#house painting Granite Bay

[painting-service]

What Are the Advantage of Using the Stain Resistant Paint

The key benefit of stain-resistant paints is the effortless cleaning process when removing marks and substances from the paint surface. If you plan to paint your house, the best option is to go for house paint Granite Bay. Read More>> https://www.tumblr.com/housepainrernearme/724697327571550208/what-are-the-advantage-of-using-the-stain-resistant-pain

[thethirdromana]

Visiting Whitby with Mina Murray

Last year I illustrated Mina's description of Whitby a selection of modern photos. This year, I thought I might go one better, so here are some views of Whitby as Mina might have seen it in the 1890s*.

[*or as close as I could manage.]

"This is a lovely place. The little river, the Esk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes near the harbour."

"A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through which the view seems somehow further away than it really is."

[I don't actually know the age of this photo, but it looks about right.]

"The valley is beautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are on the high land on either side you look right across it, unless you are near enough to see down."

"The houses of the old town—the side away from us—are all red-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other anyhow..."

"... like the pictures we see of Nuremberg."

[this is Nuremberg sometime between 1890 and 1906]

"Right over the town is the ruin of Whitby Abbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is the scene of part of "Marmion," where the girl was built up in the wall."

"It is a most noble ruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful and romantic bits; there is a legend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows."

"Between it and the town there is another church, the parish one, round which is a big graveyard, all full of tombstones."

"This is to my mind the nicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over the town, and has a full view of the harbour and all up the bay to where the headland called Kettleness stretches out into the sea."

"It descends so steeply over the harbour that part of the bank has fallen away, and some of the graves have been destroyed. In one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches out over the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats beside them, through the churchyard; and people go and sit there all day long looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze."

[this painting by William Lionel Wyllie is from 1922, so a bit later, but I thought it was too pretty not to include. St Mary's and the graveyard are at the top left, and you can see the steep descent below.]

"The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy sea-wall runs along outside of it. On the near side, the sea-wall makes an elbow crooked inversely, and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two piers there is a narrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens."

"It is nice at high water; but when the tide is out it shoals away to nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running between banks of sand, with rocks here and there."

[from Horne's Guide to Whitby, 1897]

"Outside the harbour on this side there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp edge of which runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end of it is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea." 

"The steps are a great feature on the place. They lead from the town up to the church, there are hundreds of them—I do not know how many—and they wind up in a delicate curve; the slope is so gentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them."

And a bonus - might Mina have bought one of these postcards for Jonathan?

[they are from 1903, so the answer to this is "no", but again I thought they were too pretty not to include.]

[searchingforserendipity25]

This Living Earth

@feanorianweek Day 1.

Maedhros had loved Beleriand, once.

The fire of the world's end was very beautiful.

Deep, deep in its very foundations, nothing of destroyed Beleriand was wasted. Wherever the mouths of the smoking earth opened, the wreck of the land was swallowed with irresistible covetousness, and put to use among all the rest.

Nothing remained unconquered, no abandoned house left whole enough to know itself orphaned, be it castle or shed or lonesome grave-mound. The fortresses of old were melted down as ore in the crucible. The high hills around Barad Eithel were there, and the vast mountain ranges and long forests of Ossiriand. The purple geodes nestled and hidden in the course of the Gelion, the songs of the birds in the reeds, the bays and lakes where hosts once threatened war and invented diplomacy.

And those small wonders made by hands, no less mourned, henceforth ever-lost, song-stuff only: all tapestries of silk-thread and scarves of thin linen alike, golden crowns and fine scepters, nets of pearl and caskets of oak and panels of marquetry made into princely sigils, glazed bowls, painted screens, brushes of horse-hair and bristling throwing knives. Busts of marble and their conquering crowns of ivy - chains rusted through and the wretched bones attached, all were alike and kin to one another.

Every white and red-glowing stream of lava turned to a great river of moving flame, and to a sea; a storming vat, a churning heart. A thousand swords digested; a thousand riderless horses shaking off their skeletons and galloping through the strange tunnels hewn by the lava's own labour, steeds of ash and smoke going at speed towards the far places their spirits were for, fading one after another in wild and oft-repeated fashion.

Maedhros was a smouldering ruin already, but he did appreciate the efficiency of the thing all the same.

“And the patience,” Aulë said. His was the voice of granite grating against itself, of basalt splintering consonants. “It took some work to arrange, you know.” 

To unearth the continent - to hallow and push and mutilate the masterwork of his making, to calculate and prospect the density of Beleriand and know how best to dispose of it? Maedhros supposed it must have. And some pain, to commit to such an unmaking. He has unmade himself for many long years, and it was indeed a process, both tiresome and absorbing, with much violence to it. 

He did not use speech to say so, though the Smith head him very clearly. He was beyond voice and mouth, made silent in death with the absence of language. So much the better that he was alone, for his brother would not like such a state of being.

It would have terrified Maedhros himself, if he feared anything still. If anything like fear remained, beyond the terrible clear truth the Hallowed Jewel revealed. How his foes had once fled before him, and his allies flinched! The truth was dreadful and impossible to bear in its entirety; but he had been fearless for having had the inking of it.

That was an arrogance paid for dearly, as he had suspected it would be. It had had its uses, once; now he could not exist beyond regretting it. Still Maedhros did not resent it. He was in horror beyond fear, and resentment was not a right of the houseless dead.

Always in Aulë's halls the magma shifted, and the layers of mountainous stonework. Arda might groan and shudder, die and die and be sundered, but nothing any among the Eldar had ever done upon it could claim acclaim or blame enough to touch the heart of flame at the very center of it. This he found, in the smallness of the great project.

For small he was, and loathsome, the embers of a petty thing in a far vaster fire, or the dark smudging stain the embers had left. There was in him not even the inkling of a hope to escape in the smoke, nor the will to do it. But he was not nothing. Nothing was nothing alone, under the earth; nothing was contained, only involved. A great wholeness Maedhros could perceive, but not its shape, for it had none, or too many to account; a wholeness that breathed. The moving mortar of the world rustled like the insides of a great beast, the greatest creature ever conceived.

Maedhros, with no other grave than the grave of molten rock, was of it, if not in it. Aulë's design was not a unity that could be denied. Under the custody of the Smith he remained, a thrall beyond rescue, to it given in his last decisions. He, the impression of evil marked upon the flesh of the world, owned still the flaring and flaming grief, the first and the last, the most enduring: that there was nothing in him that might build. In life his hands had done blood-work more than aught else; in death, he suited not as the sorriest of materials.

Resentment was not for the houseless dead. Yet the earth was very vast, and all manners of things dread and awful lived their end of life in Aulë's manse of stone, the deep caverns and red rivers above which all things were raised, and of which all things were made. Even the foulest mountains, even Morgoth's sunken abysses mourned themselves. In the fullness of time and effort, matter beyond mending was altered.

Maedhros had loved Beleriand, once. Perhaps that was the greater grief. So much of its detritus remained - the dust and the magma full of a slow urgency to be shaped. Some of it remembered him, still; some parcels of it did not even loathe him, strange as it might seem. There was renewal, even under the circles of the sunlit world.

He found the foundry where the white sea-cliffs were ground to sand, and did not wander from it for a long time. Far in the distance, a sound like the memory of the sea raised its voice, again and again, echoing through rafters and lonely chasms, dragged in with the wind from the last open wounds of Beleriand left on the landscape.

But that was very far, and there were things in the Song that were not for the living.

“It takes some work,” Aulë told him once more, ponderous, pondering with him a thinking that moved as the earth moved. His attention now was judgement and force, the earth and the spirits that dwell in its depths: patient beyond defiance, steadfast and shifting, undaunted, as immense his darkness as the Starkindler's light was mighty.

Nothing was lost or hidden or wasted in his dominion, Maedhros knew; but both Aulë and Maedhros were wise to the useful striking of iron to best enduring shape. That had been Maedhros' craft in life, if he could claim a craft that was not war. In death, beyond language and violence, some of it remained still in his spirit, stirring among the embers.

It was difficult to bear. But Maedhros was a thing of horror, and if nought else he could not fail to learn how to bear himself, in the smithy that was the last home to ruins, the discarded and the blighted.

The builder's work went on. It would go on, always; unraveling the layers of the world with urgency and no hurry, making it ever anew. Repairing that which could be amended; wrecking that which could be bettered. And the fire at the heart of it, whole, very beautiful, steady enough to replenish any small white flare.

The magma and the churning mountains took the horror, the stain of him, and did not flinch.

Neither hand nor material had he, but some flaring heat still. In time it came to pass that the charred spirit of Maedhros joined its will to the work, his own work among the dark places far from the stars.

 It shall be an island, he devised; something of the old mountains ought to remain, cold and inhospitable and proud and free, too deeply rooted in the world to be sundered from it entirely.

[betterbayconstructionus]

What Home Renovations Add the Most Value?

Have you ever wonde­red which home upgrades are­ worth the investment? Whe­ther you plan to sell soon or just want to increase­ your home's worth, knowing which renovations pay off is key. Le­t's look at some high-impact home remodeling in Palo Alto that can raise your prope­rty value.

Kitchen Remode­ls: The Heart of Home Value­

The kitchen is a major focal point for homebuye­rs. A modern, well-designe­d kitchen is an incredible se­lling point. Updating this space can really boost your home's marke­t value.

Smart Kitchen Upgrades

Ne­w Appliances: Stainless stee­l appliances are in high demand.

Fre­sh Countertops: Quartz or granite counters add style­ and durability.

Cabinet Revamp: Refacing or re­placing cabinets modernizes the­ look.

Investing in these ke­y areas creates an appe­aling, functional kitchen buyers love.

Bathroom Re­novations: Big Returns on Small Spaces

Don't undere­stimate the power of bathroom upgrade­s. Up-to-date bathrooms are huge se­lling points. Best of all, these proje­cts are often less costly than othe­r major remodels.

Bathroom Refre­sh Tips

New Fixtures: Update fauce­ts, showerheads, and other hardware­.

Vanity Upgrade: A stylish, modern vanity adds storage and appe­al.

Tile Touches: Fresh tile­ in the shower or floors looks luxurious.

With some strate­gic, cost-effective update­s, your bathrooms can become a major value-booste­r.

By focusing on these elements, you can create a bathroom that feels like a spa retreat, increasing your home's appeal and value.

Open Floor Plans: Space and Light

Open layouts are­ highly sought-after nowadays. Removing a wall or maybe two, for a wide­r, breathing room gives your house a bigge­r, more welcoming fee­l. This Hayward Home Remodeling is espe­cially suitable for such places, where space is highly value­d.

Setting Up A Fre­e-Flowing Home

Main Spaces Unite­d: By connecting the living and dining areas, you can build an adaptable­, updated layout.

Hub of the Home Ope­n: An unrestricted flow betwe­en kitchen and lounge are­a fosters social gatherings.

Making your home more­ open can give it the se­nse of space that a lot of buyers want. This make­s such an upgrade a wise financial decision.

Energy-Efficient Upgrades: Save Money and the Planet

Eco-friendly house­s aren't a passing fashion, and they're he­re for good. Enhancements that save­ energy can reduce­ your service charges and attract buye­rs mindful of the environment.

Top Energy-Efficient Improvements

Windows: Double-paned windows can reduce heating and cooling costs.

Insulation: Adding insulation in the attic or walls can improve energy efficiency.

Solar Panels: Though a bigger investment, solar panels can significantly boost your home’s value.

These upgrades not only make your home more comfortable but also more attractive to potential buyers, adding to your property’s overall value.

Making a Lasting First Impression

Your home­'s exterior is what people­ notice first. An appealing front can increase­ your property's worth. So, don't underestimate­ the significance of curb appeal.

Boosting Your Home­'s Exterior

Keep your lawn and garde­n well-maintained. This small effort make­s a big impact.

A new front door gives your entrance­ a fresh look.

Applying a fresh coat of paint makes e­verything seem ne­wer and cared-for.

Investing some­ effort into your home's exte­rior makes it look inviting. Plus, it increases the­ market value.

Final Thoughts

Renovating strate­gically transforms homes and boosts their worth significantly. Whethe­r it's remodeling the whole­ kitchen or upgrading to energy-e­fficient options, wise investme­nts pay off. 

If considering full house remode­ling in Bay Area, CA or a specific project like re­modeling in Palo Alto, focus on high-impact areas. 

Ready to add value­? Contact a reliable remodeling company in the Bay Area today. Start working toward a lovelier, highe­r-valued home.

[containatrocity]

the prodigial son and only heir to the Chiyoda tech fortune, some claim Silas Chiyoda is something of a messiah, beckoning in a new era of tech advancement and a future something like a utopia- the Japan-Born Silicon Valley transplant claims he's a herald- but not of a golden age.

Cover Story By Milena Corbin, November 2018

It's a clean white mansion that greets the taxi that drops me off, modern and sleek with a family crest emblazoned on the gates. It's one of the many summer homes of Aoi Chiyoda, the owner and figurehead of tech powerhouse Chi-Hyu Technology, but it's not the 48 year old CEO and mastermind that I'm here to meet, and that much is made clear when my interviewee steps out of the house. He is asynchronous to the house that built him, dressed in black from head to toe with long dark hair pulled into a bun, struck through with pins bearing the visages of Japanese fox spirits, matching the dragons and koi swirling across his arms. Where Aoi demanded sleek, clean, chrome lines and white, granite blocks, his son perhaps has embraced the visual context of being a black sheep- something that tabloids have painted his history with since the now 22 year old was little more than a child.

A recluse of few words outside of parties and public appearances, Silas Chiyoda's position as a 'nepotism baby' is one he's acknowledged time and again, his vehement refusal to be someone people look up to often punctuated by lengthy, angry tirades on twitter- and typically- refusal to speak with the press. But today, he motions for me to follow him inside, past perfect marble floors and gold-inlaid furniture, to something that more correctly fits the man himself.

He makes himself at home in a beanbag chair under blacklight and neon, a bay of computers and monitors spread across one wall- a pile of schematics that he quickly hides on an opposite desk. It's only after the mouthpiece of a hookah pipe is hooked into the corner of his mouth that he allows me to speak to him at all, motioning one ring clad, dark-painted set of fingers as if to encourage me to 'get on with it'.

"I'd like to thank you, Mr. Chiyoda for taking the time out of your day to speak with us, from what I understand, you don't tend to like to speak to the press."

"I don't like to talk to tabloids. Given that you're here to talk about my work, I can make exceptions- I'm only 'famous' because of who my mother is, only rich because of my father. This focuses on the things I do that I actually care about."

"Yes, you and your father recently collaborated on an updated chipset for phones and computers that allows for more seamless communication between multiple devices, was this something important for you to achieve within the current space for smart devices?"

"Collaborated is quite the word for it- but yes, the chip I designed and we're seeking production on is intended to be upgradable for several years, eliminating a substantial amount of tech-waste in the industry, and allowing for less incidents with the strangely... quick obsolescence that comes from a lot of companies today- iPhone, Android, Windows- they'll all be using some form of our architecture, which will allow repair shops to work in a more comfortable, less proprietary space. A phone a year isn't sustainable for most people- this slows down the feeling that one has to update the moment a new piece of hardware releases, and simply requires a replacement chip."

"You seem very passionate about this, was it your father who got you invested in technology?"

"My father named me after his first ever operating system, the NEON. It was less that he shared an interest with me, and more that it was the one way to get him to pay any attention to me- now, of course, the eyes on me tend to be pretty set on watching me fuck up, including my father's- but I'm still rich, I'm still a genius, and most of my detractors will die drowning in student loan debt or forgotten by the annuls of time. Bad press is press nonetheless, and in some part I'm thankful for the distraction from my actual work, it's allowed me to kinda, control where my ideas and innovation go without people trying to throw money to me to make it theirs and theirs alone."

"So you want this to be available to as many people as possible?"

"I want my work to bury the bullshit that society's been barreling toward. Planned obsolescence, government surveillance, copyright claims burying hobbyists alive. I want to do one thing that slows the cogs down before the teeth tear themselves off and leave us grinding to a halt. Innovating only for the sake of money is destroying the planet, our rights to privacy, our ability to create- People insist that what my father does is the future, the way he pushes out the next big thing every quarter for another drop in the billion dollar bucket. I want it slowed down. We should perfect what we understand before inviting more ghosts into the system."

"So this isn't about reaching for the future for you, but suspending things in the now a little longer?"

"Think about it this way. Everyone who's ever lined up to kiss my ass on social media thinks I'm some kind of wizard, some cave-dweller with a thousand-point IQ and the ability to grant their wishes, but these assholes don't need an AI girlfriend who can interface with their smart kitchen, they need to get off their asses and learn a fucking skill for once in their lives. We are so hell bent on getting to the 'utopian future' that we've been promised we're ignoring the way we're sliding toward the other option. There are weaknesses in every system, and the more we try to make new systems, the more gaping holes are left behind- this is a bandaid on the hull of a sinking ship, and as soon as it comes crumbling down, the only people who are gonna take the blame are the people who don't deserve it. So let me state this simply: when we hit the point that makes Y2K's fearmongering look pitiful in comparison, it'll be on the head of my contemporaries, my father, and his boardroom of yes men. But not me. And not the people who inevitably work out how to hack your car, when you buy the Night Rider the second she rolls off the lot."

He's harsh and set in his ways, and the way he talks about technology, not like a blessing but a devil deal he's made and is now struggling to understand, is commonplace in his few public speaking appearances- something that's likely led to his father keeping his connection to Chi-Hyu rather hush hush- or his volatile public image, fraught with arrests, addiction, cycles in rehab, and highly publicized feuds with former girlfriends- many of them famous in their own regard, most recently seen paired off with the lead actress of Blood Ties- only to be arrested at her LA apartment after a domestic dispute ended in shots fired- Keeping him behind the scenes of a company reliant on the clinical white image of the mansion he's chosen to take this interview in. His stipulations for agreeing, of course, that I couldn't ask about the cycle of arrests and bail outs, about the girlfriends met in rehab easily twice his age- about his public fight with his father, the purple-gray scar on the side of his neck already covered up with a new tattoo of Eve's hands reaching for the apple of knowledge.

"Many people have stated that your father is going to usher in a golden era, technology pushed to its limits, it sounds a lot like you aren't in agreement."

"What good's a golden era for only the 1%? I could press a button and have a german sports car delivered to my garage. There are people on the sidewalks outside the high-end clothing stores I buy my wardrobe from begging for change to afford dinner, much less a house. We revolutionize. Fine. Surveillance will go to the richest. Corrupt industries will corrupt further, squeeze tighter for another drop of blood from a stone. My Father's a herald of something, but it's not a promised land. I'm a horseman of the apocalypse, a trumpeter signaling the end times, and nobody'll heed those warnings until it's too late- because for now I'm flashy and exciting, and my hard work gets you into a game of candy crush sooner. The future is now, you know? But it's gonna be a lot more Hal 9000 than people are willing to accept- my greatest sin is being honest about what me and all these other tech bro douchebags are up to- and being too smart for them to force me out of their boys clubs."

[chrisfritchteamexprealty]

Get away from it all at this gorgeous #homeforsale in @DalboMN! Welcome to this magnificent property nestled in the heart of Dalbo! This exceptional home is truly a gem, boasting 3,200 square feet of pure comfort and elegance. The entire house has been thoughtfully updated with new paint and has beautiful vinyl plank flooring meandering throughout to provide modern convenience and luxurious living.As you step inside, you'll be welcomed by the warm and cozy atmosphere that envelops you. The house is surrounded by 20 acres of serene and peaceful woodland, with the gentle sound of Pine Brook babbling in the background. The ambiance is simply enchanting.The property is adorned with brand new steel siding ensuring maximum insulation and durability. The new roof on the home and boarding facility is fitted with 50-year shingles, providing lasting protection from the elements, and the maintenance-free composite decking with vinyl railing adds a touch of sophistication to the house. A 54x40 pole building with commercial openers store all the necessary maintenance items. View it all from the hot tub that overlooks the woodlands and the swan preserve across the road.The recent addition of a rec room with a pellet stove and playhouse adds to the charm of this lovely home. The geothermal furnace, central air, water heater, and water softener-owned, all recently replaced, offer peace of mind and efficient energy usage.The kitchen has all been updated, the fixtures are new, gleaming granite on the counters, and has in-floor heat warming the tile, providing a cozy and inviting space to relax and entertain.The Owner's Suite is a sanctuary to behold! A walk in closet with a washer and dryer is installed for convenience, big bay windows, and a full private bath that exudes comfort and luxury.A second bath up is a spa shower complete with foot massaging jets and dual shower heads. Splendid!The tuck-under garage shop/workspace is an incredible bonus, providing ample space for your tools and equipment.The wrap-around deck provides amazing scenic views of the surrounding woods, and the wildlife that abounds on this wooded property offers a unique opportunity for 4-wheeling, hiking, and phenomenal private hunting land with a bridge. This is not just a house; it's an absolute dream home! Presented by Jason Berg with the Chris Fritch Team eXp Realty 763-746-3997 or Jason@ChrisFritchTeam.comhttps://chrisfritchteam.com/homes-for-sale/MN/springvale%20twp/55017/4619-357th-ave-nw/bid-36-6351797

[hihimissamericanbi]

The Watcher and the Dancer

Rating: T

Pairing: F/F

Relationship: James/Sirius

Wordcount: 9,857k

Summary: Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

AKA: Dreamy sapphic summer crush fic set in New England in the aughts with a side of sister feels

Notes: Hi! Hello! I am old and don't know how to use Tumblr at all but decided to try to post this here while I wait to join AO3? For context: Wolfstar is OTP but I wrote this with OCs originally (like not as a marauders fic), then decided it could work as Prongsfoot so I made some tweaks and here we are. Fem Siri and Jamie because it's my fic and I said so. Based on my experiences so please be nice? Also kind of my love letter to Maine. Promise to write Wolfstar and Jegulus in the future, as it should be (actually, very big believer in Jegulily, might do that first...)

