#seriously what is that huge empty rectangle?

[icology]

my favorite thing about the village in The Last Guardian is that there’s a couple houses and then a football field

[byulsgrease]

duly noted

you've never been one to obsess about your soulmate, assuming you'll figure it out when the time is right. but seriously, what kind of nonsense has yours been writing about recently?

(eventual moonbyul / wheein x gender neutral reader, soulmate!au, trainee/idol!au, ~1.2k words)

a/n: wheein bias wrecker anon! I might've had too much fun with your req and so this is gonna be my first soulmate au 🤠 while byul and wheein don't actually appear in this part (does that make this a prologue? idk), I promise they'll make their appearance soon enough :)

cw: struggles of being a trainee (weight + food talk)

The claps from your dance instructor ring out in the mirrored studio, calling everyone to attention before they send you off for the day. Everyone stands around listening to whatever niceties they're talking about, asking the rhetorical questions of whether all of you want this, how everyone needs to work harder, etc. How many years has it been now, almost three? Evaluations went pretty well recently and you've certainly demonstrated signs of growth since you started, but debut? Who knows. Does anyone, really?

But right now it's late and you're hungry, hoping that your growling stomach isn't loud enough to pierce through the lecture. You're respectfully tuned out anyway, since it's all old news. Nothing you haven't heard before. They clap again once their spiel ends and everyone disperses. Your eyes catch Hyejin's on your way out of the studio, sharing a funny face and an eyeroll before disappearing into the herd of trainees shuffling to the lockers.

Your locker opens with a routine spin of the dial, taking care to slow down and line up the numbers properly so you're not stuck having to do it over again. The inside's pretty cute for a metallic rectangle— it's really the only space of your own besides your notebook. Pictures of your family, old school friends, and fellow trainee friends line the sides beneath a tiny string of battery-powered fairy lights. It's not much, but always a humbling reminder of why you're here.

Unzipping your bag, you take out a pair of slides and drop them on the floor while stepping out of your sneakers. There's not much else in your bag, just a change of clothes and your notebook, of course. Everyone has one. Anything inside could be drawn, written, scribbled, painted. It’s your personal creative space and no one else's, but with two conditions:

You can't write your name in it, not even your initials. Of course everyone tried to as kids against their parents commands, but letters simply sink into the page, disappearing as if they'd never been written at all.

You can only mark up one side. Pages on the right side are for you, and the left side pages fill themselves. Fill themselves with what? you asked your parents. They gave you a non-answer, saying you'd figure it out someday. Great. Only other thing they bothered to tell you was that your right-hand pages were someone's left-hand ones. So someone can see what I put here? Their confirmation sounded rather casual, which you found weird. Someone out there was watching what you put in? But you got used to it, especially since every person owns one. It's a novelty for children anyway. Mark up a page however you want, knowing that someone out in the would will see, and sit back to watch whatever randomness shows up on the left side.

Your left side pages were actually empty for quite a while, save for the occasional "UGGHHH" followed by a typical childish annoyance scrawled messily across the entirety of the page in marker. Not that notebook use was mandatory, but parents usually encouraged it because it kept their kids occupied. There wasn't much you could do about empty pages, nor did you care most of the time, but it did leave you a little jealous of other kids at school who'd sometimes open theirs and be greeted with cute watercolor paintings, mini murals, or skillfully written poetry.

For you, the notebook's served many uses. As a kid it was random doodles and poorly-drawn fantasy scenarios— escapism, perhaps. In middle school it was angsty poems and random journal entries about the random happenings of your life. For the first half of high school it became your to-do list, keeping track of school assignments. And on the rarest occasion, song lyrics. Visual art was never your medium of choice, music came more easily. But drawing staff lines for music notation in the notebook usually ended up being too tedious, so your original stuff was mostly relegated to voice memos on your phone. And now? Who knows. Trainee life may as well be a blur. Sing, dance, talk, eat if you can afford to, sleep, repeat. It's hard to find the energy to write anything most days. Whenever you feel like checking, the left side has random jottings, nearly illegible most of the time.

It wasn't until you got older that you realized that whoever read your entries on the was the same person generating content on the left. And supposedly the person you're supposed to be with for the rest of time? What kind of system is that? I'm just supposed to trust blindly? having asked your parents in exasperation after figuring it out. Again with more non-answers— it had worked for them, didn't it? There's also the obvious question of why people don't just write directly to each other, but whatever. You're still young, no need to obsess over "the one" unlike some of your classmates. If it's meant to be, it'll happen, you figure. And it obviously is, you've got a notebook with (semi-)filled left side pages. What more could you ask for?

The cacophony of clanging lockers opening and closing starts to die down as people leave. Hyejin's head pops out from behind the locker door, laughing in your face when you flinch.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah, one sec. Man, I'm starving,” you remark while slipping the bag straps on your back and closing the locker door. You don't even want to know how strapped for cash you are, probably in for another night of boiled eggs and canned kimchi.

“Wanna go out for food?” she immediately asks, eyes alight at the prospect of getting to eat something besides convenience store food.

