#i need to find a keyboard somewhere in a box in my garage or find the tiny little usb dongle for my wireless keyboard

[pearl-kite]

Hozier concert finally unpostponed, finally some good fucking news ;3;

[milkboxing]

STRIKING GOLD ↯ txt

SUMMARY ⋮ your somewhat notoriously influential high school garage band urgently needs a replacement to their keyboardist whose arm is broken and you happen to be, at the precise instant they find you, free-styling the tomato song on the antediluvian piano found in the music room.

GENRE ⋮ humour, rock band!au, high school!au

ZAK’S NOTE ⋮ guitarist!beomgyu kept darting from one corner of my mind to the other and i just couldn’t help but write this shit.

i.

Committing irreparable mistakes was one of the few things that Huening Kai was known to be good at by all, and even if he knew the repercussions that his broken arm due reckless biking would have on his band and the performance they were supposed to give for the upcoming school festival, the chances of him wearing his elbow pads would most likely be one in a million. He was nevertheless the happy-go-lucky and sickly optimistic boy he was and despite the fright he gave to his elder band mates, they chose to overlook his misconduct after a few inevitable reproaches. However, as much as they wish they did not have to race against the time that was quickly catching up with them, they could not let down the school, their local audience and all the threatening fingers pointed at them. Precisely. Like that of the vice student council onto whose frail shoulders the accountability of preparing for that event of capital importance reposed. Rumour had it that she was planning the murder of Soobin, the band’s leader who was also her prime partner as the previous student council but the latter was so taken up by rehearsals that he was bound to ditch the poor girl.

“For the last time Soobin,” she hissed, poking the tall boy’s chest, a visible crease between her eyebrows, “I have painstakingly managed to deal with everything encompassing the festival so far, if you plan on calling it quits with your band, you better be giving me a helping hand. . .” She was unable to complete her sentence as he heaved out an exasperated sighed. “I’m sorry,” he softly let out, running a hand through his hair, avoiding all eye contact with her, “I’d gladly do that but the dean is counting on us and he firmly believes that with or without Kai we should be in a position to perform. He says that we’re his meal ticket, whatever that is supposed to mean.” The girl frowned and Soobin’s pupils were then shaking a little. “I can’t put my hand on someone to replace Kai yet,” he added, “I’m sorry once again, Eunji. Once our lives are back to normal I’ll treat you to tteokbokki or any food you like and you have my word this time!” Soobin left with fast steps after patting her on her shoulder, picking up his pace as he spotted his classmate and best friend, whom you believed to be named Choi Something, at the other end of the corridor. Eunji turned and with battered puppy eyes, watched his back as it shrunk and muttered under her breath, “Screw you and those convincingly cute dimple of yours.”

You didn’t mean to but you happened to hear that part and you subtly reared your head, enough to peek at Eunji behind the door of your locker, her shoulders drooping like withered flowers and her braided hair unfortunately resembling a fringed mayhem. A pat on the shoulder? you mentally sympathised with her, she must have reached the peak of being friend-zoned. Banging the aperture of your locker shut, you readjusted your duffel bag on your shoulder and checked your watch, incognisant to the fact that the obnoxious noise you had produced snapped the elder girl out of her morose rêverie. Undecisive about what you would do of all the time you had to kill, you roamed around the busy school hallways where students were darting to and fro with boxes, boxes, desks and more boxes but none of the classrooms you passed by was fully empty. Somehow, while your conscience was swimming among the waves of Antlantis, your steps led you to the music room which reeked of mildew and the air was so heavy — especially when the greasy, brownish curtains gave the eerie impression of drawing the four walls closer together, as if the room was gradually shrivelling while the obscurity was lurking around, waiting to seize the opportunity of gobbling you up — that you had to suffocate a gulp in your throat.

Without losing any more time, you casted off your bag and dumped it on a chair, grateful enough that the abandoned desks, despite catching enough dust to permanently change of colours, were not covered in bird or lizard shit as you expected it. You pulled apart the curtains, strenuously opened the rusty windows, the hinges of which categorically refused to move due to rust, turned on the fan and instantly regretted it as the dust started swirling and chaotically flying around the room, making of you a Reindeer Rudolf who could not stop sneezing. To top up the whole thing, you stubbed your foot against the piano bench while you were blindly reaching out for the button to switch off the fan, your eyes stinging. Five minutes later, the dust had stabilised, the room was well aerated, the odour had either dissipated or been assimilated by your complex organism to such an extent that you couldn’t smell it the same way anymore, and your fingers were lazily gliding along the keys of the old piano. Loud footsteps and muffled voices that you knew belonged to the members of your somewhat notoriously influential school band could be heard in the corridor but you couldn’t care less.

Suddenly, an idea struck your head and you would have sworn that if your life was a cartoon, a light bulb would have popped up above your head at that very instant. Using your limited knowledge of whatever you had picked at the piano tuitions you had attended for six years and recently quit, you started skittering your fingers along the keys of the piano, your touch leaving whitened fingerprints everywhere. What seemed much better in your mind to be the melody of the nastily catchy and annoying tomato song, a famous nursery rhyme, escaped from the musical instrument and after a few more tries and unusual determination that you find hard to show for your studies, you managed to upgrade it to the most resembling version of the original song. You were, unluckily, too busy having an intense and sensational performance for your imaginary public, fervently tapping on the keys while humming to the lyrics that you missed to realise that the hallway had grown oddly silent and the door creaked open to reveal a few curious heads, piled one onto the other.

“LUMPY AND GORGEOUS FIGURE DRESSED IN RED—” yelled a voice that you failed to recognise because of how strained it sounded, but that nevertheless called you back to earth and drove you into ending the song with a sinister piano version of a keyboard smash. “—SWEET AND SOUR FLAVOUR, FASHIONABLE TOMATOES!” sang the oldest boy of the bunch, showing up with a seemingly dyed silver hair (unless you were right to think his hair turned grey, from all the stress he bore.) You stared at him, an inevitably judgemental expression adorning your face as the other boys projected either revulsion or amusement on their faces. Except Taehyun, this boy could withstand anything with an intimidating poker face but somewhere you could sense his confusion. “Yeonjun-hyung— hyung—” called out Beomgyu, a sophomore student whom you knew to be the lead guitarist of the band. He was a likeable guy, cheerful and a little irksome with his crazy loud laughter at times but based on what you’ve learnt he didn’t have many friends from his grade and hence hung out with your classmates Huening Kai and Taehyun all the time. “That’s enough hyung, yOU CAN SHUT UP NOW!” he yelled, calling the elder boy back to reason. Thankfully that sufficed, you were ready to fling your bag at the grey haired dude’s face. The two of them winged up bickering while the three others boys turned their faces to you (and that sucks because you had mentally planned on tiptoeing to the door while they were distracted), eerily in synchronisation, their lips stretching into mysterious smiles. Oh fuck, you cursed under your breath, they want something from me.

ii.

“To quote Hamlet,” you exasperatedly explained, slowly and emphasising on each word, “act three, scene three, line ninety-two, NO.” The boys’ faces fell, apart from Kai’s. He didn’t know how to give up and you could definitely tell that from the way his hazel eyes scrutinised you, that he was not going to give you the heave-ho so soon. Kai was a tough cookie — come hell or high water, he would neither avert his firm gaze from you, nor allow you to take the french leave and even less erase that fucking aweless rictus from his mouth. In other words, you were trapped like an artless little rabbit in a den of wolves. “Come on, please. . . [name]. . .? That’s your name, right?” trailed off Soobin, his glances endlessly shifting from his teammates to you, making sure to obtain nods and other responses of approbation. You couldn’t help but remark that despite his eminent presence, he was not especially self-assured for a leader. “Yeah, and no. The festival is tomorrow and there’s no way I could play a fucking keyboard for you. I won’t even be able to memorise the song lyrics,” your eyes widened as you added, “actually scratch that, i don’t even know how to sing!”

“Hey, calm down,” reassured Kai, snaking his arm around your shoulders, “We’re not asking you to be Mozart or Maria Carey. The melody is short and pretty repetitive so just being in tune will do. As for the singing. . . Simply try not to sound too much like a dying whale.” You gave him a sarcastic smile as he dumbly responded with a giddy one. Slapping away his arm, you replied on a passive aggressive tone, “First of all, don’t touch me unless you want to lose the other arm as well and secondly,” you turned to the rest of the boys, “I’d rather keep a low profile, if I ridiculise myself tomorrow I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over the embarrassment of it. . .” The room suddenly fell tragically silent, the tense atmosphere weighing like a heavy load on everyone’s shoulders. “You won’t make a fool of yourself,” spoke up Taehyun. Your eyes met his and he firmly stared back, without showing any sign of emotion, like he usually does and you were reminded of his forgotten presence. “We’re not expecting you to be perfect [name]. There are times when the microphones decide to betray us in the middle of a performance, or a wrong guitar chord, a minimal voice crack that can seem to put it at stake. . . We don’t give perfect stages because we are only here to have the blast of our lives. My point is that, it’s human to make mistakes but that shouldn’t stop you from going forward,” he lectured in the most Taehyun-ish style ever. He had always been the voice of reason, as far as you remembered. “I mean, they usually make mistakes,” he pointed at his members, “not I.” Involuntarily, a giggle left your throat as the four other boys scoffed and wailed disapprovingly.

After five long minutes of debating your inner self and considering all the pros and cons to their proposition of being the substitute of Kai for the festival, you decided to simply say fuck it and gave in. “I’ll do it—” Your sentence was cut short by the band members’ relieved sighs and exclamations. (You were persuaded that the one who cried out for his mum was the grey haired dude.) “—but on one condition!” The boys exchanged confused glances with each other and some of them obviously gulped, fearing that you might want from them something that they could hardly afford. “What is it?” asked Soobin but more boldly than before. “Well, don’t ask me to put on some winged eyeliner, smoky makeup, a leather jacket and Doc Martens or I’m going to turn into the Hulk, crack my fucking shirt open and step on your necks; then run back home to wear a comfy pair of PJ’s!” The oldest of them all replied with a strangled chortle, “Don’t worry about that. As the person in charge of outfits here, I’ve made sure our Lumberzacks theme will be on point.”

“That’s even worse, goodness,” you sighed, “I quit.”

“I’m Yeonjun, by the way,” he introduced himself, coming forward to shake your hand, “Senior year, previous ace of the basketball team and top student. I’m pretty sure you know me already though.” You winced. You didn’t. “Not really but you have a nicer name than I would have thought. I had mentally named you Grandpa, because of your grey hair, you know?” you patted Yeonjun on the shoulder, “No offence though, I love the colouring. Besides, as our dear friend Kang Taehyun, right here, would say; there’s no shame in growing old—” His aura turned from charming kitty to growling dog in a matter of seconds. “If you really sing like a dying whale out there, you’ll be a depilated bitch after the performance.”

“Oh yes, snatch my wig bud.”

iii.

