#but everything in here is that ugly off white apartment color even the cabinets!!

[nyelaexe]

I so badly want to decorate my apartment with new light fixtures and wallpaper the cabinets and the counters but I rent and I can't wehhhhhh

[missinghan]

night changes (2) ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : rich kid!au

❖ word count : 21k.

❖ warning : explicit language & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : fate decides to backfire when you try to pull the son of the Senator in as a barrier between your life and Bang Chan.

❖ a/n : read pt.1 beforehand to understand the story better, I’m too tired to proofread this after the nth time, please don’t @ me.

one. The only reason why your mom persuaded Jeongin to move after when you moved in with your dad was college being practically thirty minutes away from the place. And also because of the rent. You feel bad for your brother mainly since the walls there are awfully thin and the girl next door always seems to have someone over every other night. They aren’t exactly trying to be subtle either. Sometimes you wonder how the fuck can he study for finals when the noise pollution can’t get any worse but he still manages to hit straight A-s.

On the other hand, you and Felix never have to worry about things such as students’ loans or college tuition. Every single penny was paid, as well as every other necessity in life. But you feel like nothing but a filler or a mannequin whenever you dad demands for intimate parties where you’re forced to sit still and look pretty when he’s too busy talking business with the other families. You’re just simply there, in his circle of status. Even when you’re all dressed up in designers’ clothes and whatnots, you still feel so out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Felix rolls his eyes dramatically when you pull up right in front of a rather ugly tree, scowling hard. “And you’re seriously taking your Rover today? Where did all of your standards go?” He glances sideways and sees a black Mercedes right in front of your car but shrugs it off shortly after.

“Hey! You take that back! She’s my baby! And also, it’s not gonna freak Jeongin out as much as your Tesla would,” you chuckle and punch his arm, earning a wholehearted laugh in return. Despite being born in a well off family, your stepbrother isn’t as much of an asshole as you’re expecting him to be. He’s pretty down to earth and acts like every other college kid that you’ve met with a questionable obsession with Fortnite. Except he loves to shove all the logos of luxurious brands into people’s faces who keep pissing him off, making him that much more intimidating.

“Wait here or stay there, pick your poison,” you tell him before grabbing your key and exit the car.

Felix mumbles something along the lines of ‘don’t be so rude’ and trails after you. He flutters his eyes upwards to take a closer look at the apartment complex before him. It’s quite small but seems very cozy. He wonders if it does feel less isolating and cold when there isn’t so much extra space around him all the time. “Hurry up, Lix! Jeongin gotta run to class in three hours.” With that, he hastily follows you up a narrow, rusty flight of stairs, the place reeks off the smell his dad always despises. He calls it ‘the subway smell’.

When your hand is hovering over the wooden door, it suddenly swings open, revealing an impossibly handsome guy. Chestnut brown hair, midnight orbs, tall nose, and peachy lips. He has you completely frozen for a good five seconds before you snap out of it, raising an eyebrow. Since when did Jeongin have hot guys as his roommates? And since when did your mom even allow him to have roommates? “Uhm sorry, you are..?”

The stranger smiles, perfectly showcasing his white. That’s your weak spot too. You’re a complete sucker for guys with cute smiles. “I’m Jaemin, and uh, my friend asked me to come over and help him with an upcoming exam.” You subconsciously stare at his outfits for a while, seeing no signs of any designers’ pieces. But his posture screams mad confidence, straight back, always maintaining eye contact, like he’s been raised in a wealthy family just like Felix. You can’t help but automatically judge people for what they wear, it’s been drilled into your mindset at some point and you hate yourself for that.

“Hello? Are you okay?” He waves his hand when you stay unresponsive. He partially thinks that you’re mentally judging him for acting like a weirdo.

You laugh nervously, completely oblivious of how Felix is facepalming himself behind your back. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m here to look for my brother.”

“Brother who?” Jaemin narrows his eyes at you skeptically.

“Yang Jeongin? Ring any bell?”

“What? Jeongin never told me he had a sis—“ his gasp is cut off midway when a hand flies to his mouth out of nowhere and pulls him backward. Your brother pokes his head out from behind Jaemin and smiles sheepishly. You can’t help but notice how different his smile is. Oh…where are his braces?

Jeongin says flatly, “Hey, sis, long time no see.” Then he scratches the nape of his neck, unsure of what to say. “Uhm, so what are you doing here?” It’s really been a while since you last saw him. Your dad can’t really do anything because your mom had full custody of raising him and he wanted to stay with her either way. He said he wouldn’t feel like he belongs if he dares to take a single footstep into his billion dollars mansion. Sometimes it feels like you’re just two strangers with the same blood coursing through your veins, family in name, but not in fact. But to be fair, you don’t even have the same last name as him.

“Where’s mom?” You avoid his question before stepping into the studio apartment completely. The last time you were here was when you’re still a freshman in college, you believe. And now all you can do is stand there in awe.

There was nothing but cardboard boxes scattered everywhere, dirty dishes piling up day by day, chipping wallpapers and a crusty old couch that the previous owner left behind as a result of your heartbroken mom. It used to make you grimace but holy shit, mom really did pull herself together. The place is freshly renovated, the smell of new paint is still evident, a teal couch, wooden cabinets, clean kitchen, bathroom on the left along with a brand new TV. Although it’s not the newest model of any sort, you can see how far your mom has come. She worked hard for your brother, and it’s definitely paying off.

Jeongin whispers something into Jaemin’s ears and pushes him out the front door, leaving a very shocked-looking Felix as a witness. “She’s at work,” he states the obvious monotonously.

“Oh,” you chuckle to yourself and let your fingers dance along the kitchen aisle. “Silly me. Anyway, when did you have your braces off? Last week?”

“It’s been a lot longer than that, Y/N. The last time you saw me was Woojin’s wedding.” He massages the side of his temple, sighing heavily. And your heart sinks, a pang of guilt always seems to be inevitable whenever you come over to visit him. Even when it’s only once or twice a year, you could never move on with life without knowing how he’s doing. You tried. “What are you doing here?”

You cut to the chase, “Dad wants you to come and join his party at the hotel this weekend. Nothing major, just another event as an excuse for him to make more money. And also he said he wanted to see you.”

“As if he needs any more money,” your brother sneers. “And he wanted to see me? Don’t be ridiculous. The old man probably wants me there to humiliate the shit out of me so that I’ll stay away from him and his precious jewels.” You perk a brow at what he’s referring you and Felix to, “I’m not gonna be there and smile through the whole thing. I don’t even own a tuxedo for fuck’s sake! Those people aren’t just rich, they’re crazy rich. They’re snoshy, and loud, and act all elegant with thousands of dollars draped over their bodies—“

Felix makes a face, “Snoshy?”

“Posh and snobby.”

“Are you coming for my accent?”

“I dare not.”

He laughs and swings an arm around Jeongin’s shoulders. “Good move, kid. Now get in the car, loser, we’re going shopping.”

The younger boy scrunches his nose in disgust, shoving your stepbrother away. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t make me put you in timeout.”

two. Jeongin feels like he’s sitting on a pile of burning coal instead of the espresso-colored velvet couch in the middle of a Tom Ford store. Soft white light slipping through the ceiling, walls embedded with mirrors all around and closets that are probably made with the finest kinds of wood. Even the fake pot of flowers on the glass coffee table in front of him looks more expensive than everything he owns combined. While he’s receiving dirty looks from some of the staff, Felix on the other hand, is too busy skimming through the watches and ties displayed inside the see-through cabinets.

Being humiliated just because he doesn’t dress like ‘your people’ makes him wanna bust through the door and stay at home for three consecutive days. People already disrespected him in a clothing store, what will happen if he attends that stupid intimate party? He’s not gonna fit into the social circle just because he’s wearing some designers’ pieces because that’s not who he is.

“Wrap those up for me,” you voice, face stoic of any emotions.

A staff at the checkout nervously laces her fingers together, a bead of sweat unknowingly rolls down on her temple. “Miss Lee! Having you buy our newest collection is more than we can ever afford, I’ll make sure to contact our superior to let you—“

“To let me fire you?” You cut her off, voice soft and stern at the same time. “Oh please, don’t bother,” the staff almost jumps back when you place one of your hands on hers, your rings cold against her burning skin as shivers run down her spine. “Minho will take good care of you, I guarantee.”

Jeongin groans in pure frustration when you wave at him, smiling in your luxurious glory when he’s sitting inside a high-end store like an absolute idiot. “Tom Ford? What is wrong with you people?” Felix glares at him and he immediately puts his hands up in defense. “Right, sorry. But would you mind and just strangle me right here right now so that I won’t make a grave mistake by putting that on? Can’t I just wear the tux that I had on Woojin’s wedding?” You bringing Felix along had already suffocated him enough when he literally lives and breathes in Gucci. Jeongin is not a fan of the tiger on his bomber jacket either.

“Eh..it’s a little dated, wouldn’t hurt to buy a new one. And did you really think that your sister’s gonna let you pay by yourself? How innocent,” Felix puts an arm over his shoulders when he refers to the brand new suit jacket, dress shirt and slacks on the marble counter. All that for more than ten thousand dollars, so… he’s gonna need more than ten years to pay you back. “Also, did you know that your sister is scary when someone pisses her off?” He whispers under his breath, slightly scared that you’re gonna catch his words.

“You’re wasting my time,” you hand your credit card over to the other staff, in which he receives with shaking hands. “Get yourself clean up and pack your bags, I’m sure a professional like you would have no problem landing another job like this.”

Jeongin almost gawks at how you’re giving ten thousand dollars away like you’re simply buying a burger at McDonald’s. He even feels bad for the staff who’s on the verge of breaking down, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. She did treat him like he was trying to rob the place but having her fired is far too harsh. Now he knows why he should never be on your bad side. “I think I do now.” He swallows thickly with two hands on his knees, the muscles on his back tense.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, we—“

You smile coldly, “That’s enough, I believe you all can reconsider your own behaviors towards customers. All of your customers.”

“Yep,” Felix catches the jet black Tom Ford bag when you walk past the couch, seemingly busy talking on the phone with Minho. “Iced cold motherfucker.”

Then, an unfamiliar figure enters the store the moment you walk out the door. Felix and Jeongin also pass by her without a second look even when they both accidentally catch some parts of her conversation with the staff. Fuzzily. So he doesn’t bother to think too much about it. “Good afternoon, ma’am, how can we help you?”

“I’m here to pick up a tuxedo for my boyfriend,” the girl takes off her sunglasses and grins, a smile that can take the breath right out of anyone.

The staff returns her smile and taps away on the iPad while the others are escorting the crying woman into the bathroom. “May we have the name please?”

Felix tosses the bag into the car trunk as soon as you start the engine, hurrying to the backseats after. Jeongin has his arms crossed in front of his chest in the passenger’s seat, no words can describe how frustrated, and mad, and partially relieved he feels right now all at once. All will be revealed in the next episode of how his sister fucks up every relationship he’s ever made, stay tuned folks!

“I was having a migraine just by seeing you handing out one of your five other credit cards. And firing her too? Aren’t you being too harsh? Couldn’t you spare her any sense of kindness at least?”

You laugh monotonously, “There are way worse things that could have happened to her. Trust me, you don’t wanna know what ‘my people’ can do.” This isn’t the first time you’ve seen some self excessively conceited staff who judges people by their social background. And now they had the audacity to insult your brother? Being fired is the only sense of kindness that you can give them for today.

“Great, now I’m gonna have to pay the old man back.”

You carefully take a turn and almost snort at your brother’s pointless concern. “That was my money, in my own defense. I don’t live off dad’s pennies anymore.” Even if it was your dad’s money, he would never make his biological son pay for what he can’t even afford. That’s like…asking a vegetarian why they want to bring down the mood of a BBQ party.

Jeongin replies flatly, looking out the window in boredom. “Huh, funny. Last time I checked, you said you were working at his hotel. Who’s the big boss there? Where does all the money come from? Him. Same thing.”

“Are you familiar with the triggers of migraines?” Felix abruptly places a hand on Jeongin’s shoulders, almost giving him a heart attack.

Jeongin doesn’t know much about migraines but he does know that your stepbrother is high-key a weirdo who just happens to be born with a butt load of money. “Uh…no?” If he happens to live in the same home with this idiot, he’s gonna go insane in a minimum of twenty-four hours. No doubt.

Felix excitedly laces his hand together and you mentally facepalm yourself. You’re so over his discussion about stuff like this because you know damn well he’s just trying to take it out on people after being stuck in med school for two years. He’s convinced that he’s gonna kill people instead of curing them so his mom gave him the consent to drop out to prolong the family’s legacy. “Here are some of them so that you know what not to do; from most likely to least likely: emotional stress, hormone, not eating, the fucking weather, sleep disturbances, certain odors, neck pain, alcohol, bright lights, smoke, certain foods, exercise, sexual activities, etc.”

“Sexual activities? Like a hangover after getting laid?” Jeongin asks.

“No, like just sex itself but it’s not supposed to happen that often so don’t worry too much about that.”

You automatically grit, feeling the need to bleach your ears after this. “Do not encourage him.”

“Hey! This is for educational purposes! Besides, it’s not like he’s still a little boy or whatever, he’s an adult now. #LifeCoachingWithLeeYongbok.” Felix takes no time to defend himself. “Now, I wish I could lecture you about the hypothalamus and give you a long-winded explanation of the science behind it, but Imma spare you for today.” Even if it were possible for you to sew his lips together, there’s no doubt that those unnecessarily inappropriate words would still find their ways to crawl out of his mouth and potentially mess up your little brother’s entire existence.

You let out a humorless chuckle, one that yells ‘hey, stop before you fucked it up for the rest of us’. “I’d hate to poke your enormous ego, but whoever attends your classes is gonna have their life crumbling right in front of their eyes.”

Felix simpers at your attempt of a clapback. “Actually no, people who attend my classes drastically turn their life around because they know what not to do. If you think about it, all of my advice to you has been great. I just don’t practice what I preach,” he tuts in that deepass voice of his, not noticing how Jeongin’s face is morphing into a very disgusted expression. “Just one more shot, I’ll be fine. I can quit whenever I want. I’m not addicted,” he mocks one of his friends who can’t stop drinking for their own good. “No, you won’t you lying bitch. An example of someone who followed that sentiment is right in front of you.”

He fairly believes that he can become the youngest professor to be teaching at a college or university with a Ph.D. in the ‘Getting your shit together’ Department.

But in your eyes, these are just some of the side effects that he got from hanging out with Minho so much. Being bitchy and all. If anything, Minho should be the one who takes his spot and becomes the youngest staff for big places like Harvard or Oxford. And you’d love to continue this nonsense of an argument but you’re already pissed off by that staff previously so you should just let him win or your dad’s gonna find you three ending up in the E.R.

“So this is what I get for setting you up with Chan,” Jeongin crosses his arms and you glance at him sideways, staying silent for the rest of the drive home.

three. Chan dreads the packing process after a long tremendously because not only does he have to trust his idiotic friends to not damage his luggage, he also has to help them pack since they are literal children. Changbin’s butler straight up shakes his head when Chan FaceTimed him, asking about how he usually helps him with preparation for a trip. He really hopes his family pays the man good money because dealing with Changbin’s impulsive, indecisive ass sounds extremely exhausting, and burdensome as well.

“Which one?” Changbin refers to a dozen of black tuxedos hanging inside the dressing room, and Chan feels like his brain’s about to retire.

He exclaims in frustration, “THEY’RE ALL BLACK FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

“No you uneducated moron,” Changbin purses his lips, “There’s carbon black, raisin black, olive black, super black, coal-black,..which one’s sexy enough for me to snatch myself a date at the party?”

“Seo Changbin!”

Chan’s been so sensitive these days, to the point that he decided to whack a mosquito with his MacBook the other day. He did miss the mosquito, but also, he almost killed Jisung who’s taking a nap right beside him in the studio. And apparently, Han Jisung holds grudges. Hence, there’s no way in hell is he gonna help Chan in the ‘Getting Seo Changbin aka the snobby brat the perfect tuxedo’ Operation. It would be way easier if Jisung was here.

Changbin interjects his trains of thoughts, “Silk or wool?”

“Uh- silk.”

“The Gabardine one or the smoking jacket?”

Chan makes a face, “Smoking jacket?” Whatever that means. He didn’t like the shoulder pads on the other one anyway.

“You heard him, Park, go get that ish and wrap it up! Go go go!” Changbin pauses for a second, “Wait, no, actually…just take them both.”

Call him delusional, but in the span of ten seconds, Chan fully believes he’s already entered (or has been pushed into) the Panamera 4 E-Hybrid that’s waiting outside of the mall. Jisung’s sitting in the passenger’s seat, honking the car repeatedly while the Seo family’s chauffeur is constantly throwing daggers at him with his eyes. Now he’s starting to question if bringing Jisung to the mall would be the wisest decision.

“What’s with the grumpy face, grandpa?” He chimes unhelpfully with a pout on his face. And now all Chan wants to do is to deck his perfect teeth and knock upside his head. “You really need to lighten up, old man, you’re going home!” He groans dramatically, arms crossed like a three-year-old.

“Yeah, going home,” Chan says with expressive hands. “To put on a goddamn show for my grandparents so that they won’t have a heart attack knowing that I can’t give two fucks about their promise with some random family in the same circle.” He’s on the verge of breaking down just thinking about going hand in hand in public with another woman that’s not you. It makes him sick to the stomach more knowing that he’s been hiding everything from you.

He’s such an asshole for doing this to you. Avoiding your calls and texts every other day becomes almost all too unbearable for his shoulders. Instead, he’s been trying to leave you voicemails every other week but it seems like you’ve already despised him. The night of Woojin’s wedding comes crashing down on him as he takes a stroll down memory lane. He might as well be cursed because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to have you in his arms again. The saying: “out of sight, out of mind” works for some people as an excuse to forget someone but truth is, he still misses you, all the time, every second, every minute, every hour, every day.

“So you didn’t tell her?” Changbin perks a dark brow.

“Not yet…”

“You should though,”

Chan barks, “I know! She just won’t answer my voicemails,”

“Then call her you coward!” Changbin immediately barks back, fingers still tapping away on his phone, “Look, if Y/N was your date in the first place, you would be crazy giddy and all right now, and not the nervous kind of giddy, but like the exciting kind of giddy. You are so loopy in love with her it makes me wanna feed my eyeballs to my dad’s German Shepherd whenever you’re FaceTiming her,”

Chan’s been clenching his jaw for God knows how long, and now it’s starting to ache. “Don’t say that, she probably hates me. Like you said, I’m a coward. I don’t deserve her and she doesn’t deserve this. Falling for Y/N was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. All I’ve been doing is tearing us apart. Sometimes I wish I didn’t fall for her—“

“—listen up, you genius. If falling for Y/N is a sin then so be it. Because being in love with her is gonna be the best fucking mistake you’ve ever made in your twenty-three years of existing,” Changbin’s words start zeroing in on Chan, so when he opens his mouth to say something, it automatically snaps closed. “I’ve never seen your eyes do that thing where they sparkle whenever we mention her name or when you’re just simply giggling to yourself while texting her. And have you seen the way that she looks at you? She looks at you like you’re the only person to exist on this planet, like someone she’s ever truly loved more than herself.”

Chan drops his gaze from Changbin to his knees, his heart beating rapidly at the sound of your name. Goddamn, he really misses you. “It’s okay, Bin, even if she hates me. I can—“

Changbin interjects immediately, gripping onto his friend’s shoulders tightly and stares into his tired eyes. “Don’t fucking tell me that it’s okay because I saw you alone in the studio every night. You were crying like a baby!” Seo Changbin gives really good advice because pushing people to their limits, not crossing them, just dangling at the edge so that they can’t stop acting like a loser and get their shit together is what he does for a living. Without getting paid a single penny.

“It’s because I’m losing her! I did that to myself!” Chan shudders at his own words, shaking his head profusely to hold back his tears. The idea of losing you sounds so terrifyingly panic-stricken that he would rather lose anything else than not have you in his life, or just not having you at all in the first place. Chan was an idiot for kissing you that night but something deep down still tells him that “screw life, you said what you said and you did what you did, now go out there and get her back before she falls into someone else’s arms”.

Changbin corrects him, pinpointing his words. “You’re losing her, you didn’t lose her yet. You still have an opportunity to make it up to her.” He knows Chan long enough to know that his friend doesn’t easily wear his feelings on his sleeves, mainly because he’s the eldest in 3RACHA. If he falls, the group’s gonna fall with him. But today, seeing the pool of tears in his eyes, the raw emotions in his voice makes Changbin believe that he’s senselessly, wildly in love with you. He knows damn well that Chan would never let you slip away again.

“This is your chance, to prove to Y/N that you’re still the goofy, caring, dumbass Bang Chan that she has already fallen in love with, not only once, but twice.”

four. “Have you been hearing anything from Chan? He hasn’t called me for two months. Changbin and Jisung have been avoiding me like the plague too.” Woojin asks you with a questionable looking drink in his hand. Minho said he mixed the masterpiece with all of his blood, sweat, and tears. You don’t know how to take it, metaphorically, or literally because both options would make sense. You’re just fairly concerned for Woojin’s liver since he’s been attending too many parties, mainly for business but still, that doesn’t mean he’s not gonna stay away from alcohol.

So much for adulting.

“Not really,” you didn’t want to admit that Chan was ignoring your texts and calls before but it’s quite obvious now that he doesn’t want to talk to you. You didn’t think about it much at the beginning because everything must have been so hard for him in a foreign country where young talents are out there competing with each other like they’re in The Hunger Games. But daily conversations turned into weekly, and then monthly and then basically non-existent. No more ‘Good morning’, no more ‘How was your day?’, no more ‘I miss you’. None of that.

The kiss that day seems like it’s disintegrated into literal dust.

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ sounds like utter bullshit now and you’ve never felt so foolish for saying ‘I love you’ to someone you truly believe won’t take your heart and crush it. But Chan did just that. You spent lots of sleepless nights thinking, and bawling your eyes out. You felt so lost and tremendously hurt. You didn’t know what to do. But you soon figured that it’s okay, people aren’t supposed to know what to do in those kinds of situations. You just gotta figure it out by yourself. So wherever he may be, whatever he’s doing, you still hope that he’s happy. That’s all that matters.

Or maybe you’re just too tired to reach out to him again.

You reply with a lifeless smile, bracing yourself for the upcoming party that’s starting in less than an hour. “He hardly talks to me. He doesn’t even text me in full sentences anymore.” You shrug it off casually, ignoring the sound of your heart aching to focus on other stuff for the time being. “Maybe he’s just busy? You know how problematic the music industry is.”

“Being busy isn’t an excuse to ignore your loved ones, Y/N,” Woojin knits his brows together. “Mind you, I still come home to my wife at nine o’clock, every single day.”

You check the time and almost panic, but before you can form a proper sentence, someone’s already dragged you away from the scene, “Look after Jeongin for me! Got it?” You yell back at him only to receive a thumbs up with a grimace. Woojin is the CEO of a well-known IT firm, after all, no one’s gonna mess with Jeongin if he stays by his side. The last thing you want is your brother coming home sobbing his heart out just because some wonderbread doesn’t know when to keep their mouth shut.

“I’m like..” You trail off while tapping away on your phone. “—pretty much free tomorrow morning, right?”

Chaeyoung - your assistant frowns and stops you midway, smoothing out your baby hair. “Not quite, you can’t skip DBR at seven,” she asserts. “And the daily phone call with your dad- I mean, the CEO at half-past six as well.” It’s obvious that everyone wants a coffee in the morning and since it’s a common time to gather, it seems like DBR (or Daily Business Review) is a good idea to just have a meeting before the day starts. The rules are simple. The meeting can not last more than half an hour and to make sure, you all stand up. You talk about the night before, VIPs coming in, the forecast for the coming day and any common issues to the group. Then you all dismiss and go to work. This way, everyone is on the same page 24/7.

“Oh, and a meeting at three too, and also the Kims Are coming in fifteen minutes.” She checks her watch subconsciously and it reads [7:30p.m.]

“Right, right,” you close your eyes for a moment and let the information sink in, slightly taken aback by yourself that you forgot Jennie’s coming back from New Zealand. The party won’t start until eight, you can still spare fifteen minutes and chat with your friend before being pulled away into utterly unnecessary conversations. “I can’t believe I almost forgot Jen’s visiting us…” You murmur under your breath, “God, Chaeng, what would I do without you?”

Chaeyoung pushes your shoulder playfully, “You’d die, obviously.” She’s not necessarily wrong because if it weren’t for her to manage your shitty schedule, your life would become a fucking merry-go-round which makes you all nauseous and dizzy. As if you’re not being tossed around and fucked up enough.

“Hypothetically speaking, I can just hire another assistant and move on with my life,” you smile cheekily.

She follows you towards the front desk, where Lisa is too busy texting someone cute to focus on her main task: greeting people that she despises with her entire existence. “Well, hypothetically speaking, no one can replace me and you would never have the heart to do that anyway.” Again, you hate it when she’s right. And she’s always right. Because she’s Park Chaeyoung.

You put your phone away finally and ask her about your beige suit with matching high-waisted slacks. “How do I look?” Also, you’re never wearing heels again because you’ve learned not to torment your precious feet when you’re gonna be out and about, being dragged around like a rag doll. Woojin’s wedding taught you that.

Chaeyoung gives you the warmest smile, “Like a boss bitch,”

“You have to come with us to Bora Bora this summer! We just opened a summer resort there with a beach and spa services, it’s absolutely delightful! Very fitting for de-stressing, dare I say.”

“How convenient! Do you see these wrinkles? We were all exhausted after the flight from New York. And I’m stressing over how it’s impossible for my son to improve his English. How in the world is he gonna travel the world for business trips now?”

“Ew,” you automatically scrunch your nose at your stepmom’s conversation with the Senator’s wife. “If we’re gonna act like that when we’re their age, I’d rather jump off a cliff.” And Chaeyoung clears her throat awkwardly when she sees your mom waving you over, giving you a pat on your back. There goes your fifteen minutes of freedom.

You quickly fix the lapels of your blazer and muster a sickly sweet smile, just for the Senator’s wife. “Yes, mom?” Or in this case, ‘stepmom’ but you wouldn’t want it to be awkward for the both of them. She does treat you with nothing but kindness and generosity although you’re not her actual daughter.

“Honey,” you almost snort at the nickname. Honey is practically a bee’s vomit. So you don’t really see the point in calling people bee’s barf. Ain’t cool. “You must know that this is the Senator’s wife, she suggested that you and their son can perhaps—“

You cut her off sharply. “No,”

“Y/N, don’t be so rude,” she laughs nervously as the Senator’s wife wears an unreadable look on her face. As if she’s interested in your particular kind of demeanor like you’re a completely different species. She doesn’t seem to be mad or offended at all. “I’m sorry, you see, this girl can play hard to get from time to time…and—“

You elect to ignore every word that comes out of her mouth from this very moment. Not again with this bullshit. An arranged marriage is basically a living embodiment of your biggest nightmare. You can’t imagine being tied down to a person that you barely know just because of their social status or for the sake of mutual benefits. Not to mention, every guy in the circle is all the same anyway. Disrespectful, egotistical, and only show mild interest if the person they’re marrying at least has something to offer that’s related to cold, hard cash in the long run.