"I wish. Actually, you wish," you smirk with longing in your eyes. The "no" doesn't even have to be said, weigh-ins are way too soon to risk it. She hangs her head, jokingly dejected as you swing an arm around her shoulder to walk out of the company building together.

~~~~

After scrounging up whatever food you call dinner, taking a shower, and flopping into bed, you open up your notebook and grab the random pen laying on your dresser, unsure of what you'll write about tonight. There's chicken scratch on the left page already, ballpoint pen. It's actually legible today, though: In my room every day I see your smile.

What the hell does that mean? Whose smile, yours? You haven't even met yet.

Call me everyday every night, hug me everywhere every time

Utter nonsense. Maybe meeting soulmates is just a huge game of catch-up once everything's finally revealed, surely yours will be. There’s just so many questions. Moving to the right side, you jot down a list of cheat meal ideas along with some assorted notes and pointers from practice that you want to work on tomorrow, drawing little characters next to each list item for fun. After accidentally drawing a random squiggle from jolting yourself awake and feeling the heaviness in your eyelids, you cap your pen and shut your notebook, placing it back in your bag. With the lights out, the last thought you have before sleep consumes you is why haven't you ever tried writing directly to each other after all this time?

[next]

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

<<Prev | Next>>

Ao3

Phagophobia Pt. 2

Summary: There's more off the grid than bloodborn.

Words: 1,425

Warnings: Insomnia due to anxiety, emotional distress, brief reference to suicide

Sensible plan or no, Isaac laid awake in one of the two motel beds, back-to-back with Curry, for over an hour before accepting that the Sandman had stood him up. The hybrid foam of the mattress muffled his movements as he slipped out of the starched, scratchy sheets. Perched on the bed’s edge for a minute, he studied the room’s blandly functional décor. Nothing touched by a sense of the personal. Someone could die of a stroke, overdose, eat the end of a pistol and all traces of them would disappear. Be discarded and scrubbed away in time for the next anonymous occupant to take their place. There wasn’t even enough history or character for a ghost to tether to.

Just like the townhouse he’d escaped from. Had been allowed to escape from. Isaac’s stomach rolled over like a dead fish, bloated with nausea. Bending in half, he rested his clammy forehead on his knees until he was sure he wouldn’t either burst into tears or copious vomiting. Once the bout passed, he wobbled to his feet. Shuffling across the carpet in his socks generated enough of a charge to spark a nasty shock when he reached for the top drawer of the desk across from the beds. Isaac cursed under his breath, shook his tingling fingers out, and tried again. The drawer slid out silently. Inside lay what he wanted: an eight by eleven magpad. No question whether it worked—it still bore a drawing of a huge dick left by some artistic soul who’d passed that way before. Smiling to find a stamp of humanity on the place at last, Isaac picked the magpad up and flicked the erase tab on its side. The virile imagery vanished, leaving a clean rectangle of gray to work with. Isaac slid into the desk chair, took the steel stylus in hand, and began to exorcise the thoughts haunting him in the only way he knew how.

Name/Alias: Dimas, Renato F

Type: Bloodborn (unregistered)

Age: 100+ estimated

Pronouns: Not stated

Height: 5’ 8” estimated

Weight: 150 lbs estimated

Hair: Brown

Eyes:

Little spikes of magnetic dust radiated around the point of the suddenly still stylus. How could he articulate the awful fascination that struck him when he’d met Renato Faria Dimas’s eyes? The way it had diffused through his body like a neurotoxin, paralyzing him? Their ability to reflect human emotion despite the monstrous intent lurking in the mind behind them?

After a moment of hand-wringing, Isaac decided to stay practical. He only had so much space, and anyway, he wouldn’t give the bloodborn the satisfaction of turning him poetic.

Eyes: Blue-green

Maker: Unknown

Affiliates: Possible magic user(s), possible brood

Assets: Sufficient money to purchase current model of car, electronics, and maintain real estate. Possible access or knowledge of high-level sorcery. Access to drugs and medical supplies.

Threat Assessment: Enhanced speed + strength. Some formal training, style unknown. Claims 16 human deaths.

The stylus summoned another tiny ring of dust while Isaac’s ethics struggled to elbow past his rage and disgust. He grimaced as, with a final jab, it won.

Displays some capacity for reason. Violence not 1st option, however, no show of remorse when it’s used.

Then, because he’d earned it, and the emotional poison needed to be drained:

Notes: Smug asshole. I’d love to shoot the stupid, bland smile off your face. Why me? You knew I was Coven but you came after me anyway. Do I look that weak? Or do you think you’re that untouchable? I guess so if you let me get away and call for help. What the fuck is your glitch? Are you getting off on having power over life and death? You can’t seriously think you can take the entire Coven on. I take that back. You probably are that delusional. You ruined my life and I hate you. I hope I get to watch you being staked.

Head empty and quiet at last, Isaac shivered and slumped in the desk chair, suddenly exhausted. No way could he sleep in that room, though, with its affordable, impersonal furniture and bland walls. Not even with people he trusted nearby. Lurching up from the chair, he made a beeline for the door.

Desert heat wrapped around him like a security blanket despite the shade of the motel’s veranda. Everything from the unvarnished boards scratching his bare feet to the buzz of flies socializing around a puddle left by the ice machine reassured him this was real. He wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t trapped. Squinting against the glare of the sun off windshields and chrome in the parking lot wasn’t the only reason for the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, but no one else had to know that.

