#and gray walls for a new study space white office chair

[revorocketnails]

Contemporary Home Office (Grand Rapids)

[glitterge1pen]

Duke Thomas Rings The Bells

Ch.1 , synopsis ; Moving to an elite boarding school Duke struggles to find his footing. But he clumsily stumbles his way into some friends, and soon his friends turn into comrades and allies. Duke knows his friends won't fall, and he doesn't plan on falling either. How long can people keep secrets? And what secrets are worth anything at all? Maybe Jason is right, and this is all just some really dramatic Dead Poets Society shit. But Duke liked that movie.

Duke's locker was articulate in it's decoration. There was the usual magazine cut outs, the stray polaroid, and the magnets he had made from postage labels. The organization of said locker was lacking a bit.

He didn't mean to just throw things into the metal cabinet but he was still adjusting to the ways of his new home. The locker also reeked of marker ink and the alcohol of his hand sanitizer. Duke learned early on in his young artists career that hand sanitizer killed ink.

Duke switched out his math textbook for the book they were currently reading in English, On The Road by Jack Kerouac. The cover was new, no finger printers or stray penned obscenities. Duke hadn't gotten a chance to read most of it yet but he got an extension from Mr.Farlane.

Transferring a week into school meant that Duke had missed most of the "Welcome Back To School" activities, part of him chided himself for being relieved about having avoided such crowds, but the other half dreaded his lack of basic information about the school. He didn't know the whole layout by heart yet, the schedule felt awkward and clunky, and of course he knew no one.

Despite the school's prestige the extra curricular art courses and clubs were lacking. On top of that most kids Duke had deemed assholes were in said clubs. Duke's current list of assholes was growing. In his throw up book, which was what he called his sketchbook, there were doodles of people he thought were noteworthy.

In his classes he tried to match names to makeshift seating charts on his pages. Not wanting to be caught in some embarrassing slip up of not knowing someone's name. Next to these names were things to pin them to a person. Ones who had bumped into him without apologizing, ones who said weird things in class, had been late or walked funny.

In his second period bio med class was a boy named Tim. Next to his name was a brash doodle Duke had done of the boy along with the phrase 'This is bullshit, the woman obviously died because of her diabetes! Look at the blood splatter you absolute fool! ’ which is what he had said to his lab partner.

Tim had been scolded for disturbing the class and Duke was surprised when his own lab partner also scolded Tim instead of finding the situation funny or amusing at least.

Even though they hadn't officially met yet, Tim so far was the only boy on the 'not asshole' list Duke had formulated. Duke wished there were girls around. They were always so much nicer, and they made guys less defensive.

Blue River Academy For Boys was an all boys boarding school that Duke would compare to a hell on a trust funds budget. Not to mention that so far Duke was the only black kid in sight. Beyond that he was the only not white person on campus he had seen so far.

With nothing but rich white boys surrounding him Duke was already feeling out of his element. Top that off with a new school, a new home, and his general positive attitude was taking a beating.

Duke sighed a heavy breath as he prepared to enter his AP English class. Only four days into Mr.Farlane’s dry, boring lectures were enough to have Duke dreading the class, he still had the whole semester ahead of him.

Fortunately Duke had managed to snag a window seat in the back, as it was the only desk left when he had arrived. Outside was the main courtyard, where most boys went during their study period. There was a stone fountain, several garden benches, and rose bushes that littered the grassy yard below.

Duke couldn't decide if it was cliche, pretentious, or both. All the architecture of the place was overly grand like this. Gray stone walls, silver railings, blue and white mosaic tile floor. None of it felt real. It made Duke miss his neighborhood, his home.

"Today we will be covering chapters ten through fifteen,"

Mr.Farlane’s voice was robotic and empty as he spoke to the class. Mr.Farlane had several conversations with himself about the themes of the book, the overarching plot, and how Jack Kerouac was an exemplary writer.

This was when the boy in front of Duke raised his hand. Mr.Farlane didn't notice him at first but the boy slammed his other hand onto the wooden desk to grab the teachers attention.

Mr.Farlane only let out an annoyed huff of air, Duke noticed the other boys in class had perked up as well. It felt like the moments before a great battle in a movie, like two unstoppable armies had come to face each other on a hill.

"Yes Jason,"

Mr.Farlane’s voice at least wasn't terribly dull anymore, Duke thought.

"Kerouac was not a good writer, he drones on and on, he deals in drivel-"

Mr.Farlane cut Jason off with the palm of his hand.

"That's subjective Jason-"

Jason cut him off in return.

"It's not subjective, he was high as shit when he wrote On The Road , and apparently even being intoxicated wasn't enough to get his ass to write anything good"

"Mr.Todd-"

"I'm Mr.Todd now?"

Jason asked, raising his voice with a snarl.

"Mr.Todd," Mr.Farlane said slowly repeating himself, "Please go to the office if you're going to act like this"

Jason, who was a tall boy with dark hair and icy blue eyes, a streak of white running down his bangs, didn't look handsome as he stormed out of the room, he looked pissed off. The other boys in class also stared at Jason as he moved through the room, knocking or bumping into desks not seeming to care who or what he intruded on.

Mr.Farlane continued speaking once Jason had left like nothing had transpired at all. Duke then deduced that Jason must be one of those moody brooding types who was prone to getting in trouble. A person who sat quietly until they exploded with rage. Which in this case was induced by bad literary opinion.

While Mr.Farlane’s hollow lesson went on, Duke drew. He drew Jason in a loose cartoon style. Putting emphasis on the boy's odd hair color, his angry scrunched up face which Duke only got a few glimpses of because he had been sitting behind him. Duke in scratchy bubble letters drew the words Jason had spoken as well. When it came time to put Jason's name on the asshole list Duke couldn't bring himself to do it.

Because yeah, yelling at the teacher, throwing around curse words, having tantrums in class, that definitely wasn't cool. It made Duke wonder if Jason was putting on some sort of bad boy act. But even this seemed pretty dramatic for something that was just an act. Regardless of the right or wrong of the situation Duke hesitated, because Jason was right. Jack Kerouac couldn't write for shit.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

That night Duke looked at the two boxes that he still had left to unpack. The school had confiscated their phones, so Duke had the radio on low. The radio had been his mothers, and it used to sit on their kitchen window sill, but it hasn't had any CD’s fed to it for years. It had been a long time since he had used the radio at all, and the stations were different out here. Eventually he settled on the ‘Rockin 80’s’ station that was playing that Easy Lover song.

Duke’s room was the same as all the other rooms in the dorms. One bed, one desk, a chair, a closet, and one small window that overlooked the empty fields beyond the school grounds. Duke had almost skipped dinner today like he had yesterday but had forced himself to go to the cafeteria. He didn't want himself to get stuck moping here. Even if he did very badly want to mope about.

His casual clothes were tucked into the back of the closet, while the pieces of his uniform took up most of the closet. The two sweaters vests, one blue with white stripes running along the bottom, the other an inverted version of the first. His black slacks, the gray ones, and the two pairs of khakis. Of course the variety of collared button ups and polos, then the singular school jacket. The crest was embroidered and intricate. The silver string shone even the dim light of his room.

Duke took the jacket off and hung it with the rest of his clothes. He used the key to his dorm to cut the tape off the last boxes. In the first box were posters, photos, pieces of paper he had tacked up on his walls at home, the halloween lights he strung around his room back home and his lava lamp. It took Duke longer than he thought it would to hang all the contents of the box on the walls. But when he was finished and flicked the lava lamp on, he did feel better. Like some sort of normalcy was placed back into his palms.

The second box was one he had been careful to keep from his mother, and one he had made sure to label school supplies. Because Blue River had rules about everything. The length of your pants, scented candles, music, and even books. But more hated than the list of curated books that had been banned from the school curriculum and hence the school grounds, was an even simpler rule and instruction that Duke had not only broken, but disregarded entirely.

In the school handbook, on page ten, was a list of contraband. Underneath the incredibly long list of banned books, was rule 15. No comic books. Duke appreciated his mothers sentiments of good education, he appreciated the scholarship that the school had offered. But Duke, like always, had his own plans.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: These chapters are also up on ao3 if that is your preferred reading space, and of course The Duke Thomas Playlist 

LINK TO NEXT CHAPTER 

[cloudywriter]

i never got to say i love you - 1

~~~

A/N: heyy, so i wrote this like a month ago when i was super into reading some modern university au acotar fanfiction & then i even planned out a whole storyline but then i just kinda sat on it. but i like it so i decided i would just put it out there, i can continue it if people actually like it too.

masterlist & AO3

~~~

Feyre walked along the sidewalk leading to one of the dorm buildings of her new school, Velaris University. 

Although she was focused on lugging her single suitcase behind her as one of the wheels was broken, she couldn’t help but admire the tall impressive structures that surrounded her. She could hear the trickle of the Sidra river to her right while observing the courtyard adjoining multiple dorm buildings to her left. The courtyard was large and pristine, made of stone, with an abstract silver metal statue which stood erect in the middle loosely resembling an infinity sign. The housing units were situated around it in a semicircle.

A path winded down from the courtyard and back towards the main section of campus, organized there were the various department buildings, the cafeteria, admissions, and so on. Feyre was making her way up said path after she retrieved her student key card from the main office. 

She had just transferred from Courts Community College after she finally saved up enough money to afford tuition to VU. 

In her senior year of high school, Feyre visited the small city in which Velaris was located, Prythian, with her school on a field trip. It was on that small excursion she fell in love with the Prythian and the university it had to offer. In particular, Feyre loved the huge art district that occupied nearly a quarter of the city. 

Her family looked down upon her choice of major, art, they told her time and time again that it was impractical and her success rate in the field was microscopic. However, their comments didn’t deter her, she couldn’t imagine studying business or stem as her father suggested, it simply wasn’t for her. She wanted her life’s work to be doing what she loved even if it came with the risk of struggling financially down the road. 

Feyre finally reached the tall double glass doors of the middle building. She grabbed her ID from her jacket pocket and held it up to the scanner. The device beeps three times loudly, flashing a dot of red light. Feyre tries again with the same result. She sighs, did she get a faulty card?

“Turn it around,” a feminine voice suggests from behind her.

Feyre whipped around. There stood a young woman, likely Feyre’s same age. She was breathtakingly pretty with long, bright blonde hair that stopped below her chest and eyes that were a shade darker than honey. She was fairly tall as was Feyre and her demeanor demanded respect. She seemed sure of herself and her looks and capitalized on them. 

“The black bar on the back is only good for your dorm room door, to get in the main entrance you have to scan the front of your ID. I know, it’s weird, took me five minutes to figure it out yesterday,” the woman explained. 

Feyre gave an appreciative smile and nodded, turning her attention back to the scanner which now responded to her with a flash of green. 

“Thank you,” Feyre breathed as she opened the door and held it for the student behind her. The girl strolled through and smiled at her. “It’s no problem.” 

Feyre directed her attention to the slip of paper in her hand, failing to remember where it said her room was. Room 223, Level 3. A blonde head peered over her shoulder. 

“Room 223? You’re right next door to me!” 

Feyre offered her a smile. “Does that mean you’ll show me the way?”

The blonde looked delighted and casually looped her arm through Feyre’s as if they’d been friends for years and led her towards the elevator. This slightly alarmed Feyre, she had never had very many friends let alone pretty girl friends, usually, they weren’t all too kind to Feyre. Despite the fact that her sisters, Nesta and Elain, were rather popular. Nesta easily took on the role of the pretty mean girl, though she wasn’t outwardly mean often. She just radiated the energy and didn’t bother with most people. 

Elain, however, was friends with everybody and was sweet to all who crossed paths with her. She had almost everyone in the school wrapped around her finger, though she had no idea; from the boys who tripped over each other to open the door for her and the girls that scrambled to sit near her at lunch. 

Feyre did have one redeeming quality in high school, well, redeeming person. Her high school sweetheart was Tamlin Spring, the football team’s star quarterback. He was one of the boys in the school that the girls drooled over constantly, but somehow it was Feyre who caught his eye and it was Feyre he asked to accompany him to homecoming. You’d think this high up connection would earn her some credit but no, the girls still teased her, convincing her it had all been a dare. 

Feyre remembers, in a fit of rage and embarrassment, she stomped over to Tamlin’s locker after the last bell and confronted him. It was there he promised her that it was no prank, it was there he first kissed her. Feyre felt like they had clicked until her mother suddenly passed away from an undiagnosed illness, the death leaving an ugly, deep scar carved into Feyre’s and her family’s lives. Feyre’s life took a turn for the worse and with it so did the relationship she shared with Tamlin. 

The gentle ding of an elevator door alerted Feyre before she found herself spiraling too deep into her thoughts. 

Her leader didn’t seem to notice her brooding state as she took Feyre out and to the right, down a decently sized hall. The floor was mostly white tile with dark blue, almost purple tiles making a design down the middle; the walls were painted a light gray and littered with numerous posters. Feyre didn’t have time to read what all the papers said before the woman stopped outside a wooden door, a plate engraved with the numbers 223 to its left. 

“This is your room. I’m just next door in 225.” 

Feyre nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” The girl smiled at her and then her face lit up in realization. 

“Oh, my gods! I didn’t even introduce myself!”

Feyre let loose a small smile. “I’m Feyre,” she said at last.

To her surprise, the mysterious girl pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, “I’m Morrigan, but I really just go by Mor.” Mor then pulled back, still holding Feyre at arm’s length. 

“My roommate is named Vivane by the way. We dyed her hair silver in the bathrooms last night, you can’t miss her. She’s always hanging out with her boyfriend though, so if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to come find me!” Mor offered politely. 

“Thank you.” Feyre breathed out a little sigh of relief having found my dorm without too much trouble.

A girl down the hall called Mor’s name, she muttered a quick see you later and disappeared into the herd of students and luggage. 

Luckily, Feyre managed to open the door without issue and hauled her suitcase inside. She felt a little silly walking here with such a small amount of stuff, most students had a cart full of their belongings. 

Feyre observed the room, the same white tiled floor and light gray walls as the corridor she just exited. It wasn’t ridiculously small, but it would still be a bit of a squeeze. Nothing Feyre wasn’t used to, having shared a room with her two older sisters growing up. A few boxes and bags were already scattered about on the right side of the room. It was clear her roommate had been here and left. She dropped her black, sticker ridden suitcase on the empty bed, plopping down next to it. 

Both sides of the room were identical, two tall beds held up by drawers pressed against opposing walls, two nightstands, two narrow desks situated at the ends of each bed, and one decently sized wardrobe, all made of the same light creamy wood tone. Rather flimsy-looking violet plastic chairs were also tucked into the desks. 

Feyre began to unpack her clothes into the drawers holding up her bed in an attempt to distract her growing anxiety. She pulled out her bag of art supplies and dropped it on her desk. The bag held a paint set that was on its last leg, paint brushes that were horribly frayed at the ends, both drawing and colored pencils, sad leftover eraser nubs, and her worn leather bound sketchbook. 

The door to her room opened up with a click revealing who could only be her roommate standing on the threshold.

She was on the short side and was relatively curvy. Her skin was a tanned brown and she had dark brunette curly hair that was tied up in a loose bun. They both stood observing each other for a second.

“I see you took advantage of the half-off sale at the uni shop too.” She spoke with a smile, gesturing to the identical, oversized VU sweatshirts they were both wearing over black leggings. 

Feyre returned her smile and nodded. “I’m Feyre.”

I held out my hand which she took instantly with a squeeze, “Alis.”

Feyre felt a sense of relief in Alis’s presence. She had a gentle, calming, almost motherly aura about her. Alis invited Feyre to join her for an early dinner to get to know each other.

The girls entered into a huge room adorned with the same marble looking tiles and gray paint mixed with pillars of dark brick filling the walls where windows were absent. Two of the walls were almost completely glass letting a vast amount of natural light fill the space. Above them, three huge circular lights hung from the high ceiling. Wooden tables of various sizes and the same shade of violet accent color plastic chairs neatly filled the room. Stretching along two of the walls were a number of booths to grab food. 

Feyre and Alis settled on grabbing salads from one called Sabrina’s Kitchen and snatched a table for two near one of the walls of windows. They talked about the usual, their family, where they were from, what they were studying, etc.

Feyre learned that Alis was from the town adjacent to Feyre’s own, Springlee. She used to live there with her sister, her husband, and their two boys. She only left to pursue a degree in education but missed them terribly.

Feyre gave Alis a quick rundown of her own home life, leaving out many details that came with her dysfunctional family and explained she’d transferred after two years at Courts Community, working on an art degree. Alis loved the idea of having an artist as her roommate and insisted Feyre paint pictures to decorate their dorm. 

They’d long since finished their salads but continued chatting as the cafeteria began to fill up nearer to dinner time. 

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t look now but the hottest group of guys just strolled in,” Alis gasped. 

Feyre giggled a little and rolled her eyes, she wasn’t the type of girl to fawn after hot guys anymore with her track record. She did not trust a pretty face. Alis’s eyes were transfixed behind Feyre. 

“Would you like me to grab you a napkin to clean up your drool?” Feyre poked at Alis. 

Alis playfully swatted her hand away. “Just look at them!”

Feyre huffed and turned around in her seat; she didn’t even need to ask for clarification from Alis it was clear who she was referring too. In one of the lines stood a group of three guys, she could hear them laughing and talking from her seat.

She could only see two of their faces, but that was all she needed. They all had similar shades of black or very dark brown hair and tanned complexions, not to mention how fit they all were. One’s hair was shoulder length and half was pulled back in a bun, the other two had shorter hair cut in rather nondescript styles. Though, the quietest one who had his arms crossed over his chest and only said a few words or offered a small smile every now and then had some curl in locks. The last one had his back turned to Feyre but if his backside and friends were any indication she could only assume he was equally as beautiful. 

Noticing Feyre’s prolonged glance, Alis spoke up, “who needs a napkin now?”

Feyre snapped back around and giggled. “Shut up!”

The sheer number of students piling into the room had it near overflowing as Alis and Feyre tore their eyes from the boys and walked back to their dorm. 

They sat on their beds and talked for a while more, mostly making up ridiculous ways to find out who those boys were and how to get their attention. Feyre doodled in her sketchbook while Alis suggested they break into admissions in an attempt to get some information on them, that plan quickly fell apart as she realized they’d need to know more than their faces. 