Two hours before the opening of the embellished hall, you were sitting on the cold parquet, amidst the mess of cables and under the colourful projector lights, eating a pizza with Beomgyu and Kai. Newspapers were glued to the windows and the curtains were closed, with only a few glow-in-the-dark stickers in form of spaceships, planets and other celestial bodies glimmering dimly in the atrociously dark hall. The decor was breathtaking; there were painted balls of all sizes hanging at the edge of the stage and ovnis and rocks made of papier mâché surrounded the musical instruments and a marmalade orange and yellowish tie-and-dye bedsheet was hung behind them, portraying a sunset or what the boys believed to be in some way, the atmosphere on planet Mars. Having arduously practised with them and with the generous assistance that Kai brought to you, despite his little piques and the other things he does, rubbing you the wrong way, you felt like you were ready to give an otherworldly show.

Yeonjun approached the three of you, with a hanger, a black sweater dangling from it and the name of their band, TXT, written somewhere on it. He stole the last part of the pizza before handing you the piece of clothing (more like throwing it in your direction.) You heaved out a sigh of relief. It was not like you actually believed he would pull out a pink checkered shirt and an axe for you but for your defence, he sounded strangely convincing when he brought up the Lumberzacks concept, the previous day. “You can keep it,” he said, while taking a seat in your circle, “Mm, this pizza is so good! I’m seriously starving right now.” Kai reached out for a can of Sprite but after a few failed attempts of plucking the tab in order to open it, you had to do it for him. That was when, out of the blue, it hit you. “Hey Kai,” you made direct eye contact with him, “you don’t need your arms to sing, do you?” The boy choked, soda threatening to precipitate down his nostrils as you disgustedly passed a tissue paper to him. “I— I don’t but. . .” he gulped, “you’re not thinking of. . .”

“Yup. I’m definitely thinking of getting you a sweater, a microphone and a damn chair,” you stated, to which he retorted: “Look at how aesthetically appealing the stage is, you don’t wanna drag a chair in the middle and have me in my plastered arm sing in front of the whole school—” You tutted, interrupting him, totally unwilling to hear him whine lamer excuses. “Fuck the aesthetic Ning,” you claimed, “I’m dragging your ass onto that stage whether you like it or not.” He was bound to surrender when Beomgyu added, his cheeks filled with food, “Datsh right bruh shtahp bein ah pushy! (That’s right bro, stop being a pussy!)”

At four, the hall had turned into a hive of activity and three quarter of the whole student body at school was present, their mobile phones as well as a ton of snacks in hand. It was soon filled to the brim, and in the middle of the tumult, you spotted Eunji, strenuously hopping and snaking among the sweaty bodies of the cantankerous students while murmuring “excuse me” nonstop. She was carrying a huge pack of water bottles and you realised that they were for the band but you were internally worried about her visible dark circles and her trembling hands, fearing that she might collapse at any instant. On seeing her approaching the door of the dressing room, you stepped forward so as to receive her. All of a sudden, Eunji tripped over someone’s bag and would have heavily fallen to the ground if Soobin had not bolted at the speed of light to catch her. Some of the water bottles had left the pack and you hastily picked them up from the ground but before entering the changing room again, you slightly peeked at the two oblivious lovebirds. “This festival is not worth you losing sleep over it,” reassured Soobin, grabbing the girl by the shoulder while leading her to a free place (where he had intentionally placed his belongings before) in the front row, “you’ve done a great job and it’s thanks to you if today’s event is a success. Sorry again for being such a dick but if it’s not too much to ask, would you like to stay. . .?” A sparse blush highlighted the tall boy’s porcelain cheeks and a smile made its apparition on his brightened face when Eunji accepted his proposal.

“See you later, then.” He awkwardly waved at her.

“Sure. Good luck Soobin!”

The enthusiasm in the hall was electric. The cheers were deafening and the flashes of the camera would have blinded you if you did not focus on fixing the keys of the keyboard instead of staring at the crowd, in the obscurity, dancing and a particular little group of them screaming along the lyrics. You exchanged complicit, overjoyed glances and smiles with the other members of the band. Soobin’s singing lines, as you had guessed, were mostly dedicated to the vice student council, you concluded as you caught him several times, glancing in her direction. When Beomgyu’s solo part came, the projector lights all focused on him and he went hardcore, passionately plucking on the strings of his beloved guitar, his neck veins popping and sweat dripping down his cheeks. For the split of a second, you felt your own heart skip a beat. Goodness, you soared, he indeed is a ladies’ man. What was at first a performance that you dreaded with everything you had, prolonged with an unexpected encore and eventually ended up metamorphosing into a free-styling concert. At that very moment, you realised that your euphoric self was for the first time in so long, in seventh heaven.

💌 MASTERLIST

[faetheralrecs]

Isn’t Life Strange? || Chapter IV

Hey everyone! I hope you all are alright! I just want to warn you guys, I think once I publish the 5th or 6th chapter I’m going to go on hiatus for an unknown time span because by the time I upload those chapters I’ll have to concentrate on my second term finals so I won’t be able to write anything! But I promise I’ll come back once I’m free to finish this fanfiction!

Hope you’ll enjoy this chapter, lots of love, Feasthy~

Genre: Mature (strong language, mentions of drugs use, suicide, death) but still a bit of fluff in the future.

Members: Yoongi x Reader

Word count: 3790

Summary: You wake up in class after a far too realistic dream and discover you can now rewind time.

Your name falling from the mint haired guy’s lips unlocked something in your memory. You weren’t sure if you were right, but only one name seemed matched with this guy’s behavior and presence. “Yoongi ?”

Behind you, Namjoon who had heard Yoongi’s hoarse voice, turned around and stomped his way toward the old rusty pick ‘up of your former friend to end their previous argument. It would have probably ended in blood and sweat between them if Hoseok hadn’t jump on the back of the furious boy and distracted him long enough for you to enter Yoongi’s car after hearing a rushed “Jump in !”

You and Yoongi had been driving for at least ten minutes now, and the awkward silence between you two was suffocating. You plucked up some courage to talk and hopefully, end this awful silence and tension.

“Man, Kim Namjoon is messed up. And dangerous... This day never ends...” You said with a sigh.

Yoongi quickly answered with one of his infamous sarcastic sentence, impersonating your voice an octave higher "Oh, and thanks Yoongi!" he made a ‘tsk’ sound of exasperation and carried on “After 5 years you're still Y/F/N” he seemed annoyed but still had a small smirk tugging on his lips.

While Yoongi was comfortably installed in his seat, the wheel held tight in his right hand and his head resting in the palm of his left hand, his elbow set against the closed window of the car’s door, you on the contrary, didn’t know how to behave. You to the contrary, were squirming in your seat trying to find a less tensed position. Your attempted was proved to be a fail with what Yoongi told you next.

“Hey, don't give me the guilty face, at least pretend you're glad to see me.” “I am seriously glad to see you.” You marked a pose, thinking about what you should say next “Oh, and thanks Yoongi, it makes perfect sense I'd see you today.” “Yes, it's been that kind of day. So, what that freak wants with you?” “Hopefully nothing, after today. So, how do you know Namjoon?”

Yoongi looked at you and licked his bottom lip before answering

“He's just another Arcadia asshole... Your friend really took a beatdown for you.” “Hoseok? Yeah, I owe him big time.” “You're not the only one in debt, and you’re already causing trouble.” “I thought it would be quiet here, feels so weird to be back.” “So I guess Seoul sucked hard?” He said, trying hard to hide his mocking smirk. “I guess... It was cool but... I felt kind of lonely, out of my league.” You answered truthfully “I would think you'd fit right in with the art school hipsters.”

You replied with a small “Right” and this time, a comfortable silence set in for a few minutes. You looked by the window and observed the life happening outside of the truck.

“At least, you're still a smartass.” Yoongi chuckled

“That's why I'm here.” You replied with a joyful voice and a brilliant smile, but Yoongi didn’t seemed too pleased by your answer. Alas, you didn’t notice this detail.

“Please girl, you came back for Busan Art College” your friend replied, a frown adorning his lips. You replied honestly to Yoongi’s statement, thinking he was honestly happy for you.

“Of course! It's one of the best photography programs in the country. And my favorite teacher, Kim Seokjin.” You answered in a dream-like state “So you came back to Busan for a teacher huh... Not your best friend.” Yoongi was getting angry, the same “bathroom argument” kind of angry, the tone of his voice rising significantly. “Don't you think I'm happy to see you?” You accused “No, you were happy to wait five years without a call, or even a text.” He replied, this time accusing you.

You apologized sincerely, explaining to your former friend your knowledge of the hard time he had to go through while you two were apart, but he didn’t care. He more you tried to explain your behavior the more his voice was rising.

“How do you know?! You weren't even here!” He looked right in your eyes with a hard stare, ignoring the road from a few seconds to point out his argument, his grip on the steering wheel was so hard that his nails were turning white, anger was radiating from his whole body. Even if he was right, you didn’t want to admit it and tried to defense yourself from his accusation, and you too, were getting pissed off by this conversation.

“I didn't order my parents to move specifically to fuck you over, Yoongi!” "You've been at B.A.C for almost a month without letting me know, 'Nuff said...”

You were honestly slack-jawed. Yoongi had obviously won this argument and the previous comfortable atmosphere was gone as fast as it had set. You were again squirming in your sit, a heavy silence setting in the truck. You were trying to find the right words to appease your angry friend.

“I just wanted to settle in first and not be such a shy cliché geek. I totally would have contacted you...” You shyly replied, not sure of your words.

Yoongi ignored you but his grip on the wheel loosened and his breathing seemed less ragged, meaning he was starting to calm down. You decided to give him time to completely cool down and turned your attention to your bag which was resting next to your feet on the truck floor. You opened your bag to reveal its content and took your camera in your hands, checking the device and coming to the sad realization that something wasn’t normal.

“Broken. Oh man, are you cereal?” “Wow haven't heard that one in a while...” He said with a small genuine smile and a fond look, but his eyes were still staring at the road. “Not everything changes, except my camera has officially taken a shit.” You rolled your eyes, annoyed by the situation. “My step-douche has a boatload of tools, maybe you can fix it in my place.” “I need very specific tiny tools.” You replied, your eyebrows scrunching in defeat but still happy that Yoongi tried to help you. “Nerd alert! My stepdad has a fully stock garage. And he actually is a tiny tool.” He said with a smirk and a small chuckle. “Oh god Yoongi...”

You both laughed at your friend previous statement, the atmosphere becoming light again.

“Welcome home, Y/N.” Yoongi said, this time looking in your direction and smiling fondly. He sped up the car and you both made your made toward his home.

