pick him up?”

“In twenty minutes,” Cat replies after having checked her watch, looking a little surprised at the question.

Kara nods, going over her schedule in her head. She doesn’t have any plan, aside from Winn’s car and the police one. There’s a few repairs she needs to do on James’s bike but it can wait until later.

“If … I can always drop your car in my shop, drive you to the school and then home, if you’d like?”

Now Cat looks positively thrown off at the suggestion.

“I have a real car, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kara adds with a chuckle, knowing her tow truck isn’t exactly classy. Cat’s clearly standing out in it, with her fancy clothes and expensive jewelry.  

“No that’s not … I’m just … surprised, I guess?” Cat sounds a little hesitant, clearly out of her depths. “If it’s not too much trouble though, that would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Kara smiles and then focuses on the road.

—

“A real car, uh …” Cat muses, looking at the red Ford Boss 302 Mustang Kara just unveiled.

“I admit, I don’t drive around much with it, I usually take my bike or my tow truck …” Kara chuckles. She gets rids of her work overalls, washes her hand at the sink next to her locker and gathers her, still a little wet, hair in a high-ponytail. “Is that car alright with you?”

“It’s more than alright, it’s … an honor,” Cat breathes, letting her hand run across the hood of the car. “It’s an iconic car, you know?”

Kara laughs and walks around to open the door for Cat. “Oh I know! It’s a family heirloom of sort.”

Cat sits down and Kara hears her inhale the scent of used, clean leather.

“Not everyone can appreciate the car,” Kara points out as she slides behind the wheel.

“People nowadays, they don’t have any taste,” Cat retorts, with just a hint of disdain. “Do you need the address?”

“No, there’s only one school in this town,” Kara laughs and turns on the engine. She makes it roar just for Cat and the smiles on the woman’s lips is worth it. “I just hope your son doesn’t have Mrs Luthor as a teacher …”

Cat throws her a slightly impressed look. “He does, actually. I’ve heard good things about Lillian Luthor, why would you say something like that?”

Kara slowly exits her private garage and presses a button to close it behind her, before speeding up to reach the school in time.

“I went to school with her daughter Lena, we had her as our teacher and she was … extremely hard to please, let’s put it that way,” Kara explains, stopping at a crossroad and moving again after every cars drove by. “She’s got high standards, which is a good thing, but she doesn’t know how to handle children who are not made for the school system, like I was.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Cat says. Kara can’t help but to frown, wondering if it’s a hidden jab at the fact she’s now a mechanic. “Carter is doing well so far, let’s hope it lasts … his last school experience didn’t go too well.”

Kara hears the notes of regret and anger in Cat’s voice and she chooses not to push. Instead, she takes a few turns and then parks herself in one of the few free spots left in front of the school.

“Smooth driving,” Cat praises before glaring at Kara. “Please don’t do that when Carter’s in the car. He’s crazy about cars and speed, you’d only help his obsession of becoming a car racer.”

Kara laughs at that.

—

Carter’s his mother’s son.

Thirteen years old, not tall but not small either, with dark blond curls around his childish features, freckles over his nose and cheeks and deep blue eyes that sparkle with intelligence, he looks ecstatic when he sees the car.

He jumps and down on his spot, under the umbrella Kara gave his mother so she could go pick him up at the school’s gates.

“Whoa mom, I didn’t know you were going to buy a new car!”

Kara laughs from the driver’s seat. Cat shakes her head, open the backdoor and retorts “It’s not my car, Carter. It’s Kara’s, the mechanic. Say hello.”

“Hi Carter, I’m glad you like my car,” Kara greets him with a wink and a smile.

He looks surprised at first but then quickly recovers and returns the greeting.

“What happened to your car mom?” He asks once Cat’s back in the passenger’s seat.

“It broke down on my way back from National City. Kara was kind enough to offer me to drive me here so I could pick you up and bring you home,” Cat explains, before giving their address to Kara.

That’s when Kara realises she’s about to drive into her enemy’s land.

She doesn’t know if Cat’s aware of her husband’s deals and she doesn’t want to be the one bringing it up, so she simply nods and makes the engine roar, earning a giggle from Carter and another smile from Cat.

—

“You drove Cat Grant and her son back to their home, to the Byron-Price mansion?”

“I did,” Kara confirms, crouching in front of James’s bike while her sister paces the floor behind her.

“Do you realise you’re literally flirting with the enemy?” Alex insists, sounding more than a little alarmed.

“What?” Kara sputters, dropping her tool and stammering. “Who said anything about flirting? I’m not flirting!”

A heavy silence follows her little outburst and she knows she’s screwed.

“Oh my god …” Alex breathes. “You like her. You like Cat Grant.”

Kara retrieves her adjustable wrench and starts to use it on James’s bike, not turning around to avoid showing the blush that slowly creeps up her neck and colors her cheeks.

“I do not,” she tries to pass it off. “I mean, sure she seems nice enough and her son is a car aficionado but that’s pretty much it.”  

“Kara Danvers, look at me,” Alex calls and Kara winces, because there’s no disobeying Alex when she uses that commanding voice.

Slowly, Kara stands up and faces her sister, who takes one glance at her and throws her hands in the air.

“I can’t believe it! Seriously!” Alex exclaims, pacing even harder now. “It’s bad enough that she is married, but she’s not even married to some random dude you know nothing about! She’s the wife of the man who’s been trying to buy off the garage for a year!”

Kara ducks her head and looks down at her feet, feeling a little bad. She knows it’s a disaster, she saw it coming the moment Cat smiled after she’d heard the car roar for the first time but she can’t help herself.

“Please, don’t do anything stupid?” Alex eventually asks, eyes intent on her baby sister. She looks resigned, if not a little worried still.

“I won’t. She’s Cat Grant anyway, CEO of a media empire and married to Lord Byron-Price, with a son, a mansion and I think I even saw a few horses in the domain. I’m just the mechanics, I’ll fix her car and that’s it,” Kara replies with another shrug, trying to hide the hurt and sadness in her tone.

Judging by Alex’s meaningful look, she didn’t succeed.

—

“Hello?”

Kara jerks at the unexpected voice, causing her arm to violently hurt her table of tools and making everything fall with a loud, metallic raucous.

“Kara? Are you alright down here?” Cat asks, sounding worried.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, sorry! You took me by surprise,” Kara explains, picking up her table and then gathering back her tools, fixing her work space before coming out of the pit.

“Hello again, Miss Grant,” Kara greets, taking a look at her dirty hands and choosing to wave instead of going for the usual handshake. She laughs and then teases “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

It makes Cat smile, amusement shining in her hazel green eyes. She’s wearing her navy-blue trench coat again, opened on a grey pull over that looks impossibly soft and a pair of black trousers that fits her legs in a very flattering way. She’s perched on heels again but not the red ones, Kara notices.

“I came to see you about my car,” Cat replies, gesturing toward the blue Mustang under which Kara had been working since she woke up.

“You do know I have a phone, right?” Kara tilts her head with an amused smile.

“Do you, now? I wondered, since you’re not answering …” Cat retorts, looking a little smug.

Kara moves to go pick up her cellphone and sees that she has indeed a lot of missed calls, including some from Lucy, Alex and Winn.

“Eh, my bad. I’ve been working on your car all morning,” Kara explains, walking up to her locker to wash her hands before coming back in front of Cat.

“Dedicated, I see,” Cat smiles, looking back and forth between her car and Kara’s face.

“I don’t often have the occasion of working on such cool cars, it’s pretty cool,” Kara shrugs and grabs back her phone to shoot a text to Alex.

“So what’s wrong with it?” Cat asks, walking toward the blue Mustang held in the air.

“I don’t know yet,” Kara explains, joining her a few seconds later. “I’ve changed a few things for the suspensions and the brakes, since you’ve been using those a lot more than a normal person should, but I didn’t find the issue yet.”

Cat looks a little sad and Kara asks “Don’t you have another car you can use in the meantime?”

“I’m using one of my husband’s but it’s not the same,” Cat explains and Kara closes off a little at the mention of Cat’s spouse. “It’s a regular Ford, nothing comparable to this little piece of art.”

Kara has to agree, because the Mustang is really well built, with a lot of nice options and it must be a dream to drive, despite its temperament.

“When can I expect it back?” Cat asks, focusing back on Kara. The hazel of her eyes is fascinating to watch, intense and sparkling.

“I don’t know, I’d say something like a week because I don’t have too much work for the moment, so I can focus on your car,” Kara thinks out loud, glancing back at the Mustang and then at the Police car.

“You have … something … on your cheek,” Cat says, bringing Kara’s attention back to her. Cat’s pointing at something on her right cheek so Kara uses the sleeve of her work overalls to try to wipe it.

It causes Cat to laugh.

“You’re only spreading it,” Cat explains and she pulls off a tissue from one of her pockets, approaching it from Kara with a question in her eyes.

Kara doesn’t know how to react so she only nods and lets Cat take care of it, whatever it is. Cat smells like spring, like the grass after the rain and with hints of lemon and spices. She looks concentrated as she conscientiously erases whatever it is that stains Kara’s face. It leaves Kara speechless and a little breathless.

“There you go,” Cat says, showing off the dirty trace on her tissue. She looks pleased.

“Uh … Thank you,” Kara manages to say, still dazzled.

“You’re welcome. Give me a call once my car is ready?” Cat asks, handing over her card. It has a blue and grey logo on it, that says CatCo. “My personal number is on the back.”

After that, she leaves without another word, the sound of her heels fading away.

—

“Miss Danvers, what a surprise!”

Kara freezes, recognizing the voice on the other end of the line. It’s not who she expected and she angrily stares at the CatCo card, already feeling betrayed.

“Lord Byron-Price. You’re not who I was calling,” Kara greets, coolly. “I’m simply calling to let your wife know her car is ready, she can come pick it up whenever she’s free.”

“Why thank you,” the man replies, sounding amused. “I’m surprised you agreed to handle Cat’s car.”

Kara greets her teeth and forces herself to stay calm before replying “It’s just business.”

“Is it, now?” Alaric asks, smugly. “I’ve been told you don’t have much work these days … Have you thought some more about my latest proposal?”

Kara recalls her last talk with Cat, how she said she could focus on the Mustang because she didn’t have much to do. The feeling of betrayal grows and settles, bringing with it the bitter taste of disappointment.

“I have, and my answer is still the same,” Kara replies. “Have a good evening, Lord Byron-Price.”

Kara hangs up before he could answer and sits down in her chair with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, Kara,” Alex says, making Kara startle.

“I didn’t hear you come in … ” Kara arches a brow.

“You really should buy a new lock for your back door,” Alex replies, as matter-of-factly as she can sound. “Anyway. I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

Kara nods but doesn’t answer. Alex doesn’t push it, simply moving to go grab a couple of beers in the fridge, handing one over to her sister before sitting down in front of the desk.

“Business’s not going so good, uh?”

“That’s … an understatement,” Kara sighs, looking at the papers spread on her desk. “I might not even have a choice in a few months, I’d have to hand my garage over to him.”

Her phone goes off and Kara recognize the number she’s just called. Cat’s number. She ignores it and turns her phone face down against the desk.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Alex asks, settling in more comfortably in her chair.

“Nah. I’m tempted to ask Lena for an investment but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea and beside, it’d only serve to buy me some time,” Kara explains, finishing her beer in a few gulps. “I think the end’s unavoidable …”

Alex doesn’t say anything after that.

—

“You’re not answering my calls.”

Kara doesn’t startle this time, she’s hear the heels before Cat spoke. She’s bent over the hood of Winn’s car and trying to fix a tiny leak that causes the engine to drown, provoking the many breakdowns she’s been wondering about.

“I left a message with your husband,” Kara replies, not even bothering with facing Cat. Her own voice echoes around her head.

“So it seems, yes,” Cat replies, her voice short and slightly angry.

“I fixed the wrong contact in the wire that caused a short-circuit chain reaction, it’s as good as new. Keys are on the contact, you can leave with it,” Kara continues, blindly reaching to her side to grab another tool.

There’s a silence behind her, only troubled by her own grunts as she struggles to screw on a tiny bolt on the side of the engine.

“How much do I owe you?” Cat eventually asks and Kara sees red.

She stands back up and throws her tool on the table before turning around. She’s tied the upper part of her work overalls around her hips today and her tank top is drenched with sweat, oil and grease. She grabs a relatively clean cloth and uses it to wipe her hands on it as she stares at Cat.

“I don’t want your money, Miss Grant,” She calmly states, lifting her chin up. “Your husband has been trying to buy my garage for over a year now, I’m not accepting anything that might come from him.”

Cat looks utterly appalled, so much that Kara wonders if she knew about it. Then, anger flares in the hazel green eyes and Cat steps forward, coming to stand into Kara’s personal space.

“What year do you think this is? Who do you think I am, exactly?” Cat bites, looking furious and slightly hurt, if Kara really looks. “I don’t need a man to make money, Kara. I never needed a man for anything, I’ve been making it on my own since I’m 16 and I don’t like you implying that I’m some kind of trophy wife!”

Kara returns the heated glare and doesn’t back off, despite the fact she can smell Cat’s dizzying perfume and see the freckles of gold that swirl in the hazel green eyes.

“You didn’t even know, right?” Kara accuses, her voice low but clear. A hint of guilt gleams in Cat’s eyes. “You don’t know what your husband has done to my business, my reputation even. You might not be a trophy wife, but you’re just as oblivious as one.”

Cat steps even closer and now they’re standing just inches away from each other.

“You take that back, Miss Danvers. You don’t know me, you don’t know my husband” Cat threats, anger dancing in the hazel of her eyes.

“Do you? Know your husband, I mean,” Kara attacks right back and for a second, she thinks Cat is about to slap her.

Instead, Cat leans forward and crashes her lips on Kara’s.

It’s a bruising kiss, heavy with anger, resentment and so much passion. Kara’s hands drop the cloth she’s been holding and wrap around Cat’s body, pulling her closer. Their tongues dance and explore, collide. Cat reaches out and wrap one hand around Kara’s neck,  the other one closing on Kara’s shoulder, fingernails already digging in the thin tank top.

It lasts and Kara finds herself leaning against the hood of Winn’s car, holding Cat and drowning in their kiss. Cat instinctively tilts her head and Kara takes advantage of it, leaving Cat’s lips to trail down to her jawline.

It’s only when one of Kara’s hand venture under the helm of Cat’s shirt that Cat pulls back, eyes wide and hooded, breath laboured and irregular.

“We can’t. It’s not … I’m …” Cat struggles to just breathe and Kara’s no better. Her head is spinning and the heady scent of lemon and spice screw with her focus.

“ … married,” Kara finishes, eventually regaining some form of composure.

Cat looks impossibly desperate at that, so lost and small that Kara just wants to hold her again, to kiss her until she’s smiling but she can’t. Cat’s married and this isn’t right.

“You should leave, Cat. Keys are on the contact,” Kara repeats and she turns around to hide the hot tears that are already gathering in her eyes.

She grabs back her adjusting wrench and bends over Winn’s car, making it clear she doesn’t want to talk about it.

It takes a while but eventually, Cat’s heels walk away.

—

“Cat? What are you–” Kara stops right in her track, taking in the sight of Cat in front of her.

Cat’s been crying, there’s a reddish glow around her eyes and her make-up’s all messed up. Her hair is damp from the rain that’s beating down the street and her clothes are soaked through, crumpled and even ripped in some place. The most alarming parts, though, are the already darkening bruise on her jawline, the impressive, bleeding cut on the side of her head and the split on her lips.

“What the fuck? Are you alright? Come on in,” Kara opens her door and gently grabs one of Cat’s wrist to pull her in. She immediately guides Cat through her apartment to the bathroom, making her sit on the edge of the bath tube. She helps her out of her Trench and drops the wet piece of cloth in the laundry basket near the washing machine.

“Don’t move,” Kara orders and she leaves for a few minutes. When she comes back, she hands over a glass of what smells like Bourbon to Cat and then opens a drawer, pulling out an impressive pharmacy box.

“I’m going to disinfect everything, it’s going to sting,” Kara announces and Cat simply nods, seemingly too out of it to react.

Kara’s careful and gentle but firm, she doesn’t let Cat pull away when it hurts. She takes care of all the injuries and fixes them as best as she can, before rummaging around to find some tiger balm.

“This is going to hurt, Cat,” Kara explains, digging two fingers in the small can of medicine before approaching them from Cat’s jawline. With her other hand, she gently holds Cat’s face in place while she massages the darkening skin. She’s slow and careful, tender even.

“What happened, Cat? Did Alaric do this to you?” Kara asks, ready to drive over there and beat the shit out of him.

“No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare raise his hand on me,” Cat retorts, a little of her usual fire returning to her. Kara doesn’t show it but she feels relieved at that. “I … we had an argument, about him wanting to buy your property.”

Kara freezes for a second but then returns to massaging Cat’s skin. The balm is penetrating the epidermis with difficulty, so she keeps at it.

“I’m … You didn’t have to …” Kara tries to say but Cat places a hand around her wrist, holding her in place.

“I wanted to know,” Cat whispers, looking a little forlorn. “I’ve been living in my own world for a long, long time Kara, I never paid enough attention to anything else.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara replies. “It must not have been easy.”

“It wasn’t, no. I realise he … did this to other people, not just you. He’s been slowly buying out the whole town, you’re just one of the very few people standing up to him. It made me realise that I didn’t know him, at all. You were right, you know? I didn’t know my husband, at all.”

Kara doesn’t even try to deny it. She simply stops touching Cat, observing the result with attention before deeming it satisfying. She pulls away to go wash her hands.

“We got into a massive argument, at the end of which I asked for a divorce,” Cat lets out a strangled, dry chuckle. “He didn’t take it too well, we yelled some more and eventually, I left. I drove too fast, it was raining, I didn’t even know where to go … I crashed against a tree, not too far from here. Hence the injuries.”

Kara turns back to glare at Cat, looking really annoyed.

“Again, I do have a phone you know?”

“Would you have picked up, seeing my name on it?” Cat defies, eyes gleaming.

Kara doesn’t reply right away, thinking back on it. Eventually, she shakes her head no because she’s been too hurt to deal with Cat, in any capacity.

“I figured so,” Cat replies, hurt audible in her tone.

“Where’s Carter?” Kara asks, a little concerned at the idea of the young boy being alone with Alaric.

“With his father, in Metropolis,” Cat explains. “Carter’s the result of my first marriage, I only married Alaric two years ago.”

Kara thinks it makes sense, especially since Carter doesn’t look like Alaric at all.

“Do you want another drink?” Kara asks, gesturing to Cat’s empty glass.

Cat nods and Kara makes a motion for Cat to follow her back to the kitchen. Cat sits down at the kitchen’s bar and waits until Kara places the whole bottle in front of her.

“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need,” Kara offers, leaning back against her kitchen in front of Cat. “I’ll make up the guest room for you.”

“Thank you,” Cat replies, pouring herself another glass of alcohol.  

Kara doesn’t linger and goes to prepare the guest room.

—

“Do you know how bad this looks?” Alex hisses through her greeted teeth.

“I know!” Kara groans, handing over the right car key to a customer, who thanked her with a big smile and a firm handshake.

“I don’t think you do! For the love of God Kara, she’s going through a divorce! She can’t live with you!” Alex stresses, starting to pace in front of Kara’s desk.

“It’s not like that!” Kara protests, trying not to blush. “She’s in the guest room and nothing ever happened, I swear!”

“That’s not even the point Kara,” Alex rolls her eyes, looking impatient. “How do you think this will look for the divorce attorneys? She’s got a lot to lose, you know?”