Tiny tremors shivering through the veranda floorboards behind him sent a different message.

His head whipped around, pulse hard in his throat. Tina Yi showed no surprise that he’d sensed her footsteps or at his reaction. She only met his eyes for a couple of seconds before averting her own to the shimmering parking lot, running a hand over the bristles of her closely shorn hair, and clearing her throat.

“Can’t sleep?” She made it a question more as a courtesy, judging from the grim smile.

Embarrassment grabbed one corner of Isaac’s mouth, apology the other, both pulling it into a grimace. “Not in there.”

Yi nodded before tossing something at him. He made a grab, sent the object bouncing out of his palm, but managed to scoop it up on the fourth try. Not too pathetic, considering the kaleidoscopic tattoos of sacred geometry relating to speed and strength interlinked from her shoulders to her wrists. Shoulders and wrists that could bench about as much as Isaac weighed.

The car’s key fob rested in his hand when he looked down.

“With it plugged in and the panels out you should be able to run the AC without depleting the batteries,” the corporal told him. “Plus, you won’t roast. Me or Curry will check on you every hour or so.”

Relief helped wash down the lump of guilt in his throat. “Thanks, Yi.”

She shrugged. “It happens to all of us the first time we get in over our heads.” For a second, she glanced at her geometric tattoos. “You might not think so, but you did the best anyone could’ve, Soto. Survival’s like anything else. You don’t have to be the best, just good enough. And…here you are.”

This time. But Isaac made himself nod.

“Get some winks. There’s more out here off the grid than bloodborn.” She turned and went back inside the room.

Thus reassured, Isaac managed to make himself comfortable enough in the passenger’s seat of their company car, seat reclined and AC cranked up. He woke three times, the last being a need to use a bathroom rather than from amorphous nightmares. Pushing open the door, a sharp smell stabbed his nostrils. Alarmed and still functioning on dream logic, he looked at his lap. Dry and accident-free. Frowning, he took a good whiff, then coughed and pressed his sleeve to his nose, eyes watering. The smell had the bite of too much ammonia to be human. Like cat piss with oily notes of musk from a big mammal. Underneath festered just a hint of the poisoned sweetness of rotting meat. He took shallow breaths until he made it back inside the motel room.

Only after he’d concluded his own business did Isaac’s sleep-slowed brain follow the trail of breadcrumbs. He’d no sooner flushed and washed his hands—not stopping to wipe them dry—than he was standing at the foot of the beds.

“Yi. Curry.”

Neither bolted upright. They rolled to a sitting position, hands on the guns holstered against their ribs, in one efficient motion. Isaac didn’t move a muscle until both started to blink, instinct waning in their eyes as humanity returned.

“What’s up, Soto?” asked the sergeant, letting his hand fall from his weapon’s safety.

“I think you’d better smell for yourselves.”

One sniff from the edge of the veranda proved enough. Curry and Yi swapped tight-lipped looks.

“Pack up. We’re out of here. Let’s hope this is a fluke and four wheels is enough to outrun four legs.”

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Ten: To Home and Friendship

(Images are not mine)

Rated: PG

~With every small disaster I'll let the waters still Take me away to some place real

'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone Is where you go when you're alone Is where you go to rest your bones It's not just where you lay your head It's not just where you make your bed As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?~

Home.

That wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore.

"I stand by what I said earlier, Jack. You make an excellent pillo― Oh holy crap."

I gasped as Jack lead me inside the literal bunker that these guys apparently lived in. I wondered if I would ever get used to it, because their bunker was enormous.

We entered through a non-descript entrance, that nobody would have noticed, onto a platform that was less of a balcony and more of a catwalk which I guessed was the second floor, though I couldn't tell exactly because it was a bunker and it probably had more levels than I could see. The wrought iron railing of the balcony was formed into a design of circles atop rectangles. The catwalk ended with a set of steel stairs that curved with the wall.

My feet clanged on the metal as I descended the stairwell. At the bottom of those stairs on my right was a doorway that led somewhere else and on my left was what I guessed was the entryway. There was a big glowy-table-thing with a map on it in the center of the space, surrounded by several chairs. There was this big, greenish panel thingy attached to one of the tan tiled walls that looked like some sort of old timey computer equipment. Through a big gray archway, I could see into another room that looked like a library with a huge telescope at the end of it. On the far left of the room there was another hallway going off somewhere else. Dean stepped off the staircase and spread his arms out.

"Welcome to the Batcave!" He said, grinning. "I see you're impressed." Only then did I realize my mouth was hanging open. I closed it and shook my head.

"This place is colossal," I said in awe.

"Yeah, it's a little pretentious but you get used to it." Sam shrugged, passing me. Jack just stood over my shoulder, watching my reaction.

"True, but if you want protection, this is about the safest place in the world. It's got warding against every evil thing out there. Vampires, werewolves, demons, ghosts, you name it," Dean boasted. Just then, Isaac appeared on the catwalk, as far from us as he could.