It feels like the world just stops spinning when you flutter your eyes upwards and make direct eye contact with him. He enters the front entrance in a full-on black tuxedo, black silk shirt tucked neatly into his pants, chestnut hair rather well-styled, and black dress shoes. The outfit looks like it was made for him, personally tailored to every detail of his body. You almost scowl and look away until you recognize that smile, those midnight orbs.

To your dismay, the Senator’s wife exclaims, “My goodness! I told him not to wear that specific shirt!” before excusing herself from the conversation.

“Uhm is that…”

“Oh yes! That’s their son, Jaemin. Felix used to go to the same kindergarten as him, I believe,” your stepmom explains calmly, watching how you’re slowly becoming interested in the Senator’s only son. So that explains the black Mercedes in front of Jeongin’s apartment. “He got sent to a private school in the UK after graduating from middle school but somehow, I don’t know how he still can’t speak fluently English. Maybe you can help—“

You quickly realize how fast the situation’s escalating and you must say, you’re not letting that happen. “Sorry mom, Jen’s here! I gotta go!” Learning to let Chan go is one thing, but getting yourself into an arranged marriage with another guy who cares about nothing but money is an absolutely torturous idea.

People change, they all do eventually. But sometimes they don’t. Certain things can never fluctuate despite the circumstances. For instance, Kim Jennie still pulls you into a bone-crushing hug like she always does the moment she spots you in the crowd. Her gummy smile didn’t change, her gestures, the way she walks with pride didn’t change and you highly doubt that she no longer sneaks cute boys into the house when her parents are conveniently abroad. But she definitely looks more mature the last time that you guys met in Paris.

“Wow, Jen,” you utter. “You look…good,” Tonight she’s wearing a white dress from Chanel, diamond earrings and bold red lipstick. And don’t even get you started on her ring, you’re pretty sure that it was a present from the brand themselves. She is the ambassador, after all, they would be more than happy to spoil her with their newest collections.

Jennie takes a look at your outfit, twirling you around before breaking into a fit of giggles. “Good? I look good? You look gorgeous! Look at you! Well, actually you look just fine in your PJs as well. Heck, you can even breathe in this thing, I can’t relate,” she beams and keeps on admiring you as if you’re her own life-sized Barbie doll. Baggy clothes can look good, she knows that now.

Jennie clings onto one of your arms and receives a glass of champagne from a waiter, smiling at him softly. “So, how are you enjoying the party, manager Lee?”

You threaten to spill alcohol on her fifteen thousand dollars dress but only proceed to roll your eyes because you value her money too much for the sake of being petty. “It’s kinda meh,” you make a face. “But you know, let’s just get it over with. And to be honest..I’m kind of sick of socializing with people that I don’t even like.”

“Oh really?” Jennie raises a brow curiously when she sees a certain someone in the midst of the chaotic party. “Someone seems to be interested in you though, that cutie over there…” She then motions towards the general direction of Na Jaemin, the person who you’ve been trying to avoid all night. “I think he fancies you. Been eyeing you up and down for the past ten minutes,”

Right, you also forgot that Jennie didn’t know about you and Chan.

“Actually—“

“My God! Did you see that? The Bangs are here!” She gasps and tries to tiptoe in order to get a closer look, allowing her heels to dig into her feet even more. You won’t blame her, the Bangs are basically the biggest developers in Korea. Real estate, investment, tons of things, tons of boring paperwork but you do respect them for what they do. “I heard their eldest son’s dating some up and coming artist, her exhibitions were quite successful, all big hits since last year. It’s mind-blowing!”

You pull your friend back in time when people are shoving each other before her white dress can be contaminated with the bubbly champagne. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to patch your lips together?”

“Damn, he looks fine,” your friend murmurs and has you roll your eyes for one too many times tonight already. “I’m not messing with you, look!” She grabs either side of your face and turns it sideways, towards the front entrance.

You feel like someone just kicked you to the curb and stepped on you, knocking the breath right out of your chest. It’s Chan, it’s really Chan. Navy tuxedo, brown hair styled neatly, he looks even more beautiful than the last time you’ve seen his face. Beside him, hand in hand is another girl. She has the most delicate features and probably the most angelic smile in this world. She’s looking at him all lovingly, the same look you gave him approximately a year ago when you thought that the kiss did mean something to him. Apparently, it didn’t. Now you feel like a paper bag being thrown away, forgotten in the corner, drifting through life like a haze.

Your heart is stuck in your throat, slowly crumbling into dust when you see how he smiles at her, the dimpled smile that you treasured with your entire heart. They look like they are meant to be. And yes, you wanted to see him again but not like this. It’s like karma’s trying to tell you that this is what you get for falling in love with Chan faster than a tick of a clock, for foolishly holding onto false hope. And your butt load of money doesn’t matter anymore because your everything is already being held in someone else’s arms.

Now you’re the one who’s left with a broken heart.

five. In the dead of the night, you no longer feel the sounds of your heart shattering into pieces. Chan’s just making it easier for you to forget him.

“Y/N?” You stay unresponsive at his voice calling out to you. Every cell, every muscle, every neuro inside your body is yelling at you to turn around and throw your arms around his neck. The willpower that you’re mustering to not do that right is impossibly terrifying. But you’re not giving in again, not this time. You won’t be able to piece your heart back together after a second heartbreak. “It’s been quite a while huh? Are you—“

You turn around with glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill any second. Chan’s words get caught dead in his throat upon seeing you on the verge of breaking down. It hurts more knowing that he’s the one who made you cry. “You should have told me..” Your voice cracks and it breaks Chan’s heart into a million pieces at how broken you are. “You should have told me if you wanted to cut it off sooner..” You smile bitterly with tears rolling down on either side of your cheek. You no longer care about how pathetic you may sound or look, you just want to be completely transparent with him.

Another thing that you hate about yourself: how you just let yourself go exposed and vulnerable right in front of his eyes. “What happened to ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’? Does our kiss that night mean nothing to you? Was I setting the bar too high? Was I…getting in your way?” You ask him between quiet sobs, not bothering to put on a fake smile anymore. You’re too exhausted for that anyway. “You didn’t even tell me..that you’re part of the Bangs family, like the Bangs family. What else are you hiding from me, Chan?”

Chan grabs you by the shoulders to hold you back firmly, eyes boarding into yours fiercely. His touch once made your heart weak, now you feel nothing but disgust when his fingertips graze past your clothed skin. “Y/N, listen to me. You don’t understand— she’s not—“

“Y/N!”

Chan snaps his head towards the owner of the voice and grimaces when he sees Jaemin waving at you from the other side of the room. You gotta be shitting me. Chan then looks over at you in disbelief, eyes almost popping out of their respective sockets. Out of all people, you’re dating Na Jaemin? The Senator’s son? Without letting him know? And you’re accusing him of hiding things from you when you’re also with someone new already? “You know,” you wipe your tears away and look him dead in the eye. “I’ve always thought that all the guys in my dad’s social circle were a bunch of ignorant jerks, but it turns out you’re the asshole.”

With that, you briskly walk away with your phone clutched in your hands, knuckles turning white as you bite down your tears. Chan’s gaze trails after your figure until you’re completely gone, falling into another man’s arms like it’s your safe place. Jaemin caresses your cheekbone and smiles at you. You return it too, bitterly. It was supposed to be Chan who makes you feel like the happiest woman in this world, not the one who takes your heart and crushes it into pieces. His heart breaks, again, and again, and again, and again until he no longer feels its presence beating inside his rib cage. There’s something else more than just distance between the both of you now, something that was never there in the first place. Little did you know, you’re not the only one with a broken heart after all.

“Jaemin right?” You sniffle when he lures you away from the party, away from the chaos, away from Chan. “Thank you, I can manage myself now.”

Jaemin shakes his head and speaks to you softly. “Nonsense. I’m staying here with you. The party sucks, but don’t take it personally.”

You chuckle with teary eyes, but you’ve determined not to cry again tonight, especially not in front of the Senator’s son. “Does my brother know that his tutor is the son of the Senator?” Jaemin shakes his head again, the warm smile never once leaves his lips. He gently wipes a single tear that unknowingly rolls down on your cheek and heat flares through your nostrils, a shade of coral scattered across your face. This is why you never cry in front of a stranger.

“There, there you crybaby,” he comforts you with a hand on your shoulder, the other pulling out a handkerchief to dab your tears away. “Who knows the manager of the Carpe Diem Hotel is such a softie. I heard from the staff that you’re fucking scary when someone gets on your bad side.”

“Then don’t get on my bad side,” you roll your eyes in annoyance. “But God, I really can’t blame them. Our people are so posh, and snobby—“

“We’re basically snoshy,” he finishes your sentence and laughs. “Your brother tells me that all the time, if only he knew about my family. He’s most likely gonna murder me in my sleep.”

You roll your eyes, pushing his hand away slightly. “This is why we’ll never get a happy ending of our own. What’s the point of owning all the dollar bills when we’re just sad motherfuckers? And people wonder why we all prefer one night stands. I fucking beg to differ. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed him that night. Maybe I was nothing but an instant filler for his non-existent love life. ‘Do you still want my phone number?’ He didn’t even bother texting me anymore! Bullshit!”

Jaemin doesn’t know you very well but by the looks of it, you’re definitely not the type to lash out on someone very often. You must have been furious with that Chan guy because whatever he’s done to you, shit must have stung. Because you still look at him with those eyes. Eyes of those who are madly in love. He can’t change that.

“Y/N,” he pulls you into a hug and rubs little circles on your back as an attempt to soothe your aching heart. “Listen, it’s okay if he’s not the one. He might be the wrong person at the right time for all I know. And your soulmate is probably taking their sweet ass time because they are completely oblivious about your existence. But they will be there for you, they will, I promise. You know damn well how life likes to toss us around right? Love is patient, love is kind. And it will come one day.”

You snicker and hug him back, grateful for how he’s already consoling you although you’ve only met twice. Maybe he isn’t like the other boys in the same circle, maybe he’s different even when he dresses the same and looks the same. “Cliché sayings are cliché for a reason, Jaemin,” you laugh before pulling away, staring into his starry eyes.

“I know I know,” he squishes your cheeks together and chuckles. “But hey, sometimes they’re not wrong either. Tell you what though, I was so close to decking that guy in the face back there but I didn’t want to go all Alpha Apeshit and appeared as a douchebag then get blood on his goddamn Tom Ford. Just throwing that out there in case it does help you feel better.”

You can feel your tear-stained cheeks cool against the night breeze. The balcony seems to be the only place that you can seek calmness in, mainly because there’s no alcohol and no one to push you from one boring conversation to another with the same topics. Your people are basically repeating themselves over and over again about money and arranged marriages which you’re not very interested in so yes, you don’t see the purpose of throwing parties that only consist of the top 1%. You lean your back against the railings and watch the party from afar, letting the background chatters sink in. Soon this whole place will be within your grasp along with many others, but you’re afraid that you’ll be lost in your own empire.

“No offense,” you turn back to him and smile. “I didn’t think you’d be able to throw a punch at all.”

Jaemin makes a face, “I’m not like those wonderbreads over there,” then smirks devilishly. “But I’ll never be one’s knight in shining armor. Life just teaches me things that our people don’t. For example, living in a mansion won’t teach you how to throw or take a proper punch. Also, wear black because you’ll never know whose blood is gonna be on there.”

“So you’re saying that being sent to boarding school is the best thing that’s ever happened in your life?”

“Not quite,” he winks. “The best thing that’s ever happened in my life is to have the pleasure of meeting you.”

You shove his chest and laugh wholeheartedly, it feels nice to talk to someone like this. “Don’t flirt with me and find yourself another trophy out there, I’m too bitchy to fit in with those chicks.” You jerk your head towards the girls who are all dressed up in fancy dresses and heavy jewelry, finding amusement in how they’re all eyeing Jaemin up and down like he’s a prettier version of an ATM. “And also, what do you expect? You have the look, the money, know how to kick someone’s ass. That’s more than what a trophy wife needs.”

Jaemin scratches his neck sheepishly. “I don’t know how to take that but thank you, you look better than all of them honestly. I don’t know why women choose to suffocate themselves in a dress and torment their feet just to attract guys with thick wallets like me. I think I’ll need to settle down sooner or later and I’m not planning on doing that with a brat who only sees how many dollar signs I can afford on Yelp.” He sighs in pure frustration and a puff of cold air escapes his lips.

“Haha very funny, Na Jaemin is adulting like how the Senator’s son should be in his early 20s,” you joke. “And no, I’m not gonna make fun of you for that. You want me to pinpoint where we are right now? Adulthood.”

“No! I’m being serious!”

“Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

“Let me take you on a date and prove it.”

“You’re drunk,” you laugh nervously. But suddenly he inches in closer and your breath hitches in your throat. Nope. He’s dead-ass serious. “You’re being fucking serious, aren’t you?”

Jaemin brings your hand up and presses a small kiss on your knuckles, “See you around, manager Lee.” before sliding away with ease, leaving you blushing so furiously that you almost forgot your heart was broken that night.

six. While you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack because of a date, Kuma - Jennie’s Pomeranian is complaining to you with his eyes about his first world problems aka, Jennie leaving his favorite toy back in New Zealand. “Yes, yes, I get that it’s absolutely unforgivable of her to do that.” You acknowledge and nod absentmindedly, petting him gently. “If anything, I can do you a favor and douse one of her favorite dresses in pickle juice.”

“But also what?” You tilt your head slightly, “She what?! She insulted your favorite tuna bites?! She’s a witch! Burn her!”

“I can’t stand the goddamn smell, that’s all.”Jennie glares at you while hauling her suitcases out of the closet. “You dramatic, bitchy, ungrateful ass.”

“Jen, it’s just a dinner date.”

Jennie dodges your eye roll and proceeds to rummage through one of her ten suitcases, throwing dresses and bodysuits all over the floor. She’s lucky the suite has plenty of extra space or you won’t be able to see the floor in the next fifteen minutes for all you know. Kim Jennie goes ham on picking out clothes for her favorite bitches because not only is she one of the most acclaimed actresses but she’s also a fashion icon, influencer, and Chanel’s one and only darling. Hence, knowing that you’re going on a date with the dress code: formal; she freaked out and dragged you all the way from your house to the hotel that she’s staying in.

You facepalm yourself onto the extra king-size bed and sighs into the soft blanket. Yeah, that’s how rich the Kims are. Not king-size, but extra king-size that can fit at least four people but still have extra leg space. You know where to have your girls’ night this weekend now because you’d rather not have Ryujin whip your ass for bringing friends over.

Your groan grows louder when you keep hearing Jennie repeats “I’m a genius, a fucking genius!” to herself over and over again until she stops. And that’s when you decide to push yourself off the bed carefully to not wrinkle your clothes. “Look at this baby!” She holds up a long, bedazzled gown with spaghetti straps. Gives you a very 70s vibe but you’re not mad at it, you think you might be able to pull it off. “Listen, if you don’t look good in this, I’ll call Chanel and drop it as a flop, got it?”

Wow, Chanel is hanging on the edge of flopping by a strand of hair just because of you. The pressure’s on.

Jennie shoves you into the ridiculous-sized bathroom with marble floor and all, she’s definitely not letting you wear one of your blazers today. “Knock knock,” she impatiently leans against the door after what seems like ten minutes. But all Jennie’s met with is dead silence, she’s starting to get worried now. “Y/N, you good?”

You barge out of the bathroom with a panicked expression, shrieking. “Kim Jennie what were you thinking?!” When she gives you a what-do-you-mean look, you mentally groan to yourself and are kind of ready to call the date off. You’re not going out looking like this. “It’s 64 degrees outside and you’re making me wear this?!” You do a full 360 turn to only to show her the awfully low cut on the back of the dress, and she immediately claps happily like a seal. God, what is wrong with your friend?

“Stunning! Absolutely stunning!” Jennie nods to herself like the evil mad mind genius that she is. “You’re pretty tolerant, so I think it’s not gonna be a problem.”

“Do I have a say in this?” You eye her in defeat when she helps you on a dainty necklace and a pair of silver earrings.

Jennie puts her hands on her hips and almost laughs, admiring you like a piece of art, a creation that she will forever keep in her heart. “What makes you think so?” And off to the date, you go.

Jaemin picks you up not long after, wearing a full-on white suit in his black Mercedes. It’s not hard to guess that it’s his favorite. Since the party from last week, both of you have been texting and FaceTiming non-stop, it almost feels like he’s making up for the lost time that Chan’s wasted. For the Senator’s son, he’s surprisingly approachable, very quirky but charming at the same time. Jaemin does give an effort to make you laugh every time he sends you the same memes over and over again. Hey, it’s not your fault his humor is impeccable.

But being one of the Elite, you can’t blame him for wanting to do it the old-fashioned way. Fancy restaurant, having waiters drape white napkins over your lap, cheesy classical music in the background and the typical candles to set the romantic atmosphere. The place is quite busy too, some ladies in their forties are wheezing in helpless laughter as a waitress secretly shoots them dirty looks while a group of businessmen is eating in silence, an old couple is feeding each other in the corner and a younger couple that you don’t really pay attention to since they’re too far away. Sometimes you wonder what that feels like, to have someone by your side forever.

Maybe forever is just not meant for you.

Forever might not be for you, but going on a date feels like a fresh breeze passing by after so much pain and agony. Jaemin always tries to make you feel as comfortable as possible but still manages to make you laugh until your stomach hurts and tears are evident in the corners of your eyes. He’s not one of those guys who’s not used to hearing the word ‘no’ and never pushes your boundaries. But the feeling’s not there, it’s just not there at all and you wish that it was. You can’t play along then end up breaking his heart later on. No one deserves going through that, not even the ones who lost your trust.

“Okay..” Jaemin peels his eyes away from his crème brûlée’s when you set your fork down. “Just to be clear, I don’t hate you but I would never date you.” And he immediately chokes on his big bite, coughing furiously into the white napkin. You’re very straight to the point, he appreciates that, but still, ouch.

“Tell me three valid reasons why I should stop going after your heart.”

“One, I don’t wanna break your heart. Two, I don’t want you to break mine. And three, I just threw it in the trash.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes rather dramatically, holding back a lighthearted chuckle. “So what? You got your heart broken by some bastard and now you’re gonna distance yourself from everything that’s related to ‘love’? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like this? Alone? In your giant mansion with your butt load of money?”

“Yes,” you nod without hesitation, trying to ignore the bitter feeling that’s rising in your throat. “And technically I can adopt as many puppies as I want to.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs and moves a bit to the side. “There’s your man, twelve o’clock.”

You feel like you would personally gouge your eyes out of the sockets the moment they land on Chan and his current girlfriend at the opposite table if you weren’t sane enough for a Michelin-rated restaurant. They’re both wearing black, laughing and talking with each other like they’re the only beings left in this world. You wonder if fate could be a bit more generous to you, just a little bit, then would you be there with Chan instead? You’ve told yourself one too many times not to dwell on the past but like always, you never learn. And you know that you’re dumb but you still don’t get why fate forces two people to meet each other knowing damn well that one of them is gonna leave the other behind.

But this time when you look more closely, his smile looks somewhat forced and the dark circles under his eyes have been darkened by time. He looks so tired and drained but still keeps up the smile for his date. A pang of guilt hits you hard when you realize that you should have listened to what he had to say at the party. He doesn’t look happy, that’s what ticks you off.

Chan subconsciously flickers his eyes upwards and meets yours, completely frozen in his spot like a statue. His smile falters, eyes going wide from surprise, utterly, undeniably speechless. It’s not easy to read what’s going on in his mind but you’re positive that he doesn’t seem to expect to see you in this kind of situation. He quickly averts his gaze back onto the other girl, laughing nervously so that she won’t turn around and accidentally see you. Your heart unknowingly sinks to the pit of your stomach.

“It shouldn’t be like this,” you never knew that you’ve been crying until Jaemin gently wipes your tears away with his handkerchief, his eyes softening at your sobbing form. “But it is what it is.”

seven. Chan quickly calls in a cab for his date after sliding his credit card across the counter. He grimaces slightly when she presses a goodbye kiss on his cheek, and then waves her off when she enters the taxi. After receiving his bill, Chan pushes himself through the busy waiters and waitresses, mumbling small “sorry” along the way until his feet lead him to the long flight of stairs.

And he sees you standing there with your back against him, fiddling with your fingers nervously. He knows you’ve never been good at hiding how awkward you are so it gives him a tiny bit of hope when he finds out he still has this kind of effect on you. But when he takes a few more steps forwards, his jaw almost drops to the floor when he can finally get a closer look at your dress.

Chan’s never seen you in a dress before, but he believes that you have the ability to pull off anything. He’s not wrong after all. The dress hugs your figure perfectly and in the most flattering way, leaving him in complete awe. But you’d never choose a dress, even when it’s a formal dinner. Goddamn, that kid is one lucky son of a bitch, he mentally curses.

You meet Chan once again on a balcony, but tonight you’re met with a sky without stars. It seems like they can’t even muster the courage to see where this conversation is gonna go.

“What’s her name?” You ask breathlessly, still not willing to make direct eye contact with him.

Chan inhales deeply, and exhales, “Her name is Eunji. Apparently, our families had an agreement that we’re gonna be engaged once we reached a certain age. I’m so sorry for shutting you out without a proper explanation, I really am. I’m such an asshole.”

You finally can look at him without getting all teary-eyed, your lips trembling. “It’s alright,” then you quickly look away to avoid any awkwardness. “You guys look good together, I’m happy for you both.” And when Chan doesn’t say anything, you decide to ask him softly. “But are you?”

He buries his face into the palms of his hands and sighs heavily. “I- I don’t know, I just don’t want to let them down. And I tried so hard to tell them that I already had someone else but I’m just scared that—“

“That they won’t accept me because you didn’t know that I do in fact, make cold, hard cash?” You stare deeply into the distance and laugh humorlessly. “After all those years, I had no idea, no fucking idea that you were Christopher Bang, like the Christopher Bang, the one who’s supposed to take over the family’s business, the most eligible bachelor in the country.”

Chan grabs you by the shoulders, catching you off guard when your noses are barely touching, his warm breath fanning your face. “Speak for yourself. You’ve never even told me that you were Felix’s stepsister. All those years of college, and I only know that you’re the manager of the Carpe Diem Hotel now. And why are you dating the Senator’s son again? Last time I checked, you’re still leaving me messages even when I went MIA or put the phone on silent all the time.”

“I can date whoever I want to,” you try to shove his arms away but his grip only gets tighter. “And no shit, you know I’m not into guys like that. We’re not dating, he offered me dinner after seeing me so miserable at the party.”

And you quickly assert with a fake smile. “But that’s not the point, is it? Let me guess, if I were not some daughter of the CEO of the biggest hotel chain in the country, then you would never tell your parents about me, would you? You’d rather marry Eunji so that your grandparents won’t potentially disown you instead.”

Chan shakes his head profusely because he could never, would never, can never, and will never trade you for anything else in this world. “No, you don’t understand- I- just- just give me some time and-“ He loves you too much to the point that his heart bleeds a bit whenever you catch his gaze from across the table and return to your conversation with Jaemin, giggling and laughing at his lame jokes like nothing’s ever happened. But his biggest problem here, is how can he convey his love to you once again when you’ve already despised him with every single cell inside your body?

You narrow your eyes at him, slightly amused by how he’s stuttering. “And?”

“Let me make it up to you,” he tells you after running a hand through his brown locks. “Come with my family on a cruise trip next month in Singapore. I’ll prove myself to you and do everything in my power to get your trust back. Even if things can never be the same again. I can’t lose you, I won’t let you go this time. Bring whoever as your plus-one, just not that kid…I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

“How are you so sure that you’re not gonna break my heart again?”

Chan says breathlessly and goosebumps automatically bubble up on your skin at his words, “I’m not. Because I know that no matter how many times I stupidly, or impulsively hurt you, you will always stay. And I’ll always be there to gather the broken pieces as if you’ve never felt the pain before.”

A long, muffled silence occurs between both of you. You quickly look away after a good ten seconds of making eye contact with Chan. He’s having that kind of effect on you like how he used to and you’re determined not to fall again. You’d hate to have your heart broken twice by the same person. “You do know that we wouldn’t have worked out anyway right?”

Chan doesn’t say anything, instead, he turns around and calls a ride for you. His eyes look stormy that night, impossible to read as if there are so many things on his mind at the same time to the point that his head becomes cloudy and nothing makes sense anymore. He doesn’t even wave you goodbye when you get inside the car but his gaze never leaves your figure until it’s completely gone in the distance.

You know that it’s something more than just love because your feelings for Chan are still there even when he’s not. You’re just far too busy being depressed inside your bedroom, under your fuzzy blanket to notice them. Now they’re back, again, for the third time, much, much stronger and more powerful. You don’t know whether this is hazing because falling for someone more than twice just sounds unhealthy for you, a person who lives off donuts for two weeks straight because you need the push of the sugar crush in order to avoid caffeine. Chan just stepped into your life like how he did about three hundred and sixty-five days ago and completely broke down the fort you were trying to build.

Call you an idiot, but is it bad to think that he’s not planning on leaving any time soon?

eight. You hate cruises for plenty of reasons, and one of them being, not surprisingly, a cruise is basically a hotel on water. The concept of a hotel floating on the water makes it a trillion times cooler and unnecessarily overrated. In your defense, having a massage or partying ‘til dawn while not knowing when you’re gonna drown to your imminent death is petrifying. Maybe you’re just bitter about the fact that people don’t appreciate normal hotels enough, because they really don’t.

Okay, if you have to choose one thing not to hate on a cruise, then it’s probably the mini theatre that Chan personally demanded for his chaotic group of friends. Hey, privileged people need some wholesome, chill times with friends too.

But the fact that almost everyone has already seen Stranger Things makes you feel more like a grandma than you already are. These are the times where you rarely choose to sit next to Jisung because you’re both on the same boat for once. Other times, you’re just bickering like the reincarnations of every movie where the main characters constantly want to put the other’s head on a chopping block but end up falling in love anyway; except, you will never fall in love with Jisung. That’s so creepy on so many levels.

Creepier than whatever the fuck of a demonic image that Hyunjin’s about to show you, being the pest that he is. “We have four votes for Stranger Things and four votes for Spider-Man: Far from home,” he announces in that irritating voice of his while hogging the whole bowl of popcorn to himself. “So what’s it gonna be, Han? Choose wisely, my friend,”

Jisung sips on his Coke and points his index finger at his roommate as if he’s accusing Hyunjin of murdering someone, “I’m with Y/N, because screw you,” he’s not entirely wrong because, without a doubt, Jisung’s soul is gonna detach itself from his body after the first episode. “And if Chan were here, he’d agree with me,”

“Nope,” Chan conveniently steps in when you’re about to do a fist bump with Jisung, taking the seat on your right despite plenty of other (about twenty-six) empty seats. “We’re watching Stranger Things, it’s been almost thirty minutes and all you guys have been doing is aiming at each other’s throat,” he whips out a small remote from his pocket and clicks the ‘play’ button without anyone’s consent. He has no right to do that! You don’t think you’ll ever forgive him after this.