You arrived approximatively 10 minutes later. The sun was starting his descent from the midday sky, a small fresh breeze making goosebumps appear on your skin once you got out of the car. You looked at your friend’s house, all the good and bad memories coming back the instant you looked at the house walls. The top of the house paint was a fresh and clean white while the bottom was a dirty old white paint. You remembered when Yoongi’s father had said he wanted to refurbish the house. It seems like he didn’t have time to finish his project in the end… But even in this state, the house was still standing in all its glory, the light walls contrasting with the brown bricks and the black roof tiles. You followed Yoongi inside, walking past the small front garden and entering the house from the front door made from dark oak wood, a small white window pane adorning the large door. Once you were inside, you directly went upstairs with Yoongi, going straight to his bedroom.   Opposite from the house exterior that looked the same, your friend’s room had changed a lot. The ivory white walls still remained, but they were covered by many posters from various rock and rap bands. There were some writings on the walls and led fairy lights were dangling from the ceiling and longing the walls, bringing out some posters more than the others, and giving a cozy atmosphere to the room. The bed was standing in the middle of the furthest wall of the room, the worn-out blue plaid bedsheets were messily thrown on the bed, various objects set on it. The desk was still in its old place, set in a recess in front of the window. The desk was a mess, his computer and his piano keyboard were covered by several magazines and papers, making it hard to distinguish the devices. On right wall of the room was a bookshelf filled with CD and a hi-fi was resting on it. Next to this bookshelf was a wood box on which was an old retro TV.

“My room looks a bit different than the last time you saw it.” Yoongi said, going lazily straight to his bed. “It's cool, at least we can chill out.” You replied hesitantly, looking at his room. “This isn't exactly my ‘chill out zone’ ... My step-führer makes sure of that. Come in, and close the door.”

You wandered in his room and continued to check out the place, inspecting every difference. This room represented Yoongi’s new personality so well. While you were exploring, Yoongi asked you to put on some music while he started smoking, taking the astray from somewhere between the messy covers. You made your way toward the hi-fi and turned it on, looking for a CD to put on in the device. You turned your head to Yoongi to ask him which CD you should put on, but a box poking from under his bed caught your attention and you made your way toward the intriguing object. You tugged the metal box from under the bed and opened it, ironically, there was a CD in it, so you took it, but it wasn’t the only thing in there. There was also a folded picture of a guy. You unfold the piece of paper and stared at it. You the glassy paper was Yoongi with his messy light mint hair and on his left was standing a young male, your friend’s arm resting upon the stranger’s shoulder. The picture was suddenly angrily pulled out from your hands by Yoongi.

“Hey give me that.” “Sorry… I wasn’t trying to be nosey. Obviously he was a good friend.” You said sincerely. “That's putting it mildly.” He replied with a sarcastic chuckle. He wasn’t looking at you while speaking. To be honest he wasn’t looking at anything in particular, his eyes were staring into space. Seeing him like this broke your heart and it could only mean that speaking about this was painful for him.

You wanted to learn more about Yoongi’s life while your two were apart, and you wanted to know more things about this missing boy whose poster are all over your university campus. You wanted to know even more now that you know that both of Yoongi and him knew each other.

“That's Jeon Jungkook right? His ‘missing person’ posters are all over B.A.C…” “Yeah, I put them up...” He said with a sad smile. “He was my angel. After my dad died and you moved, I felt abandoned. Jungkook saved my life.” Yoongi was slowly opening up to you and you were ready to listen to everything he would say, you were feeling guilty enough for abandoning him and never contacting him for five years.

“Man, I had no idea...” “Well you never made much effort to find out. I was 14, we were best friends.” “I never forgot. Even if I was an asshole and didn't keep in touch. But you had Jungkook...” You felt a slight pang in your heart. Admitting that someone else was here to support your best friend while you weren’t but should have been was hard. “He had my back, we were gonna kick the world's ass. That was his plan. Our plan. Get the hell out of Busan and into Daejeon”

“What about your mom? What did she think about all this?” “She couldn't wait to get re-hitched. Step-dick is one reason I wanted to bail.” “I feel the love... Now, when did Jungkook actually disappear?” “6 months ago. He just... Left Busan. Without a word... Without ...me” “What about his parents? Are they looking for him?” “They're in denial. Y/N, I know he's missing.”

You assumed that Yoongi knew more than he wanted to say, you tried to elicit a response out of your friend, which worked. He admitted that before Jungkook left, he had met somebody who had changed his life and then disappeared.

“And you haven't heard anything from him since?” “Like everyone in my life. My dad, you ... And Jungkook. Gone ... Can you put on some music now?” Yoongi ended the conversation and lie down on his bed, his cig between his lips. You got up from his bed, turned on the music and looked at your friend.

“Anyway… You can find tools to fix your camera in the garage...” He told you with melancholy. You felt something was off with him and you needed to make sure if he was fine.

“Yoongi, are you okay?”

“Sure, I'm awesome. I just want to blaze and be alone for a moment...”

You knew this was a lie and he wasn’t really fine, but you decided not to ask further questions and let him have some space. You got out of his room and went downstairs to the ground floor. You walked down the stairs, your hand sliding on the smooth dark wood of the stairs ramp. Once at the bottom of the staircase you walked in the corridor leading to the kitchen and the living room.

I haven't seen this place in years, seems like forever.

You looked around the living room, observing the room and remembering the good old days. Damn ! It's the couch ! We used to pretend it was a pirate ship... The old 80’s fashion couch was now completely worn out and you were disappointed that this reminder of your childhood was in such a poor state Looks like a shipwreck now... You walked past the couch and entered the garage via an adjacent door. You walked in the garage, your footsteps echoing on the cement tiles. The room was dark, the only source of light coming from in between the blinds. The walls were hidden by multiple workbench and cupboards, themselves covered by many tools and papers. The room was a mess, ironically it seemed like Yoongi and his step-dad had at least a common point, they couldn’t keep their personal rooms tidy. They were so many equipment in this room that you were sure you would be able to find the tools you needed. You searched through the various cupboard and made a strange discover. In one of the cupboard was a small tv showing various rooms of the house, even the exterior. Is Yoongi’s stepdad using CCTV in his own house ? You were seriously beginning to think that Yoongi maybe wasn’t exaggerating when he said that his stepdad was a freak. You closed the cupboard and you looked around and above various boxes. You found a box of screwdrivers above a cardboard box with the inscriptions “Yoonho’s stuff” on it, but the screwdrivers were out of your reach, your arms being too short to get them.

You decided to turn on the old washing machine on which the box was set, and the box of screwdrivers fell from its former place to under a furniture.

That was very smart, dumbass. No can reach. You looked around and saw a rectangular piece of cardboard, you rewound time before the box of screwdrivers fell from its original place and set the cardboard under the furniture, at the spot were the box is supposed to fell. You repeated your previous actions and, as expected, the box of screwdrivers fell onto the piece of cardboard. You pull on the small brown material and took the precisions screwdrivers, going back to Yoongi’s room.

You entered the room without knocking and Yoongi looked at you from his bed with questioning eyes.

“You found the tools ? Sweet. You can sit at my desk and fix you camera.”

You don’t know how much time passed while you were trying to repair your camera, but the sky was starting to get a pinkish color, indicating that the day was slowly coming to an end. You were feeling a slight breeze from the fan on Yoongi’s desk and you could hear the shuffle of papers every time the fan blew air in the direction of volatile pieces of paper, lying carelessly on your friend’s desk. You had tried to make yourself some space on the hard surface of the wood desk, between the computer, a fan and piles of notes and songs lyrics. In addition to your friend’s mess, you had put your own stuff on the desk, making it look even more messy.

After a lot of endless fails, you gave up, your camera was definitely unrepairable. Yoongi got up from his bed and put the ashtray next to his computer on the desk.  

“So?” “I can't fix this thing.” You said defeated.

Your stuff on Yoongi’s desk caught his attention

“Are these your new photos?” he asked. “Yeah ... I just took them today.”

Your mint haired friend looked through your various pictures but one of them caught his attention more than the others. This picture was no other than the one of the butterfly you took in the girl’s bathroom, before Yoongi and Namjoon’s argument.

“Wait... I've seen this before. No way! When did you take this? YOU took this photo, you brat! In the bathroom today...  You set off the alarm! That's why Namjoon raged after you... It totally makes sense. You save my life... Now, tell me the truth Y/N” Yoongi was dead serious and he was waiting an honest answer from you. You were kind of scared of the reaction he could have after hearing you indeed took this photo, but you felt like you couldn’t lie.

“I was there ... hiding in the corner.” “Damn, you're a ninja.” He said with an honest smile. “A ninja would have cut Namjoon's head off, I just took a butterfly photo...” “That is so badass.” “Oh yeah, I almost wet myself when I saw the gun…” You replied “So, did you recognize me?” Yoongi asked, with a playful look in his eyes. “Not at all. Your style is so different...”

Though his previous playful stare quickly disappeared with the following statement.

“So you must have overheard our conversation...” “Just a bit...” You lied. “There is no way you didn't hear every single vowel.” Your friend replied annoyingly. You thought that it would be better if you replied honestly this time, so you told him you had only heard something about money and drugs, nothing more.

“Now for the big question, did you tell anybody?” “Absolutely, Kim Namjoon had a fucking gun on you!” “Gutless prick ... that was scray. Who did you tell ?” “The principal... but he didn’t seem to believe me.”

“The Principal? Are you still twelve? That drunk jackass only cares about cash for B.A.C... Don't trust him.” Yoongi frowned. “I didn't mention you at all. Swear.” “Thank God... I'll tell you more someday, and I seriously owe you, Y/N.”

Yoongi abandoned your side and made his way to his shelves, the one full of CDs. He searched for few seconds before he found what he was looking for and hid the object behind his back. He approached you slowly, you got up from your seat, trying to see what your friend was hiding behind his back, but failed.

“I, hum, know it was your birthday last month...” He took a deep breath before continuing.

“This was my real father's camera, I want you to have it.” “That's so cool you remembered my birthday! But I can't take this.” You were genuinely happy that he remembered your birthday. It meant a lot to you. Even after five after ignoring his existence, he still thought of you and details about your life. That’s how sweet Yoongi truly is behind his tough personality. Though you couldn’t accept his gift. You know how much his father meant to him, you just couldn’t take something that was a fragment of his father existence.

“Of course you can, my dad would be pissed if I never used it. And I know it will be used awesomely.” Yoongi put the polaroid camera in your hands and made his way toward his desk where your pictures were laying, and took the butterfly picture you took this morning.

“And I'll snag this picture as a symbol of our reunion. Cool?” “Yes, of course it's cool! Thank you... This camera is so sweet.” “Now that we got the mushy shit out of the way, I feel like stage diving!”

Yoongi turned the music all the way up and started dancing, jumping on his bed. It’s crazy how he could go from a lazy, sleepy and calm person from a hyper, silly and carefree person.

“You're crazy” you said while giggling.

“Yep yep, I'm fucking insane in the brain! Let's dance, shake that boney white ass!

Or take my picture with your new camera !” He was completely enjoying this moment, feeling the music vibrating in his body. You started to dance along with him to the rhythm of the music and you both started to laugh like good old friends. Yoongi hopped on his bed and lied on it, returning to smoking his cigarette. You were both enjoying this moment before a dreadful voice echoed from the ground floor.

“Yoongi, are you up there?”

Yoongi’s eyes widened and he sit up on his bed quickly, put his ashtray and cig on his desk by the window and gesture for you to turn of the music. The threatening tone of the voice was rising and heavy footsteps were climbing up the stairs.

“I'm coming up, we need to talk!”

“You need to hide, now, my stepdad will kill me if he finds you here!”