Eventually, both girls turn in for the night. 

~~~

enjoy, let me know if you want more or not!

[yourfriendslimey]

Clouds of Cream

Pt. 1

Summary- While taking a day to run weekly errands, you take the time to stop at your local cafe where a certain handsome barista happens to work...

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: Fluff

author’s note: This part is mostly to establish base story, also later parts will contain sexual themes; however, i COULD also produce watered down versions for those of you who enjoy the story but don’t care for those kinds of things. lemme know. Anyways, enjoy <3

WC: 2342

Part. 1- I Never Got Your Name…

Your eyes pried themselves open as the morning sun snuck into your studio apartment. With a heavy arm, you reached over to the tiny bedside table and grabbed your phone. 8:00 a.m…. You groaned, tossed your phone onto the table and pulled the blanket over your face. It was Saturday, your day off work, so you could in theory sleep in. However, you knew if you didn’t get up now then the To-Do list tacked to the cork board above your desk would go unattended. Plus… You thought, sitting up haggardly…I could stop at the café while I’m out…

You had gone to Downtown Brews for the first time a few months ago with a close friend who swore up and down it had THE best coffee. He was right. Now you were all but addicted. The roasts were divine, and the pastries were nothing to scoff at. And often by chance, you were helped by the same barista who, if you dared to say so, was not too hard on the eyes. The barista…You felt guilty not knowing his name by now. Even though you saw him every time you walked through those doors, you never managed to read his nametag. You were always too…distracted.

You let your feet hang off the bed for a few moments while your mind began to wander. As you stood and made your way to your tiny bathroom, you wondered if he even really noticed you. Of course, he recognized your face. You were there all the time. At the counter, he would give a casual smile and in his cool tone say “Hey, y/n, nice to see you again? The usual?” They took names for orders, so yeah, he knew that too. He knew your regular order because it was well... your regular order. But that didn’t mean he really saw you. The café had a lot of regulars, he probably knew a few orders and names by heart. While brushing your teeth you became even more lost in thought… You leaned close the bathroom mirror, analyzing your face. It was still puffy, showing the aftermath of a late night’s sleep. You frowned a little. Maybe he has a girlfriend. Maybe you just weren’t his type. You fed into your dismay while taking a longer than usual shower.

With fresh breath and a newly showered body, you walked to your closet and pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans, an oversized t-shirt with your college mascot on the front, and a grey dad-hat. You might as well be comfortable while running around all day. You grabbed your backpack and tossed in your phone charger, wallet, and keys. You quickly snatched the list from the board and hurried out the front door before the demon that was procrastination could set in.

You groaned as you walked to the end of the hall, anticipating the journey you had to make down the stairs. The elevator was down and had been for months now. The landlord kept telling you someone would be in to fix it next month, but it seemed like next month never came. Instead, you frustratedly stomped down the stairs, each time cursing past you for wanting to live on the third floor.

The building you lived in was nowhere near fancy. But it was home at least. Unlike the buildings uptown, the lobby wasn’t big and beautiful with potted plants and delicate light fixtures. It was more of an extra wide hallway. The walls presented a sickly grey-green on the upper half, the bottom being slowly warping wood paneling. A large portion of the space was dedicated to old metal mailboxes and contained ceiling lights hanging on their last legs; more than half of them flickering or entirely dead. You decided to check your mail later. You never really got anything anyway.

Outside, you were met with a clear sky and smiling summer sun. A warm breeze danced through the branches and the sweet smell of mature flowers blessed your nose. You felt more energized by the perfection of the day and with newfound eagerness, began your walk to the café. You breathed easily, taking in your surroundings. It was around 9:00 a.m. now and most of the city was already awake. Busy men and women walked as fast as their legs could carry them. Some to their respective jobs and others you presumed, to use the day the same as you; going off to clear a long list of errands. The start of summer vacation also meant children with time to kill. Kids ran up and down the sidewalk, getting what you deemed an early start to their day’s mischief. A couple walked hand in hand, giggling and smiling. You could overhear them mention something about grabbing lunch later and maybe seeing a movie. Seeming them happy together sent you into a vivid daydream.

You saw the barista’s warm smile and kind eyes. You confidently sauntered up to the counter, cool as ice. You flashed a cheeky smile that caught him off-guard. “Hey there, what’ll it be?” he said with a fully flushed face. You leaned in real close and looked him in the eyes. With a stolen velvet tongue, you said “A tall, dark, and handsome…”

The cheesiness of the line snapped you out of your trance with a quiet laugh. Before you knew it, you found yourself standing in front of Downtown Brews. It sat gingerly on the corner, beckoning you inside. The coffee cup logo printed on the glass door a sight for sore eyes Through the large window you noticed that almost every seat was full. No big deal since you just wanted to grab something to eat while you walked. You pulled open the door, a small bell jingling overhead. You placed yourself at the end of the line, grateful that it wasn’t too long. The early morning rush had pretty much passed already. You scanned the peaceful scene. Even though it was full, the loudest noises were the clinking of mugs and forks. It was always like this no matter the time of day.

Downtown Brews had that affect on people. The café created a sanctuary away from the loudness of the city. It had a minimalistic look. Plain golden-brown wooden floors, beautifully simple wooden tables and chairs, and small hanging lights that seemed to float in the room. On each table was a centerpiece containing small purple wildflowers in cute white vases that looked like fine china. The walls were mostly windows, save for the left wall that made contact with that of the bookstore next door and the gray brick wall behind the counter. It was decorated with shelves lined with mugs, glasses, and more white vases with various plants and flowers scattered about. You noticed that every week, there was at least one new one. The owner of the place must have had a real love for flora.

You stood for what felt like ages, listening to some poor young intern order complicated coffees and various treats for what seemed to be an entire office. You anxiously switched your weight from one foot to the other, wondering if maybe today you would order something new. And then you saw him. The man who made your face hot and your head cloudy. He was always here when you were, not that you were going to complain about it. He looked so suave in his uniform. The white shirt, black slacks, and black apron on his waist seemed custom made for his slender frame. How could such simple clothes look so good on someone? Your hands felt clammy and your chest went tight. You hated and adored this feeling all at the same time. Taking a few quiet deep breaths, you set your sights back on the menu, busying your mind with deciding about what to order for breakfast.

You studied him as he switched places with another staff member and prepared his customer’s order. The café had a lovely practice. Whoever took your order would also prepare it. This allowed for a more personal experience that resulted in fewer messed up orders. The baristas took turns instinctually; based off who was the least busy.

You gawked at him, transfixed on his form. You watched as he grabbed a few pastries from the glass case in front of him, slid them into a small toaster oven and began fixing the drinks. Every movement was smooth and graceful. He was like an angel. His face was lit up with a precious smile as he handed over the massive order and with a nod chirped “Here you are! You coworkers better say thank you for this. Hope you have a good day.” The intern gave a rushed “Yes, thank you, you too,” and fixed her gaze on the cardboard trays of drinks stacked onto boxes of patisserie. She shuffled away with a sense of urgency you’d never seen.

The barista’s skin was almost glowing. It looked soft and flawless, almost like it had been airbrushed. But it was all too real. You heart began to race as the last person between you and the counter wandered off. You shook your head lightly, trying to snap yourself back to the now.

“Can I help who’s next, please?” the honey voice flooded your ears.

You nearly stumbled up to the register, eyes barely leaving the chalkboard menu hanging above. Even though you weren’t really looking, you could still feel the warmth of his smile. You met his eyes. “Hey y/n. How’s it going? Medium iced coffee with vanilla creamer, three sugars, and cocoa powder on top, right?” You felt the heat rising in your face.

“Hey, uh yeah. I mean, no.” Your voice was almost imprisoned in your throat, impulse taking over.

“Oh, did I get I get it wrong?” he let out a small chuckle and ran a hand through his beautiful hazelnut curls, “Sorry about that, guess I must be a bit tired if I’m forgetting-“

You didn’t mean to, but you cut him off “Not at all. I just wanna switch it up a bit. Today I think I’ll have a medium iced cold brew with sweet cream and caramel this time. And could I also have a cranberry muffin, please?” you smiled shyly, embarrassed knowing that you were obviously flustered.

He smiled wide and clasped his hands together. “Well I see we’re mixingg things up now,” he giggled quietly while punching your order into the automated screen, “Gotta keep me on my toes somehow.” Damn that smile- you took off your backpack and quickly pulled out your wallet. “Is that for here or to go?” He peered up at you, eyes doe-like. “To go, please.” You choked a little and could have sworn you saw a bit of disappointment in his eyes but passed it off. He told you the total and you handed him the cash. “Alrighty, I’ll have everything ready in about ten minutes.” You nodded and gave a small hum as he gave you your change.

You stepped off to the side and let your eyes follow him as he skillfully crafted your drink. His smile was replaced with a stern look as he focused on his task. You wondered if your mouth was watering from the aroma of coffee and hot muffin awaiting you or something else. Suddenly, it hit you that once again you avoided looking at his name tag. You instinctively avoided looking at one part of him too long. As a child mom had taught you it was rude to stare, and that sentiment stuck with you even now. You chastised yourself. It felt as though after you missed it the first time, it felt impolite to check now. But it was ruder to just not know. You always wanted to ask, but avoided it, thinking he would think you were a moron since he clearly has a nametag on. You silently huffed in frustration and made attempts to get a better look. However, you couldn’t get a clear view. If it wasn’t a machine in your way, it was one of the other baristas, or he was simply moving too much or he was turned away from you. Though you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed looking at his back almost as much as his front.

“Y/n, your order’s ready.” His smile had returned as he stepped up to the pickup area.

He held out a small brown paper bag and your drink. “Here you go. Have a good day, and I’ll see you soon.” His face was warm, his smile genuine. You beamed at him and gently took your things Your heart fluttered. Without even thinking, the words flew from your lips. “I’m sorry, I know I come here all the time, but um…” he leaned forward, placing his hands on the counter, “well I don’ actually know your name and i keep forgetting to ask…And it feels rude to not know since you’re such a good server.” He chuckled, raised an eyebrow and smirked. He shook his head lightly and let it drop to the side. “Tsk tsk tsk. And I thought we were friends.” His smile melted your heart. He stood tall and folded is arms.

You apologized again, telling him you knew he had a nametag on but you always forgot to look and began to ramble about feeling nervous to ask and the whole thing. He gently cut you off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s Mark. And now that you know, you better not forget.” He pointed a playfully stern finger at you. The name rang in your head. This man who occupied so much headspace finally had a name. A beautiful one. At least to you. You grinned, “I won’t, I promise. I’ll see you later, Mark.” You turned to leave and as you did, you were certain his smile had grown bigger and his cheeks pinker.

Mark....

[annoyinglyjovialbird]

Voltron: Next Generation

Wavering Objectives: III

Word Count: 2990

Kova padded into her attached ensuite bathroom, sighing and rubbing the back of her neck. The makeshift arm sling was starting to make a rash and the bandages were much too tight. As carefully as she could, Kova removed the bandages and rolled them into tight balls of cotton. The water ran cold, then warmed. Steam came from the top of the shower, filling the room. 

Emerging from the shower, Kova wrapped her hair in a fluffy white towel and dressed in her purple pajamas. Her eyes were closed the entire time, enjoying the quiet, steam-filled room. The mirror was completely fogged up. Kova reached up to wipe it away with one hand, using the other to unwrap her hair from her towel turban. Slowly, she pats her hair dry starting from the roots to the ends and back again.

She opened her eyes, seeing green on the once-white towel. Confused, she looked up. 

"CALEB!" Kova screamed. Caleb, on the other side of the door, covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. It failed. 

The door opened to a furious Kova with neon green hair, clashing with her dark eyebrows, bright amber eyes, and dark purple pajamas. Caleb couldn't stop himself from choking on his own spit from laughing so hard. Kova's anger stewed while Caleb attempted to catch his breath, wiping away tears. 

"What's wrong?" He managed to say, taking deep breaths. "Thought this would be the highlight of your day." Caleb's body released an unholy wheeze at his own joke. Kova, ever the lovable hothead, glared at Caleb even more than before. Her hands balled into fists at her side, shaking with anger. 

"Caleb." She said, grinding her teeth. Caleb looked up, covering his mouth to restrain his laughter. "I. Am. Going. To. KILL. YOU." Kova shouted the last two words of her threat, lunging forward to grab Caleb's scrawny neck. Caleb stumbled to a stand, then ran down the halls of the Coeus. Kova ran behind him, screaming in frustration as she ran into walls, clipping her shoulder on a corner. The pair chased each other, the distance between them growing. 

The other teens ignored the screams, continuing their meals. Allie stood from the lunch table to stop them when Cake placed a hand on her shoulder, sitting her back down. He shook his head, and she looked on. Eventually, she turned around, doing her best to ignore the screams.

Kova ran until the air in her lungs evaporated and the only sounds coming from her were raspy gasps for breath. Caleb stopped at the entrance to the next hallway when he realized Kova was now leaning on a support beam. 

"Kova?" He asked. She gave no response. Her wheezing became more evident as the seconds passed. Caleb was going to help her when Shiro pushed past him to get to Kova. 

He heard the screams and watched from the camera footage to see if they would exhaust themselves or actually kill each other. Glad it wasn't the latter, or Shiro would never hear the end of it from Curtis. 

"Caleb, you know better than to prank your sister," Shiro scolded. He was holding Kova like a princess, shushing her as he strode to the med bay. Caleb ran to stay behind them but didn't say a word. 

This happened before, but way more serious. Like, Kova ending up in the hospital for weeks on a ventilator serious. She had to have an oxygen tank for months afterward. No one expected it, but it happened. When she returned, the teachers started failing her without proving it. The looks on their faces when Aunt Veronica confronted them was priceless, according to Kova. 

Shiro sat Kova on the edge of the bed, letting her try to catch her own breath while he grabbed the oxygen tank. It could only be assumed Kenny replaced the original oxygen tank and all its attachments, but again, it's only an assumption. The green strap was around Kova's head, clashing with her new hair color. The clear mask fogged up as Kova continued wheezing. Shiro turned it on, letting it run until Kova's breathing normalized. She reached out to turn it off when Keith barged into the room. All three Shiroganes stared at the confused Kogane, who stared right back. 

Keith had his own individual observation room with shatter-proof windows, a bolted-down bed, and a door that can be opened from the outside. Kova was sitting on a small cot in the open space of the med bay only several feet away from the window to his observation room. He wondered why Kova deserved a cot while Keith had a cell. 

Kova didn't pass out and wake up with murderous tendencies. No one tell him. I don't want to be thrown out. 

"What happened?" Keith finally asked, shaking his head, approaching a kneeling Shiro. 

"Nothing major." Shiro turned forward to turn off the oxygen tank. "Just a disagreement between siblings."

"She's wearing an oxygen mask."

"Disagreement between siblings."

"She said she'd kill him." Keith pointed at Caleb over his shoulder. 

"Disagreement." 

"Her hair's green." 

"Are you done stating obvious facts?" Kova snapped, pulling the strap over her head to fully remove the mask. "I want to sleep now." 

"Of course." Shiro stood up, holding a hand out for Kova to hold. She took it, trying not to focus too much on the swaying room. He led her to the outermost wall of the hallway, letting her hold onto the wall. The men watched her stumble towards her room until the neon green left their eyes. They returned to the bridge, busying themselves with potential plans. Caleb unofficially grounded himself, sulking in his room. 

Allie and Cake approached the entrance to the bridge, where Liz was peeking into the room, completely entranced by something inside. Cake quietly approached her and blew on her ear. With a jerk of her knee, Liz rammed her knee into the metal wall. 

"Quiznak!" 

"Sorry!" Cake reached out to grab her before she could fall onto the metal grate floor. He didn't. Liz fell onto the metal grate floor, causing more curses to fall from her mouth. "I'm so sorry!" 

Allie approached the door, peeking her head inside the doorframe. Caleb and Kova were at Caleb's chair. Kova was leaning on his desk, and Caleb was using the back of his chair for support. The most noticeable difference was Kova's bright green hair. It was hard to miss. Kova's hair was loosely braided down her back. 

"Hey, look." Caleb's eyes met Allie's, and he stood to full height. "They're here."

"C'mon in, team." Kova walked up the few steps to her console. "In positions."  

Liz limped inside, Cake creeping behind her, pushing Allie into the bridge much more forcefully than intended. The teens sat at their respective chairs, waiting for the adults to join them. They sat for a few minutes in silence, hoping someone would ask. 

"Uh, why is your hair green?" Liz turned her chair to ask. 

"It was the first box I saw on the shelf," Caleb answered casually. Kova scoffed. 

"You really expect me to believe that?"

"You don't need to believe it." Caleb turned his chair, propping his chin on his fist. "You just have to accept it."

"You could've gotten firetruck red, or poopy brown, or even lilac purple!" Kova slammed her hands on the console. "But neon green and highlighter jokes were your go-to?" Caleb shrugged. 

"Oh, please." Caleb waved off her concerns. "It's not /that/ bad."

"My hair is bright, neon green, Caleb." Kova aggressively pointed at her hair. "How is it not that bad?" 

"Uh, Cap," Liz said. "Stop talking." 

"Why?"

"Next time we go to the space mall," Kova began, studying her nails. "Maybe I should grab some platinum blonde. Ooh, no. How about some rusty copper?" Caleb physically shrank into his chair as Kova thought aloud. "Hm, Nah. How about highlighter yellow?" She smiled, staring at Caleb's retreating head. 

"Try that, and you'll never see Peaches again." 

"You don't like Peaches!" 

The others sat confused about peaches, assuming they're Kova's favorite fruit or something when the saviors finally walked in. Kenny had foregone his cadet jacket, leaving him in a green t-shirt and black slacks and ugly brown sneakers. Keith looked more cleaned up, wearing a sleeveless gray vest with a hood, a black t-shirt, and gray pants lined with red ribbon and black combat boots. The Colonel wore his officer jacket rather than the white t-shirt he always wore around the ship. The three adults descended the staircase. As they passed, the teens sat straighter in their chairs. Shiro stood in the middle of the floor as Kenny and Keith took a space on the walls closest to Cake and Allie respectively. Allie scooted her chair closer to Caleb's line of sight and the staircase. 

Guess she's still afraid of Keith. 

"Alright, team." Shiro began. "We've been out here for a while, and with the latest development," He met Kova's eyes. "It's time to review, or at least, make a plan." 

"A plan?" Kenny asked. Oh. I guess the other adults didn't know what the meeting was about either. 

"The Lions have selected their respective pilots. The paladins have successfully formed Voltron. It's time to make a decision." Shiro met the eyes of each individual team member. "Do you want to continue fighting here or do you want to return to Earth?" 

The teens sat in stunned silence. They have a choice to make. They're being allowed to make a choice? 

"Caleb?" Shiro called, and all eyes landed on the Red Paladin. 

"Return to Earth." He said immediately. No gasps, no pomp. Just a fact. "We're not ready for this. This is a war waiting to happen. We can't do this alone." Shiro nodded, ready to say another name, but Liz beat him to it. 

"I'm sorry. I know I'm on your team and I'm supposed to agree with you, but I don't." She was looking at Caleb, turning her attention to Shiro. "If we return to the Garrison, we'll be shut out. We're dumb, undertrained kids who control Voltron. The council will put us on the frontlines without a plan." 

"What she said." Cake agreed with her, pointing his finger up at Liz. 

"We have the firepower. We can do more than just sit still and wait to be given orders." 

"We're also undertrained," Caleb argued when Shiro held his hands up to silence the two. 

"Allie," Shiro said. "What do you think?"

"I agree with Caleb," She said. "We can't fight in a war. We would be better off with help than without. I only spent a night in my dorm before all this. I can't do this again."

"Keith, Ken, I'm guessing you both agree with your respective sides." Kenny approached Cake's console, arms crossed. Keith stayed in place, hands on his hips. 

"We fought in a ten-thousand-year-old war with Allura and Coran, the only surviving members of Altea. We had advanced alien technology. Our goal was to return to Earth and the Garrison." Keith stated matter-of-factly. He gestured widely to the teens in their chairs. "They're kids. They don't have what we did." 

"Liz is right," Kenny spoke up. "The council won't touch them. They'll put Voltron on the frontlines without a plan, hoping that will be enough to scare off the enemies."

"They're undertrained!" Keith turned his attention from Kenny to Shiro. 

"They're resourceful!" Kenny argued, getting Keith's attention. 

"Alright, you two." Shiro stepped in between them to break their intense staring contest. "Kova." 

"Yes, sir." 

"You were the one kidnapped by the Fire. You met with their leaders in person. You're also a top student at the Garrison." He didn't have to say it. This was all on her. 

"What about you?" Kova asked, gripping the railing around her console. "What are you leaning towards."

"I'm siding with the most reasonable plan." Keith scoffed, interrupting Shiro. "It's not my team anymore. It's yours." Slowly, Kova released her hands from their tight grip on the railing and let them fall at her sides and closed her eyes.

"She'll totally agree with me." Caleb had turned his chair. 

"Uh, she's her own person." Liz crossed her arms. Caleb scoffed in response. 

"We've been attached at the hip since we were kids. She's taking my side."

"How about you let her talk first?" 

"Why don't you shove that opinion up—"

"Enough!" Kova said, rubbing her temple with a hand. "You're both annoying. And right." Kova looked up at Shiro, who raised an eyebrow. She raised her arm to her right. "We are severely undertrained. Not as a team, but individually. If we have the same goal in mind, we work well together. There's going to be a point where Voltron can't be formed and we're going to have to fight as individual Lions." Putting it down, she raised her arm to her left. "If we return to the Garrison, the council won't touch us. We're liabilities. None of us joined the LDP. It was our choice."

"The what?" Keith interrupted. 

"You would've called it the Vehicle Defender Unit," Kenny answered. "It was the defense program Pi- er, Mom, helped start." 

"And now it's—"