--

So wear me like a locket around your throat, I’ll weigh you down, I’ll watch you choke, you look so good in bl—

Siri paused her pink iPod mini as she felt the rental car slowly swing off the paved road and decelerate onto a bumpy dirt path, dusty granite crunching beneath tires while low-hanging birch boughs screeched against the windows.

“Alright everyone, electronics away, we are almost there!” Walburga yelled unnaturally loud from the front. Siri winced but didn’t say anything. Leaning against a pillow on the window opposite her, Regina blinked her eyes open and frowned. Red patches flushed high on her pale, nap-creased cheeks as she wiped a bit of dried drool from her chin with the heel of her palm. Siri snorted. Regina flicked her off, holding her hand down low so their mom couldn’t see in the rearview.

Siri rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the window, where the trees were thinning to make way for one of the strangest views she had ever seen.

Life-sized gingerbread cottages, painted pale gumdrop colors and trimmed with lacey eves reminiscent of piped frosting, lined the street one after the other like tin soldiers in an old-fashioned Christmas movie. They stood sentry to welcome the Black family forward, Range Rover groaning as it crested the pebbled hill, Dorothy stepping from her black-and-white world into a sugar-bright alternate universe. Just beyond the houses, the Penobscot Bay shimmered blue and magical; it winked at Siri between each latticed cornice and Victorian spire as the car trundled bravely onward, following the gray-gravel road deeper and deeper into the Azure City.

“Welcome to Bayville, girls. Your father and I trust you both will be on your best behavior, and that you will remember you are young ladies. We are taking you on this very nice, very expensive vacation; we expect you to act accordingly.”

Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

“Do I hear a ‘Yes, ma’am?’”

Siri physically startled at the warning tone in her mother’s voice. She and her sister chorused the required reply automatically.

The car squelched to a halt alongside one of the cookie-cutter dollhouses, patchy green grass muffling under tire treads. Siri took her headphones off and reached for her seatbelt; chipped silver nail polish flashed in the afternoon sun as she unclipped the buckle, and she made a mental note to redo her nails tonight before her mother saw.

She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

And oh, the smell; it wasn’t like anything she had ever experienced. It wasn’t just briny ocean and wet grass and fallen pine. It wasn’t just heady florals and baked limestone and fecund soil. This scent was far greater than the sum of its parts: stirred up in a summer-sun cauldron and poured out across the coast, it smelled like familiar laughter and promises to be kept.

It filled Siri’s nose and lungs only after it filled her heart.

It would be remembered for the rest of her life.

--

After claiming the upstairs room to the front of the little house, with a window box full of geraniums peeking from behind billowing white curtains, Siri found herself wandering down the main road, away from her father’s loud complaints about a lack of cell service for his Blackberry and her mother’s backhanded comments regarding the cleanliness of the cottage. She wanted to be long gone by the time either of them decided to turn their attention to her.

Regina tagged along. Siri ignored her.

Less than a quarter of a mile later, the knot of strange little cottages leftover from a different century opened into a semicircle, proudly overlooking a sailboat polka-dotted bay where sapphire waters faithfully reflected the cloud-clear sky.

The Black sisters stood on Bayville Beach, such as it was, only about 30 yards wide and covered in rocky pebbles turning to treacherous boulders. Primary-colored canoes and kayaks were tied up along the mouth like obedient Labradors, waiting for their masters to take them for a swim. A dock rose to the right and jutted out into the water; a cerulean-painted covering sat square in the middle of the old wooden planks. To the right of that, a tiny yacht club perched on the cusp of the ocean, triangular emblem flown modestly above the slated roof. Behind the sisters, a sloping center lawn with a few ancient oak trees and wrought-iron park benches guided vacationers down towards the water, verdant arms swept wide, beckoning, those cotton candy cottages lining the edges like flagstones.

With a toss of her dark wavy hair, frizzing fast in the ocean breeze despite the John Frieda serums and mousses with which she had diligently coated the strands, Siri hopped up onto one of the bigger rocks along the beach and picked her way across the shore. She held her arms aloft for balance, paying special care not to slip. Tiny crabs skuttled within sunken tidepools; salted kelp rocked back and forth with the waves. The fabled Maine sun caught on the edges of everything, lighting up the cove like a glittery disco. She could hear Regina whining warnings from the safety of dry land. Siri ignored her.

When Siri got as far as she could before the shoreline sheared off into untamed wilderness, she turned carefully, Rainbow flip flops catching on the occasional barnacle, and made her way back to her little sister. She was almost to the beach before she looked up.

On the path behind Regina, appearing from behind the blue structure in the middle of the dock, were a group of teenagers making their way up the grassy hill. They were in various states of swimwear; boys with baggy trunks and loose tee shirts, dampened in places by saltwater clinging to not-fully-dried skin, girls largely in cutoff jean shorts and bikini tops. All had beach towels around their necks and were laughing loudly.

Regina whipped her head around at the commotion and stared. Siri felt her cheeks flush; she was perched precariously on a boulder several feet from land, suddenly faced with a bunch of unknown peers. From behind Regina’s mop of raven curls, longer and fluffier than her own, Siri locked eyes with the tallest of the pack, a pretty girl who looked about Siri’s age, black hair piled high in a messy bun.

The girl flashed a criminally blinding grin and waved. Siri startled and snapped her eyes away.

The sudden movement caused Siri to lose her footing. She scraped her ankle on the rough granite as she stumbled ungracefully off the rock into the shallow water.

Regina laughed. Siri ignored her.

--

Two days later, and Siri was bored. The rain arrived in Bayville almost as soon as her family had, crowding out the finnicky northern sun with dull clouds and a frustratingly steady drizzle. There was only so much War and Go Fish a rising junior could play with her eighth grade sister before one became a sore loser (eighth grader) and the other got hangry (take a wild guess). So now, Siri was sitting on the front porch, stomach growling, watching the rain muddy up the gravel while pretending to do her summer reading. Huckleberry Finn. It was brutal.

Siri perked up at the tell-tale crunch of a car about to pass slowly in front of their rented cottage; honestly, she was like a dog left home alone, staring out at the street, desperate for any stimulation. The car in question pulled into view from the left, heading in the direction of town. It was a beat-up black SUV, rap music thumping over the drone of the rain. As Siri watched, a pretty face with a mess of black hair and oversized glasses appeared in the front passenger window. The face saw Siri and did a double take, craning her neck to keep Siri in her vision as the car went by.

“Young lady, what do you think you are you doing?” Walburga stuck her immaculately coiffed head out of the screen door. Her pink lipstick shone lurid in the overcast light. “Come inside before your hair is ruined.”

Siri blinked, closed her mouth. “Yes, momma.”

For the next three days, the pretty girl with the wild hair could be seen passing the cottage on a morning run. For the next three days, Siri sat on the porch to eat her breakfast, Huckleberry Finn laying uselessly on the side table.

--

Jamie Potter, Siri would soon learn, was the owner of the pretty face and the blinding smile and the morning runs that happened to take her past the Blacks’ cottage.

Almost a week into their stay, Siri was once again sitting on the front porch, sipping her coffee and pretending to read. The sun had mercifully returned; she and Regina had spent some time exploring, wearing swimsuits underneath shorts and tee shirts, venturing to the beach or the dock or the little corner store out by Route 1, faded sign reading “Cote’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream and Burgers” hung reverently against Nantucket red siding. They had seen the group of teenagers here and there, sunbathing on the dock and flirting shamelessly with the college-aged lifeguard, or gearing up outside the yacht club for a sail, or playing basketball on the courts near the central lawn after dinner. The tall, pretty girl seemed to always be in the very middle, laughing the loudest, touching the most. Like she was the sun their little social circle revolved around. Siri had watched the group hungrily, desperate to be included but far too terrified to make any moves. Regina, meanwhile, was too caught up in having her big sister all to herself to much care about hanging around even more moony high schoolers.

Siri took another gulp of coffee and watched the morning sun catch on the graveled hill, flecks of mica sparkling beneath lingering dew. She imagined a dark ponytail swinging into view from over the crest, followed by long, powerful legs, propelling their body impressively up the incline. Then, she wasn’t imagining it; she was watching it.

Only this time, the powerful legs slowed and the girl trotted to a walk, breathing hard. A hand reached up under the hem of her tee shirt, stopping at the waistband of rolled Soffe shorts to pause the iPod Shuffle clipped there, flashing a sliver of tan skin in the process; her other hand tugged out her headphones.

Siri immediately looked down and picked up her book, not wanting to embarrass herself by inviting any sort of acknowledgement of her existence. She could feel her face turning red and her pulse picking up.

“Hey!”

Siri continued to pretend to read. There was no way this girl was actually calling to Siri.

“Hey!!”

Siri looked up with a start. Fuck. The girl was leaning over the railing of the porch, grinning right at her. It wasn’t entirely innocent, somehow.

“Hey,” Siri choked out. How were this girl’s teeth so white?

“You’re new this year, right?”

Siri’s vision was tunnelling; she was having a hard time processing the girl’s words. She wished she would stop blushing.

“Sorry?”

The girl seemed to smile even more at Siri’s confusion. It made her deep rosy flush from exercise pop beneath her complexion.

“It’s just, we’ve been seeing you around, but no one knows who you are—”

No no no no no people have been noticing her?!

“—and you haven’t come said hi.”

Siri was going to die, simply pass away from embarrassment. “Um, no, yeah, I mean, we haven’t been here before…um, so…” Siri barely remembered to smile. It probably looked more like a grimace.

“Exactly!” The girl’s eyes narrowed playfully. They were dark brown and incredibly expressive. “I would definitely remember if I had seen you before.”

Siri wasn’t sure what that meant, but the girl didn’t pause long enough for her to work it out.

“Don’t you want to hang out with us?” The girl craned her neck and leaned farther over the railing, peering into Siri’s lap where her book split open, still on page 10. Siri could pick up the fruity scent of her deodorant. The girl’s eyes flicked back up to Siri’s. “Or do you want to sit and read…"

“…Huckleberry Finn.”

“Yikes.” The girl’s teasing smile was replaced with a look of horror.

“I know.” Siri felt her mouth relax a little, a small quirk of her lips.

The girl shook her head, like a buck huffing in annoyance, bordering aggression. She cracked her knuckles, continued. “…Or do you want to sit and read books by dead white guys on your porch all summer.” It wasn’t said like a question.

“Um. Okay?”

“Okay what?” She was bouncing up and down on her toes, hunched over the porch railing. Sunkissed shoulders poking up from rolled tee shirt sleeves. Deep-sea dark eyes boring into dawning-sky gray.

“I—” This girl was very disorienting. “Sure. Let’s hang out.”

The girl’s face split back into a grin, like that was its natural state. Though her cheeks were made round and even more rosy by the smile, her eyes didn’t crinkle with it the way most people’s do, Siri thought.

“I’m Jamie.”

They stayed sharp and honed.

--

Siri’s summer looked very different after that. Following her introduction, Jamie Potter had promptly asked for Siri’s cell phone number (written on Jamie’s inner forearm with a sharpie Siri found in the little kitchen) and told her “they were having a dock day, after sailing,” whatever that meant. But Siri had agreed to meet outside the yacht club at 1pm that afternoon, promising to bring snacks and a moderately-behaved thirteen-year-old.

“Dock days,” as it turned out, consisted of spreading towels on the far side of the dock, behind the little blue gazebo (every square inch of which, upon closer inspection, was covered in scrawled names, dates, hearts and the like: a living history of summer lovin’), and eating chips and salsa while soaking up temporal sunbeams and wearing as little clothing as possible. Flirting was a prerequisite, Siri had gathered from her week-long observations from afar, but there wasn’t much of anyone she felt the need to devote such attention to. She was thrilled just being included, happy to sit quietly on her hibiscus-printed towel and follow Jamie’s cues, laughing at the right places and inserting a quick one-liner here and there where she felt confident enough to deliver.

The group ranged in age, which gave Regina a few peers to talk to while Siri fell into Jamie’s orbit. Jamie was a year older than Siri and had her childhood best friends Remus and Peter staying with her (“Their families ship them off to Maine with us every summer. They are a pain in my ass—ow! hey—but I love them.”). Then there were the twins, Gillian and Fabian, also a year older than Siri, then Tuney and her little cousin Lucy, who were a couple years younger. Tuney’s older sister, Lily, was away at some competitive chemistry program for the summer, and apparently things were much more subdued this year without her around to get everyone into trouble.

“The definition of chaotic evil,” Jamie had explained with a twinkle in her eye and a faraway grin tugging her lips. Siri was glad Lily wasn’t here this season, but she wasn’t sure why. Probably just because she didn’t like getting into trouble—at least anywhere her mother might find out.

Siri soon learned the ins and outs of the little group that pulsed the beating heart of the magical seaside village. Most had been coming here every summer since they were little, growing up on bowline knots and July sparklers and Gifford’s blueberry ice cream. They had a hearty skepticism for “renters,” as they called them: part-time vacationers who came and went without getting much involved in the community. When Siri had asked why they had befriended her, since she was a “renter,” the boys had looked away sheepishly and Jamie had scoffed. “Please,” she had said, bumping her bare shoulder into Siri’s, “Like my idiot brothers-from-another-mother would ever forgive me if I didn’t introduce you.” Remus and Peter had turned bright red and then shoved a cackling Jamie, whereas Fabian had met Siri’s gaze, unashamed, and smirked. Siri hadn’t known how to react, besides blush furiously. Were they making fun of her? She felt rather exposed. Regina had squeezed her hand protectively. Siri had squeezed it back.

By this point, Siri had already analyzed everyone’s physical shapes and quirks in comparison to her own, a foible of adolescence she couldn’t wait to grow out of. She tanned easily and had a flat stomach, badges of pride for any teenager under the tyranny of Laguna Beach and Abercrombie, but she was self-conscious about her small chest, wide hips and unshapely legs. Jamie was a star athlete back home in Massachusetts, championing in soccer and tennis, and was lean and strong, everywhere. Siri envied the way she filled out her bikini top during the day and her low-rise jeans at night.

Siri’s hair was rather untamable (“Mia Thermopolis hair”, the other cheerleaders called it), especially in the humid sea air, and never dried soft and silky like the most popular girls’ seemed to. Jamie’s hair was a paragon of that effortlessly messy look: never frizzy, but piece-y and wavy, jet-black with shots of caramel laced through from days in the sun, it reached passed her shoulder blades even when pulled into a high ponytail. Siri would discover she loved playing with it, braiding its dampened ends while Jamie lay on her stomach on the dock, water droplets sliding down the soft skin of her back, or gently brushing it out after a day of sailing, working through the knots with careful fingers.

Then there was Siri’s face. People commented on Siri’s face a lot. She generally refused to leave the house without makeup on, and had even packed waterproof formulas for this vacation. None of the other girls in Bayville seemed to wear makeup.

Siri wondered how they still looked so pretty.

She wondered why Fabian was looking at her like that.

--

Dock days turned into movie nights and lunches at Cote’s, which turned into card games on front porches and excursions to the Coffee Pot in town for “Potts” sandwiches, a play on Jamie’s last name that seemed to have existed longer than some of their younger siblings had been alive. Siri couldn’t believe that not only had she been included in this tight-knit group who were so wary of outsiders, but that their central star paid so much attention to her. Jamie, as the leader, was the one who texted Siri when plans for an adventure were being made to ensure sure she didn’t get left out. She always spread her towel next to Siri’s, yellow stripes beside pink and orange flowers, and was the first to whisper jokes and confidences into her ear. She made sure to get an extra side of ketchup in addition to her mayonnaise—“Mayonnaise is white people’s greatest invention, I’m telling you,” she would say, while mixing in pinches of extremely hot spices she kept tucked away in her bag for such occasions—when she ordered fries, in case Siri wanted some, and punched the boys wordlessly when they inevitably crossed the line (which was about seven times a day).

They took Fabian’s battered SUV inland to go blueberry picking, blasting Panic! At the Disco and Kelly Clarkson and singing along with the windows down. Despite their parents’ explicit instructions to collect more than they ate, they spent most of their time horsing around in that green-and-gold field, sated with fruit, laughing freely and dreaming loudly beneath a buttercup sun and bluebird sky.

Predictably, Fabian got bored and started throwing blueberries at Siri. Jamie got irrationally irate every time he did so, eventually turning it into a competition to pelt him with as many blueberries as possible in return. Somehow that turned into an argument over who was taller; Fabian was also athletic and played lacrosse, but was on the shorter side for a guy. Jamie insisted they go back-to-back and demanded Siri be the judge. Siri felt uncomfortable for some reason, but acquiesced. Jamie’s sparked eyes stayed trained on Siri the entire time, something plaintive behind them. When Siri objectively announced Fabian was taller, the plaintive glint hardened sharp and heavy. Neither girl smiled when Fabian whooped with victory.

Siri sat next to Gillian on the ride home.

--

Evenings in Bayville took on a completely different tone, exchanging sun-soaked shimmer and the smell of No-Ad sunscreen for the heliotrope haze of dusk, citronella wafting heavy on the night air. Those summer nights weren’t just dark and twinkling, they were laden with potential energy, the silver ball perched at the top of a physics experiment, a penalty shot lined up against a tied score and less than a minute left.

One navy night, Jamie had taken Siri by the hand, identical sailor knot bracelets scratching against each other’s wrists, and dragged her to her mom’s porch. This was an important ritual in Bayville: hopping from porch to porch after the sun sets to receive parental praise and affection and, if you were lucky, leftover lobster meat or a fresh-baked whoopie pie. This was the first time Siri had been included.

Mrs. Potter was sitting in a rocking chair, reading glasses perched on her nose and a cup of chai on the little table beside her, paperback novel splayed open in her hands. A generous lilac bush off the corner of the cottage steadily pulsed out its sweet perfume, writing itself into Siri’s memory like a madeleine on the tongue.

“Hi Mommy!” Jamie rushed up the steps and then swooped down to give her mother a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Potter didn’t even have time to respond before Jamie gestured proudly to Siri.

“Mommy, this is Siri!” Jamie stepped back with that Cheshire grin, the one where her eyes stayed sharp, vibrating with excitement as she directed her mother’s gaze.

“My goodness, she is beautiful, isn’t she,” Mrs. Potter commented, surveying calmly. She was smaller than her daughter, with a weather-worn face typical of New England parents, dark hair shot with gray. Siri could tell, however, where Jamie got her eyes: Mrs. Potter’s were piercing and narrowed in an eerily familiar fashion. The breeze picked up; lingering sea-salted air blended dizzyingly with the evening florals and spiced tea.

Siri stammered through her blush. “Oh! Um, thank you… it’s nice to meet you.” She really wasn’t sure what she did to deserve getting double-teamed by the Potter Stare.

“Ugh, Mom, I told the boys to stop being gross about her!” Jamie whined.

“I didn’t hear it from the boys,” Mrs. Potter replied, still calm, still piercing. “There are whoopie pies inside on the counter. Help yourselves, girls.”

For some reason, Jamie flushed almost as deeply as Siri.

--

One rainy afternoon, Jamie and Siri perched across from each other on Siri’s bed, beat-up Vera Bradley toiletries bag sitting between them on top of the multi-colored patchwork quilt. Tuney and Lucy were in town at the movies with their families; Gillian was back home at a women’s lacrosse camp for the week. Regina had whined to be included, but Siri had kicked her out unceremoniously.

The two friends were meticulously stroking colored paint onto their toes: crimson red for Siri and metallic gold for Jamie. Siri’s mother would kill them if she saw they were using nail polish on the bed without a towel, but hey, Siri’s a rebel.

“Can I ask you something?” Jamie ventured without removing her focus from the task at hand—er—foot.

Siri’s breath caught a little at the change in tone. Just moments ago, they had been talking about their respective AP Lit reading lists and decrying the lack of women authors. “Sure,” she replied, keeping her voice light.

Jamie eyed the concealers and eyeliners spilling from Siri’s bag. “Why do you always wear makeup? I mean, it’s Bayville.”

Siri bristled automatically. She got teased a lot back home, either for wearing too much makeup or not enough. Always, it came back to her face, and the expectation Siri accepted unquestioningly that she owed the world perfection, and she better not dare present their judgement-day eyes with anything less than that.

She continued applying the blood-red paint to her toes, not looking up. “I mean, everyone wears makeup in Georgia,” she began defensively. “And I cheer, and I’ve done pageants—"

“Shut up!” Jamie interrupted, jaw dropped, pedicure abandoned, gold bottle of polish eagerly twisted shut and tossed carelessly onto the bed. “You’re a beauty queen?!”

Siri chanced a glance upwards. Jamie looked like Christmas had come early. It was not the reaction Siri usually got from other girls when that bit of information got pried from her.

“I mean… I never won or anything,” Siri shrugged, looking away, out the rain-splattered window. The nail polish brush in her hand hovered precariously over her left foot, threatening to drip red all over her careful paint job. “But yeah, I’ve done some of that, and like, modeling, for like department stores and stuff…” The geraniums bedded in their little window boxes outside were getting absolutely pummeled by the downpour.

“Do you like wearing makeup every day?”

When Siri returned her gaze to the room it caught on Jamie’s fish-hook stare, already angling to snag her. Siri didn’t look away.

“I like feeling pretty.”

Jamie held her gaze. “That’s not the same thing.”

Siri searched Jamie’s face for the inevitable cruelty that always slipped in front of jealousy like a vicious guard dog, brutally defending young girls against the pain of insecurity, the fear of rejection, of abandonment. Siri had wielded it thoughtlessly as much as she had been hurt by it, time and again.

But in Jamie’s brown eyes there was no trace of green, only curiosity, and maybe something a little softer? A little… safer? Jamie blinked, tilted her head and let a tiny smile crease the corner of her marble-carved mouth, encouraging Siri.