Yoongi lunched for the door handle and you panicky looked around the room to find a hiding spot, Yoongi urging you multiple times to hide. You could hear the awful voice of your friend’s stepfather right outside the door, making your stress grow even more because of the situation you were currently in. His stepdad threatened Yoongi a last time, banging violently on the door, your friend having a hard time keeping the door close

“Yoongi, what's going on? Open this door!”

[holisticpanda]

she kills with her guitar

Title: she kills with her guitar 

Summary: She plays the guitar as though she was born with it in her hands—like it was a part of her own body.

Kurlish Week Day 2: AU

Notes: The first time I saw Bart I thought ‘huh, she vaguely reminds of Tash Sultana.’ So if you want to look up some of her vids to get an idea of Bart’s appearance and musical style, That’s sort of who I’m challenging here.

A surprising amount of people have absolutely no idea how hacking works. Most just picture a guy sitting in the dark in front of multiple screens, typing furiously for hours at a loud, mechanical keyboard while techno music blasts in the background.

And they’re not completely wrong. He is currently listening to disco, techno’s long dead ancestor, but that’s where the similarities end. What usually happens is that he types a few commands into the command line to run a program that either he or one of his fellow hacker buddies wrote and spends the next few hours fucking off while the application does its work. If it weren’t for the movies making hacking look like something only a genius could do, he’d for sure be out of a job.

A job he doesn’t particularly like if he’s being honest. Besides the moral greyness of what he does, jobs that pay well don’t come along all that often. He can usually scrape together just enough in a month to eat, pay the rent on his shoebox of an apartment, and also indulge in his more extravagant hobbies—if visiting the local strip clubs can be considered a hobby, anyway. He doesn’t lead a particularly happy or exciting life, but at least it’s a relatively free one.

He’s currently running a brute force hack into some rich girl named Lydia Spring’s Facebook account—her dad was convinced she was dating older men—when the doors to the Waffle House he’s relaxing in slam open, loud enough to scare the shit out of him even through his earpods. A woman who looks to be a little older than him, somewhere in her mid to late twenties if he had to guess, stomps into the diner.

She’s wearing a large black t-shirt that looks two sizes too big for her and a pair of rippled, baggy black pants stuffed into scuffed, oversized boots. Her wild brown hair is tamed only by a backwards blue cap while her wrists are adorned with a few beaded and woven bracelets. A variety of tattoos litter the rest of her arms that he can see, creeping up from her forearms to her biceps, and he spots the glint of a stud in her nose in the bright lighting. In short, combined with the wild expression in her piercing blue eyes, she looks like a completely deranged hippie.

Her gaze flickers about the restaurant before eventually settling on him, her face morphing from annoyance into furious rage, and she stomps her way over to his table to grab him by the front of his shirt.

“Dirk Gently, you are a dead man!”

It takes him a minute to find his voice because it isn’t everyday that a random hippie chick mistakes him for someone else and tries to kick his ass, but he manages to squeak out a reply. “Who’s...who’s Dirk Gently?”

She pauses, blinks, and looks around the restaurant again in confusion. Besides an older couple sitting at the bar and the wait staff, he’s currently the only one in the diner. Her eyes shift back to his, eyebrows furrowing. “...You’re not Dirk Gently?”

“No!” He wrenches himself from her surprisingly strong grip to put as much distance between them as possible—which isn’t much since she’s blocking his way out of the diner and his booth only goes back so far.

“What, are you kidding me right now? Why didn’t you just say ‘I’m not Dirk Gently’?!”

He can only stare back at her, incredulous. “Because I don’t know who that is!”

Frowning, she huffs and plops down in the booth across from him, looking less like a crazy, murderous flower child and more like a little girl who’d just been told she couldn’t ever eat ice cream again. Judging by the way she’s slumped down in her seat, whatever’s bothering her has her pretty bummed.

Once he’s (reasonably) sure that she’s probably not going to kill him, he considers hearing her out to see if there’s something he can do to help. Plus there’s also the fact that the faster he can fix her problem the faster he can get her to go away. He has a rich girl’s account to sift through for evidence of possible child abuse, after all. “So...why are you looking for this Dirk Gently guy? You know, beyond wanting to kill him.”

The woman scoffs but grudgingly leans forward to rest her forearms on the table, swiping a few of his fries to stuff down her throat in the process. “My last drummer quit on me so I went to that Craigslist place to find a new one. This Dirk Gently guy on there said he’d help me out, but every time we’re supposed to meet up and practice, he bails on me!”

He nods gravely, doing his best to appear interested. “I’m guessing he was supposed to meet you here?”

“Yeah, and of course the dickhead didn’t show. Again. It was the last chance we had to practice, but now I’m gonna have to cancel my gig tonight. This all fucking blows.”

After hearing her reasons for accosting him he finds that he actually feels a little bad for her. He knows firsthand what it’s like to be constantly let down when you needed help the most, and it’s no wonder she was steaming mad when she came in. Maybe she’s not so crazy after all.

He taps his fingers on his keyboard, trying to figure out a possible solution to her problem (maybe she should try Reddit?) when she snaps her head up to stare wide eyed at him. “Can you make songs on that thing?” she asks, pointing to his laptop.

He glances down at it, confused. “I mean, I guess in theory? I do have a program on here that you can make music on. It simulates the sound of nearly every musical instrument ever invented, and—”

“Blah, blah, blah, whatever. Can you make that thing sound like drums ?”

“Um, yeah?”

A sudden grin breaks out on her face. Before he can react she jumps up and drags him to his feet with a strength belying her small stature. “You’re my new drummer. C’mon, let’s go.”

She ignores his protests and pulls him from the restaurant to a yellow, beat up old car that looks like it used to be a taxi cab in another life. All he can do is hug his laptop to his chest as she books it down the street until they get to a run down storage unit in the middle of nowhere. She then unlocks and pulls up one of the garage-like doors to reveal her studio space. It looks like she also lives there if the futon, empty pizza boxes, and cases of water are anything to go by.

“Sit there, where I can see you,” she says, pointing at the futon covered in snack wrappers while she goes back to her car to get something. He clears a space on it to sit, and when she comes back, she has a guitar case slung over her shoulder. She then plops down on the empty seat next to him.

After spending half an hour turning his computer keyboard into an improvised beat machine under her impatient gaze, they spend the next two and a half going over some of her songs. Their practice session mostly consists of her terrorizing him for missing cues or having a complete lack of rhythm, and by the end, it feels like they haven’t gotten anywhere. He doesn’t even have the slightest idea what type of music she plays let alone how any of her songs go.

Yeah, they’re for sure going to bomb.

He tries to say as much but the woman rushes him back into her car so that they’re headed to where he assumes her gig is. She turns to look at him, taking her eyes off the road in front of her for an alarmingly long time.

“It’s really good you decided to help me.”

“I didn’t decide anything . You said you’d smash my laptop if I didn’t help you.”

“Well, you decided it was better to help me than lose your laptop. It was nice.”

He can only gape back at her incredulously. He takes it back. She’s insane. She’s literally insane.

It doesn’t take much longer for them to pull into a surprisingly full lot next to a derelict looking dive bar. “We’re here,” she says, shutting off the dangerously rattling car. She suddenly reaches across his body—causing him to reflexively flinch—and opens his door for him. ”Get out.”

He scrambles out of the passenger side while she takes her time pulling her gear out of the trunk, and it’s at that moment that he strongly considers making a run for it. She can’t see him with the trunk open, and he could be a full block away before she even notices that he’s gone.

But then he remembers the dozens of times he’d been let down in life; by friends, by family—hell, by the fucking world. He can’t do that to her, even if she hadbasically kidnapped him and forced him to join her band. It was only a few more hours, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do that night.

They walk through the front doors of the rundown venue and it’s pretty much exactly what he expects. It’s dark, the air is thick with cigarette smoke, and most of the clientele already looks half drunk. He’s not exactly uncomfortable in the bar since he’d spent more than his fair share of time in places just like these ever since he’d moved out of his parent’s house at seventeen, but it’s not a place that he particularly likes to hang out in if he can help it.

She leads them over to the back corner of the building where a small stage has been built. An older woman is busy setting up the equipment and she looks up as they approach. “You two the Holistic Assassins?”

The hippie chick pulls her guitar off of her shoulder and sets it down on one of the stools resting against the wall. “That’s us.”

The older woman nods and stands, stretching out her back as she finishes setting up the last amp. “I’m Barb, the owner here. You go on in five.”

“What’s a...holistic assassin?” he asks as the owner disappears into the darkness of the bar.

After plugging her guitar into one of the amps, she turns to look at him with a pleased grin. "’Holistic’ is the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. I don't do your whole deal with structure, or finding inspiration, or writing drafts. I just...I play whatever I feel like playing all day, and if it works, then it becomes a new song.

Her eyes are nearly shining as she explains it to him, though for his part all he can do is stare dumbfounded back at her. “The connection between cause and effect is much more, you know, subtle than you would otherwise think. I mean...you wouldn't believe it. Things, they double up. They parallel . Everything is chaos, but it’s, like, synchronized? It's like, there's always something ready to mirror itself. Life endlessly turning inward.”

Yup. Crazy. “Don’t get me wrong, but it seemed like you were just playing a bunch of random notes when we were practicing.”

“I never played a bad song,” she says, somewhat defensively. She picks up her guitar and slings the strap over her shoulder. “Come on, time to play.”

He follows her onto the stage and plugs his laptop into the other amp—then tries to find the darkest shadow to hide in. They were going to bomb spectacularly, and the less people who saw him, the better.

“I’m Bart Curlish, and we’re the Holistic Assassins,” she grumbles into her mic, sounding like she’d rather be anywhere else. Which was odd since this was her gig.

He then belatedly realizes that it’s the first time he’s heard her name. What the hell kind of a name is Bart for a girl? She looks back at him and nods, giving him his cue to start, so taking a deep breath, he begins to tap out the first rhythm she’d shown him a couple of hours before on his keyboard. She bobs her head with the beat for a few seconds, eyes closed, and then begins to play. He feels his jaw drop when the smoothest sound he’d ever heard comes from the amp next to him, and then he feels his jaw scrape the ground when she begins to sing.

She’s a completely different person. Her voice is husky and gravely, just like her speaking voice, and it’s surprisingly more pleasant than he expected it to be. And it’s still only secondary to how well she plays the guitar. She plays as though she was born with it in her hands—like it was a part of her own body.

Thankfully it’s easy enough for him to keep up with her. Her music is slower than he expects, and more mellow. If he had to compare it to anything it sounds sort of like a mix of folk and reggae, but even that’s inaccurate—it’s completely and totally hers.

He makes a couple of mistakes during her short forty-five minute set, but overall, he thinks he did a pretty good job for his first time. Sure, he’s absolutely exhausted and is sweating buckets from being under the hot lights of the stage, but he’d survived.

“We’ve been the Holistic Assassins. Thanks,” she all but spits at the audience. Unsurprisingly she’d reverted back into her old grumpy self once her fingers left her guitar.