"The Legendary Defender Program. I'll catch you up later." Kenny turned to Kova and nodded his head for her to continue. 

"Our curriculum was updated to include battle strategies. As pilots, we learn how to gauge our enemies' strengths and weaknesses, multiple defensive, offensive, and evasive maneuvers, and different wind speeds. As engineers, we're taught the inner workings of warships, raw materials and how to use them. As programmers, we can disable entire structures by taking out large chunks of code."

"The point?" Keith asked annoyed.

"The point," Kova glared at the man. "Is we're prepared for a war, but we haven't used those skills. Besides, even if the council includes us in their plans, they'll give me the plan to execute. I'm the head, I'm the leader, and I'm the top student. If the plan fails, it'll be on me." 

"Kova, that's not—"

"If we return to Earth, we won't be given a second glance, by the council or anyone else in the universe." Kova gripped the railing again, her tirade coming to an end. "We should stay, fight and learn as much as we can before we return to Earth and deal with the council." Caleb's eyes widened, and Liz looked surprised. Did Kova really choose left? 

"Alright team," Shiro said, climbing the stairs. "Get ready to travel through a wormhole." Kenny climbed the stairs after Shiro and walked out of the bridge to head down to the engine room below. Keith stared at Shiro's retreating back. Keith chased after Shiro, maybe to argue his point. The teens didn't care. They followed their orders. 

As the wormhole opened before them, a heavy blast rocked the Coeus. The ship's inner alarm system went off as the teens tried desperately to right the Coeus. It had gone off its directed course, heading for mere feet away from the wormhole that had opened up. 

Down below in the engine room, Kenny was trying to override the alarms. It was refusing to shut off, citing critical damage on the left side of the ship. Kenny tried to turn on the particle barrier around the ship, receiving an error message instead. Kova's face appeared on the huge screen on the engine room console. 

"Kenny!" She shouted to be heard over the blasts. "Where's the particle barrier?" 

"There isn't enough energy in the reserve to power it!" Kenny yelled back, being shaken like a ragdoll. 

Up on the bridge, Kova stared at the small fleet of ships firing incessetnaly on the Coeus. There was no way the Coeus would survive if they didn't activate the particle barrier. A million thoughts raced through Kova's head, then she took over.

"Shirogane, Griffin, Smythe," Kova barked, earning their attention. "Report to your Lions. Garrett, report to the engine room." The teens didn't say a word, doing what they were told without a second word. Allie went along with them, sparing Kova a second glance. "Holt, transfer all remaining, unused power to the particle barrier."

"But that will shut off the lights!"

"Afraid of the dark?" Kenny groaned in annoyance, doing what he was told. The firing stopped as the Coeus went dark, becoming an empty shell. Up on the bridge, Kova steered the Coeus toward the wormhole, still open in the sky. It was hard. It demanded much from Kova's body. But it got the job done.

Red, Blue, and Green fired on the fleet of ships, hitting many in wings and thrusters. Blue fired several blasts, encasing ships in ice. Green flew around them, getting fired on while Red cut through them like butter with their blade. 

"Everyone through the wormhole!" Kenny shouted over the earpieces. Red, Green, and Blue stopped their attacks and flew towards the closing wormhole. They weren't going to make it. Pushing their Lions even faster than they have ever pushed them, the trio raced each other to the wormhole. 

They cut it close by a tail, but they made it through. The teens cheered, thanking Allura they made it through. One by one, they reentered the bridge to celebrate. They stopped at the entrance.

Kova was kneeling on the ground, holding her arm. In front of her, Keith was redirecting the console, traveling to Earth. That was in the opposite direction they were heading. Caleb, furious at seeing Kova hurt and on the ground, held his bayard up to point the barrel of his weapon at Keith. Keith turned, face-to-face with it. 

The map on the screen was beeping, finding the nearest geolocation. 

As Keith and Caleb faced off, the beeping grew louder. 

"What is that?" Keith all but shouted. Kova looked up at the screen, still holding her arm. 

"We found Pidge."

[verus-veritas]

A Mann’s Face

By D.B. Hammond

Mann walked onto the Toyota dealership's shiny blacktop wearing a new face. The old face had pinched in the wrong places, tugged at his ears, and made his eyes almond shaped, even thought the face was supposed to be Anglo.

Mann smiled, the grin coming easy to the new face. He brought up his lotion-smoothed fingers of his right hand to his new face, and felt the muscles slide the smile into place. He would frown, then smiles, frown, then smile again, wondering why he hadn't made this new face earlier. It made him feel giddy, an almost sexual pleasure rippling up and down his spine. He caressed, fondled, felt up, the musculature of his countenance, much like a lover. Still, it didn't quite fit his ears right, tugging in that uncomfortable way that made him twist his neck every once in a while.

A soft crunching approaching him broke his reverie. Mann's right hand jerked away from its tender stroking and hid in the pocket of his jeans. Mann shrugged his shoulders, twisting his neck, and adjusting the brown leather knapsack into a more comfortable position. The source of the crunching was a salesman wearing khakis, a light blue polo shirt, and a dark blue sports coat. The coat hung uncomfortably on the salesman's shoulders, and it seemed to Mann that the dark blue-black almost clashed with the light, sky blue of the polo shirt.

Mann studied the salesman an intent that was almost desire. Yes, the desire had sparked in him again, and Mann knew that it would only be a matter of time until the desire grew too strong to resist. Mann cataloged every nuance in the salesman's gait, the way his eyes squinted in the bright afternoon sun. Mann took careful note of the fold of the salesman's brow, the curvature of the lips, the nervous tic of the left thumb. By the time the salesman reached him, Mann felt certain he could replace the salesman with little difficulty.

---

“Hello. What can I help you with today?” Carl Banning companioned his greeting with that false smile, the slick smile, that came so easily after years of selling cars. “Name's Carl. Interest you in a new car today?”

“Yes. I just made a new face today, and I was hoping to find a new vehicle to go along with it.”

Carl's slick smile broadened, having seen this before. Person goes in, plastic surgeon nips and tucks, presto: new person. Although Carl was sure he misheard the customer say 'made' instead of 'got' or 'had done.'

“Well, Mister…”

“Mann”

“Well Mister Mann…” Carl paused for a second at the play on words, then continued, “what you're probably looking for is a sports utility vehicle. Let me tell you, they're the hot thing right now, 'the big fad.' And we Californian's, we love the 'big fad,' don't we?”

Carl guided his customer to a line of 4-Runners, Rav 4's, and Land Cruisers sitting on the lot like children waiting to be adopted, and continued his narrative, “And Toyota has three of the best on the market. Of course, there's the 4-Runner, one of the original, and still the best.” Carl chuckled, settling into his spiel, “Now, Toyota introduced the Rav 4 a few years ago, and was met with rave reviews. It had one of the most successful launching of a sports utility vehicle ever. If you're looking for sporty and rugged in one package, the Rav 4 is your best bet.”

Carl was chugging along now, like the steam engine trains of old, and about as easily stopped, “Okay…here we have the Cadillac of ess ewe vees, the Land Cruiser. If you don't mind spending a little extra, the Cruiser will get you through the rugged terrain of the Sierras or West Hollywood in style.”

“I don't mind spending a little extra.” Carl's customer replied.

I'll bet you don't, Carl thought to himself, since I'm sure that new face of yours set you back a pretty penny. “Well, let's take a look at her, shall we?”

---

Minutes later, Mann sat in Carl's office, fidgeting slightly. To say the office was small was like saying the Titanic was big. Carl's desk took up three-fourths of the space, with a gray file cabinet and a small plastic palm tree fighting for breathing room in opposite corners. The chair Mann was sitting on was also elbowing for space, and Mann's Back was flush against the wall. Mann felt his heart begging to thump faster in his chest, and his breathing became sharp. Hung above the cabinet was a picture of Carl with his wife and young daughter.

To calm himself, Mann studied Carl's face, envy and an almost sexual desire flooded through him again. In fact, Mann could feel his groin tingle. Carl shifted around his facial features with ease and grace. The more Mann watched, the more he knew he had found the one he was looking for.

Mann nodded at the right times, and asked the right questions, playing Carl like a well-tuned viola. Unobtrusively, Mann reached into the knapsack sitting next to the chair, palming a thing tuve into his left hand. Carl bent forward, and pushed a small stack of papers across the desk towards Mann.

“Jest a few things for you to sign,” Carl's brown eyes broadcast triumph, “and then you are on your way in a brand new Land Cruiser.”

Mann snagged a pen from an unused coffee cup. He crossed his t's and dotted his i's, and signed a dozen different names to the various forms. The easy smile slid back onto Carl's face as he stuck out his hand. Mann took it, yanked Carl over the desk, and jabbed a small syringe into Carl's heart. With access to the main pump of the human body, the drug quickly took effect, relaxing every one of Carl's muscles.

Mann eased the car salesman back into his chair, then reached into his knapsack. Man held up a pair of cigar clippers into the harsh fluorescent light. Carl's eyes widened, pupils darting from the syringe in his chest to the silver clippers now held close to Mann's right hand. Mann moved around the desk, thankful that the only window was the tiny pane of glass in the door. He sat on the desk in front of Carl, a bulge in his crotch and a gleam in his eye.

If he had been able to, Carl would have furrowed his brow, then screamed like a little girl. Mann opened the clippers and placed his right index finger between the two blades. With a quick snip, Mann clipped off his finger just above the middle knuckle. With a mixture of horror and surprise, Carl watched as not blood, but tiny red-gray tendrils snaked out of Mann's half-finger. Using a checkered handkerchief fished out of his left pants pocket, Mann retrieved the other half of his finger, and gently placed it on the desk.

The tendrils wove and snaked over Carl's face, caressing it with a dry slither. After their inspection, the tendrils pulled away, and crawled through the air to Mann's face. Two of the tendrils disgorged ivory colored blades, and took their place at Mann's forehead, just below the hairline. Without warning, the blades plunged into Mann's skin, and the two tendrils began to carve an outline of his face. No blood spilled from the ever lengthening incision. The blades withdrew when they met just above the adam's apple. The two ivory knives were joined by three more, maneuvering to different points of the incision. All five knives slid underneath the opened skin, their tiny bulges visible, writing and disconnecting the nerve endings. Spider leg sized hooks emerged from the last two tendrils, quivering in anticipation, colored the same as the blades. Soon, the five ivory knives slid free of Mann's face, and the hooked tendrils took hold of the skin, pulling it free.

With a we flop, Mann's old cae fell into Carl's lap. Man sighed with a moment's regret. He hated to lose such a good face, but the salesman's face held so much more promise. Carl's job, family, the whole situation was perfect. It was the exact thing the Master said to look for. Slack-jawed, Carl moaned, the only noise he was capable of making. Looking at the clock on his desk, Carl moaned again, in despair. It was now six-thirty. All of the sales staff would be gone by now, knowing Carl's penchant for working late. The car salesman willed himself to faint, to scream, to do anything to escape this thing in front of him. Completely unable to move now, all Carl could do was watch.

Their work on Mann done, two tendrils positioned themselves at Carl's forehead. He couldn't see them. All Carl could look was was Mann's skinless face, and wonder where the blood was. An opaque substance, like mucus, pulsed and twitched over Mann's face muscles. There was a sudden, stabbing pain, then burning agony as the two blades outlined Carl's face. His blood was poring down his neck in a red torrent, soaking his clothes.

With agonizing slowness, five blades got under Carl's skin, and began to separate his face from his skull. Carl could feel the knife-stabbing snap of every nerve separating and the writing of each tendril across his facial muscles. At last, the tendrils withdrew, and Carl's face was peeled off like the skin of a fruit. With startling precision, the car salesman's face was attached to Mann's, and soon Carl looking at himself. Man stood up once the operation was a success, and turned Carl around until he was staring at the back wall. Mann put Carl in a sleep hold, and with a quick snap, broke his neck.

The tendrils reattacked Mann's index finger while he dug in his knapsack. Man produced a white tube that tapered off to one end. He clipped open the tube, and poured a greenish-brown viscous liquid over the dead man's body. Gray-white smoke rose from Carl's body as he slowly evaporated. After several minutes, all that remained was clothes, clumps of hair and clean white teeth.

Mann's knapsack then produced some cleaner and a rag. Mann scrubbed, washed, and sanitized his new office. He also decided it was time to ask for a larger space, and maybe a raise. Mann smiled at the thought, while he dressed himself in Carl's clothes. Mann stuffed the dark blue sports coat into the knapsack, along with Carl's hair and teeth. After a quick survey, Mann nodded with satisfaction, and left the office.

One of Carl's co-workers, also working late, stopped Mann on his way out.

“Did you lose him?”

“Yes.” Mann answered with that easy smile, “But, sometimes you lose one to get a better one.”

“That's a good attitude Carl. See you tomorrow.”

Mann waved, and walked over to his new car. There was a moment's panic, as Mann struggled to remember the Master's lessons on how to drive. After a couple seconds, it was gone, as the instructions came to him in a heartbeat.

Source: “A mann’s face” by D.B. Hammond

[architectnews]

The Ranch in Orlando, Florida

The Ranch, Orlando House, Florida Real Estate, American Luxury Architecture Interior, Images

The Ranch in Orlando

Aug 31, 2020

The Ranch in Florida

Architects: VSHD Design

Location: Orlando, Florida, USA

Tuscan Transformation: Dubai-based VSHD Design expands its international portfolio with the completion of their first U.S. residential project – The Ranch

VSHD Design, a Dubai-based interior architecture firm specializing in residential and commercial projects, is proud to unveil a luxurious residential design within the Four Seasons Orlando Resort in Florida. With 22,000 sq. ft. this project marks the first residential undertaking of the firm in the United States.

“From the onset, we realized that we were facing numerous challenges with this project,” notes Rania Hamed, interior architect and founder of VSHD Design. “In addition to strict regional building and environmental codes, there were requirements imposed by Four Seasons Resorts to ensure that the residence blended stylistically with its neighboring properties.”

A modern Tuscan approach In approaching the external Tuscan theme exhibited by homes within the exclusive development, the challenge was to maintain some existing structural elements, while delivering on the client’s vision of a modern home that would be luxurious, yet warm, comfortable, and ideal for entertaining guests. The client envisioned a sort of boutique-style hotel environment that would provide family and friends with privacy and luxurious amenities, even in the absence of its owners. To achieve that challenging balance, Hamed embarked on a mission to modernize the external Tuscan façade, while infusing contemporary luxury into the home’s interior to align with the client’s vision.

While Tuscan architecture in its purest form embraces natural, rustic elements, VSHD Design avoided abundant use of materials such as brick and wrought iron in lieu of a modern interpretation. Gray brick overhangs positioned above the external façade’s windows and passages pay homage to Tuscan influences. Black frames of expansive French windows, certified to hurricane standards, provide contemporary contrasts to the façade’s white walls, culminating in a modern Mediterranean style that adheres to the Four Seasons aesthetic requirements.

To complement the structural design, VSHD Design developed all of the home’s outdoor spaces, beginning with its swimming pool. European limestone tiles, stylistic planters, and luxurious sunbeds from the Italian design house, Gervasoni, provide the exterior spaces with an authentic Mediterranean look and feel.

Seamless transitions While the exterior exudes modern interpretations of mandated styles and standards, VSHD Design approached the interior of the house as somewhat of a blank canvas. Working with a timber structure, as opposed to concrete columns and beams, was a new experience, however, Hamed found inspiration in the challenge.

“I saw beauty in some of the original structural elements and I wanted to maintain as many of them as possible,” she explains. “I decided to leave some of the exposed beams intact, as opposed to hiding them behind a layer of gypsum.”

Exposed wooden beams reflecting the original structure’s integrity were maintained, with layers of dark stain and black metal trim added to provide a more industrial feel. Hamed also focused on ensuring seamless continuity between the home’s interior and exterior spaces. Upon entering the house, Carrara marble flooring carries the influences inward, where Tuscan-style arches define the separation of the home’s interior spaces, reinforced by clean, modern, and slightly protruding architraves. The architraves, composed of black matte stained oak, contrast with the interior’s white walls and light gray marble flooring, providing the home’s public areas with a very contemporary look and feel. In living spaces designed for more intimate experiences, Carrara marble flooring gives way to hardwood floors.

“Marble can have a bit of a cold feel to it, particularly when framed by white ceilings and walls,” explains Hamed. “We created a transition to hardwood floors to provide certain spaces, like the living room and the study, with a much warmer ambiance.”

Boutique-style accommodations The main floor houses the master bedroom, highlighted by a luxurious contemporary décor and direct access to the adjacent pool area and outdoor shower, designed as part of VSHD’s vision of an indoor/outdoor lifestyle. The master bedroom’s spa-inspired adjoining spaces include a freestanding bathtub as the centerpiece of a spacious bathroom that also features an individual toilet and shower cubicles. The bathtub is flanked by a wall of floor-to-ceiling French windows on one side and dual washbasins with custom-designed mirrors on the other. Completing the spa-like theme, a small spiral staircase leads to an upper-level gym area featuring a steam room and waterjet shower.

The spa-like feel and amenities extend to the home’s 6 upper-level guest suites, half of which offer private external access for guest stays while the owners are away. Each self-sufficient guest suite features a unique decorative style and is equipped with a mini kitchen, a small pantry, and a spa-inspired bathroom.

“The client’s brief focused on a concept where each room should have a completely different, yet thoroughly modern theme,” explains Hamed. “We incorporated Chinese, Spanish, and multiple other influences in order to provide each suite with its own distinct character and mood.”

The client’s vision of a boutique-style hotel extends to the home’s main dining room, inspired by Italian architect Ettore Sottsass. A ‘modern-retro’ black and white console from Italy contrasts against a wall panel of gold leaf wallpaper, bordered by marble. The panel’s adjacent walls are characterized by ribbed white paneling with a stained wood base, while a cloud lighting fixture from New York’s Apparatus Studio provides adds a celestial touch to the room.

Pièce de résistance In order to tie the interior spaces together, VSHD Design embarked on an ambitious plan to develop a new patio space at the center of the house to create stimulating visual links between multiple areas of the house. To separate the pool area from the patio, and to connect the master bedroom to the living spaces, the design team built an enclosed lanai with four expansive French windows on each side, which infuse the passage with natural light. The abundantly lit corridor is lined with wicker chairs, creating a fabulous reading room with the feel of an open space courtesy of pool views to the left, and patio views and greenery to the right. At the end of the passageway, a staircase to the left ascends to the second level of the home alongside floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the patio and offer views of the lanai and other external spaces.

“By blending traditional elements with a modern contemporary mix, we succeeded in achieving a contrast that works well,” notes Rania Hamed. “We didn’t want that contrast to be too soft, so the use of black and white, with Carrera marble flooring, provides the home with a strong modern-vintage look.”

The Ranch, Orlando, FL – Building Information

Architects: VSHD Design Location: Orlando, FL, USA Area: 2200 sqm Lead Designer: Rania M Hamed

About VSHD Design Founded in Dubai in 2007 by interior architect, Rania Hamed, VSHD Design is a multiple award-winning interior architecture firm renowned for the style, functionality, quality, and attention to detail of its projects in Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Cairo, London, Amman, and Florida. The firm combines extraordinary talent and global experiences to create exceptional spaces that are as “cutting edge” or “timeless” as each client’s vision.

VSHD’s mission is to develop architectural and interior design experiences that are distinctive, compelling, and of superb quality. Infusing modesty and elegance into the transformation and repurposing of spaces, the firm has garnered international recognition for the beauty and subtle luxury of its projects.

Photographer: Koen Van Damme

The Ranch in Orlando images / information received 310820

Location: Orlando, Florida, USA

Orlando Architecture

Orlando International Airport South Terminal Complex, Florida Design: Fentress Architects image from architecture office Orlando International Airport Building

1600 Lakeside Residence, Audubon Park Design: Interstruct, Inc. photograph : Steven Allen 1600 Lakeside Residence in Audubon Park, Orlando

Guidewell Innovation Orlando, Lake Nona Medical City Design: Affiniti Architects & Marc Thee image from architects Guidewell Innovation Orlando Building

Citrus Bowl Stadium, Orlando Design: HOK Sport image : HOK Sport Orlando Venues Building

Florida Architecture

Grove at Grand BayBuildings, Miami Beach Design: BIG architects image from architects firm This sold-out development mark Bjarke Ingels’ first completed condominium design in the USA. The pair of twisting 20-story glass towers is helping to lead the rejuvenation of Coconut Grove’s business district.

Miami Marine Stadium Building Renovation photo : Rick Bravo

Georgia Architecture

Comments / photos for the The Ranch in Orlando page welcome

Website: Orlando

The post The Ranch in Orlando, Florida appeared first on e-architect.

[willtravis]

There Is No Sickness On Europa - Chapter Two

           Apparently, apartments on Europa were smaller than on Earth. Havi said her’s was too big for one person, but to Liam it felt absolutely cramped. It was just four rooms: two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a central room that did a triple shift as a kitchen, dining room, and living room. The whole thing was only a few square meters large.

           “Your room is on the left, there,” said Havi, indicating. “I’m going to whip up some dinner. Make yourself at home.”

           Liam tentatively opened the door to his new bedroom. The walls were cream colored, with splotches of gray where the paint had worn out. One wall had a flimsy sliding door inset in it, and Liam figured that was the closet. Tucked away in one corner was a bed that was probably a foot too short for Liam to comfortably sleep in. Hanging on the wall opposite the bed was a TV that was currently pretending to be a window showing a beach on Earth.

           Liam emptied his pockets and sat on the bed to take stock of what he had. A cheap communicator from Earth that wasn’t getting a signal, a pen, and enough funds for two or three days of food. He needed a job.

           He was thumbing through different views for his fake window when Havi opened the door.

           “Dinner’s ready.”

           In the central room, set out on a table that folded down from one of the walls, were two bowls of something approximating stew. The contents were only slightly darker than the walls in Liam’s bedroom, and they bubbled almost as if they were alive.

           Havi apparently noticed Liam staring. “White Laash. It’s a Europan delicacy.”