Chill time isn’t so wholesome anymore.

So basically the whole plot is about a boy going missing, flipping a whole town from Indiana upside down. Everyone spends days and nights, desperately trying to find him until one day, a little girl with a shaved head comes into the story and makes the entirety of the movie that much weirder. And more horror-worthy when she’s being chased by ‘bad guys’. This is another reason why you hate Chan: he can’t be bothered about what he’s watching because he’s only here for good food. And probably your suffering. But mostly just good food.

Actually, it might be the other one because you can clearly see that stupid grin on his face when you pull your hood low enough to cover half of your eyes so that you won’t be potentially haunted at night by whatever’s ready to pop on screen. And Jisung’s already clinging onto one of your arms like his life depends on it, legs quivering in his boots. You really don’t wanna accidentally elbow him in the face when there’s an inevitable jump scare.

“Chan, you sadist, I hope you’re happy for doing this to me,” you sneer at him with gritted teeth, frustrated about the fact that you can’t singlehandedly feed him to the sharks.

Chan leans in slyly, lips dangerously close to your ear. “That’s for you ogling Tom Holland,”

Jisung automatically gasps scandalously, once again opening that useless mouth of his and decides to put you on trial. “A compromise was almost made, Y/N you monster!” (Actually no, he’d never survive law school). Jisung wiggles himself out of his seat faster than a lightning bolt and snuggles closely next to Woojin, who’s staring at the screen like someone’s forcing him to watch one of the worst pantomimes to ever exist. Great, now you’re stuck with Chan in the very front seat, having no choice to hold onto him like he’s your last option before falling into your impending misery in the next sixty minutes.

This asshole is really—

The moment you’re ready to pour a paper cup full of Sprite over his head, Jisung and Hyunjin just happen to whimper and yelp at the same time, with the same amount of awfully loud volume, spilling their own endless string of curse words with the same length while holding onto whoever’s lucky enough to sit next to them. So naturally, you stupidly let your guard down and cower like a child watching Snow White for the very first time and being absolutely terrified of the ugly witch. You’re far too busy thinking of ways to bury Hyunjin alive to realize that you’ve unknowingly pulled yourself closer to Chan and hid your face in his chest.

“Hwang Hyunjin you fucking moron!” Jisung yells at the top of his lungs when another demonic scene occurs, sending actual chills down his spine. He almost misses the feeling of still having a vendetta with his friend back in the good old high school days when they’re still wrestling each other every two minutes. Also, you’ve never felt this bad for Jisung (or even related to him) in a fairly long time, because… same.

Hyunjin can officially kiss your Jeep goodbye because you’ll never let him borrow it again. That idiot.

“You’re such a baby,” Chan comments and purposely cuts off your trains of thoughts so that you can peel yourself off him and look straight into the screen again, at the wrong time.

“I’m not your baby—“

You hiss in panic and throw yourself onto him again, trying to calm yourself by listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat and persistent pace of breathing. You’re already mentally apologizing to Jennie because you’re 75% sure that she’s not gonna be able to sleep with you sticking to her side like a jellyfish. There was this one time you all watched The Conjuring because Jisoo insisted so much and except for her and Lisa, no one got a wink of sleep that night so you’re not sure how you’re gonna survive this when there’s no pillow or blanket to protect you from all of the horrifying sound effects and imageries.

Chan secretly bumps his fist with Jeongin in the back, who’s a little bit too occupied with Hyunjin crushing his bones every two seconds. The perks of hitting on a friend’s sister. Works like a charm, he smirks internally. “Little Y/N is scared, how precious,” he looks down at you, and a smile blooms on his lips, enjoying the blissful feeling of having you in his embrace again.

“I am not scared!” You still can’t learn to accept that sometimes, admitting to your defeat is better for your own good.

“Then why won’t you look at the screen then?”

“Because- oh my God, what the hell was that?!”

“It’s okay to admit that you’re scared, I can protect you,” Chan boasts with his chin high up. And you’d love to blush at his affectionate words right now, really. Only if he didn’t quickly jump into conclusion because of your crush on Tom Holland and chose the movie in the span of a split second.

“Christopher, this isn’t funny!”

“Well, I certainly didn’t try to insult you in any means at all, ma’am. I don’t see what’s the problem here,” he singsongs, gently draping an arm around your shoulders. This time, he’s glad that you didn’t end up punching him in the gut.

“Shut the fuck�� Jesus Christ!” You screech when the demonic image keeps flashing in your mind, driving your head around in circles. “Chan, I swear to God, you’ll regret—“ you don’t even bother to finish your sentence and have no choice to hold onto him like he’s your only source of life, without him, you’ll soon disintegrate into fine dust and slip away easily. If Lisa was here, she would record the whole thing and play it on the slideshow of videos that she’s been preparing for your upcoming birthday. Thank God she’s playing beer pong with BamBam somewhere on the second floor.

That sounds so melodramatic but it’s not necessarily wrong. Chan still has that same sense of comfort whenever your skin comes in contact with his, even when it’s a thin layer of fabric away, you can still feel how badly it burns like a reminder for you that he’s here and he’s not going anywhere. Nothing’s going to change that, your intuition has told you before but you elect to ignore it. You’re starting to realize that you let Chan into your life again just like that, let him tear down your walls, and lit your heart on fire.

But what you don’t know is that his heart is still beating vigorously in his chest cavity for you, after all this time. His one and only.

“Hey, hey,” he tells you softly.

“What? Don’t make me look, I don’t wanna see it, I don’t wanna hear it either, I’m scared okay just don’t—”

“No, Y/N, look at me,” Chan chuckles and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to stare into his starry eyes. All you can see is an entire cosmos, more wondrous and beautiful than everything you’ve ever seen. He shines like he owns the entire universe in his existence, glowing from within and leaves you utterly speechless. Your head starts to become fuzzy and your heart dips when you realize how terribly close you are to him.

Chan takes your head and gently places it on the left side of his chest, smiling. “Can you hear that? It’s your fault, yeah, you did that to me,” The calm rhythm of his heart cancels everything out; all you can see is him, and all you can hear is his heartbeat. You spend approximately one second debating whether you should kiss him and you hate every moment of that one single second, you dread every nanosecond of it.

“Are you still afraid?” He whispers and you shake your head almost immediately without replying with what’s in your head. Like no shit, you’re more than just petrified right now, this is by far, one of the scariest, most frightening, and most nerve-racking decisions you’ve ever made in your life.

At that moment, it feels as if you’re standing on the edge of a cliff with him by your side. And you do exactly what he’s asking you to because it’s the only thing that you can do.

You jump.

nine. Weirdly enough, you miss college.

You miss those days where you had to finish the entirety of your morning routine in a span of five minutes so that you could be out the door and not miss the bus. You miss those moments where you had to skip two steps at a time on the longass flight of stairs just so your professor wouldn’t have another excuse to yell at you other than the overdue assignments.

You also miss college parties, not because they’re ‘lit’ but because things were simpler back then. People come, drink, get wasted, fight someone (or make out with someone), and then go home. Actually, no, they usually make out first thing first in the front porch because college students don’t give two fucks about their dignity and decency. You definitely didn’t miss that. And also those times where you ogled Chan during lunch breaks or when you both took the usual 4419 to college on a daily basis.

Everything gets a little more nostalgic when Minho slides your usual mojito across the counter and gives you that cat-like smile of his. Somehow, it makes you wanna hug him and bite his head off at the same time but you’re not wasted enough for that yet. You just need to get your mind off Chan when he’s too busy being tormented by his own family.

“Zero sips and you’re already dreaming about Chan? Gee, if I’m not mistaken then you’re so in love with him, manager Lee,” Minho is in his element, surrounded by good music and alcohol. In which, there’s no point in arguing with him anyway because you’re basically vulnerable and defenseless when everywhere you go, you see Chan’s face.

You down half of the mojito in one go and the bartender in front of you almost staggers backward from utter shock. Normally, you’d be snapping back at him with a witty retort instead of being all sappy and dreamy like this. This is not good. “My my, you’re really thinking about him, aren’t you? So tell me, how does that feel? To be deeply in love with another human being,” he leans forward to approach you, propping his head up with his hands. You murmur a small “bullshit” and proceed to toss your head back for a bit, shaking the weariness away.

“Listen, I might be heartless and all but when I accidentally put Tabasco into Jisung’s orange juice instead of honey the other day, I did actually feel bad about it. I felt a rush of empathy for a split second there,” Minho muses when he sees the corners of your lips curl upwards, stretching into a small grin. “It was wild, and then I just thought; is this what it feels like…to be a decent human being? Edgy, I know.”

You laugh dryly with boredom glinting in your eyes. “You know, if you’re going to distract me from thinking about Chan, at least be good at it,” his mouth drops open at your statement, completely gobsmacked. Oh, how the tables have turned. He’s never felt so defeated and useless before. Usually, he’s the one who makes others speechless. It’s not hard to tell that he hates it when everything just flips upside down.

“Bitch please,” Minho says with puckered lips. “Even if I spiked your drink, you’d still repeat his name in your dream like a mantra because you’re so fucking whipped for him,” he stops for a while to train his undivided attention on the Tequila Sunrise for Jisung who’s already smashed after two beers. He can really use some counseling, Minho ponders. “And you wouldn’t kiss Chan back if you hated him, gotta love stupid feelings that you can’t even explain for yourself, am I right?”

You take another sip of your drink and exhale, staring into his sharp eyes. “Excuse me, who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Lee Minho, genius, dancer, fashion icon by day, party animal by night, personal counselor,” he holds back the urge to slap you across the face with Felix’s Gucci slippers and instead, musters the sweetest smile. Being a bartender and a potential alcoholic at the same time definitely doesn’t help because he wishes he could just chug a whole bottle of vodka before you complain to him about your miserable love life. “I believe I’m qualified enough to give you some solid advice. So shut up and listen to me—“

“—I’m trying! But Minho, what if I’m the delusional one? What if he just wanted a fresh start so that we wouldn’t be so awkward towards each other? A kiss can’t possibly mean something. I mean, if you consider our New Year’s kiss, it meant so much to me but I don’t know if—“

And now, Lee Minho, self-proclaimed, genius, dancer, fashion icon by day, party animal by night, personal counselor; doesn’t have the slightest earthly idea of what the hell he should do. God, serious relationships are so fucking complicated to the point that his brain is yelling for retirement. Usually, he just poisons his friends with a dose of some common sense and solid logic to knock them back to reality in order to figure out whatever they’re going through. But this time, he thinks he should just let you fall further and further until Chan catches you instead.

Now that he’s thinking about it. Chan definitely didn’t pay him enough to be the bartender and a personal therapist for the love of his life.

“Seems like you’re not enjoying the party,” you instantly turn around because you can realize the owner of the voice in the matter of a split second. The moment Chan’s eyes are locked with yours, your heart immediately jumps up to your throat and then drops back down to your chest. If only this was because of the mojito, you’d feel better about it somehow but unfortunately, Minho gave you a non-alcoholic one today.

You can tell that he’s already hammered by the smell of alcohol when his warm breath brushes over your nose and how his cheeks are redder than usual. Minho quickly excuses himself from the scene to save himself from witnessing a mediocre, drunk confession session. And also because people are starting to pour in by the second, so the bar will probably be overpopulated in the next ten minutes or so. It’s downright a college party again except for the fact that everyone is floating on water but still, alcohol-thirsty pigs are still pigs. Everyone’s sloppy and lightheaded to the point that you’re already hearing the janitors crying themselves to sleep tonight.

“I’m enjoying it more than you if you couldn’t tell already,” your face morphs into a frown when Chan giggles and stumbles around like a madman. He would have facepalmed himself onto the marble counter with various bottles that probably cost more than one of his cars combined and made a scene if it weren’t for your hands steadying the blades of his shoulders. The warmth of your fingers radiate through his denim jacket and sinks into his skin, making his head a little fuzzy while you’re wondering how the fuck did he get this batshit drunk when Minho was with you the whole time.

“What the hell did you have?”

“I don’t know, BamBam asked me to try out some of his new cocktail recipes,” Chan hiccups and allows you to fling one of his arms over your shoulders. “Guess I didn’t consider dinner with my family afterward. Mom said I should just get some rest but I was thinking of you, so voila, I’m here now,” he gives you that signature boyish grin of his that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. But this time, your frown just grows deeper because since when did BamBam know how to make cocktails? And almost knocked Chan out too? You know why you should just stick to Minho’s mojito now.

Your eyes widen in panic as Chan almost trips over your foot when Hyunjin accidentally bumps into his back. “Oh Y/N, I’ve been looking for you,” the younger boy tells you with a Margarita in his hand, curiosity laced in his eyes. “No, scratch that, actually, some guy called Jaemin is looking for you,” Hyunjin then leans closer to a very-shocked-looking you and tries to shout over the loud music. “Who is that guy anyway? I heard rumors going around that he’s the Senator’s son or—“

Even though Chan’s not very sober at the moment and all he can hear is “some guy” and “the Senator’s son”, he knows that he needs to get you out of here as soon as possible. That bastard, Chan thought he’s already eliminated him from the guest list. Without a second thought, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you away from Hyunjin although he’s not the real threat here, piloting you through the sweaty bodies grinding against each other to the EDM music in the background. He was gonna take up the DJ duty tonight but really…is he gonna let you have another encounter with Na Jaemin? Yeah, he thought so too.

Before you can even register the whole situation, Chan’s already backed you up against a wall in his bedroom, a hand over your mouth with the other on the small of your back. Time seems to stop when you see the golden flecks in his eyes, floating softly in his nebula, and you’re absolutely, definitely, totally falling for him all over again. He’s so incredibly beautiful it leaves you moonstruck, wondering how can God be so unfair to make Chan look better than you even when he’s wasted.

Everything starts moving once again when a series of “have you seen Y/N?” echoes through the hallway and you can physically feel Chan tighten his grip on your body, jaw clenching too much that it might hurt. You know that voice all too well; Na Jaemin is here. And he’s looking for you. But you can care less right now because your heart automatically does a flip when Chan makes direct eye contact with you, his index finger hovering over his lips.

“Y/N, I need to tell–“

But this is not the time to fawn over how good he looks, you tell yourself with such determination.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” you help Chan walk over to his king-size bed, his limbs wobbly and unstable. After a solid minute of struggling and panting, you finally have Chan laying on the bed, legs dangling off the edge. While you’re too busy unfolding his blanket, he’s murmuring gibberish that you can’t quite, choosing to ignore it like how you’ve ignored Woojin snoring at two in the morning during a camping trip. “Chan,” you shake his shoulders slightly. “You’re gonna fall flat on your face if you sleep like this,”

You hiss through gritted teeth helplessly. “Chan!” But he doesn’t even move a single muscle. “You idiot, why did you agree to drink all of those cocktails?” You’re going to rip BamBam’s head off of his neck next time with your bare hands, it’s on. “Chan!” Your last attempt of waking him up fails miserably when he scrunches his nose a little, then proceeds to move on with his slumber.

Yeah, he’s definitely gone.

Or not.

Just when you’re about to give up and leave him as he is, Chan grabs you by the wrist and pulls you flush against his chest, heart thundering more vigorously than ever. He easily rolls the both of you to the side with no effort, only to get a better grip of your waist, his breath tickling your nose. At the suddenly close proximity, you can take a closer look at his long lashes that framed his eyes perfectly, his tall nose and his plump lips. Chan looks so ethereal and otherworldly that you wonder what it feels like to run your hands through his hair, dance your fingers against his jawline and press your lips against his.

But you also notice the bags under his eyes and how his brows are slightly knitted together. He doesn’t seem to be doing a great job at taking care of himself after all and it makes your heartache knowing that he didn’t have any other choice. It’s no one’s fault, really, though, in scenarios like this, people would love to point fingers and make assumptions out of something that they don’t even know. Falling in love with Chan for the third time can be the best thing that’s ever happened to you or it will eventually push you off a cliff, straight into a downward spiral.

Whatever the consequences are, you’d never trade him for anything in this world. Even if it means getting your heart broken all over again. You’re willing to walk through fire and step on thorns just to be by his side again. But at the same time, you’re not sure if he feels the same because if not, you’ll be left with nothing. Maybe he’ll forget all of this in the morning. Maybe it’s never meant to happen anyway.

Chan suddenly pulls you in more and his lips are terribly close to your flesh, your eyes going wide in panic. Moments later, soft snores escape his mouth as his chest heaves up and down in a calm rhythm. It reminds you of when he hugs you in the theatre, embarrassment soon flares through your nostrils and sprinkle a shade of coral on the apples of your cheeks. You can’t help but smile, arms snaking around his firm waistline.

Chan hugs you so tightly that you blindly believe that he needs you. As if it’s his way of saying “stay, it makes me feel at ease that you’re right here, in my arms again”. No one has ever really needed you. As sad as it sounds, your family can still move on with life just fine even when you’re not there. Your friends have their own jobs and other relationships as well, they don’t actually need you. You’ve never felt anything quite like this before, it’s a little bit frightening but also a little bit tempting.

Yep, you think to yourself. I’m done for.

Goddamnit BamBam.

ten. Chan groans loudly when the early daylight hits him like a truck, knocking him out of his semi-unconscious state. Hangovers still hit him hard, but this time, shit hurts way worse because someone still has a lot to learn as a mixologist. He smells like alcohol, probably looks like trash, and his head is fuzzy yet [insert culprit’s name] is standing right in front of him, all dressed up like he’s about to do a drug transaction.

“Bro,” he narrows his eyes to do a full scan of the bedroom, plopping himself back down only to realize that you’re not here. “You fucking suck at making cocktails,”

BamBam only chuckles humorlessly at that, five of his drinks didn’t even put a dent on Changbin yet the infamous Bang Chan wasn’t able to stay sober to not have a girl carry him to his bedroom. “Drink,” he gives the glass of water in his hand a light thrust before handing Chan a tablet of aspirin with the other. He’s also decided that it’s a lovely Sunday morning and he doesn’t have time for this shit. He should be chomping on breakfast in bed with something on the TV right now. But, he can’t risk having Chan roam the cruise looking all homeless and insane.

“I can’t believe not only did you let Y/N into your room, slept in the same bed as her,” Chan chokes on the big gulp of water that he’s just taken, and everything from last night starts pouring back to him like an unwanted nightmare. He was far too drunk to even remember every detail, he just prays to whatever gods up there that he didn’t say anything stupid. “Yet you didn’t even confess, great fucking job.” BamBam asserts like the true friend that he is, accidentally pushing Chan closer to his imminent misery.

Chan snaps his head up and almost screams aloud that his heart’s about to jump out of his chest, “You wanted me to what?!”

“You heard me,” BamBam tongues the inside of his cheeks in annoyance, regretting the amount of money that he spent to tip one of the cruise’s staff so that he could sneak his own alcohol in safely. “You know what that means? That means you still didn’t shoot your shot! You did not shoot your shot! Which entails? You’re gonna be lonely for the rest of your life and eventually die alone. You’re gonna die alone! You hear me?”

Chan thinks it’s way too early for him to endure BamBam repeating himself over and over again like a crazy person. He might still be slightly hammered because all he’s hearing is “shoot your shot” and “die alone”, he’s confused because why in the world is his best friend making him choose between killing someone and dying alone? Wait, no, actually….he might mean something else. Chan’s just in denial.

“Where is she?” He rasps out tiredly after taking the pill and downs the whole glass of water.

“Lisa carried her back to Jennie’s room in the middle of the night,” BamBam informs his friend, watching how his eyes are starting to turn stormy, and then he exhales out of relief. “She almost murdered me! This is all your fault!” He cries out dramatically before belly-flopping himself onto Chan’s bed, metaphoric tears dripping down on his cheek.

Chan perks an eyebrow as if BamBam just offended him, as if he’s mental and just made it out of an insane asylum. “My fault?” He questions, his voice getting louder and louder at the end. “Whose idea was it to poison me with your questionable drinks? Whose idea was it to make me all batshit drunk? Whose idea was it to let me into the party so that I could find the only thing that I’ve been trying to avoid all night? It was your fault, okay?! It-was-your-fault!” He deadpans and soon realizes that now he’s the one who’s repeating himself.

BamBam is more than confused right now because didn’t Chan want this after all? To confess to you once again and get you back? All he was trying to do is basically give his friend a teeny tiny sprinkle of motivation and this is how he repays him? Now he looks like an idiot who has been trying to sabotage the relationship between the two protagonists of another horrible rom-com. Jackson was right, he should have just played ping pong in peace and not stick his nose into other people’s business.

“Look,” he places a hand on Chan’s shoulder as he sighs deeply into the palms of his hands, mentally debating how the fuck can he make it up to you now. “She could have just refused your invitation of stepping onto this cruise. She could have pushed you away when you tried to kiss her,” BamBam stops midway to suppress his laughter at how Chan’s cheeks are taking no time to turn into a brighter shade of pink. “And, she could have left you alone and drunk at the bar, and- I don’t know, hang out with Na Jaemin or something.”

When a muffled silence descends in between the current civil conversation, only a confused look crosses Chan’s features and all BamBam wants to do right now is to put his head through a goddamn wall. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he murmurs to himself. “Minho’s right. You both are so dumb it’s physically hurting me.” Not exactly the most comforting words to tell a person in crisis but things hitting hard like this actually helps Chan a lot more than how people usually sugarcoat their words.

“Listen, it’s not like there’s no more fish in the sea but have you ever met someone who instantly clicked and just simply fell for you? She didn’t know that you had money, she didn’t know anything about your family. She could care less about your social background too honestly, because she fell for who you truly are,” BamBam hates to be cliché, really, but it is what it is. “Y/N has never gone a day without checking your notifications, she was so broken when you suddenly just shut her out like that. And yes, you were an asshole for doing that but can’t you see how hesitant she was every time you’re trying to get closer?”

Chan looks up at his friend, his tense muscles finally relaxing. “Which isn’t the point…”

“Which isn’t the point,” BamBam tells him, looking more serious than ever and it’s freaking him out. “Because what I’m trying to say is, it’s still not too late to shoot your shot.”

eleven. Maybe you deserve someone else, but deep down, you’ve always wanted Chan. And in your heart, you know that it’s right because humans only want the love they thought they deserved. You think part of the reason why you can never seem to let go of him is you’re just scared that something so amazing won’t happen twice. People might call you out for dwelling on the past but you call it a coping mechanism.

Magically, you’re starting to get used to the frequent encounters with Chan and Eunji since they’re also apparently part of the Privileged. You really should give yourself a pat on your shoulder for not having a mental breakdown whenever you see them hand in hand in public. The forced smile on Chan’s face always gives you the tiniest strand of hope that he’s just putting on a show as demand from his family. But at the same time, you’re scared that you’re just being delusional and you’d never have anything to do with his life from now on. Perhaps he wanted a fresh start so that everything can be like how they used to back in college? He didn’t want to “lose you again” because he still wanted to be friends?

But every time he tried to sneak a glance towards your direction and smiled, all you could think was: “Oh, shit,”

You knew that you fell for him twice, and you’re still falling. Every. Single. Day.

“Like what you see?” Changbin brags on the other side of the curtain, followed by a string of gagging noises by Jisung. And you secretly want to take a picture of his face, for science, obviously. But by that, you mean to blackmail him whenever wherever you want because he’d rather not have his fans gushing over him looking like a dying donkey, inside a fifteen thousand dollars suite on a cruise.

“You look like an idiot.”

Jisung voices with pure disgust in his tone. “Who the fuck lend you a white tuxedo?” Needless to say, you try to picture Changbin wearing a white suit and you immediately scrunch your nose up, shaking your head profusely. Changbin looks especially good in dark colors, but you’re not saying that he wouldn’t look good in brighter tones, it just feels weird not seeing him in a black tux, even when it’s just for a small party.

“My sister! If anything she’s an idiot,” he’s probably throwing his hands up in frustration. “She said I should switch things up. And I trusted her, now I feel like an idiot.”

Jisung asserts like a snake, “You look like you have a stick up in your ass, it’s so high up I can literally see it whenever you’re opening your mouth.” He’s probably man-spreading on the blue velvet couch, playing with the glass of bubbly champagne that he’s specifically requested. You don’t get why he would want to drink when he’s waiting for his friends in the dressing room but he will, just because he can.

“Ew,” he spats not long after. You’re not sure if he’s referring to the drink or Changbin’s outfit. It might be the drink, it’s shit but it gets the job done. It’s more about the concept of looking elegant and fancy more than the concept of getting wasted, in order to not look like a corrupted person. “Why would you godsend privileged, snoshy, live-and-breathe-in-money people deadass drink this instead of a nice Tequila?” Yep, not surprising.

Changbin protests, clearly annoyed. “Because we can afford that shit, just like how there’s a random, money dripping guitar in the dressing room,” you don’t even have to peek to know that he’s rolling his eyes to the point that they’re gonna fly out of their sockets. “But at the same time…true, I don’t like it either. That’s why I never get wasted whenever I go to parties like these, man, I miss college parties,”

God, this zipper is driving me nuts, you mentally curse when it gets stuck halfway and your arms are already giving up on you. Where’s Jennie when you’re in desperate need of her help?

“Whatever, let’s go find your sister and get you in a new tux,” you can hear Jisung pushes himself off the couch and settles his champagne down on the coffee table. “No offense towards her…I just fucking hate it on you,”

“Wait, guys—“ the moment you try to call out to them, they basically shut the door of the dressing room. “Well, shit,” you sigh, quickly realizing that 1) you don’t have your phone with you; 2) you can’t just run outside to grab it because what if Changbin and Jisung get back here at an untimely moment; and 3) there’s no way in hell you’re gonna ask one of them to zip it up for you. Now you’re forced to stay in a confined space with your only protection aka the red velvet curtain that looks way too cliché for your liking. Seriously, isn’t Jennie supposed to be here with you? It was her idea to put you in another dress, which you hate with a passion but you can never have the heart to tell her that.

The door swings open again and you exhale out of surprise, “Thank God, Jen. You’re here. Can you help me with my zipper? It’s stuck, and my hands gave up on me,” you immediately turn around, a sense of relief washing over you.

“Do you think Chan’s gonna hate seeing me in a dress again? I mean, I did call him an asshole when I wasn’t wearing one,” you stop to take in a breath, completely oblivious about the fact that it wasn’t Jennie who opened the door. “…but I was kinda acting like a bitch when I was wearing one too. I was so furious knowing that he’s seeing someone else behind my back that I wanted to bite his head off. And now I’m stuck here with him, his family, and that chick, in a hotel, on water, floating spontaneously somewhere near Singapore.”

Wordlessly, a pair of hands push the curtains aside to tug onto your zipper, slowly adjusting it and careful not to break it at the same time. Once your dress is zipped up all the way, you’re ready to turn your head and thank your friend. “Stay still, I’m not done yet,” your face automatically burns darkly when you come to a realization that it’s definitely not Jennie, most definitely not Jennie. In fact, it’s the person you’ve been planning on avoiding all night. Before you can decide when to make a run for it and save yourself from the imminent embarrassment, a silver necklace is draped around your neck, a diamond-studded buttery resting nicely right below your collarbones.