Kara pauses at that. She never thought about it, especially not since Cat seems to be so comfortable in Kara’s place. She didn’t think about the divorce attorneys or any kind of official procedures and Alex has a point, it could look bad.

“I’ll … talk to her about it,” Kara eventually sighs. She doesn’t want Cat to move out, it’s been surprisingly nice to have some company, even as prickly and impossible as Cat is. Still, it’s the right thing to do.

“Do that,” Alex nods and waves at her sister before leaving the office.

—

“You want me to move out?” Cat asks, looking as hurt as she sounds.

“I don’t want to, no, but I think you have to,” Kara sighs, pouring herself another glass of wine. “What about the divorce procedure? I’m guessing your husband has an army of divorce attorneys looking for flaws to ping on you so he can get the most out of it … How does you living at my place might look, to the outside world?”

Cat opens her mouth but nothing comes out and so she closes it, looking thoughtful. It takes a little while, during which Kara switches to a beer because Cat’s wine is all good and fancy but it’s not her type.

“You … might have a point,” Cat finally concedes and she looks a little sad.

“Don’t worry Cat, as soon as the divorce’s official, if you want to keep living here you can,” Kara says without thinking, instinctively reacting to the look in Cat’s eyes. It takes a second before she realises what she just did.

“I mean, you have a lot of money and a media empire in National City, you probably should buy something there but you know, in the meantime … I mean …” Kara stammers and blushes, cursing herself in her mind.

Cat looks terribly amused now, which is a step up from the sad look but Kara feels like a fool.

“Why thank you, Kara,” Cat smiles. “I’ll consider it.”

“Whatever,” Kara mumbles and busies herself with her beer to avoid looking into Cat’s amused eyes.

—

“Whoa, what’s happening?” Alex asks, staring at the line of people waiting outside of Kara’s office, at the back of the garage.

“Hey Alex,” Winn greets, emerging from the pit in a dark blue work overalls. “Apparently, the divorce didn’t go so well for Lord Byron-Price and to be able to stay afloat, he had to sell a lot of properties back to their rightful owners. People have been coming back for weeks now, tourism is starting up again and with it, businesses.”

“That’s nice,” Susan quips from her spot against the fixed police car. “I take it Kara’s been busy with work?”

Winn nods and then throws a knowing look at Alex.

“She’s been a little out of it though. Cat hasn’t been back to Midvale since she left, right after their talk about Cat living with Kara at the beginning of the divorce …”

“That bad, uh,” Susan says and Alex sighs.

“I’ll handle it tonight. We’re having game night at Luce’s, I’ll talk to her then.”

Winn nods and goes back into the pit while Alex and Susan climb back into their car.

—

“Hello Kara,” Cat greets the moment Kara opens her door.

“Miss Grant,” Kara replies, arching a surprised brow. “Long time no see … What brings you to this neighborhood?”

Cat smiles and waves at her blue Mustang parked behind her.

“Care to join me for a ride? I have something I want to show you.”

Kara blinks and then frowns. Cat’s looking expectant, there’s some trepidation in her hazel eyes and the smile on her lips is genuine, wide. She’s wearing a simple but very elegant green summer dress that exposes her arms and her legs, but no heels.

“Alright,” Kara eventually agrees, grabbing her keys, her phone and her wallet before she closes behind her.

The ride is quiet but comfortable and after a little while, Kara notices they’re driving toward the ocean.

After one last swerve, Cat turns to take a smaller path that leads toward a beautiful beach house, located atop a cliff that overlook the ocean.

“See, you asked what brings me to this neighborhood … Well. I live here now,” Cat says as she parks in front of the house.

Kara exits the car and takes a few steps toward the house before she gets almost tackled to the ground by a teenager with dark blond curls and sparkling blue eyes.

“Hey Kara! Welcome to our house!” Carter greets her, hugging her tightly. “Come on, come see the view from the back of the house, it’s amazing!”

“I bet it is, kid! Lead the way,” Kara laughs, glancing back at Cat before following the young boy.

The house is huge and decorated with taste. It’s obvious the people living in it have money but somehow, it’s simple and homey, cozy. Kara walks across big rooms with wooden floor and soft tones, wide glasses that let the sunlight in and allow a really beautiful view of the ocean, beyond the well maintained gardens.

Eventually, she steps out in the back and walks with Carter to the end of the gardens, almost at the edge of the cliff. The ocean is spreading in front of them, joining the horizon in the far beyond in a simple line defined by two different shades of blue.

“It’s amazing indeed,” Kara breathes, inhaling the distinct scent of salt water and sand. “You’re very lucky to live here!”

Carter beams at her and then runs away back into the house. It’s Cat who comes to stand next to Kara.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back,” Cat starts, sounding a little hesitant. “The divorce didn’t exactly go as planned, at first.”

Kara frowns “It clearly turned at your advantage though, because Lord Byron-Price had to sell back a lot of the town’s properties, people have been moving back in and our business has never been better …”

“We’ve turned the tables around, yes,” Cat smirks, looking a little smug. “Turns out, he had some terrible skeletons in his closet, I only had to press on it …”

“This is a fine house, in any case,” Kara smiles, turning her head to face Cat.

“It is, yes. I’m hoping you’d … consider moving in with us, one day.”

“That was fast,” Kara laughs. “You lived with me for a few weeks and it’s all it takes for you to ask me to move in with you? Damn, woman, you’re impossible.”

Kara steps forward and reaches a hand to lift Cat’s chin.

“How about we go on a real date first?.”

“Kara Danvers, are you asking me out?” Cat smiles, golden sparkles of happiness floating in the hazel of her eyes.  

“Well, yes, it’s about time don’t you think?” Kara retorts, leaning in for a kiss.

It’s soft and tender but it’s also oddly familiar, for two people who only kissed once before.

It feels like coming home, Kara thinks as Cat’s lips open against her own

[angelicspaceprince]

Marked Part 1

Author: Ama

Title: Marked

Pairing: Beetlejuice/Reader

Character/s: Beetlejuice

Word Count: 1, 845 words

Warnings: Yandere!Beetlejuice, dub/noncon, hypnosis, cum kink/play, forced oral, dirty talk, boot riding/licking, forced orgasm. Look. It's dark. Its gonna get darker. Smut obvi, 18+ only

Prompt: Beetlejuice is convinced that you have been teasing him for some time now, and it's time for you to face the consequences for your actions.

Notes: I’ve written like five yandere fics in my life and have published none of them. Here. Welcome to the dark parts of my mind. Please be warned it isn’t going to end like. With a happy ending for the reader. And its dark and its possibly triggering. Read at own risk.

Buy Me a Coffee

Marked

You’d been tempting him for ages. You’d lived in that house for so long with him haunting you, you had to know that he was there. Walking around in nothing but your underwear if he wasn’t lucky and nothing if he was. You were tempting him, you had been for months now. That’s the only reason he could see why you’d be wearing such skimpy scraps of lace, to seduce him.

He watched you cum on your fingers and on your toys after you stopped trying to bring people around to have sex with. He scared them off, of course. Couldn’t you see that you deserve better than them? Couldn’t you see that you deserved him?

What really pissed him off was when you started going out until the wee hours of the morning, coming home smelling like booze and sex and other men, dressed in clothes that left nothing to the imagination. Was this punishment for chasing off his competition? Were you teasing him for not being so forward? Well, he can change that.

Granted, the screaming that came when he finally convinced you to summon him was less than an ideal way to meet the love of your life, but he was sure he could get you to come around. The running towards the back door, however? That was unacceptable.

His clones managed to get you and drag you back into the living room where he stood, staring down at you as you tried your best not to panic at how the sudden change in events has left you scared shitless. You wince when you feel his cold hand brush against your cheek as he moves to play with your hair. “Y/N, why would you run? Don’t you know that it’s me, babes?” You blink up at him in shock.

“I- I don’t know who you are, or how you managed to do….. that , but please if you just go I promise that I won’t tell anyone what happe-” Your words are cut off by a loud smack across your face.

“Don’t play games with me, Y/N.” His voice is low and gravely as he warns you. “I know you have been teasing me. Why else would you act the way you do?” You shake your head, not 100% sure what he means. He rolls his eyes. “C’mon, babes. The lingerie. The teasing me with other men and women. The little shows you put on for me around the house. That.” He nods towards your dress that has hiked its way up around your waist, leaving your panties in plain view.

“I. I wear stuff like that because it makes me feel comfortable!” You protest. “I didn’t know you were there, otherwise I wouldn’t of….”

“Fucked yourself on your fingers until you came so sweetly for me?” He asks with a large, creepy grin.

You don’t even bother rising to the bait, too scared to even really consider it. “And what I do with other people is really none of your business!” You regret the words the moment they come out of your mouth. Beej leans down to grab at your face, pushing your cheeks in with his thumb and middle finger until your mouth opens and tongue is pushed out.

“Oh, Y/N. Why did you have to be such a brat? Daddy doesn’t like bratty girls.” He chastises, hair going from its vibrant green to a very, very angry red. “Perhaps I should put something in your mouth to stop all this lip, mm?” You can feel drool slowly drip down your face as you look up at him in fear, still unable to move due to the two clones holding your arms out, keeping you from getting up from your knees. “Oh baby girl, you look so precious when you drool like that.” He praises. “Let’s see if you can drool on something else for me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear his zipper open, but the scratching of his dirty fingernails against your skin makes your eyes bulge back open. “Uh uh, c’mon princess, keep those pretty little eyes up here.” You can feel the tears well up again, but you do as requested, eyes snapping up to look at his deep, brown ones. “No teeth, princess, or I’ll pull every single one of them out and we will start again.” He promises before slowly working his thumb into your mouth, dragging it open as he slowly starts to push his cock deep into your mouth, groaning at the warmth. You try to ignore the taste of flesh pressing into your mouth and the pooled spit that laid on your tongue dripping down onto your chest, the low cut dress offering next to no cover as your mouth and throat are slowly filled, forcing more drool out of your mouth, down your face and neck. You feel him press against the back of your throat, still pushing in as you gag around him loudly. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good for me.” He groans lowly as he finally bottoms out, pushing your nose against his pubes, grinding against you a few times. “Fuck, it’s like you were made to be my little cocksleeve.”

You whimper against him, causing him to groan again, pulling back to thrust into your throat. How big was he anyway?

It takes a second before his grip on your hair tightens and slowly, he begins to fuck your throat, his pace slowly building as you just hold your mouth open and try your best not to gag, ignoring all the dirty talk coming from his mouth about how you ‘take me so well’ and are the ‘perfect little cocksucker’ and look ‘just perfect with my cock in your mouth’. Your eyes are glazed as you stare off into the distance, keeping them locked on him and yet far away from the current situation you find yourself in. It’s not until you feel him slap at your face again do you realise he asked you a question.

“Aren’t ya gonna tell me babes? Why you dress like that? Is it so others will stare? Oh, my little cumwhore, I bet it is.” His voice his teasing, but the sudden aggressiveness of his thrusts suggests that he very much believes that that is the case. You try to beg around his cock, saying that it wasn’t and to please, just slow down, but all that comes out is a garbled mess. “Why do you let others stare at you like that? Do you like the attention?” He questions you, growing more and more breathless by the second, your gag reflex now fucked out but your throat feeling permanently stretched out. “Then, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I did this.” You nearly scream when he rips himself from your mouth, the sudden removal of his dick in your throat causing more pain than when he forced it in. You don’t scream for long though, as he cums against your face causing you to slam your mouth and eyes shut. You hear him growl. “No, whore, mouth open.” You whimper, ignoring what he says as he continues to cum and cum and cum, drentching you completely. How much does this man have to cum?

He seems to let you get away with not opening your mouth, instead moving to mark up your tits and dress. “ Fuck babes, I want to mark you in front of everyone. One day, I fucking will.” He swears as he feels himself finish up, your hair, face, chest and tummy just drenched with his seed. “Fuck, Y/N, you look so beautiful.” He tucks himself away, a huge smile across his face. “Did you cum for me, baby?”

You are seething. “You-” You gag at the sudden taste of his salty cum on your tongue, moving to spit it out but instantly, two cum covered fingers enter your mouth and push in, his gaze intense.

“Swallow.” Came his simple order. You try your best not to cry as you obey, cleaning his filthy fingers. When he pulls them back out, you don’t get a chance to even rebut before two more fingers press into you. “Swallow.” He orders again, not budging until every drop of his cum is off of his fingers. So it continues, slowly you are able to block out the salt and the bitter of his seed, suddenly appreciating the taste, and focus on the soothing motions of just sucking his fingers, feeling yourself fall into submission at the simple task of just cleaning him up, eyes never leaving his. “Oh, Y/N.” He says as you begin to suck all four fingers stuffed into your mouth with a happy moan. “One day you’ll learn to love me. Until then, I’m happy to have you as just my little cum-addicted whore.” He coos as he allows the hypnosis to take over your mind, keeping you complacent and submissive as he scoops up more cum to push into your waiting mouth. “Don’t you worry, babes, we’re gonna be just fine, you and I.” He hums, wanting to see how deep he’s managed to get you under. “Cum.”

Your body shudders as you shriek around his fingers, your pussy clenching at nothing as you cum violently on his command. His grin widens in absolute glee. “Cum.” You shriek as you rock your hips, desperate to find that friction as you start to drip onto the floor, panties now soaked. You whimper when he removes his fingers only to groan with glee when they come back, slowly pushing down your throat and massaging at your tongue as they go, his shoe moving to press firmly against your clit. “Again.” You scream, rocking against his shoe as you feel yourself cum. “Again.” It’s getting to be too much, but it feels so good. “Again.” You’re entire body feels like it's on fire, you just want to taste him, be full of him, have him fuck his cum into you as your belly swells with it. “Again.”

You scream once more before your body begins to shudder and shake at the intensity of how hard you came. You feel his foot removed from you, leaving you to whine as he tuts at you. “Look at the state you’ve left my shoe in.”

Without even being asked, you drop your head down, whining loudly in protest when you are held up by the clones before crashing to the floor, the hardwood drenched in your slick as you seek out Beetlejuice’s shoe and slowly start cleaning it up with your tongue. The demon smiles down at the sight before him, your ass up in the area as you clean up after yourself with your tongue, once his shoe tastes of leather again, you’ll move down to clean the absolute puddle of cum you have left on the floor, your belly filled with his seed and your juice. The idea makes him feel warm on the inside.

Yes. He could get used to this.

[bunjywunjy]

THE LAST DRAGON

if you want to learn about dragons, you’re usually restricted to the Fantasy section of your local library. because dragons are made up, and don’t exist except in the minds of small children and George R. R. Martin. 

apart from the ones that live in Indonesia, of course. they may not breathe fire or threaten hobbits, but these dragons are very real and perfectly willing to rip your face off and ask for seconds.

watch out, because it’s the

I AM FIRE, I AM DEATH

Komodo Dragons are actually a kind of lizard, but one on the scale of life on earth back when the dinosaurs were in charge. they’re fucking huge. these behemoths can reach lengths of ten feet and weights of over 300 pounds. big enough to ride, if there were a human out there brave enough to try it. (DON’T DO THIS, YOU WILL DIE. THIS IS EVEN WORSE THAN THE OSTRICH THING, I’M NOT KIDDING.)

naturally these enormous reptiles scared the everloving shit out of the first Dutch explorers to reach the area, forever earning themselves the name “Dragon”. for once, those old European maps with little doodles of monsters everywhere were pretty accurate!

don’t go looking for Krakens, though. those are still mostly fake.

Komodo Dragons are the largest lizard on earth, and the largest of the monitor family Varanidae. but this wasn’t always the case! they’re actually the last and least of an ancient line of giant reptiles that once inhabited the south pacific. the largest of these was Australia’s Megalania, an 18-foot titan that died out at the end of the last Ice Age with the rest of its kind. but not the Komodo Dragon! they’re doing just fine, thanks.

like Megalania, the Komodo Dragon seems to have evolved in Australia. (OF COURSE. THIS EXPLAINS EVERYTHING.) and when the seas rose at the end of the Ice Age, it stranded a population of dragons on five remote islands in Indonesia, where they survived whatever the fuck killed off their continental relatives. (probably us, to be honest.) you thought it was just a tagline but it’s not: these guys are truly the Last Dragons.

go ahead and shed a tear, but don’t expect them to appreciate it.

their isolation and last-dragonism is very sad, yes. but don’t feel too bad about it, because Komodo Dragons are one of nature’s most dangerous predators. there’s a reason locals call them Ora, the Land Crocodile. (actually there’s multiple reasons, and they’re all terrible. stand by!)

their lazy lizard stylings and charming smirk conceal a mouthful of inch-long serrated teeth, razor-sharp claws and a nightmare bullwhip of a tail. Komodo Dragons use all of these weapons, and more! (this is the Super Cool part of the article kids, make sure to read it EXTRA CAREFULLY so you can impress your friends later during recess.)

and yes, they swim! hurray! there is no escape.

the Komodo Dragon is an apex predator, which is unusual for a lizard. they’re filling an ecological niche that would normally be taken by a large mammal predator like, I dunno, a tiger or a lion or a bear. (OH MY!) this means they have some pretty big shoes to fill (metaphorical, bears don’t wear shoes.) but they do it in spades!

Komodo Dragons will eat anything, and that’s barely an exaggeration. They eat plenty of carrion, and lots of small creatures like squirrels and really unlucky snakes. they also eat medium animals like goats, WHICH THEY SWALLOW WHOLE. (if the prey is too big to fit down their throats, the Komodo Dragon often rams its open mouth into a tree until it fits. sometimes they actually knock down the fucking tree. I wish I was making this up.) Komodo Dragons also eat animals you normally wouldn’t be able to take down without a rocket launcher, like water buffalo and uh, other Komodo Dragons. they’re cannibals, because the food chain just moves backwards sometimes.

and yes, they absolutely eat humans. good thing they’re trapped on five remote islands in Indonesia!

WAIT, THEY SWIM. FUCK, HOW COULD I FORGET.

so how does an overgrown gecko hunt animals that normally require an entire pack of lions to take down? well, there’s some Science Controversy(tm) about that. Komodo Dragons have a pair of MYSTERIOUS GLANDS (which would be a good name for a garage band) in their lower jaw, which scientists used to think were full of venom. they thought that the Komodo Dragon was basically using this venom to cheat its way into a niche that should rightfully belong to a more advanced mammal, but THESE SCIENTISTS WERE WRONG AND DUMB. 

it turns out these MYSTERIOUS GLANDS (I want this on a t-shirt) actually don’t do a whole lot as far as hunting goes! they secrete what MAY be a mild anticoagulant, but it’s not really strong enough to have much effect. yup, turns out that the Komodo Dragon just mauls the shit out of things until they die, like any decent ‘advanced mammal’ predator. they EARNED that apex niche as honestly as any predator can. (not that predators really have a concept of “honest”, or that it matters, since they’re the ones with the inch-long teeth.)

LIZARDS RULE AND MAMMALS DROOL! 

but maybe it’s not such a surprise that these real-life dragons are still on top of the food chain, because they’re some of the smartest reptiles on earth. and okay, maybe “the smartest reptile in the world” doesn’t sound like an impressive title. but Komodo Dragons and their cousins have elaborate social structures, can count to six, recognize individual humans, and play nice games of tug-the-carcass with their friends. (both humans and other dragons can be friends! friends are not for eating.) that’s a better track record than most human toddlers!

and they’re totally trainable, but don’t get your hopes up about owning one or several. (DANG.) Komodo Dragons are a protected species, so having a loyal army of them trained to lay waste to your enemies and fetch the morning paper is still very much a pipe dream. (this is a joke, they make terrible pets.)