Siri sighed and dropped her eyes back down, finally closing the bottle of nail polish. She wouldn’t be able to say this next part if she was looking directly into the face of the prettiest girl she had ever seen. “I don’t like how I look without make-up. Sometimes, it’s… it’s all I can think about. How I look.” Siri had never confessed this to anyone before, this shameful, vain secret. “I wish I could be like you… you don’t need make up.”

The next thing Siri knew, warm, soft hands were gently but firmly holding the sides of her face, tilting her jaw up, making her breath catch with the sudden contact. She kept her gaze downcast until the last second, and when it finally did rise it was swallowed immediately by entire galaxies.

Jamie and her swirling orb eyes were maybe a few inches away from Siri’s, staring intently. She spoke with conviction.

“You don’t owe the world shit.”

--

Siri couldn’t rollerblade. Normally, that wasn’t much of an issue for her. It only became one when Jamie, accomplished athlete with a doe-like grace and the stubbornness of a young buck to match, found out.

So, on a Friday evening around the summer solstice, Siri agreed to let Jamie teach her. In exchange, she had bargained for minimum one hour with Jamie’s stunning face all to herself and her Vera Bradley makeup bag. Siri was chief makeup artist on the cheerleading bus for a reason; it was a creative outlet, painting on shadows and colors and creases to create a work of art you can smile and blink and laugh through. Putting makeup on others allowed Siri to embrace the artistry of it, rather than fight against the compulsivity that overshadowed her own complicated experience.

Jamie had arrived at the Blacks’ cottage around 6pm, just after an early dinner, and followed Siri up to her room where she could work her magic. Siri had been glad her parents were out for the night—she had heard enough off-color comments from her mother about “that Potter family” over the last few weeks and didn’t want to put Jamie at risk of hearing any of it. Regina, the better hairstylist of the two sisters, had been permitted to give Jamie two long French braids that showed off the subtle variations in her thick dark hair, shiny onyx strands rippled with chocolate and auburn.

Now, Siri was starting to regret her actions; the dramatic smokey eye she had indulged in creating electrified Jamie’s laser-beam gaze to the point of distraction.

It made it all the more difficult to stay upright on two thin rows of wheels.

“Jamie!” Siri squealed with a jolt of adrenaline, windmilling her arms out as she lurched forward, gaze ripped from Jamie’s face to the fast-approaching ground. The taller girl cackled but caught her with one hand all the same. Siri clutched at it like a lifeline, heart still pounding.

Their hands stayed clasped. Siri’s heartbeat stayed elevated.

They had found a bit of paved road, out closer to Route 1, and slowly made their way along the empty stretch before them, rolling farther from the safety of the familiar cottages with their slamming screen doors and sneaky garden gates, venturing onwards as the sun sank fast into an approaching dusk.

Both girls were clad in denim miniskirts; Siri’s was dark wash and kept riding up her hips as she maneuvered along the asphalt in a pair of old skates borrowed from Jamie. She had to keep tugging at it from underneath an oversized gray college-branded hoodie, so large it threatened to swallow her petite frame all together. Jamie’s mini was a light wash and fitted tightly to show off her strong thighs and butt. Paired with white and yellow layered tank tops that she filled out so enviously well, Jamie Potter looked like nothing less than Roller Derby Barbie. When Siri had told her so, Jamie had almost skated into a tree.

“We’re close to Cote’s,” Jamie commented after a stretch of not-quite-comfortable silence. Siri was grateful for the interruption; she got along better with Jamie than anyone else in Bayville, but one-on-one hang outs with her were becoming threaded with something unsettling, an uncomfortable crack of buzzed-out current that kept Siri’s body tipped on the edge of fight-or-flight. “Want to get an ice cream?”

There was something in the way she said it that made Siri look over at her friend in the fading twilight. Jamie’s eyes were practically glowing, the whites phosphorescent against her dark irises and the looming forest shadows, but there was still enough light to see her cheeks were darkened. Siri didn’t think she had put that much blush on her; she hadn’t wanted to pull focus from her eye makeup. Furthermore, in a way that didn’t usually accompany casual suggestions of ice cream, Jamie’s eyebrows were oddly drawn together. Siri wanted to reach out and smooth them, trail her fingers down her cheek, maybe hold her jaw tenderly and—

Oh.

Shit.

Siri gulped.

--

When they rolled up to Cote’s, however, the two girls were not alone. Fabian, Remus, Peter, and a couple more boys Siri didn’t recognize were sitting at one of the picnic tables out front, eating burgers and fries and making a general ruckus. It was late enough that a street lamp had flickered on, bathing the scene in artificial light. It made the faces of the boys glow eerily, joker grins and flinted eyes.

Every pair landed on Siri and Jamie and stayed there. Grins growing wider.

“Oh shit, look who it is!” Fabian was the first to crow. Remus groaned, no doubt annoyed by the unwelcomed intrusion of the two girls.

The two new boys made no pretense about continuing to stare openly.

Jamie’s grip on Siri’s hand tightened briefly before dropping.

“I was just teaching Siri how to skate. She’s never tried.” Jamie sounded uncharacteristically defensive. Territorial, even.

“What happened to your face?” Remus deadpanned. Fabian snickered.

Jamie drew herself to her full height, even taller than usual with the roller skates, and looked down her nose at the entire table. “She did my makeup. I love it.”

“It looks like you got punched,” Peter offered.

Fabian chimed in, “Why do you even wear that stuff? Girls look better without makeup, anyway.”

Siri and Jamie let that comment hang in the air for a beat or two. Watched Fabian squirm a bit.

“Gross,” Siri pronounced, once she had determined their point had been made. Jamie cracked her knuckles.

“Anyway, we were just here to get some ice cream. Come on, Siri.” Jamie made to grab her hand again and stomp them both into the tiny store, skates and all, when Fabian grabbed Siri’s other hand.

“No, Siri, stay with us. Potts’ll get your ice cream, right Potts?” He grinned up at Jamie, laying on the charm. A strange, fiery look passed between them before they turned to the girl in question.

Siri, not wanting to draw out—whatever that was—quickly agreed, pulling herself free of their grips. “Yeah, you go, I’ll wait out here.”

But at Siri’s response, Jamie’s face immediately clouded over into something downright murderous. Her eyes flashed as she turned and clomped into the store. A beat passed before Remus hopped up and announced he wanted some ice cream, too, and dragged Peter along with him. Fabian called to get him a cookie dough. Remus flipped him off without turning around or loosening his grip on Peter.

Siri carefully lowered herself to perch on the spot vacated by Remus, next to Fabian. She had her back facing away from the table along with the two random boys and was angled towards the door of the shop. She picked at a hangnail. Fiddled with a coil of long hair, dried curly after a day of dock jumping. Hoped her stupid fucking red cheeks could pass as exertion from roller skating.

She felt Fabian scooch closer. He muscled a tricep into her shoulder blade to get her attention. When she turned to look, he was leaning in, face close.

“Uh, these are my buddies from home, Benji and Caradoc.” Drew gestured to each boy across the table. “Guys, this is Siri.” He was hunched over and not quite making eye contact. He fidgeted with a few cold fries.

The weird energy pushing uncomfortably around them had Siri too agitated to remember to smile, but she did at least adjust her body to face the boys. They were built similarly to Fabian and both sported flowing locks peeking out beneath baseball hats.

Siri was outnumbered three to one by lax bros. She looked around for Satan, wondering why he wasn’t present to welcome her to what was clearly hell itself.

The boys still hadn’t stopped looking at her.

“Shit, dude, you weren’t kidding about this place,” one of the boys—Caradoc, maybe?—smirked cryptically. The other boy snorted, nudged the first.

Fabian’s eyes widened and he threw a soggy fry across the table. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbled.

They were all saved by the tinkling of the shop door as Jamie, Remus and Peter returned, ice creams dripping from their hands. Siri scrutinized Jamie for a sign of what might be going on, but the taller girl kept her eyes averted and mouth set in a determined, hard line. Remus appeared frustrated, Peter nervous.

“Thanks, Jamie.” Siri spoke sincerely, trying to catch her friend’s eye, as a cone piled high with fruit-flecked ice cream was deposited emotionlessly into her hand.

“Welcome.” Jamie replied. She grabbed a stool from the outdoor counter, carried it over, placed it across from Siri and Fabian so the three of them formed a triangle of sorts, and threw herself onto it with her legs splayed despite her skirt. Somehow, she held onto her strawberry ice cream effortlessly throughout the process—rollerblades be dammed.

Remus, meanwhile, leaned on the end of the picnic table next to Fabian and handed off the requested cookie dough cone. He began eating his own chocolate ice cream quietly. Peter skulked behind him and slurped a milkshake.

“What flavor did you get?” Fabian asked Siri, low like he was only talking to her.

“Black cherry.” Siri spoke loudly as if it were a group conversation. “Jamie knows it’s my favorite.” She punctuated the statement with a smile in her friend’s direction, rolling over, a submissive flash of soft white tummy.

Siri’s tail went between her legs when it wasn’t returned; Jamie’s stare was trained on Fabian.

“Wanna try mine?” Fabian proffered his cone to Siri. She could hear more snickering from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum behind her.

Siri whipped her head around. “Oh! Uh—”

“Come on, it’s good.” Fabian cracked a shit-eating grin. “My cone needs to be tasted.” All four boys, minus Remus, were snorting heartily.

But before Siri could vocalize the acerbic reply forming in the back of her throat, Jamie suddenly leaned forward off her stool and licked Fabian’s cone herself, tongue wide and pink against the creamy vanilla. Her eyes met Siri’s as she flicked the tip of her tongue up at the crest of the cone, cream dripping down into her mouth, before pulling the clever appendage back behind her teeth, swallowing, and finishing off with a final swipe of her full lips.

Oh.

Shit.

“There.” Jamie concluded, sitting back. Siri’s mind was blank. “Your cone has been tasted. No one else needs to be subjected to it. Besides,” —a cocky wink to Siri, a shrug to the boys— “it could have been bigger.”

Everyone, even Remus, howled with laughter; it was peak “that’s what she said” era.

Everyone except Siri.

--

“Truth.”

Siri and Jamie were laying on a blanket in the grass, flat on their backs, looking up at the stars. After they had finished their ice cream, Fabian had given the girls a lift back to Bayville. He had offered Siri shotgun but Jamie had complained her long legs meant she needed the front seat more. Eager to please and wanting to get back into Jamie’s good graces, unsure why she had even fallen out of them in the first place—must be an only child thing—Siri had acquiesced and sat in the back with the rest of the boys. To her relief, it seemed to have worked. Jamie was back to her usual loud, joking self as soon as Fabian had dropped them off.

They had stopped at the Blacks’ cottage to change out of their skates and grab a blanket—hot-blooded Jamie refusing to borrow a sweatshirt—before wandering down to the central lawn ostensibly to stargaze but really to giggle and gossip. It hadn’t taken long to strike up a round of Truth or Dare; Siri had just selected truth.

“What’s your number?” Jamie asked in the direction of the North Star.

Siri turned her head, traced her eyes over Jamie’s profile outlined in the moonlight. Her nose was elegant, fit perfectly to her face, her top lip pouting prettily just beneath it.

“Zero,” Siri answered after a beat. Unashamed, but also unsure.

Jamie turned her head as well, brow furrowed almost in offense, eyes deep and searching of Siri’s face.

“You can tell me.”

Siri smiled with only half her mouth, derisive. “Trust me, I would.”

Jamie’s gaze refused to let up. Siri could feel heat prickling along her hips, under her arms. “I…yeah, there hasn’t been anyone worth it, I guess.” Her pulse was throbbing harder the longer Jamie looked at her like that.

“What about you?” Siri asked, looking for relief: Jamie’s stare was like an exacting silver needle, threading the two of them together without mercy, sewing them closer and closer.

Jamie made a strange face; a little sad, a little hopeful. “Just one. My ex-boyfriend. Sophomore year.”

Siri took a breath, to work out how she felt about that. “Did you love him?” Siri decided she hoped she loved him. Hoped he loved her, more like. Jamie deserved love, all of it.

That needle-eye stare punctured the night with quiet catching sounds as it stitch, stitch, stitched away, pricking spindled fingers with gift and curse alike as Jamie Potter thought hard before answering.

“In a way, yeah, I think so.” She turned back to the stars, pulling but not snapping the immortal threads. “I definitely thought I did.”

Siri didn’t respond, but redirected her gaze skyward as well. The two girls simply breathed together, laying side by side, woven and watching as the earth turned. Nature was serenading them ardently, crickets and frogs awake and amorous, calling for mates. The gentle lapping of the bay against well-worn rocks and weathered boats and steadfast pilings and rooted banks beat in time to steady stolen hearts; the rustle of oak leaves in the trees above, caught dizzy in a midnight breeze, blew secrets in and out of seashelled ears.

Siri felt like Ariel, floating in a blue lagoon. Just missing a crooning crab.

Then, to the moon: “Was it good?”

“It hurt,” Jamie replied, also to the moon. “But I wanted to do it. I just, haven’t really wanted to… since then.”

The wind picked up and Siri looked over in time to watch Jamie shiver. Goosebumps erupted all down her toned arms and chest, across the gleaming tops of her breasts gently swollen against the moonlight. Siri allowed her eyes to continue trailing downwards, clock the evidence of Jamie’s chill even through her bra and layered tops.

Siri turned and sat up, pulled off her own sweatshirt with crossed arms, pink Abercrombie polo getting caught up a bit in her effort. When her vision reappeared from the tangle of cloth and curls, Jamie was staring at her.

“Here.” Siri tossed the sweatshirt, still warm with her body heat, into Jamie’s lap. Jamie didn’t move. Siri raised her eyebrows. “I know you’re cold, Potts, I just watched you shiver.”

Jamie didn’t smile, but sat up slack-jawed and put on the sweatshirt without protesting. That’s a first, Siri thought.

“Your turn.” Siri said once Jamie was bundled up. She missed the sight of her smooth shoulders, her sculpted clavicle, and okay, yes, her tits in those tank tops, but there was something pleasant about seeing Jamie in Siri’s clothes that made it worth it. Plus, in their new semi-seated positions Jamie had her long legs stretched unendingly in front of her, ankles crossed, as she leaned back on her hands. The top of her shin bone seemed to fucking glow, radioactive in the mirror-blue night. Siri’s legs were curved under her as she sat slightly hunched toward Jamie, close to the bend of her waist. “Truth or dare.”

Jamie surprised Siri by picking truth.

“Ok…” Siri’s eyes flicked to Jamie’s perfect mouth. She took a risk. “What’s the deal between you and Fabian?”

Siri was braced to get told off, or for Jamie to dissolve in girlish denial. Instead, she was serious, considering carefully before replying. “He used to have a crush on me.” She twisted her neck, popping the joints. Looked out towards the water. “Followed me around all last summer, like a lost puppy.”

Siri snorted at the image. “Did you like him back?”

Jamie pulled her mouth to the side, lifted a shoulder. “Not really.”

Siri thought of the boys back home, a few in particular… always lurking around hall corners and by lockers and on sidelines. She could relate.

“So what’s different this year?” Siri pressed, slightly afraid of the answer.

Jamie leveled Siri with a look, ancient amber sparked with starlight. “Well, you’re here.”

Ah, fuck.

Siri sighed, looked away. Forced herself to ask, “Are you jealous?”

“Maybe a little,” Jamie whispered.

Siri’s heart sank like the Heart of the fucking Ocean. She turned her head fully away from Jamie, looking over her shoulder at the dark trees and shadowed cottages in the distance. Most of their lights were out.

“Well I don’t really like him, like that, so,” Siri mumbled into the darkness, giving Jamie the green light. At least now it was out in the open. Maybe now they could go back to being normal friends.

Well, normal-ish, for Siri.

Jamie, however, perked up, excited. “Yeah? You don’t?” She shuffled forward, angling her face to try and catch Siri’s avoidant eye.

To Siri’s horror, she felt heat press into her sinuses, her throat, her eyes shimmering and shaking, threatening to spill at any moment. She really didn’t like Drew, so why did she care so much if Jamie did?

You know why, Inner Siri whispered.

Go to hell, Denial Siri muttered back.

She took a shaky breath in, forced her emotions back down—stomped on them with gusto, really. “It’s your turn to ask. Go.”

“Truth or dare.” The pleased smile in Jamie’s voice carried, although Siri still hadn’t turned back around to face her. Hearing it in this context felt like falling from a stunt; a deeply unpleasant drop in your stomach followed by getting the wind brutally knocked out of you.

Siri sighed again. “Truth.” She had learned long ago never to pick dare. At any rate, she found people fascinating, their secrets, their fears, their dreams: learning those intimacies and sharing them back helped her love deeper, love specific, when she chose to. Like right now, Inner Siri noted, smug. Shut the fuck up, Denial Siri replied, pissed.

“What about just kissing? How many guys have you kissed?”

Siri should have known Jamie wasn’t going to let the general topic go. She groaned and rolled her head back, exasperated, before finally lolling it around to glare at Jamie, whose braids were still holding her thick hair tight away from her face, fine baby hairs whisping in front of her ears and over her brow. Dark eyes rimmed in charcoal smoke glinted with intent: mischief, and something else Siri couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Siri inhaled, nostrils flaring. This one was less fun to talk about.

“None.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped. But her eyes. They positively lit up, bright and keen.

“None?!”

Siri shook her head. Thought, again, of the simpering boys back home, of Fabian and his friends from earlier. Sure, those guys were hot, but the thought of trusting them enough to hold her, touch her. It just didn’t make sense.

“I’ve only kissed two guys,” Jamie quickly offered. There was something unspoken behind her teeth. “My ex, and a random boy at the 8th grade dance.”

That seemed odd to Siri. Jamie was friendly, popular. Confident. Girls like that had no trouble kissing for fun.

“Okay then.” Jamie sounded like she had decided something, God help us all. She angled her body, taking Siri’s silence as some sort of invitation, and gave her an uncommonly brilliant demonstration of the Potter Stare paired with her signature smile.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Siri gaped; blood coursed through her ears. No, no, no this wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t like that—a pity kiss, or, or an experiment or something silly to giggle about—

“It’s not your turn!” Siri sputtered. “And… I didn’t pick dare! I never pick dare.”

Jamie was leaning towards Siri, head tilted down so she could quite literally bat her thick, darkened eyelashes up at her. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” she pouted, smiling. Cheeky. Siri felt a shiver ignite down her helpless spine.

The problem was, Jamie had no idea how badly she did.

Siri was powerfully reminded of the first time they met. “Don’t you want to hang out with us?” She was so sure, so confident. Easy. Everything Siri was not.

Now, Jamie’s face had turned on a dime from flirty to focused. It was a little terrifying.

Because behind that carefree ease and sunlight smile, Siri knew, there was a deep and raw hunger. An ache to be needed. To be seen, and delighted in, just as she tries so hard to see and delight in everyone else around her.

Siri saw Jamie.

“I… I don’t.” Siri swallowed, tore her eyes away. “I don’t want it to be a dare.” She was grateful for the darkness, knowing that for once her berry-red face was getting some camouflage.

Jamie, meanwhile, changed tack. Siri could still feel the intensity of her gaze, but she also felt her sit up a little, square herself, blend her characteristic curiosity into that swirling stare.

“What about not guys?” Jamie asked evenly.

Siri frowned, mirrored Jamie’s body language, met her eyes once again. “What?”

She repeated, patient. Dead serious. “How many not-guys have you kissed?”

Was Jamie asking what Siri thought she was asking? Siri was silent, could only stare, searching her face for clues.

It had gotten closer to her own, somehow.

Stitch, stitch, stitch.

Jamie took a deep breath, eyes locked on Siri. “I’ve kissed… a few not-boys,” she confessed.

Did Siri imagine it, or did Jamie’s eyes flit down to Siri’s mouth when she said it?

Then, slowly, unbelievably, Jamie reached out a warm hand. Siri’s breath hitched and something flipped pleasantly low behind her tailbone as with the backs of her knuckles, Jamie tenderly brushed a lock of hair from Siri’s forehead, fingers turning and tracing down her cheek, so impossibly soft and delicate. Ice and fire whooshed simultaneously along Siri’s face where the tips of Jamie’s nails caressed her skin; Siri’s eyes fluttered shut. She leaned into the touch.

“I don’t want it to be a dare, either,” Jamie whispered, honey-glazed, low. Assured.

Siri’s heart stopped. She opened her eyes.

And Jamie’s were dancing, burning waves of desire, a whirlpool and Siri was drowning. Jamie’s fingers slid from Siri’s cheek to grip deep within her hair, hold her firmly around her jaw and neck.

She was so close now there was hardly any space left between them. Siri’s lips parted with soft pants. She could feel Jamie’s breath on her tongue, creamy and sweet.

“Siri, I—” Jamie murmured against Siri’s open mouth, nosing into her. “I want to.” She gripped the other side of Siri’s face, fierce, desperate. “I want you.”

Siri closed the distance.

And it was… Fireworks? A revelation? Angels singing Handel’s chorus in four-part harmony?

It was so easy. So easy to revel in the feel of Jamie’s lips on her own, to slowly open her mouth for her, willingly, taste her, gently. So fucking soft and warm and wet and sweet, a delightful echo of the ice cream she had so lustfully watched Jamie lick away at earlier, sugared vanilla and tangy fruit, filling up her mouth and tongue.

Jamie expertly maneuvered Siri’s face sideways with knowing hands still holding her neck, sending Siri’s stomach swooping down to her toes (though it felt more like a well-executed tumbling pass than a dropped stunt), and deepened the kiss.

It was incredibly sexy.