"Ha! Then how did I get in here genius!" He jeered. It took every last drop of will power I had not to facepalm right then and there. It was warm in here and the hunters would certainly notice a sudden temperature drop. Was Isaac trying to get us discovered? (I'd say killed but he's already dead.)

"Yep, nothing gets in here unless we let it. Or, you know, bring it in accidentally." Sam shared a look with Cas and his older brother.

"Scooby-dooby-doo!" Dean laughed, shaking his head. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the story behind that or not. Meanwhile Isaac wore a sheepish expression.

"Oh, guess that’s how I got in then." Words cannot express how much I wanted to kick my brother at that moment. After he was finished laughing, Dean looked to Jack.

"Kid, you take Mcfly here, find her a room, get her all settled, then give her the grand tour. I'm gonna hit the sack." Dean turned on his heel with a wave and whistled his way out of the room. Castiel mumbled something about research and crossed through the arch into the library.

"We're gonna find the monster that took your family away, Marty. But until then, think of us as your new one." I looked up at Sam and was reminded again of how huge the guy was. His head was in a totally different weather system than mine and I wondered if it was harder to breathe all the way up there.

"Thanks Sam." I took three steps higher on the stairs and made grabby hands at him. "Come here."

Sam raised an eyebrow at me but obeyed anyway. I took a tiny jump and wrapped my arms around his neck. He stumbled back a bit in surprise but quickly recovered and wrapped his arms around me with a chuckle.

"Shut up, Gigantor. I gotta hug ya’ somehow!" I rebuked, defending my height... Or rather, the lack thereof. I guess his laughter was justified though. My feet were dangling at least a foot from the floor. I let go of him and dropped back to the ground, it felt like falling off Mount Everest. Sam just shook his brown mane, smiling down at me.

"If there's anything you need, like help reaching the top shelf, just ask." I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, whatever Sasquatch. So, what are you gonna do?" I asked. Sam shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

"Put my stuff away. Then I'm gonna go reorganize the pantry, make sure you can reach the cereal," He smirked, and followed Dean's path through the other door-way.

"Way to rub it in, Sam!" I called after him. I heard him chuckle as he rounded the corner out of my sight. Then I rounded on Jack, who had been waiting patiently. "Well, Jack, if you wanna make fun of my height, now's the time to do it. Lead on!" I opened my arms, preparing for insults.

"It is rare that I get to feel tall, but I'm not going to make fun of you," He said, turning on his heel to lead me through the door-way behind us.

"Good. Cause' I might have slapped you if ya had." Jack looked back at me questioningly, but I just shrugged.

I followed him through twisting and turning hallways that I knew I wouldn't be memorizing anytime soon. We kept walking for what seemed like forever. Honestly, I was ninety-eight percent convinced that we might pass a sign that said: 'Now Entering Nebraska.' It didn't help that all the halls looked exactly the same.

"Back at the motel, the night we met, Dean said you had this thing," Jack remarked, turning to face me and walking backward.

"What thing?" I asked.

"I think he called it ‘A Napoleon Complex' or something like that," Jack said, innocently. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

"And do you know what that is?"

"No. I haven't looked it up yet. Do you know?" I snorted.

"Oh, yeah. I know," I said. Already thinking of a comeback for the next time I saw Dean.

"What is it?" Jack was simply curious. I smirked at him.

"Do you know who Napoleon was?" I asked him, I was pretty sure of the answer.

"No." Just as I thought. The Winchesters needed to teach their half-angel some history. As for now though, I could give him the watered-down version.

"Napoleon was a French dude, not to be confused with the ice-cream. He was five foot six and when people called him short, he blew them up." I told him. Jack nodded seriously.

"I see, so he was insecure about his height and used violence to compensate for it. Then, the complex was named after him." I had to give it to him, the kid was smart.

"Yep. Never mind the fact that he took over almost all of Europe, he will always be famous for being a human chihuahua." I had to at least teach Jack something remotely accurate. Jack frowned and his eyebrows pulled together as if remembering something unpleasant. I guessed he had come into contact with a chihuahua before, it didn't look like he was fond of them.

"So, Dean thinks you're insecure about your height," Said Jack, returning us to the original topic.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Are you?" I shrugged.

"Not really. I'm just obnoxious." Jack laughed, coming to a stop in front of a black door that looked just the same as the rest that lined the hall except for the plaque with the number 22 etched into it.

"This is my room," He said. "And that's Sam's." He pointed to the door on the left of his which had a 21 on it. "You can pick any of these other rooms." His eyes flicked to the door next to his on the right, room 24. I briefly wondered what had happened to 23. When I met his eyes, he looked at his feet, as if his shoes were much more interesting than me.

"Does anyone live in here?" I tapped the door with 24 on it.

"No, it's empty but you don't have to take that one if you don't want to." Jack glued his eyes to the polished cement floor and ran his hand through his hair, a tick I was sure he picked up from Sam.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and putting my hands on my hips. I watched as a pink tint started to creep up Jack's neck.

"I don't want you to think that you have to stay in that one just because I want you too," He muttered.

"You want me to stay next to you?" I pointed out. Jack's expression went blank, his eyes wide as quarters.