FOR NOW.

and speaking of being a protected species, how is the Komodo Dragon doing these days? well, shortly after scaring the absolute pants off the first Dutch explorers to meet one, Europeans became obsessed with them and they were granted immediate protections by the Dutch colonial government. (please note that the Komodo Dragon was also doing just fine before the Dutch came along, thanks.) in fact, the first expedition sent to capture Komodo Dragons for scientific study was the basis for the movie King Kong! (a niche film you may possibly have heard of.)

these protections kept the Komodo Dragon from becoming just another hunting trophy for rich Europeans. (unfortunately this cannot be said of lions, tigers and bears, all of whom decorated the drawing rooms of rich Victorians.) they’re still doing pretty well today, though they are threatened by rising seawater and their limited range.

we hope these gigantic lizard genius cannibals stick around for a long time to come! and remember, if you want to avoid getting munched: BEFRIEND. (very carefully.)

HUMANS ARE FRIENDS, NOT FOOD. 

–

thanks for reading! you can find the rest of the Weird Biology series on my tumblr here, or check out the official archive at weirdbiology.com!

if you enjoy my work, maybe buy me a coffee and support Weird Biology!

and if you’d like to see exclusive Weird Biology content, check out my Patreon today!

–

IMAGE SOURCES

img1- elpais.com img2- Time Travel Turtle img3- Smithsonian National Zoo img4- Komodo Tours img5- Michael Pollack img6- Animal Sake img7- ZooChat img8- Calgary Herald

[sarareynolds]

Random Asks: Part III

101. From 1-10, how good of a dancer do you consider yourself?

5? I can dance well enough to call it dancing. Admittedly, my scale is a little broken. 

102. How much of a patient person are you?

Overall, I am super patient, and then eventually, I hit a day where I find I have none, where I'm am reduced to an over-tired, screaming-and-cying toddler who just needs to be held and told it's ok.

103. Do you know your IQ?

I don't and I'm not going to pull up an internet quiz to prove I'm probably relatively average in that respect.

104. Do you eat meat at all?

Yes.  

105. Do you own any clothes from a garage sale or a thrift store?

I am very good at thrifting. I enjoy finding the designer thing for 30 bucks or buying an item of clothing that's really dated but has all the potential to become something new. Thrift shops bring out my creative side. 

106. Have you ever bought anything from a flea market?

Same. Same thing as above. I enjoy the treasure hunt of it all. 

107. Have you ever quit a job?

Yes. 

108. Have you ever gotten a song you dislike stuck in your head?

Yes, I have. Some of the worst songs are earworms. 

109. Any movie(s) you can watch over and over and over again and enjoy just as much each time?

Yes, but in general they are not "happy" films. I friggin love Eternal Sunshine. 

110. Do you or have you ever worn glasses?

Not in any serious capacity. 

111. Have you ever skinny dipped?

I have and I'd do it again. 

112. Are your birth parents still together?

No. 

113. Have you ever been in the audience for the taping of a TV show?

I have not. Not that I couldn't, I live in New York City I could definitely do that on a whim.

114. Favorite type of cookie?

Chocolate chip. Gooey, none of that crunchy shit. I want it to ooze chocolate and maybe be the size of my face. Lol  Guys, I may have a sweets problem.

115. Have you ever been broken up with?

I haven't...

116. How often do you smile when getting your picture taken?

Most of the time. 

117. Have you ever accidentally dialed 911?

I have. Wah wah. 

118. Oldest memory?

I remember my dad taking me to a fair and we rode the rides, ate mostly deep fried sweets and finished the night with Styx. I do not know how old I was and it's in jumbled flashes but yeah, that's it. Coincidentally, also my first concert.

119. Have you ever been the victim of a nasty prank?

No. 

120. How often do you snort when you laugh?

Probably, more than I should. 

121. From 1-10, how good of a singer do you consider yourself?

5 again my scale is a tiny bit broken here. 

122. Favorite Disney song?

Poor Unfortunate Souls... Actually, my top five are villain songs, I did not realize that until now. Hmm...

123. Where do you see yourself 10 years from now?

I haven't a fucking clue. Hopefully as happy, if not more, than I am now.

124. What is your Myers-Briggs personality type?

I have never taken the time to take the test. You tell me. Lol

125. Have you ever had a fortune cookie fortune come true?

No, because they are vague advice more than predictions. 

126. Name one thing you wish people would stop posting on social media.

Those inspirational quote things. I feel like everyone that posts them is being passive aggressive or just dying for someone to go: you're going to be ok! It's annoying and pointless. If something is going on in your life talk to someone or don't. Don't post someone else's "wisdom" like your hard time makes you the wisest in the land. 

127. Last musical artist you saw live?

Twenty-One Pilots

128. Credit cards or cash?

Neutral

129. Favorite fandom?

Pokemon

130. What is your astrological sign?

Sagittarius, but this part of divination is a lot more complicated than that, that's just one aspect of your personality. It's a rabbit hole and I admittedly find it more interesting than it actually is.

131. Have you ever been fired from a job?

Yeah. 

132. Any hidden talents?

I've answered this before. I dunno, I can do the splits ... Not sure if that counts as hidden.

133. Can you surf?

I can. Granted with all the great white sharks being spotted off Jersey I am not sure I'm brave enough to do it this year.

134. What motivates you to do well in life?

Not being in a shit situation later in life? 

135. Your worst physical feature?

My hands? I don't know, sometimes I feel like they look old even if I pamper them. 

136. From 1-10, how much are you like your father?

7? More like him than I'm not. Which could be a bad thing. 

137. How lucky do you consider yourself?

Typically my answer is: not very, but recently I seem to have all the luck. 

138. Name a moment in your life when you were pleasantly surprised.

When Nik kissed me for the first time. I was honestly not expecting it nor did I expect the lightning bolt feeling that came with it.

139. Have you ever been summoned for jury duty?

Nope. 

140. What type of shoes do you wear the most?

A pair of Adidas. 

141. Favorite summer activity?

Swimming. I would live in the water. 

142. Favorite song to sing in the shower?

Um, whatever is in my head when I wake up? 

143. Have you ever lived with a roommate you did not get along with?

I have not. I've gotten along with all my roommates. I did have one who hated me but I didn't dislike her.

144. Have you ever lived on a farm?

No. Not my natural habitat.

145. Have you ever kept a diary or a journal? 

I still keep a journal. It's just a good way to start the day. 

146. TV show or movie you quote/reference the most?

Probably, Fired Up. I realize that should probably be embarrassing for me but, eh, it's super funny even if it's a dumb movie. 

147. How often do you get mad at yourself?

More than I should. I'm pretty forgiving and patient with everyone but myself. 

148. Have you ever gotten any stitches?

No, but I have been healed for an injury that a no maj would have stitched up. 

149. Have you ever been hunting?

No. Hard no. 

150. Favorite YouTube channel?

Madeyewlook 

[leadpaintrose]

Start with This - Episode 13

Create: Set a calendar alert for 5 days in a row to spend 10 mins writing non-stop.  

Each day, write about a different body part. At the end of the 5 days, put each of the sections together and look at the experimental novel you’ve created.  

Below is the five sections in the order I put them in - I have marked each section with the day I wrote them, so you can see what order they originally came in. 

Day 2 – Legs  

They weren’t moving properly. Frozen, painful, wrong. They folded weird, a sharp pain shooting up them to her back. Just a mess.  

She sighed, pushing away from the table with her arms, trying her best not to use her legs. The chair scraped loudly, and she only just managed to stop herself from toppling over backwards. She had spent all of yesterday crouching on the floor, painting the small features of the balconies on the third floor. She knew that it was a waste of time, but someone was paying her well enough for the work, and she wanted the sense of purpose. Hating herself for herself was hard, but she wasn’t bad enough to want to give up living. Unfortunately, that meant she had to find some sort of work to bring in the money needed to buy the necessities of life.  

Her legs carried her, slowly and haltingly as the muscle protested, into the next room. She had a letter to write to her father, and though it pained her, she would finally have to acknowledge their connection. He had reached out to her, asking for her to return to the city. He apparently needed some sort of proof that he was a father, that he had allowed his blood to pass into the world. That he had done his duty of providing for life in the future.  

She knew that it didn’t matter that he had ignored her, sent her to the outskirts of civilisation as a child, to be cared for by....well, it didn’t matter. Rubbing her hands over her legs, she frowned at the colour of them. So pale, her skin the only proof of her father’s heritage. She hated them. Not for their purpose, but simply for the reminder.  

Easing herself into the chair, she pulled a fresh page towards her, and began her reply. He’d sent guards for her anyway – she may as well make a few demands before it came for that. Maybe a way that she wouldn’t have to burn the muscles in her legs again.  

Day 3 – Shoulders  

She stretched widely, leaning back from the table. Long, slow hours had passed since she started writing, the words struggling to flow. Finally, though, the letter was finished. She stood from the table, rubbing stiff shoulders. Yesterday's work with her staff had already pushed her muscles, and she knew she shouldn’t have spent so much time writing.  

Pushing practiced fingers into the base of her neck, she felt at the knot that had formed there. She slowly worked the muscle, wandering around the room as she did. Memories of her life were placed of a large shelf near the window, keepsakes mostly from her mother. Her probing fingers moved to the other shoulder, starting work on the sore muscles there. Her right side was much worse than the left. She really needed to learn to change hands more frequently.  

She shoulders tensed as the door to her right flew open, banging on the stone wall beside it. Sighing, she switched the massaging back to her left shoulder, starting the slowly movements again.  

All your tension ends up in your shoulder, sweetling.  

Her mother’s words – some of the few she remembered. She smiled at the memory. When she’d been a child, she hadn’t believed that. Tension was felt in the chest and the head, not in some unrelated muscle. Her mother had been right, of course. They always were.  

Still pushing her fingers into her sore muscles, she turned to the young man who had shoved his way in the room.  

“Gale. What do you want?” 

Day 1 – Ears 

Her stupid ears. They had always gotten her into trouble, even without her doing anything. The shape had been a gift from her mother, but her father had only ever seen them as a curse. The only thing she had to remember her, and the main reason she cursed him.  

They were easy to hide, but when she had been a child, she had foolishly thought that she could be proud of them. That the other kids, who all seemed to love playing pretend knights and princesses and horses, would see her as special.  

A different kind of special was placed on her instead.  

She shook her head, trying her best to dispel the thoughts. This was a time that she should be thankful for them. The manor doors were open to her, only because of those stupid ears. She strode inside, the thin silk robes rustling around her feet as the guards slightly inclined their heads. The hall was richly appointed, though so far ahead of the current fashion that it could only belong to a family of great society.  

It was ugly.  

She did not wait. Passing many other, in equally fine robes, she stepped straight through the ornate doors at the end of the hall, the guards hurrying to open them as she did not fault her step. A few cries of irritation from those waiting behind her were quickly stifled by others in the room.  

“Didn’t you see those elegant ears, Tiberius? Now, shut up and sit down, and hope that she didn’t care enough about your face to remember who you were!” 

They all knew she was only a half-elf. In so many cities, this would have placed her far below anyone “pure”, regardless of their race, but here? Here, those torturous marks were everything. This city was just far enough from the centre of the world – socially, of course, not literally – to be ignorant of who should be hated, and just close enough to crave that knowledge.  

A middle-aged man sat in the throne at the end of the tacky chamber. Completely ordinary looking, seemingly in spite of his stunning suit, he was the very picture of non-descript. She felt his eyes on her ears, desperately craving, but awed by her presence, for a long moment before he finally spoke.  

“Blessed Double-Blood, thank you for accepting my invitation.” 

Double-blood. Called a Half-blood everywhere else, the taste of it on one’s tongue bitter and disgusting. But in this mistake of a city, there was no higher honour. She hated this court, but she would serve Courtesy until It allowed her to finally rise out of this dark pit of society.  

Day 4 – Collar Bone 

The silver chain rested over her collar bone, dripping a large blue jewel onto her chest. It was fake, just like her intentions, but the room at large didn’t notice or care about either of them. The gown she wore was cut to show off the jewellery, the typical symbol of wealth and importance. At least, for once, she liked this part of high society. It felt good to wear something she liked, particularly when the diaphanous silks produced so much static that she shocked herself every time she touched one of the tables in the room.  

Idly tracing her collar bone, toying with the necklace, she tried her best to stay awake. The lord been ranting about this latest petition for a while now, long enough that the courtiers not lucky enough to have been allowed a chair to start noticeably sagging. The poor man who had come with a simple request – a second shipment of feed for his sheep, due to the last being lost to bandits along the road, despite being part of the official trade convoy for the Crown, and therefore under heavy guard and a guarantee – was still sitting on the simple chair in front of the dais. His request had been granted – the king was an irritation, but not unjust – but the lord hadn’t said the formal words of dismissal before starting his furious complaining. The man would have to sit until the words were said.  

Still running fingers over her collar bone, she started slightly as one spot flared in pain under the gentle pass of her fingers. She tapped it, feeling the pain keeping her a little more aware, trying to remember how it had happened.  

Oh. Yes.  

She moved her tongue in a soft word, not bothering to even open her lips to give it form, and the pain slowly faded. She tapped the spot a couple more times, to make sure that the healing had taken full effect. It wasn’t often that she bothered with that kind of healing – she didn’t want to get dependent on it, and it was a bit of a waste of energy – but this one, this one she just wanted to forget. She didn’t want to allow him to have that kind of sway over any part of her body or her thoughts.   

Day 5 – Heels

She bolted after him, her shoes long kicked off and forgotten in the nearly identical hallways. The elegant paintings and beautiful flowers blurred past her as she pursued her quarry, heedless to the frantic pace of life around them. The smooth stone flooring didn’t give her much purchase, and she found herself flinging out her hands to catch the stonework as she rounded corners.  

They thundered into the courtyard, bursting out between the carts and carters thronging around. Her heels drummed on the compacted earth, callouses from her childhood of hiding in the woods and climbing trees lending their aid to keeping her moving. The thief glanced behind him, starting to slow, before cursing and speeding up again as he saw her determined face. She rounded the corner as he slipped around behind a large plough horse, her heels scraping against the stone of the low wall they both vaulted over, screaming out to the guards at the portcullis controls above the gate. 

“Thief! Lower the gate! Quickly.” 

They paused, trying to process her words, to match her face to a level of authority high enough for them to follow the orders. Eventually, one of the guards gave a sharp nod, and reached for a thick wooden lever. She saw the flash of a grin as the thief, still a few paces ahead of her, looked back at her. He turned, not stopping, to watch the huge iron banded portcullis begin it’s slow descent.  

She cursed, startling a pair of young men she flew past, well aware that the thief would hit that gate just ahead of the descending wall. Uncaring of the consequences she knew would come, she whistled a short spell. Wispy golden wings formed around her bare heels, and she shot forward like a wild horse let loose of its bridle. She bounded past the thief, pulling up and tackling him just in time for the portcullis to slam into place at her back. Shoving him to the ground, she straightened up, as several guards who had been followed fell upon the thief. He could only stare at her, an awed and panicked expression on his face, his eyes not leaving her face as he was hauled away.  

[bubble-tea-bunny]

non-times and non-places

a miami vice au

[poe dameron x reader]

author’s note: one of the shows i’m working my way through atm is miami vice and i love everything about it. the vaporwave aesthetic is reeaalll haha. i might end up writing more of this cuz it was fun, we’ll see! 

word count: 2,868

Crime never sleeps, and neither, so it seems, do you.

The mug of coffee resting on the island before you has long gone cold when you hear the alarm clock in the bedroom going off, only to be shut off a few moments later with what you know is a tired and heavy hand, accompanied by grumbling as your husband hoists himself out of bed. Your day starts when it’s still dark out, for you’re both due at the department at 9 AM on the dot and rush hour traffic in a city like this is a force to be reckoned with.

You hear creaking as the bedroom door slowly opens, and the quiet patters of Poe’s bare feet along the cold tiles. He’s rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to wake up some more and running a hand through his hair which, at this hour, is more like a lion’s mane after all his moving around while he slept. One brush of his fingers through the strands does little to tame it, but he’s not bothered as he drops his hand back down to his side. He sighs heavily and glances at you upon entering the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” he asks, rifling through the cupboards for the necessary items to make a fresh pot of coffee. You’d only made enough for yourself because it would be cold if left to sit around until he woke up—that’s always a good indicator as to how long you’d been awake. His voice is rough and gravely and he clears his throat.

“No,” you respond softly, fingers curling around the mug handle and pulling it closer to you as if you’re going to bring it up to your mouth to take a sip, but you won’t because if there’s anything you hate more than room temperature coffee, it’s cold coffee, and your movements now are nothing but habit.

“If this keeps up, you should see a doctor.” The suggestion is gentle, and maybe it’s because he’s tired and has no energy for anything firmer or maybe it’s just because he cares so much or maybe it’s a mixture of both.

“I think it’s just the stress,” you reason, and the quiet gurgling of the coffee machine accompanies your words. “The strain of the last bust kept my mind on high alert and even though the case is closed, my body’s still trying to adjust to actually having time to rest.” You chuckle quietly.

Poe turns around and leans against the counter, elbows braced on the surface. There are dark circles under your eyes that have only grown worse as the days continue on. Getting more than five hours of sleep would be considered a stroke of luck on your end, and not only that, but five hours of uninterrupted shut-eye. What rest you’ve managed to get was far from peaceful, punctuated by bouts of laying face-up, staring at the ceiling and watching the reflection of headlights from the occasional passing car flashing across the expanse. And he hates seeing you like this, to see you fatigued to the point that the thought of you passing out right there at your work desk is perfectly plausible.

He does what he can—he figures it’s discomfort at first that prevents you from falling asleep, and every night he pulls you close and nuzzles your hair and runs his fingers up and down your arm, soft and light like the sun peeking over the horizon the next morning. And he wakes up to find you already in the kitchen, not quite able to get through the whole night but you smile softly and he knows you’re saying thanks for trying. He just smiles back and leans forward on the island to set a hand over yours and there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he would never stop trying. He’s a detective watching out for his partner and he’s a husband watching out for his wife. Taking care of you goes without saying.

“Well, at least the weekend’s almost here.” The coffee is done so Poe grabs a mug—it’s one you’d gotten for him as a souvenir when you went to New York to visit family. “You’ll have time to catch up on some much needed sleep.”

“Yes, very much needed…” you murmur.

———

The department is already bustling by the time you get there. Miami is a city with a thriving criminal underworld. People tell you that you should go out to see the Keys when you have the time, because it’s odd that you’ve never been even though you’ve lived here for some time now, and you say that you will as soon as your schedule allows. But crime doesn’t exactly abide by the conventional 9 to 5, and so you suppose you’ll just have to make do with the keys you see while on the clock, in the form of white blocks sniffed out by the K-9 units.

Today you’re in a gray pantsuit with a white button-up underneath and a pair of close-toed shoes to complete the ensemble. You have skirts but haven’t worn them in a while—they aren’t exactly the best article of clothing to be wearing out on the field. Pants grant you the mobility to pursue anyone trying to run. The skirts and dresses and open-toed heels are from your days when you did exclusively desk work.

You open your locker to store your purse inside and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror hanging on the inside of the door. The lack of sleep is apparent in your eyes, not that you couldn’t already feel it with the heaviness in your lids. You’d eaten breakfast which served to help perk you up, but you’re itching for a bust or a chase just to get the adrenaline going. With a sigh, you grab your police badge before shutting the locker.

The morning briefings begin at 9:30 and last, at the most, until 10, depending on how many open cases there are. Today it lasts no more than fifteen minutes. After the last bust, things have been quiet. There’s only one outstanding investigation being handled by another team, so all you and Poe are assigned to is scouting the usual hang-outs and popular spots for drug-dealing. You know something is bound to pop up as you talk with informants working in these areas. Someone’s always looking to buy, and there’s always someone prepared to sell.