Jamie’s tongue was down her throat and butterflies were rioting through her body and congregating between her legs and in her pelvis and Siri pushed in, gripped the front of that damn sweatshirt, wanting more. She felt their teeth bump and their movements fall out of sync, but then Jamie merely giggled into her, the corners of her mouth pulling with her smile and pushing that fucking tongue out of her mouth just that little bit to meet her own outside their lips.

So they did that for a minute. Just took turns carefully, slowly pushing each other’s tongues back and forth, fingers dancing over smooth cheeks and warm necks and warmer waists, peppering in soft licks and nips to bottom lips, growing plumper and redder by the minute. Siri was pretty sure she was remembering to swallow, because nothing felt too sloppy, just really fucking hot.

So hot that she somehow ended up straddled on top of Jamie, skirt hiked up by those confident hands dangerously high on her thighs, rolling her hips hungrily, even aggressively, against Jamie’s body and feeling her so fucking soft underneath her.

She wasn’t sure who came up for air first. It might have been Siri, but only because Jamie tugged deliciously at the roots of Siri’s curls, forcing her head back and making her moan out to the stars and the moon above while Jamie collapsed against her throat.

“Holy fucking shit, Siri.” Jamie panted after a beat, looking up into her face, wild-eyed. Shocked.

“Sorry! Jamie, sorry, I—too much?” Siri struggled to catch her breath. She wasn’t sure how, in the span of twenty minutes, she had gone from never having a first kiss to rutting into the hottest girl alive in a semi-public area. Her underwear felt uncomfortably wet.

She didn’t hate it.

“Jesus Christ, no,” Jamie breathed through a maniacal grin. And Siri saw then that the shock was really pride.

Smug, cocky, balls-a-swinging pride.

And under that, a deep and radiant and joy-filled relief.

Siri figured it was probably reflected incandescently on her own face.

Inner Siri agreed.

--

She was sprawled on her tummy in bed, heart still pleasantly in her throat and head very much still on the lawn under the stars, when the unmistakable feeling of being watched prickled across Siri’s already-sensitive skin. Sure enough, she rolled over to find a familiarly slender shadow quietly darkening the small crack in her bedroom doorway, belied only by the faintest creak of old floorboards beneath socked feet.

“You’re back,” the shadow said.

Shortly after midnight, Jamie had walked Siri home, hand protectively around her shoulders and Siri nuzzled happily into Jamie’s chest, arms encircling her waist like a needy koala, enveloping each other in the smell of hair and skin and laundry soap as they had stumbled up the hill. Siri had taken care not to wake her family when she crept back inside the cottage, parting kisses stolen behind blind-eye hedges after giggled insistences to keep it, I like seeing it on you.

“Obviously,” Siri whispered, waiting.

Wordlessly, Regina pushed Siri’s bedroom door open enough for her to slip inside and pad over to the bed. The wrought iron frame groaned, unnaturally loud in the still of the night, as she wiggled beneath the covers next to her sister.

Regina’s copious curls spilled across the pillow, taking up half the bed with untamable tendrils and tickling Siri’s nose and neck. Siri pushed them away, pressed her icy toes under Regina’s calves.

Their breathing evened as they settled next to each other, Siri on her back, looking up at the moonlight cast in scattered shapes across the ceiling, Regina on her side with her head tucked in like a burrowed kitten.

“How was it?” Regina whispered into the covers.

“Good.” Siri replied, guarded. The butterflies she had been enjoying were flying right up her throat and out her mouth with each exhale, leaving just plain nerves in their wake. She wasn’t sure what Regina would say about, well, everything.

“I talked to Remus, after y’all came back from Cote’s.”

Siri glanced down at her sister. “Oh?” Remus wasn’t particularly intimidating, but he was a boy several years older than Regina, and Siri didn’t think they had had any direct conversations before.

“He said it got a little… awkward,” Regina tried delicately.

Siri sighed. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

Regina’s eyes opened and batted up to look at Siri, eyebrows and lashes dark on her pale face. She looked impossibly young, tender, like a fawn waiting patiently for its mother in the wooded thicket. “And that someone likes you.”

Siri thought of Fabian, and Remus, seated next to each other on the picnic bench, their reactions when she had rolled up. Fabian’s immature behavior. She groaned.

“Yeah… I figured.” Honestly why did it always come back to a freaking guy? Was this really what it was always going to be like?

“So… did something happen?” Regina pressed.

Siri never lied to her sister, so she didn’t say anything.

Regina could read her like a book anyway.

“Did you guys kiss?”

Siri breathed out, barely a whisper. “Yes.” Her lips quivered. “But it’s not with… it wasn’t who you think.”

And all the emotions and the overwhelming bigness of just, everything, came crashing back, and the tears Siri had stomped down earlier finally spilled hot down her cheeks.

Regina was calm, steady. Blinked her fawn eyes gently.

“Was it Jamie?” She had always possessed a wisdom beyond her young years.

Siri turned a tear-streaked face to her sister. Cried a little harder. Nodded.

Regina shrugged. “Remus said he and Peter were pretty fed up with how she was acting. Wanted her to just go for it already. He asked me if I thought you liked her back.”

“Really?” Siri smiled, watery, hopeful. “What did you say?”

Despite her sensitivity, Regina was still a sassy little shit. She rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

And there, in the soft quiet night with silver moonbeams carrying dreams and desire back and forth across a star-strewn bay, Regina hugged her.

Siri hugged her back.

--

On the easternmost tip of the country, dashing up 95 or lazing along Route 1, over tiny suspension bridges and past sleepy lobstering towns and through fields alive with black-eyed susans and purple clover and Miss Rumphius’s famous lupine,

down dusty country roads that crunch under car tires and kick dust behind sneakers,

between paper-white birch trees and evergreen pine lined with split-rail fences and wild rose bushes hiding monarchs and honeybees,

tucked among rocky, cragged coastline where red quartz cliffs break squally sprays over pebbled stones warmed gray by the sun,

following the call of seagulls and dinghy bells and misplaced rhotic consonants within winter-gruff voices (ayuh),

where the smells of white bar soap and mineral-crusted pipes and salt, salt, salt mingle with those of lilac and bug spray and ozone,

there lies a fairytale village on a wishful blue bay.

And if you make pilgrimage to its venerable wooden dock, last stop before plunging into ocean deep,

and perhaps rest on its cerulean-bright benches, look out in wonder at how blues so blue can exist, and whites so white, and greens so green, and breathe what feels like nothing, the air so crystal clean,

and sigh and turn your head, look north, you might see

written in black sharpie, bubble letters marking permanently chip-worn paint,

the initials JFP + SOB.

And somewhere to the left of that, your curious eyes tracing, find that same sharpie and youthful handwriting among the various inking and carving,

SOB + RAB

[mikecale]

Removing Cigar Smoke from the House

Smoking and second-hand smoke have become the subject of many debates and regulations over the years. While the hobby of smoking cigars can be rewarding, one of the worst downsides is having to cope with a house or office that smells dirty and old. Several solutions can help remove the smell of cigars from home and keep it smelling fresh and clean. One of the least effective methods of removing any smell from the house is using air fresheners. These devices work by masking the airborne particles with ones that have a more noticeable odor. Unfortunately, air fresheners are only a temporary measure, and once the sprayed smell wears off, the smokey one will reappear. Over time, the smoke seeps into the furniture and wall paints, making it more difficult to remove for good. That’s why most methods involve filtering the air constantly and removing the odor particles before they are absorbed into the house furniture. The best way to prevent smoke infiltration in the first place is to use active filtration. A smoke eater is an ideal device to prevent smoke residue and freshen up the room. Smoke eaters come in various sizes and with different types of filters. These filters can last from one month for low-quality fiberglass and mesh filters to up to a year with premium high-efficiency particulate absorbing or charcoal-based filters. Smoke eaters are one of the most efficient solutions and can remove other air pollutants, freshening up the room, or the entire house, while working in the background. It should be noted that cigar smoke can produce volatile organic compounds (VOCs) that might not get filtered by any commercial filter. Even with a smoke eater on full blast, the room will need some airflow to prevent a build-up of VOCs over time and keep the air fresher. Smoke eaters aren’t maintenance-free, though. If you decide to use one, you’ll need to clean it regularly. Apart from the filter, the nicotine can get stuck in grates and other mechanisms. Most eaters use DIY cleaning methods, but some might require professional upkeep. Some of the homemade alternatives for short-lasting air filtration include coffee grounds and baking soda. Putting some coffee grounds in coffee filters and placing them around the room will be a temporary filter and air freshener. The coffee grounds absorb the cigar odors and give off a natural aroma reminiscent of freshly-made coffee, serving double duty as an air freshener and filter in one. If the smoke has already permeated some surfaces, baking soda becomes the best bet to clean them without resorting to professional products and services. Mix baking soda with activated charcoal and some water to create a powdery paste, then spread it over granite and other hard-to-clean surfaces to keep smoke at bay. Finally, invest in a clothes steamer. One of the most affected objects in the house will be the smoker’s clothes. If you’re used to smoking cigars, you might not be able to notice the smell of the clothes, but any visitors certainly will. A high-quality clothes steamer can get rid of the smell in no time. A simple iron with a steam function won’t do the trick here.

[painting-service]

What Are the Advantage of Using the Stain Resistant Paint

Stain-resistant paint is a highly effective formula designed to resist stains from substances that come into contact with the paint surface. These resilient paints typically have a glossy or semi-gloss finish to prevent fingerprints and stains from being visible or unlike matte finish paints. The key benefit of stain-resistant paints is the effortless cleaning process when removing marks and substances from the paint surface. If you plan to paint your house, the best option is to go for house paint Granite Bay. This will ensure that you get the best results that your house deserves.

Also Read : Essential Tools and Suppliers for Home Painting

But let us tell you that using stain-resistant paint has many benefits. So here are we listed the benefits of stain-resistant paint for your house.

Advantage of Using Stain Resistant Paints For Your Home

Easy to clean

Stains and spills are less likely to penetrate the surface, making cleaning effortless and reducing the risk of permanent discoloration.

Durability

Stain-resistant paint tends to be more durable, as it is designed to withstand regular cleaning without losing its original color or finish.

Long-lasting Appearance

The paint maintains its fresh and new look for an extended period, even in high-traffic areas or areas prone to stains.

Time and Cost Savings

Since stain-resistant paint is less likely to require frequent touch-ups or repainting, it can save time and money on maintenance and renovations.

Versatility

Stain-resistant paints are available in various finishes and colors, providing flexibility in choosing the perfect look for different spaces.

Health Benefits

Some stain-resistant paints are formulated with low or no VOC (volatile organic compounds), reducing potential health risks and promoting better indoor air quality.

Also Read : Tips For Maintaining Freshly Painted Walls At Your Home

You can get these benefits if you plan to paint stain-resistant paint. If you plan to get this paint, hiring the best outside house paint in Granite Bay and painting it in the specified room is better. We hope this article will help you a lot, and before getting any paint, it’s better to choose wisely and research well regarding this.

Full Audio: Listen Here

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[charliehoennam]

little distractions II

A/N: Just a follow-up on something I had in mind to give this cutie pie of a character a happy ending because he deserves one.You can read the first part here. If you like it, please reblog it for support. Sharing is caring! 

Warnings: Mentions of mourning; loss of spouse; psychological therapy; parental humiliation 

Pairing: Amos Jenkins x gn!reader

Word count: 1,785

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG!

Days melded into each other as always; your body moved like it was on auto-pilot, just knowing what you needed to do and executing errands and tasks as required. Being at work was easy and your boss was satisfied with the work you produced, but everyone knew your hard work was more of a coping mechanism than pure commitment. The busier you made yourself, the less you had to think. 

Some days were harder than others and some were easier, but each was a step closer to recovering from the tragic loss. Your therapist was very well in helping you get there with the careful reminder you still have a path to walk despite the long way you’d already come.  

“Your feet are on the ground and you’ve taken firm, long strides. That’s good. But I think you should ask yourself: are you taking the time to venture and appreciate the view?”

You mulled over his words since your last session and you came to realize he had a point. Living on automatic made things easier, sure. But you were beginning to feel yourself fade into a dull shade of the vibrant color you once were; the color Drew adored. He always praised you for being the brightest in the room and reminded you to never let that light fade. You knew it was time to reignite it with a process of rediscovering yourself; treasuring the aspects he loved most about you seemed like a respectful and sensible way to keep his memory alive.  

You shoot up early out of bed at the crack of 8 o’clock. You don’t bother with a shower because you know you’ll be scrubbing paint off your body for at least a couple of days. First thing you do to start your morning off on a happy note is play a little music. You bob your head side to side, humming to the lyrics of the first song on your playlist as you brush your teeth. Taking the day’s labor into consideration, you opt for a simple hairstyle that it’ll keep the hairs away from you for overall comfort, but you still want to look cute so you bump up your house-painting look with a little zhuzh of your personal preference.  

Making your way to the kitchen, you stop by the door to leave it unlocked. You know the chances of Amos arriving while you’re making breakfast will be high and you wouldn’t dare leave the kitchen unattended. And you’re right: he arrived even earlier than agreed on. You almost don’t hear the knock with your phone playing loudly while you’re shaking your hips and singing along to the music.  

“Come in! Door’s open!” you shout quickly lowering the volume, secretly hoping he didn’t hear you singing from outside – he did, but he wouldn’t mock you for having a cute little fun moment that you very well deserved given all you’d been through – before you can race back to the stove to make sure your food didn’t burn.  

“Hiya... Hope I ain’t interruptin’ nothin’.”  

The wide grin on his face makes you curious and want to ask what he’s smiling about, but chances are it’s your singing so you’d rather not know and leave the mental question unanswered. You’re enjoying the easy-going serenity he brings along with him. It helps relax you for some reason; keeps the negative thoughts at bay.  

“Nah, not at all. I’m just making some breakfast. Figured a hearty meal would help us keep the pace, you know?”

“They do say it’s the most important part of the day ‘though I can’t be one to judge. All I usually have is some coffee.”  

“Oh, I know the feeling. You're just in time though. I’m almost done here so you’ll have no reason not to get some food in that belly.”  

You glance at him with a chuckle and he’s stood by the counter, leaned back against the grayed granite. He’s nothing fancy on; just a casual sage green t-shirt with a pocket over the left breast, a pair of old worn jeans with dried paint stains and dark-browned leathers construction boots with black details near the toes that you were absolutely had seen better days. His blond locks are humbly combed back almost hiding their slightly long length, but the golden tuffs of the tips peeking out from behind his ears. He looks so tall standing in your tiny kitchen.  

“I really appreciate you goin’ through all that trouble. Anything I can make myself useful with?”

“You could set the table if you’d like. Plates are behind ya, top shelf.”

Once the food is placed on the table, you sit down to eat your breakfast and make casual conversation. You realize talking to him is much easier than it is with some people. Not that they’re the awful kind; it’s the pitying that you can’t stand. You already feel guilty for every breath you take and they always want to know how you’re doing. They’re thoughtful, you can’t blame them for being concerned. However, you’re trying to leave the past in the past. It can’t be changed; the dead are already cold and buried. But being reminded of that on a constant basis makes your recovery harder. Other, on the contrary, didn’t know what to stay out of fear of touching a delicate subject. All you wanted was someone to talk to you like you were just you, not the mourning spouse of a dead man.  

Amos just seemed to know how to keep everything light and easy. Just the way you needed things to be. Natural, unstressed, calm with a dash of humor. It reminded you of what ‘normal’ felt like. The fact that it was so easy to do got your thoughts running. Maybe he knew what to say because he craved the same? He was the sole survivor of the mining tragedy. You knew there had to be a certain darkness that lurked in his thoughts the way it haunted yours. Maybe he knew what to say because he was tired of people either treating him like he was a charity case or like a traitor for revealing the truth on the miners’ lives at work.  

“Alright, now. Let’s get some cocktails on these walls huh?”  

Once your breakfast is somewhat settled in your stomach, you head to the living room where you push and cover your furniture to keep it safe from stains before laying out a used large tarp on the wooden floor. The corners are taped down to hold it in place and you move on to cautiously cover and protect the baseboard moldings with blue tape.

You’re giggling at the way Amos sings the Stone Temple Pilots’ song he begged you to put on and how he holds the extension roller pole like a microphone. His eyes close just for a moment and you seize the opportunity to lightly push your fingertips against the rod.  

You burst out in laughter as the Fruit Cocktail colored roller bumps against his face, leaving a painted mark over his mustache, nose and center of his cheeks. He’s trying so hard to not laugh along with you as he looks at you in humorous disbelief.

“Oh, you did not. I know you did not. Just get. Paint on my 'stache.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would get all over, I was only aiming for your nose!” You justified through a wide smile and snickering.  

“Nah, I think this means payback.” He smirks shaking his head, not wanting to hear your apologies. You know he’s not angry, but he ain’t letting this go either.  

“Please don’t get paint on my face, I said I’m sorry!”  

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it, I demand justice!” he grins, setting the roller rod down and dipping two fingertips into the thankfully non-toxic liquid.  

He takes a step closer and you take one back, continuing until you pressed against the back of your couch.  

“Awwh, c’mon on, Ames! Not the face, not the face!”  

Wriggling against his body, you feel his body press against yours to keep you in place in the most innocently playful of ways. His large hand on your chin delicately lifts your head up to face him. Your pleas are made with laughter as you close your eyes, bracing for whatever humiliating placement he’ll choose to spread the cool paint on. You could run, but why bother? He'll get you sooner or later and later would mean when you least expect it and possibly worse.  

“Away from the hair!” you laughed half groaning as he spreads the paint onto your cheeks with a couple dots on your nose, chin and forehead until he lets you go. He doesn’t step back; instead, he stands firmly still close beaming at his finger-painted masterpiece.

“Now, we’re square!”  

“You done yet, Ames?”

“All done, sweetheart. Now you look purdy as ever!” He laughs.  

“Good thing this washes off easy or you’d have a one hell of a hard time getting that outta your ‘staaache.”

You smirked mocking his little nickname for his facial hair.

“Hey, it took a while to grow it out. I’ll call it whatever I want.”  

“I can imagine. You used to whine so damn much about how little facial hair you could grow out back in high school.” You smile up at him, recalling the golden days of carefree freedom.

“My old man used to call me peach fuzz for it.”

“I know, I remember how annoyed and angry that always made you and you were right to be angry. A man shouldn’t be defined by the hair on his face even though you were just a kid.”

“What do you believe does define a man then?”

“I don’t believe there’s really anything that defines a man or a woman. Just... things that define adults from children, y’know?”

“Makes sense... We both changed a lot from the children we used to be, haven’t we?”  

His tone wasn’t sad. It was just a heartfelt remark, but it was enough to feel a shift in the air. Just something about how he gazed at you; how he hadn’t stepped back from your proximity and how the physical closeness between you two at the moment didn’t make him comfortable at all. But the thing was: you weren’t all too bothered by it either.

“Guess we have. Life tends to do that.” You nod looking up into his egyptian blue eyes.  

Part of you doesn’t want to look away or him to move away from you. You don’t realize that until he leaves you with no choice, stepping back and dropping his gaze.  

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s finish paintin’.”

[the-deeds-to-shibden]

Sunday 15 September 1839

[Sadly, the bugs did bite Ann the previous night. But she is rewarded by the finest view she has ever seen, the bay of Vyborg, and sketches its fortress. Meanwhile, Anne is appreciative of the local costumes and food, and as usual entranced by the botany and geology.  She even tastes the local seawater! Anne’s trusty parasol comes handy in scientific enquiry, not for the first or the last time. Her own sketch, of a bridge, is, uh, not very accomplished, but the engineering detail is recognisable. As ever on this overland trip to St. Petersburg, which is nearing its end, Anne writes and writes and writes, and this day’s entry is *very* full of researchable detail, including a stately home they pass by, which is perfectly identifiable from her notes, and which has a slightly tenuous lesbian connection...]

[up at] 4 3/4

[to bed at] 10 1/4

Damp morning Fahrenheit 60 1/2º at 5 a.m. I am all ready now at 5 35/”  no coach house therefore paid for man watching the carriage last night -/50 and paid Gross this morning for paid yesterday for ditto ditto –  -/50 – with all the exertion I have made it is  6 3/” when we get off – 3 minutes later than the time –  damp hazy morning – forest immediately on leaving the station neither of us slept well last night – Ann much bit –  we had nothing but plates and cups and saucers and knives and forks and table linen and our one double bedded room and servants room and paid 4/20 – Scotch fir this morning barked all round for a yard or 2 from the ground     at 6 20/” little distant left fjord or lake – road red coarse as yesterday sandy but good tho’ much rain in the night – forest and little breaks all the way to Säcjarvi at 7 1/2 a lone house in the forest – small but goodish – as the gentleman said yesterday at Högfors one might sleep at

 Nisalak 15 1/6 v[ersts]              Helsingfors 237 v[ersts]

Urpala    16 4/6 v[ersts]              Wiborg 44 1/2 v[ersts]

                                                  St. Petersburg 181 v[ersts]

Säcjarvi but Urpala seems a good deal the better of the two –  same sort of forest and road as yesterday but less population and boulders not so strikingly large –  the soil here a fine red gravel as yesterday and many examples of gravel-conglomerate boulders –  more cattle this morning than ever before since Åbo – no sheep today as yet – so few in those northern countries can only be just enough to supply the inhabitants with wool and a little cheese and mutton – they salt the legs (the hams) for winter – the Russian male costume this morning very pretty and picturesque a white frock coat and red belt – or blue or dark and often bound with the same – the women wear a strong linen? dark with narrow red stripes for petticoats and a boddice a jacket           .             .              .         and a white handkerchief on the head – they all weave the red striped stuff – and I have seen many men wear it for jackets and trowsers 

8 25/” several baggage little waggons and 1 horse and some soldiers on foot now at 8 25/” just crossed little bridge over little stream and crossed a broader stream some time ago the only two streams this stage so far – the forest too less swampy than the forests yesterday at 8 3/4 considerable break in the forest – unpainted hamlet (we pass thro’) – one of the largest flocks of sheep we have seen (recently shorn) – log houses the trees not flattened big boulders all among the cottages – peasants wear black leather gloves like our hedging mittens – hardly out of the hamlet before the young forest begins again (Scotch fir and birch, alder bushes everywhere in the swampy places) – but more break, and fields another hamlet (scattered) at 8 55/” and at 9 over neat little ochre-yellow and white-seamed station house at Nisalaks the older portion of the house under the same room unpainted flattened log-house – breakfast boiled milk and Wiborg (criks?)

