#buy loft bed

[puppppppppy]

If I close my eyes and concentrate realllyyy hard I can pretend im in my animal crossing room

[levon]

my mom is literally trying to get me to get a loft bed girl can i just get the $60 bed frame from walmart im not being an adult man with a loft bed

[bitchapalooza]

Reaaaaaaally not looking forward to having to clean under my bed and moving my bed around. Haha. The crap I pushed underneath is gonna get me yelled at for sure :)

[dixy]

thinking abt rearranging my entire room i better write this shit down before i forget

[border-collie]

Hmm do I do a jr loft bed and have a bed that is easy to make but harder to fit stuff under or do I do a full sized loft bed and have lots of room but have to endure making a bunked bed

[vampfucker666]

i managed to put all this (mostly newly acquired) cross stitch stuff away in a box and then remembered oh shit I Have Another Fucking Box!! and it is a mess and i have to open my other boxes up again and reorganize them now so i fink i am done for tonight. oh my GOD i need actual storage.

[sophfereal]

Mannnnn wtf ☹️

[beautiful-songbird]

It’s days like this when I remember that I might actually be my dad’s favorite because he’s done a number of carpentry projects for me + basically helped me make my room completely mine and then told my brothers no to similar things

[picklesinabottle]

it's so interesting to me when people talk about what not to decorate your dorm room with because I am not buying a bunch of shit from target. my decor is the same string lights and erasable calendar I've had since freshman year, random knickknacks I've had since like elementary school, and a couple fandom things that make me happy to look at. what are we doing here

[hemipenal-system]

working on a farm and going to a secondhand equipment auction to try to find a part you need replaced on one of your machines, and some guy has a combat drone all folded up in the back of his truck

it's powered off, of course. the guy says he doesn't even know how to fix it, says it just crashed in his backyard during the war, what, 40-odd years ago? and he just threw it in storage and hasn't touched it since, and his wife says he has to get rid of it, so he'll sell it for cheap if you're interested.

you figure, what the hell, you need a side project, and it might be interesting to refurbish it or whatever, so you buy it, lugging the heavy fucker into your own vehicle

you throw it up on a hoist and manage to power it on, half scared it'll try to kill you, but it just hangs there, limp except for its head turning to create a 3d model of your face to recognize you by. it looks almost... human, in a way. its head is a mess of sensors where its face should be, all wired down to its torso where it keeps its processor, and the stabilizers on its feet that prevent recoil from a heavy weapon knocking it over resemble claws, but it otherwise resembles a tall, lanky human to an eerie degree. it doesn't speak. you figure something in it must be busted. it doesn't move at all as you take it off the hoist and lay it down on the ground.

you leave it in the barn when you go to bed. it'd be preposterous for a machine to sleep in the house, even if it is a moderately human-shaped one. it'll be fine out there.

when you come back the next morning, you're surprised to see it curled up, not sleeping but emulating it, in a pile of hay it must have brought down from the loft. strange, since it shouldn't have any necessity for more comfort than the cold concrete floor would provide. it powers on when you approach, turning to look at you but otherwise not moving.

it doesn't talk for a week.

when it does, it's one word. you have it open on a workbench, arm buried deep in its mechanical guts. its speakers crackle to life just for the one word and then shut off again, startling you enough that you jump and then swear as your hand slams into the metal frame, cutting a knuckle open - then you process what it just said.

it was a name.

you ask if she wants to sleep in the house after that. she doesn't answer, but follows obediently like a trained dog, up the stairs and into your bedroom, mimicking your motions as you lay down in bed and she lays down next to you. you flick the light off, worried about the non-zero possibility that you've fucked up and her programming will reset when she wakes up and immediately target you as a threat. then you fall asleep.

you wake up with the combat drone pressed into you, cool metal arms wrapped around your torso, sensor array pressed into your shoulder. she doesn't snore, but her cooling system whirs quietly and you realize your body is warming her own.

you don't know what makes you kiss her forehead. you just sort of do it. but she makes a cute humming noise so maybe it was an okay thing to do.

[sweet-as-kiwis]

Most times I’m like oh yea I’m Perfectly Normal about dorms mines So Average!

Other times I offhandedly mention that I’m gonna miss having a couch in the dorm and my parents decide to just. build me a loft so I can use the school-given bed as a couch.