South Beach is the place to be if one knows anything about living in a place like this. The city is always warm, the go-to destination for those looking to hide away from the chill farther north during the winter months, but the beach always feels just a bit warmer. Poe’s black Daytona Spyder looks right at home along Ocean Drive, the top down to allow a breeze to pass over you both, and it ruffles your hair and blows it back so that when he’s found a spot to park, you’re combing it through with your fingers to undo what knots might have formed.

Sunglasses hide your wandering eyes as you scope out the people milling about on the sidewalk in search of anyone suspicious. They seem to part for you like the Red Sea as you and Poe walk along. Even before noon, the heat is almost palpable, so the two of you have shed your blazers, leaving you in your button-up with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows and Poe in his powder blue tee, the shoulder holster he wears pulled taut across broad shoulders, rough brown leather brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

Palm tree fronds sway gently in the slight wind, casting shadows on the concrete. You’re surrounded by white art deco buildings accented in teals and soft pinks and walk past the occasional outdoor café with canvas overhangs and canvas umbrellas. If you were to poise index and thumb on one arm of your sunglasses and pull them down just a little, enough to peek over the top, you’d see the haze of the Miami heat make itself known in the distance, distorting the farthest point of the road visible from where you stand and the cars farther away still, like a mirage except there’s no desert for miles in any direction. All of it combined serves to form a kind of fever dream, the most colorful and exotic one you’ve ever had.

Poe dips into a bar and you follow close behind. It’s dark in here, and your eyes begin to adjust to the sudden change in lighting as you set your sunglasses on top of your head. Your informant here is the bartender, who grins in greeting as you approach the counter and take a seat on the stools.

“What’ll it be today, detectives?” he asks.

“No drinks this time, Finn.” Poe shakes his head. “Just wanted to know if there’s been any suspicious activity.”

Finn’s bar is one of the more popular joints on Ocean Drive, a hub for locals and tourists alike. You and Poe even find yourselves coming here whenever time allows. There’s always the potential of drug dealers finding their way to this spot, talking in quieted tones about their product to anyone interested, so hushed they can’t be heard over the music floating from the jukebox. Sometimes you don’t always get a hit when you stop by. Following any busts, dealers tend to drop off the radar for a while. That’s what you’re expecting today, but you turn out to be wrong. Finn’s learned of someone new.

He describes the man and you nod intermittently as you store the information away. You’ll be repeating it to other business owners along this street and a pedestrian or two to see if anyone recognizes him, and you need to be as accurate as possible. You rest your head on your propped up hand and watch as another patron walks over to the jukebox and slides in a quarter. It works its way through the machine with a series of clinks, and he spends a few moments flipping through the tracks until a lively and upbeat tune fills the bar.

“If I get to know your name…”

You turn your attention back to Finn and Poe, and just as you do, Finn spots movement in his peripherals. His eyes slide up and over to the front doors to glance at the newcomer.

“Well if I could trace your private number, baby…”

Your brows furrow and you follow his line of sight. The man has barely entered the establishment when he sees you and Poe, and it prompts him to come to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Though cast in shadow due to the sunlight pouring in behind him, he’s easy to identify. He matches the description Finn gives. That’s him! said man exclaims, and your now suspect’s eyes widen as he twists around and high-tails it out of the bar.

“All I know is that to me you look like you’re havin’ fun…”

You and Poe jump out of your seats so fast the stools screech against the floor, but you pay it no mind as you set off in a run. The hot Miami sun washes over you once you’re outside, the music fading until there’s just the wind whistling in your ears as you sprint down the sidewalk, eyes focused on your target.

“Open up your lovin’ arms. Watch out, here I come…”

People jump to the side with yelps of surprise as your suspect runs past, and stay parted as you and Poe trail behind. Neither of you is properly dressed to be running, but this is far from the first time you’ve had a chase. These are your favorite—they get your blood running and excitement pulses in your veins every time you close the gap between you and your perp, pushing you to widen your strides more and more until they are within your grasp. You’ve worked behind a desk full-time before, but after experiences such as these, there’s no way you’d be able to do it again.

When he’s near enough, Poe catches the suspect in a tackle and they tumble to the ground. His breathing is labored as he maneuvers the man’s hands behind his back. “You’re under arrest,” he says simply between the deep breaths he takes to slow his heart rate. He grabs his handcuffs and slides them on with a click. Poe pulls the perp up to stand, and he grins at you. “Piece of cake.”

You smile and shake your head while taking deep breaths of your own, eyes roving over the bystanders that have stopped to see what was going on. This is one of the easier arrests you’ve made, and that’s owed in part to your suspect’s impeccable timing. You love when they make your job easy. Piece of cake indeed.

———

The sun is fully set behind the horizon when you return to the department. The rest of the day had gone on without event, which allowed you to fully feel the effects of your lack of rest. Usually you don’t have time to feel tired when you’re so preoccupied with drug busts and other investigations.

Poe smiles sympathetically when you emerge from the locker room with your purse slung over your shoulder and eyes half-lidded, threatening to slide closed any second. It didn’t really help that the day passed by so slowly. You’re in dire need of sleep, but he knows you’d only be twisting and turning if you laid down in a dark bedroom, desperately searching for that rest but not quite attaining it. No, he needs another plan of action.

As you exit the building after waving goodbye to your colleagues, he wraps an arm around your shoulder to bring you close. “Let’s go for a drive.”

You nod and say okay because that Spyder is Poe’s pride and joy. There have been many instances he would take it for a spin, not really driving anywhere in particular, just enjoying the purr of the engine and the way the steering wheel felt in his hands. You like to tag along, sliding into the passenger seat which might as well have your name written on it, and on these drives, neither of you says anything. Each other’s presence is enough, more than enough. The city speaks for you both, full of life as it is.

Poe slides the key into the ignition and twists, and you can’t help smiling a little to yourself at the way his eyes light up so brightly at the roar of the engine. You surmise that if the sun were to suddenly go out, you wouldn’t mind. In fact, you’re not sure you’d notice.  

It’s neon lights all the way down.

The storefront signs paint the world in purples and blues against a black canvas. You love to take in the sights on these long drives with Poe, and you love doing so at nighttime even more. Miami at night is different from how it is in the day. It wakes up when the sun goes down to sleep, and you will never get tired of the silhouettes of palm trees against brightly lit hotels and bars or the sidewalks abuzz with people taking up their place in the night scene like it’s a painting. Through the haze of these late hours, they seem all at once to be front and center, the subjects in a Kirchner masterpiece.

You watch the world fly by in a flurry of colors from your very own front row spot, in the tan leather seats of the Spyder, and think that if you should randomly come to a stop and take a snapshot of whatever you see once you do, you can frame it and stick it in a museum.

This city is wonderful and it’s alive, vibrating with an energy the likes of which you’ve never seen. If you set a hand on the concrete, your palm would be warm, and maybe it’s from the sun beating down for hours before finally setting or maybe it’s a sign of something real, of something beyond yourself. And while Poe continues cruising down the road, singing along quietly to the song on the radio, you feel your eyelids droop. Everything is shifting out of focus, neon signs and stoplights nothing but a blur, and you see them flashing still, dazzling and brilliant in your mind’s eye as you drift off to sleep, and as Poe’s singing sounds farther and farther.

At a red light, Poe spares a glance towards you and smiles softly when he sees you’ve fallen asleep. Your face is illuminated by pinks and blues from the lights of nearby buildings and he watches them dance across your skin and understands you to be not just someone living in this city, but someone that’s part of it. And he’s no different. The very essence of the sprawling metropolis you call home is in your veins, and there’s truly nothing like it.  

[naturesloopholedarchive-blog]

So the whole Malivore thing where Hope is the only thing that can save the world is crappy and I am not a fan of it at all. Hope Andrea Mikaelson deserved better than that. I am figuring that they are going to bring her back, I doubt they would really kill her off completely after season one but we never know because of Plec and her writing and all.

She crawls out of a dusty old pit two years later just like Landon’s mother only she wasn't covered in mud but a thick layer of dirt that will take hours to clean off her skin (Or so it felt like). She manages to sneak out of Fort Knox without being seen, she cloaked herself and was suddenly thankful that she could do that. Her first stop was an ATM machine to see if the Mikaelson bank account numbers had been changed, thank god they hadn’t been. She was able to take out three hundred dollars (not even enough for her aunt to notice it was missing) and then to a cheap motel. She is looked out strangely for the belly that she had now thanks to some magical fluke that was if she took out Landon’s father, he was going to make sure he isn’t forgotten in this world, a powerful next of kin. Hope wants so badly to pick up the phone and call her aunt but she knows that she can’t because Freya wouldn’t remember her. She would have to call her through magically means later, blood calling blood but that is a long ways from now.

Once inside of her motel room, the first thing she does is head to the shower and spend the next thirty minutes washing every inch of her body over twice. The water stinging her skin, a nice shade of pink that was raw that would be back to her skin tone in nothing flat. She is starving by the time she finally steps out of the bathroom with wet hair that needed to be brushed but she didn’t have one nor did she have a change of clothes. Hope finds herself going out to the store (after maybe dipping back into the family money and finding someone to pay out for their car which had cost her a pretty damn penny. The bank will end up alerting Freya a hell of a lot sooner than someone is withdrawing money so what does a young witch do as she drives down to the local Walmart of this town? She gets into her aunt’s mind, placing all of the memories back into her aunt’s mind before she even can blink an eye. She sees her aunt’s view of eating a bowl of ice cream and watching some crappy movie to pass time.) By the time she is at Walmart, she had at least one person knowing who she was meaning she can dip into fonds whenever she wants now. She walks into the store and grabs a cart, ignoring any stares that she may get and the no help that anyone would give her. She looks 18 and she really should be older but now is not the time to fuss over that. going to the clothing section for the woman and throwing in anything that even catches her eye into the cart. Three pairs of pants that were much larger than she normally would wear, three shirts, two bras, three sets of panties, and a jacket later, she is moving from the clothing to the shoes. She gets the first comfortable pair of sneakers that she can stick her feet into. she won’t be wearing any of this long because as soon as she is able to get home, she would be able to get designer clothes once more.  

❝Food next.❞ Hope mumbles to herself as she pushes the cart through the stragglers that were out at midnight like herself. she feels something warm in the back pocket of the worn out jeans and finds a credit card with a white piece of paper wrapped around the card.

My dearest Hope,

Use this until I get to where you are. Buy whatever you need and do not stress about the total. I will be on the next flight Georgia. My number should be the same as you remember. I expect a phone call when you are somewhere safe. 

Love, 

Freya 

Of course, her aunt would believe any memories that came to her because they no doubt felt real to her, which they were. Hope slides the card back into her pocket before going to the section that she wanted. She is bending down to get a box of chocolate cookies when she feels the other side getting warm and a phone seems to have appeared because when she pulls it out of her pocket after getting her cookies (which had been a hell of a lot harder with the extra weight). Hope finds that Freya must have given her the phone that she uses so when Hope goes and dials Keelin’s number it only took four rings for her Aunt to pick up.

❝Hope?❞ Freya’s voice carries in the same comforting tone that she has known all this time. Hope had to stop walking when she heard her aunt’s voice. 

❝I’m here,❞ Hope whispers. The two of them talk for what feels like hours but really was just enough time for Hope to get some chips, a twelve pack of diet pepsi and some tiny baby carrots. Freya wanted answers, Hope had no doubt but she couldn’t even begin to think of what she was going to say so instead Freya seemed to go over with Hope what she should get at the store instead. Reminding Hope about the fact that she needs shampoo and conditioner that wasn’t travel sized that the motel gave. She gets a razor, body wash, a brush, and some chapstick as well. two blankets and a suitcase that she would pack as much of her crap into when she needs to move again. 

Hope didn’t even flinch when she saw the total, just swiped her card and signed her aunt’s name with ease. Back at the hotel, her mind was buzzing and even when she showered again and put on a new pair of pjs, she didn’t find any amount of comfort. Hours tick by slowly for her before her eyelids even dropped closed, she thinks it was well around five in the morning when she finally was able to sleep. What shocks her the most is that she wakes up around three in the afternoon. 

Hope managed to sleep a good ten hours even if it didn’t feel like it. The tv is on and she hears someone chewing on chips and when she rolls over to her other side, she finds her Aunt setting there

❝Do I want to know?❞ Freya asks nodding toward Hope’s midsection. ❝Is it that boy’s ? You know the one you gushed about in your letters?❞ So clearly she hadn’t been completely erased if Freya knew about Landon, granted Hope could have planted those memories as well.

❝His father’s. It seems when you take out a Malivore pit he wants to make sure to pay you back.❞ Hope said as she sits up, sliding off the bed and making her way into the bathroom because she really had to pee. 

When she comes out, she sees her aunt’s eyes wide but looking like she is working through that bit of information. Hope went over and took the bag of chips from her before settling back down on her bed. The two of them didn’t talk for a while, both trying to process what had happened. Hope is itching to be free but after her morning trip to Walmart, she finds that her senses are all out of wack because she had a headache from the noises that she heard. 

She ends up falling back into a slumber, with her aunt then sitting on her bed and running her fingers through Hope’s hair in a manner that was comforting. The walk to a motel had nearly done her in last night in a way she hadn’t felt before.a

[iceamericanoventi]

Blank Space - Chapter 12

Part 11

———————

Boys only want love if it's torture Don't say I didn't say, I didn't warn ya

Eighty seven. Eighty eight. Eighty nine.

What day is it again? He kept both eyes shut; it doesn’t seem to have any difference at this moment. All is pitch black, sunrise looks like midnight and the dawn appears like an eternity without any sheer of light. Last night, he has another weird dream, a term he agreed with himself to call it as a replacement for nightmare. It’s not frightening, it’s just odd.

In that dream he was standing in an undefined vast space full of shadow passing by and among those absurd creatures he caught a smile. Just smile, as if it’s floating on the air instead of belong to particular face. The smile was familiar for the Jinki in his dream. However, the sober Jinki could never tell who that is which stressed him way too far for a merely form of hallucination.

He stirred under the blanket. The uncomfortable weight of the mounds of cotton forced him to kick the poor duvet. Too heavy, it just flopped back to its position, only to irritate him even further. Palms pressed to his face, he wished the instant friction on the skin washed over the weariness.

But of course he could only wish.

Ninety. Ninety one. Ninety two.

There’s a slight crack on the wooden beams on his ceiling that he noticed just now. After he gave up and checked the life rotating around him. He then wondered, for how long the crack has been there. And how come it didn’t catch his attention before today? Random calculation of the bending moment and load combination suddenly came up inside his twisted mind, occupy the vacant space he’s been neglecting these past weeks.

He blinks, one and two. His vision’s projecting the same image, hypnotizing in a way, hinting a pinch of motion sickness as a precaution. The crack’s there, still, visually concerning, but seemed like it doesn’t bother the whole structure supporting the floor above. From down there, the crack is simply filling the gap, completing the entire system.

He wished the crack in his heart is as static as that. But of course, he could only wish.

Ninety three. Ninety four. Ninety five.

Distorted and obscure, that’s how everything’s pictured behind his closed back eyes. The timeline of his memory is jumbled, it’s patchy at the edge and fragmented inside and out. How it happened, he couldn’t tell. But how it felt, he had at least half of the dictionary to complain about it. About how unfair it is, about how agonizing it is.

One moment in life, he’s seeing how happy Gwiboon talked about his corny jokes which deadly annoying but actually helping her dealing with the pressure of the fashion week at the same time. Any other second, he went red when the fraction of his memory flashed, force him to dredge up how he screamed directly to her face like a mad man, asking what kind of joke she was pulling out. She said she desperately wants to spend their bubble together, a little longer, until the day turns week, and week turns months. Then again she also stormed out the room on the next day, all drenched and broken, mimicking the same hazard occurred inside his chest.

Gwiboon is more than a crush, more than a fling, more than a good catch he discovered across the field. He wished she wasn’t.

But of course, again, he could only wish.

Ninety six. Ninety seven.

Men can only wish, the sky, at the end, would be the one who decide was it worth to be granted or not. He spent a whole night in secluded beach, a hideout place he learnt from his grandfather, screaming to the far high sky, but the wound unfastened wider. At some point he admits, he was partly responsible. He wanted – and loved – the idea of a relationship, but terribly in fear for the actual relationship.

What’s bad for being in a relationship? You idiot, Lee Jinki! He cursed silently, for the thousand times already this week. That if he didn’t count words spilled out his mouth when he was unconscious.    

Ninety eight. Ninety nine.

Jinki can list at least ten reasons in less than five minutes why he didn’t pull his ass together and man up telling Gwiboon his feeling instead dropping some barricade with the whole being-casual-and-let’s-not-put-any-label-on-it shenanigans. And out of those ten reasons, none of them because of something that Gwiboon did. Or feel.

After all, he has no heart to blame her.

Hundred.

***

It’s easy to put a mask around the house, especially with a father who’s that busy and a mother who recently found a new hobby in her flower arrangement club. Unfortunately, not when a little devil descendant like Lee Taemin is actually present.

Jinki is about to go out, suffocated inside his room and suddenly feeling skimpy with just helplessly cuddling his pillow. He finally charged his phone and took his iPod out from the dock. While the other family members are somewhere scattered between living room and the kitchen, he managed to take a very quick shower and put on some presentable clothes.

Today, he opted to pick brown-maroon sweater, attempt to distinguish his feeling after last week his Mom was complaining about all the black dirty laundry he piled up making her doubling the effort doing the laundry since she had to separate all those clothes to not ruin each other. He snatched pair of jeans carelessly and as if all the constellations are lined up to pinch a joke on him, it happened to be the cropped jeans Kim Gwiboon decided to put her magic on it a while ago.

“Do you like the idea of me making you clothes?”

Jinki looked up for just a second before focused back on the contemporary art book on his hands, “What does that supposed to mean? Sounds really domestic on my ears just now.”

“Oh, please. I just asked permission, like, is it okay if I spice up your wardrobe a little bit?”

“I don’t think I need any.. but if you insisted, then I guess it’s okay. Your hands wouldn’t do something disastrous anyway.”

“Good. Because I already did,” she handed him back the jeans she stole from his wardrobe few days before, “Your jeans are all the same and I noticed you kept wearing the same ones over and over again I almost sure if I assessed it a little bit more attentively I would find holes at some point. That’s boring and I don’t want my man’s boring. So give that a try and thank me later.”

He looked himself at the mirror, his eyes struck on both his ankle when the end of the jeans hanging with jumbled strain of threads, the vivid evidences that once, Kim Gwiboon existed in his dull life. To entertain his boring life.

Boring.

Yeah, maybe that’s why she left me, because I’m boring, Jinki thought.

He thought she would be forever, they would be forever, because finally Jinki thought he found someone who leveled very well with his obduracy without coercing themselves too far. Turned out, this time is not any different with the previous relationship that he head, got his hope high then spitted out back to the earth right on the top of rocky valley. Not like the thing he had with Gwiboon could be entitled a relationship anyway. He wouldn’t dare to call it that.

If only I could muster up some courage back then and just asked her out in a very proper way, I would feel so much worthier than merely a fuck buddy.

He pocketed the car keys, inhaled a very deep breath, practiced his auto-reply smile before exited his dungeon. And there he is, waiting by the corner of the breakfast island, the devious Lee Taemin who’s always up to roast his own brother.

“Oh, hello universe. The grad student is finally showed up! Congratulation!! We need to celebrate this very soon! Should I buy some champagne?”