           Liam answered without taking his eyes off his bowl. “I’ll take your word for it.”

           When he did finally sit down and take a first hesitant spoonful, the food was remarkable. Each bite seemed to grow until it filled his mouth. It was creamy, but almost solid. He needed more. He kept shoveling in laash as fast as he could, not even noticing the taste. When he was done, Liam felt more full than he had in months. He looked up and saw that Havi was only halfway done.

           She spoke first. “Good, isn’t it? What to know what’s in it?”

           “Yeah. Actually, no. Don’t ruin the magic for me.” They sat in silence for another minute or two. Finally, Liam spoke.

           “So, do you know anyplace that’s hiring?”

           Havi thought for a minute. “Well, there’s always the docks. I hear that pays well. Tough work, though. The maintenance crew is pretty much always hiring, too. City’s so big there’s stuff breaking all the time. Plus at least that sends you all over the station. Bit more variety like that.”

           Liam smiled. “Maintenance crew it is.”

           The foreman’s office wasn’t very big, but Liam still found it intimidating. The walls were dark, constrictive, and undecorated. The wall on Liam’s left had a window that overlooked the center of the city, examining it. The city responded by casting gold and white light back at the window, so the office itself shimmered. Crumpled in the back corner was a type of environment suit that Liam didn’t recognize. In the center of the room were two chairs, a simple desk, and a large man with skin nearly as dark as the walls.

           Liam cleared his throat. “Sir? I’m Liam Robinson, the new applicant.”

           The man behind the desk evaluated the newcomer for a moment. Liam glanced down to read the man’s nametag. Elijah Grey. When Liam looked back up, he locked eyes with Grey right as the currents outside scattered light over the foreman’s face. His eyes seemed to glow. When the foreman finally replied, his speech was short and clipped. “Right, the Earther.” He spat the word as if it were a curse “Sit down. I read your application. You wanted a maintenance job?”

           “Yes, sir.”

           “And have you had any experience working maintenance before?”

           “Well, I was an electrical engineer on Earth,” Liam replied.

           Grey chuckled. “Right. On Earth. Anything else? Anything offworld?”

           Liam hesitated. “Uh, no sir. This is my first time offworld.”

           “Have you got much experience working with water?”

           “I used to be on the swim team.”

          Grey wasn’t amused. “Only Earth can have something so decadent as competitive swimming. I’m guessing you’ve never worked with anything mechanical before.”

            “No, sir. I haven’t.”

            The foreman glared at Liam. “Yeah, I figured. So. The Earther who deigns to grace me with his presence has no idea what maintenance does in this city, yet he still has audacity to ask me for a job. Why did you bother coming here?”

          Liam was shocked. “To be frank, sir, I have no where else to go. I’m living on the courtesy of a friend right now. I don’t know much of anything about Europa right now but that doesn’t matter. I want to learn. This is my home now and I want to help keep it running.”

            Grey leaned back in his chair and studied Liam again. After and agonizingly long moment he spoke. “You’re lucky we’re short-handed, Earther. We’ll trial you for a week or two. Prove your worth and you can hang on.”

          “Thank you, sir.”

          “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you know about the actual structure of this city?”

          “Not much.”

          “Of course. Well, it’s like this…”

          The work was hard, but it was rewarding. Liam began to develop an understanding of his chosen home. The city itself was like a hand grasping down into the darkness. It had a central area called the Hub at the top, hugging the ice. Huge metal fingers grew off it down into the void, connected at the Hub and with walkways along the sides. As the population grew, so too did the Hub until it was time for another finger to be added to the hand.

          Each building was constructed like a spaceship. They were double hulled, with just enough space between the hulls for workers like Liam to fix any of the countless issues that life on Europa caused. Liam’s days were spent crammed between the hulls fixing leaks and electrical issues. Because cleaning the air between the hulls was expense, workers had to wear environment suits in order to repair any issues. The heat was oppressive and reminded Liam of his days spent on the shuttle headed for Europa, even as those days gradually drifted further into the past.

          At the bottom of every building was a collection of industrial pumps, constantly trying to remove water let in by any of the hundreds of leaks in the city. Water pressure became Liam’s enemy. The cities of Europa were reaching out into the darkness, but the darkness was always pushing back.

          Liam overestimated the value of his electrical engineering experience. Europa was so far from Earth that shipments of new electronics were irregular and most of what Liam was working on was older than him. To make do, the builders on Europa would cobble together whatever they could out of the scraps sent from Earth. They had developed new protocols and systems to the point Liam felt that the machines he was working with spoke an entirely new language. He hadn’t quite worked out how to speak that language when his “trial period” ended, but luckily, he hadn’t made any huge mistakes either. Grey hadn’t told Liam that he was being kept on, but he didn’t fire Liam either.

          His work sent him all over the city. Once the water that fed hydroponics was contaminated and repairing that taught Liam several things. Most were about the operations of the station, but far more important were the origins of White Laash. The farmer working that day dutifully pointed out the vat that grew the genetically modified fungus that was the dish’s main ingredient. Apparently, colonization required a calorie dense, easy to grow food and nothing was cutting it. The colonists, being almost exclusively biologists, decided to create their own out of necessity. As Europa grew and became more sustainable, the Europan palate never grew out of Laash, and kept it as an edible reminder of their origins. Liam had spent every waking moment since trying to forget about the vats of fungus trying to be food.

          Liam learned that if leaks were one constant on Europa, disease was another. Havi wasn’t wrong when she said that most people who went to Europa did so looking for a cure. What shocked Liam is that most of the time, they found one. Liam didn’t care if it was something in the water or just talented doctors; Europa proved to be the center of miraculous medicine. He heard rumblings of some kind of plague outbreak on Luna. Apparently, carriers didn’t exhibit symptoms until long after the disease had taken hold and were spreading it unknowingly. When the symptoms did appear, they were ghastly. Ashen grey skin, bloodshot eyes, and clammy skin. It reminded Liam of that ghoulish figure on his flight to Europa. The city’s magistrate, Steven Norris, insisted that no one on Europa had the plague. Still, Liam couldn’t shake the thought of that man’s red eyes peering out from the dark corner. He’d seen more people like that over the last few months. Hopefully, Europan doctors knew how to fight it.

          Liam, however, focused more on his daily life than he did on fears of plague and pandemic. He made friends at work and bars he visited, but most days he just spent with Havi. Over time, they grew closer. They bonded over nights spent watching old Europan film. Havi said he had a lot of “cultural learning” to do. He just liked spending time with her. Even as she did begin to charge him rent, Liam viewed her more as a friend than a landlord. And, eventually, more than that. Once, he spent a whole a night in his room trying to build up the courage to ask her out. Liam could repair pumps and track down water contaminations across the entire station, but he couldn’t work out how to casually ask someone on a date. He never did. Havi asked first.

          Liam stumbled inside the apartment, dragging his bag with his suit and equipment behind him. Havi peered up from the table where she was working on her tablet and smiled at him.

          “Hey, Liam. How was your day?” She asked.

          “Oh, you know. Always a new crisis. Last night the air filters in a school crapped out and guess who had to fix it,” Liam said.

          “Well how about I take you to the handball court to unwind?”

          “Handball?” Liam asked.

          “Oh, yeah. Great fun in low-g. Besides I like to do something active on a first date.”

          Liam’s eyes widened. “I see. I suppose I should get changed, then.”

          Havi grinned. “Yeah, Earther. You should.”

          They went on more dates over the next few months, and they kept up playing handball after one of them had a rough day. Liam felt he was getting better at controlling his body in one eighth of the gravity he was used to. More importantly, he felt he was getting better at being with Havi. She had an abrasive personality that probably would have driven most people away, but Liam felt it kept him on his toes. Felt that it drove him to become more Europan.

          “I think you’re getting better, Earther,” Havi said as they left the handball court one night. “At least you didn’t jump into the ceiling this time.”

          Liam smirked. “Hey, I can’t help it if my legs are eight times as strong as yours.”

          “Oh really? I think it’s less than that now. They’re getting used to Europa. I bet a full g would make them ache.”

          “I think you might be right,” Liam responded.

          They kept walking down the busy promenade, looking at the shops and stalls. Watching everyday people do normal things like buy food, clothes, and medicine. Neon lights of every color danced and filled the room. Liam was always awestruck by the promenade. Havi never noticed. They passed a group of three extremely tall, extremely thin Europans. Liam noted the wavy tattoos that ran from their faces all the way down their bodies. It reminded him of the dark ocean surrounding them.

          Suddenly a voice shouted from behind them. The speech was harsh and clipped. “Hey sister! Why you hanging out with an Earther like that, huh? He ain’t your kind.” Liam turned. The three men were standing there with their arms crossed, grimacing down at Liam. The one in the middle had bloodshot eyes and seemed to be shivering. Liam opened his mouth, but Havi spoke first.

          “Why don’t you mind your own business, longbone. You don’t want to make a scene in front of station security, would you?”

          The one in the middle smiled. Liam could see he was missing a few teeth. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. “Maybe I do, sister. Maybe I hate seeing Earthers polluting our station.”

          Liam took a step forward. “Get lost man. No one’s bothering you.”

          The Europan sneered. “Yeah, well no one’s talking to you, Earther. Least of all me. I wonder what your little Earther body would look like in the infirmary.”

          Havi laughed. “Is that a threat? Really? We all know you and your little friends aren’t going to do anything, so just run back to your rat den, scumbag.”

          “Alright that’s it!” The thug yelled, and leapt in a long arc at Liam. Liam had never fought in low gravity before and didn’t know what to do. Instinctually, he stuck his fist out to strike his attacker in the stomach. Liam misjudged the man’s physiology however, and struck him right below his ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs. The Europan started coughing, and slowly collapsed to the floor. He rolled onto his back and soon he was coughing blood, speckling his face. The other two Europans ran, leaving their friend behind. Liam ran to the man on the ground. Havi called out for a doctor.

          As Liam was gearing up for work the next morning, the foreman came to talk to him. Grey seemed different. More gentle.

          “Hey, Liam. I heard you got into a, uh, scuffle yesterday.”

          Liam hesitated. That was the first time Grey had called him by name. “Not really. The kid was so messed up on drugs he could barely handle a punch. He’s in the infirmary now.”

          Grey whistled. “Some stoner harassed you, so you put him in the hospital? That’s cold.”

          “What? No, it’s not like that. He came at me first, and I barely touched him. It’s all on video,” Liam said defensively.

          Grey laughed. “I’m kidding, man. Security already called and told me what happened. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

          “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s not the first time someone tried to beat up the Earther.”

          “I can imagine that. Well, if you’re good to work, the hydraulics in landing pad D need servicing, so that’s your first job today.”

          “Alright, boss. Thanks.”

          When Liam got to the service entrance to the landing pad, the light above the door was red. A ship was coming in to land, and the chamber was in hard vacuum. Liam would have to wait.

          After what felt like hours, the light finally changed to green, and Liam went inside. He looked down from the catwalk and saw the ship, massive in its own right, but still dwarfed by the cavernous dock. The Lucky Wayfinder, registered out of Luna. Liam noticed that the staff that normally greets new arrivals was absent, and signs pointing to the lifts had been placed down instead. Europa must really have been shorthanded. Liam shrugged and turned to do his job. He was nearly done by the time the ship’s ramp started to lower, the sound of straining hydraulics filling the bay. Liam turned right as the ramp clanged against the floor and saw the latest batch of visitors. What he saw filled him with horror.

          Every single passenger was drenched in sweat, had bloodshot eyes, and their skin was as grey as the bulkhead.

[jovialtorchlight]

I have no idea if I can write prose

Let me know if this is good or awful critiques welcome

Alex, the weekend reporter, saw the envelope laid upon his keyboard when he walked into the newsroom. Saturday afternoon, 3:30 p.m.; empty. The cops beat used to come in at nine, but after the relentless rounds of cuts, the newspaper wasn’t staffed until late afternoon. The skeleton hour; dead, shriveled, and lonely.

Alex was alone in the dimly lit basement office space, carpeted and flickering with a tired glow, smelt stale, moldy.

He was holding a bag of Tositos, a jar of Salsa, and had a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder. He set the chips and dip on the “snack table,” the metal top of a file cabinet leaned up against a half wall in the middle of the room.

“Seadogs tickets?” he thought, walking over to his desk. He had put his name into an email pool for tickets yesterday. He ripped the manila envelope, and pulled out a torn piece of lined paper, scrawled, manic, words bumping up and down, no concern for the lines.

It was like his eyes were adjusting to light, translating quickly. He needed a minute of study before he could make out the unfamiliar scrawl.

“A.J..favor. Behind Bethany’s, Mechanic F., 2:30 a.m., Monday.”

Alex felt his chest tighten, and he took a quick breath, that old sense of dread creeping back in. As he depressed down into his rolling office chair, Alex sank his head into his hands.

Alex’s desk was in the back corner of the newsroom, a station he felt he had earned. There was no need for him to be right next to the copy desk; new reporters were stationed there, mainly so they couldn’t just Facebook all shift, look at cat pictures or pretend like they were answering emails.

Stacks of newspapers, court documents, files of perps, a photo of Maisey, the Greyhound he rescued last year, seven Press Association awards, framed, lined up, reminding him of his best work, 2012, a since unreplicated year, but good enough to keep him referred to as the “talent” ...head lifted off hands, he stared into his full trash bin...three empty bags of cheetos, four empty soda bottles; Mountain Dew, Ginger Ale, a Sprite…

He felt like vomiting. It had been almost five years since he had last vomited. The acid crept up his throat, burning. He tugged at the hair on his graying beard, mind blank, no plan, no control.

That night, there might as well have been another driver at the wheel. Alex didn’t do much. Around 9 p.m., he went out for a three vehicle crash, out on Goff Hill--police had already shut the road off, so he parked at Denny’s, waved at the cop directing traffic, and walked, breathing hreavily, plodding up the hill, Auburn and Lewiston behind him, from Main Street down the bridge to the giant old brick mills and the stark cold falls roaring, water breaking through and pouring over the rocky bluff, emptying out into the wide Androscoggin.

Alex arrived at his apartment late. After he got out of work, he stopped, as he sometimes did, at Denny’s. He drank a coffee, ordered a Grand Slam, and wished he could smoke a cigarette; not even really to inhale, but to smell it, get it on his clothes, reek of it.

When he was in college, once dawn broke, no matter how hungover or still-drunk he was, he’d roll off of his mattress bare, sheetless, and stumble into his kitchen, kicking over stacks of pizza boxes and empties from the night before.

He’d open the window, feel the fresh air, and start boiling water for his coffee. He’d light a cigarette. He was addicted, sure--and he’d quit about a decade later-- but he mostly loved the smell, how his dad’s garage smelled, how his dad’s jackets and flannels would smell hung on the rack in the mudroom. Comforting.

At Denny’s, alone, drinking the coffee, his gut pressed up against the table, Alex thought about comfort. Where it came from, at what expense; a lot of things had comforted him; first, booze, booze and food, then booze food and cigarettes, booze and food, then, finally, Lexapro.

He went over his fleeting interests, the whims he dived into to get himself one step ahead of the chest tightening, stomach twisting, breathless, empty attacks. Empty distractions.

He felt the strange dread creep into him.

Most of the time, it served no purpose, an alarm malfunctioning, blaring empty signals into his head, but he knew it was real. The foreboding, he felt as he paid his check and left, was justified.

Asleep at 2:30 a.m.

Another dream about her. Red hair, freckled skin, smelled like dirt, the earth but not unpleasant, like she’d been gardening. Green jeans, white tank top, humid August night...she was drunk, stumbling, he was as well, but he walked straight, breath the only telling sign of his inebriation...and the mental fog, half gone, half on earth.

She got into the passenger’s seat, he in the driver’s seat, he started driving...in dream logic, a flash of time, no constraints to the thoughts, untethered, the dream fell apart into fear.

He woke up, already ashamed of himself, stomach curled up, backflipping from either the grand slam and the late night coffee or the dread seeping into him. He ran to the bathroom, his weight causing the glass cabinet in the hall-way to rattle. Phone in hand. 5:30 a.m. Maisey was still asleep, and she’d stay asleep for another hour.

He thought about her, as his stomach screamed in pain, that deep dread, and he finished, went into the kitchen, started boiling the water, and, for the first time in 20 years, opened the window and pulled the plastic film from a pack of cigarettes and smoked seven of them, back to back, until Maisey woke and needed to go for a walk.

An hour later, Maisey was sleeping at his feet and he managed to squeak out an hour of sleep before he woke with the same dread, the same vague notion, an imprint of her. He rose, as did Maisey, and he shut the bathroom door behind her. The dog whined once, then he heard her shuffled back to her bed.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His thoughts of her drifted to his thoughts of Alex, and he became angry; he looked at his pale skin, his unkempt, gray beard that sprouted off in patches on his neck, his shoulder length hair, and his body, lumpy, overstuffed, disgusting. He thought about AJ. He clenched his fist.

AJ was back. That fucking bastard was back.

Goddamn it--His face contorted with effort, but--AJ--- he screamed, guttural--was back-- booming--he kicked the side of his sink cabinet, splintering the wood; flailing, finally sending a fist through the mirror, cracking it, slicing his knuckles; bleeding, stinging, he sobered from the blind rage and was almost immediately disgusted, physical pain transforming into a mental anguish. Exhausted, he slouched on the floor, reaching for toilet paper, picking the glass from his knuckles.

Later, around noon, his hand wrapped in a wad of paper towels, he entered CVS on Main Street in Auburn and bought some gauze, some antibacterial stuff, and he went home to fix his throbbing hand before he went to work.

An hour before work, he put a collar on Maisey, and drove her to his sister’s house. He had a spare key. He let himself inside, left some food on the floor, got Maisey a bowl of water, and scribbled a note. She worked overnights, 12 hour shifts, and wouldn’t be home until the early morning.

“Sorry. Please take care of her. Alex.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to his dog. He shut the door, and left her whining behind him.

[xfimnotdone]

Working out the kinks Parts 1 & 2 of 4 NSFW

Title: Working out the kinks

Author: xfimnotdone

Date: May 2019

Rating: Nc-17

Spoilers: small mention: Arcadia, story similar to Detour.

Summary: They get some quality time with each other to explore their newly established relationship while on a case, in cramped quarters.

Author's notes:       

Set during season 7, established/but new relationship let's say slightly before En Ami.

Raystown Lake is a real place my family and I go to on vacation. It has paranormal history and the idea and facts came from this website:             https://www.nightwatchparanormal.com/raystown-ray.html No infringment intended.           

Also a little research was done and used from this website:             https://www.glamour.com/story/a-to-z-kinks-and-fetishes 

Tags: MSR, UST, RST, Voyeurism, masturbation, smut, kinks, nsfw, season of secret sex, one bed, slow burn

Chapter 1 of 4

FBI Basement Office

October

Monday 9:25am

Scully was returning from a trip to the ladies room when she cautiously pushed open the office door, listening to Mulder talk on the phone. She peered in, eyeing up his appearance. Leaning back in his desk chair, he casually had his feet propped up and crossed on the desk. His gray dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. This is one of her favorite looks. She swallows dryly and listens hard, eavesdropping. Mulder abruptly says, “Okay” and then hung up with a huge grin on his face.

“Mulder? What gives?” Scully approaches the desk, eyebrow arched and arms crossed.

“I just got off the phone with Skinner. Looks like we have a lead,” Mulder reveals excitedly, kicking his feet down to the floor as he begins to rummage through his desk drawer.

“A lead? A lead on what?”

“Monster of the week, Scully! And it's not far from here. We'll leave today around one. Should give us enough time to pack and have a quick bite.”

“Mulder. You have more explaining to do.”

“Raystown Ray. Lake Monster in Huntingdon County, Pennsylvania. First reported sighting of the creature was in 1962. The description entails a 50-60 foot long serpent with a reptile head...”

“Like the Loch Ness? Mulder, you can't be serious?” Scully huffs.

“Dead serious. Dead, Scully,” he tosses her the file and her quick reflexes snatch it before the papers can spill. She opens the manila folder, her pointer finger caressing the edge as she skims the reports inside and flips.

“Two deaths in the last month. And three reported sightings of the creature. Mulder, these autopsy reports are not complete.”

“Nice catch, Agent Scully. We need to get the rest of those reports and see if we can get our eyes on Raystown Ray.” Mulder folds his hands in front of him, leaning on the desk with square shoulders. “So I'll pick you up at one?”

“Sure.” Scully deflates, her shoulders lower as he stands. This is not her cup of tea. She is the skeptic of the pair and feels this is a waste of time.

He swiftly moves past her, brushing her elbow with his torso as he navigates the cramped office. She smells his body spray like a delicious cloud that engulfs her and she closes her eyes. “Mulder,” she calls, turning.

“Yeah?” he answers, nearly out the door.

“What are our accommodations?” She is afraid to ask. “Please tell me not a tent?”

“Ahh Scully. Good ole Skin-man came through for us this time. He suggested we rent one of their campers. There's no hotels close enough. One bed, Scully. I think the old man is on to us, and quite frankly I don't think he cares.”

“Well. You just behave yourself.” Scully warns. He waggles his eyebrows and beams a smirk her way as he shuts the door behind him leaving her alone in the office.

The drive to Pennsylvania is quick and uneventful. Scully took the advantage of a nap while Mulder crunched on sunflower seeds and played steering wheel drums to classic rock songs.

Upon arrival, Scully and Mulder took in their surroundings, noticing the crisp autumn air as the sun began to set behind mountains. Erie white mist began to blanket the lake and settle in the nooks of the trees. The camper was set up and parked on a gravely lot, surrounded by tall pines. There were no other campers in sight, not one. A sloping hill gave way to an open grassy area that lead down to the water’s edge.