“Beautiful,” he says again in that honey-dripping voice of his. “You should wear dresses more,”

“Chan! You just scared the living daylights out of me,” you whisper harshly, turning on your heels and shove his chest. You definitely didn’t know what you were signing up for because it’s a grave mistake for you to accidentally look into his captivating eyes and you can see an entire universe in them. Absolutely magnificent. He looks impeccably good in his bejeweled black suit jacket, black turtleneck, and a silver chain around his neck, matching pieces of jewelry adorning his ears.

Chan wiggles his brows like the self-indulging person that he is, straightening his lapel dramatically. “Hmm, I don’t know if you can smell that, but it reeks of jealousy in here, and also hatred, but mostly jealousy.”

“Can. You. Zip. It. And. Call. It. A. Day.” With every word, you repeatedly slap his chest, but only to see him breaking into a fit of giggles in return. You almost forgot that he works out, whereas, you literally have zero ounces of muscles on your body. What a disgrace to your family. Like come on, even Felix has abs, and he never turns down Tacos Tuesday whenever he has dance practice with Hyunjin because their studio is conveniently situated right next to the best Mexican restaurant.

And the guacamole there? Phenomenal.

Chan teases, “I thought girls like you should be taught to act like a lady, not hitting the innocents.”

“Stop being a baby, Bang, it’s not like I’m gonna leave you with a bruise or two.”

Ah yes, this reminds Chan of the good old days of college where you’re both in that weird phase where you’re too much of a scaredy-cat not to talk to him on a last name basis because Changbin was an idiot for constantly leaving you two alone in the music room. “Why?” His lips curl up into a grin. “Because you can’t even open a jar of spaghetti sauce by yourself?”

That’s…that’s just a harsh truth. And now you feel like Regina George getting hit by a bus because life’s willing to give you a piece of its mind. You’re weak as fuck.

“It’s not fair when Felix has a six packs while eating tacos every other week, and I’m here looking like this with a green smoothie for breakfast every day,” you mumble bitterly, already too tired to argue with Chan because the party’s starting in half an hour. “I swear he’s on drugs, he always puts something into his daily Americano.”

Chan laughs breathlessly and cups your face with his hands, squishing your cheeks together. “I’m pretty sure it’s just stevia since Lix has a sweet tooth. On the bright side, I think you look just fine like how you are right now. I like you just the way you are. No modification is needed.” The audacity.

Your nostrils flare with heat, and your cheeks feel hot against Chan’s cool fingers. Again, Chan looks really good tonight and you’re not sure how much longer your heart can hold up before you pass out in his arms. “Uhm, so, just to make it clear,” you fiddle with your fingers nervously. “You and I-“

“Hey guys, how are things going—” Jennie pops her head into the dressing room and looks around, seeing no signs of Changbin or Jisung whatsoever. “What did I miss?” She looks at you cluelessly, then her lips automatically spread into a shit-eating grin when she sees how Chan’s cupping your cheeks. Just when you thought you can’t possibly blush any more darkly.

You awkwardly pull away when Chan clears his throat, retrieving his hands from your face. “Jen, just get out, I swear it’s nothing.” Yeah, as if Jennie aka the person who proclaims to be an expert at love because she’s snuck way too many boys into her closet, is gonna believe your pathetic attempt at an explanation.

“Oh, I’ll get out,” Jennie throws you a wink and you can see how Chan’s shuddering slightly at the dangerous glint in her eyes. “Now, don’t get too freaky in here okay kids, walls are pretty thin,” she asserts unhelpfully like the true friend that she is before shutting the door close. When you’re about to blurt out as many apologies as you can muster to Chan, a soft ‘click’ echoes through your eardrums. Your eyes grow alarmed almost immediately and so do Chan’s.

Did she just lock you inside the dressing room with Chan and expect something to happen? Kim. Fucking. Jennie.

“I hate you, and Jennie,” you tell Chan, not even bothering to hit him this time.

You’d rather take a nap on that couch over there than go out and party honestly. Parties only consist of two things most of the time: drinking and talking. But getting wasted is not an option tonight because you’re not about to spill rosé on the dress that Jennie adores the most. Although you do hate her ass right now.

And people don’t even hold proper conversations during parties unless they know each other, there are only small talks which are so….ugh. You don’t understand the purpose, the meaning of speaking to someone with a maximum of three sentences. You need a real, authentic, civil conversation about a specific topic that’s worth one’s time. Not just “how are you liking the party?” and “yeah, it’s dope, you?” or other gibberish nonsense.

Sometimes you feel bad for those people because their lives are staler than those crumbs of bread that pigeons feed off.

Chan tips his head back and releases the most obnoxiously loud series of laughter that you have to hold back the urge to kick him off the cruise. “You know you love me,”

“I don’t.”

“If you don’t then why would you dash through the airport like a madwoman just to hug me and tell me those three magic words?”

“Too bad, my brain just refused to recall that memory.”

He grabs your chin and angles it so that you’re directly looking into his eyes, dimpled smile, and all. “Then do I need to interfere and remind you?”

You don’t think you’re gonna make it through tonight if Chan keeps making your chest swell like this.

twelve. You and Chan have decided to change into more casual outfits and ditch the formal ones to strip the awkwardness and tension to a bare minimum. And by ditching, you mean hanging them up nicely so that Jennie won’t strangle you later. It is her dress after all. But you have every right to burn it since it was her idea to lock you up with Chan in a dressing room. Thank God it’s almost the size of her closet. Now, you’re both laying flat on your backs on the navy fuzzy carpet before the white couch, already moved the tiny coffee table away so that you won’t accidentally knock something that costs a fortune over. Kind of insanitary too but you can’t care less.

“Are you hungry?” Chan turns his head and asks you, warm brown eyes twinkling under the dimmed light.

“No,” you shake your head, and as if on cue, your stomach rumbles involuntarily. As Chan bursts into laughter, you quickly cover up your pink cheeks with the palms of your hands, internally groaning in pure agony. “Yes, I am hungry like a normal human being should because it’s already midnight, sue me.” You confess.

If only some of Ryujin’s leftovers were here. This is exactly why you refuse to eat out most of the time. Why bother hiring high-end chefs and having fancy dishes when you’ve already had a roommate who’s born into cooking? God, you miss her spaghetti.

Chan props his head onto one of his arms and looks down at you, a glint of mischief evident in his orbs. “You know what’s a whole fucking gourmet dish? Me,” he peels your hands away from your face with ease, holding onto them tightly to prevent you from smacking his chest.

You roll your eyes at him in the bitchiest way possible, yanking your hands away from his because every touch burns like fire and you’re not letting yourself be vulnerable tonight. If you still remembered some of the moves from the martial art classes that mom forced you into when you were in middle school, Chan wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance. You almost snap someone’s arm in half back then, but those days are long gone.

“You? Please, you’re like those piles of unwanted leftover vegetables that everyone keeps giving away to their most annoying relatives,” you start talking big with no intention of meaning it.

Chan’s not just a single dish, he’s an entire buffet. You could never imagine how it felt like for him to have thousands of letters and notes pouring out from his personal locker when he’s wrapping up for the day. Yeah, a total heartthrob. That’s why all of the dumb bitches on campus would always circle around him during breaks, no matter where he went. You were one of them too, you’re also a dumb bitch. Except, you didn’t need to stalk him, Changbin did all the work for you: inviting you to sit with them during lunch breaks, letting you ride the 4419 home alone with Chan, consistently hinting at Chan about your stupid feelings for him every two seconds,… In all honesty, you should be thanking him but you also want to throw him into a tank full of sharks.

Chan gasps, like audibly gasps as if you’re throwing shade at him, which you totally are. “You’re such an absurd, unreasonable, incongruous, preposterous-“ he pauses midway because he’s already running out of big words for ‘ridiculous’ to call you out on; it takes guts and Oscar-worthy acting to insult his godly appearance and impeccable visual, it really does. “—whatever, doesn’t matter. I know that you’re lying,” he singsongs before pushing himself off the carpet, stretching his limbs tiredly.

You think it’s almost two hours since you’re laying in a single spot, and you’re not risking having any parts of your body paralyzed so you get up, proceeding to do the same thing. “I can’t believe you didn’t have your phone with you,” you throw your hands up in exasperation, careful not to chip one of your nails. Lisa didn’t spend an hour on them for nothing. “And no one is even looking for us! Literally no one!” You can’t exactly blame your chaotic group of friends because they’ve probably fallen asleep since formal parties like these are so damn boring but Chan’s parents not freaking out about their missing son? And his “fiancé” too? That’s oddly concerning.

“You don’t have your phone with you either,” he snickers, hands reaching for the random acoustic guitar in the corner of the room. “I doubt that Lisa or Jisoo’s gonna get us out of here, I don’t even have faith in the two other parts of 3RACHA anymore.”

“What about your fiancé?” You ask him out of the blue, completely ignoring the sudden pang in your chest.

Chan shrugs nonchalantly, strumming some random chords with the instrument. “I broke it off with her, in front of my parents.”

“Cool then-“ you almost choke on your own saliva, “—hold up, did I just mishear you? Did you dump her?! In front of your parents?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” You heave, feeling your heart rate increasing by the nanosecond. Not only did Chan break down the walls you’ve been trying to build, he utterly eliminated the invisible barrier between your life and him (sorry Jaemin), and he knocked down the only obstacle left that’s in his way. Now, imagine two dots with a single line to connect them both. Everything’s as simple as that but your brain is already fried from coming up with one hundred and one ways to move in the slowest way possible.

Chan keeps strumming the guitar in his arms but purses his lips at your particular way of responding to his previous statement. “You know, a ‘thank you’ would be nice. And no, they didn’t disown me. I was like ‘fuck it’, and I told them everything. Not everything-everything, but like everything-everything, you feel me?”

No, I don’t fucking feel you but I can physically feel the shame and agony that’s slowly dawning on me you moron, you think to yourself, inhaling and exhaling deeply to prevent yourself from exploding like a ticking bomb.

“What did they say?”

“They didn’t say anything since they were too…uh, taken aback by the amount of information I guess..”

“Chan, I don’t think you were thinking straight—“

He interrupts you with a sad pout, sticking out his bottom lip. “Why are you talking about my parents and not this guitar?” This man is being ridiculous, as stubborn as a child.

“IT’S A GUITAR! RELAX ABOUT IT!”

“I GOT THIS FOR YOU!” Chan raises his voice slightly to catch you off guard and then sighs deeply. “Felix said you hadn’t played the guitar in years, but you were pretty good at it. So I wanted to surprise you, don’t you like it?”

“Chan, you what?” Your voice grows smaller and smaller until it’s only as audible as a whisper. “You didn’t have to do that- of course I like it! But- it’s just..” You stop talking completely to take a closer look at the acoustic guitar in his hands. It’s made of a reddish-brown type of timber with a satin finish, you can tell that the wood will age well through time and create more depth and warmth to the sound of the instrument. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a guitar, but it’s been way too long since you’ve touched one.

“I- I forgot how to play it after a while..”

Chan throws a wolffish wink in your direction as a reassurance that there wouldn’t be a problem with that. “I can show you how to if you like.”

“Moving too fast, moon is lighting up her skin,” Chan cuts you off softly with his angelic voice, and your heart is stuck in your throat, refraining you from barking back with anything. “She’s falling, doesn’t even know it yet. Heart is beating loud but she doesn’t want it to stop.”

Is he seriously trying to do this by singing a song? A fucking One Direction’s song?

“We’re only getting older, baby. And I’ve been thinking about it lately,” Chan’s voice slowly bleeds into the chorus, and you feel as if all of your pride and dignity have been thrown out the window because you’re completely frozen in your spot when he sits down next to you. Chan smiles throughout the lyrics seeing how you’re looking at him like he’s the only person left in the entire Milky Way, a strange warm sensation bubbling up in his stomach. “Does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes?”

“Everything that you’ve ever dreamt of, disappearing when you wake up,” Chan’s heart does an entirety of an acrobatic routine when he locks his eyes with yours. Seemingly to keep himself together, but the insides just feel like he’s being hung upside down on a tree with blood rushing to his face. This just has to be the cheesiest, sappiest, not-necessarily-scream-CB97 way to confess to someone but fuck it, he still needs to shoot his shot. “But there’s not to be afraid of. Even when the night changes…”

He pauses for a few seconds, “..it will never change me and you..” and finishes off smoothly, embarrassment growing more evident on his cheeks.

What did you tell yourself months ago, Y/N? Aren’t you tired of trying? How are you so sure that he wouldn’t do it again? Haven’t you had enough?

Yeah, you’d never know. And yes, you’ve had enough.

Well, to hell with that.

That’s when everything clicks in place. After all this time, after everything you’ve been through, after everything he’s done, you can finally see why you’ve been chasing him relentlessly knowing damn well that your heart is still in his hands, one wrong move and you’ll be utterly destroyed forever. Nobody compares to Chan. Nobody makes you smile like he does, nobody makes you laugh like he does and nobody makes you cry as hard as he does. It’s almost a truth that’s universally acknowledged that everything has been leading up to this specific moment, your heartbeat comes in sync, and two completely different worlds collide with each other.

You almost lost yourself all the way to him, but in him, you also found the way back to you. And how do you argue with the algorithm of falling for someone when the entire universe has conspired for the both of you to be together since forever?

“Uhm…so what-“

Before he can even finish his sentence, you abruptly grab a fistful of his hoodie and yank him towards you. Chan physically feels shivers run up his spine when your hand automatically interlocks with his, still fits like a glove. You kiss him with such desperation and tenderness it makes him feel as if you’ve been wandering this celestial sphere by yourself in the past century, yet he’s always had your heart. And he lets himself trust you with his in your hands once again because this is only the beginning. The paths ahead might not always be peaches and cream, but if it’s with you, he’s willing to stick with you ‘till the very end of it.

You’re the first one to break the kiss, managing to talk between short breaths. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Chan shakes his head and laughs breathlessly, wearing a dimpled on his face, “Nothing, I was just wondering if you’d take me back after everything.”

“After everything?” You merely chuckle when tiny bits of confusion in his orbs soon disintegrate into stardust, floating through the galaxy for eons. “A million times over, I will still choose you and let you rip my heart in half if that’s what it takes for me to stay by your side.”

Chan feels like he’s floating in midair, head all fuzzy and moonstruck. “Actually though…can I kiss you again?”

“And then nap time?” You let out a big yawn, making Chan toss his head back, laughing wholeheartedly.

“And then nap time,” he agrees, gingerly pulling you in by the waist while trying to stop himself from picturing the smirk on BamBam’s face when he opens the door in the morning.

Likewise, BamBam indeed opens the door to the dressing room early in the morning to make a move on his cleanup duty before Chan’s parents have a cardiac arrest. His smirks can’t possibly grow any wider when he sees you cuddle closely to Chan, palms resting on his chest while his hands are locked on your waistline. And BamBam sighs in relief because thank goodness he did shoot his shot.

[itsagutthing]

Places Carrie Mathison Has Lived: Berlin Edition

this is actually the apartment that inspired this series, but i had to go in chronological order for my own sake. see washington DC here if you missed it! again, please enjoy as i make random observations without any actual design knowledge. 

i was rewatching 5.12 recently and was struck with so much jealousy watching carrie walk through this gorgeous airy apartment. my headcanon is that this was carrie’s apartment first, and jonas moved into it — it would be easier for him to move, and carrie would like that jonas was willing to uproot his life for her.

her DC apartment was mostly shades of blue, and i like the stark white contrast of this place in berlin. a blank canvas to start a new life, if you will. overall it feels a little more like a “grown-up” apartment, where the colors and design are more consistent. 

starting with the front entryway, i picked this shot because i love seeing carrie’s bike with the seat for franny. it’s classic european mom. i would never have guessed after watching 4.12 that we’d see carrie biking around the city joyfully with franny, but sometimes the universe is kind to me! i like to think that carrie eventually has a bike like that in brooklyn too.

from the entryway, it looks like you can walk immediately into the living room, with the dining room to the right out of frame. carrie’s love for patterned home decor (but not patterned clothing) lives on with this cross-hatched rug, which is a giant improvement from the ugly striped one she had in her living room in DC. i don’t really know what’s going on with those brown stools to the left of the door. i guess they’re decorative, and they look like they’re nice quality, but they seem so unnecessary. did carrie buy them? did jonas buy them? why?

the door handles in this apartment are all really high. can franny reach them? why are they at least six inches higher than a normal doorknob?

it’s nice to see the little beanbag chair in the shape of an elephant for franny because overall, there’s a weird lack of kid stuff in this living room. carrie and jonas look at a box of books at one point in 5.12, which is the episode this screenshot is from, but i would expect to see more toys, even if they’re just stacked against a wall or something. it’s possible carrie sent a bunch of franny’s toys on otto’s private plane when she flew to maggie’s house. that’s what i’m going with for now, since no one else cares!

here are more angles of the living room during franny’s birthday party. i’m obviously legally required to include these shots of carrie wearing a balloon hat, because they’re adorable. in the second shot, you can see that basically the entire wall — both the living room and the dining room on the far left — is made up of windows, which make everything look so open and warm. i would kill for that much sunlight in my apartment. 

i also like the curtains, with a sheer under-layer and heavier solid navy to actually block the light. the same curtains are also in the kitchen and master bedroom, which makes the whole apartment feel cohesive. i can rationalize this great design choice as carrie not wanting to pick out multiple colors/patterns, and figuring the navy will work well throughout the house, which it does.

here’s a full shot of their dining room. the chairs don’t look particularly comfortable (and don’t match for some reason? this fits with the carrie i know and love) so i’m going to assume they usually eat in the kitchen, and only use the dining room for special occasions/if they have company over. the table looks like expensive solid wood, and i want it.

here’s a shot of the navy curtains in the kitchen, with a little table in front of the windows. you can also see the island stove, which really stresses me out. there are too many angles from which you could possibly burn yourself. and franny might not be tall enough to be able to reach the burners but that still seems like a bad idea with a toddler. we know carrie doesn’t really cook, but my headcanon is that jonas likes to, with a dishtowel thrown over one shoulder because i think that’s hot.

on this counter it looks like there’s a butcher block cutting board (two?) in the corner, which is much fancier than i’d give carrie credit for. jonas probably bought it. there’s also a bread box behind the cake, which i only recognize because my british friend had one in her kitchen when we were growing up. is this a uk/european thing, or are they just not popular in the northeast US? 

also, those cabinets look really high, even if they’re just for long-term storage. i would be too short to use literally any of them, but i like the sliding doors.

now for franny’s room:

i love that carrie put up the flag banner thing from franny’s party. that seems like the kind of thing she would put up and forget to take down for months. i see a stuffed elephant on the shelf above franny’s head, which is consistent with her elephant beanbag chair in the living room.

i included the bottom shot just to show that carrie’s love for patterned comforters lives on. and the little cloud-shaped pillow is a nice touch.

i just think this shot of carrie and franny and jonas all sleeping in the same bed is cute! so i put it in because i can do whatever i want. their bed looks really comfy.

here we can see the navy curtains that are also in the living room and kitchen, which again i think really tie the whole apartment together. i’m taking mental notes. the comforter is plain gray and seems more masculine than carrie typically leans, so i wonder if she bought a new one when jonas moved in. part of me is tempted to try to make the color meaningful — the gray mirroring carrie’s ambivalence towards all the memories of her old CIA life rushing back in both 5.01 and 5.12 — but also men on tv basically only have gray or navy comforters, so it might not have been a Statement.

this woodsy print hanging on carrie’s bedroom wall opposite her bed made me think of all the stark desert photography she had up in her DC apartment, specifically one picture she had in the kitchen. is that a purposeful contrast? or just a suggestion about new life/possibilities?

off of carrie and jonas’ bedroom is an office/study, which makes me very confused about the shape of this apartment. if this office exists, is there also a secret third bedroom where jonas’ son sleeps when he comes over? let’s say yes but not think too hard about where it would be.

here, jonas is drinking whiskey out of a decanter, like a douchebag. must you, jonas? i think the bookshelves mostly hold legal books, since the yellow spines look like editions in a set. it’s a little hard to tell but i think this room has the same navy curtains too. carrie must’ve gotten a bulk discount or something because at this point it’s comical. i included this shot because i love this particular conversation — it moves so quickly from jokes about laura to emotional reassurance. also i love that instead of sitting on jonas’ lap when he pulls her towards him, carrie full-on straddles him. 

people probably criticize him for saying she doesn’t need to vet secret documents etc and say he doesn’t understand the pull the CIA has on carrie, but i would argue that he’s exactly what she needs at this point in her life: he shows her that she’s capable of living a happy fulfilled life without the crushing weight of war zones and mortal peril. they were never going to last forever, but carrie’s relationship with jonas shows important emotional growth and i’m as proud of her for it as i would be if she were a real person!

in summary: navy curtains, so many windows, weirdly high door handles, a very stressful stove situation, and a celebration of jonas. we never see a bathroom so i don’t have to sit and think about access to it like i did for carrie’s DC apartment! 

overall this may be my favorite place carrie lives — i originally thought that about her DC townhouse but after a closer look, berlin is my final answer. i think living in nyc has broken my brain and i would sell my soul for natural light.

[speckofglitter]

get it together - kny

→ word count ; 1.3k

→ genre ; fluff | angst if you squint ??

→ pairings ; artistl!yoshinori x artistl!y/n

everything is an art form. yet you always seemed to have the wrong paintbrushes or a shaky hand.

yoshinori is lying on his bed, watching you paint. he's admiring you, eyebrows furrowed and tongue poking out as you try to mix the right shades together. you've been working on this painting for the past 3 hours and it still doesn't look quite right. you step away from your canvas, observing it at a different angle before giving up.

you sigh, settling down onto the bed next to yoshinori as he gives you an encouraging smile.

'i'm tired.' you sigh out.

'then let's sleep.'

'yoshi?' you mutter.

'hmm?' he responds.

'can you give me a goodnight kiss?' you plead. he widens his eyes in disbelief, making you laugh out loud.

'fine.' he moves closer, placing a quick kiss on your cheek before licking your cheek and running away.

'argh yoshi that's disgusting!' you yell out, running after him.

yoshinori is your best friend and lifeline. he's the only one keeping you sane. you rant to him about your struggles as an art student, the exorbitant prices of art supplies and about how much your art teacher absolutely hates your guts. you sleep over at his apartment anytime you have a big assignment due. he keeps you calm. you still remember the day you met him. you were in the campus art studio, having a panic attack. you looked like a shell of a human being, shoulders hunched over as you cried over your sketchbook. yoshinori had walked in, choosing to sit beside you, softly stroking your hair as you cried and explained your frustrations. if he hadn't been there you probably would have ended up breaking your expensive crayons and brushes in half. he was so approachable and warm. you supposed there were no strangers in yoshinori's world, only new friends. you two quickly became inseparable after that day.

-

you wake up to an amazing smell. yoshinori's side of the bed is empty so you look around, trying to find him. he always makes your favorite nutella pancakes when you sleep over. it's become a tradition.

'come in.' he says, turning around to find you peeking from behind the kitchen door.

'good morning, thanks for the breakfast.' you smile, giving him a quick hug as he flips another pancake. his hair is still slightly damp from his shower, the smell of his cotton candy shampoo engulfing you.

you settle down onto the table, scrolling through your instagram feed as yoshinori finishes making the pancakes.

'yoshi, do you think i can make it as an artist?' you ask in between bites.

yoshinori looks at you, stunned by your sudden question. you take a huge bite of pancake, nervously waiting for his answer.

'i know you will.' he answers after a moment.

'you do know mr. clent hates me right? i haven't gotten a single grade above a B this whole semester...' you whisper.

'it's not always about the grades, especially in a creative field. when i see your art, i feel like it's going to jump off the canvas and come alive. your art tells stories that no one else can tell. that's your weapon.' he explains.

he smiles at you and it's that smile. the smile that makes you feel like all of your dreams can come true and everything will be okay. you stuff another bite of pancake in your mouth, desperately trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding inside your chest.

'you're a really good talker mr. kanemoto' you shake your head, trying to hide your smile.

-

after a quick shower, you're back to painting. a weak stream of light peers through the small window in yoshinori's room, making you look angelic.

you hear beeping and turn around to see yoshinori on his phone texting. sometimes, you wished yoshinori wasn't so popular. he wasn't only liked by students, he was also mr. clent's favorite student. the promising art prodigy. whenever there was an art exhibition, girls would flock to his side. they would ask irrelevant questions about his artworks, mostly interested in the way he would sip white wine and arch his perfect eyebrows as he talked about technique and color theory. surprisingly, he never worked on his drawings in front of you. he probably didn't want you to have a mental breakdown over how talented he was compared to you. you turn back around, painting more aggressively this time.

is it normal to feel slightly envious?

-

'wanna get some coffee?' he asks.

'yes please, i feel like i'm going to go insane if i see one more speck of gold' you laugh, grabbing your cardigan from his chair.

you walk towards the campus café, noticing the cold breeze as you wonder how yoshinori can wear ripped jeans in this weather.

-

yoshinori rests his hand on his chin, staring at you with an endearing look. you're ranting about yet another annoying professor as he swirls his straw around, taking frequent sips of his matcha latte. you talk with your hands, bright eyes twinkling as you get to the key point in your story.

yoshinori thinks about how fitting your drink choice is, a caramel macchiato. you pretend to be a bitter artist yet deep down you're the sweetest person he has ever met. you're always frustrated because you run on hope. hope that the world would be a little better, a little kinder. he memorizes the way your lips purse as you take a sip, planning to make you his next project. for him, it came easily. the lines and the shapes came together in his head as soon as he saw you.

-

summer is settling in and you no longer have to worry about strict professors and artist statements. it's 9pm when you burst into yoshinori's apartment, a tiny bottle of red wine in your front jean pocket. yoshinori doesn't bother asking questions as he lets you in.

'you know that guy i went on a date with last week? i can't believe that jerk ghosted me.. you know what? fuck him he looked like a noodle anyways.' you yell out, walking past yoshinori to sprawl yourself onto his couch. yoshinori chuckles to himself, watching you drink straight out of the tiny red wine bottle. even during rough times you absolutely refused to drink hard liquor.

you notice that yoshinori is drying his hair with a fluffy looking pink towel as he sits next to you. you try not to stare but he looks really, really good.

'not to put you down when you're having a rough time but could you take some of your skincare products home? your 13 bottles of rosewater and clay masks are taking up all the counter space in my bathroom.' he says, running a hand through his damp hair.

'fine. guess i'll just be bae-less and ugly.' you scoff, placing your legs over his.

'you're neither of those,' he whispers.

'what did you just say?' you raise an eyebrow.

he freezes, pink towel in hand as he realizes his mistake.

'i said... you're neither of those. you're beautiful y/n, i've told you that countless time.' voice not coming out nearly as steady as he would have hoped.

'yeah but i'm still bae-less' you whine.

'i could be your bae...' he mutters.

you picked a horrible time to take a swig of wine because the moment yoshinori says that you spit a mouthful of red wine right into his face.