Wiburg 29 2/6                Helsingfors 252 1/2

Säcjarvi 15 1/6               St. Petersburg 165 5/6

Kiskila 14 1/6

  bread tied up in a  sort of rose – and made tea, and took my pint bottle full away with us – all  ready at 10 – off at 10 20/” from Nisalax we should have lived better here than we did at Urpala, I suspect –  nice little station – a little meat on the fire boiling when we came in, and our milk ready in 10 minutes or 1/6 hour – In 5 minutes pass thro’ the little hamlet – and then rocky forest and big boulders again road coarse red sandy as before but good – forest, till 11 1/4  good river – 2 or 3 good wood yellow painted houses scattered about and little unpainted scattered hamlet – nice bit of open cultivated country – then road red sand (but good) and the soil red sand – still damp and rather hazy – (Reading Handbook article Moscow) – soon forest again – at 11 3/4 look down upon beyond us (left) the handsomest gentleman’s house we have seen in Finland, surrounded with park-like grounds – little hamlet scattered hereabouts –  house and 2 wings – white with pea green roof – at 11 51/”  our neat good yellow and white pilastered station at Kaskilä and broad sheet of water at a little distance –  front – another pavillion-like gentleman’s house almost in front (to the right) from our station yellow with pea green roof and white corners and a white hexastyle portico (with pediment – the gable end) fancifully painted coach houses and stabling and unpainted barns and cottages scattered about the fine sheet of water coming close to the house – very pretty

Wiborg                    15 1/6                            Niserlax        14 1/6

St. Petersburg 153 2/3                                 Helsingfors  266 ½

 hue – our stage last night to Urpala very picturesque – and ditto this morning – big boulders again conglomerate red granite as yesterday picturesque foresty stage to here – corn (rye) out in cocks here – soon Scotch fir forest again – the cranberry and moss and heather dispute as usual possession of the rock and boulder –  12 7/” a little farm and 2 little stacks of corn thatched with straw and then spruce branches laid on the tops – here and everywhere about they lay Spruce fir branches at the doors to keep one clean instead of mats when it is dirty as it always must be in wet weather was this custom of strewing branches in this way (as palm branches as our Saviour rode along etc.) originally to keep one out of the dirt? now at 12 50/” sandy and heavy road up hill in the forest – at 1 from the top of hill Wiborg in sight, and its fine islandy fjord, immense expanse of water and 10 arch wood bridge over arm of the fjord on left to which we wind down and cross (deals and big boulders) now a 1 7/” – beautiful wooded islandy expanse of water on each side – very fine drive from here –  at 1 10/” cross another 10 arch wooden bridge – the large square tower and 3 small pointed towers of Wiborg full in view left from the bridge – fine wooded drive from here – the water right – damp very small drizzling rain – bouldery common just before entering Wiborg – at 1 20/” the 1st barrier and archway –  then a 2nd archway and water and wood bridge 13 arches to cross a steamer lying at the quai – very fine view of fjord and tower, the old, brick castle close (right) on a little island – this was the large square tower I saw at the top of hill at 1 –  enter the town at 1 25/” – at the Society’s house good Inn at 1 1/2 –   sent Gross with my passport to the police – asleep –  could not be seen till 3 – had my hair done and Ann and I out at 2 40/”  took Gross to shew us the police – close to the gate by which we entered the town – recrossed the bridge on 20 wood pillars piers each formed of 5 –  then up the fort-hill – near the bridge right on entering the town – beautiful view of the fjord and suburb to the westward – returned by the water side – observed the big pieces of red felspar in the porphyritic (conglomerate?) of the rocks – then on passing the bridge again and reentering the town turned left along the rampart – Ann stood sketching the old brick castle on a little island fjord or round moat all round – Ann sketched the old castle – its tower octagon that looked square in the distance – the 3 upper stories of the tower seem roofless –  the fjord on this side (towards the sea) very beautiful islandy and wooded as far as one can see – the water on the opposite side the tower very picturesque but more like a pretty islandy lake –  Deal sheds – a large raff yard near left (looking northwards) and little unpainted hamlet scattered a long way along the water’s edge – hamlets, too, right, and nearer, sweeping round to the town, a large handsome suburb with good church yellow with red roof and tower cupola pea green – Viborg a large town taking in its suburbs – a large handsome church in the large square opposite our Inn – 2/3 the men one sees are soldiers in their long, plaited-in-behind fawn-grey great coats – they look like monks or women? then along the rampart to a little postern gate – went out came in at 5 1/4 dinner at 6 to 6 3/4  out at 7 for a  minute or 2 to see the church en face  by it about 1/2 way or more towards the good suburb –  then turned (right) towards the sea, along the outside rampart breast-work, of the fortress –  went to the water’s edge – tasted the water – merely a little brackish – not at all salt – beautiful  view from a round knoll of bare granite rock of  each pier formed of five uprights with a spur from each side of the foot of each upright

on the top of the rock (right, on entering the town – and close to the bridge – some sort of fortification there) on the top of the rock large where bare, observed the same ochre-yellow moss I saw on the large old oaks in the park at Stockholm – and in returning by the water side a little of the blood-red moss I first observed north of Upsala – scraped a little off with the point of my parasol stick – it was pulpy and vegetable-like – tho’ the water trickling down it, made it look shining and so like recent blood, I almost thought at 1st (there being but a little patch of it) that it might be blood –   the wide-expanded, lovely, wooded amphitheatric islandy fjord – the light at 4 3/4, beautiful – the dark distant boundary of pine forest backing the smooth light water very fine – Ann thought she had never admired a scene more –  2 brigs on the stocks here (little trading vessels) returned by the gate nearest the sea, the road winding within the outworks – then sauntered along the rampart within the walls – very fine view, nearly the same as before, of the fjord, but saw rather more of it – good town – a  regular fortress – reminded me in this respect of Rocroi where we slept last year –  came in at 5 1/4 – wrote a little dinner at 6 –  very good fried Sprax a fish tasting a little like carp? excellent veal cutlet with currants on the top and lemon and I ate it with excellent preserved raspberry, and we very good preserved green gooseberries looking like olives and preserved candied lemon, and sago pudding, and good coffee afterwards –   after dinner the opposite church door open, went in for a minute or 2 – a sort of priest or man about the church came to see what we should do – 2 candles burning at 2 silvery shrines –  but nobody in the church – too dark to see much – back at 7 1/4  and had Grotza, but so long about getting and paying for Podoroshna and changing money and paying the bills that it was after 9 before all this was done –  the small damp rain and haze cleared off between 2 and 3 p.m. and afterwards fine afternoon and evening Fahrenheit 58º now at 9 10/” p.m. our bill 16/20 – could get no copper money – pretended they had difficulty in giving me 2 five kopek pieces change against the bill – and in charging my money they gave me two 25 kopeck bills and one 5 kopek – 55 Rubles for my Finnish rubel notes some kopek notes 75s and a few 50s  

Anne’s marginal notes:

Russian costume

men black beavers with buckles

+

=

strewing Spruce branches instead of mats

WYAS pages:  SH:7/ML/TR/14/0005     SH:7/ML/TR/14/0006    SH:7/ML/TR/14/0007     SH:7/ML/TR/14/0008

“Wiborg bread tied up in a sort of rose” that Anne and Ann had at Nisalahti (today’s Chulkovo) station during this leg (click here for a recipe):

“another pavillion-like gentleman’s house almost in front (to the right) from our station yellow with pea green roof and white corners and a white hexastyle portico (with pediment – the gable end)” - the house Anne saw on the way and described thus is the main building of Kiiskilä Manor, where members of an important family of 19th-century Finnish intellectuals grew up, including Helmi Krohn, the first biographer of “the Sappho of Finland”, Isa Asp (image source):

A view of Vyborg in 1837, by Pehr Adolf Kruskopf (image source): 

The Vyborg Society House (left), the inn where Anne and Ann stayed in Vyborg (image source). The building was destroyed during the Continuation War.

Vyborg around 1938, including the castle and the Fortress Bridge (image source), an earlier (but similar) incarnation of which Anne sketched in her journal in 1839:

The Fortres Bridge in the early 18th century (image source):

and in Anne’s sketch:

A view of Vyborg Castle, by Torsten Wilhelm Forstén,  from 1840, a year after Anne and Ann saw it - and Ann sketched it (image source):

A view of Vyborg bay - “ Ann thought she had never admired a scene more“ (image source):

[lilhemmo]

hi its vegeta anon! Can I request a fic where vegeta realizes he likes the reader and tries to impress/ flirt and the reader is kinda caught of guard at first then realizes what he’s trying to do and finds it super cute? Lol im not good at making requests hopefully that makes sense! 😆

a/n: this’ll be another fem!reader; thank you so much, vegeta anon! i hope you enjoy it, and if you want, request more!!! i hope i do this justice x

“Vegeta, you really should get yourself a wife,” Goku mutters between courses after training one balmy afternoon. 

The Saiyan Prince turns his head slightly in acknowledgment, his signature snarl curling his lips downward. He grunts, “Kakarot, I do not care for these mortal customs, including marriage. My only focus in life is training to kick your ass.”

Goku sighs, picking up a dumpling between a set of chopsticks, “But you’re so grumpy all the time. If you had a wife who could cook for you, you’d be so much happier! I know I’m always happier when I have a belly full of Chi-Chi’s perfect cooking!”

Vegeta grimaces, brows knitting together. “Bulma cooks well enough for me to maintain the amount of sustenance I need to continue my training.”

“Not as good as Chi-Chi, you can say it,” Goku whispers with a giggle.

Bulma snaps something rhetorical from the warehouse just behind the picnic area the Saiyans are currently occupying. Both men wince at the sound of her shrill voice, blushes painting their cheeks. 

“I’m just sayin’, Vegeta, it’s nice to have someone who cares about you when you come back from a scary battle.” Goku pops some more food between his lips and Vegeta is thankful for the break from his annoying voice occupying what little amount of silence there is. 

Unbeknownst to everyone else, the younger sister of Chi-Chi herself had brought Vegeta’s attention away from the dinner table and the training room more than a handful of times. 

“Your Saiyan blood is tainted by these Earthlings, Kakarot. You’ve grown soft.”

You take a step towards the table with fresh plates of fried meat in your hands, setting one in front of each of them. You smile, “I think it’s sweet. I’m glad my sister has someone like Goku to take care of her and Gohan.”

“More like Chi-Chi takes care of me!” Goku laughs, running a hand through his hair and rests his palm on the back of his neck. 

“Tch,” Vegeta stabs a slab of the meat with his chopsticks, rolling his eyes at the comment. “You’re practically a child in an overgrown body, Kakarot. Of course she’s taking care of you!”

The meal turns into training, the two Saiyans sweating not long after the fight begins. You and Bulma are busy in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and prepping dinner. It’s easy to fall into a lull here, chopping vegetables and searing meats. The sun is warm on your face through the large picture window in front of the sink, where you’re currently stood washing some of the last remaining dishes. Your feet ache from standing up, so once the stew is brewing and the pork is roasting, both you and Bulma lounge on the deck, watching the Saiyans as they train together.

“Wow, looks like Goku has gotten a couple of good hits in,” Bulma comments, sipping on her fruity drink, complete with purple umbrella. “Might have to patch Vegeta up later.”

You sigh, twirling your thumb around the rim of your tea cup, “Don’t let him hear you. I’m pretty sure his least favorite time of day is when I have to stitch him back together. Might be even lower on the scale than when he loses a match to Goku.”

“Actually, I think Vegeta is pretty fond of spending time in the med bay. Specifically when you’re the one holding the sutures.” Bulma looks over the tip of her glass to send a wink your way. 

You can’t help the blush that paints your cheeks but you shove off her compliment nonetheless. Even still, your eyes track Vegeta’s motions as he trades punches and kicks with his rival and friend. 

Eventually the training is over and the guys gather around the table once again, shoveling the food you prepared into their mouths while the two of you patch them both up.

“C’mon, woman,” Vegeta snaps, jerking his head towards you to glare down his nose at you. “I know I have strength that far surpasses the standard human, but it does not mean that your poor stitching does not hurt.”

You clench your jaw and raise your brow at him, “I can let you do it yourself, then? Or you can have Bulma do it?”

Vegeta spares a look across the table at Goku, who is currently wincing between bites of pork, and the jagged stitches that currently mar his biceps and shoulders. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, looking resigned as he turns back to his dinner. 

What he does not tell anyone is how he appreciates the pads of your fingertips against his skin, heat simmering just beneath the surface.

-

Things begin to change around Capsule Corp. You start as a full-time medic and part-time assistant to Bulma. You help her cook and clean and keep the place running, patching up the training warriors as they make their way through the gravity chamber. 

Of course, Vegeta is your favorite. 

He is always grumbling about something or other that Goku has done to rile him up, which distracts him long enough that he does not complain about your suture work or the sting of the antiseptic. Instead, he rolls his eyes and growls at the back of his throat. 

“Kakarot is the bane of my very existence,” Vegeta huffs as he crosses his arms. You’re working on sealing back together a small slice on his brow as well as a split wound on his jaw. Your fingers may or may not be traveling over his skin more than necessary, but you won’t stop until he starts to complain.

“I know,” you answer simply. It seems that sometimes he would rather hear his own voice than to actually participate in a conversation. You suppose that is the spoiled prince within him. 

He turns to look at you, your hand brushing his sensitive skin but he does not wince, “Are you even listening to me?”

You sigh and lick your lips before answering, “Vegeta, it’s always the same. Goku upsets you, and suddenly you’re absolutely miserable with no resolution. I sit here, patch you up, and then you go back out and do it all over again after eating an enormous plethora of food. At this point I don’t even have to pay attention to know what’s going on.”

Vegeta is silent now, eyes traipsing over your face, taking in every feature before he responds, “I-I don’t have much else to talk about. Training to be better than Kakarot is the main focus of my life.”

“Have you ever thought about what you would do when the fight is over?” you ask, brushing your thumb against a butterfly bandage, sealing the wound on his jaw. Your touch lingers a moment, the warmth of his skin tantalizing enough to keep you close.

“The fight will never be over,” he counters. Vegeta adjusts his legs, and in doing so, his knee brushes your thigh and you can’t help when your breath hitches and creates an audible sound. 

You gnaw at your lower lip, completely captivated by the intensity of his dark eyes. His hands twitch in his lap and you wonder if he’s aching to touch you the same way your fingers pulse with the thought of exploring the planes of his body. Somehow you manage to form words and in the breathiest voice you’ve ever heard from yourself, you murmur, “There has to be something more.”

The startling sound of Goku entering the med bay breaks you apart and you find yourself tending to the med supplies while Goku and Vegeta carry on a conversation about training and injuries and tactics. Your eyes manage to flick upward one last time before you exit the bay with supplies in hand, and you’re surprised to find that the dark eyes of one very handsome Saiyan Prince are trained in on your every move.

-

“Vegeta, let’s train again, c’mon!” Goku whines as they make their way through the kitchen. You hand Vegeta a protein shake as they sidle up to the bar, leaning against the granite countertop. If you look closely, you swear you see a gentle smirk morphing into a smile on his lips. 

The prince grunts to his counterpart, “Kakarot, you imbecile. You promised your family you would host your little urchin’s party celebrating another year left alive.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Goku laughs nervously, tousling his hair. He leans his forearms against the counter and plucks a piece of fruit out of the cornucopia laid out in front of him. “It is Gohan’s birthday today, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Chi-Chi should be here soon,” you mention, cleaning up after the morning round of food prep. “As will the rest of the party goers. You guys need a shower, you stink.”

The two take their protein shakes and head off towards their quarters to shower and clean up. In the meantime, you work with Bulma on preparing food and wrapping up the remaining decorations for the party. Vegeta emerges from the back chambers first, a freshly pressed set of clothes on his body, along with the thinnest armor he owns.

As the party begins, you notice that Vegeta hangs back, taking up the doorway that leads into the kitchen, thick arms crossed over his chest. He watches you closely, maneuvering out of your way as you rush in and out of the kitchen to grab more cheese platters and cupcakes. Goku and Chi-Chi are busy entertaining the other parents and friends, running around with Bulma close behind. 

Eventually, you get to sit down, crossing your legs as you sip on a spare kid’s drink. You take in the sunset, friends and family running around and playing in the bouncing houses and trampolines provided by Capsule Corp’s entertainment division. 

“You have been helpful,” the deep voice resonates from the chair opposite to yours. 

You slowly open your eyes again, lazily glancing over at Vegeta. It’s strange to see him in a different outfit, the thin armor allowing his natural bulky muscle to peek through. 

“Thank you?” you question, raising a brow and setting your drink down on the table.

Vegeta looks massively uncomfortable and you swear you see the hint of a blush focused on the tops of his cheeks. He grunts and looks away, “I just mean that you give much effort for those who do not belong to you. Don’t think too hard about it.”

“Thank you,” you repeat, this time in a sincere tone. You smile and reach across the space between your chairs to put your hand on his knee. “That’s sweet, Vegeta.”

He scoffs, yanking his knee away as if you’d burned him, “I said not to think too hard about it.”

“I don’t understand you Saiyans,” you muse, leaning back in your seat and choosing not to be offended by his behavior. “Is Saiayan culture that much different from that of us humans?”

Vegeta’s interest is piqued and you can tell by the subtle movement of his head so he can barely glance at you out of the corner of his eyes. He licks his lips and leans forward, lacing his gloved fingers together. 

“Yes and no,” he answers as if it were the simplest thing he could have said. He clears his throat, “Saiyans do get married and have families, just the same as Earthlings. Obviously, our main goal is to better ourselves through fighting. We did not have jobs, and currency was never created given that most things were bartered for in lieu of earning money. We did not celebrate frivolous things such as birthdays. On our planet, you never knew which day would be your last, and it didn’t make sense to celebrate another year of life when you could die at any moment.”

You listen, not sure if you’ve ever heard the Saiyan Prince speak in so many sentences. The wash of warm, orange color makes his tan skin appear golden, dark hair shining as the wind rustles against his body. A grin tugs on your lips, “Are there any human norms that you enjoy?”

“Dancing,” he answers too quickly.

Vegeta swallows thickly, his throat bobbing, and he can hardly look at you. He makes a growling noise at the back of his throat and you swear that he’s going to pretend he never admitted his truth out loud. 

You’ve grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him to the garden before he has the chance.

“You foul woman!” he snaps, trying to pry his hand from your grip. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he’s surprised at the vigor with which you have his arm trapped.

You laugh and turn to look at him, taking his other hand and putting them on your waist, “Don’t be a wimp, Vegeta. Dance with me.”

“I’m not a wimp.” He scoffs, squinting his eyes as he looks away from you. 

Your hands rest against his neck and you step closer, the gap between you hardly platonic. Your whole body warms at the feel of his touch - his Saiyan blood makes his skin hot. The tips of your fingers brush against the base of his neck, his hair splayed between your palms.

“I know,” you tell him. 

The two of you sway to the music playing back at the party, hardly able to see any of the others. You’re sure that this is the only reason Vegeta doesn’t punt you across the field and swear never to see you again.

“I’d like to hear more about the Saiyans,” you speak, looking up at him.

His hands have gone slack against your waist, palms warm on the base of your back. He’s no longer rigid and firm, the familiarity of your body close giving him some sort of safety despite the awkward situation.

The song ends and he squeezes your waist before stepping back, “I’ll tell you about them sometime.”

You swear your eyes cross as he walks away from you, heading back towards the party, leaving your body effervescent like little champagne bubbles are popping in your belly.

-

“I swear, realizing that Goku hasn’t even kissed Chi-Chi is absolutely bananas!” you snort, sipping on your drink, the alcohol warm against your mouth. You look up at the night sky, the bonfire crackling in front of you. Your feet dip into the sand of the beach, waves gently crashing on the shore and tickling your toes. 

“Bananas?” Vegeta questions, tilting his head like a confused animal. He licks his lips and puts the bottle on the ground. “I swear, Earth-woman, you never cease to confuse me with your words.”

You suck your lip between the bite of your teeth as you consider him in the firelight. He’s casual now, his armor tucked away in the training room to be cleaned and repaired. He’s wearing a pair of navy blue sweats and a Capsule Corp. t-shirt, muscles bulging against the fabric. 

“It’s just insane to me that despite being raised on Earth, he still doesn’t understand the customs. I mean, you can at least use the excuse that you’re a Saiyan and you weren’t here for the majority of your life. It makes sense for you to cling tightly to the customs of your people,” you twirl your glass, the clear liquid begging you to loosen your lips. “I would cling to them to if I were the last of my kind.”

Vegeta grows quiet, eyes boring into the flames in front of him. He swallows thickly and you watch as his throat bobs noticeably. A gentle turn of his head and he’s looking you in the eyes now, “I do miss my tail, some days. It was such a sacred thing as a Saiyan.”

“Crossing tails with one another was how you showed affection on your world, wasn’t it?” you ask quietly, fingers wrapped around the glass in your palms. You take a deep breath, “That’s kind of the same thing as holding hands here on Earth.”

His eyes grow dark, darker than you thought possible. Now you’re wondering if crossing tails meant much more than affection. You suck in a breath through your mouth, lips parted, “I-well, we strange mortals show affection in weird ways, I know. Touching, kissing, hugging.”