The lake is curvy like a serpent, nestled unnaturally between two high mountain peaks. Mulder studies a map of the lake, sprawled on the camper bed. Socks revealed, dress shirt untucked, tie loosened, he makes himself at home on the bed when he is interrupted by Scully.

“Mulder,” she calls from the kitchen area and is taken aback by how comfortable he looks when she views the bedroom.

“I'm sorry Scully, there is no way in hell these long legs are going to fit in that bunkbed!”

“Yeah, I'm aware,” she smiles. “We can share. I'm heading out to the lab before they close at 5. I'm going to see if I can get any more answers out of them.”

“I'll be here.” Mulder chews on his bottom lip, floating a magnifying glass over one area on the map.

“Don't do anything stupid.”

*    *    *

Scully returns a few hours later and enters the squeaky camper door, searching for a place to put her belongings. She puts away a few bags of groceries she got on her way back from Huntingdon.

Scully proceeds to her left, down a short narrow hallway to the bedroom, opening the sliding door to find the bed empty. No Mulder. His reading glasses and magnifying glass are discarded on the comforter. She turns her head, noticing a sticky note attached to the wall mounted tv. “Don't worry. I just went for a run. My cell's on”.

Immediately, she sighs with relief. She notices the VCR light blinking red and the edge of a tape was revealed as if someone ejected it but never took it out. She ran a manicured finger over the edge, hooking it and removing the tape. “Playboy: Voluptuous Vixens II” she reads the label.

Her confidence plummets. Heat creeps up her throat, flushing her cheeks as her anger builds. She is no stranger to Mulder watching porn, but in recent light of their new physical relationship, she did not imagine him needing this outlet at this time. Especially, not here, in this place.

She tamps down her feelings, swallowing hard just as she hears whistling coming from outside. Mulder rips open the camper door, clunking his running shoes off at the door. He sees the open bedroom door, Scully's legs barely peeking out. He smiles at her as he pokes his head around the corner.

“Nice accommodations, huh Scully? The last time we got to play house was in Arcadia,” he begins and then awkwardly stops his thought when he notices a tape in her hands. “What's that?”

“Uh. It's a tape. I found it in the VCR. Were you watching this while I was gone?” she inquires. She meets his eyes for a moment and then tries to stare at something nonexistent on the bed.

“No. What is it?” Mulder enthusiastically flops on the bed next to her, taking it from her hands. “Oh! This looks like fun. But...this is not mine.”

“You're sure?” Scully reiterates.

“Scully. I hope you would know by now this is not my kink. I am more of a fan of baseball...you know,” he unexpectedly reaches for her chest, cupping one breast in his hands through her clothes. “These are like baseballs, the most perfect handfuls that I can't get enough of.”

He leans in for a soft kiss to her lips, still holding her breast in his palm, squeezing gently. She lets him feel her for a moment as they change angles, licking each other's lips seductively. Scully feels her heart quicken its pace and her labia tingle with arousal.

“That's enough,” she breathlessly pushes him away, getting up from the bed. Mulder's erection is tenting his dress pants and he makes no move to hide it.

“Do you have any kinks, Scully?” he asks, accepting rejection as if he anticipated it.

“No, Mulder. I don't think so.”

“I don't believe that for one second.” Mulder states, while taking in her appearance. Scully was acting like she was searching for something in her luggage the was piled up in the cramped space on the side of the bed.

Chapter 2

“Catholic upbringing, Mulder. We don't do kinky.” She confesses, finally pulling out what she was looking for: silk pajamas.

“That's the biggest load of bullshit you've ever tried to feed me. I can tell by the way you kiss me. You have kinks.” Mulder, notices her lack of eye contact and her hurried movements.

“Well, I guess I just never allowed myself to...” .

“Would it help if I told you mine first?” he calls after her as she retreats to the tiny bathroom.

“I already know yours. Big breasts,” she cringes as she lays her night clothes on the closed toilet lid. The small bathroom forces her eyes to dart around, trying to control the conversation while finding creative places to put her things.

“I told you that tape isn't mine,” he persists as she slides closed the wooden door between the bedroom and bathroom, hiding his view.

Mulder tucks his head with a smile, leaning back to lay on a pillow and stretch out his legs. He reaches down to press his palm to the bulge in his pants, trying to relieve some pressure.

The shower water gurgles and squeaks to life, spraying cold water at first. Scully massages the back of her cramped neck with a hand, then strips her clothing until they are puddled in a heap at her feet. Once the water is warm, she dips a toe in to test the temperature and the climbs into the tiny fiberglass shower.

The smell of spring flowers from her shampoo wafts through the humid air as she rolls the bubbles through her auburn strands. Her eyes close in pleasure, massaging her head and enjoying the warmth of the water. Then she hears it. The wooden door sliding open. She opens one eye, then the other, slowly turning her head towards the door.

“Voyeurism, Mulder? Is that your thing?” Scully questions.

“Certifiably,” he answers, laying back on the bed. He watches her and she lets him. She continues bathing normally, but he notices how the water sprays down the valley of her breasts like a slip n slide. The shower doors are wet but not steamy enough to obstruct his view.

Mulder digs his hand into the waistband of his pants, rubbing himself with a heavy hand, creating pressure. Scully's nipples jut out hard into the cool air and he watches as she runs her hands over her body. She cleans herself with nothing but soap in her hands. No washcloth. No sponge. Just her fingers.

He swallows hard and unbuttons his pants, deftly sliding the zipper down.

“Mulder? Are you touching yourself?” she asks, beginning to tuck her fingers into her labia. She sighs. It goes straight to his groin, hardening him even more as he watches her fingers disappear in her slip.

“What do you think?” he answers, voice thick with arousal. Pulling his boxers lower, his erection feels the coolness of the room, straining towards his belly button. “Is this turning you on, Scully?”

“Yes,” she confesses. He can barely hear her over the spray of the shower and whistling pipes.

“Get out of the shower,” he commands, stroking himself with a full fist. Once. Twice. The skin of his shaft rippling over engorged veins as he stretches and releases.

“You agreed.” she reminds him, continuing to clean herself, now reaching deeper into her pussy and then retreating, moving down her legs.

“What did I agree to again?” Mulder runs the pad of his thumb over the tip of his penis, spreading the drops of arousal leaking out. He watches her, notices how the water beads up and sticks to her pubic hair. He wants to lick it off.

“No sex while on an out of town case. You agreed.” She reminds him, stalling. She is rapidly thinking how to get out of this situation. Scully is slowly losing control of her resolve, dripping with arousal, tingling with pleasure knowing his eyes are on her while he is touching himself.

“Why did I agree to that again?” Stroke. Stroke. He reaches down with his other hand, grabbing his balls with the tips of his fingers and pulling the sac upwards, stretching the skin.

“Because it's unprofessional.” She finally works up the nerve to end this and shuts off the water.

“Nothing about this is professional, Scully.” He gasps, closes his eyes and continues stroking for a moment. When he hears the shower doors’ shut, his eyes snap open.

His mouth is agape, panting with his cock in his hand, still and tight. “Pinch your nipple,” he whispers. Her nipple is soft now from the warmth of the water, but with one hard pluck it pebbles under his scrutiny.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she taunts, lingering a moment too long before wrapping herself in a white towel, then grabbing another to wrap up her hair.

“Absolutely, I will always enjoy that show.” Mulder emphasizes, stroking slowly, letting her watch. He keeps his eyes on her but her eyes are on his crotch. “How's it make you feel? To watch?” he asks, noticing that she just could not take looking any longer as her eyes dart to the wall beside him.

“It makes me wet.”

“See, you do have kinks, Scully,” he shines a toothy smile at her and she blushes for a moment then turns her back and retreats back to the bathroom.

“I don't want to talk about it anymore.” She shuts down and closes the wooden door. Mulder remained patient, but his effort to coerce her has hit a door, literally and his frustration was now simmering. He had no idea her resolve was so strong.

“Fine you're not getting any!” he jokes, pulling his boxers up over his heavy penis.

“I waited seven years, Mulder. Don't underestimate me.”

Mulder stands, walking through the other doorway, down the hall and puts his shoes on.

“I'm going for a quick walk. I'll be back.” He switches on a flashlight and heads out the door. As soon as the door slams shut and the camper jolts a little from the impact, Scully lets out a sigh of relief.

She tears her towel off and without hesitation plunges two fingers into her heat, holding them there, just pressing gently, trying to relieve the throbbing. Scully feels her body pulse around her fingers with need, a new wave gushes wetness down her fingers.

She desperately makes a hard decision and pulls her fingers back out, wiping them on the discarded towel. She wipes herself dry, feeling a tiny bit of relief and begins to dress in her pajamas.

*    *    *

Mulder cautiously makes his way down the slippery, grass bank.

He stands along the edge of the lake, shining his flashlight beam across the tranquil, inky blackness of the water.

He looks around for a moment, making sure all is calm before unzipping his fly and pulling out his cock. He looks up into the night sky as he begins stroking, noticing his eyes adjusting to the low light. Mulder sees the sparkling milky way arch across the sky as he comes hard.

Satisfied for the moment, he tucks himself back into his pants and walks along the shore of the lake. Nothing moves, not even the water. His breath puffs in the cool night air, feet crunching the sand and gravel below his shoes. Dimly, he hears the call of a Great horned owl in the distance as he turns to make his way back up the huge hill.

Thump, thump, splash. Mulder whirls around, shining his beam toward the sound. His heart quickens once again, excitement building in hopes of spotting their creature. A beaver pokes its head from the water, carrying a stick as it paddles along in the darkness, occasionally thumping its tail.

[anuknowha]

A Chaotic New Years

Title: A Chaotic New Years

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance

Rating: R

Pairing: Antisepticeye x Reader

Word Count: 2,028

Characters w spaces: 10,687         Characters w/o spaces: 8,755

New Years fic for @pumpkin-demon​ !!

You spun around in your chair before sliding to your desk on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's a wrap for today." You say as you pick up your pencil and start to draw once more.

You spent most of your day studying on how to hack others computers. Yesterday you found an old gray desktop that was left behind by who you assume was a former tenant that was on the verge of moving from this hell hole of an apartment a while ago.

"I should be able to get into this one." You say as put your writing utensil in your mouth and start the motor.

"Not like its in bad shape. It's almost as if it were new. Weird." You ponder.

Your finger slid across the monitor screen as you squint.

"It's still a little dirty. Nothing I can't fix."

You grab a damp towel and softly wipe the screen, the light gray tint fading away from it as its replaced with a bright blue startup screen which was soon followed by an updating screen.

"Looks like it needs to be updated. Its been in the basement for a while anyway."

You leaned back in your chair and grabbed your art book and started to draw once more. A circle this time, followed by an eye. You didn't know what you were trying to draw at first until an image flashed across your mind. You gave the eye a small pupil and a dark sclera.

"Interesting..." You say tapping the eraser end of the pencil against your chin.

Taking a glance up you notice the updating had finished and the computer was now asking for your password. You knew there would be such an obstacle and with that you intertwined your hands and cracked your knuckles. It was now your time to get to work, you pressed a few keys but couldn't get in. You tried again and for a second time remained unsuccessful. You decided to give it one more go and once again it didn't work.

Grabbing the book behind you, you opened to the last page you were on.  The bookmark fell out and fell onto the floor as you turned the book upside down believing that you missed something. You reread the pages.

"Three times, soon it'll lock me out." You huff resting your chin in your hand as you lean on the desk.

You toss the book onto the floor and pull away from the desk almost hitting it and almost falling out of the chair.

You let out a small yelp and the lights flicker.

"Maybe I need to get some sleep..." You hum as you close your eyes and get out of your rolling chair.

"Besides its going on 2 am anyway." You say turning off the monitor.

Letting out a small yawn you drag yourself to your bedroom. Plopping onto the bed there's a small creak that it lets out. You try getting comfortable under the covers but it becomes harder than you think. But after turning to lay on your stomach, you felt yourself drift off.

You started dreaming. Which was as usual as normal until you heard someone calling for help.

"Help please!!" You kept looking around, and your dream itself was being built.

It was an exact replica of your apartment. And this room was your room. As you explored to find the noise you noticed your water bottle was even just half full. And as you left the room everything was the same from when you fell asleep. For a second it was almost as if you weren't dreaming.

You touched the walls as you walked towards the sound which only seemed to get louder.

"Help!! I'm trapped!!" The voice rang in your ears, louder than before.

You ran to the room it was coming from, your so called "office" room. And you didn't find anyone. You stopped in the doorway. You noticed the computer screen was on. You walk over to it slowly, but the room was quiet. The screen was a bright blue but there was nothing on it.

You stood in front of waiting.

"Hello?" You heard a voice whisper.

You jumped back.

"Help me please." The voice whimpers.

The blue screen fades to black and stays that way for a few seconds until it lightens up and you see some of the face of a young man. His eyes were covered but you could tell his face full was full of tears and fear.

"Can you please help me get out?" He puts his hand on the screen almost if you could feel him.

You were speechless. You looked around the monitor, thinking it was a prank, or maybe just a something you could make it go away. You clenched your eyes shut but to no avail.

"Help!!!" He screamed at you in pain.  

You gently placed your hand against his hand on the screen and you woke up gasping. Your chest heaving up and down as you look around. You scurry out of the sheets and check the time.

'Only 2:30. Thought it would be later' you thought to yourself.

You looked around and checked to see if anything was out of place. It wasn't and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness." You say as you head to the fridge to get a colder water. Maybe its what you needed.

You slowly make your way to the kitchen and to the fridge. The apartment was calm until you started walking back to bed. Static could be heard coming from your office room, it was loud and noisy.

Your heart started racing for it reminded you of your dream. You swallowed hard before taking slow steps towards the room. Swallowing hard you hesitantly walk over to the monitor and sit down in your chair

The screen was full black and white bits that filled the screen. And it send tingles down your spine. But as quick as it seemed it turned to the screen to enter your password.

You entered something ridiculous.

"How about you try once more?" It said as the message appeared right above the text box.

You thought you were dreaming. You pinched yourself, but nothing. You were awake and scared out of your mind.

The text changed.

"Maybe enter something a little more familiar."

You entered the first thing to pop into your mind. Your name.

A chuckle erupted from the monitor as you hurried to scoot your chair back and it hit something on the floor causing you to fall out.

"I already know your name." A voice spoke from the screen.

It had green eyes that appeared suddenly as a hand reached out the screen. Another soon following after.

"Who who are you?!" You could only whisper. Your breathe being caught by the situation at hand.

"You sure you don't know who I am?" He hummed as he pulled himself out the monitor completely and slowly crawled down to loom over you.

His eyes were bright, and his hair was the same shade if green. Tossed over to cover his right eye for the most part. Both sides of his head were black, and shaved some. He had gauges in both his ears and blood was pretty much dripping from his neck. He was wearing a black short sleeve t shirt and jeans.

His nails were long and they dug into your skin as he settled his arms on your wrists.

"You don't remember me? From your lovely dream? Thanks for helping me out."

You couldn't speak. He kissed your cheek softly and his black nails stroke underneath your chin.

You whimper but don't move, almost as if you're hypnotized.

"Aren't you pretty y/n?" He hums as he places a kiss on your lips.

"I don't know who you are!!"

"You do. I've been here in your apartment ever since that last guy had me. He ended up dead. Don't remember him? The one who- "moved out?"

You tried to move back. You couldn't.  He was keeping you pinned. Soon enough he kissed your neck.

"I know you want this. I've been into your phone, into your lights, into everything is this small waste of a few rooms."

"That was you messing my lights earlier?" You squint.

"Of course."

He cups your cheeks and slides his tongue in your mouth. You wiggle some but soon grow tired.

"Y/N You're absolutely stunning..." He says ripping your shirt off and using his sharp teeth to gently dig into your flesh.

"Ouch!" You yelp softly.

"I wouldn't be doing this if you weren't horny for Sean's throbbing cock in the first place." He hummed.

"How....?"

"You think he didn't notice? The way you watch him everyday that he was alive and well. It drove you mad. You were soaking your panties all the time touching yourself just thinking of him."

You didn't want to look at him much at first but when you do you realize who he is.

"Sean...?"

"Not anymore. It's Anti now." He said as he clawed his way through your pants and panties.

You felt yourself throbbing between your legs, turned on my this man who looked exactly like your neighbor. Anti had you soaked, tossing and turning to make sure that you could hide the heat that was coming from you ended in no avail.

"Look at you. Needy. Practically begging for me to be inside you."

He bit your neck and traced your navel with his index finger. The sharp nail scrapping against your skin.

Anti begins to kiss down your neck leaving a slight black lip print exposed on your skin. He grins at you as you clench your eyes shut only to open them back up and see a now naked anti.

You bite your lip.

“You seem to like what you see.” He said as he positioned himself at your entrance, slowly pushing himself inside of you.

“All that fingering and you’re still so tight!” Anti lets out a venomous laugh.

You squirm as he pushes himself further inside of you, pushing and stretching your walls hungrily. As you are becoming a mess he seems unfazed.

After he gets all the way inside he pulls back out completely before pushing himself all the way in to the hilt.

“This feels good doesn’t it?” He says biting at your ear.

Anti tugs on your earlobe with his teeth as he feels you consume him.

You let out small pants and try to grab at him with your free hand but he doesn’t let you, instead he pins it back down.

“Tsk tsk. Who said you could touch me?” He cackles.

Once again kept bound you find yourself getting lost in ecstasy hungry for him to release his seed inside you.

“Anti!!” You can’t help but scream his name.

“Yes, louder.” He let’s out a few huffs in between thrusts that turn sloppy.

“Anti please!! I-I wanna cum!!” You beg.

“Aww, so soon princess?” He says pulling himself out completely before flipping you over to your stomach and reinserting himself.

He was thrusting harder and even more messier than before.

“Fuck Anti…” You would now found your arms tied above your head.

You weren’t uncomfortable and if you were you couldn’t tell. You kept thinking about him inside you, throbbing and pulsating in your wet walls as you felt yourself at the brink of climax.

“Anti!! Anti I’m cumming!!” You scream as you cum, releasing yourself on his cock.

In response, Anti whispered something in your ear and thrusted into you a few more times before cumming. Once he’s done he pulls out of you, watching you pant underneath him.

You felt yourself growing tired as his seed leaked out of you. A small moan escaping from your lips as you closed your eyes.

When you awaken in the morning, you’re in your bed as if you never got up. Your clothes were clean and the markings were gone. You were afraid but at the same time pleasured. You didn’t regret it, and you wish you could see him once again.

[squiddybeifong]

Trek to Themyscira, Ch. 2

On ao3 here!

--

Victor let out a snort as she plopped down in the seat across from him, his eyes scanning the pages that he had laid out on the table. The note she had sent him as soon as her meeting with Mr. Wayne finished was lost under a sea of books he had already searched the library for, all containing even the smallest hint about the lost Themyscira.

But there was a slight furrow to his brows and Raven sighed; Kent's notes obviously weren't as up to date as she'd thought. She rested a cheek on her palm and downed another gulp of her tea, hoping that the librarian wouldn’t notice she had snuck the small jug inside. She shook her head as she gave the notes another once-over, her voice low as she clicked her tongue, "I know."

Dark brown eyes flicked up to her face, amused. Victor chuckled, sitting up a bit straighter as he twirled the pencil in his fingers, "Do you even know what you're commiserating along to?"

The zoologist grinned at him, "Not quite. But I can guess well enough."

She offered her cup and he took a sip, biting back a groan as the clock struck. Shaking his head, the engineer put his attention back to the notes, already planning his estimates for their course of action. Victor glanced at the young woman he could practically call his sister, his face softening at the trepidation that hid in the shadows of her face. To lighten the mood, he dipped the cup her way, "We're a quarter hour from entering your own personal Hell, Rae. Any final words?"

Gray eyes rolled but she couldn’t contain her growing smile. Raven tapped her nail to the metal in a faux toast as she quietly spoke their motto into the air, "What if not for the advancement of science!"

He laughed and repeated her, “What if not for the advancement of science!" Victor's eyes were bright and excited despite the unplanned additions to their expedition. Something in his usual pragmatic optimism made Raven smile just a tiny bit wider; as long as he was by her side, perhaps a quarter year with Zatara wouldn’t be too bad. She lazed back in her chair and patted down her skirt, wondering just how she and Zatanna would begin to put aside their feud. She herself had no real issue with Mr. Constantine and knew that while Zatanna didn't care for his age the anthropologist at least respected the strides Victor had made through his inventions.

But nearly three years of animosity wouldn’t be undone in an afternoon. Raven tilted her head back, listening to the scratch of Victor’s pencil against his papers. She closed her eyes and sought to steady her breathing, mentally preparing for the arguments and undercuts that were bound to occur.

After an incredibly long moment, punctuated only with Victor’s frustrated hums and quiet ‘Aha’ what must have been a few minutes later, Raven opened her eyes. She turned to glance at the clock that adorned Gotham Library’s front wall. Just underneath, the librarian was quietly stamping out an elderly lady’s books when the door opened, his white brows jumping an inch as he glanced at the two visitors.

The old man paid Mr. Constantine no mind and nodded once at Zatanna, the corners of his mouth quirking down. He had been witness to more than a few confrontations between the two scholars and was hasty to warn the anthropologist of Raven’s presence. It was the weekend, after all. Most of the library’s patrons probably wouldn’t appreciate being audience to an argument, whispered or not.

Raven reached out to touch Victor’s paper as she watched the three; she felt more than saw him look up at the interruption. A soft noise escaped the man and his large hand covered hers. The inventor squeezed her fingers once, reminding, “For science, Rae.”