The crowd isn’t that big—only around fifty or so people—but everyone’s on their feet and clapping, even the tough looking bikers who seemed more likely to eat them than cheer her on. A few people are even bold enough to approach her as she leaves the stage but she only gives them the barest amount of attention, nodding courteously as they compliment her and shrugging off any questions they have. Eventually they all give up on getting anything more than a couple of words out of her and the owner of the bar approaches them with an excited smile.

“I had my doubts about you when you first asked if you could play here, but you know what? You put on a hell of a show.” She hands Bart a stack of dirty bills. “I know it ain’t much, but come back soon and I’ll double it.”

Bart takes the money with a grunt, gives him half, and grabs him by his arm, pulling him towards the door leading to the parking lot. It’s not until they make it back outside to her car that she relaxes and gives him a small, meek smile. “You did good.”

A little surprised by the praise—she didn’t seem the type to dish it out all that often—he shakes his head. “It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be, and you’re really good. Amazing, actually.”

They lean silently against the hood of her car together for a few minutes, both still coming down from the high of performing live. He’s just about to make his exit when Bart suddenly stands and turns to look at him.

“So...you did the thing up there on stage, And now that you did it maybe you’re gonna leave, and...You can do whatever you want, you know, because I forced you to help me, and...and like, it must’ve been really bad for you, you know I didn’t think about your feelings and all that, and…

She takes a deep breath and lets it out again, looking distinctly uncomfortable with everything she was saying to him. It was obvious this wasn’t something she was used to. “I don’t want you to go. I think.” Her eyes are misty as she speaks, surprising him since they’ve only known each other for at most six hours and yet she already seems to care so much for him. It pains him to admit it, but he can’t remember the last time anyone had been so sad to see him go.

He considers her request, and after a little thought, realizes that he was truly, genuinely happy up there making music on stage with her. He had been doing nothing everyday of his life and thinking it was just that—nothing. It was nothing. Even if he’s just providing a backing beat for her amazing songs, he’s found some semblance of a purpose and hell, maybe a little happiness too.

“Hey,” he says, nudging her to get her attention. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A wide grin breaks out on her face, and laughing with unconcealed relief, she throws her arms around his neck. She’s still sweaty from their show but so is he, so rather than try to squirm away from her touch like he usually would with any other person, he awkwardly returns it. She smells like musk, dirt, and sweat, and though the smell isn’t exactly pleasant, it isn’t altogether unpleasant either.

Still smiling, Bart pops the trunk to put her guitar inside. “Our next gig’s tomorrow night. Come on, we gotta practice.”

He slides into the passenger seat with his laptop and leans his head out of the window to talk to her. “You ever think about selling some merch? Maybe putting out a CD or at least uploading your music to BandCamp for people to download? I’m pretty good with a camera, so I could help you get your face out there a little more.” He’s vaguely aware that he’s being a little overeager, but he’s inspired by her. He believes in her. She has something special, and with his help, maybe she could become one of the biggest indie artists of all time. “I’ll bet I can sync my computer up to the stage lights. You know, add a little pizzazz to the show.”

She slams the trunk closed and laughs as she slides into the driver’s seat. “Pizzazz? Ken, you’re a riot.”

He rolls his eyes and shrugs. Well, whatever. He’d get her to see the appeal of his ideas eventually. He’s about to suggest they get a bite to eat before they spend the next who knows how long practicing when something she’d said stops him cold.

“...Wait, how do you know my name?”

[trexrambling]

Falls Apart

This was written for @hannahindie and @pinknerdpanda‘s follower milestone challenge! Congrats to both of you lovely ladies :) You two are amazing authors and people - blessed to have you both in my life! 

I chose the song Sincerely Yours by Hit the Lights. I didn’t go with the feel of the song as much as I went with the lyrics, which I bolded throughout the fic. I’m terrible at song challenges - breakin’ all the rules over here. Forgive me.

Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean, Castiel

Warnings: Mild language. Angst. So much angst. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.

Word Count (including lyrics): 1,764

A/N: Thanks to @wheresthekillswitch for being my letter checker and confirming me in my monsterness. Love you, sole sister of mine ;)

Dean ran his hands through his hair to get rid of as much excess blood as he could before climbing into the driver’s seat and closing the Impala’s door. Sam fell into the passenger seat with a small groan, doing his best to keep as much pressure as he could on the cut that ran along his left side. They were both covered in blood, guts, and dirt. A plethora of cuts, bruises, and scrapes adorned every few inches of their skin.

“I can honestly say that I did not see that one coming,” Dean stated, wincing at the effort it took to even turn the keys in the ignition, “I feel like I’ve been run through a blender set to puree.”

Sam grunted his agreement as he rummaged through the glove box, finally withdrawing his cell phone. He checked the few notifications on the screen. “Hey, Y/N called us.” He clicked the voicemail notification and held his phone to his ear.

“I’m really wishing I was the one with the flu right now,” Dean mumbled. Sam waved a hand to shush him as the message started to play.

Sam! Damn, I was hoping you’d have your phone on you. I’ve been looking some more into the case you guys are on. I don’t think it’s a werewolf. I’m pretty sure you might be looking at a Qarin. Remember that case back in February? Yeah. Call me back if you get this. I hope you guys are ok. Miss you both.

“Well?” Dean asked as Sam set his phone back down.

“She figured it out before we did,” Sam said with a small smile, “I really wish she would have been here.”

“You and me both,” Dean grumbled.

Sam picked up Dean’s phone from the dash and handed it to him, “Looks like she called you, too.”

Just then, the phone screen lit up as it vibrated to signal an incoming call. Dean checked the caller ID, then showed it to Sam, who shrugged. Dean answered the call and held it to his ear, “Hello?”

“Hi. This is Marcy calling from Memorial Hospital hospital in Seward, Nebraska. Is this Dean Winchester?”

“Yes,” Dean managed to say. His blood started to run cold.

“Mr. Winchester, you’re listed as Y/N Y/LN’s emergency contact based on the personal records we were able to pull up. We’re calling to inform you that she’s been in an accident and was brought here for treatment.”

“An…an accident? What do you mean, an accident?” his tone was harsher than he’d intended it to be, but the panic rising in his gut wasn’t leaving any room for a calm response. Sam was looking at him in a way that prompted Dean to put the phone on speaker.

“There was a collision on I-80 headed towards Lincoln. Ms. Y/LN was involved and is currently in intensive care. As her emergency contact, will you be able to come in to give your consent for any medical procedures?”

Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out. Sam glanced up at him before speaking, “Hi. Um, yes. This is Y/N’s…brother. Sam. We can be there.” He scrambled to find some paper and a pen. “Can you tell me the name of the hospital again, please?”

Marcy gave him the information and he thanked her before reaching out to end the call. “Dean. We’ve got to go. Now.”

Dean nodded wordlessly and put the car into drive, his eyes watching the speedometer while the needle steadily climbed as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

Dean practically ran into the hospital, Sam close on his heels. “Where’s Y/N Y/LN’s room?” he asked, his hands gripping the edges of the front counter so hard that his knuckles turned white.

The receptionist clacked her fingers across the keyboard. She read the screen over her glasses and looked up at him, her eyes carrying an emotion that Dean hated instantly. “She’s on the second floor, but only family can –“

“We are her family,” Dean snapped back, immediately making his way to the stairs rather than choosing to wait for an elevator.

But now this broken soul of a boy Falls in pieces with no choice

Dean paced the small waiting room, his head snapping up to the doors whenever a nurse or doctor would walk through and falling again when they weren’t there to deliver information about Y/N. “What’s taking so long?” Dean growled. “I already called Cas. He’s still almost an hour out.”

Sam didn’t respond. He was hunched over in one of the cheap plastic chairs, rubbing an old scar on his hand. He kept hearing Y/N’s words on his voicemail, like a haunting echo in his mind, and the recollection made his composure fall apart – I hope you guys are ok. Miss you both.

At the sound of her voice He falls apart

Dean finally fell into a chair in the corner, his hands going to rub down his face in frustration. He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared down at the screen. Y/N’s voicemail notification still sat there, and with shaky fingers he slowly clicked it and held the phone to his ear. Her voice played over the line, and at the sound of it he took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes.

Hey Dean. I couldn’t get a hold of Sam, so I figured I’d try you. I’m pretty sure you guys are hunting a Qarin, and if that’s the case you’re going to want some back up. I’ve downed some cough syrup I found at the bunker and I’m headed your guy’s way. I might have taken the mustang from the garage… damn if she doesn’t ride as smooth as I always thought she would. Anyway, I’ll be there before midnight. Hopefully you guys aren’t already being side blinded by the thing, but I brought a first aid kit just in case. Oh! I stopped and got those mini pie things we found at that one gas station a few weeks back. We’ll see if I save you one or not. Love you both!

The voicemail ended, and Dean was left clutching his phone tightly in his hands as if it were the only thing tethering him to the ground.

“Cas.”

Dean looked up at Sam’s voice, his eyes immediately going to the trench coated man that had swept into the room.

“Dean. Sam. I came as soon as you called. Where is she?”  

“Somewhere back there,” Dean gestured wildly at the green double doors, “They won’t let us see her.”

Castiel strode with determination for the doors, only to be halted abruptly when they swung open as a short man wearing scrubs and glasses pushed his way through.

“Dean Winchester?”

“That’s me,” Dean said, quickly walking over to the doctor, “Can we see her now? No one’s told us a thing. We’re all family.”

The doctor’s face conveyed the same emotion that the receptionist’s had earlier. “I – I’m so sorry, Mr. Winchester. We did all we could do.”

Everything faded to a blur around him as the doctor continued to talk.

Internal bleeding.

Two hours of surgery.

Blood leaked into the brain.

Nothing we could do.

“Dean! DEAN!”

Sam’s voice brought him back to the room. Dean was clutching the front of the doctor’s shirt, and he looked down to see fear in the short man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Winchester. We did everything we could to save her,” the man spluttered out, his words laced with practiced sincerity.

Sam’s hand gripped Dean’s shoulder, but he shook him off as he released his hold on the doctor. Dean spun away from them both, using his momentum to drive his fist into the wall beside him. The drywall caved in, and he felt a sharp pain shoot from his fingers up to his forearm. He brought his hand back, his knuckles already starting to swell, and met the doctor’s shocked gaze.

“Where is she?” Dean’s voice was hollow. Y/N’s voice resounded in his brain, and the walls he’d built around himself cracked and fell apart – Love you both!

But now this broken soul of a boy Falls in pieces with no choice

Castiel watched from the doorframe as the brother’s stood over Y/N’s still form. Her pale features were still caked in blood, her legs were bent at unnatural angles, and the IV shunt from her surgery was still sticking out of her arm. Tears were freely flowing down Sam’s face as he sank to his knees beside the bed, picking up Y/N’s cold hand in his and holding it to his face. Dean’s eyes were red from his unshed tears, and Castiel watched as one slipped through the wall and trickled slowly down his cheek.  

The pain radiating throughout the room made Castiel’s chest grow tight, and his knees threatened to buckle under the weight of it all. It was suffocating, and he slowly backed the rest of the way out until his back hit the wall behind him. He clutched his phone in his hands as he stared down at the two missed calls and the voicemail notification beneath them. He looked at Y/N’s still body again before bringing the device to his ear.