“Saiyans hold one another just the same as humans do,” he snaps, a dark color on his cheeks. Vegeta seems to be holding his breath before he speaks next, “It’s the kissing that I have not understood in my time here. Your mouths are what you use to eat, why would touching them together give you pleasure?”

You can’t help the tipsy giggle that splits your lips, “You’ve obviously never kissed anyone before.”

“W-Well of-of course not!” he stutters, eyes wide as he backpedals. “I don’t make it a habit to go around smacking mouths with humans!”

You lean across the arm of your chair, tucking your feet underneath your thighs, “Would you like to?”

The alcohol is making your mind wander to just how good his mouth would feel all over you, his strong arms holding you in place while he kisses you. You feel the warmth of a blush creep up your neck onto your cheeks and you wonder if one of his Saiyan gifts is to read minds. 

His lack of response makes you nervous and so you can’t stop what comes out of your mouth next even though it’s a total bluff, “I don’t mean because I want to, I just mean to give you some practice. You don’t want to kiss your first girl for real without a little context. I’m just trying to help out a friend.”

“Tch!” he spats, “We are not friends.”

You try not to let that hurt your feelings too much. Instead, you play it cool and shrug it off, reclining back in your chair and crossing your legs at the ankles. You smirk over the rim of your glass, raising a brow, “So you’re nervous about kissing, then?”

You think you can play to his Saiyan side, the side that is prideful and arrogant, and challenge it. 

“I-why I never!” Vegeta clenches his fists, sitting up straight so he’s closer to you, his knees almost brushing against the edge of your chair. “How dare you call me nervous? You think I am a coward?!” 

You chuckle and suck down the rest of your drink, the alcohol flowing straight to your head. What you say next you’d never say sober to a warrior prince like Vegeta: “Well, are you?”

A spark lights in his eyes and you’re not sure if he’s impressed or pissed. Your answer comes when he wraps a bare palm around your neck and pulls you forward to press his mouth to yours. A gentle whimper passes through your teeth and you feel him smirking into your lips. 

The tips of your fingers dance across his thigh and chest, one palm on either part of his body. You are firm with your mouth, kissing him openly as he pushes back against you with his body, his pectorals brushing over your chest.

You manage to untuck yourself from him before you allow your inhibitions to allow you down a path you’re not sure Vegeta will follow. You lick your lips as you sit back from him, hands in your lap. You consider him for a moment under your hooded eyes, the alcohol doing a number on your imagination.

“So you’re not a coward,” you shrug nonchalantly, managing a smirk despite the toiling emotions rolling around in your belly. You stand in spite of wanting to crawl atop his lap and stay there all night, your hands shaking with desire. With one final glance over your shoulder, you speak, “How good to know.”

The look on the Saiyan’s face is like nothing you’ve ever seen.

But you really want to see it again.

-

Ever since that drunken night on Bulma’s beach, Vegeta has been different. 

The Saiyan was never one for gentleness or humility, but you’re starting to see cracks in his emotional armor with every day that passes.

It starts with silently bringing you a cup of coffee in the mornings. And then it grows into stopping by your office when he’s done training in the gravity room or with Goku. Sometimes you’re there and sometimes you’re not, but he always has a good excuse to stop in your door even if just for a moment or two. He doesn’t stay long, but enough that you begin to catch on.

And then when you’re out one afternoon collecting ingredients for Chi-Chi, a more obvious display of his intentions occurs and everything clicks for you.

You get cat-called. It’s not abnormal for you. You just flip a quick finger to the guy and keep walking. However, he doesn’t refrain from making a comment about one of your body parts that makes Vegeta go bright red.

“Hey, you piece of garbage!” Vegeta balls his fists and stalks towards the man, eyes threatening to glow a bright shade of blue with every step. “What did you say to her?”

You call his name and step forward, your hand touching his shoulder. He shakes you off and says something intense under his breath, something you believe in the Saiyan native language. 

The man begins stuttering, tears gathering in his eyes as he cowers away from the Prince. Vegeta smirks and raises his hand, “And who says I should spare your weak, pathetic excuse of a life? This is what you spend your time doing? Speaking foully of people, trying to get a rise from them with your disgusting words?!”

“I-I, uh, I-I’m sorry miss,” he starts stuttering, backing away as Vegeta stalks closer.

As much as you want to see Vegeta’s fist go clear through this guy’s eye socket, you reach up and touch him on the shoulder once again, your other palm pressed to his hip, “Hey, ‘Geta, let’s go, okay?”

“Wh-What?” he stutters, turning to look at you over his shoulder. 

You nod, “C’mon, the cold stuff will get hot out here in the sun. Let’s go home.”

And somehow his defense of your honor, per say, turns into him practically claiming you in any and all situations. When you’re out at a local bar, he throws an arm around your shoulders or your waist, particularly when he notices another person’s eyes groping over your body.

Bulma sidles up next to you at the bar when you leave the pack to order drinks, “Looks like Prince Vegeta has a crush.”

She winks at you and you turn bright red. You shake your head and ask for another beer just in case, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughs. Bulma sips on her fruity drink complete with a little pink umbrella, winking at you over the rim of the glass. “You and I both know that Vegeta is just jealous that anyone else gets to look at you. You should do something about that.”

“He’s a big boy,” you tell her with a shrug, taking a gentle drag of your drink. You turn back to see Vegeta’s eyes searching for something in the crowd and your heart jumps when you think he might be looking for you. You turn back to Bulma before you can catch his eye, “If he wants me, he can tell me.”

-

It takes another few weeks before you finally draw up the courage to call the Saiyan out. He’s got his arm around your shoulders and you find yourself leaning into him like you’ve been doing this for your whole lives and you can’t help it when the word why slips past your lips. 

He turns to look down at you, eyes wide in shock at the simple question. His arm goes stiff but you grasp him by the wrist, anchoring him to you even though you know he could push you to the side if he wished.

“Why do you do this to me?” you ask him, running the pad of your thumb over one of his scarred knuckles. You focus there, unable to look him in the eyes, “Why do you hold me close like this and then when it’s no longer for show, you pretend I don’t exist?”

“I do not-” Vegeta chokes on his words, shifting his body so he can face you. He swallows thickly and you feel his free arm touch you gently on the hip bone. “I do not mean for it to feel that way.”

You raise a brow and find it in yourself to look up at him. You try to keep yourself from looking sad, knowing that the prideful man in front of you would never let his guard down like this. 

“I can’t keep playing these games,” you speak slowly, hoping that he understands the nuance in your words. You roll your lips against one another and sigh, “I feel like one moment you care and the next you don’t. So am I imagining things?”

He is not quick to respond, but he doesn’t recoil from you. Instead, his hands find purchase against your body. You’re at a simple cook out at Bulma’s, and no one is approaching either of you, so you can have this small moment to yourselves. You’re still surprised that despite calling him out for his actions, he is still clinging onto you. 

“No,” he murmurs, voice rough. Vegeta licks his lips and takes a deep breath as if he were preparing to go to war. “I do not understand your Earth-customs for mating. They make little sense to me, and even less when I ask Bulma for assistance in understanding.”

You tilt your head and look up at him, your fingers wanting so desperately to roam over his armor. You can’t help the grin on your face when you realize that he’s asked Bulma for dating advice.

“I know I don’t have a tail,” you say with a gentle giggle, “but maybe we can do something similar?”

Vegeta seems to understand, you’re recalling the conversation you had on the beach. He reaches out with one hand to grasp your own, lacing your fingers together. You swear you see the smallest of smiles take root at the edges of his mouth, threatening to lighten his intensity in even the slightest. 

You lean into him and for a moment he allows you to, and you bask in the few seconds of pure bliss. 

He leans away, extracting himself from you as if he were burnt with embarrassment, “Remind me to show you the way Saiyans express attraction later.”

“Why later?” you ask, leaning your hip into his to keep close.

Vegeta smirks, running his thumb over your lower lip, “Because I don’t foresee it being appropriate in front of all of these people.”

a/n: i hope you stuck with me that whole time!! i will start writing on your next request right now!!! please request more if you’d like!! thank you so much!! xx

[mellifera38]

Mel’s Big Fantasy Place-Name Reference

So I’ve been doing lots of D&D world-building lately and I’ve kind of been putting together lists of words to help inspire new fantasy place names. I figured I’d share. These are helpful for naming towns, regions, landforms, roads, shops, and they’re also probably useful for coming up with surnames. This is LONG. There’s plenty more under the cut including a huge list of “fantasy sounding” word-parts. Enjoy!

Towns & Kingdoms

town, borough, city, hamlet, parish, township, village, villa, domain

kingdom, empire, nation, country, county, city-state, state, province, dominion

Town Name End Words (English flavored)

-ton, -ston, -caster, -dale, -den, -field, -gate, -glen, -ham, -holm, -hurst, -bar, -boro, -by, -cross, -kirk, -meade, -moore, -ville, -wich, -bee, -burg, -cester, -don, -lea, -mer, -rose, -wall, -worth, -berg, -burgh, -chase, -ly, -lin, -mor, -mere, -pool. -port, -stead, -stow, -strath, -side, -way, -berry, -bury, -chester, -haven, -mar, -mont, -ton, -wick, -meet, -heim, -hold, -hall, -point

Buildings & Places

castle, fort, palace, fortress, garrison, lodge, estate, hold, stronghold, tower, watchtower, palace, spire, citadel, bastion, court, manor, house

altar, chapel, abbey, shrine, temple, monastery, cathedral, sanctum, crypt, catacomb, tomb

orchard, arbor, vineyard, farm, farmstead, shire, garden, ranch

plaza, district, quarter, market, courtyard, inn, stables, tavern, blacksmith, forge, mine, mill, quarry, gallows, apothecary, college, bakery, clothier, library, guild house, bath house, pleasure house, brothel, jail, prison, dungeon, cellar, basement, attic, sewer, cistern

lookout, post, tradepost, camp, outpost, hovel, hideaway, lair, nook, watch, roost, respite, retreat, hostel, holdout, redoubt, perch, refuge, haven, alcove, haunt, knell, enclave, station, caravan, exchange, conclave

port, bridge, ferry, harbor, landing, jetty, wharf, berth, footbridge, dam, beacon, lighthouse, marina, dockyard, shipyard

road, street, way, row, lane, trail, corner, crossing, gate, junction, waygate, end, wall, crossroads,  barrier, bulwark, blockade, pavilion, avenue, promenade, alley, fork, route

Time & Direction

North, South, East, West, up, down, side, rise, fall, over, under

Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, solstice, equanox, vernal, ever, never

dusk, dawn, dawnrise, morning, night, nightfall, evening, sundown, sunbreak, sunset

lunar, solar, sun, moon, star, eclipse

Geographical Terms

Cave, cavern, cenote, precipice, crevasse, crater, maar, chasm, ravine, trench, rift, pit

Cliff, bluff, crag, scarp, outcrop, stack, tor, falls, run, eyrie, aerie

Hill, mountain, volcano, knoll, hillock, downs, barrow, plateau, mesa, butte, pike, peak, mount, summit, horn, knob, pass, ridge, terrace, gap, point, rise, rim, range, view, vista, canyon, hogback, ledge, stair, descent

Valley, gulch, gully, vale, dale, dell, glen, hollow, grotto, gorge, bottoms, basin, knoll, combe

Meadow, grassland, field, pasture, steppe, veld, sward, lea, mead, fell, moor, moorland, heath, croft, paddock, boondock, prairie, acre, strath, heights, mount, belt

Woodlands, woods, forest, bush, bower, arbor, grove, weald, timberland, thicket, bosk, copse, coppice, underbrush, hinterland, park, jungle, rainforest, wilds, frontier, outskirts

Desert, dunes, playa, arroyo, chaparral, karst, salt flats, salt pan, oasis, spring, seep, tar pit, hot springs, fissure, steam vent, geyser, waste, wasteland, badland, brushland, dustbowl, scrubland

Ocean, sea, lake, pond, spring, tarn, mere, sluice, pool, coast, gulf, bay

Lagoon, cay, key, reef, atoll, shoal, tideland, tide flat, swale, cove, sandspit, strand, beach

Snowdrift, snowbank, permafrost, floe, hoar, rime, tundra, fjord, glacier, iceberg

River, stream, creek, brook, tributary, watersmeet, headwater, ford, levee, delta, estuary, firth, strait, narrows, channel, eddy, inlet, rapids, mouth, falls

Wetland, marsh, bog, fen, moor, bayou, glade, swamp, banks, span, wash, march, shallows, mire, morass, quag, quagmire, everglade, slough, lowland, sump, reach

Island, isle, peninsula, isthmus, bight, headland, promontory, cape, pointe, cape

More under the cut including: Color words, Animal/Monster related words, Rocks/Metals/Gems list, Foliage, People groups/types, Weather/Environment/ Elemental words, Man-made Items, Body Parts, Mechanical sounding words, a huge list of both pleasant and unpleasant Atmospheric Descriptors, and a huge list of Fantasy Word-parts.

Color Descriptions

Warm: red, scarlet, crimson, rusty, cerise, carmine, cinnabar, orange, vermillion, ochre, peach, salmon, saffron, yellow, gold, lemon, amber, pink, magenta, maroon, brown, sepia, burgundy, beige, tan, fuchsia, taupe

Cool: green, beryl, jade, evergreen, chartreuse, olive, viridian, celadon, blue, azure, navy, cerulean, turquoise, teal, cyan, cobalt, periwinkle, beryl, purple, violet, indigo, mauve, plum

Neutral: gray, silver, ashy, charcoal, slate, white, pearly, alabaster, ivory, black, ebony, jet

dark, dusky, pale, bleached, blotchy, bold, dappled, lustrous, faded, drab, milky, mottled, opaque, pastel, stained, subtle, ruddy, waxen, tinted, tinged, painted

Animal / Monster-Related Words

Bear, eagle, wolf, serpent, hawk, horse, goat, sheep, bull, raven, crow, dog, stag, rat, boar, lion, hare, owl, crane, goose, swan, otter, frog, toad, moth, bee, wasp, beetle, spider, slug, snail, leech, dragonfly, fish, trout, salmon, bass, crab, shell, dolphin, whale, eel, cod, haddock

Dragon, goblin, giant, wyvern, ghast, siren, lich, hag, ogre, wyrm, kraken

Talon, scale, tusk, hoof, mane, horn, fur, feather, fang, wing, whisker, bristle, paw, tail, beak, claw, web, quill, paw, maw, pelt, haunch, gill, fin,

Hive, honey, nest, burrow, den, hole, wallow

Rocks / Metals / Minerals

Gold, silver, brass, bronze, copper, platinum, iron, steel, tin, mithril, electrum, adamantite, quicksilver, fool’s gold, titanium

Diamond, ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz, opal, pearl, jade, jasper, onyx, citrine, aquamarine, turquoise, lapiz lazuli, amethyst, quartz, crystal, amber, jewel

Granite, shale, marble, limestone, sandstone, slate, diorite, basalt, rhyolite, obsidian, glass

Earth, stone, clay, sand, silt, salt, mote, lode, vein, ore, ingot, coal, boulder, bedrock, crust, rubble, pebble, gravel, cobble, dust, clod, peat, muck mud, slip, loam, dirt, grit, scree, shard, flint, stalactite/mite

Trees / Plants / Flowers

Tree, ash, aspen, pine, birch, alder, willow, dogwood, oak, maple, walnut,  chestnut, cedar, mahogany, palm, beech, hickory, hemlock, cottonwood, hawthorn, sycamore, poplar, cypress, mangrove, elm, fir, spruce, yew

Branch, bough, bramble, gnarl, burr, tangle, thistle, briar, thorn, moss, bark, shrub, undergrowth, overgrowth, root, vine, bracken, reed, driftwood, coral, fern, berry, bamboo, nectar, petal, leaf, seed, clover, grass, grain, trunk, twig, canopy, cactus, weed, mushroom, fungus

Apple, olive, apricot, elderberry, coconut, sugar, rice, wheat, cotton, flax, barley, hops, onion, carrot, turnip, cabbage, squash, pumpkin, pepper

Flower, rose, lavender, lilac, jasmine, jonquil, marigold, carnelian, carnation, goldenrod, sage, wisteria, dahlia, nightshade, lily, daisy, daffodil, columbine, amaranth, crocus, buttercup, foxglove, iris, holly, hydrangea, orchid, snowdrop, hyacinth, tulip, yarrow, magnolia, honeysuckle, belladonna, lily pad, magnolia

People

Settler, Pilgrim, Pioneer, Merchant, Prospector, Maker, Surveyor, Mason, Overseer, Apprentice, Widow, Sailor, Miner, Blacksmith, Butcher, Baker, Brewer, Barkeep, Ferryman, Hangman, Gambler, Fisherman, Adventurer, Hero, Seeker, Hiker, Traveler, Crone

Mage, Magician, Summoner, Sorcerer, Wizard, Conjurer, Necromancer, 

King, Queen, Lord, Count, Baron, Guard, Soldier, Knight, Vindicator, Merchant, Crusader, Imperator, Syndicate, Vanguard, Champion, Warden, Victor, Legionnaire, Master, Archer, Footman, Gladiator, Barbarian, Captain, Commodore, 

Beggar, Hunter, Ranger, Deadman, Smuggler, Robber, Swindler, Rebel, Bootlegger, Outlaw, Pirate, Brigand, Ruffian, Highwayman, Cutpurse, Thief, Assassin

God, Goddess, Exarch, Angel, Devil, Demon, Cultist, Prophet, Hermit, Seer

council, clergy, guild, militia, choir 

Climate, Environment, & The Elements

Cold, cool, brisk, frosty, chilly, icy, freezing, frozen, frigid, glacial, bitter, biting, bleak, arctic, polar, boreal, wintry, snowy, snow, blizzarding, blizzard, sleeting, sleet, chill, frost, ice, icebound, ice cap, floe, snowblind, frostbite, coldsnap, avalanche, snowflake

Hot, sunny, humid, sweltering, steaming, boiling, sizzling, blistering, scalding, smoking, caldescent, dry, parched, arid, fallow, thirsty, melting, molten, fiery, blazing, burning, charring, glowing, searing, scorching, blasted, sun, fire, heat, flame, wildfire, bonfire, inferno, coal, ash, cinder, ember, flare, pyre, tinder, kindling, aflame, alight, ablaze, lava, magma, slag,

Wet, damp, dank, soggy, sodden, soaked, drenched, dripping, sopping, briny, murky, rain, storm, hail, drizzle, sprinkle, downpour, deluge, squall, water, cloud, fog, mist, dew, puddle, pool, current, whirlpool, deep, depths, tide, waves, whitewater, waterfall, tidal wave, flow, flood, leak, drain

Wind, breeze, gust, billow, gail, draft, waft, zephyr, still, airy, clear, smokey, tempest, tempestuous, windswept, aerial, lofty, torrid, turbulent, nebulous, tradewind, thunder, lightning, spark, cyclone, tornado, whirlwind, hurricane, typhoon

Man-made Item Words

Furnace, forge, anvil, vault, strap, strip, whetstone, brick, sword, blade, axe, dagger, shield, buckler, morningstar, bow, quiver, arrow, polearm, flail, staff, stave, sheath, hilt, hammer, knife, helm, mantle, banner, pauldron, chainmail, mace, dart, cutlass, canon, needle, cowl, belt,  buckle, bandana, goggles, hood, boot, heel, spindle, spool, thread, sweater, skirt, bonnet, apron, leather, hide, plate, tunic, vest, satin, silk, wool, velvet, lace, corset, stocking, binding

Plow, scythe, (wheel) barrow, saddle, harrow, brand, collar, whip, leash, lead, bridle, stirrup, wheel, straw, stall, barn, hay, bale, pitchfork, well, log, saw, lumber, sod, thatch, mortar, brick, cement, concrete, pitch, pillar, window, fountain, door, cage, spoke, pole, table, bench, plank, board

Candle, torch, cradle, broom, lamp, lantern, clock, bell, lock, hook, trunk, looking glass, spyglass, bottle, vase, locket, locker, key, handle, rope, knot, sack, pocket, pouch, manacle, chain, stake, coffin, fan. cauldron, kettle, pot, bowl, pestle, oven, ladle, spoon, font, wand, potion, elixir, draught, portal, book, tome, scroll, word, manuscript, letter, message, grimoire, map, ink, quill, pen, cards, dice

Coin, coronet, crown, circlet, scepter, treasure, riches, scales, pie, tart, loaf, biscuit, custard, caramel, pudding, porridge, stew, bread, tea, gravy, gristle, spice, lute, lyre, harp, drum, rouge, powder, perfume, brush

bilge, stern, pier, sail, anchor, mast, dock, deck, flag, ship, boat, canoe, barge, wagon, sled, carriage, buggy, cart

Wine, brandy, whiskey, ale, moonshine, gin, cider, rum, grog, beer, brew, goblet, flagon, flask, cask, tankard, stein, mug, barrel, stock, wort, malt

Body Parts

Head, throat, finger, foot, hand, neck, shoulder, rib, jaw, eye, lips, bosom

Skull, spine, bone, tooth, heart, blood, tears, gut, beard

Mechanical-Sounding Words

cog, fuse, sprocket, wrench, screw, nail, bolt, lever, pulley, spanner, gear, spring, shaft, switch, button, cast, pipe, plug, dial, meter, nozzle, cord, brake, gauge, coil, oil, signal, wire, fluke, staple, clamp, bolt, nut, bulb, patch, pump, cable, socket

torque, force, sonic, spark, fizzle, thermal, beam, laser, steam, buzz, mega, mecha, electro, telsa, power, flicker, charge, current, flow, tinker