She nodded and raised a palm to wave at Zatanna, taking a bit of pleasure in the way the usually unflappable librarian’s face went slack. The old man’s lips moved in what must have been a stutter and Constantine touched his shoulder, his reassuring smile somehow both strained and not.

Zatanna left the two men at the front desk, striding up to the paper-covered table. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t glare as she simply addressed the young zoologist, “Roth.” Her sapphire eyes flicked to Victor and she held out her hand, more respect creeping into her voice, “Mr. Stone.”

He shook her hand with a smile, “Please, call me Victor.” A brown hand patted the pages in front of him, “If we are to spend all this time together, we may as well get comfortable.”

His words were pointed and Raven ran a tongue over her teeth, “He’s right.” Gray eyes flicked to the Englishman as he strolled up. She nodded at him and he tilted his head her way. Tucking aside some of her hair (while internally cursing the pins that refused to hold her hair up), Raven suggested, “It may be best if Mr. Constantine--”

“Just Constantine,” The man piped up. “Or John if you’d like.”

“Constantine, then.” Raven gave him a tiny smile, her lips going back to a line as she focused on her rival again, “It’d do us both good if either Constantine or Victor are mediators for any arguments we may have.”

Zatanna hummed at the idea, “That’s fine for now. But once we reach Themyscira…”

Raven shrugged under the pointed look aimed her way, “Then we figure it out as we go.”

The older scholar narrowed her eyes as she took a seat next to Victor. Constantine sat across from her and tapped his wrist when Zatanna crossed her arms. Glad that her braid was tucked up today, the anthropologist observed, “You’re calmer than I assumed you would be, Roth. Come to grips with everything this quickly?”

Both brows jumped above graphite eyes, making the young woman's face so much more mocking than usual. Raven smirked as she glanced to the side, taking in Constantine for a moment. “I’m a zoologist, Zatara.” She picked up one of Victor's notes, humming as she read her name jotted amongst the potential uses that some of the tools were used for. Certainly they'd be able to research quite a few species when they got there, but for now…

Raven met Zatanna's gaze again, “I’d expect that Constantine’s own projects have exposed you to the spontaneity of field work, but your research rarely leaves the city, correct?”

Under the table, Victor nudged her boot with his own. He didn’t look up from his notes, “Behave, Rae.”

Constantine reached for one of the pages, a grin sliding onto his face at the sight of the flower petals. Zatanna glanced at the engineer’s notes, her words laced with thinly laced disdain, “You do know how to do proper note-taking according to Gotham University’s guidelines, correct? Victor obviously can but if we do find as much as Mr. Wayne supposes we need to have synchronized summaries.”

She looked the young woman over, “Preferably with washed hands and no traces of fur on the reports, mind you.” Raven bristled at the reference to her first foray into her field, her words cut off before she could retort.

“We’re getting along, Zee,” John sing-songed, shaking his head good-naturedly as the academics sized each other up. He reached into his coat’s front pocket, grinning as he brought out a rectangular page, “And I’ve got good news.”

Victor’s brows jumped, “Is that a supplies list?”

The Englishman winked at him, “Straight from Mr. Wayne himself. Apparently, he’s given us two 75-foot carracks.” John’s brows jumped with the others as he re-read the order. Cerulean eyes sped over the page, muttering, “Seems the old chap’s pretty certain of us bringing back something.”

"You don't get to his wealth without gumption," Victor shrugged.

"True." Clearing his throat, John read aloud, “‘Of the 71 men allotted, there are to be 51 sailors and 20 guards, with 35 men assigned to the first and the captain commanding 36 on the second ship carrying the four scholars. The trip will take approximately four weeks and three days’ worth of travel each way, with three weeks of exploration and itemization under the guards’ protection. A third year’s worth of food supplied and a battle’s worth of ammunition for each ship.’”

John’s nose scrunched up, “Certainly not a lot of time.”

“We can handle it,” Victor mused. Hickory eyes flicked around the table, lighting up as they landed on the youngest, “And unless we hit a snag, this trip should be the picture of the three Es.”

Zatanna raised a brow, “The three Es?”

Raven’s shoulders shook as she took a sip of her cold tea. She tapped the paper that Constantine held, “The best expeditions, whether for land or for academia, are educational, easy, and extraordinary. Although we usually can only get two of the three.”

John let out a laugh, smothering himself as the librarian glared their way, “No disagreements with that.”

The anthropologist crossed her arms, “Does the extraordinary usually hold you up? Certainly just studying animals isn’t too hard, I’d imagine. Otherwise Mr. Wayne would’ve asked another then--”

Raven cut her off, partly just for fun and partly for her own sanity, “Then what, if not for the advancement of science, Zatara?”

The men gave each other a look, deciding to let the not-quite fight play out as Zatanna drawled out, “How poetic. That something you say before going out into the field?”

“Of course not,” A pale finger pointed Victor’s way. The zoologist grinned, “That’s what I told him the first time he almost lost a limb running from a bear. It was our…” Gray eyes squinted in thought, “First year together on the field? Either way we were beginners to the whole ‘work outside of an office’ type of work.”

Raven leaned forward and folded her elbows on the table, fighting back a smirk at the way Zatanna’s nose scrunched at the unladylike act. Her hand waved in the space above the table, “Insufferable or not, I’ll try to keep you free from any harm a novice might fall into.”

She held up a hand and used the other to make a cross over her heart, “Scholar’s honor.”

Zatanna glared.

--

Constantine groaned as the ship swayed again, the back and forth making his head throb. How much of that was the seasickness and how much was a consequence of his half-empty flask, he didn’t know. All he could do was clutch his head, grumbling out a “Bloody Hell.”

Victor let out a grunt of agreement, his cheeks ashen as he fought off a bout of nausea. God above, he was a fan high speeds but there was a difference. Whipping down the muddy cobblestones with only the horses’ reins and the hope that the carriage’s wheels wouldn’t give out was fun, having no control as the seas swung the only thing keeping them all from a watery death was something else entirely. Honestly, as much as he loved Raven Victor preferred Zatanna’s method of science. Safe and sound in a furnished room, lit by candlelight and serenaded by the city’s sounds all around him until he was ready to see his work in action.

A part of him wondered where Raven was, but she’d always been good on the seas so he disregarded the thought. Especially as another heave threatened to escape him. The captain jogged past, laughing as he clapped the two land-dwellers on their shoulders, “The first week’s the worst, lads!”

John’s eyes widened and he leaned over the rail, dumping his breakfast into the blue waters. Victor winced, “Will it ever get better?”

The captain’s laughter boomed in the air and he put his hands on his hips, unfazed by the carrack’s tilt, “Just gotta grow your sea legs, men. The trip back’ll go swimmingly, promise.”

--

Zatanna raised a brow as she opened her door, blinking as Raven deadpanned, “We need to talk. Urgently.”

“Well no need to sugarcoat things,” The older woman held open the door as she let Raven in, her jaw setting at the papers that the zoologist clutched to her chest. Taking a breath, she closed the door and watched as Raven laid out three pages on her desk.

From her spot she could see the one page was filled with the now extremely familiar lines of Kent’s notes, one was crammed full of Raven’s own handwriting and the last must have been a copy of one of the library’s books. Zaranna crossed her arms over her chest, expectant when all the scientist did was look at her.

Raven rolled her eyes before a stare-off could begin. She impatiently waved her temporary ally over, “Look at these, Zatara.”

The older of the two bit back a hum at the rare fire of emotion that shone from Raven’s eyes. But still, she stayed put. In fact, just to rub in the fact that neither was superior to the other on this expedition (let alone Raven’s status above hers), Zatanna leaned until her back rested against the door, “And why are you asking me?”

A vein over the younger’s eye twitched, “You’re the anthropologist. I need your… opinion.” She patted the papers once, “About the possibility of there still being Themyscirans alive. Today.”

Zatanna wanted to think it a joke, but she stepped forward at the look on Raven’s face. Her focus immediately went to the inkblots that emphasized certain sentences. Raven leaned forward to tap a marked section, getting to business without another moment's waste, “They apparently called themselves Amazons, although they disappeared before news of the New World really gained traction.”

That got her a blue side-eye and another bout of condescension, “Themyscira only used their sailing for martial reasons, Roth. Their spears aren’t…” She paused, her lips tightening into a thin line as she considered if her idea had any merit.

Ultimately, Zatanna didn’t think that it did, “Name aside, what we know of their gods and that their culture definitely contained eurocentric ideals. Same as all the surrounding countries and islands alike.”

She ran her fingers over the sketches again, reading one of the notes that Raven had written near an inked boat, “‘They kept to themselves but weren’t hesitant to send distresses if truly needed.’ Surely they must have just been surprised by the hurricane.”

As if on cue the boat creaked with an especially large tilt and Raven slowly closed her eyes as a thump preceded Victor’s call of “Damn it all to Hell!” Her smile faltered at the feel of Zatanna’s eyes on her and spoke, “He has a bad habit of trying to sleep off his seasickness and not using the bed’s straps to hold himself down.”

Zatanna hummed at the look on her face and the tone to her words, “You think the Amazons were the same? That they were able to escape?”

“At least some of them. If any had lived past the storm then they would have been spotted around the island--” She held up a hand before the older woman could interrupt, “--the vegetation and terrain is far too wild to see anything of their everyday life while on any boat. But there wouldn’t be Themysciran technology washing up on Greece’s shores if they were confined to there.”

“You think they’re isolating themselves on purpose?”

Raven bit her lower lip, “Or on accident. I’m not sure how this could have come about, actually.”

“The most recent tool washed up just a few months ago, so if there is a population it must be floundering,” Zatanna mused. Her fingers drummed on the desk, “Sixteen decades is a long time to be cut off from a world that’s so close.” She glanced at the shorter woman, “You think their husbandry has anything to do with this?”

“Not their husbandry,” Raven stressed. She ran a hand through her hair, “There aren’t many maps of the surrounding islands, but I believe they’re crucial to this mystery. Might even have some ruins there too.”

Zatanna raised a brow, “There are… other islands?”

“Themyscira is the start of an archipelago,” Raven explained, pulling a crinkled pocket-map out of her pockets. She unfolded the paper that had obviously been well-worn prior to the expedition and pointed at the shaky lines, “They’ve never been explored. The Amazons made sure of it when they were alive and the storms have only just started to really erode the surrounding rocky reefs, but some zoologists hypothesized that they were concealing another Madagascar.”

The silence that greeted her was a question enough. She gazed up at Zatanna, a small part of her proud to be teaching Zatara something she had no idea about, “Madagascar’s ecosystem doesn’t have the large predators that other areas of Africa bear.” Her voice lightened at the familiar topic, “No large cats or dogs, no dangerously fatal territorials like hippos or rhinos, and early humans hardly made a presence. It’s the only place on the planet where lemurs and other small monkeys live and thrive natively.”

Zatanna added on, “So if the Amazons ensured that only they knew how to navigate there, they could’ve stayed without any worries.” She nodded to herself then raised a brow at the uncertain look on the zoologist’s face, a scoff erupting out of her as she easily guessed the direction her thoughts were going, “I know you’re not acting like a child, but you might as well think like an adult if we’re even discussing this.”

Raven’s lips pursed at the insult then she hummed out, “It’s only childish to assume that the most bizarre answers can never be true.” Pale hands went back to her pockets as she looked for her world map, air escaping her as she unfurled it. Paying no mind to how Zatanna curiously peered at the animal sketches that spotted the page, Raven ran her fingertips over Africa’s border, “Now, disregarding humans the larger primates were spread between middle- to north-Africa and Asia,” Raven muttered.

Her nail tapped Madagascar on the map, “But the small ones thrived closer to the equator.”

Zatanna shrugged out her guess, “So any undisclosed primates that Themyscira may have known about would be big, like gorillas?”

Raven pushed her glasses up, “Exactly! I’d have to ask Victor if he brought any of our past notes on primatology, but physical tools aren’t necessary if humans are constantly in close proximity.”

Her hands clasped behind her back she hesitated, reluctant as she turned to meet Zatanna’s stare, “Which leads me to my… idea. More of a proposition, really.”

“Oh?”

The zoologist bit the inside of her cheek, “I don’t know if I could get Victor to agree, but we could temporarily split off from the group.”

“You and Victor?”

“You and myself.”

Zatanna shifted and she pressed on, “Three weeks is nowhere near enough time to thoroughly record all we find on Themyscira and get even the tiniest sniff of the rest of the archipelago. Victor may not be trained for zoology, but he knows how I record my findings. And I’d imagine Constantine is the same with you.”

“Where are you going with this?”

Gray eyes shut as she proposed her idea, “Look, I’m saying we search as scheduled for a fortnight, then leave the men to finish up any extra discoveries while we go to the second smallest island.”

It was quiet for a long moment, the air filled with only the splash of water against the carrack’s wood and the sound of Zatanna brushing her hair off her shoulder. The anthropologist didn’t give an answer, only queried, “Is that the closest one?”

Raven nodded. “We won’t have to go searching too hard, just a quick circle around on the carrack and maybe we can anchor down if we spot anything that may suggest Themyscira still lives on.”

Their gaze met and Zatanna’s lips pursed, “Why?”

A sigh escaped the young woman and she straightened her posture, her respect less begrudging as before, “As much as I know about how animals and humans interact, your expertise would be more than helpful. Especially if we do find any evidence of the Amazons.”

Her chin tilted towards the door, “Obviously, none of the sailors would let us take a raft to the shoreline if my hypothesis is correct so anything you can notice by sight would be vital.” Raven briefly motioned to her glasses then clicked her tongue, “Not to mention Mr. Wayne knows the importance of asking for forgiveness rather than permission. If we find anything substantial then he’d approve of a longer, more extensive expedition. Think of what we could accomplish individually, let alone together.”

The boat swayed again and Zatanna crossed her arms, thinking everything over. Raven let a bit of hope bloom in her chest when a minute passed without a rejection, her fingers lacing together above her stomach. Finally, what felt like eons later but really was only seventeen tilts of their ship, Zatara grunted out, “This plan is ridiculous, even for a child like yourself.”

A hopeful graphite stare made her pinch between her eyes. Zatanna shook her head in disbelief of her words as she added, “But as meritless as it is, what if not for the advancement of science?”

Raven's smile lit up the room.

A foreign, miniscule piece of Zatara thought it a comforting sight but she refused to let her mind  wander; she’d heard enough from Constantine on how well they could’ve gotten along if their rivalry had been a mentorship instead and one agreement wouldn’t change their past. Physically shaking her thoughts away, all the older woman did was sigh as she motioned to the door, “It’s getting late, Raven. Give me until dinner to find all that I can from my own notes then we’ll discuss a plan of action in the morning.”

The zoologist nodded, her head tilting as she added, “May I ask that this stays between us? At least for now.” Her lips quirked down, “I hate lying to Victor but we need our strategy to be foolproof before we introduce them to the idea.”

Zatanna considered her words and agreed, “Very well, then. We still have three weeks; that’s plenty of time for the likes of us.”

[amairawrites]

Sometimes I write mediocre shit.

In general, when I revise a scene, I revise it directly on the only copy of the story I have, because I live life on the edge and also have it stored on the cloud and accessible from two computers and my iPad.

Point being, when a scene I write kinda sucks, all evidence of it sucking is destroyed by the time the chapter goes up on AO3.

Except the last scene in chapter seven of To Be Vulnerable. I wasn’t happy with it, and I hadn’t had enough sleep to articulate why, so I sent it off to my proofreader and @decidedlysarah for feedback. Thus, it lives on in the sent folder of my email.

And I have posted it here in its entirety, behind the cut, for all of you to read.

(And here’s a link to the chapter with final version – last scene in it.)

Shiro placed another shirt in the suitcase on his bed, only halfway packed despite his flight leaving in five hours. Ryou had been excitedly texting him nonstop since this time yesterday, and, well, waking up every hour on the hour would leave anyone exhausted. At least he had the small side benefit of studying – and now working – at the Galaxy Garrison. The air base attached to the Garrison had constant flights to and from major international air bases, so he wouldn’t have to take a bus to get to LUF. Because he would definitely fall asleep on one and miss his stop.

He stared at the few boxes in his nearly empty room and sank onto the bare mattress. These four walls had been his space for the past five years at the Garrison Academy, and he would be returning to new quarters in the officer’s wing in three weeks. 

“A bit surreal, isn’t it?”

Hedrick leaned against the frame of the open doorway, arms casually crossed. A frail smile flitted across Shiro’s mouth, vanishing as quickly as it came.

“Yeah, it is,” he said. He wrung the shirt in his hands, then folded it and set it on the bed. 

Hedrick stepped into the room and sat at the desk chair. “It took me three months to stop automatically walking back to my cadet dorm after I graduated.”

Shiro flopped onto his back. “I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much, though. It’s not like I ever felt at home here.” He curled his head up to look Hedrick in the eyes. “I always felt more at home with you and the other instructors.”

“Well, that will be literally true in three weeks.”

The laugh broke from Shiro’s throat before he could stifle it.

His phone chimed with a new message from Ryou – this one demanding they get ramen immediately after Shiro’s flight landed. Ryou must have been just as exhausted by now; he’d already made that demand twice. Shiro rolled his eyes and tucked his phone in his pocket.

Hedrick grinned and rose to his feet. “Come on, I’ll help you get the last of your stuff moved over. When does your flight leave?”

“1815.”

“Oh. Dropping you off at Luke?”

Shiro sat all the way up. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m flying that one. Taking the new cargo jet up to Comox for their mechanics to train on. You can sit in the cockpit with me.”

Shiro smiled at that.

Lieutenant Hedrick was the versatile kind of pilot who had mastered both fighter jets and cargo jets, an essential skill for anyone aspiring to fly through space. He had been up there once before, to the Mars Research Base and back, when Shiro was in his first year at the Garrison Academy.

And when he’d returned, he had promptly taken Shiro under his wing and taught him all the skills he would need, too. Even still, Shiro had excelled in his fighter classes and was merely competent in cargo classes.

“That sounds great.”

Hedrick thumped his hand on the small stack of boxes. Only three. “Come on, now. Don’t want you to miss your flight, right?”

They each grabbed a box and ambled through the hallways to the officers’ wing. Their footsteps echoed off the walls and around corners. Most of the cadets had already left for the summer. Shiro was usually gone by now, too. He’d never seen these halls so empty.

Montgomery waved as they passed her room. She, like most of the single officers, lived on base. Actually, all the officers Shiro knew did, except Iverson.

Huh. Why had Iverson bought his house?

They reached his room and he tapped his ID against the lock to let them in. Shiro still wasn’t used to having so much space. Most of the cadet rooms were singles like his had been, with a few doubles for those who preferred them, simple beds and desks with tiny attached bathrooms.

His new room seemed more like an apartment, twice the size of the cadet doubles, with a large central room, and a bedroom and spacious bathroom opposite the kitchen. Only the bed, nightstand, couch, and kitchen table had been furnished; anything else, he’d have to get on his own.

“Who all has access to my room?” Shiro asked. The cadet rooms would let any officers in, but he was no longer a cadet.

Hedrick set his box on top of Shiro’s and leaned against the wall as he pulled off his boots. Shiro smiled; Hedrick had remembered his preference for shoes off after the very first time he entered Shiro’s cadet room.

“The only other people with automatic access are security personnel and Admiral Sanda,” Hedrick said. “I think Iverson, too, if you’re an instructor. But you can authorize anyone you want.”

“Even if they’re a cadet?”

“Sure. Got someone in mind?”

“Keith is applying to start this fall.” Shiro’s hand drifted to his pocket. He’d taken a photo of the two of them at the top of the cliff and set it as the background on his phone, and it still cheered him every time he saw it.

He showed the picture to Hedrick, who grinned and patted him on the back. “Look at you, following my advice and getting a friend out of the deal.”

Shiro blinked, then shook his head. He had completely forgotten that Hedrick had to urge him to be friendly to Keith in the first place; now he got along so well with Keith that it felt like he always had.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, more to himself than to Hedrick.

Hedrick’s phone chirped, and he pulled it from his pocket with a sigh. “Time to start the preflight checks,” he said, shooting Shiro an apologetic smile. “See you out there in a couple hours.”

The door slipped shut after him, and Shiro sighed.

The apartment was nice, but also too large, and still too empty, to feel like home. The couch was the same basic gray as all the other couches around the Garrison; the bed had only the standard-issue white sheets that everyone replaced within their first month. 

Shiro shook his head again, and walked back to his old room to grab the last box and his suitcase. Unpacking and rearranging went quickly. The charging dock for his phone went on the nightstand, while the smaller charging cord went into the suitcase. The clothing he wasn’t taking back home got shoved into the closet to organize when he got back. He left the rest, a mess of little things he’d accumulated over the years, in the boxes.

He was too tired for this shit right now.

Last was the tiny model IGF Harpy fighter jet, a gift for Ryou. Shiro would be flying the real thing a month from now, and Ryou would be thrilled to have the little figurine.

He nestled it back in a velvet drawstring bag, and gently placed it in the middle of his clothing.

Then he zipped up the suitcase and hurried along to the airstrip. Hedrick’s jet was easy to find. Easily three times the size of the fighters, it squatted over the taxiway like a lazy cougar, big and heavy and slightly threatening. After all, even the cargo jets were armed.

Shiro grinned and darted up the loading ramp, through the cargo hold, and into the cockpit.

Hedrick gave him a thumbs up, and then a finger over his lips as he tapped the earphones of his headset. Shiro nodded, grabbing the copilot seat for himself and pulling the second headset over his ears.

“Didn’t know you had a copilot for this, Lieutenant,” someone in ATC said.

“It’s just Shirogane,” Hedrick replied. “Didn’t see any reason to keep him holed up in cargo for an hour when there’s an empty chair up here.”

“Right. Airbrake controls next.”

Shiro sat quietly, a soft smile on his face as he listened to the remainder of the preflight checks. Something about this felt so much more intense than doing the same in a sim, even though here he was just a spectator. Maybe it was being able to hear the hydraulics and servos moving as Hedrick worked through the checklist. Maybe it was seeing the real landscape all around him, rather than on one of the giant sim screens.

Then they were cleared for takeoff, and Hedrick taxied out to the main runway.