Cas. H-hey. I really wish you had your wings right now, man. It just…it just hurts, Cas. I didn’t want to call Dean or Sam. Not like this. I’d hoped you would pick up… I’m scared, Cas. This feels like it might be it. That car came out of nowhere. You’ve always criticized my driving… I promise it wasn’t me this time. Dean’s going to be so mad about the mustang… Man, it’s really folded up like an accordion right now. I should have taken my clunker of a truck… …Cas… Tell them I’m sorry. I think I’m going to leave them. They’re going to need someone. Promise me you’ll look out for them. Don’t let Dean do anything stupid. Don’t let Sam disappear… I love them both so much… so much… ...Cas… Thanks for always being there for me. I wish you were here now… I’m just scared… It’s cold, Cas… I think…I think I hear sirens…Maybe….maybe I’ll make it… Cas…

Her voice faded out. Sirens filled the speaker. The line went dead. And Castiel felt himself fall apart.

At the sound of her voice He falls apart He falls apart He falls apart

My Forever Lovelies: @wheresthekillswitch @pinknerdpanda @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @hannahindie @ruprecht0420 @jotink78 @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @super-not-naturall @aiaranradnay @percywinchester27 @rosie-winchester @nanie5 @feelmyroarrrr @mogaruke @escabell @mrswhozeewhatsis @katymacsupernatural @deanssweetheart23

[bffhreprise]

Entry 307

 “Is this everyone?” I questioned, looking around at the people in the large ballroom.  After James helped me move my things here, he introduced me to some of his employees… er… friends, eventually ending up here.  The room was relatively dark, mostly lit by the enormous “mirrors” that acted as monitors for those playing Ancient Tribes of Earth.

 “You really should at least read through the website before you start making assumptions.” replied James reproachfully.  “But no, there are several more.”  He opened his mouth as if to say something else when a young girl came bounding into the room.

 “James!  James!” she exclaimed.  “Jemal lifted me with his powers!”

 “Really?  Did you feel like you were flying?” he asked, smiling at her.

 “No.  The zoomies are way better for flying.” she insisted as if relating something that should be perfectly obvious to everyone.  “It was really cool though!  His arms were full, and I was trying to sneak out, and he just lifted me!”

 “Just don’t let me catch you flying a zoomie through the house again.” he warned her, sounding almost fatherly.

 “What if Mila catches me?” she questioned hopefully.

 “Don’t let her catch you either.” he replied sternly.

 “But what if it’s not one of her bodies?” she pursued.

 Frowning at her, he said, “Kayla, don’t fly zoomies through the house.”

 “Yes, sir.” she conceded, lowering her head dejectedly.

 James patted her head and said, “There are too many things which could easily be broken in this section, and you might run into someone in your wing.”

 Her grin instantly returned as she looked up at him.  “I’d love to have feathery wings!  Can you give me wings?” she asked excitedly.

 “Sorry, but no.” he stated.

 Obviously disappointed, she said, “Aww… okay.”  Then she skipped over to Emma, relating the experience with her brother again.

 “You allow kids here?” I asked somewhat quietly.  There was so much valuable artwork in the open that a slip would surely cost thousands of dollars, if not far more.

 “My secretary’s twelve years old, so yes.” he stated, frowning at me.

 Unswayed, I asked “But isn’t this a business?”

 “Businesses can’t involve kids?” he retorted.

 “Well, they can… but shouldn’t this be a kid-free zone?  Like you said, there are so many things that could break.” I told him, hoping he’d see the risk.

 I could tell he did by his expression, but he said, “Kayla lives here, and Aaliyah’s more capable than any of us, so no.”

 “So employees don’t have to live here?” I questioned, shocked by the idea.  He had made magic sound common here.  Wasn’t he forcing them to keep magic a secret from the outside world?

 Laughing, he said, “No, I don’t really care where someone lives, as long as they have a place that suits them.  If you have somewhere you’d rather go, we don’t have to wait until tomorrow.  I’m sure I can get you there this night.”  The last was said while staring into my eyes with that soul-piercing gaze of his.

 “What?  No.  I mean to say that’s not what I meant.” I quickly told him.  Knowing that this enormous man could literally crush me barehanded was intimidating, but I was fairly certain he wouldn’t.  He seemed… kind, despite his irritations with me.  “I was just curious.  I’ll look at your website if you don’t need me for anything.” I assured him, quickly taking one of the empty seats.  There were eight seats in total, forming a circle at the center of the room, but facing outward toward one of the eight mirrors.  Not seeing any sort of controls, I asked “How does this work?”

 A keyboard of light appeared on the chair’s tray, and a child-like voice started explaining the features of the chair as its corresponding mirror lit up with a video.  The tutorial was long and very detailed, but I appreciated the thoroughness.  I also appreciated that the speakers couldn’t be heard “by most” outside of the chair.  James probably could hear everything, given that he obviously possessed inhuman abilities.

 The company’s site was somewhat informative.  Yes, all of the employees were listed there with profiles that also gave an example of jobs they could be hired to perform as well as certifications each possessed.  I knew this wasn’t everything though, since none of the profiles mentioned magic of any sort.  The list of vehicles available was no surprise after seeing the garage under the back half of the mansion.

 Before I finished perusing the site, the young woman who had called me a “pest” arrived next to me.  She hadn’t been listed as an employee here, but I believed she was James’ girlfriend, which could make her more dangerous.  What sort of abilities did she possess to interest him?

 She glanced at James before saying, “Would you mind following me?  I have a proposition for you.”

 I nodded, feeling more and more uneasy as she guided me outside.  A limousine was already waiting for us, with someone holding the door.

 Once we were seated inside, she bluntly said, “James doesn’t trust you, and I’m certain you can understand why given what you tried.”

 She stared at me expectantly, so I nodded.  I never should have tried using my power on him.  Having backed myself into a corner, I was desperate.  If not for that girl with the pamphlets, I probably would have walked into the nearest corner store for a job.

 “I have a few errands I’d like you to perform for me.  Yes, they’re tests, but none of them are particularly difficult, though there is the possibility of danger.” she explained, sounding too pleasant for her words.  Meeting those violet eyes was difficult.  Where James at least looked human, this woman seemed too perfect to be real.  She didn’t seem to be wearing makeup, but her pale skin looked flawless.  Even how she sat made her look less real.  Who doesn’t slouch in the comfort of a limo?  “Are you interested?”

 “Will you tell James how well I perform?” I asked, feeling very aware that the vehicle was already in motion.

 She gave me a small smile as she said, “You best believe that James knows everything at all times, but I will give him my opinion of you after tonight.”

 “I accept.” I told her, still uncertain whether refusal was even an option.

 She lightly tapped the glass behind her, and the vehicle quickly came to a stop.  “There’s a package in the trunk.  Deliver it to the address listed.  No matter what you hear around you, don’t look.  Keep moving and get that package safely to its destination.  As long as you keep your eyes forward, you’ll be kept safe.”

 Stepping out of the vehicle, I was already sweating, despite the… Wait.  Why wasn’t I cold!?  Did she use some sort of magic on me?  I didn’t ask, quickly lifting the small, surprisingly heavy box from the trunk.  An address was written on the brown, paper wrapping.  The limousine was gone before I even had a plan for finding the address.  Where was I even?

 I found some public wi-fi after twenty or so minutes roaming near every restaurant I spotted.  After downloading a map, I started making my way, feeling more and more creeped out.  What was in this package, and why was I asked to deliver it?  Paranoia was wearing on me, but I trusted that James would have stopped me from leaving if he knew this was some sort of death sentence… She had told me to assume he knew everything, but what if she was just getting me to let my guard down?  No, she had me the moment I followed her, and James really did know too much about me.

 My worries increased when I heard screams down an alley that I passed.  As the night closed in around me, I felt more and more like I was being hunted.  Who had she told about this?  Why?  More screams several streets later… Was that a growl?  Were there wild dogs nearby?  Resisting the urge to look was physically painful, but I eventually did find myself outside of an ordinary-looking, brick building.  The door opened before I could knock.

 “Yeah?” asked a rough-looking man.

 “I have a package for you from…” I started, realizing I still didn’t know her name.

 “Well, where is it?” he questioned.

 I handed the small box over, and he unceremoniously tossed it before saying, “Come inside and help us unload a truck.”

 Despite being uncertain about whether this was part of what I was supposed to be doing, I soon found myself hauling heavy boxes from a truck while the people who worked here lounged and made crude jokes at my expense.  No, I wasn’t particularly strong.  They didn’t need to point it out in fifty different ways.  The urge to silence them was strong, but I kept reminding myself that I was being tested.

 I was surprised when they all suddenly jumped to assist me, at least until I saw the man in a very nice suit step into the room.  “Dejon?” he asked, looking at me.

 “Y-Yes?” I replied, wishing my voice didn’t sound so unsteady.  The heavy lifting had gotten to me… maybe my frayed nerves.

 “I have a job for you.  Please, follow me.” he stated, looking totally out of place as he led into a disorganized office.  Once I was seated, he introduced himself as Mr. Mason and started going over the details of a man’s life.  Eddie Clarke, the man being described, was retired military who had started a small business once he was out of the military.  He had no children, but treated his nephew like one.  The nephew had been using his position at a bank to help Eddie keep the business afloat, but the money he sent once he was forced to switch branches wasn’t enough.

 “Sorry, but why are you telling me all of this?” I asked, interrupting the man’s explanation.

 “Simply put, you are to convince Mr. Clarke to sell his business.  He just needs to sign this, and we’ll take care of him.” replied Mr. Mason  as he pulled a thin package of papers out of his briefcase.

 “By ‘take care of him’, you mean…” I started, uncertain how to ask if they were going to kill this man.

 “We’ll make certain he has plenty of money to live out his life.  He has been helpful to numerous of our associates throughout the years, and we take care of our own.” stated the Mr. Mason.

 Deciding to trust that James’ girlfriend wouldn’t ask me to rob a man, I said, “He’ll sign.”  Taking the papers, I followed Mr. Mason outside and into another limousine.  I didn’t hesitate to use my ability on Eddie, easily getting him to sign.  What I knew of his past was enough to tell me that Eddie was a very stubborn man who didn’t want to retire just yet, despite facing bankruptcy.  Using my power to help someone was never something I balked at, and Mr. Mason’s surprise when Eddie calmly signed over his business was amusing.

 After the deal was done, I was asked to be a bouncer at a club.  Once I agreed, I was quickly taken there and left.  Things went relatively smoothly, though I hated all of the noise.  Clubbing had never been my idea of a great time, but I tolerated the obnoxious music.  If this would get me hired at Best Friend For Hire, then the irritation was well worth it.