'oh my god i'm so so sorry' you say as you grab the pink towel in his hands, dabbing onto his skin. you didn't realize you were so close until yoshinori places his hand above yours, taking the towel before kissing you softly. he hooks his hands around the back of your thighs as you wrap your legs tightly around his torso. your palms splay across his chest, pressing into him. you taste a little bitter and a little sour from the wine but yoshinori doesn't mind. you let out a small whine of protest as your lips separate.

'i can't do this anymore.  i can't pretend not to be into you anymore.'

'i like you too yoshi.... we could be together but you know... i should really to get my shit together before i try to be in a relationship...' you mumble.

'i don't need you to get your shit together y/n. but if you need help, i'll always be here for you. as your friend or as your bae. you call the shots.' he winked.

-

you thought it over for a few days, isolating yourself in your room as you survived on cubes of cheese. yoshinori was beginning to think he had made a huge mistake by confessing to you. maybe you just weren't ready.

yoshinori had always been there for you, a little too generous if you were honest. you weren't scared of him breaking your heart. you were scared that one day he would wake up and realize he could do better. knowing him, he would probably break it to you in the kindest way possible. your mind wandered back to the first day you met him. if he wasn't ready to be in your life, he wouldn't have sat and comforted you for hours. he wouldn't put so much time and effort into making you pancakes every time you were at his apartment. he wouldn't have been the one and only person who motivated you as an artist.

you suddenly get up, putting on your sneakers as you rush to your kitchen cabinet, grabbing a bottle of vodka. you had never run so fast in your entire life. by the time yoshinori opens the door, you're out of breath and glowing with sweat.

'what are you doing here?' he questions.

'you said i could call the shots so i'm here.' you say, walking past him and into his kitchen as you look for shot glasses.

'let's cheers to us, being baes or whatever the kids say these days' you laugh, pouring him a shot.

as yoshinori watches you down your shot, he silently thanks whatever or whoever guided him to the art room on that day.

masterlist - requests are open !! - ya girl tiyi ❤️

[ambroseblack]

In continuation of my improvised story/ first attempt at something horror-paranormally, here is chapter 2 to whisper. If you haven't read the first chapter, you can read it here now!

Stay spooky beloved friends!

Love and Peace,

Ambrose

Chapter 2: Daylight

I woke up with my face nearly glued to the wooden table in the dining room. I apparently had a fair amount of liquid in my body at one time, being that my face was surrounded by a pool of drool and sweat. My mouth was terribly dry, making my tongue feel like a cat's, as I licked my lips with no apparent gratification.

The soft gray light of a rainy fall morning drifted through the half-open burgundy curtains that the previous owner had left on the main floor. They were much nicer than anything I would have bought. I would have been happy with some sheets to be honest. But they did give the large house a touch of grandeur. It was fitting, being that the house was so old and well maintained. A museum of sorts. Walking through the front door was like walking into a different time.

The soft tapping of pouring rain echoed throughout the house. I always found the sound to be soothing. It was a sound I had missed in my apartment in the city. It reminded me of rainy days when I was a kid. The kind of days where one is at peace just laying in bed thinking, as the cool water pours down around the world outside.

I looked at the laptop that was resting untouched in front of me. The screen was still up at attention, but black from not being used.

I must have dreamed everything. The shadow. The whisper.

I chuckled to myself as I stood up from my seat to go make coffee in the kitchen. My knees ached quietly. They probably just hurt from being bent all night long. At least, that is what I told myself. It's always far easier to write off the truly unexplained. We are always happy remaining ignorant.

I slowly trudged into the kitchen. My crocs quietly squeaked on the tile floors. They were horribly ugly things to have on your feet, but goddam...they were comfortable. Besides, I was a writer. I had nobody to impress.

I grabbed the tarnished silver teapot that sat on the stove and filled it with cold water from the tap. The teapot, just like the drapery in the house, had been left by the previous owner. In fact, there were a lot of remnants left behind. A large grandfather clock that rang out in the most frightening of ways. An old, apparently never touched couch in the front room. A baby grand piano in the foyer with worn keys. I felt like I was living in someone else's house, being that I had barely unpacked any of my own belongings. I kind of liked it, to be honest. It was like I had stepped into the story where another left off. Or died off...I had no idea. Who really cares?

I placed the teapot on the stove and lit the burner. Bright blue flames licked the bottom of the silver, slowly tickling the water held within. I fumbled through the cabinets looking for the coffee and french press. I had still not really organized the cabinets, so I would always find things in different places each day. At last I found my treasures next to a half-eaten box of frosted flakes. The box itself wasn't eaten, however the cereal inside was. Next to the box was a gallon of milk that I must have put in there by mistake. What can I say...I enjoy frosted flakes after indulging in some fabulous things. The kind of things that open your mind up to be able to do things like write. For all you know, I'm eating frosted flakes right now as I type these words. You don't fucking know. I mean, I'm not. But I could be.

I unscrewed the cap to the milk and took a faint whiff to see if it had gone sour. It was fairly decent. Could have been worst. I took a nearly-clean bowl out of the sink, poured some of the thickening milk into into it, and sprinkled some of the flaked cereal into it. I thought about finding a spoon, but who needs a spoon when you really don't give a shit. I would slurp it like the animal I was.

The teapot began to whistle its horrible song as steam spewed out of the spout like a stoner exhaling at a Phish concert. I scooped some coffee grounds out of the bag with my hand and poured their fragrant particles into the french press. I used to use a coffee pot like a normal person, but once I found the french press I never looked back. Very honestly, it's a completely different coffee experience. Like the difference between having sex when you are a teenager versus sex when you have an understanding of what the clitoris is. Or prostate. Whatever tickles your fancy, really. Like mind-blowingly different. I'm not sure "blowingly" is an actual word, but I guess it is now. Never mind...it is...I just googled it. Feel free to use it.

The smell of coffee began to fill the kitchen immediately after I poured the steaming water into the glass beaker. The smell brightened the gloom of the gray filtering in through the windows from the outside. I was beginning to feel better. The nightmare was slowly slipping away from my thoughts.

<<<:>>>

I half-hazardly carried the bowl of soggy cereal and the mug of piping hot black coffee into the dining room. Splashes of both semi-cold milk and scalding liquid both found their way onto the flesh of my hands. On one hand, it hurt. On the other, it didn't. Pain and indifference, really. The joys of life.

I sat down at the table and coaxed my laptop to wake up with a gentle touch to its mouse pad. I nearly spit out the mouthful of cereal I had just poured into my mouth from the bowl when I read what was typed in bold capitals on the shit story I was working on. There, in the middle of the screen of the electronic page were two words.

KEEP WRITING

"Fuck man..." I quietly said out loud to myself. Even though I convinced myself I must have just written that as a message to myself in my sleepy/high state the night prior, it still gave me chills. I thought back to the dream. The sharp whisper I had heard. There it was again; that unsettled feeling in the bottom of my stomach. But that too could be explained away by the half-spoiled milk I was consuming.

I had to get out of that house for a little while. I felt like I had given myself cabin fever.

<<<:>>>

I found my old black boots by the front door and rummaged through a box to find my long black rain coat that was still packed away. I opened the large oak door that squealed when moved and was smacked in the face with a brisk wind. Deciding that I needed to re-think my outfit (which included dirty sweatpants, a faded Tenacious D t-shirt, the boots, and the coat), I made my way up the wooden staircase to find an outfit better suited for the elements. I had also worn the same sweats and t-shirt for over a week... if not, longer. Thinking about it, I had not really left the house for probably two weeks. That is just sort of my brand of a writing lifestyle I guess. Disgusting? Absolutely. But it bought the house and the things I needed just the same.

I pulled a tattered black sweater over my head and over the Tenacious D t-shirt. The fabric of the sweater was stretched in odd places, but it was comfortable and warm. I pulled off the stinking black sweat pants as well as the crispy boxers. I thought for a moment about showering and then decided against it. What good was deodorant if it couldn't cover up the smell of filth? Besides, the cigarette I planned to smoke when I got out on the porch would provide a strong enough fragrant blanket to cover up the sweaty ass smell. And if it didn't...so be it.

After completing my outfit with a fresh pair of boxers, stained jeans, thick wool socks, long striped gray scarf, and an olive-green knit hat, I was ready to be off on my way to do whatever I was going to do. I didn't really have a plan. Maybe a walk to the tiny downtown. Anything that would get me out of the house. I couldn't bring myself to really care.

As I turned to leave the enormous bedroom my eyesight caught something on the wall just above the headboard. There, on the white wall it looked like a symbol was leaking through the paint. You know how when your paint a lighter color over a darker color and sometimes it kind of comes through? It's always faint, yet always noticeable.

It was hard to see, but it definitely wasn't my imagination. A red symbol shaped like an eye was coming out of the white. Just enough to be seen by me at that moment despite the depressing light filtering in through the wall of windows.

I felt myself want to approach the wall to examine the symbol more, but found myself caught by a momentary feeling of fear and hesitation again. I couldn't stand there any longer and ponder its meaning. I had to fucking get out that house just for a little bit of time. It wouldn't take long for me to recharge.

Get out of the house.

I nearly tripped down the staircase as I feverishly fumbled to slip on my coat to get out of that prison-like space. I yanked open the heavy oak door with haste and nearly let out a scream as I found myself face to face with a tiny old woman. She let out startled gasp at my rapid presence. She was standing on my porch nearly lost within a bundle of winter coat and scarf. She had a plastic bag over her hair which I found both funny and alarming. I assumed it was to keep her hair dry. Or, at least I hoped.

"I am so sorry for startling you honey," the woman said with a sweetly calm voice.

"Uh...yeah...likewise..." I said in an almost whisper. I was internally trying to convince my heart to stop beating itself to death.

"My name is Emma," the woman said with a smile, "I live just across the street." She pointed to the historic home directly across from my house. It was in pristine condition. The beam across the woman's face as well as the intricately manicured landscape across the front of her yard revealed that she was proud of her dwelling. "I've lived there over 50 years. My husband and I..."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ambrose," I said, cutting her off. I said it in a pleasant tone, but I secretly wished she wasn't there. I needed to get the hell away from that space. For the love of God, I silently thought, shut the fuck up...

"Oh Ambrose, what a pretty name..." Emma said with a smile.

"I thought so too when I picked it out..." I said. Annoyance peeked through the pleasantry of my tone. I needed to work on conversation and people skills. My response obviously confused the woman. She didn't know Ambrose wasn't my real name. How would she? And I wasn't about to explain how I was a writer who came up with some bullshit of a name to write under. It was far more humorous to watch her try to work it out in her head how I had named myself when I was a baby.

"I hate to rush you," I said while coaxing myself out of the door and onto the large porch, "but I'm running a bit late for an...an appointment. Big client. You know...things to do and places to be."

The woman's smile faltered for a second and then found itself back; stretched across her face as if hiding a grimace.

"Oh, I'm sorry honey. I won't be keeping you," she said while patting my hand with her pink gloved hand. " I just wanted to pop on over and introduce myself real quick. I figured you have been here long enough to settle in. I didn't want to come over prematurely...didn't want you to think you were being watched or anything...."

The way she said "watched" was horrifying, because what she really was saying was that she had been watching me. Lonely old hag just watching the new guy. Trying to spy and see what he was up to. Nosy bitch.

I faked a smile.

"Well, it was great to meet you Emma. Thank you for stopping by. Maybe one day soon we can sit down for some coffee or something. It would be great to chat with you...I'm sure you have a lot of stories of this town that I would absolutely love to hear!" I lied.

"Oh of course, of course sweetie!" She said with that same forced smile and overly sweet tone. "I brought you a little house warming gift...nothing big...just something I think everyone needs..." Emma reached inside her cartoonishly large flower-print purse and pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. It was complete with a large pink bow on top. Fucking gag.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," I said, faking surprise and gratitude. I know she was being nice and all, but something just felt off. Like when a dog growls at one person but not the next.

"Oh, it's nothing my dear. I just hope you get some use out of it," the old woman said, handing the wrapped gift over to me. Immediately when my hands held the package I could tell it was a book. A fairly large one. My curiosity was momentarily tickled as I pondered what book it could be.

And with that, the woman was off. Not in a speedy way. She was old as shit. But at least she was making her way off my porch to leave me in peace. Wrapped book still in hand, I pulled a cigarette out of the pack that was nestled in an interior breast pocket of my rain coat that I had found earlier. I lit it with the tiny green bic that I kept in the mailbox attached to the brick by the front door. I breathed in that familiar smoke. The smoke that reminded me I was alive, even if I sometimes wished I wasn't.

I looked at the gift Emma had given me in my hand. The paper wrapped around was perfectly pressed and folded. It was a print of lavender bunches, all repeated over and over. The bow wrapped around it had been painstakingly tied. Almost too perfect. Like something a robot would do.

I exhaled a puff of smoke through my nose as I fumbled to untie the artwork. I couldn't see her, but I imagined the old woman was watching me through one of the windows of her house. I imagined her beady little eyes watching my every move. Just the thought made me shudder a little, despite the warmth of my attire.

And then there it was.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." I said out loud to the rainy world around me as I realized what the gift was. "A fucking bible?"

Yep. A bible. And not like the little orange ones the weirdos try to force in your hands at festivals. No, it was a big-ass one bound in soft brown leather. It seemed to be fairly new; the pages still stiff. I opened the front cover and found a note perfectly written in black ink on the first blank page. The letters were scripted in cursive; beautiful calligraphy etched on the paper.

The Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.

2 Thessalonians 3:3

My heart skipped a beat when I read "evil one". Those two words were written thicker than all of the other words, making them bounce off the page and into my face.

"What....the actual FUCK!?" I whispered in horror out loud to myself.

The rain continued to pour as I stood on my porch with the half-smoked cigarette hanging out my mouth and leather-bound bible in my hand.

Maybe moving there wasn't the right decision after all.

[ijustwanttowritefanfic]

Work in Progress

I came across a prompt a few days ago about Yang being a bartender and Neo being an assassin.  I liked it, so I started my own.  Here is the first part.  Tomorrow, I’ll read it over and do some editing.  And maybe come up with a better opening.

Story under the cut

Yang closed up shop.  Set glasses to dry through the day, restocked the low bottles, wheeled in a keg of ale that sold out.  The drawer was counted, the safe balanced, tips stuffed into the pocket of her coat.  Tuesday night, barely even a hundred lin.  It would be enough for her to buy her pain pills for the next week.  A half empty bottle of gin from the well joined the money in her pocket.  Junior would take it out of her paycheck, but she needed something to help her sleep tonight.

Her right arm pulsed in agony at the thought of the painkillers.  The cheap prosthetic functioned, but barely.  Yang pulled the leather glove over the offending hand, her jacket covering up the metal framework of her forearm and elbow.  She grabbed her cane and locked up the bar.

A cold breeze cut through the thick leather of her coat, making Yang debate a warm meal or a warm taxi to carry her home.  Her hip ached, a counterpoint to the pain in her arm.  She gritted her teeth as comfort now battled comfort later.

“No, Yang, it’s just a little cold, the walk isn’t that far,” she muttered.  Barely twenty minutes, and she had one last dose of painkillers waiting at home.  Combined with the gin, she knew sleep would find her.

The crash from the alley startled Yang, the tip of her cane pointed at the sound.  The wet impact of flesh on flesh froze Yang in her spot.

Another impact, this one mixed with the sound of bone on bone, drew Yang into the alley.

“Come on, bitch, say something.”  A slap echoed from behind a dumpster.  “What, you murder my boss, half my gang, and you have nothing to say for yourself?  At least give me a scream.”  The spine shivering sound of a knife being removed from its stealth pulled Yang closer.

A man with dirty red hair and a maroon jacket pinned someone against the wall of her bar.  His back blocked out who it was, although Yang saw a pair of boots dangling between his legs, black leather with thick soles.  Something thick and viscous dripped off the tip of one of them.

The man raised his arm over his head, a knife clutched in it.  

The cane smacked the back of his knees.  He fell back.  

The cane hit the arm holding the knife.  Bone crunched under the solid wood.  

The knife slid into the darkness.  

The cane hit shoulder, chest, neck, head.  

Crunch, crunch, crunch, snap.  The bottom half of the cane followed the knife, the top half pulling Yang down.  She sprawled over the top of the man.  He wheezed in pain, trying to lift his arm.  Yang scrambled off him.  She bumped into the man’s victim.

The lady with the black leather boots hissed in pain, her hand grabbing Yang’s whole arm.  Her face was swollen, blood streaked across it.  Pink and brown hair matted with the blood that covered her face.  She wore what had been once been a white trench coat, now more of a mud and blood colored coat, tears along the sleeves and torso hinting at were the blood came from.  Her head rolled back, her eyes unfocused.  

Yang stared at those eyes, one pink, one brown.  She knew them, one of her regulars had similar eyes.  The lady who always drank a pint of bitters, tipped well.  Now she bleed all over a back alley, all over Yang.  She needed help.

Yang wrapped her whole arm around the lady’s shoulder, using her other to push her up.  It gave tortured squeak as Yang put most of her weight on it.  She ignored it, she had to help.

Standing, Yang held the lady on her feet, but the lady teetered on unsteady feet.  No way would this lady be able to walk.  She barely came up to Yang’s chest, and Yang had seen thicker toothpicks.  Bending down, she swung her false arm under her legs, carrying her like a sleepy child.

Yang turned to walk out of the alley when a hand grabbed her ankle.  The man pulled himself closer to both of them, his other hand raising up.

He had the knife back, he would finish her off.  She spun, stomping her bad leg down onto his skull.

Crack.

His empty hand fell back to the ground.  Blood pooled out of his temple, his eyes stared at nothing.

Yang limped out of the alley.  The lady shivered in Yang’s arms, curling up against her.

“Fuck, where is the nearest hospital?”  Yang cast her head around, looking for a taxi, or the hospital.  Something shook against her breasts, and the lady in her arms shook her head.

“What? I shouldn’t take you to the hospital?”

Her head kept shaking back and forth.

“Where else can I take you?  I mean, I have a first aid kit at home…”  The lady nodded her head at that.  “Fuck, fine.  I’m taking a taxi, though.”

A fistful of lin thrust its was up from Yang’s embrace.  “Oh, well that’ll help.”  She took it, and the arm hung back down limpy.

A taxi turned the corner a few minutes later, and Yang flagged it down.

Opening the door, the taxi driver turned around, eyeing the lady in Yang’s arms.  “Hey, everything okay?”  

Yang put on her most innocent smile, which looked only slightly guilty.  “Yeah, my friend just had too much to drink.”  

The driver looked like she didn’t believe her.  “Listen, girl, I-”

“Here, take us home, and it’s all yours,” Yang said as she thrusted the roll of lin at the driver.  She plucked it from Yang’s hand and turned around.

“You got it, where to?”

Yang rattled off her address before settling into the back.  They all drove in silence.  The lady in Yang’s arms felt limp, and Yang worried she might be dead.  Her whole arm against the lady’s ribs felt the shallow breaths.

The taxi driver dropped them off in front of the brownstone building Yang called home, speeding away as soon as the door closed.  Yang felt the same way.

Careful juggling allowed her to pull her keys out of her pocket and let them in.  The elevator took them to the fourth floor.

Inside her apartment, she laid the lady down on a threadbare couch and limped over to her bathroom.  The first aid kit, a robust one from another lifetime, sat dust covered under the sink.  Her medicine cabinet held the bottle of aspirin and a translucent orange bottle with one large horse pill.  Her bad arm ached, her good arm arched, her bad leg screamed, and that one pill was all she needed to silence them all.  It would fog her brain and dull the rest of her body.  Maybe after she took care of the lady on her couch.

Stopping in the kitchen area, Yang filled a bowl with water and grabbed a few towels.  She lugged the large kit out to the sectioned off area she called a living room, Yang sat in front of the unconscious lady.  Under the jacket, she looked even smaller than before.  Numerous cut covered her torso, arms and a nasty gash on the outside of her thigh bled onto the ugly couch.  

The first aid kit opened eagerly under Yang’s thumbs.  First things first, clearing the area around the wounds.  Removing the coat winded Yang, and under it, the lady’s clothes were shredded.  The shears in the kit made quick work of her top and most of her pants.  Removing the boots turned out to be easy, even if they had too many buckles and zippers.

The lady’s body was patterned with a number of old and new scars.  Yang also noticed that the lady was ripped.  It reminded her of the gladiators she knew from her youth.  The muscles lacked definition, but damn, she had them packed on.  

Her hand traced over the lady’s bicep and Yang sat in awe.  Gashes covered her forearms, made colorful from the bruising as well.

Thin, surgical like scars made a half circle over her throat. Using the water, she cleaned off her neck, but it was just bloody, not injured.  Her face had a nasty laceration over her left eye.  It would need stitches.  Her torso was colored black and blue, although Yang felt nothing deformed.  A nasty gash started under her left breast and curved around her side.  

The muscles in her legs felt better than the ones in her arm, and Yang’s totally professional touching found no broken bones.  Her outer right thigh had been sliced open, and it bleed pretty badly still.

It took a few trips back and forth to the kitchen area to clean off all the blood.  The next trip to the laundromat was going to suck.  That or living with pink towels.  Bloody pink towels.  On one hand, it was very metal, on the other, ew.

The iodine in the kit was still good, for another month.  Yang eyed the gin bottle on the floor next to her, but its alcohol content was too low to be of much use for cleaning wounds.  Holding the needle in her mouth as she used her good hand to thread the it.  Her hand shook.  Yang hadn’t sewn anyone up since her accident, and before that, she had always used right hand.  The replacement hung at her side, useless.  The wounds bled still, and Yang knew she needed to close them.

A swig from the gin bottle steadied her.  She could do this, this was just like training, just like all those times out in the wilderness.  A few stitches, and it would all be over.

Her hand steady, Yang closed up the wound on her thigh, than over her eye, the gashes along her arms, the one across her back.  Old instincts kicked in, and each wound closed faster than the one before it.

The sun peeked through the browned curtains by the time Yang finished.  The gin bottle laid on it side, empty, and Yang envied it.  

Standing on protesting legs, she walked once more into the bathroom and cleaned her hands.  Her shirt and pants were ruined, and she stripped out of them.  The shower called to her, but Yang felt the siren song of sleep more.

Passing the couch, Yang paused.  The ugly piece of shit was ruined.  No one should be sitting on it, let alone sleeping on it.  But Yang only had one bed.

Well, her guest took up less space than anyone else Yang had slept with.  Picking her up, Yang limped over to her bed.  She laid the lady down gently before removing her false arm and crawling in.  The lady rolled into Yang, curling up against her side.  Making sure the blanket covered her guest, Yang laid her head down.

For once, sleep came easy.

[kojoty]

earth twinks are easy part 3

It turned out that humans, Kir had decided, had temperaments very similar to that of Neptunians. Short and cold, skinny and impersonal. Or at least, the man that had taken him in, Kyoto, was. He could almost see the blue face and painted markings when he looked at the man; he didn’t even have to guess! The man had come to the pool Kir had nearly drowned in wearing a blue face mask that smelled of plant matter and goo.

Kir let his hand rub over the couch, the peculiar material catching his eye. Everything about this building was strange; the rooms were closed off and personal, boxy and square in such… unpleasing ways. Not even tapestries, not even plants, not enough open lounge areas where he could call a waiter to bring alcohol or Herb to his compatriots. Just a strange couch made of animal hide and a tiny metal and wooden box playing grainy footage of strange creatures made from felt.

Humans were odd.

The technology here was so ugly, like the buildings. Thus far, other than his dashing host, nothing was attractive about this world, and he was doomed to spend the rest of his life on it, wallowing away without any good--

His ears perked slightly, and he turned towards the island table that Kyoto had hid behind just an hour before. Maybe-- Maybe that was where the food was kept.

Earth might be a barren hellhole, but he’d heard that the food was… Interesting to say the least. Strange meats and cheeses, fruits and vegetables, cooked on the side of the road and handed out to busy men and women. He’d have to ask Kyoto about that, seeing how they were in a city and his books had told him confidently that the food in cities was Good.

He opened a tall metallic box, and was met with a wave of cold air. He opened the top compartment and even colder air met him. His hair pulled back, recoiling instinctively against the cold. He shut the freezer and bent down to look in the less cold compartment, eyes going wide at all the white and brown boxes and bottles of liquids that seemed to be--

“Oh, thank Venus herself.” He mumbled and grabbed a bottle of what seemed to be beer. Humans might have been strange, but at the very least, they had the hallmark of any worthwhile civilization: the fermentation of wheat. The portion was small-- just a pitiful bottle that could barely outreach the girth of his hand-- but there were six of them. Provided he drank fast, he could at least get something of a tipsy running.

As long as it meant not being bored and sober in this boxed out apartment, Kir was happy to drink anything.

He stuck his thumb under the cap and pulled, grimacing slightly at the ridges before it popped off and landed on the counter with a soft clatter. One pull told him the beer was weak and would hardly do anything to his system but make him hungry as the yeast and wheat metabolized, so he left the beer on the counter and rummaged through the cold cabinet, grabbing several of the white boxes and opening them up.

Grains and old meat in one, while the next held meat and plant matter upon what seemed to be pressed flour. More grain, this time an orange color, stinking of cooked vegetables. The third looked like a pie, made of fruits and breads and incomplete, if the half-bite at the helm of it’s triangular form was any indication.

Kir rubbed his thumb along the strange material of the boxes, his ears flying back at the unpleasant texture and squeaky quality to the grains of…. Fluffy plastic. At least the food would do, cold as it was. He’d have to ask Kyoto if there were any mechanisms of heat on Earth, as he hadn’t seen a stone oven, or a well-used fire pit anywhere.

He took the beer and boxes back to the couch and--

“Well. You’ve made a mess for yourself, it seems.”

Kir opened his eyes slowly, brushing a hand down his beard and grimacing at the bits of grains that fell away from it. The white foamy boxes laid upon the floor, and Kyoto’s beers lay empty beside them. He glanced toward the window, surprised to see the darkness of the sky illuminated by the bright buildings that marked this Earthen city.

He must have fallen asleep. The ale hadn’t kept him drunk enough, and he had gotten tired after his meal. To be fair, he’d had quite the unpleasant swimming exercise that morning.

“I was hungry.” Kir said, and yawned wide and big. It must have been impressive, if the look on Kyoto’s face-- a quick widening of the eyes and then an even quicker turn away from Kir’s gaze-- was any indication.

“...I can see that. I guess it’s fine. I probably wouldn’t have eaten it anyways. But-- Really? Beer for breakfast?”

“...I couldn’t find any wine or mead. Or anything stronger. I agree, ale is far more pleasurable for an after dinner drink, or perhaps a midday one, or perhaps a midnight treat, but it was all you had in your Cold-Cabinet.”

“My--” Kyoto looked behind him, following Kir’s gaze. “Refrigerator. Fridge. If you’re gonna stay here, the least you can do is not sound like a freak.”

Kir sat up on the couch and narrowed his eyes slightly. “I apologize for not knowing your Earth slang.”

“....It’s fine. It’s-- Look, if you’re gonna stay here, just--” Kyoto pinched the bridge of his nose. His tie was loose around his neck, and he’d removed his outer jacket. He looked professional, even if the cut of the fabric wasn’t a style that Kir was accustomed to. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow. I’m tired, and tomorrow is Saturday, so I’ll have all day to figure out what to do with you. For now? Be quiet.”