"Um, I-I-I don't- I didn't mean--" Jack stumbled over his words. His gaze drilled straight into the floor, his hands were fidgeting, and his right foot twisted its toe against the concrete. His body language pointed at nervousness. Why was he this nervous? Was it me? He hadn't been this way before, what was different now? I decided to ease his nerves with a little humor. I stuck my hand into his line of sight and waved.

"Yoo, hoo! I'm up here, Jack." He flicked his eyes up to my face but kept his head down. "Well, not up per-say but you know what I mean," I joked. His smile was still pointed at the concrete. I guessed we'd just have to work on that.

"S-sorry." His laugh was a breathy one. I sighed, planting my hands on my hips.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jack. It's nice to have someone who wants me around, I haven't had that in a long time." I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way. Jack rocked back and forth on his heels and his mouth did that crooked smile of his. He even flicked his eyes up at me.

"Well, uh, what are friends for?" He sounded like he was reciting something he heard in a movie.

I wondered whether Jack was trying to flirt with me or not. A tiny part of me hoped that he was and another part of me kicked myself for hoping for that. How could I think that way? Jack was two, he was probably too young to understand feelings like that, if he even had them. He probably didn't have them. He was probably just doing his best to make a friend, by going off what he had seen. I mean, the movies are pretty against a boy and a girl simply being friends. Besides if he knew what I was, he wouldn't be standing here talking to me. He'd be trying to kill me. Isaac was right. Any friendship I made here, would never be real. It never could be.

"Right," I said softly. Now I was the one looking down at my feet. But I wasn't doing it out of nerves. I was doing it out of shame. Glancing up at him through my lashes, Jack's smile faltered for only a moment. He grasped the doorknob and turned it and as the door swung inward, Jack flipped a switch and the white florescent lights buzzed to life.

The room was simply decorated, and by that I mean it wasn't decorated at all. The walls, ceiling, and floor were grey and a built-in shelf stuck out from the far wall. In the center of the space sat a full-size bed with a plain white duvet, white sheets, and down pillows. There was a dresser pushed up against one wall, a desk pressed against the other, and a tiny night stand next to the bed, all of which were fashioned out of wood the shade of walnut.

"Um, it's not much, but we can get you some stuff to make it yours," Jack smirked down at me and I ducked past him into the room.

Other than those objects, the room was bare, but I found myself overwhelmed. My chest tightened and my eyes stung, it was so little, but it was more than I'd had in five years. I shrugged my backpack off my shoulders and placed my violin case on the bed. Keeping my back turned, my face hidden from Jack, I blinked rapidly to dispel my tears.

"It's wonderful, Jack. I-I love it." I took a deep breath and pasted a smirk on my face. When I had control of my emotions, I swung back to face him. "Now, how bout' that grand tour?" Jack's brows pushed together.

"Don't you want to put your things away, first?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Nah, I can do that anytime. This place is pretty awesome, I wanna see it all!" I grinned at him, pressing all the excitement I could muster into my voice. Jack grinned back.

"Well, um, what would you like to see first?"

"No idea! What's your favorite room?" Jack's eyes flicked to the side as he thought about his answer for a moment.

"The kitchen," He decided. His seriousness made me chuckle.

"I like the way you think. You lead, I'll follow!" This time, instead of smiling at the concrete, Jack smiled at my shoes! We were making good progress. Now if I could get him to smile at my face, then we would really be getting somewhere.

Jack swung around on his heel and walked about four paces before opening a door on the other side of the hall. This one was labeled with 23. 'So that's where it went.' I thought, as Jack pushed the door open and walked through. Inside was the kitchen. It wasn't the kind you have at home. No, this was one of those industrial sort of kitchens, all polished steel and florescent lighting. (The buzzing of those light bulbs was extremely annoying, but I would just have to get used to it.)

There were pots and pans everywhere. Any sort of cook where you could imagine was in there, hanging on racks, dangling from hooks, sitting on shelves, or habitually left on the stove. What looked like easily one hundred white plates were stacked neatly on the shelves of the giant stainless-steel island that dominated the space. Two ovens, stood side-by-side in a little nook, one of which had a griddle attached to the top. Hovering over the two ovens were large vents of gleaming steel.

To the right of the cooking station was the preparation area and a sink as big as your average tub. I'm not kidding. The thing was gargantuan. Above that monstrosity of a kitchen sink sat an array of porcelain cups, and a tissue box, on a shelf. To the right of that, there sat a large stainless steel shelving unit that was home to various cooking supplies and four white drawers in the middle.

On the far wall, was a brown bulletin board decorated with various notes, covered in scribbles and sketches, tacked to it. Beneath the bulletin was a table crafted from some dark colored wood, that was either oak or mahogany, and was attached to the wall. Affixed to the table were eight stool-like seats constructed from the same dark material as the table itself. Directly to the right side of the door, was a coat rack and six small lockers stacked vertically. The right wall was an archway and set of stairs that lead off into a hallway branching to the right and a different set of stairs to the left.