Jinki kicked the stool where he sit furiously before poured himself a good amount of orange juice, the bright yellow liquid vanished in less than thirty seconds.

“I heard from your Mom, Buddy. Finally, you’re going.”

“It’s not in anytime soon, Dad. I just got accepted. Barely finish my final project here.”

“But you can still take the long distance single course for the first semester right?”

His father had been busy coming back and forth among Seoul, Tokyo, and London. There wouldn’t be any chance left for him to go through in his courting mode and interviewing his mother because the woman would shower him with the story of her new club before he could ask anything.

“Who told you that?”

“Your brother.”

He shot a glare to Taemin who stopped middle air from shoving a piece of taco to his mouth, “Don’t blame me. That man come to me with new pair of shoes, of course I surrendered.”

“That man is your father!” his mother slapped the back of his head which attained an annoying squeal from the youngest son.

“I am worried a little bit about you, Jinki.”

There’s a reason why his father now became a very famous attorney. His instinct works beyond human shield.

“Don’t be, Dad. I will be fine. It’s just too handful a bit now, with the final project, preparation, and also adjust the online course and everything.”

“If only you picked London, I have lots of acquaintance there who can actually help you.”

“That’s in some measure, the reason why I picked Chicago. Too many people we know in London, Dad, they might judge as well while stretching a helpful hand. Besides, it was my first choice since the bachelor but the beautiful lady over there was begging like a toddler seven years ago for me not to go there too early. I won’t give up my dream twice.”

Thanks to cousin Minjung and her obsession on NBA when they’re in the grade school. Whenever she visited, she gushed about this Chicago Bull’s to the siblings and triggered a very young Jinki to go to his father’s library and checking some books about the place along the Lake Michigan. Soon enough, he fell for the Windy City and dreamed to move and work as an architect there.

“And yet, see how stubborn you grew up into. So much effort I pulled to keep you grounded next to me. At the end you’d flee away still.”

“You better go sooner or she reenacted the same scene again, Buddy,” his father winked to him, knowing Jinki would be at least smiling on it.

“Roger that, Pops! I’m going!”

Taemin looks dejected on his seat, this is the first time since forever Jinki’s finally leaving his sanctuary that he’s witnessing and he didn’t even pay attention to him. Is he okay? Did he find another girl already? Taemin is way more worried than he used to be.

“Where?! For a date?! Why?! How?! With whom?! Why did you leave me here?! Why didn’t you say anything to me?! Dude!”

“Stop the commotion right there, Lee Taemin. I called Junghee this morning both of you are going with me to shop for my next club gathering.”

“Why on earth you called her?! And how do you know her number?! Mom!!”

The scene left Jinki shaking his head and chortling, somehow, a bit of pleasant feeling occupied his hollow core. That might be the one he would be missing so much when he’s alone abroad. However, the excitement of finally leaving all the traces screaming Gwiboon’s name whenever he turned is all that he can think about now and then. What a perfect excuse. He can’t wait to run away from every single memory of her in this house, this town, this time zone that had been hunted him ever since she asked him not to see each other anymore.

***

Jinki stood right at the check-out desk, dropped his favorite red bean buns and pulled out the wallet from his back pocket. The first thing greeted him when he opened it was the silly picture of him and Gwiboon they took one day at the photo box near Jinki’s favorite arcade because it was suddenly pouring hard. He still has no gut to throw it out because deep down he realized when he took it out, when he finally took it out, it means he needs to let it go everything and he hasn’t down for it any closer yet.

“That’s all?”

The question of the boy in front of him breaks the bubbles inside his head. Jinki’s eyes went pass him and caught the rack full of cigarettes behind. How tempting in so many ways.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

He opened the wrap immediately he stepped out the mart and decided to get his caffeine intake across the street. The café seems not that full, maybe I can still find some blind spot at the corner.

“Jinki?”

A calm voice intrigued his consciousness. He looked around for a while until a woman with short blonde hair is intruding his personal view more.

“Amber, right?”

“Yeah. I thought I called the wrong person.”

“How so? Do I look different with his hair?” Jinki jokingly pointed to his choppy hair. He attempted to cut it by himself last week since he didn’t want to go to his regular barber shop, the man over there would talk nonstop and that was the last thing he desired. The result as everyone can see, was beyond awful. Let’s just all be relieved that his hair grows in the speed of light.

“A little bit,” Amber chuckled seeing how his hair seemed done by a blind person, “But mostly because you look tired.”

Jinki laughed, but not really laughing, “Just woke up and drove here. Stay up late for the final project. How are you?”

Of course he lied, who wants to turn the situation into an awkward moment by blurted out how messed up they’re currently?

“I’m good! Quite busy at the studio but that means we’re growing. So I’m not really complaining.”

“Sounds great.”

Sounds annoying. Why can’t other people as miserable as me?

“Totally,” she looks very pumped and Jinki felt so bad for not reacting with the same level of excitement, “And how is it going with you?”

“Busy but not, bored but not, just.. so so.. you know?” Jinki snorted, tad nervous with such a simple question.

“Ah, I know.. it must be difficult for you as well.”

“As well? I thought the studio’s doing great. You’re going through something?”

Guess it’s a blessing and a curse at the same time having his personality. Being born Jinki, he can’t just ignored people’s feeling even though he knew he’s not in the current capacity to help.

“No, no, yeah, I’m great, studio, factory, all is well. I mean besides Gwiboon.. it must be hard time for you too, you know… with all this situation.”

Jinki doesn’t remember he told anyone what happened between him and the girl. Not even Taemin actually, but that kid was probably a CIA in his previous life Jinki didn’t find the necessity to tell him, nonetheless he would still just come up with some weird ideas to cheer his brother up.

Like the other day, suddenly stack of Mars appeared on his side of fridge – yes, he has his own territory inside that place because once their mother got rid of something belong to him, he exploded like a land mine. Or suddenly, chicken bucket greeted him by the corner of his desk when he came back home almost four in the morning.

But besides that, he kept everything inside. Not any single word of her came out from him after that day. She must have gone to Amber to unload her heart and narrate some stuff about them.

“What can I say?” He sent her small smile but it looks bitterer than the last pills he took for his migraine two days ago.

“I’m sorry, for both of you, really. It’s always hard to choose when it comes for this kind of crossroad, even a very smart one can be the most indecisive human being on earth. I was in her position before. In my case though, I was so much more hardheaded than Gwiboon, that way it was easier for me to leave everything behind. Gwiboon was still nice enough to think about other people around her. Her brother, you, and even her crazy parents who don’t even care. You may already know how hard her father is to his children.”

Hard to choose? Between what? Father? Why suddenly she brought up her father when Gwiboon herself never talked about the said man? Not even Jonghyun who had been friend with him longer than his sister.

“I still remember she ruck-sacked my office all tears and snots rambling about she doesn’t mind throwing herself under the bus as long as she can stay here and not being sent to the states. Poor girl.”

Sta—wait, what?

He thought he knew Gwiboon, this new found though, completely confused him to the staple. After a very quick self-deliberation, he decided to play along and stay chill. Jinki’s afraid Amber would realize she did something she’s banned to and just left the conversation hanging on the air while Jinki finally can grasp the whole portrait of the puzzle Gwiboon left behind.

“Ah she told you that?”

For Jinki that was a pure question, with a tint of hope Amber would leak some circumstances a little bit more. However for Amber, she heard that as a response of bemusement as if Gwiboon not supposed to tell anyone that and kept it only between her and Jinki.

“I am really sorry. She didn’t want to say anything at first, but I guess I was too pushy and it happened that she just couldn’t handle it by herself anymore. Her dre—“

Amber’s phone beeped before she could finish her sentence. She excused herself to check the message and immediately glancing to her wrist, unpleasant air’s very evident on her face.

“Jinki, it was really nice stumbled into you. The work is calling, though, so.. if you don’t mind..”

“Ah, yeah. Of course. Sorry I was holding you here. Thanks for the quick catch up.”

“You take care, okay?”

“I will. See you around, Amber!”

Within a minute, Amber already leaving the side of the street they were standing. Jinki felt the need of caffeine boiling inside him is just got tripled.

***

Jinki accomplished simple tasks by eleven in the morning. He changed his sheets, almost one months later – finally, his mother almost burn the filthy mattress together with it, he made himself a good cup of coffee and grilled cheese, and now started to make trial renders for his interior proposal of his final project.

He put aside his ego and locked it at the corner of the back of his head after he met Amber and of course a long drive to his grandfather graveyard only to eat two whole chicken bucket while talking to his headstone. He obviously earned very weird and awkward gazes from the other people who happened visiting their beloved ones but he didn’t mind even slightly, because at the end of the day he’s convinced, at least Gwiboon left not completely because him.

Another reason is because his professor sent him an email reminded him if he still desired to graduate by the next batch, he needs to submit 50% of the final material no later than the next week. Therefore, the reasonable part of Jinki strangled the overly sensitive and emotional self to the ground and chained him for their own good.

And of course the last part was only happened inside his head but who cares? He finally managed to control his adrenaline by eating one kilogram of avocado for each meal yesterday. Healthy or unhealthy, the people in his house could only judge. With the amount of obstinacy he owned, nobody’s able to change anything.

“Jinx, you got a package,” Taemin trespassed the door on ease knowing he’s currently having the upper hand in the house after seeing the effect of his tattle tale nature on Jinki, “Did you order something?”

“I ordered pork stew and some soondae two minutes ago but I don’t think it would come this fast and I’m pretty sure they came in different container.”

“Funny,” Taemin dropped the small brown box on his desk, “I went to the mailbox to check my shoes but I found it instead.”

“You do have some shoes fetish, don’t you?”

“So what can I do if Reebok just released its new classic edition? Sleeping soundly at night knowing thousands people out there sporting the goods while I can only dream about it? Do you want to see the world burnt? Hell no!”

Jinki’s taken aback with the sudden outburst he didn’t expect. Those shoes must cost him such fortune, he shrugged and reached the package.

“Who sent this?”

“How would I know?”

Jinki assessed the wrapper, it does have the stamp of the courier company, so it must be sent through mail. But oddly enough, they let this package passed with no name or address from the sender was written on it. And lately, he didn’t order anything besides food. Or taxi, when the other day Taemin was sneaky enough being an asshole by taking his car to go on a date.

“You brought anonymous package inside my room? How could you? Don’t go anywhere until I opened it!”

Taemin wasn’t planning to go out soon anyway, but the shrieking voice released from Jinki’s mouth was insulting his pride enough.

“What? Did Mom finally rub you off too hard? You sounded exactly like her just now! And it was just a ridiculous package! Might be from your fans who finally found our address!”

“Might be a bomb as well! If this one exploded, I’m taking you with me!”

“Did you even hear yourself? Who do you think you are? President? Prince Harry? Bruno Mars?”

“Terrorism doesn’t own GPS nor common sense!”

“Neither do you!” he dropped himself to Jinki’s mattress after he couldn’t find any leftover of candies Jinki used to have here and there on his bookshelf, “Who knows it would be just fans gift like before? And who knows you don’t want it and I got to have that?”

Jinki finally realized the reason why his brother not leaving immediately after he dropped the good. It can’t be bad, this one went through the courier company scanning system, the worst he could get is a stupid prank from someone or like Taemin said, a gift from admirer.

“But I haven’t been on stage since God knows how long!”

“Jesus Christ, just open it for crying out loud! I’ll do it if you’re too scared!”

Taemin’s this close ripping Jinki’s pillow into two. Snickered lowly, he started peeling the wrapper only to find a fine maroon box with silver band tied it together. Once the content peeking through the opening Jinki made carefully, eruption of emotion burst under his skin.

Safely kept inside the box, all the Polaroid photos Gwiboon had been taking when they were together, she obsessed with Polaroid and could take three pictures at a time. The amount of love floating from the piles started to suffocate Jinki. They were happy, it’s started and ended in a disaster but they were happy.

He picked one where both of them doing stupid faces, it was in her studio where they spent the whole night working on their own deadlines. 3 AM, with the best companion ever, that’s how she wrote below.

‘When Jinki being an architect’

‘I had enough for today’

‘Coffee time’

‘Look at meeee’

‘He said I’m cute in this one’

‘The sweetest bunny’

‘Jinki’s number :)’

‘Can’t help but being sloth to him :P’

‘Winter Project’

‘He gives the best hug’

‘His baby carrot fingers :3’

‘How the sun looks when he’s sleepy’

‘Mine <3’

She left her message in almost every picture. And the last one nearly breaks the guard on his eyes. Mine, he brushes her cute hand writings, bitter smile adorned his gloomy face promptly. It was him, lips all red pursing like baby penguin, looks like he was arguing something and she didn’t miss the chance to frame his upset state.  

He doesn’t know her whereabouts, phone calls and texts he sent only reciprocated by the provider service messages telling him the number had been deactivated. Yet now, he received the only traces left of her, returned back to him, as if she tried getting rid the last footprints of him that she possessed. It’s saddening.

Jinki continued digging the pictures, grimace, smirk, smile, and frowns appeared one to another, enlightened Taemin – who kept his brother in check by the corner of his eyes – that it was some important package. One Polaroid however was purposely been stuck to the bottom of the box.

Gwiboon was smiling, so bright, angelic and mesmerizing, with Jinki glued to her side, nuzzling her cheek, grin splitting on his half face printed on it, so evident it hurts.

‘98258’

It stunned him immediately. Still in daze, the sound of Gwiboon’s voice mocking him and his fixation on oldie stuff is echoing so loud inside his head. That’s started with simple conversation of current fashion trend which brought back the vibe from 90s. One thing led to another, both of them spent the rest of the night in front of Jinki’s laptop checking how the youngster using beeper to send each other message back then. He was so excited when they found this website full of silly quizzes where you need to encrypt the hidden message behind those series of number.  And of course Gwiboon was annoyed because most of the time, it was Jinki who’s able to guess it correctly.

Even now.

“Taem.”

“Hmm?” he tried to act as nonchalant as possible but his ears perked so bad, desperately want to know what his brother is going to say.

“How do you know you love someone?”

He cocked his head to the side, just to found Jinki looking forlornly to the small box, “How do I know I love someone?”

“Did I ask the wrong person?” Jinki let out dry chuckle to ease Taemin.

“Ha. You may say so,” Taemin puffed the sides of the pillow under his head, “This may sound so pretentious and would make you cringed at some point, but I guess, nobody knows, Jinx. It’s not weather that you could forecast, not something that obvious as if you look at your window and be like crap-it’s-raining-outside. It’s just… happened. Some are lucky enough to be more aware than the other. Some are just too oblivious until the end, until they had the urge to invent the impossible time machine.”

“And some are just too dumb and chicken out when they realized they’re in love.”

“Were you in love?”

Jinki’s eyes fluttered close to the question, “I am.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Silence fell once again between the two. Taemin’s digesting still all the unexpected confession he just heard while Jinki now stared blankly to the pile of Polaroid spread over the surface of his desk. Recollection brewed inside his head, somehow he’s quite proud, half awe-struck half regretted, how they managed to have this much memory in a very limited time. Indeed, time is just a concept, it’s all relative up to the point you desperately need to stretch one slice of its epoch.

“Sorry, I was disappointing with my stupid try-to-be-poetic answer. Never been in love before, never expected I’d be, but one thing I can say to you because you’re my brother and even though we’re not twins we have this scary gene connection which is too similar and I bet twins would questioning themselves once they acknowledge this, if you found yourself relating random tiny detail to certain someone, you might as well go for it, then.”

“Is that what happened with you?” Jinki timidly asked, afraid that Taemin could proof further how he missed his chance by assuming he knew what’s the best for him and Gwiboon for these past months.

“Do you realize that the color of your wood structure is exactly the same color of Junghee’s eyes under the sun? Of course you don’t. So, yeah, more or less, that’s what happened with me.”

His eyes locked to one of the photo. Gwiboon was smiling on it, hair pulled up into his favorite messy bun, one shoulder exposed to the sun flares seeping through his window and touched the glowing skin on it. She looked so serene, the most beautiful he had ever seen, because in this one, he could see the genuine Gwiboon under those rumors, those pointed fingers, those make ups, pretty clothing, cynical comments and cold surfaces she put as masks. She’s the Gwiboon who he fell for.

And his heart clenched for he still vividly recalled how he convinced Gwiboon to let him took that picture of her the minute she opened her eyes, the girl finally gave up after he threatened her he would withheld her favorite shower sex. Worked like magic back then.

And worked like poison now once he realized it’s simply a painful memory left he held tight.

“Can you do me a last favor?”

“Sounds erotic,” he yawned and ready to slither inside Jinki’s comforter, “Both of us knew very well it won’t be the last, but yeah, shoot it.”

***

The house is painted dusted blue, huge window pane by the right far covered with light grey curtain from the inside, preventing people to peek on what’s behind the glass. The porch is not that big, but enough to accommodate couple of wooden chair with small concrete table. There’s no vehicle present in the carport, only an old skateboard leaned to the white wall separating the house with the neighbor.

Jinki nervously double check his phone, reciting the address written on the screen to himself, then make sure the number there is the same with the one placed on the wall.

He has never been here before, clearly. He licks his dry lips for the nth time this morning and glanced to his watch. Ten minutes late. Damn you bridge construction, he mumbled. He’s debating whether he should make a call or just go press the ring bell.

At the end, after another minute delaying himself like a sweaty anxious provincial exam taker, he opted to the second one. Vaguely, he heard someone’s approaching, and the door in front of him swung open inside. A familiar face greeted him with small nod and smile.

“Took you longer than I expected.”

“Well, need some time to make a peace with everything, I guess? I asked your number to Taemin just yesterday.”

“Come on in, then.”

“Thanks, Minho.”

***

cross-posted on my AFF couple weeks ago :)

This one is purposely written to center on Jinki, and the universe rolling around him. I am excited but also quite sad that the next chapter will be the last one. Thank you for reading and following this story. Hopefully, you like this chapter and the upcoming one as well! As usual, I only wish for your happiness wherever you are! Comments are always welcome! XOXO

P.S.: do you know what’s the beeper message mean? Let me know if you can guess! :P

Final

[seducing-mr-perfect]

Like A Bullet to the Heart (Robin x Min-June)

Pairing: Robin Heiden x Kim Min June

Movie: Seducing Mr Perfect/Mr Robin Kkosigi

Summary: Somehow, the words that hurt the most almost always make their way back to you. Set after the bar scene and June’s conversation with her father. Features June’s nightmare which involves her three ex-boyfriends.

Note: Since we’re never told what the other two men were called, I took the liberty of naming them myself, as well as Robin’s ex.

–

You bastard.

Surprising how easily the words come to her now, when he’s just a picture trapped in a frame - all smiling and bespectacled and sipping beer from behind her, his eyes only on her, even when they were just posing. It’s always been this way with Ju-hyeoung. She’d have the choicest words to fling his way in the privacy of her bedroom, but in front of the man she was a confused, stuttering mess.

Even today. She should’ve ended it in sass and style, strutting away from him like a queen. She should’ve been the one to end things. Should’ve given him a kick in the shins - or higher. definitely higher - while she was at it. What did she do instead? She begged.

Come home, Ju-yeoung. Please. You can’t leave me like this.

What hadn’t she done right? Hadn’t she said all the right words, done all the right things? Made herself different from every other girl he’d ever known (those greedy, gold-digging bitches, always looking out to suck a man’s paycheck dry, he’d complain), paying her own way, buying her own things? Dressed up the way he wanted her to, had sex the way he wanted her to, worried and loved and cared the way he wanted her to?

She almost wants to pick up that goddamn phone and force him to explain. To hell with “don’t contact me again”.

She’s almost about to do it, when a low, familiar chuckle stops her.