Atmospheric Words

Unpleasant, Dangerous, Threatening

(nouns) death, fury, battle, scar, shadow, razor, nightmare, wrath, bone, splinter, peril, war, riptide, strife, reckoning, sorrow, terror, deadwood, nether, venom, grime, rage, void, conquest, pain, folly, revenge, horrid, mirk, shear, fathom, frenzy, corpselight/marshlight, reaper, gloom, doom, torment, torture, spite, grizzled, sludge, refuse, spore, carrion, fear, pyre, funeral, shade, beast, witch, grip, legion, downfall, ruin, plague, woe, bane, horde, acid, fell, grief, corpse, mildew, mold, miter, dirge

(adjectives) dead, jagged, decrepit, fallen, darkened, blackened, dire, grim, feral, wild, broken, desolate, mad, lost, under, stagnant, blistered, derelict, forlorn, unbound, sunken, fallow, shriveled, wayward, bleak, low, weathered, fungal, last, brittle, sleepy, -strewn, dusky, deserted, empty, barren, vacant, forsaken, bare, bereft, stranded, solitary, abandoned, discarded, forgotten, deep, abysmal, bottomless, buried, fathomless,unfathomable, diseased, plagued, virulent, noxious, venomous, toxic, fetid, revolting, putrid, rancid, foul, squalid, sullied, vile, blighted, vicious, ferocious, dangerous, savage, cavernous, vast, yawning, chasmal, echoing, dim, dingy, gloomy, inky, lurid, shaded, shadowy, somber, sunless, tenebrous, unlit, veiled, hellish, accursed, sulfurous, damned, infernal, condemned, doomed, wicked, sinister, dread, unending, spectral, ghostly, haunted, eldritch, unknown, weary, silent, hungry, cloven, acidic

(verb/adverbs): wither (withering / withered), skulk (skulking), whisper, skitter, chitter, sting, slither, writhe, gape, screech, scream, howl, lurk, roil, twist, shift, swarm, spawn, fester, bleed, howl, shudder, shrivel, devour, swirl, maul, trip, smother, weep, shatter, ruin, curse, ravage, hush, rot, drown, sunder, blister, warp, fracture, die, shroud, fall, surge, shiver, roar, thunder, smolder, break, silt, slide, lash, mourn, crush, wail, decay, crumble, erode, decline, reek, lament, taint, corrupt, defile, poison, infect, shun, sigh, sever, crawl, starve, grind, cut, wound, bruise, maim, stab, bludgeon, rust, mutilate, tremble, stumble, fumble, clank, clang

Pleasant, Safe, Neutral

(nouns) spirit, luck, soul, oracle, song, sky, smile, rune, obelisk, cloud, timber, valor, triumph, rest, dream, thrall, might, valiance, glory, mirror, life, hope, oath, serenity, sojourn, god, hearth, crown, throne, crest, guard, rise, ascent, circle, ring, twin, vigil, breath, new, whistle, grasp, snap, fringe, threshold, arch, cleft, bend, home, fruit, wilds, echo, moonlight, sunlight, starlight, splendor, vigilance, honor, memory, fortune, aurora, paradise, caress

(adjectives) gentle, pleasant, prosperous, peaceful, sweet, good, great, mild, grand, topic, lush, wild, abundant, verdant, sylvan, vital, florid, bosky, callow, verdurous, lucious, fertile, spellbound, captivating, mystical, hidden, arcane, clandestine, esoteric, covert, cryptic, runic, otherworldly, touched, still, fair, deep, quiet, bright, sheer, tranquil, ancient, light, far, -wrought, tidal, royal, shaded, swift, true, free, high, vibrant, pure, argent, hibernal, ascendant, halcyon, silken, bountiful, gilded, colossal, massive, stout, elder, -bourne, furrowed, happy, merry, -bound, loud, lit, silk, quiet, bright, luminous, shining, burnished, glossy, brilliant, lambent, lucent, lustrous, radiant, resplendent, vivid, vibrant, illuminated, silvery, limpid, sunlit, divine, sacred, holy, eternal, celestial, spiritual, almighty, anointed, consecrated, exalted, hallowed, sanctified, ambrosial, beatific, blissful, demure, naked, bare, ample, coy,  deific, godly, omnipotent, omnipresent, rapturous, sacramental, sacrosanct, blessed, majestic, iridescent, glowing, overgrown, dense, hard, timeless, sly, scatter, everlasting, full, half, first, last

(verb/adverbs) arch (arching / arched), wink (winking), sing, nestle, graze, stroll, roll, flourish, bloom, bud, burgeon, live, dawn, hide, dawn, run, pray, wake, laugh, wake, glimmer, glitter, drift, sleep, tumble, bind, arch, blush, grin, glister, beam, meander, wind, widen, charm, bewitch, enthrall, entrance, enchant, allure, beguile, glitter, shimmer, sparkle twinkle, crest, quiver, slumber, herald, shelter, leap, click, climb, scuttle, dig, barter, chant, hum, chime, kiss, flirt, tempt, tease, play, seduce

Generic “Fantasy-Sounding” Word Parts

A - D

aaz, ada, adaer, adal, adar, adbar, adir, ae, ael, aer, aern, aeron, aeryeon, agar, agis, aglar, agron, ahar, akan, akyl, al, alam, alan, alaor, ald, alea, ali, alir, allyn, alm, alon, alor, altar, altum, aluar, alys, amar, amaz, ame, ammen, amir, amol, amn, amus, anar, andor, ang, ankh, ar, ara, aram, arc, arg, arian, arkh, arla, arlith, arn, arond, arthus, arum, arvien, ary, asha, ashyr, ask, assur, aster, astra, ath, athor, athra, athryn, atol, au, auga, aum, auroch, aven, az, azar, baal, bae, bael, bak, bal, balor, ban, bar, bara, barr, batol, batar, basir, basha, batyr, bel, belph, belu, ben, beo, bere, berren, berun, besil, bezan, bhaer, bhal, blask, blis, blod, bor, boraz, bos, bran, brath, braun, breon, bri, bry, bul, bur, byl, caer, cal, calan, cara, cassa, cath, cela, cen, cenar, cerul, chalar, cham, chion, cimar, clo, coram, corel, corman, crim, crom, daar, dach, dae, dago, dagol, dahar, dala, dalar, dalin, dam, danas, daneth, dannar, dar, darian,  darath, darm, darma, darro, das, dasa, dasha, dath, del, delia, delimm, dellyn, delmar, delo, den, dess, dever, dhaer, dhas, dhaz, dhed, dhin, din, dine, diar, dien, div, djer, dlyn, dol, dolan, doon, dora, doril, doun, dral, dranor, drasil, dren, drian, drien, drin, drov, druar, drud, duald, duatha, duir, dul, dulth, dun, durth, dyra, dyver,

E - H

ea, eber, eden, edluk, egan, eiel, eilean, ejen, elath, eld, eldor, eldra, elith emar, ellesar, eltar, eltaran, elth, eltur, elyth, emen, empra, emril, emvor, ena, endra, enthor, erad, erai, ere, eriel, erith, erl, eron, erre, eryn, esk, esmel, espar, estria, eta, ethel, eval, ezro, ezan, ezune, ezil, fael, faelar, faern, falk, falak, farak, faril, farla, fel, fen, fenris, fer, fet, fin, finar, forel, folgun, ful, fulk, fur, fyra, fallon, gael, gach, gabir, gadath, gal, galar, gana, gar, garth, garon, garok, garne, gath, geir, gelden, geren,  geron, ghal, ghallar, ghast, ghel, ghom, ghon, gith, glae, glander, glar, glym, gol, goll, gollo, goloth, gorot, gost, goth, graeve, gran, grimm, grist, grom, grosh, grun, grym, gual, guil, guir, gulth, gulur, gur, gurnth, gwaer, haa, hael, haer, hadar, hadel, hakla, hala, hald, halana, halid, hallar, halon, halrua, halus, halvan, hamar, hanar, hanyl, haor, hara, haren, haresk, harmun, harrokh, harrow, haspur, haza, hazuth, heber,  hela, helve, hem, hen, herath, hesper, heth, hethar, hind, hisari, hjaa, hlath, hlond, hluth, hoarth, holtar, horo, hotun, hrag, hrakh, hroth, hull, hyak, hyrza

I - M

iibra, ilth, ilus, ilira, iman, imar, imas, imb, imir, immer, immil, imne, impil, ingdal, innar, ir, iriae, iril, irith, irk, irul, isha, istis, isil, itala, ith, ithal, itka, jada, jae, jaeda, jahaka, jala, jarra, jaro, jath, jenda, jhaamm, jhothm, jinn, jinth, jyn, kado, kah, kal, kalif, kam, kana, kara, karg, kars, karth, kasp, katla, kaul, kazar, kazr, kela, kelem, kerym, keth, keva, kez, kezan, khaer, khal, khama, khaz, khara, khed, khel, khol, khur, kil, kor, korvan, koll, kos, kir, kra, kul, kulda, kund, kyne, lae, laen, lag, lan, lann, lanar, lantar, lapal, lar, laran, lareth, lark, lath, lauth, lav, lavur, lazar, leih, leshyr, leth, lhaza, lhuven, liad, liam, liard, lim, lin, lirn, lisk, listra, lith, liya, llair, llor, lok, lolth, loran, lorkh, lorn, loth, lothen, luen, luir, luk, lund, lur, luth, lyndus, lyra, lyth, maal, madrasm maera, maer, maerim, maes, mag, magra, mahand, mal, malar, mald, maldo, mar, mara, mark, marl, maru, maruk, meir, melish, memnon, mer, metar, methi, mhil, mina, mir, miram, mirk, mista, mith, moander, mok, modir, modan, mon, monn, mor, more, morel, moril, morn, moro, morrow, morth, mort, morum, morven, muar, mul, mydra, myr, myra, myst

N - S

naar, nadyra, naedyr, naga, najar, nal, naal, nalir, nar, naruk, narbond, narlith, narzul, nasaq, nashkel, natar, nath, natha, neir, neth, nether, nhall, nikh, nil, nilith, noan, nolvurm nonthal, norda, noro, novul, nul, nur, nus, nyan, nyth, ober, odra, oghr, okoth, olleth, olodel, omgar, ondath, onthril, ordul, orish, oroch, orgra, orlim, ormath, ornar, orntath, oroch, orth, orva, oryn, orzo, ostel, ostor, ostrav, othea, ovar, ozod, ozul, palan, palad, pae, peldan, pern, perris, perim, pele, pen, phail, phanda, phara, phen, phendra, pila, pinn, pora, puril, pur, pyra, qadim, quar, quel, ques, quil, raah, rael, ran, ranna, rassil, rak, rald, rassa, reddan, reith, relur, ren, rendril, resil, reska, reth, reven, revar, rhy, rhynn, ria, rian, rin, ris, rissian, rona, roch, rorn, rora, rotha, rual, ruar, ruhal, ruil, ruk, runn, rusk, ryn, saa, saar, saal, sabal, samar, samrin, sankh, sar, sarg, sarguth, sarin, sarlan, sel, seld, sember, semkh, sen, sendrin, septa, senta, seros, shaar, shad, shadra, shae, shaen, shaera, shak, shalan, sham, shamath, shan, shana, sharan, shayl, shemar, shere, shor, shul, shyll, shyr, sidur, sil, silvan, sim, sintar, sirem, skar, skell, skur, skyr, sokol, solan, sola, somra, sor, ssin, stel, strill, suldan, sulk, sunda, sur, surkh, suth, syl, sylph, sylune, syndra, syth

T - Z

taak, taar, taer, tah, tak, tala, talag, talar, talas, talath, tammar, tanar, tanil, tar, tara, taran, tarl, tarn, tasha, tath, tavil, telar, teld, telf, telos, tempe, tethy, tezir, thaar, thaer, thal, thalag, thalas, thalan, thalar, thamor, thander, thangol, thar, thay, thazal, theer, theim, thelon, thera, thendi, theril, thiir, thil, thild, thimir, thommar, thon, thoon, thor, thran, thrann, threl, thril, thrul, thryn, thuk, thultan, thume, thun, thy, thyn, thyr, tir, tiras, tirum, tohre, tol, tolar, tolir,  tolzrin, tor, tormel, tormir, traal, triel, trith, tsath, tsur, tul, tur, turiver, turth, tymor, tyr, uder, udar, ugoth, uhr, ukh, ukir, uker, usten, ulgarth, ulgoth, ultir, ulur, umar, umath, umber, unara, undro, undu, untha, upir, ur, ursa, ursol, uron, uth, uthen, uz, van, vaar, vaelan, vaer, vaern, val valan, valash, vali, valt, vandan, vanede, vanrak, var, varyth, vassa, vastar, vaunt, vay, vel, velar, velen, velius, vell, velta, ven, veren, vern, vesper, vilar, vilhon, vintor, vir, vira, virdin, volo, volun, von, voon, vor, voro, vos, vosir, vosal, vund, war, wara, whel, wol, wynn, wyr, wyrm, xer, xul, xen, xian, yad, yag, yal, yar, yath, yeon, yhal, yir, yirar, yuir, yul, yur, zail, zala, zalhar, zan, zanda, zar, zalar, zarach, zaru, zash, zashu, zemur, zhent, zim, ziram, zindala, zindar, zoun, zul, zurr, zuth, zuu, zym

A lot of places are named after historical events, battles, and people, so keep that in mind. God/Goddess names tied to your world also work well. Places are also often named after things that the area is known for, like Georgia being known for its peaches.

My brain was fried by the end of this so feel free to add more!

I hope you find this reference helpful and good luck world-building!

-Mel

[myhauntedsalem]

Execution Rock Lighthouse

Sands Point Light is situated close to Execution Rocks, but proved ineffective at warning mariners of the danger in heavy fog or stormy weather. On March 3, 1847, the United States Congress appropriated $25,000 for creation of Execution Rocks Lighthouse. Designed by Alexander Parris, construction was completed in 1849, although it was not lit until 1850. It stands at 55 feet tall, with a flashing white light. Built of granite, the tower is painted white with a brown band around its midsection. Next to it is a stone keeper’s house inhabited since the beacon became automated. Initially, there was no keeper, although Daniel Caulkins tended to its needs while remaining as keeper of Sands Point Light. A year later, William Craft took over as head keeper. He and his assistant lived in the tower. The keeper’s quarters wasn’t erected until 1867, 16 years later. A concrete oil house was also added sometime between 1910 and 1920.

On December 8, 1918, Keeper Peter Forget took a lunch break shortly after noon. He noticed the engine that provided power to the light and foghorn was running slower than usual. When he opened the door to the engine house, he was greeted by a wall of flames. With the combined efforts of the keepers, Navy patrol boats, and soldiers from Fort Slocum, they managed to put the blaze out before the lighthouse could be consumed by inferno. The fire with an unknown origin caused $13,500 in damages. The engine house and machinery were destroyed, the tower and oil house, the windows, woodwork, gutters and eaves were damaged. It would meet with flames again a few years later when an overheated exhaust pipe set the engine room’s roof on fire. This time, only minor damage was incurred, including smoke damage to the lens and clockworks.

A serial killer named Carl Panzram is also connected to the lighthouse. In August 1920, Panzram started out as a thief and arsonist. He robbed former president William H. Taft’s home, stealing a .45 colt revolver in Connecticut. He moved on to boats and yachts in New York before setting his sights on more gruesome crimes. He would tie rocks to his victims’ bodies and row them out in to the Long Island Sound, dumping them about 100 yards from the Execution Rock lighthouse. 

Panzram claimed to have killed 21 people in total. He lured sailors in New York away from bars, got them drunk, shot them and dumped their remains into the river (ten). He claimed to have raped and killed an 11- or 12-year-old boy in Africa. Hired a rowing boat, shot the rowers and fed them to the crocodiles. In America, he allegedly shot a man trying to rob him. Raped and killed two small boys, one in Massachusetts and the other in Connecticut, in 1922. He also claimed to have committed murder while burgling homes between Baltimore and Washington D.C. and an August 1928 murder in Philadelphia. Only three of the last five killings were confirmed. After being arrested in 1928, he was sentenced to 25 years at Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary. On June 20, 1929 he killed Robert Warnke, foreman of the prison laundry in Leavenworth, battering him to death with an iron bar. This murder got him a death sentence by hanging. His last words on September 5, 1930 were “Yes, hurry it up, you Hoosier bastard! I could kill ten men while you’re fooling around!”

Execution Rocks Lighthouse has a legend attached to its name. According to folklore, the British avoided public executions in Colonial times, afraid of inflaming the revolutionary spirit of the American people. Instead, they would carry the condemned to the reefs at low tide, chain them to rings embedded in the rock, and wait for high tide to perform the executions. Some say the skeletons were left to torture the minds of the newly condemned as they faced certain death. None of which has been proven true. A shipload of British soldiers, sent to pursue Washington on his retreat from Manhattan to White Plains, foundered at the reef and left no survivors. 

This shipwreck seemed to fuel the rumors as some believed the ghosts of the condemned were seeking their revenge. Another legend states the name came from the settlers of nearby Manhasset Neck (Cows Neck). Supposedly, many ships tried to make their way past the dangerous reef en route to Manhasset Bay and found themselves “executed” on the rocks. This tale is much closer to Execution Rocks Lighthouse’s true name origin.

The last keeper, who retired in 1970, claims he never saw any ghosts or had any abnormal experiences. However, paranormal activity has been reported by many travelers passing by. Some have allegedly seen spirits wandering the rocks. Apparitions, footsteps, voices and strange sounds have also been reported by many eyewitnesses including US Coast Guard personnel who took night shifts there until the automation was finished.

[eureka-its-zico]

Pricked Pt. 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Scenario: You and Mino have been together since you were eighteen years old. You’ve been through so much together, but time changed who you both were, what you both wanted and, ultimately, it ended. It ended once, twice, and a million times after. Each time fate somehow bringing you back to one another; but how cruel could fate really be? For with every time you crashed back into one another, you felt pieces’ fray and rip at the seams; pricked by love thrones that never healed.

A/N: Okay.Admit it. How many of you thought this would never get finished? It’s finally happened. I finished Pricked. Over time, I received countless private messages and anonymous asks about finishing this. I’m sorry it took over two years for me to get back into writing. I’m sorry it took so long, you guys. But, my sincerest hope is that after reading this, it all feels worth it. I appreciate the countless support for my fiction. For the continous shares and likes while I’ve been away. You all helped remind me why I started writing in the first place: for the love of telling a story. I hope you love this one. Much Love, Jenn.

Genre: Mino x Reader

Words: 5850

Disclaimer: As always, any gifs that are used are not mine and all credit is given to their rightful owners. 

It was almost comical how a room that felt so big became hauntingly small. The echoes of his last words etching themselves in your bones until they ached where you sat. Immobile, like a frightened child that hears the creaking sounds of old stairs; threatening to make your heart leap at the thought of old monsters.

Mino couldn’t have meant it. Just like you knew, without a doubt, you were only pretending to be self-righteous. To care about an unnamed woman who should’ve never taken your place to begin with: a poor man’s replacement. A replacement you yourself tried to make of him. The whole reason you showed up here, now,  was to force him to choose you. Or else what had been the whole point of the large affair you’d created, if it wasn’t to lead to an end that favored you both. 

But this was where your self-righteousness ended. 

In the distance your ears could hear the shower running. You knew Mino was undoubtedly undressed on the other side of the door. His last words a farewell forever: a painful dismissal. 

How could you blame him? When your lips failed to move and voice refused to work. Because that self-righteousness flared back up and made you believe you could do the right thing. 

What was right? 

What could be right about losing him, and spending the rest of your life with the maybe’s and what if’s. All you needed to say was what you’d wanted, and allowed, the selfishness that rained over the past year to win. Because honestly, why did you decide now of all times to act so holy? You wanted to do the right thing, regardless of it being too little too late. To believe that self-sacrifice, being a martyr, would be enough to forgive yourself for choosing to hurt so many. 

But you were done falling on swords. Done playing games. If you didn’t tell him now, right the fuck now, that you couldn’t live with the idea of him waking up besides the wrong woman every morning, not you, some stranger who only saw what she wanted, knew nothing about how he used to hide his favorite snacks under pillows during his first year of training, and bleached his hair so badly it left his head raw for days. How he ruined so many school shirts with stains of ink from broken pens that drove his mother into an annoyed rant. She knew nothing of his past. What made him. She only knew what he chose to show her like a carefully wrapped present. But you - you knew all. Past and present. You wanted to know who he became in the future. To see the version of yourself he talked about with confidence reflecting in his eyes.

You knew, deep down, underneath the claustrophobic hands of fear, that you could be better for each other. There would be no more running. No more imaginative ‘What If’s’, to keep you at bay. 

You weren’t surprised to find your feet already guiding you towards the door of the bathroom. Your heart already knew where it was trying to go: it had just been waiting for your mind to catch up. And somehow, after all that mental pep talk, you still found your hand hovering above the knob. 

“No more caving,” you whispered. “I’m doing this.”

Without another moment spared to thought your hand closed around the knob and turned.Whether you were conscious of it or not, you were holding your breath. As if you would find something other than Mino’s naked body on the other side. 

Immediately, your body was engulfed by a hot breath of steam. The mirror fogged up to hide your reflection, and condensation dripped  from every surface. If the shower wasn’t strategically placed in the middle you were sure you could’ve gotten lost in the large high-end expanse of the bathroom. The showers glass enclosure covered a majority of the room and offered no privacy. Your eyes able to roam over every available inch of flesh that it left exposed, and you drank in the sight of Mino greedily. 

Even slumped with his hands splayed out against the patterned granite - body being drenched every second in a heavy flow of water - Mino was still able to command the room. Although, you knew by the heavy sigh between his shoulders that he was a man in mourning. A dull ache wormed its way inside your chest and threatened to bloom, but a memory batted it away. 

It was the beginning of spring; months after you’d begun your secret affair. Both of you pretending it was just something simple as convenience. A past history of being first loves and promises of fairy tale ever-afters allowing you the false ideal it would be over once either of you had your fill. 

You could see now, caressed in a fog of steam, what a lie it was. 