[gesteckt1]

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A reader named Elmars asked us not to use his surname, but we can’t leave him out because his story is remarkable: kit on the rack you see at right was acquired in the Baltic countries and eventually shipped to the USA where Customs became rather interested in X-Ray images of its UPS batteries.“I am a senior systems engineer running a much larger VMware farm for a cloud-based product for the printing industry,” Elmars wrote. “VMware certification is very expensive and I have yet to find an employer willing to stump up the >$5k for the required courses and certification. They are much more willing to throw me a decommissioned server or other gear - sometimes accompanied with the phrase 'knock yourself out'. With at least one supervisor, I was never really sure if it was meant figuratively or literally.“All told, probably about $3k in my own money invested and it has brought me a lot more benefit than a piece of paper titled 'Certified'.”

An ancient IBM dual P3 server (933MHz eServer x340) with 4GB RAM attached to a 1.5TB SCSI storage shelf, and 1TB internal SATA array. A dual-port Intel gigabit NIC makes sure the network floods the backplane at will. A SATA storage shelf that is a work in progress. Two VMware hosts licensed for Essentials. V5.1. The hosts are IBM x3455 machines with two sockets and four cores each and 48GB RAM. “These came out of an HPC shop in Texas for cheap,” Elmars says. “They replaced a pair of first generation IBM x3950 machines I had picked up in Germany. It was cheaper to replace the x3950 machines than to power them as they together ate 1KW just to run at idle and don’t support ESXI 5.x.” The last machine at the bottom is an old Rackable box with 8GB RAM and a pair of 2nd generation Opterons serving as OpenFiler NAS providing the data stores for the ESXi hosts. Elmars adds: "35MB/s sustained write speed is good enough for me." “An HP switch I don't even remember where I picked up.” Kiwi reader Andrew Gall says his lab only looks a little messy because when he took the shot below he’d lived in his current home for just two weeks.

Here's your chance to re-create the Osborne 1. Only in colour. With networking. And no chance of shoulder dislocation. Thanks to the recent explosion in hobbyist electronics - Adafruit and Arduino, I'm looking at you! - the availability of small off-the-shelf HDMI capable LCDs with driver boards has blossomed. There's a variety to choose from 1.5in up, so a Nintendo-scale 'nanobook' isn't totally out of the question.Davies told us the rig below is: “A CloudStack 2.0 implementation using a mix of equipment including Dell R900, R710, T610, R510, three 2850s and AX150 FC SAN, Equallogic PS6000, Power connect switches and a pair of Cisco firewalls.”“With the HP kit, my company have been very supportive and generous over the years and frankly I can't thank them enough. The Sun kit was donated by a friend who works for a hedge fund outside the UK.Nothing in the rig was new, but Chris says it has nonetheless "been incredibly useful to me over the years".Edward Alekxandr says one important element of his lab, which he uses to “learn (and play!) with VMware vSphere [as] we didn't have budget for a test lab at work, is “one very tolerant partner!”

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Edward says the lab: “Kinda expanded to host some apps for my brother-in-law for his car garage as well, but mainly to give me a sandbox to play around without breaking stuff at work.”What kind of stuff? “I've used it to test out upgrading our exchange server to 2010 before doing it for real, and could we replace our fileserver with Solaris 11 zFS (turns out yes!) and de-duplication,” he wrote.Here's one that makes good use of the RPi's other special characteristics: it's really small and physically lightweight. So hanging it on the ceiling next to a projector isn't going to cause the office Stealth & Safety crew too many sleepless nights. And yes, it's cheaper than a dedicated PC. Thanks to some decent LCD/LED projectors out there, for a number of situations it's much cheaper than, say, a 64in display screen.The RPi is ideally suited to the role of weather station: small, low cost and low power. The RPi makes a great data-logger, and you don't even need a network connection, just a large enough SD card. There tools and Python scripts out there to graph your data, or present it via a web page. And once it's up and running, you can contribute your data to shared sites like the WeatherUnderground.

GPIOs make it easy to hook it up to external sensors directly, or there are weather station boards to available to build. You can avoid a soldering iron altogether too: kits from Maplin or RS (for less than £60) that include all the basic pre-built sensors, or open source tools like Weewx let you talk to professional USB-compatible weather stations.John Robson’s rig, which he used to do some serious work on Seti@Home, represents the most unusual location, as is visible below.The rig is defunct but once comprised 17 PCs “from a P166 (on firewall duties) to a Dual CPU P III 800 (the 1GHz Athlon (water cooled@1.2GHz) downstairs, all on a 10MB hub (not switch) and running flat out doing SETI@Home processing, with a local data cache of three days.”John notes: “17 PCs in a one bedroom flat was a little excessive, and it has mostly been donated/mothballed.”We’re happy about that, as the roof cavity location of John’s lab looks a far from ideal location for a computer of any sort, never mind 17 humming away producing heat.

John worried about that too, telling us “the tallest machine (on the left) used to run a little warm - the case still has rubber embedded into the top from when the feet of the keyboard melted.”David Given had the most exotic rig, as the server he has set up to drive his website and do what he calls “the usual routing/caching/proxying/firewalling/fileserving roles” has a motherboard built from “a customised Mele A1000 set-top box, based on a Cortex-A8 ARM core with 512MB RAM. For storage it has a 64GB Kingston SSD and 2TB Seagate spinning disk.“The big black square on top which makes it hard to photograph is a sound-absorbing baffle made out of a neoprene mouse pad. The console is an old laptop plugged in via USB.”Ashley Black runs a mail server VPN he uses to access resources at work and a home network from “the little under-stairs cupboard that even Harry Potter would find cramped.”The Reg wishes Tim and all those who took time to send us descriptions and images of their home labs all the best with their efforts. And their power bills.

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Is he having a laugh? Nope, thanks to apps like OwnCloud and BarracudaDrive, you too can jump on the latest bandwagon for under £30. Yes, you really can run a cloud server from your RPi. Why would you want to? The sales pitch is that it avoids the possible privacy issues of Box, Dropbox, iCloud and their ilk, but it also helps to get around over-enthusiastic firewalls at work. Plus, turns out a cloud server on the local network is really just a self-important NAS server. Who knew?As someone clearly on the mortally-wounded side of morbidly obese, I have found it personally upsetting that one can't as yet purchase a set of speak-your-weight bathroom scales featuring a choice of 'No coach parties, please'-style repartee. A niche market missed, I think. No matter. It is but the work of a moment (ahem) to whip up a RPi connected set of scales, and some Python scripts to play and display the appropriate (health warning) message.

Asterisk, the well-known open source telephone tool, will quite happily compile and run on an RPi, handling up to ten calls (or conference participants) without apparent strain. Getting your landline connected to your RPi may take some fiddling, and you'll need some external hardware. There are also options for ISDN connections. Just remember, you're saving on the PC hardware. But if you're just trying it out, you can configure it to use SIP instead. Before you know it, you'll be configuring voice-gaol, caller id, and cheesy country and western hold-music.Here's one just for the non-UK brethren, clearly. Turns out that with some pre-compiled C and a short piece of wire, you can trick the RPi's GPIO pin four into broadcasting FM Radio. How cool is that? So why aren't we being swamped by teenager pirate radio stations? It's certainly illegal in the UK. With a decent 75Ω aerial, a no band-pass filter and a following wind, the mighty calculations say you're looking at a signal strength somewhere in the 9-14mW range, well over the 50nW UK limit. Hey ho.

[dyernews]

Downsizing Your Life: How to Do It and Why You Might Want To

After what may have seemed like an extremely long winter for some, spring is finally arriving. With the blooming flowers, warmer temperatures, and adjusted clocks, many are also gearing up for a tradition known as spring cleaning. While the habit of reorganizing yourself and decluttering your closets is great, what if you took things a step further? What I mean is, have you ever considered downsizing as a way to simplify your life?

First off, this post is going to be a bit different than my normal fare. While at its core this is still a personal finance concept, I’ve found the implications extend far further than that. In fact, I’ve come to believe that downsizing your life can actually help you emphasize the things that matter most to you.

Before you get scared, I’m not talking about going full minimalist and leaving everything behind — I just want to discuss a few changes you can make that can not only help your finances but also allow you to explore your passions and reach your goals. Moreover, my wife and I actually have some personal experience that relates to many of these topics. So without further ado, here’s how you can downsize and simplify your life as well as some of the reasons why you might want to.

Setting Your Simplifying Goals

Realizing your priorities is the first step in setting a downsizing and simplifying plan. Just as no two people are the same, there’s certainly no “one size fits all” plan when it comes to building yourself a better life. That said, to get you thinking, here are a few popular reasons people may elect to downsize their lives.

Saving Money

This being a personal finance site, you could probably anticipate that “saving money” would be among the top goals here. However, in this case, it’s not so much about saving money for the sole sake of growing your wealth but more about saving money so that you can achieve the things you want to achieve. Let me explain: by reducing your financial obligations, you’ll have more freedom to spend your income in whatever way you see fit (while still setting some aside for the future and for emergencies of course).

Now the question is, what do you want to do with your life and your money?

Travel

One of the things I learned about myself as I was navigating my 20s was that I really enjoyed traveling. After years of assuming that I didn’t enjoy flying, I ended up booking a flight to Tokyo in my mid-20s that would prove pretty pivotal in my life. Not only did I survive the 11-hour flight but also managed to find my way around a foreign country where I didn’t speak the language (and by myself, mind you) with relative ease. Four years later, I would return to Tokyo on my honeymoon and have since had the chance to visit Shanghai, Hong Kong, Paris, and other locales with my lovely wife.

Once we realized how much we enjoyed exploring new places together, my wife and I resolved to travel as much as we could and see more of the amazing cities around the world. As part of this, we’ve arranged our finances in such a way that allows us to take big trips without going into debt or wiping out our savings. This could not have been possible had we not made our goal clear and made changes to our financial situation in order to allow it. I’ll share more of our story and how we were able to pull this off in the coming sections.

Entrepreneurship

If you’ve ever watched ABC’s Shark Tank you’ve probably heard one of the show’s millionaire or billionaire panelists talk about the hustle required in order to succeed when launching your own business. But, on top of that hard work, they also often discuss the sacrifices it takes to make it. I remember one episode in particular where Mark Cuban grilled an entrepreneur who said he’d be willing to slum it and “live off of six figures” for a while until he made it. Naturally Mark laughed at that notion, insisting he should be willing to live off mac and cheese for the sake of his business.

No matter what type of business you want to start,  you’ll need to invest your time, energy, and yes, your money into them. Therefore, by downsizing your life and limiting your expenses, you’ll have more funds to pour into your business. Moreover, since failure is fact of life, keeping your obligations to a minimum is essential. Doing your downsizing now instead of when the pressure is on could end up making it possible for you to bounce back and rebuild your business in the future.

Spending Time with Family

For some people, the ability to downsize means they can work less and spend more time with the people they care about. This is a completely noble goal and once again speaks to the power of downsizing. Additionally, if you and your kin enjoy traveling, you might even consider an arrangement that allows you to see the world as a family like these parents and many others have done.

Eliminating Your Excesses

Regardless of what your goals are, you’ll like want to start purging some of your unneeded items. In addition to this being helpful if and when it’s time to relocate (more on that in the next section), getting rid of old items can be oddly comforting. Of course this is a process and you have a few options for how to approach downsizing, but here are a few ideas for starting points.