She turns around. Closes her eyes. Opens them, closes them again. Perhaps if she does this often enough the sight before her will seem less real?

Jae-won perched on her bed. Min-ho in his slate-grey suit, standing next to her bedside table (you’d better not topple over my favourite lamp, Min-ho, or I swear to God…). Ju-hyeoung lording it over her treasured armchair, as if he owned the damn thing. All of them staring back at her, amusement and judgement glimmering in equal parts from their eyes.

Jae-won still hasn’t stopped laughing. After all these years he’s still all bravado and bluster and bad-boy leather jackets bought with HER goddamn money. Why did I like you? Because you’re nice. Why did I stop liking you? Because you’re nice. You see, nice people get boring after a while.

Min-ho shuffles his feet uncomfortably from his place at the back of her room, his suit hanging over his frame like an overcoat on top of a mouse. He’d always insisted on wearing it, even if it was three sizes too big for him. When did I ask you for an allowance? (Three months before this conversation) Getting meals from you is embarrassing enough (but that never stopped you from asking, asshole!) Who do you think you are, my mother? (I was perfectly content being your girlfriend. Not my fault you turned into the worst kind of manbaby instead)

Ju-hyeoung’s eyes are black coal, cold and lifeless, but the words he says still sting. She isn’t sure if it’s because of the eerie calm with which he delivers them, or the fact that she’d heard them from him just a few hours ago. Give me some space. You’re the one who made me do this. (Stop asking for space while you’re sitting in my bedroom like you own it then!)

They’re almost three feet away from her but she can almost feel their breath on her neck. Her room is hot, too hot, with too little air and she’s suffocating. Can’t…breathe…need…to…leave…

Her feet are lead but she manages, inch by inch, to move towards the door. And stops.

It’s him.

Min-june prides herself on being slightly taller than the average woman in the office, and since Mr Heiden has arrived they’ve commented more than once how even without heels she reaches as high as his chin.

It makes no difference tonight. In this moment, blocking her way out the door and pushing her back to her room and bitter reality, he towers over her: tall and terrifying, a black hole threatening to suck out every tiny ounce of faith she has left in love.

You’ll always be treated like trash by men. Like a showgirl.

She wants to bar his entry, to push him out, get him as far away from her room as she can. But her feet act like they don’t even belong to her anymore. With every step forward he takes, they move back, granting him access.

And then you will grow old. All by yourself.

The other men stand up too, advancing towards her. Closing in on her, creating a fortress of misery and betrayal and bad intentions. Their whispers form invisible chains around her, so she has no space to move, no space to breathe. She looks to Mr. Heiden for help, but he has her trapped too.

All by yourself.

All by yourself.

All by yourself.

She wakes up in a cold sweat. Slowly, slowly, her eyes adjust to the darkness, noting with a heady relief that she is the only person in the room. No men. No horrible boyfriends. No Mr. Heiden. She is alone.

Only his words, ringing through the deafening silence in her house. Make me beg for you.

It’s been five hours. Five hours, and those words stick to like gum to a shoe - only letting go in bits and pieces. She’s as flushed with anger now as she was when she first heard them, so much so that she has to remind herself to breathe. In…out. In…out.

If there is a peculiar warmth settling in her belly when she hears those words in his voice, she won’t quite admit it. Not yet.

Her eyes glimmer brimstone and steel in the night. Manipulation and power-play and games…is that what he wants? Then she’ll make sure he will regret the day he asked.

“Just you wait, Robin Heiden,” she whispers, still catching her breath, “I’m going to make you beg to me. On your knees.”

Mr Heiden wants this to be a game? She will give him more than he bargained for.

She will give him war.

–

Late nights aren’t new to Robin Heiden. He’s been known to go for days on end with just three hours of sleep some months, surviving on nothing but adrenaline and coffee and sheer grit. It’s what’s gotten him this far.

He’s always been a man of extremes. Either he’ll spend the whole night buried in work - looking more rested than ever the next morning - or he’ll crash as soon as his head hits the bed. Disturbed sleep, random waking moments, scattered dreams that he can’t seem to remember the next day…none of this has happened for a while. Not for the last ten years.

In fact he isn’t quite sure when he last had dreams at all.

Not until tonight.

He’s twenty-one here, all long legs and messy hair and gangly frame. He’s lying on a picnic mat with a girl on his arm, counting stars. They locking gazes from time to time and share earphones, mouthing the lyrics of an old Queen song, and the space between them is so miniscule an ant could either give up walking through the gap, or die trying. His fingers gently tap the song’s rhythm on her hand as she sings.

Open up your mind and let me step inside

Rest your weary head and let your heart decide

It’s so easy

when you know the rules

It’s so easy,

All you have to do

is fall in love

Play the game, everybody play the game

of love

He imagines kneeling before her in this very lawn, his shins sinking into the mud and the grass as he holds out a ring. He imagines a single diamond, shimmering like teardrop in the moonlight. He imagines her in a pretty floral dress and tiny, perfect pearls - the kind she loves, the kind he hopes to gift her one day. He imagines she will hold out her hand. Her eyes glimmering as he says the words. Nadine Spencer, will you marry me?

He knows what everyone else will say. They’re too young. Too different. He’s too much of a dreamer, she’s too much of a realist.They’ve got futures, careers, whole lives ahead of them. Neither of them know what they want yet.

Still. He dares to hope.

He imagines she will say yes.

Click.

They’re twenty-two and joined at the hip, people say. Robin and Nadine, together everywhere, his friends at Harvard say. But only his. Hers’, he hasn’t even met in the three years they’ve been together, and he’s resigned himself to the possibility that he never will.

Still. He tells her he loves her every chance he gets. Tells her he worries about her, everyday. Cares for her when she’s sick. His friends have begun calling him mother hen.

He loves being with her, he tells her one day. He just doesn’t like being hidden away like her little secret. He wants desperately to meet everyone, to experience her family and upbringing and friends and life, to get know her better. He wants her to be proud of him, to puff up her chest when she introduces him to the people she loves, and yes, yes Nadine, of course he knows he’s not quite there yet. She’s told him so enough times, of course she would, isn’t it the truth? She’s told him to establish himself in the meantime, to wait for when things were just right.

He’s willing to wait forever if that’s what it takes.

Click

They’re twenty-three and in a club now, waving away the coloured smoke and squinting at the bright lights ahead. He wonders if it was a mistake, bringing her here. Nothing he does seems to make her happy anymore. The local bookstore doesn’t stock up on the things she likes, the gift shop is tacky, the park offers her nothing but ducks in a pond swimming all day and the nightclub has drinks that taste like floor cleaner. When he points out that she’s had three refills of the same drink so he’s sure it can't be all that bad, she dumps the rest of it on him. Great. It took me ages to pick out this suit and now it’s ruined. He feels terrible and awful and petty for thinking such superficial things after he’s practically ruined her night.

She sets the drink on the table, declaring she has had enough. Complaining that she’s tired of paying for everything, everywhere, Robin who else are you spending your money on if you have none left for me.

He’s taken out his credit card before she’s even begun speaking, and a whole pile of the entire week’s bills - all spent on things Nadine wanted - spills out.

She says nothing. Does nothing.

He picks the bills up and stuffs them back in his wallet as if nothing has happened.

Click.

They’re twenty-four and by now he’s learned to listen for sounds. For the click-clack of her heels on linoleum floor, marking her territory. For the slow dangerous rise of her tone, indicating he’s done something wrong. For the china that he’s now kept on the topmost shelf in case she’s in a bad mood. For the taste of fear, heavy and sour and acrid on his tongue. For the times he’s unable to tell anyone else how this feels because she doesn’t hit, she doesn’t attack, she doesn’t insult. She just slowly chips away at his self-confidence, one word as a time.

Yes, Nadine, I’m pathetic. Yes, Nadine, you lowered your standards to be with me. No, Nadine, I never did have a lot of self-respect to begin with. No, Nadine, you’ve never had to say these things to me. I understand anyway.

For the sweeter moments, when she almost lulls him into forgetting what life with her has become. And he almost believes things will get better.

He almost believes he will give her that ring one day.

Click.

He’s twenty five and he doesn’t know where he stands with her. Not after she’s thrown him out of their home and her life, not after he has seen her with another man. Not after she has gone away from him, and returned, and gone again, and returned, telling him she’s missed him each time. Not after she has told everyone she knows about the stalker ex-boyfriend who won’t take no for an answer. He says nothing because no one has ever really believed him before, so how would this be any different? The only person who seems to think any differently is his best friend Jennifer, and he’s already heard the rumours doing the rounds about the two of them. Great, Jen quips, so now they can’t decide if you’re a clingy bastard or a raging Lothario.

Still. There are days she comes back. Acts like she did in the old days. But he’s never sure when that will change and the prospect of seeing her go back to hating him again makes almost wish she would just hate him and leave it at that, instead of dangling him on a thread like this. It’s a dizzying rollercoaster ride of break-up-get-back-break-up-get-back, except this one never seems to stop, and now he feels sick in his stomach and wants to get off but doesn’t know how anymore.

He doesn’t know what a life without her looks like anymore.

Click.

He’s in the same grassy lawn again. They’d agreed to meet here. She said she had something to give him. He told her he has a gift to give her, and brings the promise ring he’d had made for her all those years ago. Keep it, it’s yours, I don’t want to have anything to do with this anymore.

But he doesn't have to. Because for the first time in this twisted relationship, Nadine decides to pass on her gift first.

He smells rather than feels the blood spilling from his chest, soaking his shirt. He registers faintly the sharp click of her heels on gravel as she leaves. So this is how it ends, huh? This is how I end. He half-expects Jennifer to arrive, screaming and crying and administering first aid with trembling hands. But she doesn’t. Not here. It’s someone else altogether.

The woman in front of him right now isn’t Jen. Or Nadine. It’s…

“BAM!” she yells, pointing two fingers to his bloodied chest and yanking them away, “like a bullet straight through the heart, sa jang-nim*. You know the feeling?”

…June.

“BAM,” she strikes again, grinning brightly, her eyes like great big black opals. Shining in the moonlight. Her teeth shine, pearl-like, as she grins. Or is she merely baring them? Is she another hungry lioness, pouncing on her prey instead? BAM. BAM. BAM.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t wake up screaming.

Robin jerks awake at 3 in the morning, his breathing heavy and laboured. It’s been so long since he’s had a nightmare at all that he’s almost afraid it’s real. He runs his hands over his neck, finds it slick with sweat. He looks around. No Nadine. No Jen. No June. No promise rings. No grassy lawn on a sunny day in July. No bloodsoaked mud.

He is in a hotel room in Korea, as far away from Nadine and her mind games as he can get.

Slowly, carefully - so carefully his footsteps can hardly be heard, he’s had enough practice - he makes his way to the bathroom. He doesn’t care how hard he splashes the water on his face, or how much, or how wet half his body has become. All he wants is to forget the last few hours ever happened.

He takes one last look in the mirror before he leaves, taking in the sight his assistant must have been confronted with tonight. A jawline that didn’t know what it meant to relax anymore. Cold eyes, dead eyes, eyes that told you nothing, gave away nothing. A mouth that didn’t know anymore whether to curve into a welcoming smile, or purse itself into thinner, crueller lines. A mouth that spat out uncomfortable truths today - about her, about himself. A voice that hurt her in the softest, calmest tones possible.

But the truth hurts, doesn’t it, he tells himself, if I didn’t hurt her by saying it, someone else would, by doing it.

Funny that on the day he wanted most to help someone, he wound up sounding exactly like Nadine.

Funny how the last words he hears before he returns to bed, don’t belong to Jen, or to Nadine. They belong to June.

What’s wrong with admitting that I love him, huh? What’s wrong with calling him or visiting him if I’m that worried about him? What’s wrong with wanting to give him all I have?

He swallows the sick, cloying, metallic taste in his mouth as he recalls those words. He closes his eyes, then opens them, then closes them again. He knows the answer to June’s question. It lies in an old bullet scar, constant and puckered on the left side of his chest.

Everything, Ms. June, he wishes he could say, Everything.

–

Sa jang-nim: Term of address, mostly used for your boss.

[chxxymm]

five - self reflection

Being here has given me the time to really look at myself and think. The environment and people are different from what I’m used to and I am living a much “simpler” lifestyle to the one I was in Melbourne. Materially, I have next to nothing here, I think I am living on close to $40 AUD per week, this includes public transport and food. (I live with my grandma so I don’t have to pay rent). I have no money, I don’t buy clothes and I eat simpler. 

In Melbourne, I had to pay petrol for my car (which alone was more than $40 per week), food and groceries, going out with my friends and other things which really added up. I had a stable income and credit card and even though I was saving hard for a deposit for my first home, I never stopped to think about living a more minimalistic or frugal lifestyle. Here I have 2 pairs of pants and a skirt, a pair of shorts, a few t-shirts, and a pair of pjs. I currently rotate between 3 pairs of shoes. As I said earlier, I came here with a small suitcase of my clothes and I haven’t really been out to buy more. Back at home I would open the two doors of my wardrobe and still not know what to wear sometimes. I had so many clothes and I still didn’t think it was enough. There is no choosing what I’ll wear every morning here because I don’t have enough clothes to go around, it’s whatever is clean and no one has seen me in the last 2 days. Haha. I think now that I have next to nothing I’ve stopped caring about materialistic things as much, like expensive bags or whether my eyelashes need to be done. Everything I buy is inexpensive and practical. I also travel light because I have no car to carry my things. This post isn’t to preach about how I’m Buddha or anything, I think I just took too many things for granted, like my friends and family and my job being there all the time. Because I sometimes find that I don’t have even the basics here I’ve stopped caring about the more materialistic things I had in my life. The change is refreshing. 

Instead I think about my physical and mental health more. Before I left I was going to the gym almost every day before sunrise, here I also try to exercise as much as I can. The food is not helping, for example you can’t drink water from the tap and I question the quality of the milk and some fruits. Also, night markets.. duh. There are a lot of chemicals and most food is definitely less nutritious. Air is also more polluted and since summer is approaching it is getting more and more humid. Every day I wake up sticky and sluggish, no matter how much sleep I get. I think I’m just not really used to the air and environment. In Melbourne I took my health for granted but since I work 12 hours a day most of the time, I am more worried about falling sick. A lot of people take vitamins or health products here but again, since I am not really familiar with that sort of stuff, I don’t. Running really helps, both physically and mentally so I do that as often as I can. 

People generally wake up and sleep later here. It sucks because back at home I was already a grandma compared to my friends. I usually start yawning by the 11pm mark, but people like to meet up at 10pm.. so do you see my problem? Haha. I was always going out in Melbourne because I had a car and my friends lived so close but I currently live really far from the city and I have no car so it takes me at least an hour by public transport to go anywhere. On weekends I stay home and read or watch videos or write. In Melbourne, on weekends I was always out and never alone, I always had friends to hang out with. Here, I have (been forced to) come to peace with being with “me”. At the moment I am still pretty shy about going out by myself but I think I am going to force myself to go hiking and exploring alone. I think that will definitely be some next level sh*t.

Different things make me happy now. I still enjoy genuine connections with people but they are rarer because obviously I don’t know as many. All my friends in Melbourne were established and people that I had known for a very long time. I’m sure I will find great people here but at the moment it’s like I am still weeding. Haha. I find myself not caring about clothes or make up and pointless gossip anymore. Everything back at home seems so far away and distant because I am not physically there. Instead, I feel happiest when my friends call me for advice or message updating me with what’s going on with their lives. I took people for granted back at home because I thought they would always be there but now I appreciate it so much more when we talk. I can't be more grateful for the fact that my friends still check up on me all the time, if you’re reading this and you have, thank you, you don't know how much that means to me. 

It seems that most of the people I have met here spend weekends clubbing, drinking or going to karaoke, I did enjoy those activities with my mates occasionally in Melbourne but they feel different, almost pointless here. I kind of regret it because back at home I was always craving to do those things with my friends whenever we spent ANOTHER quiet night at someone’s house playing board games. Now, I really want to play card and board games! (Sherman if you’re reading this, I ALMOST want to play Mafia again!) I want to stay in and trash talk and go on Maccas runs! I want to drive into the city and go on road trips and climb mountains and go to the beach again. I took those things for granted but now, oh now how I wish I had done them more.

[thesoujishow]

S01E02 - Raimei Tsubusu

[vaporwave lo-fi song]

Souji: Testing? Hello?

Raimei: WUUUUSSSSHHGFGSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS...SSHAAAAAAAA....

Souji: Ok. There we go.

[INTRO - glitchy transition music]

Souji: Hello, and welcome to the Souji Show. I'm Souji and this is a show where I talk about anything I want. 'Cause this is my show, and not yours.

Souji: This episode is sponsored by WcDonalds! WcDonald’s wants to remind you that the most important meal of the day is breakfast. [ominously] So why would you let a morning go by without staring deeply into the mirror until you no longer recognize the face staring back at you – mimicking your every gesture, mocking your every movement?

Souji: [confused + ominous] How else will you get the energy you need for a full day’s work or recreation if you aren’t silently screaming into the visage of a person who gives you such uneasy spirit, such unshakable terror, a queasy feeling every time you make the connection between what that thing is and what you are becoming? What you have become? Where does the void end? Where do you end? When do you end? What time is it now? You’ve been crying, but for how long?

Souji: [cheerful] WcDonald’s! I’m lovin’ it.

[MAIN - glitchy transition music]

Souji: For this very special episode, we have an extra special guest. You may know her as the Violet Vendetta or the captain of the baseball clan. Everyone, give it up for Raimei Tsubusu! You look fantastic today, can you tell our listeners what you're wearing?

Raimei: My sincere apologies for the white noise that was the sound of a closing inter-dimensional portal.

Raimei: It's good to be here. And a great sacrifice on your part, Souji. Not a lot of men would have the guts to expose themselves to this level of danger. As for my attire, these are unique garbs crafted by the Lunarian Moon People, forged in the pits of the thirty-second moon crater. They have plus fifty resilience to all forms of stabbing, cutting and elemental weapons, and the shirt comes with the added benefit of granting me the unique ability: Instantaneous Gangstah Charm. With this ability, I can instantaneously cast any Gokudō spell written within the Book of Yamaguchi.

Souji: Gokudō, that's a synonym for the yakuza, right?

Raimei: Yes, it is. It means the Extreme Path, the hidden school of mysticism I and others subscribe to—one of the five routes to enlightenment, alongside the Mafioso talent tree, and Mexican Cartel Member.

Raimei: In terms of appearance, I had the most excellent designers from Gucci collaborate with the moon people to compress it all down into a pair of pearl white trousers, a tuxedo jacket, white dress shirt, and leather shoes. The Gucci Glasses of Information allow me to see in infra-red and night vision, and I've also got a watch made of platinum that tells me the timezones of all the countries on the world, the moon people's time cycle, and of course, it also dual functions as a holographic mind reader.

Raimei: Some people believe Prada is better. They are wrong.

Souji: I'm more of a thrift store kinda guy, but to each their own. I'll have to get some tips from the Lunarian Moon People on how they make clothes. Most of my clothes are custom made for my Quirk to work on them so I like to sew them myself. Does your inter-dimensional portal go to the moon as well?

Raimei: I lived in this dimension for almost three hundred years before I finally managed to make my first slip into the dream-zone, and that was nearly one hundred years ago. It isn't precisely possible to take a direct, inter-dimensional portal to the moon itself. But it is possible to reach the mirror version of it in the ninth dimension. In that dimension, the moon's where the earth is. So that solves a lot of things. Has to do with the Lunarian's Mystic Mirror view. As you probably already know, portals like these are dependent on reflections. So their mirrors make that impossible by reflecting everything back onto the earth. That's why the moon looks white. It's actually a verdant landscape, filled with grass and trees and everything. But it seems like a rock because we're just looking at a dull reflection of our own planet.