He didn’t give Kir a chance to argue, or even comment on their situation. The second he finished speaking, he turned on his heel and went to his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving Kyoto to stare at the wooden frame. He supposed it was fair for Kyoto to be exhausted with him, but-- It was just not a level of hosting he had ever experienced.

The TV was no longer playing the show about felt creatures. There were humans, bickering in the silence of the apartment, and for the first time, Kir felt so very, very alone.

[mortaljin]

Colorblind

Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: None Genre: Gets a little fluffy at the end. Soulmate!Au Member: Taehyung

Summary: Making it in fashion is hard. It’s even harder when you’re colorblind and the only person who can bring color to your world is your soulmate. Will Y/N be able to find out who her soulmate is after seeing a splotch of color for the first time?

Masterlist | Afterstory Drabble

“Why should we hire you,” the man asked what is probably one of the most common interview questions known to man, his next words were dripping with doubt, however, “Y/N, you are colorblind after all, and the use of color is a vital tool in the fashion industry.”

You knew this quality, or lack thereof, was to be brought up at some point during the interview. This was an answer you had rehearsed for the past week after you had gotten a call back from a well-known design studio. A great deal of thought had been put into the answer you would provide because this studio was the first one to move you to the interview process; all other studios had turned you down after seeing that you had, unfortunately, checked off the colorblind box. Praises were given over your impressive resume, and they had all ended the conversation with a simple ‘call us when the color comes to you, we would love to have you join our team then.’ Throughout your seven-month-long process of hunting for a better position, however, the color never came, and you didn’t think it would anytime soon, but you weren’t going to let that stop you.

“It is no lie that I cannot see color, but it has not stopped me from creating what I think are exceptional pieces.” You could practically feel your heart trying to escape your chest as you feigned confidence. “Statistically, over half the population is rendered colorblind like me, and that is the audience I will do most of my catering to. As you can see with the examples I’ve brought with me, I have managed this far with my own strategies, techniques, and system to create clothing that is appealing to those who cannot see, and even to those who can.” You paused for a moment, and when you saw the interviewers unchanging facial expression, you continued. “In a world obsessed with the idea of color, I want to prove that in this world, and in fashion, color is not what makes or breaks a work of art.” You finished with a shallow exhale and prayed that your determination for success had seethed through your words enough.

“Well, Y/N,” the interviewer shuffled your paperwork as he stood, and you stood with him as you prepared to say goodbye, “it looks like your determination compensates for your colorblindness, and we are excited to have you join our team of designers.”

You stood there dumbfounded for what seemed like an eternity with your jaw slack and slightly open. When you came to your senses, you brought your chin a little higher, back a little straighter, and your voice that much more confident. “As am I, sir, you will not regret this,” you gave his outstretched hand a firm shake, and then followed him towards the rest of the building so he could give you a rundown of the workplace.

Pleasantly exhausted, you made your way to the large, overly-fancy doors to the entrance of the studio. It wasn’t even your first official day at the studio, yet the amount of information was almost enough to wear you down. You were shown your workspace as well as the two designers who would be monitoring you for the next month while the company decides if you are worthy to keep around. The fabric room at the back of the building was filled with what had to be the best quality fabric you had ever seen; there was no doubt that the color selection had to be vast as well. Glancing one more time at your new location, you pushed open the doors to make your way home.

Thud.

“I am so sorry! Are you okay?” A voice rambled as it picked up the folders and items that were now sprawled on the ground. Your eyes had been lowered to the ground as you walked out the building, causing you not to see the man rounding the corner and running straight into him. You just laughed, nothing is ruining your high spirits.

“It’s fine, really. At least neither one of us was carrying coffee!” You joked with him to calm his worries and picked up the rest of your things, “thank you for helping with my papers, take care!” You didn’t give him a second glance, or even a first, as you made your way down the street, a newfound pep in your step from landing such a great job.

This must be a dream, you thought to yourself as you made your way down the final few blocks towards your apartment. Most people to make it in the fashion industry were older, and well, usually married. Color was the world’s wonderful gift that was only bestowed to those who had found their special someone; it was something people could see only after meeting their soulmates. Most people found their soulmates in their twenties, some in their teenage years, few are rarely older than forty, and unfortunately, some never meet them. Your great-aunt was one of those people; no matter how much of a social butterfly she was in her youth, her soulmate never came and neither did the color. Your parents, on the other hand, were just barely eighteen when their entire world became drenched in the beautiful colors, and had you not long after. Maybe I’ll be the medium of the two, you slightly snickered to yourself at the thought. Twenty-five and still without a soulmate, not the end of the world, right? It wasn’t for your great-aunt; at thirty-three, she met a man that, despite not bringing color into her life, made her feel as if he had. They fell in love, although it’s not recommended to do so with someone who isn’t your soulmate, and have spent the last forty years in a blissful, black-and-white world.

Right before you reached your apartment, you stop dead in your tracks in front of the cute little bakery you buy your desserts from. Your mouth grew dry and your throat began to close a little as you stood in shock of the sight before you. It wasn’t the view of extravagant cakes or the heavenly smell of freshly baked goodies that caused your entire world to stop. It was the sign above the door with its once black cursive name now flaunting the horrendous green color that everyone had always told you it would. You squeezed your eyes shut and violently shook your head, reopening them only to find out the sign was still green. Without trying to process whether you even liked the color, you ran into your apartment and began searching every square inch for another sign of it.

“Why did I only see one color?” This phrase had been repeated almost twenty times in the last hour. The house was practically turned upside down, the disastrous aftermath of your quest for color. As you began to place your pots, pans, and cooking utensils back into their respective places, you noticed that at the very back of the cabinet stood a single, lone pepper shaker. Here, Y/N, you can have this pepper shaker. It’s an ugly green color that I know you can’t see anyways. The conversation with your mom from three weeks ago replayed in your head. With shaky fingers, you grabbed it from its place and turned it in your hand, observing how it held the exact same green color from the sign outside.

“Hoseok, please. Will you please calm down and let me finish?” You scolded as you sat across from your best friend. After accepting the fact that you could now see what people said to be one of the worse shades of green, you immediately rushed to Hoseok to figure out what it meant. When you knocked on his door unannounced and quickly blurted out your new ability to see color, Hoseok was ecstatic and began to pull you towards his closet so he could show you the new purple shirt he had gotten yesterday.

“Oh right, of course, I need to know what your soulmate is like! I bet he’s super tall, and smart, I know you’ve always wanted to marry a doctor!” Hoseok began rambling all these predictions before you finally had to cut him off.

“I didn’t meet my soulmate Hoseok,” his eyes went wide and you continued, “well obviously I must have, but not like everyone else has. And I can’t see all color, only this shade of green.” You held out the pepper shaker that you brought with you, as proof to him that you could see that it was green.

“This doesn’t make any sense, Y/N. If you can see this green, then that means you met your soulmate, which means you should be seeing all kinds of color right now.” Shaking his head, he pulled out his phone and began typing away.

“I know, I don’t get it either. I was around so many people today after getting that job. I got the job by the way!” You beamed, you just realized you hadn’t even told him about your new job. “So, I came across and met a lot of people today, some of them were pretty attractive I won’t lie, do you think that has my body thinking it’s trying to meet someone?”

“Firstly, congrats on the job! I knew you’d land one eventually, you have a knack for fashion and once you get the rest of your color, you’ll be unstoppable. Secondly, listen to what I just found. About five years ago, some research was done about the phenomenon that is soulmates and color,” he looked up to make sure you were listening and continued, “it says here that the majority of people who meet their soulmate, meet them in a circumstance where all of their attention is on each other. Like me and Yoongi for example, when I met him at the bar it was like no one else existed but him.” You rolled your eyes and grinned at how cliché and cute their story was. “These people are the ones that see color immediately and in everything, however, there are people, presumably like you, who begin to see splotches of color here and there that gradually bloom. These people weren’t focused on their soulmate or didn’t have a proper meeting. These scientists discovered that briefly touching, bumping into, or talking to, does not fully bring out the essence of the soulmate and causes the person to see few, if not one, color.” You stared at him blankly.

“You mean to tell me, I finally meet my soulmate and I didn’t even do it right?” You were fuming and honestly annoyed at yourself.

“Not necessarily. You were probably just so caught up in getting this new job and meeting all those new people that you didn’t have time to focus on anyone for longer than five seconds.” Hoseok’s smile grew more mischievous as the seconds counted on.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” slight fear in your voice without knowing what he was thinking, “what are you planning?”

“I’m thinking that you need to get yourself a makeover! Now that we know that your soulmate is tied to your job, we have to make sure that you look the best at all times! No more mismatched clothes!” You grimaced at the word mismatched. “No offense, Y/N, you usually do a good job and while those earrings aren’t a total fashion disaster, they’d be better in a different color.”

“I’m going to roll my eyes out of my head because of you. I don’t need new clothes. And excuse me if I can’t tell that this hint of gray isn’t the proper shade.”

“Fine, fine. At least let me come to your house and rearrange and label your closet? You’re due for a new outfit range.” You glared at him before relenting. Having someone label and arrange your outfits for you so as not to wear green shirts with orange pants is nice, but every so often they needed to be relabeled and rearranged so that you could keep the outfits looking fresh. You snatched your green pepper shaker and made your way out the door, forcing Hoseok to run after you before you changed your mind.

The following morning was nothing short of stressful as you ran around your apartment trying to get ready for work. After rearranging your outfits last night, Hoseok became your saving grace and helped you tidy up your destroyed apartment. All this for a pepper shaker? You laughed as his exasperated statement came back to your mind. Pulling on the pantsuit and choosing its new matching accessories, you stood back and looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Hoseok said that this pantsuit is burgundy colored and that it looks good on me. I can’t wait to see this color!” This thought had been said aloud, but your voice trailed off towards the end. What if I don’t see my soulmate again and I never see more color? What if I’m stuck with one shade of green? You inwardly laughed at this last thought, because one color is perhaps better than none.

The commute from your apartment isn’t that difficult, and you felt a little different now that you knew you would be passing that green sign every day. It was strange, everything was once black-and-white, but the closer you look, the more you notice that shade of green found here and there. You saw it on a magazine rack, and then you later saw it on someone’s shirt. It had to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen; how can people say this color is hideous?

You were greeted by the secretary at the front and you made your way to the workspace you had been assigned. A couple of the older women that you had met yesterday came over to you and started up a friendly conversation before the day’s assignments were to be distributed.

“I looked at your portfolio yesterday, Y/N, the way you are able to mix such odd colors together is amazing! I’ve never seen someone mix colors like that and have it still look good!” One of the women, Catherine, had complimented, holding up a picture of one of your dresses you designed.

“Thank you so much! That’s such a compliment,” you gushed, surprised that someone complimented on your skill with color. “Most people brush off my color choices, and focus on my designs themselves seeing as I’m colorblind.” This merited a gasp from the group of women surrounding you.

“What do you mean you’re colorblind, how could you hope to ever work in fashion if you can’t even see color?” This remark came from the woman you met yesterday that seemed to be a little cold, and now she proved your suspicion.

“Well, I mean-” but you were cut off by another coworker, John you think his name is.

“Oh, be quiet Brenda, if you took the time to look at her portfolio like we did, you would realize that she obviously knows what she’s doing despite her color deficit.” He countered her snarky remark and turned to you with a smile. Wait.

“Wait, ‘look at her portfolio like we did,’ does that mean you’ve all seen it?” You asked meekly, fear creeping into you as you learned that all these skilled people, who have the ability to see color, have seen all of your work.

“Of course! We see every newcomer’s portfolio so that we can assess them properly. I think it’s safe to say that we all think you’re brilliant, despite being colorblind!” Catherine praised you and patted your shoulder. Suddenly your boss and another man in tow were approaching you.

“Ah Y/N, good morning! Glad to see that you’re here early!” The man said. Mr. Boudreaux was in his early sixties but didn’t look a day after fifty. He was a legend in the fashion world for this area. The others had returned to their work and had left the three of you alone.

“Of course, Mr. Boudreaux, I wouldn’t be late even I wanted to be!” Shooting a smile his way, he laughed at your enthusiasm.

“That’s good to hear. By the way, this is Mr. Kim. Taehyung got here a few months ago, so he’s new as well.” You shook his hand and introduced yourself, but you were not able to give him much thought as Mr. Boudreaux was talking a mile a minute about all the work he had planned for you. Before turning away to get to work, a ring on Taehyung’s right hand caught your eye. A large stone glistened under the bright lights of the studio and it was a wonderful color you weren’t sure of. This observation made you gasp slightly and left you staring after him as they walked away.

Did I ignore my soulmate again? This thought screamed inside your head as you wracked your mind as to who it could possibly be. There are a couple of the younger men here that you’ve briefly talked to since yesterday, but none of them seem to be your type. Then there’s Mr. Kim. Nonsense, I didn’t see him yesterday. Did I? You wracked your brain trying to come up with any memory of seeing Taehyung and came up empty. Your mind drifted back to the stranger that you bumped into without looking at, and you almost squealed in realization. His voice! Their voices are the same! After making this connection, you added Taehyung to the possibilities on your soulmate list and continued to work your way into your assignments. Apparently, Taehyung and a few of the other workers were invested in a tedious project downstairs, and so you didn’t see any of them for the rest of the day. You didn’t see any color either.

“Hoseok,” you huffed into the phone as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, “I see another color.”

“This is great Y/N! What color is it?” You could practically feel your best friend’s excitement for you.

“Well I wasn’t exactly sure at first, it was a light color, but when I walked outside I saw it in the sky before the clouds came in, so I’m assuming it’s blue!” Blue had always been a color you had dreamed of seeing.

“That’s wonderful, I’m so glad you can enjoy the sky now!”

“Me too, Hoseok. Me too. I wouldn’t have seen the ring on Mr. Kim’s finger if I didn’t have a problem of staring at my feet.” You confessed, wishing you had paid more attention to Taehyung instead of listening to Mr. Boudreaux’s rambling.

“Try to pay attention to him more! Maybe he’s the one!”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see.”

Due to being constantly busy, you were hardly able to pay attention to yourself, let alone any of your coworkers. Thankfully, however, over the past few weeks you were able to narrow it down through a process of elimination. Your two possibilities as to who your soulmate could come down to Park Jimin, the guy that you see once in a blue moon downstairs, and Kim Taehyung, who you also rarely see. You decided to test your possibilities and headed downstairs to make conversation with Jimin. For the first time, you gave him your full attention; the two of you held a pleasant conversation about favorite styles and designs. No matter how much attention you gave him, however, your world never changed. The hidden colors that were left to be seen didn’t come out, causing you to accept defeat and head back upstairs. Time for Taehyung.

This time you were nervous. Through your quick, half-hearted conversations in the coffee room and hellos in the hallway, you began to enjoy his presence. You were scared though. Anything could happen if you found out you were each other’s soulmates. What if he was your soulmate but you were not his? The thoughts ran through your head as you made your way to his office. Quickly you knocked on his door and entered after he called.

“What can I do for you, Y/N?” His eyes never left his papers as he questioned you. Your heart fell to your stomach. You were completely paying attention to him, yet there was no burst of color.

“Oh, I was wondering if you had seen Mr. Boudreaux lately, I went to his office and he wasn’t there. I needed to speak with him.” This was a total lie, you could see Mr. Boudreaux clearly on the other side of the studio.

“He was just in a meeting, he should be back soon.” He never bothered to glance up at you, nor did he say anything as you turned on your heel and shut your door. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes, and suddenly you felt incredibly sick to your stomach. Thankfully, Mr. Boudreaux had swung by almost immediately after.

“Y/N? You look awful, no offense, but are you feeling well?” He looked at you with concern, and all you could manage was a simple shake of your head. “Get out of here then, leaving an hour early so that you don’t puke on the clothes is not the end of the world. Feel better.” With that, you were practically running out of the studio.

You didn’t know where to go to, everything had begun to have color in it and you couldn’t stand the thought of seeing it. Despite this, you found yourself sitting in a park for over an hour. This had become your favorite place as of recent; all shades of green had now been bestowed on you and you came to the park to see it almost every day. A few shades of different colors had come into your life; blues, reds, and yellows could be seen more frequently now, but your world was still mostly under a black-and-white filter. Green was your favorite color, and you still adored the sign above the bakery near your home, despite everyone’s protests that it was awful. Your eyes were glued to the ground in front of you. Throughout the area of the green grass were holes of grey and black. Dirt. I’ve become greedy with seeing color and I’m mad that I can’t see the color of dirt. You wanted to laugh at this thought, but you couldn’t. Tears began to form in your eyes, and suddenly you were sobbing in that secluded part of the park.

“This isn’t fair! Why did I ever have to see color at all!” You screamed, cursing yourself for ever getting that stupid job.

“I thought you were colorblind, Y/N?” The voice came from the right of you, and instinctively you turned away when you realized who it belonged to.

“Not completely, Mr. Kim.” You muttered under your breath. You couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him again and having your dreams crushed, so you hastily stood up and began to walk away. A hand caught your wrist and froze you to the spot.

“Y/N, wait. I need to tal-”

“Please let me go, Taehyung. I don’t want to have a conversation about color with the person I had mistaken for the one who gave it to me.” By now you were crying again, but you didn’t care. You felt beyond defeated. Suddenly you were being yanked back into Taehyung who quickly spun you around. His hands were on your shoulders and shook you a little bit to get your attention.

“Damn it, Y/N, look at me!”

So, you did. When your eyes met his, a slow spread of color began to flow out of his skin. First, his eyes became colored, brown like the dirt below your feet, but so much richer. Then you could see the slight tan of his skin, and the burgundy of his shirt. The world around you started to erupt with color, and you had to cover your mouth to prevent the obnoxious gasps coming from it.

“I don’t understand. Why now?” You had the mixture of every emotion welling up inside of you, irritation, confusion, and especially happiness. “Some people only see color with their soulmate after paying attention to them, and I went to your office to talk to you and I didn’t see any color, so you shouldn’t be my soulmate. I-” your rambling was cut off when Taehyung engulfed you in his arms and ran his hand along your back, calming you down.

“That’s true, technically,” after breaking from the hug, Taehyung reached a hand up to caress your cheek. “But what they don’t tell you is that it doesn’t count if both people don’t have their full attention on each other. That’s why I’ve only gotten a few colors here and there, I always seemed to be at the back of your mind, and perhaps you’ve been at the back of mine sometimes.”

“Can you see everything, too?” you whispered, the sound of your heart beating in your ears seemed to drown it out. Taehyung nodded.

“I can see the color in those beautiful eyes of yours now, the blush in your cheeks is more prominent, and I can finally admire all the beautiful clothes you wear and make.” You giggled slightly as you could feel the heat rising to your face.

“How did you know I was going to be in the park?” You wondered how he even found you in the first place.

“I didn’t,” Taehyung shrugged, “this became a place of solace to me when your green dress became the first color I saw that day I bumped into you.”

[unwaveringstar]

Works well under pressure

I’m sitting here working on my commissions and I’ve got a lot on my mind. Flight prices fluctuate so much that it’s a little stressful to think about what they’ll be like in a week, and handling commissions until then-- having enough, etc. I’m trying to stay positive; my goal is the same, I’m just hoping I can find something good when the time comes. Something that isn’t like 13-14 hours, if not for my sake then my cat’s. 

It was mentioned that I should process things that happen in my house through writing, so I guess I’m going to be talking about the happenings here every now and again. That said, this post is regarding the past, and will contain mentions of domestic abuse, child abuse, self harm, and animal abuse under the cut.

I’ve heard of families patching things up after going through the abuse cycle here and there- although I know it’s different for everyone; circumstance plays a key role in whether or not relationships will ever be repaired, but in my case I think I’ve been fighting to hold onto the hope that things will be repaired for too long.

I remember, when I was around twelve or thirteen years old and all of this was just beginning to rear its ugly head, being terrified of my aunt and idolizing my mom. To me, she was the only one I could turn to for support, like a shield, and flocked to her whenever something scary happened. I didn’t recognize my aunt, and didn’t know why she was acting the way she was-- I was too young to understand what was really going on psychologically and continued to not understand until I was much older because no one, no matter what happened, would shine any light on it other than that my aunt was an alcoholic, and that’s just the way things were. That was life and nothing could be done about it, full stop.

The first time there was any big upset it was at my grandparent’s house, and she was so volatile my earliest memory of the event was me sitting in the passenger seats of our van and my aunt going “Stay in the van, stay in the van!!” before hitting against the door with her right arm. I didn’t stay in the van but only because she was screaming and shrieking away and I, being twelve and unused to it, didn’t know what was wrong. I used to idolize my aunt as being the funniest person I knew, and she was--and still is--incredibly smart. She screamed and raved until my grandfather, who was a really big guy, came out and grabbed her arm and dragged her kicking and shouting back into the house. He didn’t hurt her- my grandpa was a gentle giant, but she was causing enough distress to alert the neighbors.. and she came back out anyway. Eventually I had to run inside and call mom to pick her up, and I ended up staying the night at grandma’s. Apparently on the ride back, she punched the vents in the car hard enough to break them. I only learned later on that she’d raided the liquor cabinet.

Grandma’s liquor cabinet used to be stocked full of things, but they weren’t heavy drinkers-- social drinkers at most, so liquor they bought would stay in there for years and years without being touched more than a few times a year. There were two keys; my aunt always had access to it. Now that I think about it, the first “big” event was the mildest.

The first time she beat me was over homework in 6th grade. I remember trying to dance around the coffee table to keep her away from me, and unfortunately I have a habit of grinning or smiling when I’m scared which only enraged her. I tripped, fell onto the couch, and the next thing I knew she was on top of me and wailing on me as hard as she could. I remember screaming- hoping that the neighbors would hear, but nothing happened. Whenever she’d get drunk and confrontational after that, I’d start to shake-- she’d mock me for it, then go on to tell mom nothing happened when she got home.

My mother used to be very defensive of me when I was young, but the longer things persisted the more exhausted she became until, eventually, she became completely spineless. She would agree with me for the sake of keeping things civil before turning right around and taking her sister’s side, and when I begged her for help; told her I was feeling suicidal at fourteen; told her I couldn’t bear it in the house, the responses would always be the same. If it wasn’t “What can I do/What am I supposed to do, hang myself?!” it was “She’s an adult, she can drink when she wants./She works hard/I can’t stop her/I don’t know what to do/Just go into your room, shut the door, and ignore it.” Eventually it devolved into “Stop trying to cause trouble/I can’t stand this, I can’t stand this/Leave me alone. Just leave me alone already. I can’t do anything about her; I can’t change how another person is.”

Mentions of going to therapy would be immediately shot down- that she couldn’t afford it, meanwhile she’d spend more money than she knew what to do with on cigarettes for the both of them and booze for my aunt. I started to feel like things were my fault; that everything was happening because I deserved it, which was probably through the years of gaslighting my aunt put me through by either denying anything was a problem, denying she was the one at fault, or denying anything she ever did ever happened at all. 

I remember feeling like I was losing my mind. I remember choosing to cut myself because I wanted to be in control of something-- even if that something was how much pain I could feel at once. For a while it was liberating, but it was short-lived every single time until, eventually, I’d just feel guilty. The self harm was no secret either; both of them knew it and responses would be few and far between. Mostly they’d just ignore it, else they’d threaten to have me “locked up in a psych ward”.

I got Sasha when I was seven; she was my best friend, but with me being in school all the time she bonded closer with my parents which I understood and accepted; she was still the family cat after all and I knew she loved me. We’d play together all the time. Her coat was oily and thin when they adopted her but it grew out to be puffy and beautiful- she was every color a cat could be, predominantly dark colors with hints of orange, white, gold around the face, and one set of pink toe beans which she’d always have stuck out behind her as if on display.

She started becoming incontinent [unable to hold in bladder/bowels] when I was in grade ten, around sixteen. By then I was already insisting she be taken to the vet, but they wouldn’t do it. I didn’t have any money then- I was forbidden from getting a job while at high school because my parents wanted me to focus on studies and thus wouldn’t support the attempts any more than they’d pay the vet bills, so while I regret very much that I couldn’t take her, at the time, I truly believed there was nothing I could do but keep begging.

We found the growth on her back hip the next year, and every year after that her incontinence just got worse and worse. She’d pee in the living room almost every single day-- maybe four times a week before they locked her in mom’s room, and they’d feed her human food she shouldn’t have had-- especially the amount she got. The last few years of her life included a bacon lunch every. single. day. She got fat; mom insisted it was just her fur, but when you bathed her it was obvious by the size of her gut that it wasn’t. High school was especially difficult with my aunt and her drinking problem, more so when my mother lost her job in grade ten and the both of them would work for my grandmother, doing things around the house and being paid by her [she was very well to do with her teacher’s pension and grandpa’s navy pension], but that meant my aunt would do a lot of physical labor like working in the garden, mowing the lawn, and cooling off with a big beer-- one of those big bottles that are like two in one; Stella Artois. She’d also sneak those tiny liquors you could fit in your pocket, like little vodka bottles, grand marniers, anything she could get her hands on, and happily mix grain and grape which really got her fucked up. Summers were the worst because the hotter it got the more she’d drink.

Eventually Sasha started deteriorating physically. Aside from being given the worst diet imaginable save for vegetarian or something, she was constantly around two heavy smokers-- it’s amazing she lived as long as she did, but I knew it wasn’t healthy. My parents however, when pressed about it, would either get angry-defensive, or defensive enough to just go “Look, we’ve owned a lot of cats in our lives and they’ve all lived a long time” as if that excused the environment they put her in.

When it got to the point that she was locked in mom’s room 24/7, peeing on the floors, the bed [none of which has been cleaned apart from the bed btw] very often I would be in my room and hear these.. sounds. These horrible moans that sounded like someone crying. It wasn’t a meow, it wasn’t like a howl for food or anything. If any of you heard her, there would’ve been no doubt in your mind that she was suffering somehow. I don’t know if it was depression, the pain from her growth, or being stuck in a room that reeked of her own piss for hours and hours [worse in the summer], but I still remember the sound; it haunts me. I couldn’t do anything. Letting her out of the room meant that she was going to pee in the hallway and she could barely make it down the stairs-- the last couple years of her life involved a bad limp in her back leg which caused her to fall down the stairs a few times. Still, even then, the only time they took her to the vet was when her body just couldn’t take it anymore. 

I was staying with a friend at the time-- that friend lived within a three-minute walking distance of the vet. Still, they didn’t tell me she was put down until after the fact. They could have told me to meet them there, but they didn’t; they decided for me that it wasn’t something I would’ve wanted to see, but it was if only so that I could say goodbye.

I don’t think I can forgive them for anything, even though they try so hard to act like nothing happened-- that the last thirteen years were just a blur, or that I’m making things out to be worse than they were. I wasn’t; they were all horrible. I just want to be away from them as soon as I can.

I want to live.

[itispossibleihaveissues]

Another Perfect Catastrophe -2

Another Perfect Catastrophe -2

(yes, already, lol)

AUTHOR: Mikimoo PAIRING: JayDick RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Non Consensual drug use, Non Consensual touching, Non Consensual kissing, humour, slight mayhem

SUMMARY: Dick goes undercover as himself in order to catch a gang of international thieves. Jason reluctantly tags along as his long suffering bodyguard. During the ensuing mayhem they get to know each other again and build a few bridges.