[forsworned]

Simon is not the most artistic, nor the most meticulous when it comes to cake decorating, but for you—on your birthday? He's buying all the piping materials, the springform cake pans, and preparing the best-tasting buttercream frosting and cake recipe he can manage after hours of scouring the internet.

He knows you won't be back from the office until 5:30. He had no clue why you had worked on your own birthday, but for this moment in time, he was grateful. He rose quite early to start decorating the loft. Balloons, a deconstructed banner that he put together when he realized that there were no more birthday banners, and a poorly decorated heart-shaped birthday cake with all sorts of vintage lattice patterns.

"Surprise!" He grins as you enter through the front door. Hair a bit mussed up, dark circles framing your eyes, and the collar to your button-down crooked. You're midway through taking off your heel, but your eyes soften at the sight of him standing there with your birthday cake lighting up his face, defusing the sharpness of his features.

"Simon..." You murmur upon approaching him. Your other heel comes off and you slowly shut your eyes as you make a wish before blowing out the candles.

For a moment it's dark. Your vision has not yet adjusted to the murk of the inky living space. His lips are on yours and you melt into his touch. So tender, so sweet—so Simon.

And don't get me started on the way he's so accommodating to you in bed. Not that he already isn't, but he's careful with the way he unbuttons your shirt and unzips your skirt. His fingers work methodically to ensure he doesn't rip your pantyhose. You're breath catches when his index finger curls around the waistband of your thong and you practically beg him to just slip inside of you.

You're too eager to have him fill you up and like the good husband he is, he obliges. Pushing past your sweet, succulent folds. God, you were ready for him.

He's pumping you slowly and deeply as he urges himself into you. Toes are coiling, and back is contorting in pleasure as you swiftly enter into your orgasm. You're panting out heavily as your nails dig into his taut flesh. His blonde lashes flutter to lovingly gaze down at your naked, sweating form.

"Thank you." You susurrate, threading your fingers through bleached sandy blonde hair. His grin only widens as he places a hot kiss to your lips.

"Oh, but that was only the first of many." He breathes over the skin of your neck. Your little 'eep' sends him into a fit of mirth as he readies himself to pleasure you all night long.

[alchemistc]

"I am not packing your kitchen, Buck," Maddie says with a hard set to her jaw and a hand planted on her hip, and Evan sends her a warning look over his shoulder, elbow deep in packing tape and half-folded boxes. Tommy is clearly missing something.

"You found the ring cutter in there with the ladles too, huh?" Snipes Eddie from somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom, and before Tommy can get a firm grasp on that Eddie's tipping his head back through the open doorway. "C'mon guys, seriously, you didn't pack this shit up before you forced us all to help you pack?" There's an unopened tube of lube in his hand.

"I'm getting things off of walls and that is all, Evan Buckley," comes Maddie's quick rejoinder, and Buck levels them both with a look.

"That could be for normal stuff! Sometimes rings need cutting! Sometimes you need to - lubricate other things!"

It is, of course, the moment Bobby wanders through the unlocked door.

Tommy's still familiar with the cadence of Hen and Howie, ribbing and mocking a form of endearment for them both, so he's not exactly shocked when Bobby just rolls with it and starts listing off the last fifteen calls they've needed it for. None of those things particularly improve the red rising up Evan's cheekbones, but Tommy catches the grin Bobby's hiding while he sets boxes of pizza up at the kitchen table, cleared of the latest seasonal decor Evan had dragged him through three different department stores to find, not that he could be bothered to care when the very existence of them was all it took to shift Maddie's opinion of him from tolerantly friendly to encouragingly approving.

("This loft was a minimalists wet dream before you were in the picture," she'd told him one evening, after she'd manipulated him into admitting he was terrified this didn't mean the same thing to Evan as it did to him. "He started nesting a month after my wedding, Tommy.")

And now they're here. Watching Evan pretend to be miffed by the teasing while he fights a roll of packing tape.

He's going to miss the upstairs shower, wide enough for two grown men to fit more than comfortably; and the balcony on cooler nights when he could tempt Evan out for a slow dance set to the late-evening traffic; the kitchen island at the perfect height to lift Evan onto and tilt his head up for an angled kiss.

He won't miss the open plan that makes it impossible to do much of anything with a snoring Eddie right below them, the tuba player two doors down who only seems to practice the moment Tommy's head meets the pillow at the end of any random days-long shift, the way the elevator always smells like tuna on Thursday afternoons.