Souji: That's a very unique way to look at the moon. Shoutout to the huge unknown object that smacked the shit out of the Earth billions of years ago and gave us the moon. The sun is cool but that was the real MVP.

Souji: I gotta say, you do look very gangstah. Not to mention a holographic mind reader? Quick, what am I thinking of right now? [laugh]

Raimei: I'm... not sure if that would be appropriate for me to say. Last time I mind read a guy... didn't end well. Besides, this holographic watch would also immediately turn it into a visualization, which can be very embarrassing. So I'll spare you that. But maybe I'll show you a glimpse of my power at the end of this podcast. Sounds good?

Souji: Sounds good. Guess the listeners will just have to stay tuned and find out. Tell me Raimei, how does a multi-dimensional creature end up in Kyoranki Academy? What motivates you to become a hero?

Raimei: That's a good one. There are several reasons. I've lived for about four hundred years in total, so technically speaking, there's no reason for me to go to school. But you might've noticed that there's an expansive underground movement hidden beneath the shadows... the recent events were just one example of that. The CIA, FBI, Interpol, Europol, they're all part of it in some way, preparing for the inevitable Todeskrieg Event. All the major crime groups are getting ready for that, so we are too.

Raimei: On a different level, related to my current incarnation, I'm not unfamiliar with thrift stores either. My dad works long hours... so I want to find a way to help him. I don't know, it's not really black or white. But why Kyoranki Academy? It's one of the best schools in the country. A lot of my middle school friends didn't even get to go to high school. So I consider myself very privileged. I think that alone is motivation enough to be here.

Souji: I get what you mean about helping your family. I think that's a noble cause, Raimei. I grew up poor and mum and dad were mostly out making ends meet. The money's still my number one motivator but it makes me happy knowing that I'll make the city a little bit better for everyone living in it.

Souji: I'm excited that we finally get to go on missions. It makes you think how much far we’ve come. It’s been a crazy year and now we’re actually doing our part to be heroes. I don’t know about you but I’m excited to take down my first villain.

Raimei: I'm concerned people are going to be misinterpreting their roles in this entire thing. Based on what you said earlier, you're from a poor neighbourhood as well, right? So you know what it's like on the streets. What I'm just concerned by is that a lot of the people in our class, like, ... I watch them. I see that the majority don't have that. They don't have any street smarts, they don't know what it's like to be in that situation, to be poor... to be under the influence of junkies across the street. Yea, we've been trained, but I'm unconvinced that we've been prepared to deal with those situations.

Raimei: I think we can take down villains, sure. And there might even be a few out there we could stop. But I'm not excited about running into one; nothing is exciting about meeting someone that potentially wants to kill you. And I'm not sure we're helping the city by pushing our authority down people's throats, especially by a bunch of teenagers that have been told this is their big shot at heroism. Your local twelve-year-old marijuana seller doesn't need juvie, they need role models; good, role models that can inspire them—structural improvements to their lives, like decent food.

Raimei: You know how crazy it is that I can buy five fast-food hamburgers for the price of one piece of supermarket vegetable? If people wanna help the neighbourhood; go help out at a shelter—a soup kitchen. Hand out food; give your homeless newspaper salesman some cash to get him through the day. Japanese society is harsh, man. The second you fall out of the boat, your chances are pretty much zero. Everyone despises you. Your family ousts you. It's not fun. I know it, I've seen it in friends; how they're getting torn apart just because they're like, half-Chinese or something.

Raimei: I hope our peers just remember that when they're going out. If you're going in there guns blazing, you're just going to hurt more people than you'll save.

Souji: I get what you mean. I grew up in the middle of downtown Osaka, nothing but skyscrapers. Our high rise apartment was small, but it kept us safe from the streets. The news spoke of heroes that roamed the streets, shutting down crime wherever they went. People spoke of bright, shining icons in colourful suits, flashing cheesy grins at the camera. But only a few came to ours.

Souji: Growing up in the poor meant that at a young age, I was very cognizant of how the money would and could limit me and my life as I attempted to get to the place where I am supposed to be. Most people our age will never know about ketchup sandwiches, adding water to milk or to an empty shampoo bottle to get more shampoo. Hand-me-downs clothes, books, toys. Having a ‘candle day’ because the lights don’t work. [chuckle]

Souji: When I say to people I know downtown Osaka like it's the back of my hand, I really do mean it. I know which places to avoid during certain times of the day. You had to be street smart to survive, those are the rules of the game.

Raimei: Mhm, mhm. That's what I'm saying. I'm from the outskirts of Airin-chiku, so it's pretty much the same issue.

Souji: It's easy to get caught up in the title. A hero. Believe me, I'll admit that fame is enticing but at the end of the day, we're here to protect the whole city. Trust is a fragile thing. I think most of us in Kyoranki know that because of what happened. Villains and heroes are two sides of the same coin. We're both them in nature. Both are corrupted by the noble illusion of spreading ideas and helping others who on the 'good' side defined by them respectively. It's always been the human struggle in defining 'help' more importantly 'the others'. I don't know if I'm making sense but that's how I feel. [chuckle]

Raimei: And there's a couple of areas in between that too, mind. Not everyone's a bad guy, and not everyone's a good guy like the heroes that just pander for attention or the bad guys that are in it to support their families financially.

Souji: This Todeskrieg Event sounds interesting, what's going to happen?

Raimei: The Egyptian Pyramids. The moon landings. Global warming. Why did they happen? Did they happen? Or were these just small glimpses out of a much larger conspiracy? Why dedicate millions, tens of millions of dollars only to put a guy on the moon?

Raimei: The various gangs around the world know the answer. At least, the established ones. It's all a part of this cybernetic A.I that has kept us trapped in a virtual reality dimension, Souji. You think all of this is real, but like, do we have any proof? How can we reliably say that this isn't just...computer generated?

Souji: I'm a big arcade, video game fan so this is right up my alley. I had the same hunch as you, Raimei. The truth is that there’s much we simply don’t understand about our reality, and I think it’s more likely than not that we are in some kind of a simulated universe. Now, it’s a much more sophisticated video game than the games we produce, just like today World of Warcraft and Fortnite is way more sophisticated than Pac-Man or Space Invaders. If we develop the ability to produce even one simulated reality, we will almost certainly produce more than one.

Raimei: That's what confuses people. They think I'm going on about some sort of magical thing. But magic and science are one and the same, magic's just another way of trying to add rationality to it. And that's part of the Todeskrieg event. It's French for "Totem Pole Disaster"... it's written about in various religions. Some call it the Apocalypse, others Ragnarok ... basically the end of the world. When the simulation will be using too much data for the computer to handle.

Souji: Maybe we're just figment of imaginations and our creators are just forcing their every whim to us for fun. They're our writers, and we are their characters. Maybe they're just a bunch of roleplayers in a Discord server together? Do you hear that creator? I'm The Glitch now, a bug in your system. A disruption to the simulation.

Raimei: Based on archaeological data, humans, in our current shape and form... have existed for about two-hundred thousand years. Now, of course, imagine you're a person living in those sorts of environments. Yes, you'll be stuck most of the day, collecting food and whatever. But do you think those people were dumber than us? Of course not! They might've not had the schooling, but they had the same type of brain.

Raimei: Now, imagine that sort of situation. Okay, so, the first generation of Humans... they got it hard. The second one does as well. The third generation, well, it's a bit easier. And the fourth one... we're talking about everything within the span of a hundred years, considering people lived shorter lives.

Raimei: Now multiply that by a hundred. One hundred thousand years and they're trying to convince us that people only invented farming techniques twelve thousand years ago? It doesn't make sense. You can't convince me, people, before that time didn't... invent something. Didn't create something. Didn't create a civilization. Imagine, with our technology, with our A.I systems, our virtual reality capacities... I mean, if you're into gaming, look at the last fifty years.

Raimei: Now multiply that by four. Imagine just how bizarre that technology would be. Already, we've got games that are borderline lifelike. So how can we know that this isn't just.. some giant simulation? We can't. And we have to look at the empirical, most logical type of data. There's more evidence to suggest all of this is just a program than there is evidence to the contrary. But scientists aren't willing to recognize that.

Souji: I know! I can't believe no one is talking about this. Paranormal events like hauntings or alien encounters can be glitches in the simulation. Stuff like the Mandela Effect is supposedly proof that whoever is in charge of our simulation is changing the past. And don't get me started on Quirks! Superpowers born from radiation. You’re not going to get proof that we’re not in a simulation, because any evidence that we get could be simulated. If I were a character in a computer game, I would also discover eventually that the rules of our universe seem completely rigid and mathematical.

Souji: We’ve spent billions sending probes through outer space and should probably have found evidence of extraterrestrials by now, right? Not so fast: Aliens would likely be far more technologically advanced than we are, the thinking goes, so the fact that we haven’t located them suggests we live in a simulation they’ve figured out how to escape from. Or maybe the computer we’re in only has enough RAM to simulate one planetary civilization at a time?

Raimei: That's what we've been preparing for. The drug trade, the crime cartels, it all has to do with that.

[ASK SOUJI - glitchy transition music]

Souji: Now, let's shine the spotlight back towards the main focus of his podcast... me! Now, Raimei, it's your turn to ask me questions. C'mon, don't be shy, ask anything you'd like.

Raimei: are you sure you want to give me that sort of power? Because if I get to ask anything I like... First up, what's the deal with you and Ken? I don't want to pry into your love life, but you two looked very cosy in that meeting room.

Souji: Me and Ken? Love life? Oh, umm. I mean, umm. No, we aren't. You know. Together like that. [stammering]

Souji: We're just rivals! Yes, rivals. We started talking over the summer and we got closer during the campfire trip. Bunk buddies. Yeah, that. No love life here.

Raimei: Uh-huh. ... Bunk buddies. Well, if that's the official answer...

Souji: ...yes! Bunk buddies. That's the official answer.

Raimei: And I guess, another question is... why did you start this podcast? I'm not exactly famous or especially well-liked around the school, so I'm wondering why you're inviting someone like me to do this sort of thing.

Souji: I started this podcast because of Starlight. He's my favourite hero as you can probably tell. I always watched his talk show growing up, and it was what inspired me to enrol in Kyoranki in the first place. So this podcast is me passing it forward. I want to inspire other kids just like what Starlight did to me. One interview at the time.

Raimei: That's good. That you got a role model to follow, I mean... that you know what you want to do, and who ya wish to emulate. It's the same thing with the guys I mentioned earlier. ... Don't have plushies of them though, unfortunately.

Souji: You say the weirdest stuff in our group chat and I like it! You're interesting, zany and fun. You have a unique point of view, and having you in my show is an honour in it of itself.

Raimei: And I appreciate that about inviting me on your show I mean. Glad I could mention those frustrations I've been holding up. Don't have to go out of your way for me though, I'm okay with sticking to my own little bubble. That's just the life of a made-man. Forever in the shadows.

[Qs from the GC - glitchy transition music]

Souji: Let's move on to our audience questions! These were submitted by our classmates in our group chat. Ready?

Raimei: Yea, audience questions. I'm honestly surprised anyone finds me interesting enough to ask questions, but okay, let's go

Souji: Chia wants to know who are the special people in your life? What's something you're proud of and embarrassed by?

Raimei: Special people, huh? Well, I've got my dad. My mom ran out on us when I was little, so it has always been us versus the world. I've been going to a gym now for about... five years? And the people there are my role models, I guess. They inspired me to get into sports, like boxing. One in particular... the guy's a genuine sumo wrestler. But of the old generation? But yea, those guys have made a significant impact on me.

Souji: Haruto asks, why is your skin purple? Likewise, Ao inquires, do you know the girl who turned into a blueberry in Wonka's factory?

Raimei: As for my skin colour, ... I guess I've gotten a bit desensitized to questions like that. It's a skin mutation on my mother's side, supposedly to do with Quirks. I don't know, I always find it a bit weird to talk about. That nickname they gave me too, it's like calling someone with a darker skin pigmentation the "Black Vendetta". I mean, not that I mind. Asking about the pigmentation's no problem because it's odd. I'm just saying, it feels a bit shitty to compare me with some fucking Willy Wonka scene when like six months ago a kid got bullied out of school because people kept comparing him to a video game character; so, uh, Ao, you're cool. No hard feelings. I'm just going to subtly compare you to a fucking Star Wars Droid if you try that shit again.

Souji: Ken wants to know what you think of the recent baseball team tryout. And to that I say: we have a baseball team? Can I also try out just to beat that monkey boy?

Raimei: Yea, we got a baseball team! I mean, we got teams for nearly every popular sport, right? It's a prestigious school, after all. But we're doing our best to try for the nationals. And you're welcome to join up if you want, we can definitely use a few more clan members. As for our most recent try-out... that all depends on whether he joins up or not.

Souji: Kotoe inquires, do you play the bass?

Raimei: I don't play the bass or any other instrument.

Souji: And finally, Fumi wants to know your favourite genre of book.

Raimei: My favourite genre of books is crime novels.

[ENDING - glitchy transition music]

Souji: Well, we're nearing the end of our show, Raimei, is there anything you'd like to remind our audience, maybe plug whenever they can find you online? Maybe some tips on how to prepare for the Todeskrieg Event?

Raimei: I had an excellent time Souji. Thanks for inviting me. As for preparations, the people can make for the Todeskrieg Event, consider this a bit of an unofficial announcement; we are in fact a highly secretive group. But we, that being me and a few other highly skilled individuals steeped knee-deep in the criminal underground, decided to create a sparring group a few months ago. A fighting ring, as it were.

Raimei: There's no real focus on anything other than fighting a lot, gaining that sort of experience. I don't really bother with rankings or who's best or whatever either, I mean, my choice to just not participate in that tournament should prove of that. So there's no ego thing going on. Whether ya win or lose, it's all good. It's like a clan...But our meetings are sorta irregular, so you can still be part of another, like how I'm still in the baseball clan.

Raimei: As for the best way to contact me, all the usual underground channels work.

Souji: You've been pretty cool to talk to, so before you leave, I have a special surprise just for you. But don't forget, you promised to show me a glimpse of your power.

Raimei: And I did promise to show you a sample of my hidden, mystical power, didn't I? Alright- I'll try and make sure to contain it so that we don't blow up this entire office.

[sounds of moving chairs]

[sound of an 80s disco beat from silly cartoons transformation scenes]

Raimei: Ultra-Mobster, transformation! Percentage; three hundred!

Raimei: Yamaguchi-Gumi spell; Fifty-Five! Gokudō code, page three. Entering heat mode. Specialized skill; DISROBE.

[sounds of thunder]

Raimei: Looks like I got a new favourite shirt. Thanks, Glitch.

Souji: What a way to end the show! [applause]

Souji: Well listeners, if the world does turn out to be just a simulation, remember to make the most of it. Make a point of seeing some good in every day. Drop your resentments. We all have them. Make every day count. The end of the world is coming but until then, to keep up with the show follow me @thesoujishow, and to support my small clothing business, follow @glitchgear on all social media platforms. Once again, this has been Raimei Tsubusu and Souji Yoshihiro, and you’ve been listening to the Souji Show! A show where I talk about anything I want. 'Cause this is my show, and not yours. Until next time. Insert catchphrase here.

[vaporwave lo-fi song]

[EXTRAS - glitchy transition music]

Souji: If you listen to this podcast, chances are you go to Kyoranki Academy. Kido Kotoe is looking for a bass player for her band. So if any of you are interested, please contact her at [Kotoe's school email].

[super8creswellsoutheugene-blog]

Never pay checked baggage fees again with these travel hacks

1. Understand your carry-on allowance. It’s more than you may realize. Most airlines will let you carry two bags into the cabin free of charge: A “carry-on bag” that will fit in an overhead locker (22 inches by 14 inches by 9 inches), and one “personal item” that will fit in the seat in front of you (18 inches by 14 inches by 8 inches). That’s one bag of 45 liters’ space and one of 33 liters’ space. The total — 78 liters, for those who flunked math — could hold 21 gallon milk jugs. You can’t fit your stuff into that?

2. Be creative. If you’re struggling for space, wear your heaviest and bulkiest clothes on the days you travel, experts advise. And if you really want to go to extremes, wear a jacket with big, roomy pockets and pack them with more stuff as well. Also, think about using packing cubes or even compression bags — which squeeze out the air — to cram all your stuff into your carry-on bags. (There are even coats that double as wearable bags designed for this purpose.)

3. Change your mindset. “You don’t need as much as you think,” argues McNeaney in her book. Most people, she says, pack far too many clothes, and far too much stuff. They take things they won’t use or wear. Think minimalism. Can you take an Amazon AMZN, -4.88%   Kindle instead of your books? Do you really need a laptop, your Apple iPad AAPL, -3.09%   and a smartphone? Do you need all those workout clothes? Do you need all that makeup, or can you function with a simpler beauty regime on the road?

4. Be ready to buy it or rent it there. Think twice before carrying heavy items, like some toiletries, that you could replace for a couple of bucks. Do you really need to take your own fins and mask to go snorkeling? Do you need all those items for backups or emergencies? “We have learned through trial and error that dragging along those “just in case we need them” items, was way more inconvenient than just purchasing something if and when we needed it,” reports Lori Grant.

5. Think “small alternatives.” That’s what McNeaney advises. Take an ultralight down jacket instead of an overcoat, and a light, packable windbreaker instead of a bulkier jacket, she says. Find ways to pack smaller, lighter versions of the stuff you have at home, but still need on the road. Transfer medications where possible into smaller containers: You don’t need to take your 90 days’ supply on a five-day trip. Pack travel-sized items whenever possible.

See also: Flight fees are on the rise — here’s how to avoid them

6. Pack for a week, even if you’re traveling for a year. “My rule of thumb is to pack enough clothing for one week: seven tops and three bottoms,” says Jimenez. “All you need is one fresh shirt per day and you can easily re-wear trousers. Just make sure that all your clothes can mix and match.” If you are going away for more than a week, “bring the same amount of clothing, but plan to do laundry once per week,” she says. With that in mind, go for clothing materials that are lightweight and that can be washed easily and dry quickly: That includes cotton, and poly-cotton blends, modal, microfiber, and merino wool, experts argue.

7. Work your wardrobe. Pack clothes that can be mixed and matched to create multiple outfits. Think neutral colors, or maybe colorful tops and neutral bottoms. Look for items that can do double or triple duty, and which can be worn in layers in cold weather. McNeaney says she travels with three pairs of trousers, three dresses, three short-sleeve tops, a cardigan and a fleece. Her boyfriend takes three pairs of trousers, three T-shirts, two shirts with collars, and a fleece.

Dresses and ballet flat shoes, she notes, are light to pack and can be “dressy or casual.” Lori Grant says a lightweight scarf is a must. “It can be used for anything from a swimsuit cover, an airplane blanket, an improvised tote bag to hold items, and even a curtain in a window to block out the sun while trying to sleep,” she says.

8. Plan ahead. Work out in advance what you’re going to do and what exactly you’ll need. Do you need to take your hiking shoes if it’s going to be pouring rain? Do you need to take your umbrella if it’s going to be sunny? Are you packing items that may be culturally inappropriate for the places you’re visiting? “A smart traveler is one that is well-informed,” says Jimenez.

9. Keep working on it. It may take time to dump the bad habits of the past. But don’t worry. Even if you can’t become a minimalist traveler in one step, experts advise, try getting there in stages. Take a little less on each trip. Once you’ve packed, look for things you can take out.