What to Lose

Books, CDs, DVDs, etc.

I’ll be the first to admit that I still have a box of old compact discs sitting in my outside storage space — but it’s a lot better than it was! Though I couldn’t tell you the last time I used one of these CDs for anything except ripping them to my computer, those special editions and, in some cases, signed booklets remain. Alas, hopefully you are stronger than I am and can part with your aging collection once and for all. The same goes for DVDs now that many have moved to digital downloads and streaming services.

For the more literate among us, you may have also amassed a number of books over the years. While having a library of everything you read might make you feel good, are you really going to reread any of those books? Beyond being a pain in the butt to move, there’s also good reason to let your book collection go as part of the process since they can easily be donated to libraries, schools, retirement homes, etc. — in other words, they can be given to people who actually will read them.

Clothes

This is admittedly another area where I could stand to improve. In fact, my wife frequently makes fun of me for the number of t-shirts in my dresser. However I have found one solution to this problem: turning my old tees into quilts, allowing me to revisit all those rock concert memories while also staying warm in the winter.

Sporting Goods and Exercise Equipment

Being active is great but having your home cluttered with unused treadmills, skis, rackets, and whatever else you may have acquired over time certainly isn’t. Worse yet, these items are often oddly shaped, large, or bulky, making them extremely annoying to store. If you regularly participate in sports and honestly utilize this equipment on a somewhat regular basis, keep it. Otherwise heave-ho, my friend.

Mementos, Clippings, Etc.

Okay, this one could be a bit controversial but it’s important nonetheless. These days many of us have a number of sentimental items we hold on to, seemingly just to give us a walk down memory lane whenever we move or go to organize our homes. Some of these items may be worth keeping while others likely aren’t — especially if they can be digitized for safe keeping instead.

Collectables

Do you still have that limited edition G.I. Joe in a box that you’ve held onto since you were only yea high? If you can’t fetch a pretty penny on eBay for it now, chances are you never will.

Old Electronics

Until just a few months ago, I was holding onto a Mac laptop I bought in 2004 and which had the screen detached from the keyboard. I had already migrated the contents of said machine to another computer in 2010, yet it lived in a box along with about three different chargers for it. Thankfully it is now gone and I’m better for it. The moral of the story is, if you have old electronics you’re planning on fixing or are just holding onto for some other reason, just toss ‘em.

Anything Else You Haven’t Used in a Year

Finally, one of my big rules as I’ve worked to get rid of my, for lack of a better term, crap is to bid adieu to anything I haven’t needed (or, in most cases, even thought about) in a year. I came upon this rule after realizing I only saw a number of items whenever I went to dig through things to throw away. Obviously I realized how silly this was and my one year rule has been successful so far. However there are a few exceptions to the rule including important documents or emergency preparedness items but you can use your best, honest judgment to determine what warrants an override.

What to Do (and What Not to Do) With Your Stuff

Do: Sell It

There is a chance that some of the items you no longer need might still have some value to someone else. As a result it’s completely acceptable to explore ways to rid yourself of clutter while pocketing a little extra money. This can be accomplished on platforms like eBay, Craigslist, OfferUp, or Facebook Marketplace but there’s also the option to host a good old-fashioned garage sale/yard sale as well. 

Don’t: Waste Time Trying to Sell Junk

Notice that I said some of your items will still have value — not all. Sure you probably have a record store in town that still buys used CDs but 1) unless your collection is truly killer, they might not be in the market for anything you’re looking to pawn and 2) the amount they’ll be giving you might not be worth the time it took you to pack everything up and haul it over to them. Similarly yard sales can take a lot of work to organize and, with most items selling for under a dollar, it’s okay if you elect not to go through the trouble and find another way to ease your junk burden.

Do: Donate

Somewhere between stuff you can sell and stuff you should throw away is the option of donating. Popular outlets for donations include Goodwill, Salvation Army, and other local charities. Of course, even if you’re donating, be realistic about what items people will need or use and don’t give them anything that’s broken, in bad shape, or otherwise useless.

Don’t: Get a Storage Unit

In some cases you may feel that, while you want to declutter your home, you also aren’t quite ready to part with certain items “just in case.” This thinking could lead to you renting a storage unit to keep your additional stuff. Not only is a storage unit an extra monthly fee you don’t need but the chances of you actually making use of those “standby” items are slim to none. Avoid this mistake at all costs!

Do: Throw Things Away

I’ll be the first to admit that throwing items you’ve paid good money for in the trash can be an upsetting experience. Look, no one wants to feel like they’ve wasted money but, the truth is, you already did — there’s no going back now. Holding onto items you don’t need in an attempt to save what little value they still have is a major fallacy and something you’ll need to get over if you truly want to downsize. It may be hard at first but I promise it will be worth it.

Rationalizing (Potential) Relocation

Before paring your belongings down you might not have thought it possible to fit into a smaller space. With that first task done, you may be realizing that’s not actually the case. Whether you choose to move to a different home in the same area, relocate to a more affordable area, or live life as a “digital nomad,” there are several benefits to moving as part of your downsizing mission.

Living Small

In recent years one of the big trends (pun intended) has been tiny homes. These microsized abodes are often less than 500 square feet but include a number of features via unique uses of space and clever engineering. Given their popularity, this is what many people likely picture when they consider downsizing but there’s no reason to be so extreme.

Downsizing can simply mean selling your unnecessarily-large four bedroom house and buying a two bedroom instead. It could mean ditching your pricey apartment with all the bells and whistles to move to a complex with fewer amenities. Really the way you downsize is up to you (which can include a tiny home if you really, really want).

In Search of Better Cost of Living

Until 2015 my wife and I were living in Glendale, California. For the few years prior to that, I had been an extra in television and movies and had enjoyed this unique occupation. I also harbored dreams of becoming a sitcom writer, but that’s a story for another day. Meanwhile my wife was working at a bakery, which wasn’t panning out quite the way she had hoped. Just before Christmas of 2014, we decided a change was in order — a change that would lead us out of Los Angeles and over to Springfield, Missouri.

By this time I had begun freelancing, meaning I could do my job from anywhere. Similarly, while she didn’t have any specific jobs lined up in the Midwest, my wife’s skills were easily transferable to other lines of work. This realization led us to realize that we were paying a hefty premium just for the opportunity to live in L.A. That may have made sense when my line of work and aspirations were tied to the entertainment capital but now it just felt like a big waste of money that got in the way of our other goals like traveling.

Moving to Springfield was a watershed moment for us and really opened my eyes to a number of things. First, contrary to popular belief, there are fun things to do beyond the coasts of our country. Secondly, rent doesn’t have to eat up your entire paycheck — who knew?

Needless to say, our decision to relocate as part of our downsizing initiative has paid off. Now we’re able to sock away money for our future and pursue our passions.

Reducing Your Commute

Another benefit that came with moving to Springfield actually happened by accident. As luck would have it, my wife ended up getting a job at a place that was literally next door to our apartment. Whereas back in L.A. she would have to drive one to two hours each way for work, she could now walk over in five minutes. This lack of commute had a hugely positive effect on her happiness and stress levels. So, as you’re looking for a small place in town or a new home in a new city, I’d highly recommend doing what you can to reduce your commute.

Digital Nomadism

Like I mentioned, as a freelancer, I’m able to work from pretty much anywhere with power and WiFi — and I’m not alone. These days there’s a growing number of both independent contractors and full-time employees that are able to work remotely. At the same time some adventurous folks have taken full advantage of this opportunity and become what they call “digital nomads.”

I was first introduced to the concept of digital nomadism by a podcast called Workationing. In 2017 these two ladies in their “mid to late 27s” elected to give up their homes and spend the year on the road, living in different cities and countries around the globe for one to two months at a time. This idea fascinated me and I’ve come to learn that the digital nomad community has been booming for some time.

While I personally wouldn’t want to go full digital nomad — including purging nearly everything I own and living out of a carry-on — my wife and I have been considering extended trips to places we love. Now that both of us can work from anywhere (she recently left her other job to join me in the world of freelancing), we could conceivably spend weeks if not months abroad, working during the day and touring at night.

If full-on digital nomadism or my scaled down “extended stay” notion sound good to you, having a limited home base is crucial. For the Workationing gals, this meant moving their stuff into storage units (yes, I know I said not to get one of those but this is different), although I believe they’ve since gotten rid of those. In our case, the cheap rent we enjoy in Springfield would enable us to keep our apartment so we have something to come home to but still be able to afford our temporary two home situation. This is just one of the many opportunities that may available to those who choose to downsize.

Readying for Reevaluation

Finally it’s important to note that downsizing might not be for everyone. For example, if you have a partner or family, you may find that not all of you are on the same page about some of the changes you’re making. Because of this you’ll want to leave the door open to reevaluating your plans and admitting when you’ve taken things too far.

Missing Friends and Family

As much as I preach the gospel of finding your happy hometown with affordable living, I understand that there are plenty of reasons other than money that affect why people live where they do. One big factor for many is that want to be near friends and family.

When I was preparing to write this article, I was reminded of a couple of scenes from the film Up in the Air. In an early scene, our protagonist (played by George Clooney) is giving a speech that’s more or less about downsizing, mentioning stuffing all of your belongings in a backpack, setting it on fire, and deciding what’s worth saving. While that analogy may be something to get on board with, a later scene exposes the character’s philosophy of detachment as he talks about the weight relationships add to our lives. He’s not wrong — but having relationships play such a big role isn’t always a bad thing.

Family and friends are an important part of life. As a result, they should be factored into your priorities as well. If you forgot or didn’t realize how much being literally close to the ones you love would affect your happiness, it’s not too late to make changes.

Going Too Small

On that same note, you may come to the realization that you’ve overdone things in your attempt to downsize. Perhaps life in a tiny home is fine for a few months but you find yourself going a bit stir crazy after that. Ditto living in a small town after being used to big city amenities.

There’s a difference between pushing yourself to try new things outside of your comfort zone and living uncomfortably. Remember: the goal of downsizing is to simplify your life and enjoy what you love. In other words, don’t sacrifice too much for the sake of adventure.

Adjusting Your Goals

Lastly, outside of the two examples I’ve already mentioned, there may be other factors that cause your priorities and/or goals to change. Maybe you’ve decided to start a family and need more space or aren’t ready to take kids on the road just yet. Or perhaps you’re taking interest in different activities and finding new passions you want to pursue. Whatever the case may be, don’t be afraid to make further adjustments. After all, if you were able to take the leap and downsize in the first place, how hard could it be to scale back up or go another direction?

As someone who’s taken an interest in the concept of downsizing and simplifying life over the past few years, I really do believe the benefits vastly outweigh the sacrifices. Although my wife and I may not make a ton of money, our downsized living allows us to meet all of our financial obligations, prepare for our futures, live debt free, and still enjoy passions of ours such as traveling. If that sounds good to you, maybe this spring is the perfect time to do some deep cleaning  — and deep thinking — as you work towards a simpler, better, life.

The post Downsizing Your Life: How to Do It and Why You Might Want To appeared first on Dyer News.