As I peered around to the left side of the door and past another steel shelf, I laid eyes upon what could only be the freezer/refrigerator combo. It was this enormous floor-to-ceiling white panel with five varying sized doors built into it. The far most door on the right was taller than me so I assumed that was the refrigerator and the other four doors were freezers. Why one would need four freezers, I had no idea, but I found myself liking the concept. Now that I had finished taking in the grossly oversized kitchen, I whirled to Jack and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. I stared him dead in the eyes.

"This. Place. Is. Awesome." I pointed at the refrigerator. "Five bucks says I could fit in there!" Jack's gaze followed my finger and he nodded.

"I think you could," He said. I took another glance around the space. I couldn't help it. The laugh bubbled up from my stomach, filled my chest, and bloomed in my throat. It had been a long, long, long, time since I had laughed like that.

"I went from having nothing, to living in this place! This is amazing!" I flung my arms around Jack. It was quite the feat on my part to refrain from crushing his ribs. I was so excited I could hardly contain it. I was bouncing up and down on my toes like a little girl! Though I guess, in the eyes of Jack and the others, that’s sort of what I was.

"I'm glad you like it!" Jack said, grinning.

"I don't like it, Jack. I love it!" I exclaimed. My stomach growled like an angry bear, just being in here was making me hungry. "Hey, as long as we're here, got anything good to eat? I'm starving!" That last bit was nothing new, I was always starving these days, always craving. But I was never craving food. Jack's throat suddenly looked extremely tasty. Thankfully, his voice broke me away from that train of thought.

"I like ice-cream," He said, brightly.

"Jack?”

"Hm?"

"We are gonna be awesome friends."

No, home wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore. But I realized with a start, that for the first time in five years, I had one. A real one.

It looked like I was gonna have to get used to it.

Jack knelt down and opened the door on the bottom left of the freezer/refrigerator combo that I then dubbed 'The Wall of Cold Stuff'. He reached in, grabbed a tub of ice cream, then stood and kicked the door shut.

"The bowls are down there and the spoons are in the top left drawer," He said, pointing to the shelf in the back. I made my way over and grabbed two of each. We both sat at the table, across from each other, and Jack served up the ice cream. I then got the chance to glance at the ice cream's label. It was chocolate-chip-cookie-dough.

"This is my favorite flavor. What's yours?" I asked him, shoveling ice cream into my mouth and moaning as the sugary goodness coated my tongue. Jack must have found that funny because he ducked his head and laughed.

"I don't know. This one is pretty good, but I love the mint and brownie ones as well," He told me. I had noticed that Jack always took great care to think about his answers before he gave them. He took and asked every question seriously. I got the feeling that Jack was the sort of person who's curiosity was never satisfied.

"I can vibe with that," I agreed. Jack's brows furrowed, he placed his spoon down on the table, folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means. Could you explain it?" He asked. I liked the way he behaved when he was curious about something, Jack just dropped everything to learn and focused entirely on whatever it was he was trying to understand. Right now, that thing was me. I found that I didn't mind his undivided attention.

"Oh, um, it means that you agree with something somebody said. Its like saying 'you're right' or 'I agree with you' or 'that's cool'," I explained. Jack nodded.

"I think I understand." I gave him a thumbs up and scooped another spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth, closing my eyes and savoring the flavor with a deep sigh.

"You know, it's been five years since I last had ice cream," I said. Jack froze his ice cream eating with his spoon still stuck in his mouth, his expression morphing into one of horror and pity.

"That's awful!" He said, he'd removed the spoon, but his mouth was still full of the dessert, "No one should have to go without ice cream for that long!"

"My friend, you are absolutely right," I replied, pointing my spoon at him. "Here's to ice cream and sugar highs!" I tapped my bowl with the spoon and Jack copied me, albeit somewhat confused as to what I was doing. Speaking of sugar highs, I could already feel one building up already. It had been way too long since I'd had this much sugar.

"Marty?" Jack wanted my attention.

"Hm?"

"I had a dream about you last night," He said, changing the subject. I stared up at him, pulling my spoon out of my mouth.

"Should I be worried?"

"No."

"What was I doing in this dream of yours?" I asked, straining to keep the nervousness that was building in my chest out of my voice. Jack frowned, picking at his ice cream.

"You said-- You told me you were dangerous and I shouldn't trust you, that you're hiding something."

I bit my lip, my eyes widening with shock. I struggled to keep calm and natural, my reactions could give me away. Just as I'd settled my expression, Jack looked up. "I can trust you, right?" I smiled as genuinely as I could, which was difficult to do with his gaze piercing into my soul like it was.

"Of course, you can! I may be clever but I'm not exactly diabolical," I said, giving my best laugh. Jack smiled and nodded, though I got the notion that he was reassuring himself more than anything. If he was going to say something else, he never got the chance because at that moment, Sam strolled into the room.

He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of us at the table. Our heads snapped up at the same time and we froze. Jack had his spoonful halfway to his mouth and mine was already there. The three of us just stared at each other for a moment but Sam was the first to react.

"Come on guys, really?! It's six A.M.!" He exclaimed. I shrugged, removing the spoon from my mouth and pointing it at him.

"AM, PM. What's the difference? Live a little!" With that comment alone, Sam figured he wouldn't be getting anywhere with me, so he turned to Jack.