“Buckle up and hold on tight. This thing has just as much takeoff power as a fighter.”

“Right,” Shiro said, arching an eyebrow.

Hedrick met him with a feral grin – concerning, on a face usually so mild. “Air Traffic Control, permission to use the blast takeoff?”

“Ugh,” came the reply, with some additional muttering about fighter pilots in cargo jets. “Permission granted.”

Something spooled up, and a few things by the wings sounded like they were shifting around, and –

“Shit!” Shiro shouted, as Hedrick launched like he was flying a rocket.

They reached cruising altitude in only two minutes.

Hedrick leveled out the jet and flipped his microphone off. “So who’s taking you the rest of the way?”

“The Kōkū Jieitai has two long-range jets at Luke for upgrades, and one of them is heading back to Chitose.”

“Close to home?”

Shiro smiled. “Practically Sapporo’s backyard.”

Hedrick stretched over to pat Shiro’s shoulder. “Bet you’re excited to go home.”

“Yeah, I...” he started, then trailed off. The smile faded from his face.

He wasn’t excited.

He didn’t feel like he was going home.

[christopherwatsonbooks]

Covenant Spring, Chapter Four

No car salesman I have ever met ever planned on being one. If you have any kind of personality at all and can do basic math, you're pretty much qualified. Of course, it doesn’t mean you’ll be any good at it.

One of the guys who works at the dealership had been a dancer in a C-grade traveling male stripper revue. Another salesman had spent time in a minimum-security prison for forging his mother's signature on her checks. She’s the one who’d turned him in. He had turned his life around since, he said.

I spent a week watching training videos and reading pamphlets before my first day on the floor. The new car manager gave me some advice, which was this: "Buyers are liars."

Buyers think anything you say is a lie, which is why they will always lie to you. You can give them a car for free and they'll think the guy before them got two. But they'll swear their credit is perfect and their trade cherry even if you helped them push it in off the street and they can’t get approved to rent furniture. I once watched a repo man tow a trade right off the lot while the owner was in another salesman's office arguing over how much it was worth. We swap the stories on the floor like pictures of our pets.

It all came together for me when I started selling cars. Never mind our popular reputation. A car dealership is one of the most honest places there is. You can’t be brazen and make it work but that unspoken acknowledgement that neither of you expects the other to be completely honest, that tacit agreement, it makes everything so much easier.

Not all of us are like that but it doesn't make any real difference. If you’re convinced I’m going to screw you, I feel no obligation to persuade you otherwise. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. But the least I can do in exchange is make it as comfortable as possible for you when I bend you over.

That’s my job, you see. I can make you feel you fought the good fight. I know just what to do to make it all feel fine, even as your heart screams that it’s a lie.

If I'd been a car salesman when I met Cheryl we might still be together. I might be married to my lipstick goddess. Not that either relationship would have lasted.

. . .

My third month at the dealership, I sold a truck to a man for seven hundred dollars over full sticker price.

He was my first up of the day. You wait your turn on the floor during your shift there and whoever walks up when you're first in line is your up. That's how it works, that's showroom democracy. The guy had his little buyers' guides and internet print-outs and his rock-bottom cash prices from other dealers scribbled on his notepad and photos of cars and window stickers on his phone. He was an Informed Buyer. He was a Tough Negotiator. He was not going to Get Screwed, no sir.

Two minutes in, I knew he was a tool. The other dealerships had let him walk on lowballs they'd never honor and no one else could beat, to get him to come back. When he did, they’d come up with some reason why they couldn't sell it to him for that price anymore, jack up the cost and then beat him down with bullshit until he bought. He couldn't go back to the other dealers who wouldn't match the price because he'd called them all liars. Also, going back to them would mean admitting he was a moron. So he'd bend over and buy.

That’s what we do. You’re welcome.

And I told him so. I told him he'd been lowballed. I gave him his chance. He rapped his knuckles on my desk and demanded my Best Cash Price on the truck.

So I gave it to him. I quoted him invoice down to the penny because I knew he wouldn't believe me, and he didn't. He showed me his notepad with the prices the other lowballing pricks had given him and said to my face that I was a liar and a thief.

I felt something lift from me then, like the oppressive heat of the day suddenly removed. I felt calm, clear as a mathematician to whom the long-sought answer to a clot of numbers was at last revealed.

I took him to the used line and showed him a sweet full-size Toyota 4x4. It had just come out from the back that morning, the price wasn’t on it yet but I knew what the used manager wanted for it, and what he would take.

I jacked the sticker up by two grand. I made the guy want it. I told him he had my Best Cash Price and if he didn’t like it, he could go buy from someone else. He tough negotiated me down eight hundred dollars and I fought him over every fucking penny. He made me sweat and squirm. I cursed him. I cried murder, I begged for mercy.

At the end of the day he shook my hand, climbed into his new truck and drove off with my dick up his ass, happy as a clam.

Seven hundred dollars over sticker. The dealership made over eighteen hundred bucks off the deal. I made my week’s draw off of that one sale.

The used car manager couldn’t stop talking about it. The other salesmen couldn’t get enough of the story, they laughed and slapped me on the back and congratulated me. I was fresh legend. I had made my bones.

. . .

I’d told the buyer the truth. After that, it was on him to believe me or not. I'd given him what he'd wanted. He would brag to his friends about how hard he'd worked me, how he’d beaten me down until I broke. He’d tell that story for the rest of his life.

It’s not my responsibility. And so on.

I hadn't known I could be so good at it. Or that I could live with it so easily.

After that, I stopped fighting it. I had learned what I was. Easy as slipping on shoes.

I've never told Dad about that sale.

. . .

Month six was my worst. I exhumed dead leads from dusty files, I courted every up like a desperate lover. Only two bought, and for next to nothing. Everyone was having a bad month, which made it easier to tolerate. A little.

The new car manager was talking to someone in his office. You could see them through the wall glass. You could tell from the body language that it wasn’t a sale.

All car salesmen are paranoid, at least the ones I know are. We’re like farmers, dependent on the weather to make the rent. A dry spell sends us from cocky to desperate in a blink. It’s no way to live but the money’s good, for as long as the weather holds.

It filled the showroom like stink. No one talked. We found things to do to look busy. We wanted to look busy when the axe fell, as if whoever wasn't would determine who went home that night with the contents of their desk in a cardboard box under their arm.

The stranger left on a handshake we all saw. It was Friday. There was a new guy starting Monday, and his name was Cai.

The new car manager sat back down at his desk and studied a piece of paper.

. . .

The piece of paper was a contract, which none of us had. That was the reason Cai had been hired. He had offered to work for free.

This is what Cai told the new car manager, which we all learned later. He would work for two months with no draw, no base salary. By the end of his second month, if Cai hadn’t made for the dealership what he would have made in draw for both months, he would walk away clean. If he made his nut, they’d pay him his draw for both months plus whatever commission he'd made, and he'd be regular staff.

Cai had two conditions. The first is he would sell his way. Dress how he wanted, say what he wanted, work when he wanted. The only power any manager had was to approve his deals, or not. Condition two is that Cai would be paid in cash.

The new car manager wanted the deal in writing so that Cai wouldn’t sue for wages if he tanked.

. . .

Cai arrived early Monday, driving a Ford Ranger extended cab four-by-four, forest green, good condition. North Carolina plates, blue and red and white with the Wright Brothers plane faint behind the tag number and the words First in Flight along the bottom.

The only space we had was a cubicle in the corner of the showroom floor, looking out over the used car line. It was rookie turf, one gray prefab wall butted against the showroom glass, making a space behind it in the corner. There was a battered desk and two chairs and a telephone and a gunmetal gray filing cabinet and office supplies. Cai made it all as homey as the corner cubicle of a car dealership showroom can be, with a lamp and a cloth draped on the filing cabinet and cushions for the metal folding chairs.

The front of Cai’s desk was flush up against the prefab wall. Hanging over the desk was an oval mirror in a polished wood frame, hung horizontally. It looked old. The glass was rippled, like shallow swells in water. It made it appear almost as if you were peering through the glass, into some other place you could only glimpse through a thin layer of reflected reality. The feeling was you'd be able to see better if only the water would calm.

There were three snapshots tucked between the frame and the glass. Two of the snapshots were black-and-white. One showed a man of maybe thirty standing in front of a tractor, his arm draped over the big back tire. He was dressed in overalls and he was grinning. You could tell the tractor was new, the photo had probably been taken on the day the man brought it home.

The second black-and-white photo was of a young woman in a sundress, sitting in a wooden chair on a porch with two fat babies on her lap, a boy and a girl. The woman was plain and beautiful. Her hair was dark and long, down to her waist. She was smiling, caught in a perfect moment that rose from the photo like the scent of a flower.

The third photo was color. It was of a woman. She stood in one-quarter profile. Her face was tilted slightly down and away, partially obscured by thick curls of dark hair cascading over her shoulders. All you could see of her face was a glimpse of her smooth jaw, a sense of the curve of her neck. She wore a white blouse and tight faded jeans. Her left arm was bent, the forearm held across her belly, her right hand raised and resting between her breasts. She was standing on a riverbank, her ankles disappeared into the tall grass and weeds. She stared into the dark water.

I cannot tell you the sense of this photo. I don't have the words. I often stared at it when Cai wasn't there, careful that he wouldn’t catch me doing it. I memorized every part of it. I imagined the woman raising her head and turning to look at me, just as I dreamt of my lipstick goddess. I so wanted to see her face, to get her to turn and look at me, to reveal herself, and to ask her what it was that she was searching for in the water.

This was my first encounter with Sarabeth Dare. I didn’t know then that soon I would meet her in the flesh, that I would know her to call her by name, and that when she did first raise her head to look at me she would scare me to death. I didn't know then that she was Cai's woman, and that he had taken that photo of his one true love just days before he had told her good-bye.

. . .

The new car manager introduced Cai to us first thing Monday, which is when we all learned that he would be working for free.

We stared at him like he was from outer space. He stood next to the new car manager in the showroom. He was just shy of six feet and solid, like he had muscles built from work. He could have been a construction worker cleaned up for a job interview. He wore a white dress shirt and a tie, denim jeans and scuffed black cowboy boots. He wore a black leather belt with a pewter buckle. He had wavy brown hair worn down to his shoulders.

Cai’s eyes were dark as dirt, and when he turned them to you it was just all black, even though they must have been brown, and when the light was just right something in them glinted like sparks of mica in wet soil. Like a flicker of movement in the dark where only a moment before, you were certain you were alone.

The women in the back office never said Cai was handsome. They said he was dangerous. But they always smiled when they said it.

. . .

What I remember most about first meeting Cai was how he didn’t seem nervous, he didn’t try to be chummy or funny or self-deprecating to win us over. He nodded to us when he was introduced but didn’t say much other than hello, nice to meet you. He didn’t seem concerned about us at all, like he’d already sized us up and determined he had no reason to be, and did it just that fast.

I read something once, that some people know how to occupy their space. They’re not on their way from somewhere or on their way to someplace, even if they are. Where they stop is where they are, even if it’s for a moment it might as well be for forever. It’s not about motion, or time. It’s about presence in space and time, the quality of being present. That’s what presence means. To occupy the now.

That was Cai, best as I can explain it. I had never encountered it before. I never expected I would meet it in a long-haired country boy car salesman.

Cai took us in like we were scenery. Everyone smiled and shook his hand but I could tell it wasn’t going to last.

. . .

Once we knew we weren’t going to be fired, the bitching began. How come Cai could leave early or come in late, how come he could wear jeans and we couldn’t, how come he could miss sales meetings, how come how come.

"Work for free" is what the new car manager always said. He was enjoying his experiment immensely.

It was obvious Cai had sold before. He knew the lingo, knew the showroom drills, the politics of selling. Everyone said he was crazy, must be. It made them feel better. He was an unknown and it scared them. They said he was a dick because he kept to himself, he didn't shoot the shit on the floor between ups. He helped when he was needed and was civil when he had to talk but mainly he came in and did his job and left. You could go all day and never say a word to him, or he to you.

Cai thought he was too good for them, the others said. If he was such hot shit, how come he was selling cars?

I asked them how come they were. They asked me how come I was. I said it was because I couldn't cut it selling dog food.

After that they didn’t bother pretending anymore that they liked me. They never really had. I was the youngest one there, and I’d made everyone look bad with my used truck sale, never mind the back-slapping. I didn’t have a family to support like they did so what the hell did I know about anything?

The charade dropped and shattered like a coffee mug on the showroom tile. Jesus, I was glad to be done with it.

It’s probably why I didn’t avoid Cai like the others did. It’s not every day I meet someone like me. At least, that’s what I told myself. I listened to the others whine about Cai, wondering if people said the same things about me behind my back. I suppose it’s my own fault if they do.

I tried to feel upset about it, but I couldn’t. I felt better that I wasn’t alone anymore. I humored myself, thinking Cai and I had that much in common, that I was like him. Feeling superior makes being a dick easier to stomach. It’s pretty much a requisite, really.

. . .

Here's what happened the first month.

Cai showed up every morning and worked the floor. He didn't seem to treat his ups any differently than we did, except that most of them wound up sitting in his cubicle and chatting, sometimes for so long he’d only get one or two ups that day. Time off the floor he'd make a few calls and read, the news or a book. End of the day he'd pull locks, checking to ensure all the cars were locked and the keys not in them. Low man on the sales totem gets the privilege. And then he’d climb in his truck and leave.

By the end of the first month, Cai had only sold three vehicles. The others joked about how by the end of the next month, he might make enough to pay for the gas it took him to drive to work.

Everyone had sold more that month than Cai, including me. I wondered if he maybe he really was crazy. Maybe this is what he did, going from dealership to dealership, drinking coffee and chatting with strangers until he was kicked to the curb.

I looked in his truck but it didn’t appear as if he lived in it. He didn’t smell as if he did.

. . .

The first week of the second month, the dam burst.

People came into the dealership, asking for Cai. Most were ups Cai had had the first month, who’d left without buying. They would ask for Cai, or Cai Bass, or Mister Bass.

They always remembered his name. When’s the last time you remembered a car salesman’s name?

If Cai was busy they would wait. He always knew their names on sight and thanked them for coming back and asked if they were ready. He always asked if they were ready, and they always said yes. Some brought their families, like they were going to the movies. We had kids running around the showroom, worrying the crap out of the managers, turning us all into baby sitters.

By week two it officially became ridiculous. All day long out on the lot, you would hear the loudspeaker: "Cai Bass, you have a customer in the showroom.” “Cai Bass, you have a call on line two.” “Cai Bass, please come to the finance office.”

I was working an up and we heard Cai paged three times in ten minutes. She asked if Cai owned the dealership. Not yet, I said.

. . .

Something else happened that second month. Two things, actually.

The first is that sales picked up for the rest of us. It was going to be a record month. Maybe it simply was time for it to happen. Maybe Cai was putting out some kind of vibe. Whatever it was we all breathed it like electricity. The blood of sales and cash was pumping hot and hard through the dealership. We hit the lot to our ups with steps cracking smart on the blacktop. We were excellent lovers picking fruit ripe on the vine. You could not tell us no.

The other thing, the main thing for me that happened, is that I made coffee for Cai.

I was between customers and he had two waiting, and I heard him apologize for not having any fresh coffee. We kept a pot each of regular and decaf going for customers on the showroom floor even though we usually drank most of it ourselves, which is why the new car manager refused to buy one of those coffee pods machines. The day had been so busy we’d already gone through four carafes of regular coffee before lunchtime. I was passing by his cubicle when Cai said what he did, and I heard myself say that I would make some fresh and let him know when it was done.

You won't think there’s much to this. I've spent a lot of time remembering it, I've turned it over and over enough to wear the edges smooth. It is the pebble dropped into the water, from which the ripples swelled and spread, like Cai's mirror.

For the first time since I'd known him, Cai gave me his full attention. I can see his face now in memory. It is angled downward, not quite fully turned to me.

Now he straightens, his long brown hair falls back and his eyes are fixed on mine, dirt dark and flecked with those sparks of mica, like hammer sparks called from stone. They peer at me from under his brow like some creature at night, watchful beneath a fallen log.

It is like an ocean swell against me, like a great magnet seizing and vibrating my every particle. My lungs arrest between inhale and exhale. I cannot move, if I was on fire I would burn where I stood. The din of the world recedes from perception and rises spinning into the sky like the edges of a hurricane and I am spread molecule thin through time and place such that a puff of breath will part me into swirls of dispersed smoke, without substance enough even to muster a scream.

And then I'm back, the world is back, the assault of weight and senses returns in a great clanging slap.

Cai smiles and thanks me. He says he'll make the coffee himself. He says he’ll bring me a cup when it’s done, if I like.

I find myself in my little office, sitting at my desk. My heart will not stop pounding. It bangs in my ears like fists on a wall, drowning all other sound.

The new car manager lets me go home early.

. . .

I was terrified to sleep that night. I felt as if I were made of smoke, that the blankets would settle down through me onto the mattress as if I weren’t there. My beating heart was an engine on loan. I couldn't trust the knots that tied it into my chest.

My rational mind tells me I’m being foolish. I make arguments, I build them like careful mathematical equations but when I reach for them, they collapse. I am a ghost in the world, a projection upon a breath of fog. My weight upon the mattress is no comfort, there is no logic nor science convincing enough to satisfy me that I can sleep and be sure of waking in the morning.

I stand upon Washington’s Rock. Face lifted to the sky, the world releases me and I rise, I sail free, molecules separating until I passing through the sky or the sky passing through me is no difference. The clouds mix with my particles and I become rain, tears of myself spread in an ocean, and what I was like a sigh is released in joy, and joins with heaven.

. . .

My bladder awakened me. I got up and used the bathroom. The tiles were cold against my bare feet. I did not turn on the light. I finished and flushed and crawled back into bed.

The covers were warm. I broke wind beneath them. Thus comforted, I slept.

[betweenpaperpages]

A Silence

Summary: Belle finds her apartment far too quiet while reading.

Beta: @ishtarelisheba & @standbyyourmantis Note: Sequel to “A Request” (AO3)

Find it on AO3.

Belle heard a silence.

A silence that was quite unusual for the time of day that it was. Her eyes flicked down to her wrist, rolling it over to read the hands on her silver watch, 8:45 pm.

When she had sat down in the balcony to read that evening she had no reason to believe that anything was wrong in any kind of way, however; after having to go back and re-read the last five pages of her book (for the third time) she knew something was off.

She sighed, snapping her book shut, the sudden noise bringing her to the realization as to just what was missing: music. She had been reading for nearly an hour in utter silence, for a librarian one wouldn't find it odd but she was at home, not the library.

Perhaps her neighbor was gone for the night? Belle stood up, leaving her book behind to lean on the railing, pushing up onto tip toes to crane her neck for a look at their balcony. Everything seemed to be as normal as usual, including the opened window, but there was certainly no sound drifting out.

Her weight settled back down on her heels with a huff of disappointment, she really did enjoy the music that they played, she hadn’t realised how accustomed she had become to it. A glance back to her book confirmed it to her, without the usual soundtrack of the music, she wasn’t going to be able to focus on her book.

Perhaps tomorrow.

________________________________________________________________

With summer coming to an end September had begun to settle into Storybrooke on its heels. With it also came the cold mornings that gradually heated up to pleasant afternoons before cool evenings settled in.

Belle wasn’t one to really rely upon the newspaper or weather reports; when you lived in a small town you usually caught up on it fairly quickly, it was a go-to conversation piece. The library had seen a rush of patrons that afternoon, some getting out of the winds that had picked up and others checking out books to read in case power was lost.

Through the afternoon the storm had picked up and was continuing to get more aggressive, the winds picking up and the rain crept in to cover the town, starting with a drizzle and building itself up.

Belle had thought when she left the library she’d make it home in time before the worst of the storm hit, however; the storm decided to prove her wrong.

By the time that she had reached home she had been soaked through to the bone, no thanks to her umbrella having been blown inside out. She was in deep need of a hot bath and at least one, if not two, cups of tea.

So much for reading on the balcony tonight.

________________________________________________________________

The following day didn’t fair much better, the harshest part of the storm had passed over the town but the rain still lingered on. Rain pattered against the library’s windows, combined with the soft light, it gave the space a very cozy environment.

Too cozy, at one point Belle found herself sitting at her desk, a hand resting against her cheek trying to prevent herself from lolling to sleep. Truly Wednesdays had to be named the most uneventful day of the week around their town.

With the weather still being gray and cold that evening there wasn’t really a chance to read on the balcony that night. If the weather continued to get bleaker and bleaker as quickly as the storm had swept in Belle knew she was going to have to find a new reading habit for the cold months.

Since the outside nook would be out of the question she simply had to create one inside of her apartment that would suffice.  