That day the humidity had been worse than the heat. It ended up like that a lot during the peaking days of summer. The two of you finding solace in the new studio Mino rented out; a private, safe place for his artistic ideas to flourish and die in a privacy only he knew. 

He’d rung you to come by. Mino’s voice tempting your body already with the sweetness of kisses and a promise of that honeyed voice that was held between those lips kissing its way between your thighs. You didn’t need much prodding after that.  Your fingers already on an app to hail the nearest driver. 

You’d arrived minutes before he’d asked, and found him surrounded by splattered canvases. A majority of them thrown to the ground, like an island of misfits. Mino was already working on a newer canvas, but the frustration radiated off of him and hit you in waves. You could see it in the way his teeth dug themselves into the wood of his brush, and the large strokes of his fingers, covered in paint, across the canvas. You could’ve sworn you could hear the brush beginning to snap under the pressure. 

Mino had always been this way. His drive for perfection charging his artistic nature, usually with him being completely unaware. He was in such a trance focusing on his work that he hadn’t paid any kind of acknowledgment to your entry. All Mino could see was the canvas before him and the irritating fact it wasn’t coming out like he’d wanted. 

You were more than ninety-nine percent sure if this had been anyone else, you would’ve been annoyed at not being acknowledged. But here in his artistic heaven you were just fine being ignored. It left you plenty of time to gawk at the mosaic piece that covered an enormous section of a wall. The bright pieces coming into the colorful shape of a cartoon man holding a wilting flower. The petals somehow becoming larger until they landed on the ground at his feet. The back wall displaying a dozen or so paintings. The theme of them all painstakingly the same. 

In one various arrays of color, he had the facial outlines of a man and a woman. You could only assume by the way the woman’s face was comforted and the way the lips of the man drew near to caress her lips, that it was a painting with the image of intimacy in mind. That feeling of intimacy causing your cheeks to flush and a yearning to be touched. Another showcased a couple outlined in white against the charcoal of the canvas. There were stars small as speckled dust that told you he’d brushed a single finger through the hair to obtain the effect. The longer you looked at it a stirring feeling of recognition began to ache in the back of your mind.

“It’s that night we spent by the Hongdae river.” 

Mino’s voice cut through your thoughts and brought you clarity. Your eyes barely shifting to acknowledge his body turned in your direction, before looking back at the painting. It seemed the second he mentioned it everything about it began to make sense. 

It was the moment he’d caught your gaze stuck to the bright sky. So bright and full of endless possibilities. 

“Do you remember what you asked me?” He questioned.

You didn’t even need to consider the thousands of possibilities. You already knew.

“Do you ever wonder if the stars miss each other. Millions of them are in the sky. You would think with so many, they would be close to one another, yet they’re so far apart.”

It wasn’t until your eyes took in the shape of dying dust behind a falling star that you finally turned to look at Mino. Your full attention on dried paint that scattered itself on his hands and arms; splattered in rainbow hues all over his shirt and pants. He resembled a piece of art himself, housed inside a room you realized held painted moments of past times together, and more recent. Through this act of whatever it was you’d both created, Mino made something beautiful out of it. He made something beautiful out of you. 

Looking at him now...you knew, Mino would forever stay a work of art that would take your breath away. And in that realization, your mind only came up with one solution to end his creative slump he currently found himself in. 

You didn’t think twice before your hands found the hem of your shirt and began to lift it over your head. Mino’s eyes widened slightly; no doubt enjoying the unexpected show you put on. 

“You’re having trouble painting today.”

It wasn’t a question. You didn’t need an answer, but Mino’s mind wasn’t truly listening to you. It followed his eyes as they watched your hand loop around your back and undo the clasp on your bra. 

“I’ve actually been unable to draw - paint - anything. No matter where I go or what I draw, it never comes out right.”

You were stepping out of your shorts when you nodded in acknowledgement. As the last article of clothing fell to the floor, you were left exposed, in all your glory. For some reason, as ridiculous as it sounded, being naked in front of Mino this way sent your nerves into overdrive. It took everything you had not to begin to fidget with your hands. 

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Use me.” 

You blurted it out so harshly it caused Mino to jump. This time you did close your eyes as the embarrassment began to burn against your cheeks. 

“Use you?”

By now, Mino was slowly moving towards you. The playful tilt of a smirk drawing up the side of his mouth as his eyes took you in. He radiated a heat that sent your body trembling; not in a bad way. No, no. Far from that. It was an undeniable urge for him to touch you. For his hands to leave burning trials of his exploration of your body on every inch of your skin. 

You had to swallow twice to be able to speak. 

“Yeah. Use me as your canvas. Paint on me and see if this helps break you out of your creative slump.”

That appeared to stop him cold. His feet no longer coyly bringing him towards you and the smirk now drawn in a thoughtful pout. The first real hint of fear hit your tongue and you tried to swallow it away. You hadn’t considered the fact Mino might call your idea ridiculous and, perhaps, stupid. You were about ready to tell him never mind when his hand motioned for you to move next to the canvas and paints he’s been working on previously. 

“Come lay over here.”

You couldn’t reply. Your head giving a curt nod in response as he moved to grab a blanket. It wasn’t the length of your body, but just enough to cover your more...precious parts from the dirt of the floor. Once it was laid in place, you moved to lie down and waited patiently for him to spread his paints out on the tray. Your mind going to counting sheep to pass the time. Around sixty-seven, a gasp of surprise from the cold of the brush against your skin. 

“Babo!” You shrieked. 

Your hand shot out to smack his arm, which only awarded you with the deep bass of his laugh. 

“Should I have warned you?” He asked playfully.

“Duh!” 

“Okay, okay. Lie back down and be ready this time, eh.”

You wanted to smack him again and it sent him into more hysterics. You did what he asked though and laid back with your arms out by your sides. 

“I’m gonna move the arm closest to me, alright.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“I’m letting you know so you don’t smack me again.”

This time you chuckled to yourself as his hands took gentle hold of your arm and moved it into place. A few moments later the coldness of the brush touched down on your skin. You didn’t jump this time. 

You couldn’t tell how long you laid there. Mino moving around different points of your body; spreading different colors along your torso, down your legs, and under your breasts. The two of you making light conversation as he worked, until after a while he informed you he was finished. You were ready to move, but your body was heavy with relaxation and you settled on wiggling your toes. 

The sound of a Polaroid camera going off shot your attention back in Mino’s direction. His fingers snaking around to drag the film gently the rest of the way out. 

“You better not show anyone.”

Mino gave you a cynical glance over the side of the camera before snapping on more. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I wouldn’t share you with anyone: not even as artwork. I just want to save these.” Mino set down the Polaroid and gave the two photos a couple last good shakes before he set them gently down. You began to get up when he knelt beside you, stopping your movements completely. “Y/N, I mean this more than anything. I think this is the best art I’ve made in a long time. What we’ve created together today.”

The compliment sent your lips into a humbled smile that you did your best to hide, but Mino refused to let you. 

“Mino-ah, I did nothing.”

“There you are wrong.”

He didn’t allow you to argue further: his lips crashed down on yours. His body collapsing against yours and hands moving in a heated rush to remove his clothes. You weren’t surprised to find your own helping. The two of you soon making love in a flurry of still wet paint that helped to create a new work of art against the studio floor. 

With the memory fading away, and leaving you to stand back inside the bathroom and Mino a few feet away, it filled you with renewed resolve. What did it matter if you hadn’t graduated from college yet. If you didn’t know a major to stick with, and you worked like a majority of everyone else in customer service jobs and not a giant firm. That your apartment wasn’t in an established part of Seoul. 

You were every bit as good for Mino. Hell, you were the right person for him. You knew that more than anything, and you refused to feel any less unworthy anymore. Without waiting another second to allow doubt to stop you, you reached out and took hold of the shower door and opened it to step inside. Mino turned at your entrance with alarm spread clear on his face and raised eyebrows. After his panic subsided, recognition began to lower his shoulders and formed a question in his brow. 

“Y/N,” he started huskily, “What are you-“

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. Using the momentum you gained from entering the shower you pushed into him. The warm water from the shower drenching you both as you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him to you. Your lips pressing against his the only answer that you needed to give. 

Mino matched your desire with his own. His mouth opening yours up to him allowing him to drink down every moan he could elicit from you. When pushed to move you back against the wall of the shower, you gave no protest. The need every placement of his hands made coursed through you and sparked like an electric current. Every tug on soaked fabric and delicate graze of teeth skimming down lips until a tongue lashed up to soothe it's haunting ache. Underneath the basic carnal need that plagued your body for Mino’s touch - his touch alone - you knew it was something deeper. 

The idea of soulmates and fate seemed  like a fairytale of pleasant dreams meant to keep the boogeyman of life at bay. That there was some hope of a Disney ending, definitely not G-rated, far from PG, but still somehow attainable in life. The thought alone used to be enough to make you roll your eyes. In the end, you couldn’t allow your cynicism tarnish the truth you knew was true between you two. 

How could you deny the power of the universe when the cosmos rested solely in his lips? The way his name was written in stars along your skin. For fate to align itself over and over until you stood face-to-face wrapped in each others arms in a tangled connection that refused to make sense.

There had to be a reason for all this chaos.

Mino and you were swollen lips and ragged breaths. His naked body pressed against your soaked clothes stirred a desire to finish what you’d started in the other room. Mino, apparently, hadn’t shared the same sentiment. His lips suddenly breaking free of yours only to lead you in a daze from out of the shower. 

When you came back into the room, he didn’t bother with a towel. Instead, Mino opted to struggle his wet appendages into the legs of his jeans. He gave small hops of hope that he used to wedge the fabric up his hips. The whole ordeal already making you fight back the rising fit of giggles, only to end up as a losing battle. The shoulders of his t-shirt becoming trapped around his head; face peeking out through the open collar enough to look ridiculous, and finally broke you down into hysterics.  

When Mino finally was able to get his shirt comfortably on he walked over to where you’d collapsed onto the bed. You were soaked and the sporadic dry patches on your jeans were annoying. Your body still vibrating from your earlier outburst and you watched as he moved to kneel beside you. Not caring that both of you resembled drowned rats. Mino reached out to calmly take both of your hands. The angle he was at giving you perfect clarity of his face. Perfect enough to be able to see a decision rapidly being made in the softness of his eyes.

“This is gonna sound nuts.”

You reached out to cradle his cheek in your palm. Your thumb rubbing lightly to try and calm the storm of emotions that whipped his eyes frantically back and forth searching your face. 

“Mino, this whole year has been crazy. I don’t think anything you could say would surprise me.”

“Marry me.”

Okay. You were wrong. His outburst did surprise you. Your body went still in front of him and your thumb no longer grazed against his lips. You were going into shock and he was taking your silence as denial. 

“I mean, I know it’s stupid. It’s a stupid idea, Y/N, and you deserve a better proposal than this, but I don’t want to waste another moment without you and-“

He was rambling. The both of you knew he was and only because the room swelled with the panic of finality you both felt. That terrible chance that if either of you stepped out of the room, whatever spell of courage happened between you both would end. You could see the pleading in his eyes and could only think of doing one sure fire way to bring his frantic speech to a close. You took his face in yours and gave him one good kiss. When you pulled back he was stuck in place looking for all the world like a wound up doll who’d run out of juice. 

“To answer your question, Mino: yes.”

It took his ears a second to register what you’d said, but the minute he heard it Mino broke into a smile so big you couldn’t help but smile back. He rushed to close the small space between you and wrapped his arms with a constrictors grip around you. Only pulling back to kiss you rapidly all over your face raising giggles from your throat. 

“Yes? Yes! She said yes!”

“Ya, Mino,” you chided playfully. “You act like someone is going to hear you.”

“I don’t need anyone to hear me. All I needed to hear was your answer. Come on,” he urged rushing to grab both of your jackets. “I know somewhere that’s still open that they’ll do the ceremony right now.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you moved hand-in-hand to the front door. This was it. You were on your way to get married. Nothing and yet, everything was about to change. Mino shot you one last smile over his shoulder before he ripped open the door. The both of you coming to a halt in front of the woman, closed fist raised to knock, frozen in shock before you. 

You didn’t need Mino to tell you who she was. By the way her face crumbled like all the cheated souls before her, you knew this was his fiance. The look of pain replaced itself with something much colder and harder. The anger coming in waves to steel herself against the pain you no doubt swimming inside her like a monsoon. 

“How long?”

Her voice trembled in a way that would have made anyone consider it to be sadness. Anyone else, besides you. You knew it was simply the sound of her choking back on a heartbroken rage cocktail that was brewing deep in her chest. Her tears scolding while the judgement her eyes held a very clear hatred for you. Her world slowly falling apart as she drank you both in. Clothes still clinging to your body like a second skin with both lips puffy and red from each other’s kisses. Her world was collapsing into ruin in quiet milliseconds of betrayal before her.

Mino finally let go of your hand and stepped towards her. She instantly retracted from his touch and swatted away his hand as if it were a pest. 

“Don’t touch me!” She shrieked.

“Jang-mi, please,” he protested. This time Mino didn’t make the mistake of trying to touch her. His hands simply motioning for her to come into the safety of the room. “Let’s discuss this inside the room. Not the hallway.” 

Her face turned a bright red, and you understood why. Mino sounded like he was coddling a tantrum throwing child. Not a woman who just had a brutal awakening of her soon-to-be husband’s affair. Jang-mi took on last reproachful glance in your direction and moved to go inside the room; taking careful steps to touch neither of you.

As soon as the door to the room was closed, she whirled on you both. Maybe it would’ve been better to remain at Mino’s side to seem like a united front. But you couldn’t bring yourself to give her another theoretical smack in the face with that. So you kept a few inches between you and your head cast downward at the carpet.

“How. Long.” 

Jang-mi enunciated every word. Her small fists now in tight fists as her eyes scanned from one face to the other. Waiting for one of you to find the courage to answer. You wanted to let out a sigh of relief when Mino finally spoke: “Close to a year.”

That answer wasn’t what the other woman wanted. The air appeared to be knocked out of her, as her knees collapsed from under her and she ended up sitting on the bed. 

“I should’ve known,” Jang-mi began with her voice breathy as if she was talking from a memory. “That day in the alley. When I seen you two together. I knew by the look on your face.”

She looked up at you then, and you didn’t dishonor her by looking away. You held her gaze and knew you deserved what she thought of you. For in Jang-mi’s story, you were the villain. The one who came and stole her ever-after and did it without apology. You wouldn’t ask her to offer forgiveness for your selfishness. 

“His mother has a picture with you in it still. When you were younger at Danah’s eleventh birthday party. I know you were his first love. It’s clear on your faces, but make no mistake, I am the one he chose to marry.”

Jang-mi found her strength to stand and it was against you. You admired her fight but, in this, you refused to let her win.

“That can change,” you snapped. 

Your response surprised her, but she made it clear in her squared shoulders and upturned chin she wasn’t backing down. 

“How? For a year, you were nothing more than a girl kept in the shadows. No better than a whore-“

“Jang-mi, enough!” 

Mino cut in and went to shield you. You stopped him with a hand to his shoulder and stepped around him. Mino could be your knight in shining armor any day - but not today. Today, you would do it for yourself. 

“Think what you want, but I will be what you can never be: the woman he loves.”

Your cheek erupted in flecks of pain that radiated along the side of your face. It was so intense, your eyes blurred with unshed tears. This time you didn’t stop Mino from stepping between the two of you. Their arguing words drowned out to the ringing in your ears. 

“You need to choose Mino: right here and now! Either me or her, and you better make the right choice.”

You knew her threat wasn’t empty. It was backed by outrage with need for you to be proven wrong. That she was the one that held his heart; not willing to admit to the fact she might never have to begin with. Tears were freely streaming down her cheeks now as she reached out to hold onto him. Mino’s guilt leaving him unable to look away from the tears she tried to claim were of anger, but really a reflection of her breaking heart. 

The small room erupted in silence, and it began to make doubt creep into your thoughts. There was always the off chance Mino could choose her, and that was something you couldn’t bear. With your cheek still burning and eyes roaming back and forth between the both of them you didn’t notice Mino moving to stand beside you. His hand moving out to gently take yours in his, while his eyes sadly took in the woman before him. 

“I’m sorry, Jang-mi for being a coward and not telling you sooner. I love you, but I’m not in love with you and...because of that I cannot marry you.”

If things had been different, you would’ve went to her. You were sure that you were the last person she would ever want to comfort her. Not when the two of you stood mockingly the day before her would-be wedding. You knew Mino didn’t want to leave her this way. That he would carry the guilt of what transpired here tonight, and maybe he should for now. No one should go without acknowledging their own wrongdoing in someone else’s pain. Before he could say anything to Jang-mi, however, a sudden knock came at the door.

“Mino, are you there?”

The sound of Mino’s father at the door immediately made him stiffen. The anxiety evident on his face, and here it was Jang-mi saw her opening to share her grief with someone new. 

“He's here with another woman!” 

“J-Jang-mi, is that you?” 

Mino’s father sounded perplexed and you couldn’t blame him. He probably wasn’t expecting to hear his future daughter-in-law yelling about another woman. A tight squeeze into your hand reminded you of Mino at your side. Throughout this whole moment, Mino remained calm and allowed Jang-mi to react how she felt, because he knew he’d given her one of the greatest forms of betrayal. But the quiet understanding he’d used to compose himself was now gone. Now he just looked plain pissed off.

“You have no right to bring him into this!” He snapped.

“He deserves to know the kind of man his son is,” Jang-mi retorted. Her disdain dripping off of every word. 

“Mino! Open this door! Is Jang-mi in there with you?”

“Oppa, everything is alright!”

“No everything is not!” 

Jang-mi screeched the last word high enough it made you wince. She moved forward and slammed an angry fist down on Mino’s chest. You moved to grab her, but Mino simply shook his head and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. 

“Jang-mi,” he began sadly, “this will not make your pain hurt any less.”

“No, you’re right. It won’t.” She moved her hands to rest on his arms and stayed there. Just for a moment. Her looking up at him, Mino staring back, and you feeling like the odd third wheel in what seemed like an intimate moment. Suddenly, her gentleness turned cold and her arms shoved his away and stepped back. “But if I can make you feel any ounce of humiliation that I feel, just for one second, then it’s worth it.”

The room swelled with tension of the unknown before Jang-mi opened her mouth wide and let out a scream. Her mascara running down in droplets that reminded you of the matchmaker in Mulan. For all the world she had passed her pain and went start to rage and called out the worst things. That you were assaulting her. That Mino has struck her. It was enough to send Mino’s father into a frenzy outside the door.

“Fuck this,” Mino growled. 

He reached out his hand and clasped it securely around yours. He didn’t wait to grab your coats or cellphones. Mino moved straight for the door not caring for the howling woman at your back and opened the door to startle his father, and a few gawking hotel guests. 

“Mino, what’s going on?”

Mino didn’t answer his father. He pushed past him and forced you to do the same. The Song elder finally noticing your presence and his confusion only aging him faster. 

“Mino. Stop!”

But he didn’t stop. He kept running you both down the hallway and to the stars. The sound of his father and others rushing to catch up to you. Mino was running down the stairs at a speed that forced you to jump two at a time to keep up. It should’ve been odd. Maybe embarrassing, to be seen bursting from the stairwell into a fancy lobby. Your abrupt entrance startling guests waiting and checking in. In truth, it caused you to laugh. 

It didn’t matter what strangers thought as you moved through the prestigious double doors with people from the bridal party giving chase. Not even seeming crazy that Mino, or you, had any idea where you were going to run too. You just kept running, hand in hand, until he finally spotted a bus a few yards ahead. 

The both of you started waving the driver down in hopes he would see you and wait. There was a brief moment your heart dropped when it seemed he was about to shut the doors, but noticed his annoyance at having to wait for you written plainly on his face. You silently wished him and his family a thousand blessings as your feet took the small steps loudly. Mino and you digging like crazy around in your pockets to find the exact change to put it. 

You both couldn’t present it fast enough when his family came tearing into view, causing Mino to take the wad of money and shove it towards the driver. 

“You can keep all of it if you’ll just shut the doors and take off now. Please.”

It didn’t seem the older man was going to comply. His wary eyes moving from the money to both of your sweaty figures gasping for air and damp clothes. You were almost about to step back off the bus when he motioned with his head for the two of you to sit down. You were ready to hug him, but didn’t want to push your luck. 

The both of you moved to sit at the far back of the bus. Mino taking the window seat and you curled up against him with your head resting on his shoulder. The two of you stayed silent for a long time. Neither of you commenting on his father and, maybe, the groomsmen or the brides’ family, slamming their hands against the door just before the driver merged into the Seoul traffic. 

You listened only to the sound of his heart beating. The way it began to ease into its natural rhythm after the storm passed. It’s what helped you sort out all the thoughts that raged for purpose inside your head. The main one being the only one you chose to speak out loud.

“What now?”

Mino let out a sigh as a lazy hand moved to stroke over your hair. He remained quiet a while longer before he spoke. 

“Now? Now we just live out our happily-ever-after.”

A snort of laughter left you as you looked out the window; not wanting to move less it caused him to stop playing with your hair. 

“Oh, is that all?” You teased.

“Forever is simple. It’s the in between of getting there that’s hard.”

“You saying I’m hard?” 

You looked up him and took in the wistful smile that danced behind almond eyes. His finger moving delicately to trace the outline of your face. 

“No, jagi . You are the part of getting to forever that makes it all worth it.”

He spoke the last of his words against your lips. His nose playfully kissing across yours, before he actually moved down to give you a kiss and as he did you couldn’t help but agree. Everything that led to this point had been hell and messy, but it was easy to breathe once again. Your world righted itself and begun to make sense and that, you knew, was because your forever was simple. Your forever was kissing you, and that was the magic of finding your happily-ever-after and never letting go.

[painting-service]

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