"Jack, come on, be an example." Jack glanced at his spoonful of dessert and shoved in in his mouth, quickly.

"Technically," He pointed out, directing his spoon at me, "She's older than me!"

"Hey!" I protested.

"What?"

"This was your idea!"

Jack shrugged. "I know, but you agreed. I was just stating a fact," he said. Sam sighed, shaking his head. The two of us turned our attention back to him.

"Jack, throw it away and put the container back in the freezer. If you want ice cream, you can have it at dinner. Not at six in the morning," He scolded. Jack swallowed his mouthful of ice cream.

"But Sam, look at how happy she is! Marty hasn't had ice cream for five years!" He tried. I nodded vigorously to emphasize the point.

"It's true, Sam. You only live once!" I said, shoving another bite of ice cream in my mouth. Sam's eyes flicked back and forth between us.

"Fine. Just this once," He sighed.

"Thanks Sam!" Jack and I grinned.

"Yeah, whatever." Sam rolled his eyes and left the kitchen, but I could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. When he was gone, Jack sighed with relief.

"I take it you do this a lot," I said to him. He looked at the ice cream with a guilty expression.

"I wouldn't say a lot."

"But often enough for him not to be surprised?"

"Yeah." Jack grinned sheepishly.

"Does he always catch you?" I asked him.

"Every time, yes."

We finished our ice cream and put our dishes in the sink. Then, Jack proceeded to show me the rest of the bunker. Sometimes I would ask about what was in few of the rooms and he would reply with an 'I don't know' or a few times a rather disturbing 'You don't want to know'. To say that his cryptic warning had no effect on me would be a lie. He spoke the words in a light hearted way that just made me more worried. So, I tried to push any speculations as to the contents of those rooms from my mind but kept step slightly closer to Jack from then on.

He showed me a garage full of a bunch of old-timey cars that I found myself figuratively drooling over, a room full of antique electronic equipment he told me not to touch, an impressive gym with an adjacent shower room, an infirmary, a shooting range that looked like a lot of fun, something they called the 'War Room' which was where the glowy table was, the extensive library, and an alcove with an gigantic telescope that Jack claimed nobody could figure out how to use. According to him, the glowy table in the war room could supposedly track monsters, but the Winchesters weren't sure how to use it. Much to my relief.

Jack also showed me a room where I immediately knew I would be spending most of my time. Jack rather confusedly referred to it as 'The Dean Cave'. I later noticed the paper sign tacked on the back of the door that was labeled with said name. Inside there was a flat screen TV, two recliners, a bar that I'd never use, a foosball table which I would definitely use, a record-playing jukebox that I hoped had some decent tunes, and a shelf full of books. The whole room was lit by these cool red and blue lights that looked to be made out of beer kegs. This was a place I could get used to.

"Jack, I think I found my second favorite room," I said, trailing my fingers along the rim of the foosball table.

"You'll have to ask Dean if you can use the T.V. he and Sam are still trying to figure it out." Jack sat cross-legged on one of the ugly plaid recliners.

"Remind me to help em' with that. I'm tech-y," I replied, walking over to observe the jukebox. I didn't know most of the titles displayed on the devices list of records, but my eyes landed on one that I'd know even if it was written in Chinese. "Oh my gosh! Jack, how do I use this thing?!" I squealed, excitedly. Jack hopped up to help me.

"You turn this knob to select which one you want, then you press this button to start it," He explained. I followed his instructions and watched the machine grab the record and put it on that spinning thing before it dropped the needle. I grinned ear to ear as sweet music filled the air.

~Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long And wouldn't it be nice to live together In the kind of world where we belong?~

"What's this one called?" Jack asked over the notes.

"Wouldn't it be nice, by The Beach Boys! It's one of my favorites!" I was surprised that it was here considering Dean's bias when it came to music.

~You know it's gonna make it that much better When we can say goodnight and stay together~

"I dare you to sing along, Jack-Jack." I grinned and nudged his shoulder.

"No thank you," He said, shaking his head with a pleasant smile.

~Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up In the morning when the day is new? And after having spent the day together Hold each other close the whole night through~

"Awww! Why not?"

"I don't know the words." He shrugged.

~Happy times together we've been spending I wish that every kiss was never ending Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~

"Fine!" I sighed in over dramatic disappointment, flopping onto one of the recliners. "But that excuse is only gonna work once!"

Jack chuckled, leaning his arms on the back of the recliner to look down at me. "I guess I better come up with more excuses then!"

~Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray It might come true Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do Oh, we could be married (oh, we could be married) And then we'd be happy (and then we'd be happy) Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~

"You can't evade me forever," I declared, kicking my feet back and forth to the beat of the song.

"True," Jack agreed, nodding. "But I can try."

"And try you will, young Skywalker," I said.

"I like Star Wars!" Jack noted, suddenly seeming to shift from being older than me to younger by about five years. It was an odd thing to watch.

"Who doesn't?"

~Goodnight, my baby Sleep tight, my baby Goodnight, my baby Sleep tight, my baby~

The music faded away but I maintained eye contact with Jack in a spontaneous staring contest. Why? Because, naturally the first one to break was a weakling and I was not going to take that title on my first day with these people.