10. Be prepared to be liberated. Light travelers say the experience has taught them how little they really need. Erin McNeaney recalled getting home after a year’s travel only to be horrified by all the clutter. Why do I have three hair dryers, she asked herself? Why do I have 30 T-shirts? She and her boyfriend, she said, took bags of surplus stuff to Goodwill stores and haven’t looked back.

[vincentbnaughton]

Upsizing on the Upswing: The Big Decision More Homeowners are Making

For Rhiannon Kruse, moving to a bigger home was about facing the music.

For five years, Kruse and her husband had squeezed themselves into a downtown Seattle high-rise. At 700 square feet, their home meant giving up a dresser to cram clothing into an under-the-bed storage space, and limiting the number of guests they could invite over for dinner. Even Kruse’s parents had to stay in a hotel after making the six-hour drive from Oregon to visit; there just wasn’t enough space for overnight guests.

But for the duo, both professional entertainers, the final straw may have been the makeshift recording studio they crammed into a tiny desk space, wedged between the bed and the window. It just wasn’t practical for a couple that make their living as piano players, Kruse says.

“We had a keyboard setup and a desk and recording equipment. To play, we had to wear headphones because we were in a shared space,” Kruse says. “We definitely maximized the space, but everything had to have a purpose.”

So when Kruse’s husband broached the idea of moving into a much larger house just outside the city limits, it took a little bit of convincing - but not much. The couple fell in love with a 2,700-square-foot new construction home about 15 miles north of the heart of the city.

They also fell in love with the idea of having a place to put a piano - an actual piano.

“My grandmother had given us her grand piano. It was sitting in a storage place for two years,” Kruse says. “[Now] I play a lot more at home. Probably five times as much - and when I do, it’s relaxing. I don’t feel suffocated.”

Rhiannon Kruse and Jeff Coleron in front of their home on the day they moved in. Photo courtesy Rhiannon Kruse.

“People want these larger houses”

The couple’s story may not seem like much of an anomaly these days. They’re part of an uptick in upsizing: More homeowners are opting for a bigger home and larger price tag, skipping the traditional starter home altogether. Millennials are especially part of this movement, according to Zillow research.

What’s more? A new analysis of census data shows that the median square footage of new homes is up 20 percent since 2000, from about 2,000 square feet to about 2,500 square feet.

The data corresponds with what sociologists are seeing firsthand, says Brian Miller, an associate professor of sociology at Wheaton College, just outside Chicago. Miller, who studies cities, suburban migration and culture, argues that several factors could be impacting the shift in housing trends, including the strength of the national economy.

“I see a lot about tiny houses and micro apartments in Seattle, San Francisco, and New York - these cities who are really grappling with housing issues and trying to fast-track 200- or 400-square-foot apartments,” Miller says. “And yet the overall pattern across America is that people want these larger houses.

"The economy has gotten better over the last few years,” he continues, with a nod to cities like Dallas, one of the hottest housing markets in the country. “It seems it’s enabled people to [buy large houses] again.”

Popular culture may be influencing this decision as well, Miller adds, pointing to how homes are depicted on television, in both the reality and scripted genres.

“The typical home on TV is huge. Think about the ‘Friends’ apartments, which were impossibly large,” he says. “I’m thinking of HGTV shows I’ve seen over the past few years, where the dining room seats 10 or 12. I don’t have those parties, but if you’re watching HGTV, it just seems like everything is huge.”

Popular reality and scripted TV shows often depict larger homes as the norm.

Growing home size, guided by research

The abundance of larger homes in popular entertainment isn’t by accident. Home design shows are rooting their programming in extensive research, says Julie Link, director of research and consumer insights for Scripps Networks, which owns HGTV, the Food Network, and others. The company recently conducted an in-depth, comprehensive study they called Dynamics Shaping the Future of Home.

The study’s goal was to better understand what is going on in the lives and in the homes of Scripps Networks’ audience in order to cater programming to them. The network asked consumers to complete video journals, diary entries, collages, and even Pinterest boards.

“We don’t want to be showing million-dollar homes when we’re in a recession,” Link adds. “We want to be reflective of what’s going on in the homes of our viewers.”

The results? Both surprising - and not. Younger consumers (adults between 25 and 39 years old) are beginning to prioritize space, the study found. Fifty-six percent of millennials said that having a large home is important to them, compared with 42 percent of Gen Xers and just 35 percent of baby boomers.

As millennials move into larger homes, they often delay buying new furniture and decorative pieces until they find just the right item.

Once young homeowners find the perfect space, many are biding their time until they find items that are multi-functional and carry meaning, Link continued. They might wait to fill an empty wall until, say, they can frame Instagram photos from a favorite trip, or afford to purchase a high-tech yoga mat that can also double as an elegant carpet.

“Millennials want a story behind [what they buy]. They’re doing this to create a sanctuary,” Link explains. “The world is a chaotic place right now, no matter what your views on politics are. [Millennials] really look inward, and they want to control something. The easiest thing for them to control is their home.”

Open floor plans reflect modern lifestyles

Add that focus on intentional buying to the shift in how homes are designed, with a nod to larger, open spaces. Gone are the days of rigid, closed-off eating spaces or television rooms. In their place are open floor plans and shared spaces, says Mary Dignan Hill, a real estate agent with John Aaroe Group in Southern California.

“Definitely I would say a home design trend is happening. People don’t have formal dining rooms, or aren’t interested in formal dining rooms anymore,” says Dignan Hill. “A more casual lifestyle is becoming more common, and I can see that reflected in home design.”

Dignan Hill, who has worked in real estate for a decade, recently noticed more clients seeking out open floor concepts or renovating older homes to take down walls to create larger, open spaces.

“People want to be able to be in their kitchen and cook, but also be with their family,” she notes. “Where you used to have a separate kitchen, a separate dining room and a separate television room, it’s all becoming one big space.”

Open floor plans’ popularity derives from the flexibility they provide homeowners.

Room to stretch

Two years after upsizing from 700 square feet into her 4-bedroom, 3-bathroom home, space is still a novel idea to Kruse - and one she doesn’t take for granted.

“Now that I have the extra space, I understand it. I understand why people want to do it,” she says. “I really don’t miss living in the condo, and I thought I would.”

She mentions the give-and-take of their old, cramped quarters: How, when she lived in the small condo, if she bought a shirt, she’d have to get rid of an old one. A new pair of shoes meant donating a worn-out pair to charity. It was a dance of space.

Most importantly, her new 2,700-square-foot home - with backyard raspberry bushes, fire pit, and private recording space - just brings her peace, she says.

“I had felt so tense living downtown,” Kruse recalls. “When we finally got to space and we could stretch and everything - a lot of that tension was alleviated.”

Find out how much upsizing would cost you in major U.S. metro areas.

Related:

Your New, Bigger Space: 5 Ways to Win at Upsizing Your Home

Bigger Homes and Gardens: Caring for Your New, Upsized Outdoor Space

6 Critical Questions to Ask When Buying New Construction

[garynsmith]

Upsizing on the Upswing: The Big Decision More Homeowners are Making

http://ift.tt/2vxCS3r

For Rhiannon Kruse, moving to a bigger home was about facing the music.

For five years, Kruse and her husband had squeezed themselves into a downtown Seattle high-rise. At 700 square feet, their home meant giving up a dresser to cram clothing into an under-the-bed storage space, and limiting the number of guests they could invite over for dinner. Even Kruse’s parents had to stay in a hotel after making the six-hour drive from Oregon to visit; there just wasn't enough space for overnight guests.

But for the duo, both professional entertainers, the final straw may have been the makeshift recording studio they crammed into a tiny desk space, wedged between the bed and the window. It just wasn't practical for a couple that make their living as piano players, Kruse says.

"We had a keyboard setup and a desk and recording equipment. To play, we had to wear headphones because we were in a shared space," Kruse says. "We definitely maximized the space, but everything had to have a purpose."

So when Kruse's husband broached the idea of moving into a much larger house just outside the city limits, it took a little bit of convincing - but not much. The couple fell in love with a 2,700-square-foot new construction home about 15 miles north of the heart of the city.

They also fell in love with the idea of having a place to put a piano - an actual piano.

"My grandmother had given us her grand piano. It was sitting in a storage place for two years," Kruse says. "[Now] I play a lot more at home. Probably five times as much - and when I do, it's relaxing. I don't feel suffocated."

Rhiannon Kruse and Jeff Coleron in front of their home on the day they moved in. Photo courtesy Rhiannon Kruse.

“People want these larger houses”

The couple's story may not seem like much of an anomaly these days. They're part of an uptick in upsizing: More homeowners are opting for a bigger home and larger price tag, skipping the traditional starter home altogether. Millennials are especially part of this movement, according to Zillow research.

What's more? A new analysis of census data shows that the median square footage of new homes is up 20 percent since 2000, from about 2,000 square feet to about 2,500 square feet.

The data corresponds with what sociologists are seeing firsthand, says Brian Miller, an associate professor of sociology at Wheaton College, just outside Chicago. Miller, who studies cities, suburban migration and culture, argues that several factors could be impacting the shift in housing trends, including the strength of the national economy.

"I see a lot about tiny houses and micro apartments in Seattle, San Francisco, and New York - these cities who are really grappling with housing issues and trying to fast-track 200- or 400-square-foot apartments," Miller says. "And yet the overall pattern across America is that people want these larger houses.

"The economy has gotten better over the last few years," he continues, with a nod to cities like Dallas, one of the hottest housing markets in the country. "It seems it's enabled people to [buy large houses] again."

Popular culture may be influencing this decision as well, Miller adds, pointing to how homes are depicted on television, in both the reality and scripted genres.

"The typical home on TV is huge. Think about the 'Friends' apartments, which were impossibly large," he says. "I'm thinking of HGTV shows I've seen over the past few years, where the dining room seats 10 or 12. I don't have those parties, but if you're watching HGTV, it just seems like everything is huge."

Popular reality and scripted TV shows often depict larger homes as the norm.

Growing home size, guided by research

The abundance of larger homes in popular entertainment isn't by accident. Home design shows are rooting their programming in extensive research, says Julie Link, director of research and consumer insights for Scripps Networks, which owns HGTV, the Food Network, and others. The company recently conducted an in-depth, comprehensive study they called Dynamics Shaping the Future of Home.

The study’s goal was to better understand what is going on in the lives and in the homes of Scripps Networks’ audience in order to cater programming to them. The network asked consumers to complete video journals, diary entries, collages, and even Pinterest boards.

"We don't want to be showing million-dollar homes when we're in a recession," Link adds. "We want to be reflective of what's going on in the homes of our viewers."

The results? Both surprising - and not. Younger consumers (adults between 25 and 39 years old) are beginning to prioritize space, the study found. Fifty-six percent of millennials said that having a large home is important to them, compared with 42 percent of Gen Xers and just 35 percent of baby boomers.

As millennials move into larger homes, they often delay buying new furniture and decorative pieces until they find just the right item.

Once young homeowners find the perfect space, many are biding their time until they find items that are multi-functional and carry meaning, Link continued. They might wait to fill an empty wall until, say, they can frame Instagram photos from a favorite trip, or afford to purchase a high-tech yoga mat that can also double as an elegant carpet.

"Millennials want a story behind [what they buy]. They're doing this to create a sanctuary," Link explains. "The world is a chaotic place right now, no matter what your views on politics are. [Millennials] really look inward, and they want to control something. The easiest thing for them to control is their home."

Open floor plans reflect modern lifestyles

Add that focus on intentional buying to the shift in how homes are designed, with a nod to larger, open spaces. Gone are the days of rigid, closed-off eating spaces or television rooms. In their place are open floor plans and shared spaces, says Mary Dignan Hill, a real estate agent with John Aaroe Group in Southern California.

"Definitely I would say a home design trend is happening. People don't have formal dining rooms, or aren't interested in formal dining rooms anymore," says Dignan Hill. "A more casual lifestyle is becoming more common, and I can see that reflected in home design."

Dignan Hill, who has worked in real estate for a decade, recently noticed more clients seeking out open floor concepts or renovating older homes to take down walls to create larger, open spaces.

"People want to be able to be in their kitchen and cook, but also be with their family," she notes. "Where you used to have a separate kitchen, a separate dining room and a separate television room, it's all becoming one big space."

Open floor plans’ popularity derives from the flexibility they provide homeowners.

Room to stretch

Two years after upsizing from 700 square feet into her 4-bedroom, 3-bathroom home, space is still a novel idea to Kruse - and one she doesn't take for granted.

"Now that I have the extra space, I understand it. I understand why people want to do it," she says. "I really don't miss living in the condo, and I thought I would."

She mentions the give-and-take of their old, cramped quarters: How, when she lived in the small condo, if she bought a shirt, she'd have to get rid of an old one. A new pair of shoes meant donating a worn-out pair to charity. It was a dance of space.

Most importantly, her new 2,700-square-foot home - with backyard raspberry bushes, fire pit, and private recording space - just brings her peace, she says.

"I had felt so tense living downtown," Kruse recalls. "When we finally got to space and we could stretch and everything - a lot of that tension was alleviated."

Find out how much upsizing would cost you in major U.S. metro areas.

Related:

Your New, Bigger Space: 5 Ways to Win at Upsizing Your Home

Bigger Homes and Gardens: Caring for Your New, Upsized Outdoor Space

6 Critical Questions to Ask When Buying New Construction

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Upsizing on the Upswing: The Big Decision More Homeowners are Making

For Rhiannon Kruse, moving to a bigger home was about facing the music.

For five years, Kruse and her husband had squeezed themselves into a downtown Seattle high-rise. At 700 square feet, their home meant giving up a dresser to cram clothing into an under-the-bed storage space, and limiting the number of guests they could invite over for dinner. Even Kruse’s parents had to stay in a hotel after making the six-hour drive from Oregon to visit; there just wasn't enough space for overnight guests.

But for the duo, both professional entertainers, the final straw may have been the makeshift recording studio they crammed into a tiny desk space, wedged between the bed and the window. It just wasn't practical for a couple that make their living as piano players, Kruse says.

"We had a keyboard setup and a desk and recording equipment. To play, we had to wear headphones because we were in a shared space," Kruse says. "We definitely maximized the space, but everything had to have a purpose."

So when Kruse's husband broached the idea of moving into a much larger house just outside the city limits, it took a little bit of convincing - but not much. The couple fell in love with a 2,700-square-foot new construction home about 15 miles north of the heart of the city.

They also fell in love with the idea of having a place to put a piano - an actual piano.

"My grandmother had given us her grand piano. It was sitting in a storage place for two years," Kruse says. "[Now] I play a lot more at home. Probably five times as much - and when I do, it's relaxing. I don't feel suffocated."

Rhiannon Kruse and Jeff Coleron in front of their home on the day they moved in. Photo courtesy Rhiannon Kruse.

“People want these larger houses”

The couple's story may not seem like much of an anomaly these days. They're part of an uptick in upsizing: More homeowners are opting for a bigger home and larger price tag, skipping the traditional starter home altogether. Millennials are especially part of this movement, according to Zillow research.

What's more? A new analysis of census data shows that the median square footage of new homes is up 20 percent since 2000, from about 2,000 square feet to about 2,500 square feet.

The data corresponds with what sociologists are seeing firsthand, says Brian Miller, an associate professor of sociology at Wheaton College, just outside Chicago. Miller, who studies cities, suburban migration and culture, argues that several factors could be impacting the shift in housing trends, including the strength of the national economy.

"I see a lot about tiny houses and micro apartments in Seattle, San Francisco, and New York - these cities who are really grappling with housing issues and trying to fast-track 200- or 400-square-foot apartments," Miller says. "And yet the overall pattern across America is that people want these larger houses.

"The economy has gotten better over the last few years," he continues, with a nod to cities like Dallas, one of the hottest housing markets in the country. "It seems it's enabled people to [buy large houses] again."

Popular culture may be influencing this decision as well, Miller adds, pointing to how homes are depicted on television, in both the reality and scripted genres.

"The typical home on TV is huge. Think about the 'Friends' apartments, which were impossibly large," he says. "I'm thinking of HGTV shows I've seen over the past few years, where the dining room seats 10 or 12. I don't have those parties, but if you're watching HGTV, it just seems like everything is huge."

Popular reality and scripted TV shows often depict larger homes as the norm.

Growing home size, guided by research

The abundance of larger homes in popular entertainment isn't by accident. Home design shows are rooting their programming in extensive research, says Julie Link, director of research and consumer insights for Scripps Networks, which owns HGTV, the Food Network, and others. The company recently conducted an in-depth, comprehensive study they called Dynamics Shaping the Future of Home.

The study’s goal was to better understand what is going on in the lives and in the homes of Scripps Networks’ audience in order to cater programming to them. The network asked consumers to complete video journals, diary entries, collages, and even Pinterest boards.

"We don't want to be showing million-dollar homes when we're in a recession," Link adds. "We want to be reflective of what's going on in the homes of our viewers."

The results? Both surprising - and not. Younger consumers (adults between 25 and 39 years old) are beginning to prioritize space, the study found. Fifty-six percent of millennials said that having a large home is important to them, compared with 42 percent of Gen Xers and just 35 percent of baby boomers.

As millennials move into larger homes, they often delay buying new furniture and decorative pieces until they find just the right item.

Once young homeowners find the perfect space, many are biding their time until they find items that are multi-functional and carry meaning, Link continued. They might wait to fill an empty wall until, say, they can frame Instagram photos from a favorite trip, or afford to purchase a high-tech yoga mat that can also double as an elegant carpet.

"Millennials want a story behind [what they buy]. They're doing this to create a sanctuary," Link explains. "The world is a chaotic place right now, no matter what your views on politics are. [Millennials] really look inward, and they want to control something. The easiest thing for them to control is their home."

Open floor plans reflect modern lifestyles

Add that focus on intentional buying to the shift in how homes are designed, with a nod to larger, open spaces. Gone are the days of rigid, closed-off eating spaces or television rooms. In their place are open floor plans and shared spaces, says Mary Dignan Hill, a real estate agent with John Aaroe Group in Southern California.

"Definitely I would say a home design trend is happening. People don't have formal dining rooms, or aren't interested in formal dining rooms anymore," says Dignan Hill. "A more casual lifestyle is becoming more common, and I can see that reflected in home design."

Dignan Hill, who has worked in real estate for a decade, recently noticed more clients seeking out open floor concepts or renovating older homes to take down walls to create larger, open spaces.

"People want to be able to be in their kitchen and cook, but also be with their family," she notes. "Where you used to have a separate kitchen, a separate dining room and a separate television room, it's all becoming one big space."

Open floor plans’ popularity derives from the flexibility they provide homeowners.

Room to stretch

Two years after upsizing from 700 square feet into her 4-bedroom, 3-bathroom home, space is still a novel idea to Kruse - and one she doesn't take for granted.

"Now that I have the extra space, I understand it. I understand why people want to do it," she says. "I really don't miss living in the condo, and I thought I would."

She mentions the give-and-take of their old, cramped quarters: How, when she lived in the small condo, if she bought a shirt, she'd have to get rid of an old one. A new pair of shoes meant donating a worn-out pair to charity. It was a dance of space.

Most importantly, her new 2,700-square-foot home - with backyard raspberry bushes, fire pit, and private recording space - just brings her peace, she says.

"I had felt so tense living downtown," Kruse recalls. "When we finally got to space and we could stretch and everything - a lot of that tension was alleviated."

Find out how much upsizing would cost you in major U.S. metro areas.

Related:

Your New, Bigger Space: 5 Ways to Win at Upsizing Your Home

Bigger Homes and Gardens: Caring for Your New, Upsized Outdoor Space

6 Critical Questions to Ask When Buying New Construction

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