There are things he won't have to miss, of course. Evan, on nights when they just can't make their schedules align well enough to justify the drive time. The extra fluffy towel set Evan had refused to reveal the origin of ("You'll buy your own and leave me, I know you're only with me for my towels."). The pictures plastered to the fridge that Tommy's spent the last few weeks plotting out space for on his own before deciding he'd need a new fridge just to fit them all. The plant he'd bought Evan to appease the grump, the first time he'd dragged him to the farmers market at the ass crack of dawn, lovingly named Herbert. The fancy adjustable bedside lamps Evan had bought the last time he'd caught Tommy squinting down his reading glasses at the book in his hands. Evan.

Christ, he wouldn't have to miss Evan anymore. They'd synched up their schedules more or less as well as they could, but Tommy's spent months now trying to ignore how quickly a sleepless night could turn restful with Evan in his bed - how fitful a night without him there had a habit of being.

Most of the loft is already packed. Evan's wardrobe has been dwindling for weeks now, a box at a time carted from the back of the Jeep up Tommy's drive, through the mud room, down the hall and straight to the closet that had never seen such a shock of color or variety of fabric. They'd sprung for a bigger mattress, once they'd gotten over the sticker shock and remembered how much they'd be saving by paying half a mortgage each with no rent to speak of, and other than the kitchen table most of Evan's other furniture was being donated.

All that really remained were the kitchen supplies Evan hadn't been willing to move until he handed over his keys, a few toiletries, a single drawer of clothes just in case he needed them. Pictures on the walls and stacks of books on the bookshelves - half a decade of life lived in this apartment and most of it was already half unboxed and slowly integrating into the fifteen years Tommy had put into his own solitary life.

Evan finishes taping boxes and makes a beeline for his itemized list, and Tommy has to pretend it's giving him as much grief as Evan's sister and best friend to see the clipboard in action. He's not entirely sure how well he sells it, when even Bobby's shooting him aggrieved looks only to grimace at whatever he finds in Tommy's expression.

And just like that, an hour passes and the pizza disappears; the boxes are loaded into the back of his truck; the kitchen table in Eddie's; and Maddie tugs her brother in for a hug, drags Tommy in for good measure too, kisses them both on the cheek as she leaves; Bobby tucks a wooden box filled with handwritten recipes on note cards into Evan's hand and Tommy pretends not to notice either of their teary eyes; Eddie hefts a six pack out of the otherwise empty fridge and promises to meet them at the house in forty-five.

There's still one picture stuck to the fridge - a candid from the first barbeque Athena and Bobby had hosted after their move, Tommy and Evan backlit by a setting sun, tucked up against each other leaned against a porch railing, and Tommy knuckles at it while Evan does a slow introspective spin to take in the wide expanse of windows and brick. He's still staring when Evan finishes and drifts towards him, hands tucking in at Tommy's waist, chin hooking over his shoulder.

"Is this one staying?"

Evan shakes his head, nose digging into the side of Tommy's neck. "Just wanted to keep it out so it could be the first one we put up."

He remembers the night. Karen had gotten him drunk and added him to the wives group chat. May Grant had stolen half his slice of cake right off his plate and dared him to protest. Jee had spent the entire night calling him Uncle Tommy and thrown a massive fit when she realized he wasn't going home with her to read a bedtime story. Christopher and Denny had spent half an hour trying to teach him how to play Fortnite and then been mystified when he trounced them in Mario Kart. He knows exactly why it's significant to him. "Why this one?" he asks, curving into the cradle of Evan's arms.

Evan's so much better with words than Tommy is, and Tommy's just grateful Evan takes his actions for the things he means with them. "That's the night I knew what our something was gonna be," Evan murmurs, and Tommy tips his chin back and angles his head to catch Evan's lips against his own.

[bitchapalooza]

Anyone know how to stop your dog from peeing on your bed? I don’t have the money to keep washing my blankets and bed cover every single day whenever the dog gets mad or anxious when at work or just showering

[deepfriedseagullfeet]

also if i didnt spend 75% of my life laying in bed i would ABSOLUTELY get a loft bed. holy shit i think those things are so fun. like i could save so much space. i could build a fort by hanging blankets around the bed. i could put my desk under there. fantastic shit. however climbing up and down that thing would be suuuuuch a pain and also i sit UP in bed and in the past all the loft beds ive sat in as an adult have been inconvenient cause my head bonks the ceiling. plus idk if they make full sized beds in lofts cause most loft beds are for Children