Thank you to burkesl17 for the beta!

Notes: An embarrassingly long time ago, the amazing and very, very talented Pentapus invited me to do a reverse bang style exchange, and drew me an amazing prompt. I have no idea how this story was the one that emerged from the many options I had, but such is the creative process I guess! Anyhoo, many thanks to Pentapus for both encouragement and patience, and of course the incredible art! (which will be included at the end of the appropriate chapter)

Chapter 1

It was raining when they landed at Heathrow, and it continued to drizzle in a sad grey mist as their car finally entered the city. It didn't exactly put Jason in a party mood, but at least the hotel was conveniently located. And as fancy as all hell.

Their suit was outrageously opulent of course, with grand furnishings and a layout that was twice the size of Jason's Gotham pad, bigger even than Dick's beat down Bludhaven apartment. The living area was just oozing money and the master bedroom had a huge bed with almost offensively busy wallpaper. Dick seemed thrilled with the ugly swirling pattern and threw himself down on the bed, practically disappearing into the huge pile of pillows.

Jason left him to it and headed over to inspect his adjourning room. To his relief it was slightly more to his taste, less chaotically decorated – more in line with the expensive hotels Bruce favored. For all his many, many faults, Bruce had impeccable taste, in Jason's opinion. Except when it came to women and orphans. How he had raised Dick, a man so completely lacking in personal style he was practically a walking advert for color blindness, was a mystery.

He dumped his case on the bed and inspected what horrors Dick had packed for him; three Captain America T-shirts – funny Dick, real funny. And a Winter Soldier one, which was just rude. The rest of the shirts and pants were reasonable. And the underwear was ridiculous, how he had found every possible variety of Justice League boxers in such a short time was a testament to his inventive ability and vindictive nature.

The pyjamas had little Nightwing symbols on them. Dick clearly thought he was some kind of comedian.

There was a complimentary bottle of champagne on the table in the living room, as well as a brochure for free treatments at the spar and use of the pool and gym. How the other half lived. Although he had enjoyed life at the manor for a few short years he had never really adjusted to the idea of being rich, and displays of excessive wealth got his back up. Why, if you thought nothing of paying $1,000 for a bottle of bubbly, could you not give the same for the homeless kids eking out a living in the Narrows? At least Bruce funded projects and education for the disadvantaged in Gotham. Jason bet most of the shmucks who stayed in these rooms didn't even spare a thought.

All of the positive thoughts about Bruce were very unnerving, so he went to see if he could pick a fight with Dick to take his mind off things.

Dick was asleep, sprawled over the ugly, expensive green bedspread, sunglasses dangling from his fingers and his beautifully coiffured hair a mess on the pillow. His mouth was slightly open and there was a smear of drool on his cheek. He looked like a dope, a ridiculously attractive dope. Maybe because he was much easier to deal with when he was asleep.

 Jason was reading in the sitting room when Dick finally woke and wandered in, dishevelled and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Sorry, Jay,” he said, flopping into a plush armchair with more grace than was really fair. “Travelling really takes it out of me.”

Jason grunted and tried not to remember how long he had spent staring at Dick's dumb sleeping face. “Do you have a plan of action, or were you just planning to reel them in with excessive laziness?” he growled.

Dick ignored his combative tone and stretched like a cat, yawning and flexing. “I thought we could check online for some good spots to hit, maybe start with drinks at the bar here to get the lay of the land and then go paint the town red?”

“And we’re going to get noticed I take it?” 

“Yeah, money, party's, outrageous behavior, the works.”

“Sounds like fun.” Jason said dryly. It might be fun if he was the one getting to be the party animal, rather than the muscle that stood around looking scary and stopping his charge from doing anything too damaging to his reputation. Still, it might also give him a few good opportunities to watch Dick make a fool of himself, and he never turned down those.

 The hotel bar was beautiful, and their choice of whisky was extensive. Jason eyed the bottles with a certain amount of yearning as Dick took a seat and picked up the drinks menu. He would probably choose something horrible and insipid.

“You have a thing about scotch, don't you?” Dick asked. Jason was surprised, they had never discussed such things except for that time when Jason had got horribly drunk sneaking booze from Bruce's drinks cabinet when he was fifteen. He had thought Dick would tattle on him, but he had just grinned and said that it was something of a right of passage to debase Bruce's fancy alcohol. Dick had slapped Jason's shoulder as he wobbled around the pool table, and then told him not to choke to death when the inevitable vomiting happened. And although he had refused to allow Jason to drink any more, he had stayed all night, just to make sure he survived to endure his hangover the next morning.

“I do,” Jason ventured.

“Let’s get some then, we can't get drunk obviously, but we can have a taste or two before dinner. What do you want?”

Jason scanned the menu while Dick took a casual look around the bar. As they were on Bruce's dime, he was going to have to go for something outrageously expensive. Perhaps the 21 year Old Poultney or a Bruichladdich Octomore.

“You order, we're in luck,” Dick murmured, rising out of his chair with the lean grace of a panther and heading towards an older man in a sharp suit. He reached out and shook the guy’s hand while the man eyed him curiously.

By the time Dick came back Jason had sipped thoughtfully at both drinks, making a mental record of each for the tasting notes he would deny keeping with his dying breath.

Dick looked a little unenthusiastic as he eyed the glasses. “No ice?”

“No, Dick. No ice.”

Dick sipped at the Octomore and made a comically disgusted face – a motion that caught the attention of the waiter.

“Everything to your satisfaction, sir?” he asked.

“Yes thanks,” Dick said, still eyeing his drink with a vague expression of offence. “Can I get a coke to go in that?”

“Of course sir.” the waiter said, with a barely perceptible pause. Jason felt the emotion behind the blank veneer of politeness was one of both scorn for the stupid heathen who would do such a thing to a good scotch, and silent anguish for the destruction of a single malt that probably cost as much as a day’s pay.

“God-sakes, just get him a JD and coke, don't sully the good stuff,” Jason said, unable to watch any more, and pulling the drink towards himself protectively.

The waiter looked at Dick who smiled up at him with guileless enthusiasm, “Actually, do you have cocktails? Maybe a strawberry margarita?”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter shot Jason a look of pity before heading to the bar.

“Dick, you are an embarrassment to mankind. An embarrassment to Bruce and his wonderful collection of world whiskeys, and an embarrassment to me.”

Dick stared at him. Jason returned the look, suddenly doubting himself.

“Oh my God, Jason,” Dick grinned at him with the most honest and open expression Jason had seen on his face in forever. “You're a whisky snob!”

“I am not! I just have standards.” Jason couldn't help but feel he had laid himself open in some way. But he was simultaneously enthralled by the expression on Dick's face and pleased for being the one to put it there, as baffling as it was.

“You were the same way about books as a kid, do you remember? So opinionated, you would argue anyone into the floor about whatever you were reading, whether you liked it or not.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jason said, sullenly. “My teacher hated me, said it was disruptive to disagree with him.”

“Your teacher was an idiot,” Dick sniffed. “Bruce didn't shy away from telling him so, either.”

“I had forgotten that.” He had blocked so many memories out, so he only remembered the bad. It hurt less that way, but it probably wasn't doing him any favors. Suddenly uncomfortable he desperately wanted to change the subject. “Who was that man you were with?” he asked, hoping Dick would take the bait.

“Jerry Peters, he's a guy who knows people,” Dick said, vaguely. “He meets with another guy we might want to connect with who can get us into parties.”

“Fortuitous we met him then,” Jason said dryly.

“Forward planning, and a dash of luck.” Dick sipped smugly at his cocktail, thankfully it had been served in a very respectable looking glass and not in the monstrosity of umbrellas and nonsense Jason had been anticipating. He suspected Dick ordered stuff like that on purpose to get a rise out of him. Maybe, he was really a stylish guy with a sophisticated palette, and only pretended to be a walking embarrassment as some sort of self depreciating bonding mechanism.

Probably not though.

“Here's our guy,” Dick said, without turning.

He was a well dressed white man, approaching fifty and trying to look fifteen years younger, he greeted Peters with a nod and a brisk handshake and they bent their heads together to talk, glancing across the bar towards them. “Looks like you made an impression,” Jason said. “Your man's heading over.”

“Cool,” Dick smiled like a shark and unsubtly tangled one of his legs with Jason's, something that would be clearly visible to the approaching man.

“Hello, I'm sorry to interrupt,” the guy said, as he arrived at their table.

“No problem,” Dick withdrew his leg from where it was resting against Jason's and radiating heat.

“My names Ed Garner,” He reached out at shook Dick's hand.

“Richard Grayson,” Dick said, with a smile that was less sparkly than Jason had anticipated. Apparently this job called for arrogant rather than outright friendly.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Garner said with a smarmy smile of his own. “I know of you of course, you're Bruce Wayne's boy.”

The fact that he said boy rather than son was not lost on either of them, and Jason could see a glint of steel behind Dick's answering smirk. “That's right,” he said.

Jason wasn't sure if he was imagining the slight leer in Garner’s expression, but he knew he wasn't missing the significance of the brief look Garner had given their intertwined legs.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” Garner asked.

“Pleasure,” Dick practically purred the word, his eyes flicking towards Jason and back to Garner “It's been a long time since I've been to Europe, I felt it was time to see the sights.” He made it sound like those sights were pornographic in nature. Jason was proud of how impassive he managed to keep his expression under the full force of Dick's sex voice.

“If you're looking for entertainment while you're in London, I arrange events. There's a party tonight, and one tomorrow at a hot new club – very exclusive, are you interested? I can get you on the list for both without a problem,” Garner said.

“And my bodyguard?” Dick's face was polite, but Jason felt he could sense the dislike oozing off him. Whether Garner could also sense that was irrelevant – he was interested in hooking a hot rich guy to attend his party, and that was it.

“Of course,” he gave Jason a once over that lingered on his biceps, practically bulging out of the ridiculous t-shirt Dick had given him. Jason was not particularly comfortable with the expression on the guy’s face, but a small part of himself, which he hated with a low key intensity, was kind of thrilled that he was someone people thought Dick Grayson was banging. He was slightly disgusted with himself that this was the kind of bullshit his crappy self-esteem was based on.

“That would be great. Send me the details, I'll give you my email.” Dick handed the man a card and then turned back to Jason, completely dismissing Garner in the rudest way possible. “Have you ever had oysters? They have good ones here, I think and maybe a bottle of the good stuff.” He waved at the waiter, leaving Garner to awkwardly smile and leave, returning to his friend at the bar.

Dick ordered them the oysters, which Jason had attempted to eat before, and disliked intensely. Although watching Dick delicately squish lemon onto them and then swallow the slimy little suckers was inexplicably filling Jason's head with bad thoughts. This mission was going to be a potentially embarrassing one, he could tell. Especially if all his pants were as tight as the ones he was currently wearing.

Dick's arrogant playboy persona seemed to work though and within five minutes of Garner leaving their table he had emailed them details of his parties. One in Mayfair, and another in Soho.

“We going to head to this place then?” Jason asked. He had it up on google maps, it wasn't that far to walk and Jason was quite keen to see a bit of the city, especially as it seemed to have finally stopped raining. They would have to probably get a cab though, for show.

“Nah, we just needed this guys attention, we should play hard to get, we don't want to seem too keen. Let’s stay in tonight, do a bit of research and lay a bit of ground work.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Jason said in the most provocative way he knew how. He was extremely gratified to see an expression of surprise flitter over Dick's face and the slight darkening of his eyes.

 'Laying the ground work' turned out to involve being as obnoxious a hotel guest as possible, mostly by ordering extravagant food and playing very loud gay porn on the 72 inch TV in the suites lounge. Dick seemed to both be enjoying himself and feeling guilty over the hassle he was causing the poor staff. It was quite funny to watch him struggle between the two very different feelings.

“Just tip them really, really well – a bonus will make up for the trouble. And it’s giving them something to talk about. Your name is already popping up on gossip sites, I'm sure by the end of tonight you'll have the start of a good scandal,” Jason said.

Dick grinned and placed an order for Mojito flavored condoms with more eagerness than was really appropriate. “We could always give the gossips a nudge, too.” 

Jason found himself grinning back.

Tarnishing Dick’s name on the Internet turned out to be very entertaining. And as they weren't going out on the town, Jason had treated himself to another scotch and was feeling pretty mellow. His headphones blocked out the porn and he had just started a fight on ONTD over whether Richard Grayson was Bi or just Gay for Pay. He sort of understood why people like Lex Luthor kept trying to take over the world; orchestrating mayhem was fun. He was also amused that Bruce and Dick seemed to have a bunch of sock puppet accounts on social media for just this sort of thing. Bruce on LiveJournal was almost as funny as Bruce on Tumblr.

[orchestrators]

Homo Computatrum

Deep underground, in a secret facility, young Declan Morrissey tried to create a new living being, and old Will Sylvester did his best to stop him. It was coming to the end of an era, in a time where the only hope for humanity to move forward and postpone the end of the world was to be able to think better. Dr. Morrissey dreamed of making that a reality for the entire world, to end the cold and bitter feuds between nations, and create a singular goal for humanity, the search for knowledge. He had studied for years to endeavor to make people better, not just biologically as a doctor or a scientist, but mechanically, as an engineer. But today it seemed that he was never going to achieve his goal because days like today were happening more and more frequently lately. Declan sat at his desk, looking down at his glasses, they had a spatter of red across the lenses. His office was that ugly brown color that reminded him of his great grandmother’s spare bedroom, simply put it was outdated. The furniture creaked, and the carpet collected more than enough bacteria to contaminate the entire laboratory. The lamplight was gaudy and did not blend well with the more modern LED light bars that strip across the concrete ceiling.

For a moment he kept his eyes closed, and tried his best to think of something else while the loud bangs stopped. Days like this made him want to quit, they made him feel as if he was some kind of failure. So he picked up his glasses and wiped away the spatter while listening to Colonel Sylvester’s seemingly endless lecture.

“-not even listening to what I’m telling you are you?”

“Huh? No no, I am, yes, please continue.” Declan piped up.

“Morrissey you’re funding for this little science experiment will be cut if we do not see a major improvement across all the hosts. For god sake man have you seen what's happening up there? We need soldiers. Better people, who can win the fight for us when it lands on our soil.” The Colonel said in a stern tone.

“Colonel, I uh, understand your concern, but my priority isn’t to make killing machines, the rest of the EU Military Regime can do that just fine on their own. What we are trying to do here is not to win a war but to stop it from happening.”

“If that’s the case you and the rest of these idiots you call scientists better figure out what you're doing wrong. My men are killing subjects every other day for this, and it’s on you.”

“Colonel I-” Declan started.

“I don’t want to hear it, it’s late,” The Colonel said loudly “I’m tired, and you’re a bloody mess, get yourself cleaned up. Start fresh in the morning and get me a subject that will survive the procedure.”

While he had been talking with Sylvester, the laboratory that Declan called home had been completely turned over. His normally tidy and organized workspace was awash in red and white fluids, all of which he would have to clean up again before tomorrow morning. He hated starting the day by cleaning after the night before, he even hated cleaning dishes the day after a meal, he just preferred to be ahead of himself in those ways. Sylvester had left him alone in his office, looking out the window into his disheveled space. The glass was always the hardest to clean, that and the heavy lifting involved in getting the medical assistance robot arm back reattached to its harness on the ceiling. That was something he would have to wait and take care of when the next subject came in in the morning. In the meantime, Declan pulled up his sleeves and got to work getting the place back in order.

“Tomorrow is the day’” he said, “Tomorrow is the day.”

                The next morning came and went as normal for the young doctor. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, apart from the few people who were missing from the laboratory team. The canteen area was the second foulest smelling place in the entire structure, the recycled air always carried with it the scent of old food from the refuse bins. Not to mention the grease traps from the kitchen friers, that was the one thing that Declan found more putrid than most, even after spending over an hour cleaning warm blood off of his tiles the night before. The only thing that made the canteen bearable was the lady behind the counter, who seemed to always be singing while she was working. Declan never paid much notice to her, but he did enjoy listening to her hum instead of watching the television screens while he ate. The usual news headlines had been displaying in the corner of the room, none of which were comforting to look at. So instead he blinked his left eye twice and pulled up his interface on his smart lenses. He scrolled through last night's research data and the overall progress of his project from his folders. Soon he was going to genuinely make it, this time it was going to work for him. Declan quickly finished his yogurt and cereal grains, realizing he had lost track of time for his meeting with the development team this morning.

Declan walked at a brisk pace out of the canteen and down the access corridor to his elevator, he didn’t particularly like using service elevators but it was the only way he could make it to sub-level G on time for his meeting. He wiped his brow, taking a brief respite from the sweat that had begun to bead up on his pale skin. His hands were always clammy, but today he was profusely sweating. It could have something to do with the fact that Sylvester and his army men were going to sit in and watch the procedure today. In the briefing room, it seemed like a third of his staff were already gone. Many seats of interesting and dedicated individuals that Declan had been working with over the years sat empty. The sense of foreboding worsened for him. He spotted Sylvester, sitting at the front of the room. Of course, he was. The soldiers lining the walls of the small room which, like his office, resembled an outdated furniture thrift store, remained unpersuaded to take a seat when one was offered to them. They simply stood, unmoving, by Sylvester's orders no doubt. Declan stood at the front of the room and gazed down at the tired expectant eyes before him. He gripped the small podium and activated the Artificial Reality Display next to him on the small stage. The lights dimmed, and someone had already lit a cigarette.

“Alright then let's get uh, started. Good morning everyone.” He looked about the room and saw no response, not even a change in someone's expression. It was going to be another difficult day.

“First I will like to thank Colonel Sylvester and his men for joining us today, it is going to be an exciting one.” He said, feigning his enthusiasm. He was met with a dry cough from the back of the room while Sylvester looked disgruntled at the mention of his name.

“Last night we learned that subject seventeen had no success in the bonding process. We believe that the Neural interface was not sufficient in its ability to transfer data from the specimen to the host.” He began to explain, while the AR images displayed the gruesome scenes from the night before.

“So in an attempt to avoid another lost subject today we will be trying the newer interface implant device, this one will be loaded manually into the base of the host’s skull, and it will house not just the specimen, but also the Memory core. Now before we implant the port itself the specimen will be placed inside, and the memory core implanted to the socket afterward. Any questions?”

The smoke from the back of the room hazed his view of his fellow doctors and engineers. He wished people wouldn’t smoke in meetings, but it was one of the few rooms in the facility that they could do it without contaminating anything. There was no answer to his question, he knew that they had all read the briefing and knew what to do. In reality, no one needed to read the briefing, or even come to the meeting for that matter. Declan knew that they had been repeating the same experiment over and over for months. At this stage, it was cyclical for them all. Come in, have a meeting, experiment, go home. At least that was his personal experience of it all. He didn’t know the private lives of the others, they weren’t allowed to speak to each other outside of official business.

With no questions to answer, Declan lifted the lights in the room and lead his team to the staging area in the lab. A viewing area for the Colonel and his soldiers had been set up behind the mirror glass on the back wall of the room. The robot assistant arm had been put back up by the laboratory interns, who always did their best to help, even though they never seem to last long despite their curious and excited nature at first. The most ominous object in the room was the large black cabinet which looked like it was made from the most impenetrable materials man could make. The fingerprint ID scanner and DNA blood test locking system made it so that very few could open it, and for good reason. The computers and staff were all prepared for the days work, and the nervous faces of the other scientists showed how prepared they were to fail. Declan ignored their depressive appearance while changing into his scrubs in the decontamination room. He focused more so on the floor, it was nicer to look at than the skinny, pale, transparent skin of his coworkers. In the lab, he sat by a large operating table in the center of the room and used his smart contacts to link with the robot arm above him. Everything was calibrated accordingly. He glanced down at the tray next to him, where 3 black objects lay, sealed in plastic. Next to them on the tray sat multiple tools and medical equipment. All he was going to need to win the day and get the Colonel back on his side.

“Alright, uh, let's begin, please bring in subject eighteen. And uh, please unlock the cabinet and extract specimen twenty-five.”

“Yes, Doctor.” One of the others droned.

[simplyyiplier]

A̵͏͜n͟͡t̸̶̕͢͝ì̶̛͢   (short story)

I stare at his lifeless form as I feel my body c̴on͠v͜u͝ĺs͏ing̕ and g͢͡l͟i̸̢t̢c̡̛hing͘͞  out of my control. The knife slips out of my bloody hand and falls to the floor with a loud clatter. B̸͢҉l̢͘u͘e͘ and ŗ̷͟͠è̷͘d̶̸̨͠͞ rectangles flash across my eyes, just for a split second. My neck crooks to the left as my back curves and my form sp̸li̡t̶s from itself in all directions in an angry attempt to keep this body whole.

“Jack.”

The name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, Jack. But I’m suddenly compelled to say it repeatedly.

“Jack, Jack, Jack.”

I find myself screaming now as I finally understand what I’ve done. The body lying at my feet is no longer a body, it’s the face of the name that I hate the most. Jack.

I fall to my knees; the st͟a̴tic̨ in my head so loud I cannot hear my own tangled thoughts. I clutch my head with my hands… they no longer feel like mine.

“I’m s̷o͜r̨r̶̷y̴ Jack! It w̷̨̨a̷̡͞s̢n͞͝'̕t҉̶͠  me!” I scream as loudly as my lungs will allow.

Tears flood my eyes much like the gĺ̢i͞tc̡h́͜y͜ haze that ripples through my vision every so often. This body is no body; it’s a cursed shell of what i̷͜t̵͏̛ wants me to be. Or is it me?

The feelings inside me conflict with each other in a tangled maelstrom of confusion. I hate him, or am I sorry?

Every fiber of my loathing being leaves my body in the form of a tangled scream. I claw at my own neck; the scar from the past haunting my fingertips. The voices in my head wail to me and to each other, driving me to the abyss of insanity.

“I hate him, I h̷̡͟͏̕a̢҉̵͠t̷̛͡͞͡e̶̴̡͘ you Jack!” I scream, the voice of a garbled mess of code replacing my own as I say his name.

“I’m so sorry!” I cry out, drawing blood as I dig into my own flesh.

His face is so lifeless, splattered in his own crimson blood. Pale skin now almost translucent, his hand which grazed my body now limp on the hardwood.

Why do I feel empathy for him? Why?!? I don’t understand this feeling inside of me! He r͏̕͡ù̶i̡̛n̸̡͢e͘͟d̀͠ me; played me as a pawn at his hand whenever he pleased. They brought me to life, and he u͜s̴͠e͜͡d̛͟ me.

His cloudy blue eyes stare at me, angrily shouting at me from the dead. Not a shred of peace or serenity  lies on his face. He died in agony.

Why did this not release me? Why is my body still t̨͜͡e̡̕͢ą̨͘ŕ̢͠įn̛̛ǵ͞͠͝ ̷҉͜m̴̢̨͘͠e̡͜͟͟͞ ̶҉a̵̕͟͝p̕͟͜͝a̸͟͢r̶̛̕͢t͏̢ ? This was supposed to end my suffering!

My finger reaches out. I graze the skin of the body in front of me; velvet skin is now cold and clammy. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Now what do I do?

The question rings loudly in my ears. Looking from him to the room around me, suddenly everything that just happened vanishes. Nothing feels real anymore. Maybe it isn’t.

The trinkets on the shelves feel strangely familiar, but at the same time so indifferent and cold. The black padding on the wall is torn from his last attempts to fight me off. The computer monitor, warped and blinding ugly, colorful glitches is splattered in blood. His headphones dangle halfway to the floor, still plugged in. I can hear the sounds he was listening to before he saw me in the monitor.

*-*-*

“Why are you here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be J̸͏̶a͞҉̸c̕͠k͏?”

*-*-*

I clasp my head as that memory whizzes by, almost like a car on a derby race track.

Things still feel unreal. I catch my hands seizing and glitching from the corner of my eye. This body is screaming so many things, tearing itself apart.

I’m drawn to stand and move to the very place I stood when I took him by surprise. The moment he knew he was fucked, and this was the last time.

*-*-*

His reaction time falters him as I clip the side of his forehead with the point of my knife.

‘thud’

He peers at me from the floor, watching the blood trickle down his hand. I smile at him, wicked white teeth forming a crooked sneer.

“I told you, I wasn’t your toy J͇͉̜̪̯̼̘̕a̡̯̱̖̺c̲̫͓̰̯̖͜k.”

The name slides off my tongue like a serpent with venom dripping from its fangs.

“I never said you were.”

“L͢͞I̵͜Ȩ̵̡S̶!͏” I scream, slamming my fist onto his desk, warping it with my virus. “Then why have you been using me Jack? Playing g̵̕͢͟͡a̢͜m̢͢҉̛è̵̛̛͘s͢͝ ! You know I hate games when I’m not the one playing!”

I see my own angry reflection in his fearful eyes. I take a broken step towards him as he raises his blood stained hand as a defense.

My glare does not break as I take another, coming closer.

“Anti...” he says softly, “please.”

“It’s too late for you, green boy.” I hiss, “I̛'̸m not ͞y̧o̡ur g҉͞l҉҉͏͏i̡t̛́͟͠ć̵̢̛h̛͜ ̕͏̴b̨͟i̛͘͢͞t͝͝c̶͏̛͢͝h̶̨̀̀͠.̶̡́͜͞ .” I say before coming down on him with the knife.

*-*-*

I fall to the floor, clutching my head. No, I couldn’t have done that, why would I do that?

I look over my right shoulder and meet a growing pool of his blood. Various tongues of code and dysfunction leave my skin and travel to the floor, bursting into small fireworks in his blood. The puddle inches closer; it touches my lips. I taste his blood, it makes me sick.

My feet betray me when I try to stand, leaving me to catch anything to save myself from falling again. A cabinet was the unfortunate victim; shelves falling under the sudden weight placed upon them. The items on them fall on top of me, becoming glitches themselves when they catch even a hair of my skin.

A Sam plushie falls to the floor; a spark of disorder splicing its design for a split second before turning back to normal.

I͏ ͢͝c̢au̕s͏e̸ ̸͝ćh̴̛á̵os͝ ̵i̶ń͞ ̸̕e͟v̷͞er̀͝y̕͠t̢͠hin̵g ҉̡I͟҉ ҉t̸́o̵̶u̸ch̷̵́ .

My eyes follow the mayhem to the other set of shelves to the left of the room. The minute my eyes meet the knocked over boards and mess of items my head pounds. Unconsciously my hand reaches up to grasp it. I feel something warm and sticky; I’m bleeding from my forehead.

*-*-*

He tries to stand, desperately clasping onto the foam padding on the wall. I hiss as my hand grabs his collar and jerks him back, then forwards in front of me. The simple gesture sends his weak human body flying into the shelves he has to the side of the room, his spine hitting it, dragging the shelves down with him as he sinks to the floor.

A cry of agony leaves his lips; something I’ve never heard escape his body. A tinge of uncertainty courses through my veins as I see the pain flash across his eyes.

“Please, stop!” he cries as I come forward.