Under one of the windows in the living room she pulled out a old futon mattress she had stored away for guests, folding it in half so it rested against the wall. A quick search of some still unpacked boxes she had lead her to extra bedding, wrapping the futon in a fitted sheet helped along with a couple of knit blankets and a few throw pillows.

With the reading nook tucked into the corner of the room it still gave a full view of the sliding glass door to the balcony offering somewhat of a view. The only thing that was left to do was to break it in with a book, though with a glance to the clock showing that it was already 8:30 PM it was clear that there wouldn't be any music that evening to accompany her.

Maybe another day.

________________________________________________________________

Belle was sure that Ruby could find an excuse to celebrate or have a night out on any day of the week, it really was a hidden talent. Her excuse this time? It had been officially four months since Belle moved to Storybrooke.

She had rolled her eyes at the idea of it, most people didn’t celebrate a “move-in-anniversary” as Ruby called it, but she couldn’t see the harm in it. It would shake up the mundane of the week and the off way she had been feeling the last few days. Maybe a girls night out on the town was just what she needed.

There would be music at the Rabbit Hole.

________________________________________________________________

One benefit of living in a small town was that most people knew everyone and if there was someone you didn’t know, it was most likely that you knew someone who did. Sure, there were people who would stick their nose into other people’s business where it didn’t belong, but it came with the territory.

Since the library was open regular hours Monday through Thursday, Friday and Saturday were short days to accommodate other activities. Most visitors on Fridays were returning books and Saturday followed with study sessions held by the local high school students.

Belle didn’t mind the six day work week since two of them were short, giving her the chance to be out of the library typically by two in the afternoon, giving her the rest of day for whatever she need to take care of.

She took care of a few errands around town, making sure she had a chance to check in to the local thrift shop. There really wasn't a bookstore in town since the library took care of most of their needs but she always enjoyed picking up something new to read. Sure, she could order just about anything online but why not rescue an unwanted book?

While she was collecting her finds a white china cup caught her eye, the dish was elegant with soft curves, gold detail, and a simple blue tree design painted across it. It and its saucer had been set off to a side shelf as if someone had considered purchasing it at one time and changed their mind at the last minute.

Something about the design called out to her, in a way it reminded her of her neighbor’s music, soft and delicate without being harsh or complicated. It didn’t take a moment more before she collected the piece to add to her finds.

-   -   -

Belle hummed as she headed downstairs to the lobby of the complex, playing with the ends of her blue scarf as she stepped off the last stair. Her lips spread into a smile at the sight of their mailman at the wall of boxes or mail-woman more so.

“Hey stranger!”

“Hmm?” The tall, lanky red-head stood up from where she was knelt down over her carrier bag, looking over to see who was speaking.

“Belle! Stranger indeed, I haven’t see you around!” Ariel laughed, throwing her arms around Belle in a brief hug. “What are you getting up to today?”

She took a step back to jingle her mailbox key in front of her. “I’m on the adventure of collecting mail, though, it looks like we are on the same journey.”

Ariel giggled, holding up a bundle of envelopes as evidence, “Almost, I mostly have delivery today. Doesn’t seem like there is a lot of out-going today.”  She ran her finger down the silver doors to double check the numbers before opening number twenty-nine with her master key, tutting at the lack of space in the box.

“Belle, have you seen your neighbor from twenty-eight at all this week? Mr. Gold? His box is so full I haven’t been able to drop off anything in at least four days now.”

“Actually, I’ve never meet him before. I haven’t heard anything at all this past week which is really odd.”

Ariel sighed with a glance back at the box. Typically at this point she would have to leave a message in the box that there was more mail and it would have to be collected at the post office. Only meaning that she had dragged around extra weight in her carrier bag for no reason other than to show it around town.

Belle already had her mail box open as she pulled out a few slim envelopes before glancing over to see Ariel perched on it like a bird, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“Yes?”

“Belle, could you do me a favor and drop these off to him? I really don't want to have to drag them back down to the office, please? And you know, make sure he hasn’t dropped dead or anything?”

She simply blinked at Ariel with a deadpan expression across her face before holding out her hand for the stack. “I’m sure if he was dead I would have noticed by now Ariel.”

Ariel squeaked as she handed over the mail, “You are the best!”

-   -   -

When she had originally agreed to take her neighbor’s mail to them, Belle hadn’t realized just how much there was. Ariel ended up sticking her with two boxes and three stacks of rubber band envelopes along with her own to take back up. The boxes were more heavy than they were awkward, though Belle couldn’t help but wonder just what was inside them.

She set the packages down in front of her neighbor’s door, hesitating for a moment as she bit her lip. She had been listening to his music for a while now but she had yet to introduce herself in a way it just felt — wrong, almost like intruding on someone’s privacy. Belle knew his music far more than she knew him. Before there was a chance to change her mind she quickly rapped her knuckles against the door, the sound echoing down the empty corridor. Was their building really so quiet?

The sound of some scuffled papers and a chair moving could faintly be heard beyond the front door before a husky, accented voice called out, “Just a moment!”

A few more ruffles of paper sounded through before the door cracked open enough to let sound pass through, but certainly in no manner was Belle able to see inside of the living space.

“Yes?”

“Oh! Um, hi Mr. Gold? It’s your neighbor Belle, Belle French.” She bit her lip in hesitation again, blinking at the solid mass of the door she was speaking to. “From apartment twenty-seven?”

A heavy cough sounded from the other side, causing his accent to deepen when he spoke again. “Yes, you are the new librarian, correct?” A sneeze echoed through the apartment behind him followed by a few sniffles.

Belle nodded in agreement for a moment before she caught on, clearing her throat from the delay. “Yes, I am.”

“Apologies, Miss. French I’d introduce myself properly but I’m rather ill. I’d rather not pass it along. What can I do for you?”

“I didn’t mean to disrupt your rest, I’m sorry. It's just that I was getting my mail and Ariel, the mailwoman, had quite a bit for you. She asked if I could drop it off since your mail hadn’t been picked up for a while.”

A warm laugh passed from Mr. Gold and Belle couldn’t help to wonder if he possibly sang with his music at all. She hadn’t heard him before, did he sing with or without his accent?

“Oh I’m sure it's rather piled up, I’ve been expecting quite a few things from work. Would you do me a favor dearie and leave it next to my door?”

“Not at all! Is there anything else I can do?” Belle moved the boxes over some more, out of the door’s swing and placed the pile of envelopes on top. “Do you want me to pick you up anything? Chicken soup? Apple pie? Bottle of whiskey?”

Gold let out a deep chuckle at her offer, his laugh spurring him into another coughing fit. “No. No that’s quite alright. You’ve already done enough, thank you Miss. French.”

“You’re welcome... If you do need anything though, feel free to knock on my door anytime. If I’m not at home I’ll be at the —”

“The library.”

Belle giggled, her lips pulling into a smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Feel better soon Mr. Gold.”

“I already do.”

-   -   -

Belle couldn’t shake the smile off her face as she wandered into her own apartment, dropping her keys off on a side table along with her mail. It was the first time she had properly spoken to Mr. Gold, sure everyone around town had their own opinion of him, but they did so with everyone else. Small towns always created gossip of some kind, she was sure if they didn’t most residents would die of boredom within a year of living in one.  

Even if Mr. Gold was a familiar face around town, no one really seemed to know much about him, perhaps that was the reason there was so much speculation. People were simply trying to fill in the missing pieces of information.

She was a firm believer the best way to get to know a person was to simply ask them about themselves, however; that didn’t seem like it would happen any time soon, not with how ill he was feeling.

Belle huffed, settling her hands on either of her hips, her gaze wandering her space. Seemed that it would still be a while yet before music started drifting into her apartment again, not until Mr. Gold was feeling better.

She had hoped he would take her up on the offer of help but she wasn’t going to push the matter. She glanced around one more time, her eyes coming back to the side table where her keys laid besides a basket she kept her mail in, where just next to it sat the china cup she had found earlier that week, her lips splitting into a smile.

Okay, so perhaps she couldn’t push her help on him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t wish him well. Belle was sure she could handle the silence a little while longer.

-   -   -

A while later more knocks were rapped against the door of apartment twenty-eight for a second time that day. Instead of a neighbor delivering a over-stuffed mailbox simply sat a filled basket. Inside rested an assortment of teas, a book of music, honey dipped spoons, and in the center a very delicate white and blue tea cup.

[samuelmmarcus]

Coastal Shingle Home

  If you have been missing seeing color, textures and lots of fun, this new post will really make you happy! Located in Rhode Island and built by Sweenor Builders, Inc. (also on Instagram), this shingle home features clean, coastal-inspired design elements and color palettes which complete the beach house vibe.

Here, this talented builder shares more details:

  “Every year, This Old House® collaborates with a team of industry professionals and leading home-improvement brands to build a state-of-the art “Idea House.” Sweenor Builders was honored to partner with Union Studio Architecture and Community Design and Denise Enright Interior Design for the 2017 Idea House in the bucolic seaside neighborhood of East Matunuck Farms in South Kingstown, Rhode Island.

The 3,200-square-foot, three-story shingle style residence is chock-full of solutions to address what today’s homeowners look for in a home and coastal living. It combines traditional New England architectural features with modern building techniques, smart home systems, and durable, weatherproof, and energy-efficient materials to create a high-quality home with relaxed sensibility. Perfect for a growing family or empty nesters who want to entertain, the flexible floor plan, the flexible floor plan enables living on one level or many, supporting multi-generational approach.”

The interiors were decorated with beautiful yet affordable furnishings and I am sharing all sources below! I hope you all have a good time and be ready to feel inspired by this timeless home!

  Interior Design Ideas: Coastal Shingle Home

This shingle-style, gambrel-roof home features an attached garage, Chippendale balcony railings and an inviting wrap-around front porch with swing.

Front Door: Craftsman Style Two-Panel, Three-Lite Door Style 6803 with Craftsman Sidelight 6175 by Simpson Door.

Garage Doors

These beautiful blue garage doors are the Canyon Ridge Limited Edition Series Design 35 Doors by Coplay and are accented with clerestory windows.

Paint Color

My goodness, what a gorgeous home!!! I can’t stop staring at this picture!

The blue front door paint color is Chinese Porcelain by Olympic Paint and the trim in Swirling Smoke by Olympic Paint.

Siding: Eastern White Cedar Shingles by SBC Cedar, factory-finished in Seashell stain.

Windows: E-Series three-over-one windows in Watercolor Blue by Andersen Windows.

Porch floor: AZEK Porch Harvest Collection in Slate Gray.

Roof: Timberline Ultra HD in Charcoal by GAF.

Rocking Chairs Set: Belham Living (on sale!).

Side Table: Belham Living.

Pillows: Large Pillow, Lumbar Pillow.

Planters: DMC Products.

Porch Swing

This home couldn’t be any better! It even features a porch swing!

Porch Swing with Cushion: Belham Living.

Swing Pillows: Large Pillow, Lumbar Pillow – similar.

Planter with Trellis: Belham Living.

Porch ceiling: Preservative Treated Primed Pine by Lifespan Select.

Outdoor Rugs: Safavieh.

Entryway

The front door opens to a beautiful foyer with built-in bench with storage and a staircase with Chippendale railing. The wall paint color is Swirling Smoke by Olympic Paint.

Hardwood Floors: White oak rift and quartersawn stained in Ebony and Country White by Duraseal, and topped with Bona Woodline Polyurethane in Satin – similar here & here.

Bench Cushion: Custom Cushion in Moriyama Lake fabric by Thomas O’Brien Textiles.

Pillows: Palm Lumbar Pillow, Navy Blue Pillow (similar) & Light Blue & White Pillow (other option).

Chippendale Railing, Built-In Bench: Sweenor Builders Cabinetry Division.

Lighting: Zelda Pendant Chandelier.

Built-in Bench Pulls: Emtek.

Door Hardware: Emtek.

Great Room

A vaulted ceiling with white-painted V-groove boards distinguishes the living area. French doors open to the screened porch.

Windows: E-Series Three-over-One from the Andersen Architectural Collection.

Doors: Thermal French Door Style 7152 by Simpson Door.

Fireplace: Town & Country TC36 Arch.

Art above Fireplace: Coral Fan Cyanotype Canvas by Oliver Gail.

Sofa: Belham Living – Other Sofas: here, here, here, here & here.

Coffee Table: Belham Living – Others: here, here, here & here.

TV Stand: Belham Living (on sale!).

Chandelier: Quoizel 12-Light Chandelier.

Rug: Safavieh in Navy/Ivory.

Accent Chair: Belham Living.

Blues

A blue and white color scheme brings a coastal feel to this shingle home.

Accent Chairs: Belham Living.

Table Lamp: Pacific Coast Lighting.

Accent Table: here.

Navy Blue Kitchen

The navy blue kitchen features maple cabinetry, custom hood in stainless steel and brass straps.

Kitchen Cabinetry: Breman Door Maple Cabinets in Maritime (perimeter) and Coconut (island) by Diamond Cabinets.

Range Hood: Custom by The Tin Shop – Other Beautiful Kitchen Hoods: here & here.

Kitchen Appliances: Bosch Microwave Combination Oven, 7-bottle Mirrored Wine Cooler by Vinotemp, Bosch 36” French Door Refrigerator, Bosch Bar-Handle Dishwasher and GE Profile Series Built-In Touch Control Induction Cooktop.

Kitchen Lighting: Hudson Valley Lambert Chain Pendant With 12″ Globe – Similar here.

Counterstools: Belham Living (amazing sale!).

Countertop

Perimeter Countertops: Organic White 4600 Quartz by Caesarstone.

Faucet: American Standart in Stainless Steel.

Kitchen Sink: American Standart.

Island Countertop

The kitchen island countertop is Gray Skies Ash from the Driftwood Collection by Raging River Counterworks.

Backsplash

Similar Cabinet Paint Color: “Benjamin Moore Hale Navy”.

Kitchen Backsplash: Cool Elegance Glass Brick Mosaic Tile by The Tile Shop – Similar: here & here.

Hardware: Emtek Freestone Pulls and Finger Pulls in Satin Brass.

Prep-sink: American Standart.

Faucet: American Standard.

Tiered Cake Stands: here.

Dining Area

A coffered ceiling with V-groove insets marks the dining area. Wall paint color is Swirling Smoke by Olympic Paint.

Beautiful Dining Room Chandeliers: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Artwork: Coastal Clouds by Sheila Finch for Art Effects.

Bufett: Belham Living Kennedy Buffet (amazing price!).

Dining Table: Hooker Furniture – (also available here).

Dining Chairs: Hooker Furniture – (also available here).

Dinneware: Navy Blue & Turquoise.

Napkins: E by Design.

Glasses: Artland Inc..

Pitcher: Global Amici.

Rug: Loloi Rugs.

Lanterns: here.

Trim Paint Color

The dining room and Great room are separated by a custom cabinet-and-column divider built by Sweenor Builders Cabinetry and it creates a definition between the spaces. The trim paint color is Delicate White by Olympic Paint.

Cabinet Hardware: Grayson Crystal Knobs by Emtek.

Home Office

Located just across from the foyer, behind sliding barn doors, you will find a study with custom bookcases with X-detailing on the doors.

Barn Doors: Primed Double Z-Brace Barn Door Style 49852, stained in Varathane Carbon Gray, by Simpson Door Company – similar here & here.

Rug: Pierpont Blue/Green Abstract Indoor/Outdoor Rug.

Lime Paint Color

Back wall of built-ins are painted in Lime Green by Olympic Paint.

Window Treatments: Flat Roman Shade – similar here.

Cabinet Pulls: Alexander Cabinet Pulls by Emtek.

Powder Bath

The powder room’s countertop is a 3-inch-thick agate and quartz. Walls are covered in a paintable wallpaper in Night Rendezvous by Olympic Paint.

Countertop: Nebbia 8311 Quartz in 3-inch Profile by Caesarstone.

Sconces: Hudson Valley – Others on Sale: here, here & here.

Wallpaper: Graham & Brown.

Faucet: American Standard.

Sink: American Standard.

Mirror: All Modern.

Knobs: Emtek.

Mudroom/ Laundry Room

This pet-friendly laundry/mudroom comes with a very practical dog-washing station. The area also doubles as a utility sink for sandy sneakers and swimsuits. Cubbies are painted in Black Flame by Olympic Paint. Also notice that the washer and dryer are elevated on back-saving pedestals.

Countertop: Raw Concrete 4004 Quartz by Caesarstone.

Cabinet Hardware: Emtek Pulls & Bin Pulls.

Pet Sink Shower: American Standard hand shower with Valve.

Doormat: Terrain.

Mudroom Flooring

Floor Tile: Slate in Brazil Black.

Dog-Washing Station floor: Botany Bay Stone Pebble Mosaic. Dog-Washing Station walls: Rondine/Sadon Living Series – similar here.

Lighting: Barn Light Electric – similar here.

Stair Risers

Now, here’s a new idea!!! The staircase risers feature patterned strips of wallpaper, mimicking the look of tile. Also notice the custom built-in bench at the top. Fabric is from Serena & Lily.

Wallpaper: Serena & Lily.

Blue Shiplap

The beautiful staircase with Chippendale railings lead to the second and third level of the house. The blue shiplap paint color is Everlasting by Olympic Paint and walls are in Aria by Olympic Paint.

Decor

This space sets the color scheme for the guest bedrooms located on this level of the house.

Mural: Ink Blot Watercolour Paint Mural – similar here, here & here.

French Doors: French Style Door 7152 by Simpson Door Company.

Desk Chair: Wayfair.

Desk: Wayfair.

Table Lamp: Langley Street.

Accent Chair: here, here & here – similar.

Rug: Three Posts (Other colors available).

Pink Bedroom

The Bohemian-chic bedding was the inspiration for this girl’s bedroom. Wall paint color is Aubergine by Olympic Paint.

The DIY headboard was constructed of reclaimed weathered wood – similar here & here.

Bedding: Emmanuel Feathered Arrows Duvet Set.

Lighting: Quoizel. Other Beautiful Bedroom Lighting:here, here, here & here.

Pillows: Lumbar Pillow (on chair), Bed Accent Pillow, Arrow Sham Pillows.

Feather Stencil: Discontinued – similar here & here.

Accent Chair: Schiavone Slipper Chair – similar here.

Table Lamp: All Modern.

Rug: here.

Turquoise Bedroom

This bedroom features hues of seafoam and teal. Wall paint color is Hallowed Hush by Olympic Paint.

Bedding: Iveta Abolina Duvet Cover Set.

Rug: Bungalow Rose – Others: here, here, here & here.

Bookcase: Mercury Row.

Bench: All Modern.

Bunk Room

“The Bunk Room earned the selection panel’s praise because it celebrates one of the most important features for any beach house — having plenty of space to comfortably host family and friends! Reflecting the home’s proximity to the coast, the Bunk Room evokes a stylish nautical theme, complete with custom beds reminiscent of the berths on a boat. Built-in shelves add charm and create privacy between bunks, provide charging stations, and offer guests places to store personal items.”

The built-in bunk beds features a shipshape style with mahogany ceilings, white shiplap side walls, and nautical bed linens and accents.

Paint Color: Built-ins are in Delicate White by Olympic Paint and the blue floor is in Gloss Porch Paint in custom color by Olympic Paint.

Window Treatment: Custom Shade in Captiva Chambray by Serena & Lily.

Built-in Beds: Sweenor Builders Cabinetry Division.

Bedding: Serena & Lily (highly recommended).

Lighting: Visual Comfort Sconce in Polished Nickel.

Rug: Sawyer Rug by Serena & Lily.

Dip-Dyed Stools (by the window): Serena & Lily.

Floor Pillow: Serena & Lily.

Hardware: Emtek.

Bunk Room Bathroom

The bunkroom bathroom features a nautical motif and beadboard wainscoting. Wallpaper is Skylake Toile Wallpaper in Navy & White by Serena & Lily.

Nautical Sconces: Beacon Sconces in White by Serena & Lily.

Floor Tile: Smoky Blue Penny Tile.

Washstand: American Standard.

Faucet: American Standard.

Hand Towel: Serena & Lily.

Bath Towel: Serena & Lily.

Mirror: Serena & Lily.

Hamper: Serena & Lily.

Master Bedroom

Located on the main floor, the master bedroom features a lavender color palette, a vaulted ceiling with exposed wood beams and beautiful furnishing. Accent wall paint color is Smoky Grape by Olympic Paint and remaining walls are Silver Chalice by Olympic Paint.

Dresser: Discontinued – Others: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Mirror: Uttermost Sedona Mirror.

Pillows: Shams & Accent Pillows.

Bedding: Discounted – Others: here, here & here.

Ceiling Fan: Minka-Aire 52” Ceiling Fan.

Headboard: Magnussen.

Rug: Couristan.

Master Bathroom

The master bathroom features a floating double vanity, a heated marble tile and a large curb-less shower with a frameless shower door.

Vanity Countertop & Thresholds: Blizzard 2141 Quartz by Caesarstone.

Tile: Marble Mosaic wall tile and 3” Hex floor tile.

Wallpaper: Derwent by Osborne & Little.

Sconces: Hinkley Lighting.

Mirrors: Wayfair.

Screened-in Porch

A screened-in porch with fireplace extends the living space of this home.

Sofa & Chairs: Belham Living.

Coffee Table: GloDea.

Ceiling Fan: Minka-Aire.

Rug: Safavieh.

Patio

The backyard features a bi-level deck and patio with pavers featuring an outdoor firepit.

Deck: Azek.

Outdoor Shower

Every beach house should have an outdoor shower, right? This outdoor shower enclosure is made of weather-resistant cellular PVC.

Floor Plan: First Floor

“This 3,200-square-foot, coastal home features a flexible floor plan that enables all living to happen on one level. In addition to the open-plan living spaces down-stairs, there’s a master suite, laundry/mudroom, and powder room. A wraparound front porch, rear screened porch, and patio provide spaces for entertaining. Two more bedrooms, a bunk room, game room and two more baths accommodate multi-generations and guests.” – This Old House.

Floor Plan: 2nd Floor

  Many thanks to the builder for sharing the details!

Builder: Sweenor Builders, Inc. (Instagram – Facebook).

Client: This Old House.

Interior Design: Denise Enright.

Architect: Union Studio Architecture & Community Design.

Landscape: Matt Smith for Shalvey Bros. Landscape Inc.

Photography: 1st Image: Werner Straube Photography –  Other Images: Nat Rea Photography.

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Best Sales of the Month:

Thank you for shopping through Home Bunch. I would be happy to assist you if you have any questions or are looking for something in particular. Feel free to contact me and always make sure to check dimensions before ordering. Happy shopping!

  Wayfair: Up to 75% OFF July 4th Blowout!!!

  Serena & Lily: 20% OFF everything! Use code: GOCOASTAL

  Joss & Main: Up to 80% off July 4th Blowout!

  Pottery Barn: Up to 30% Off with Buy More Save More Sale.

  One Kings Lane :Buy More, Save More!

  West Elm: 20% off your entire purchase with code JULY4TH

  Anthropologie: Take an Extra 50% Off Sale!

  Urban Outfitters: Take an extra 40% off all sale items.

  Horchow: Up to 30% off the entire site!

  Neiman Marcus: Up to 75% off!!

  Saks Fifth Avenue: The Designer Sale: up to 75% off

  Nordstrom: Anniversary Sale!!!!

  Posts of the Week:

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Coastal Farmhouse Design.

Neutral Home Design Ideas.

Top 5 Timeless Coastal Design Trends.

Coastal-inspired Home Renovation.

Southern-inspired Modern Farmhouse.

Coastal Farmhouse Home Decor.

New Desert Home Design.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: British Columbia.

Reinvented Classic Kitchen Design.

New England Home.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: How to Build your own Home.

Interior Design Ideas: Home Renovation.

2019 New Year Home Tour.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Urban Farmhouse.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Fixer Upper.

Small Lot Modern Farmhouse.

“Before & After” California Home Renovation.

Beach House Interior Design Ideas.

Florida Beach House Interior Design.Tailored Interiors.

Modern Farmhouse with Front Porch.

Dark Cedar Shaker Exterior.

Classic Colonial Home Design.

Family-friendly Home Design. Grey Kitchen Paint Colors.

Follow me on Instagram: @HomeBunch

You can follow my pins here: Pinterest/HomeBunch

See more Inspiring Interior Design Ideas in my Archives.

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