“Y̛ou ̴s͞hòųld'͜ve ̸s͝t҉op͢ped a ͠l̢ong̨ ͘tíme͜ ag͜o!” I wail, raising the silver blade into its lethal position.

The moment is in slow motion. The recognition sets into his face as I come down with the knife. I see his body struggling to react fast enough milliseconds before the blade slices into his body. His terrified wail comes after the second blow, delayed as his body reacts to the sudden gaping wound.

Nervous system sending pangs of agony. Veins torn open, spewing crimson honey uncontrollably. Labored lungs struggling to draw in air.

Every time I touch his body with my other hand it convulses underneath me no way a human body should. I see the same contorted waves and patterns in his eyes as I see in my own. He’s pleading me to stop; the pain of my fucked up body touching his own is more painful than the knife plunging into his.

C̷od́e to̧uchi͞n̴g ͜hu̴m̀an̸ ̛f̨l͢esh.͠ A̴ ͠co̸m͠pute̛r glitch̕ slic̢i̷n̡g i̧n͏to͡ sk͡i̵n͝. T̵h̷i͜s is ͞the p̴ain ̵h̷e shr͞i̶e̷ks̨ ̶òf͢.̢

*-*-*

I’m shot back as if I’m receiving kickback from being shot with a bullet. My head smacks the hardwood floor and the rest of my body follows suit. After a few minutes the daze leaves my head so I can try to stand.

My feet lead me to his own.

*-*-*

I drag him to the middle of the room, the last place his body will ever lay living. I see his chest rise and fall sharply and his hands twitching. They now somewhat resemble my own.

*-*-*

I find myself staring at his cold body as it reaches out in front of me. He wasn’t able to fight back once I so much as grazed his skin with my finger. The agony of whatever is in my flesh seeped into his, and since he was only human, it was like fire being plunged into his veins.

My feet carry the same course they did a few short moments ago.

I kneel down by his side and hold his hand in mine. There’s slight warmth, but it’s fleeting quickly. Soon he’ll be nothing but a stone cold ghost.

*-*-*

I put one leg over his body and lower myself so my hips rest on his. I push him down with my left hand, drawing the right up high, prepared to come back down on him. Just as my arm starts making its decent towards his chest, his body almost disappears right out from under me.

Suddenly Jack becomes Anti; me, right before my eyes.

His features become distorted as sections of it seem to break away from his body. A tangled mess of broken rectangles surge into his skin, and unnatural waves ripple through his face. The color leaves his eyes, turning them into nothing but empty holes.

All the while he’s screaming in agony, but even his smooth voice is garbled and chocked, just like mine.

A hand reaches out for me as he screams so loudly it shakes the air around us.

“P̶̴̨͠l̴҉̷͡e̕͡͞a͡҉̨͡s̢͝͠e̡!̵̸̧͟͡ !”

His hand grasps mine, the one with the knife, but he doesn’t try to pull it away from me. His grip like a vice simply latches onto my wrist, refusing to let go.

When he touches me it’s like our forces jolt through each of us, like metal when exposed to an open power outlet. I’ve never felt so much pain as this evil raging through me right now. It threatens to toss me backwards like an explosion. I grip into Jack’s shirt tighter for fear his body will destroy me.

A voice in my head calls to me, telling me I shouldn’t finish what I’ve started. As I stare down at the inhuman thing I’ve now created within him, a crashing wave hits me.

I’ve created myself.

When the realization hits me it’s as if the terror I infused into him fades. For a moment I see his eyes return, pleading me not to do it.

“Pl͜ea̛s̢è ͝A͜n͟t̸i!̀”

t takes all of my will to plunge the knife into him one final time. A ripple floods from his body and into everything around us. The tremors, glitches, and computer errors leave his body, leaving him as a human body again. Jack.

A breath escapes his throat when the knife hits, cutting all the way through into the floorboards. His pale blue eyes turn to me, pleading with one final effort for me to stop. But it was already too late.

His body withers under me. Life fleeting too quickly. I can only watch with silent eyes.

A final inhale, a soft whisper of an exhale. Then nothing. Silence.

J̢́a̡̛͟͠͠c̴͏k͏̶͜͝ ͏̷̀͘i͞s̸̶ ̢g̶̴o҉͠͏̶n̷͏̸̸̧è͟.͡͡

I͏͙̣̹̬͕̳͘ͅ'̰͓̜̺͞m̧̮̩̙͉͕̱͙̤ ̷̢͓̻̘̲͎̗͖ͅs͓͍̭o͟͏̘͖r̸̴̮̻͇̫ŗ̛̞͉̦̳͞y̨̩̹͜͞,̢̬̦̘̩͓̠ ̷̞̤͚̙̺͔̪̦͜J̴̮̣͇͙̪a̫̳̜̬̫͇̙̘͞c͉̩̹̼̥̜̰̟͘͢ķ̛̟͕.̠̹͇̖̮́͘͟

-_-_-_-_

Sorry for the long post on your feed!

I hope this wasn't too graphic for anyone! ♥

I've been having a lot of anxiety recently which causes me to stay up late. One night around 4:30am I got this vision in my head. The words just flooded into my brain, so I wrote, wrote, and wrote until it was all down on paper (so around 6am). I decided I wanted to share it, so, here it is! I really hope you enjoyed it!

***I haven't done any hardcore digging into the Anti thing, so please don't jump on me for this! It's literally what came to my head, all unedited and untouched by anything Jack, the community or theorists have done! Please respect it for what it is lovelies ♥***

I have this posted on DeviantArt and Wattpad, if you wouldn't mind giving it some love over there? (x) (x)

Maybe share this enough that Jack sees it??? ♥ @therealjacksepticeye

[realtortomgilliam-blog]

Oakland County Michigan Home "SOLD"- What 9 They Learned

https://homes2moveyou.com/oakland-county-michigan-home-sold/

Oakland County Michigan Home "SOLD"- What 9 They Learned

Once you sold your Oakland County Michigan home recently there was quite a learning curve. This was your first home, which you’ve lived in for more than a decade, so you expected to invest a lot of time cleaning, organizing and making some minor repairs that you had been putting off. Here’s what you didn’t see coming as told by the couple who got their Oakland County Michigan home “Sold”.

1.White and bold wall colors are no-nos

We worked with a stager — a person who specializes in making homes more sellable. Walking through our house with her was humbling and a bit exasperating. In the past four years, I’ve painted every single room in the house and applied a decorative finish in the kitchen. I’d repaired any problems with the walls and filled all nicks, cracks and holes to make the walls look smooth. I used paints that were easy to clean to keep the walls looking fresh.

The problem? The colors. The white in the foyer and family room  (too bland), the green in the dining room and the ocean blue in the kitchen (too bold), the blue-gray in the basement (too dark) and one bright red wall in our older son’s bedroom (too bright) were all the wrong choices to entice buyers. We ended up having to paint nearly every room a neutral color to get our Oakland County Michigan home “Sold”.

2.What ‘cut the clutter’ really means

We knew the real-estate mantra in Oakland County Michigan that having the house tidy and organized, with only the minimum amount of furniture in each room, makes the space appear larger and more enticing. So we knew we’d have to clear out plenty of clutter. We didn’t expect to have to take out almost everything.

Three bookshelves in my office, one apiece in three bedrooms and one in the basement all had to go. That meant packing up and carrying about 600 books to the garage. We also had to remove sofas, chairs, dressers, cabinets, lamps, televisions, a desk, kitchenware and one-third of the clothes in our closets. Our garage is now filled to the limit with furniture and full boxes. Be prepared to park your car outside when preparing to sell your Oakland County Michigan home.

3. It’s not your Oakland County Michigan home anymore

We’ve lived in this home for more than a decade, so the walls are covered in plenty of family pictures. Our stager wasn’t impressed. She told us that almost every picture had to go. To show the house, the walls had to be almost bare, with the exception of a strategically placed mirror or two and a couple of small scenic pictures in nice frames. This removes personality, allowing potential buyers to see the house as theirs, not yours.

4. The walls are in worse shape than you think

Once you start removing the clutter, you’ll find all kind of unpleasant surprises. Once we removed those dressers, we found myriad nail holes, gouges and cracks that were easily visible in the naked walls. They required filling the holes and fixing the damaged spots, then sanding the walls smooth and then vacuuming up all the dust. It proved to be a time-consuming project that we hadn’t planned to undertake. On the plus side, the new homeowners of our Oakland County home are going to have perfect walls.

5. Those large items might not come back out so easily

You may tell yourself that anything you got in a room in one piece will come back out in one piece. But as anyone who has ever moved can attest, getting a large item, mainly a sofa, through tight doorways can be like trying to solve a puzzle that weighs several hundred pounds.

Our absurdly heavy sofa with a hideaway bed refused to come out of a room. No matter how we twisted, flipped or contorted the couch, it jammed against the wall opposite the doorway before we could get it out. I ended up taking it apart and removing the bed to get it through the door. It didn’t seem to be a problem when we purchased out Oakland County Michigan home, but I guess either the sofa grew or the house shrunk.

6. Some cleaning projects will be frustratingly stubborn

A decade’s worth of hands running up and down our handrails had caused the brown-stained wood to turn dark and ugly. The wood grains were nearly black. We had cleaned the railings periodically with a wood cleaner, but it didn’t remove or prevent what looked like black stains running the length of the rails. Finally, we used a liquid dishwasher detergent mixed with water to cut through the grease. Then we used a lemon-based furniture cleaner and a lot of vigorous scrubbing to get the wood clean. There are going to be projects that won’t come clean with just a sponge, soap and water, especially if you’ve lived in a home for many years.

7. Fix those nagging problems — but don’t expect them to be easy

The pop-up sink stopper in the bathroom sink hadn’t worked in awhile. It was a problem we could live with — the water still drained just fine — but I wanted to fix it before listing the house; even small, neglected problems could put off buyers.

What should have been a simple fix turned into a major project. The replacement stopper wouldn’t work either. Since one of the faucet handles was cracked anyway, we decided to replace the whole faucet and drain assembly. After three trips to the home center — one for the stopper, one for the new faucet and then one to replace the shutoff valves that decided to start leaking after being turned off for the first time in years — and spending plenty of time working in the tight quarters behind the pedestal sink, the faucet and drain worked great. But it shot an entire afternoon.

8. Everything will take longer than you think

We made the decision to sell our Oakland County home in early April. My kids and my wife, who’s a teacher, were on spring break, and I took the better part of the week off to get the house in order. With all four of us working, we expected to have the house ready for listing by the end of the week. And by working 12-plus hours a day, we almost made our goal.

We ate up four days filling nail holes, sanding and giving each room two coats of paint, which put us behind schedule. We also ran into the common problem most people face when they prepare to move: We had a lot more stuff than we thought, and it took a long time to pack it up. It also made us wonder why we didn’t have a garage sale a long, long time ago.

9. The house won’t stay clean

With the house freshly painted, thoroughly cleaned and filled with just a minimal amount of furniture in the rooms, our mission of making the home look large and inviting was accomplished. It actually looks better now than when we bought it. But maintaining that clean and organized look is a challenge that we have to answer every day because of constant showings.

Despite a new family-wide policy of not wearing shoes indoors and not touching the walls, the house won’t stay clean. The floor in the foyer seems to magically attract mud, the carpet constantly needs vacuuming, schoolbooks and backpacks appear throughout the house and the walls get dinged and need to be touched up. Some of this is unavoidable: You can’t live in your Oakland County Michigan home without kicking up a little dirt. It’s what we’ll be dealing with until the house sells.

Source: MSN Real Estate

http://realestate.msn.com/9-things-you-learn-when-you-sell-your-home?ocid=vt_twmsnre

[vincentbnaughton]

Small Kitchen? Try These 9 Tips for Making the Most of Your Limited Space

Is there some kind of law that requires rental apartments to supply no more than a single square of kitchen counter space to each unit?

Between the white walls, scarce and often outdated cabinets, and a lack of amenities, it’s rare to find a solid kitchen in the world of yearlong leases.

But no good makeover starts with a beautiful subject, right?

All you need to transform that bleak little kitchen into a well-designed, functional space is a bit of imagination, some basic home maintenance skills, and a few solid pieces.

Here’s where to begin.

Donate first

Before moving into your new space, make sure to get rid of all those things you don’t need anymore.

Have you actually used that discounted bundt pan in the past year or two? If not, donate to your favorite local charity shop. Someone else might get use out of it, and you’ll be saving yourself from more clutter in your new home.

Think vertically

Vertical storage is a tried-and-true method of using space, and the kitchen holds some unique opportunities for making the most of it.

Hanging pot racks, magnetic knife strips, mounted dish-drying racks installed above the sink, and rods with hooks for towels, aprons, small tools and oven mitts are all excellent ways to keep clutter in its place - and keep the surfaces and lower area of the room free.

Find beautiful cleaning tools

The ugly truth is that a lot of everyday items just make sense to keep out - but that doesn’t mean they have to be such an eyesore.

Skip the plastic and get yourself a classic wooden broom, natural fiber dish brush and a glass soap dispenser. These items don’t cost much, but they add a softer look while also getting the job done.

Tap into change

Just because your place didn’t come equipped with a dishwasher doesn’t mean you have to suffer. Installing a quality faucet with a pull-down sprayer can make your chores less of a chore (and, as long as you swap it back before you move out, it shouldn’t violate your rental agreement).

Have space and the budget for something more? Portable dishwashers are a massive timesaver. From small countertop models to wheeled butcher-block-top options, there are sizes that fit into almost any space and require nothing more than your standard sink to function.

Live the island life

A kitchen island is a versatile tool for almost any space - even the tiniest micro apartments!

Whether you choose a larger center-of-the-room-style piece or a small butcher-block number, these additions create more counter space and storage, all in one piece.

Bonus: If your island has wheels, it can serve as a portable bar for your next party. (Hey, if we can call bingeing our favorite shows with a few of our closest friends a “party,” so can you.)

Light it up

Another timeless tip: Good lighting is everything.

If your kitchen is dedicated to getting things done and starting your day, invest in cool lighting - the kind that washes everything in a bright, sunlit glow. A refreshing, cooler light wakes us up and creates an invigorating feeling.

If you’re more of a romantic and enjoy taking your time in the kitchen, keep relaxing, warm lighting around so that you can let the day melt away as you sip your merlot.

For those who prefer a bit of both, app-enabled bulbs can customize the mood for any occasion, and some even use every color of the rainbow.

Think (temporarily) BIG

If there’s one common complaint about renting, it’s the stark white walls. Removable wallpaper adds a touch of personalization and won’t break the bank - or at least, it doesn’t have to.

To keep costs low, stick to one accent wall. Finding a large-scale print will make the space feel larger, and layering a sizable mirror on top will maximize the look and any light.

Curate unique displays

One of the best ways to keep an assortment of oddly shaped kitchen items is to dedicate either one section of the room (think: the top 12 inches of the walls) or one wall to showing them off.

Whether it’s your grandmother’s antique creamer collection or the jumble of cookie cutters that won’t fit into your drawers, making them into a vignette adds a layer of personalization to your space while also providing covert storage in plain sight. Easy-to-install hooks or some simple shelves are great ways to achieve this solution.

Keep it alive

Every room deserves a plant. Not only do they look good, but they also improve the quality of the air around them. If you don’t have the floor or counter space to spare, a hanging plant will do the trick.

No natural light in your kitchen? Or perhaps you’re better at killing plants than keeping them green? No matter - there are plenty of realistic artificial plants these days, which means everyone can benefit from the organic shapes of ferns, succulents and the ever-popular fiddle-leaf figs.

Have pets? Make sure to check the toxicity of your plants before choosing their placement.

No matter how uniquely challenging your space might be, there are solutions waiting for you to find them.

Related:

‘You’re Throwing Money Away’ and Other Myths About Renting

The Top 5 Renting Nightmares and How to Face Them

‘Where Should I Keep My…?’: Solving the Ultimate Small Space Dilemmas

[feamproffitt]

Small Kitchen? Try These 9 Tips for Making the Most of Your Limited Space

Is there some kind of law that requires rental apartments to supply no more than a single square of kitchen counter space to each unit?

Between the white walls, scarce and often outdated cabinets, and a lack of amenities, it's rare to find a solid kitchen in the world of yearlong leases.

But no good makeover starts with a beautiful subject, right?

All you need to transform that bleak little kitchen into a well-designed, functional space is a bit of imagination, some basic home maintenance skills, and a few solid pieces.

Here's where to begin.

Donate first

Before moving into your new space, make sure to get rid of all those things you don't need anymore.

Have you actually used that discounted bundt pan in the past year or two? If not, donate to your favorite local charity shop. Someone else might get use out of it, and you'll be saving yourself from more clutter in your new home.

Think vertically

Vertical storage is a tried-and-true method of using space, and the kitchen holds some unique opportunities for making the most of it.

Hanging pot racks, magnetic knife strips, mounted dish-drying racks installed above the sink, and rods with hooks for towels, aprons, small tools and oven mitts are all excellent ways to keep clutter in its place - and keep the surfaces and lower area of the room free.

Find beautiful cleaning tools

The ugly truth is that a lot of everyday items just make sense to keep out - but that doesn't mean they have to be such an eyesore.

Skip the plastic and get yourself a classic wooden broom, natural fiber dish brush and a glass soap dispenser. These items don't cost much, but they add a softer look while also getting the job done.

Tap into change

Just because your place didn't come equipped with a dishwasher doesn't mean you have to suffer. Installing a quality faucet with a pull-down sprayer can make your chores less of a chore (and, as long as you swap it back before you move out, it shouldn't violate your rental agreement).

Have space and the budget for something more? Portable dishwashers are a massive timesaver. From small countertop models to wheeled butcher-block-top options, there are sizes that fit into almost any space and require nothing more than your standard sink to function.

Live the island life

A kitchen island is a versatile tool for almost any space - even the tiniest micro apartments!

Whether you choose a larger center-of-the-room-style piece or a small butcher-block number, these additions create more counter space and storage, all in one piece.

Bonus: If your island has wheels, it can serve as a portable bar for your next party. (Hey, if we can call bingeing our favorite shows with a few of our closest friends a "party," so can you.)

Light it up

Another timeless tip: Good lighting is everything.

If your kitchen is dedicated to getting things done and starting your day, invest in cool lighting - the kind that washes everything in a bright, sunlit glow. A refreshing, cooler light wakes us up and creates an invigorating feeling.

If you're more of a romantic and enjoy taking your time in the kitchen, keep relaxing, warm lighting around so that you can let the day melt away as you sip your merlot.

For those who prefer a bit of both, app-enabled bulbs can customize the mood for any occasion, and some even use every color of the rainbow.

Think (temporarily) BIG

If there's one common complaint about renting, it's the stark white walls. Removable wallpaper adds a touch of personalization and won't break the bank - or at least, it doesn't have to.

To keep costs low, stick to one accent wall. Finding a large-scale print will make the space feel larger, and layering a sizable mirror on top will maximize the look and any light.

Curate unique displays

One of the best ways to keep an assortment of oddly shaped kitchen items is to dedicate either one section of the room (think: the top 12 inches of the walls) or one wall to showing them off.

Whether it’s your grandmother's antique creamer collection or the jumble of cookie cutters that won't fit into your drawers, making them into a vignette adds a layer of personalization to your space while also providing covert storage in plain sight. Easy-to-install hooks or some simple shelves are great ways to achieve this solution.

Keep it alive

Every room deserves a plant. Not only do they look good, but they also improve the quality of the air around them. If you don't have the floor or counter space to spare, a hanging plant will do the trick.

No natural light in your kitchen? Or perhaps you're better at killing plants than keeping them green? No matter - there are plenty of realistic artificial plants these days, which means everyone can benefit from the organic shapes of ferns, succulents and the ever-popular fiddle-leaf figs.

Have pets? Make sure to check the toxicity of your plants before choosing their placement.

No matter how uniquely challenging your space might be, there are solutions waiting for you to find them.

Related:

‘You’re Throwing Money Away’ and Other Myths About Renting

The Top 5 Renting Nightmares and How to Face Them

‘Where Should I Keep My…?’: Solving the Ultimate Small Space Dilemmas

[additionallysad]

Beach House Progress: The Outside Is (Almost) Done & The Inside’s Just Getting Good http://ift.tt/2pgDdlP

Slowly but surely we’re making headway on the beach house. In fact, in the next few weeks we’re going to see BIG progress as the house gets all new electrical, plumbing, and a fully functioning HVAC system (just in time for those sweltering beach days). We’re so excited to be able to shout from the rooftops that there’s no more sketchy knob & tube wiring, the furnace will no longer be “accessorized” with cardboard and bedsheets (not sure what those were for), and there’s actually going to be running water in the house again, which hasn’t happened for who knows how long (the old sewer line got busted up by tree roots in the back, so we have to MAKE A HOLE IN THE ROAD to get a new line out front – yoinks!).

But apart from a few shots here and there on social media, it’s been a while since our last big update. Since then, we’ve gotten a whole lot of major stuff check off outside, like a new roof (no more leaking into the house!) and new pink HardiePlank siding (more on that material and color choice here). IT’S GIVING ME ALL THE HEART EYES, and yes I’m having a full blown love affair with pink right now (even started this Instagram account to prove it). The painfully slow hanging chad dangling checklist item is that creamy yellow trim. The weather and our painter’s schedule haven’t been friends lately, but I’m confident that within days (GLORIOUS DAYS!) we’ll no longer pull up and have to give those not-white porch columns a solid two minutes of side eye.

The “completed” list also includes a bunch of new windows. We were able to save all five original stained glass windows WHICH WE ARE SO RIDICULOUSLY EXCITED ABOUT (there is one on the front, one on the right side, and three on the left side – seen below). Some of them needed some new panes, many needed new sills, and all of them still need reglazing, but they’re starting to look pretty good! Especially with all the white trim on that freshly rebuilt side of the house (remember that curve ball?).

Many of the other windows were too rotten/broken to save and some of them had been replaced by bad vinyl ones that weren’t doing their job, so getting consistent, high quality, and energy rated ones that all match was definitely an upgrade we were excited to check off the list.

But despite all of the progress outside, there’s still plenty to be done. We still have some brick repairs around the perimeter of the house that need to be done, we’re getting a new metal roof over the porch since the old one is sadly beyond saving, and we have to add stairs to all three entrances (the front concrete block ones were busted from the start, the side door never had any stairs at all, and the also-busted concrete block back stairs had to go to run the siding completely behind them). We’re going to do brick steps out front which we think will be such an upgrade from concrete blocks.

I know what you’re thinking: how is Sherry, with her little baby legs, getting into that house? Don’t worry, even my short stems can make the leap up. I’ve even done it while chewing gum. #showoff

Back up front, the porch ceiling needs some attention too. We originally thought we’d paint it white so the pink siding could be the star, but the existing color really grew on us. We figured after the pink siding went on it would be too much, but instead it seems to complement the blue houses next door – and we’ve always had a soft spot for blue porch ceilings.

So we did what any DIYer would do when they happen to leave their paint decks back home, 2.5 hours away. We gathered up some of the fallen paint flakes in an old paper cup and brought them home to compare. We decided to go a bit lighter/less saturated, so Breaktime by Sherwin Williams won out. (Note: this isn’t lead paint, it’s just peeling exterior paint from the last 15 years or so – we test things like freaks, and had pros handle any and all of the lead, asbestos, and mold).

But in spite of all of the impending tasks and line items, I can’t not be happy looking at the new siding. I grin like a big old nerdface every time we roll up. EVERY. FREAKING. TIME.

Gotta stop and take a breath. Am I too hyper about this stuff? YES. Is it warranted? I THINK SO!!!!!

All of the new framing and reinforcement framing inside is done too, so we’ve really loved seeing our floor plan slowly come to life in 3D. We can see bedrooms starting to take shape, and closests appear out of nowhere.

Our favorite part of the new framing was finally walking through the upstairs hallway that we added to make sure nobody will have to slink through one bedroom to get to another.

John was also hyper about this stuff, FYI:

Look at me, just playing it cool. If by playing it cool you mean posing like a Deal or No Deal girl.

That picture of me also gives you some perspective because when I looked at the picture of John “The Wingspan” Petersik pulling his spider-monkey moves, the hall looked tiny. But a little “Sherry for scale” saved the day (you should know that’s John’s favorite unit of measurement).

I know pictures of framing can be kind of confusing, so I’ll save the rest for another post (maybe when I can get a decent video tour). But before I go, look at this cool little detail we figured out with our contractor. He discovered that a portion of the upstairs landing was sagging near the stairs (you could practically bounce on it – and no ceiling drywall would ever work there without cracking). So after weighing a ton of options like a big ugly pillar there, we landed on the idea of using a local blacksmith to create a sturdy iron support bracket. Boom, no more bounce.

You can see how it will connect to the stairs in two places to shore up and support the sagging floor in the picture below. It was a much better solution than adding a giant post somewhere – plus it felt kinda fancy to have something custom made out of iron (and it was just $100 whereas a big ol’ post would’ve been a lot more). If we’re lucky it’ll look like a cool original detail once we’re all done.

Another recent task was to select where all of our electrical stuff (fixture boxes, outlets, light switches, etc) and plumbing stuff (sinks, toilets, showers, laundry appliances, etc) and kitchen stuff (fridge, stove, sink, dishwasher) would go. It meant we basically had to walk through every inch of the house and make sure we didn’t forget to mark a spot where we’d want an outlet, and agonize over every single door and how it would swing to make sure we’re putting the light switches in the right spot.

Then it was on to marking where we wanted ceiling fixtures, some of which would need to be centered over something like an island (so its location needed to be mapped out first) while others might need to be centered over a dining table (so we’d need to know where we were putting that) or a fan box might need to be planned for a spot that’ll be centered over the bed (again, had to figure out where that was going to determine the fan placement).

Next came planning the width of every shower so we knew what sized vanities we should get and if we needed a compact or regular toilet and how wide our showers could be and where we’d put the shower spigots so they weren’t on a back wall (which isn’t recommended since the pipes can freeze). If that sounds like a lot of stuff, IT WAS. It took us hours and hours onsite after days and days of planning back at home. Then we made additional to-scale renderings when we got back home just to be sure about everything. But it also felt like a huge accomplishment once we had things locked in. ONWARD!

The next step was picking out (and then purchasing) alllll of the light fixtures, faucets, vanities, tile, cabinets, and basically everything except for furniture and appliances, which can come later. But yes, it’s a WHOLE LOTTA ORDERING! Which is both exhilarating and also semi-paralyzing. But we think we’ve made some final decisions, so we hope to be back with some bathroom/kitchen/laundry room plans when we get a second to lay those out (my color-coded binder runneth over). But if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to call the credit card company who just froze our card because of all the seemingly suspect plumbing and lighting purchases. Lol. And also, oy!

P.S. If you want to read all about the beach house from the beginning, here’s the post about how we bought it, this one with our initial floor plan ideas and a video tour, this one about decor inspiration and the look/feel we’re leaning towards, how we picked a color (and why we went with hardiplank), some progress with walls and a new floor plan, and (my personal favorite) how the rotting side of our house photobombed HGTV.

The post Beach House Progress: The Outside Is (Almost) Done & The Inside’s Just Getting Good appeared first on Young House Love.