"Is this a staring contest?" Jack asked, tilting his head a bit. He didn't blink.

"Indeed. We maintained eye contact for longer than twenty-eight seconds, so it's obligatory," You replied, still refusing to blink.

"I did not know that those were the rules," Jack said, sounding somewhat confused.

"Well, they're not. That's just how my family always played." You were quick to clear your throat and rid your tone of any sadness that slipped past your defenses.

"Oh, I see."

"I take it you two are having fun."

"Agh!" I shot up from my reclined position in shock and whipped to the doorway where I took in the sight of Castiel standing just outside the door frame, the ghost of a smile visible on his otherwise expressionless face. How long had he been watching? Embarrassment warmed my cheeks and I hoped we hadn't looked like idiots.

"Hey Cas! I don't know about Jack, but I'm having the time of my life!" I said. Then I turned to Jack. "Whattdya' say, buddy? Am I torturing you?"

"I've been tortured before, this isn't anything close to what that was like! Don't worry, Marty. You're a lot of fun." He stated, matter-of-factly. My eyes went wide and I tilted my head at him. I mean, what was I even supposed to say to something like that? "Oh, and you I won the staring contest." I found myself nodding slowly.

"Well, good for you. And that's got to be the weirdest complement I think I've ever gotten, but I'll take it." Jack grinned at me in his lopsided way and I turned my attention back to the other angel in the room. "Any particular reason for this visit or were ya just passing?"

"Sam asked me to check up on you two," Cas answered.

"Alright. Well, I was just about to ask Jack to help me find my way back to my room."

Cas simply nodded and walked off.

"So, why do you like that song so much?" Jack inquired as we strode back through the endless identical hallways.

"It was in one of my mom's favorite movies so she was always singing it. I love the tune as well and sometimes, when I'm sad, the words make me feel better," I answered. Jack frowned.

"I don't understand song lyrics. They never make sense to me."

"Would you like me to explain it to you?"

"Yes." Jack nodded and once again gave me all his attention.

"So, that song is about two young people who feel like they're living their lives stuck in place. There's so much they want to do but everybody says they're just to young to do it. They feel like they've outgrown the stage of life that they're in and they just want to move on. By being stuck where they are, they're afraid they'll miss their opportunity for happiness. So they dream about a day when they'll finally be free to do whatever they want, even if they that day may never come around." My thoughtful tone surprised me.

I hadn't meant to put so much of my own emotion into my explanation of the lyrics. If I kept on like this, the hunters would figure me out in no time. But there was just something about Jack, about the way he listened to my every word, that made me want to tell him everything about everything. I was weak around him. He made me let my guard down. I'd have to learn how to keep it up if I wanted to survive.

"Do you feel stuck sometimes?" Jack asked. His tone was sincere but his expression gave me no clues a s to what he was hoping to learn from his question. I nodded.

"I used to feel like I was living a loop, like every day was the same. It sucked." I rolled my eyes and shoved him playfully. "But then four weirdos in an Impala showed up and my life is finally moving again!"

~With every small disaster I'll let the waters still Take me away to someplace real

Cause' they say home is where your heart is set in stone Its where you go when you're alone Its where you go to rest your bones Its not just where you lay your head Its not just where you make your bed As long as we're together does it matter where we go?~

Lyrics from: Home by Jasmine Thompson

[just-my-sickly-pride]

Nothing Special || Brian May x fem!Reader

summary || it’s your birthday, and your boyfriend brian has a couple of surprises for you up his sleeve.

rating || T. it’s nothin’ but fluff, with just some v mild implied sexual content at the end.

word count || 2.5k.

author’s notes || a birthday gift for my wonderful friend @sweet-ladyy!! hope you have a happy happy birthday, blake 😊💕 enjoy some soft bfe 70s brian! i just whipped this up today and haven’t really read through it properly, so sorry if there’s any typos.

masterlist

     “Look, I know you said you didn’t want to do anything special for your birthday.”

    Your thumb pauses on your phone screen, halfway through a scroll. “Yes, Bri, I did say that,” you say in a level tone.

    There’s no response from your boyfriend, so you look up.

    Brian’s standing there, an equally expectant and nervous smile on his face. He’s fiddling with his own fingers, and he’s dressed nicely. Not exactly to the nines, but it’s definitely a we have evening plans outfit.

    You lower your phone. “Brian, what is this?”

    “Just a small something,” Brian says. “Nothing too big.”

    “A small what?”

    “A party.”

    You groan, letting your head roll back against the couch.

    “I know, I know,” Brian says hurriedly, “but it’s just the right amount of people.”

    “You know I don’t like parties,” you complain. “And you don’t like parties.”

    “I know.” Brian sits beside you on the couch, and rubs your thigh soothingly, giving it a squeeze. “But like I said, this has just the right amount of people.”

    You narrow your eyes at him. “How many?”

    “Enough people that you know… most of them,” Brian says, avoiding your gaze, “but most importantly, enough people that they won’t notice if we leave early.”

    You raise your head off the back of the couch. “What?”

    “I know you don’t like parties,” Brian reiterates, “but I also know that your favourite part about parties is every time you sneak me off somewhere to make out with me. Don’t deny it,” he adds, when you open your mouth to defend yourself, “we’ve been dating for two years now, I know you better than you think I do.”

    “I know you know me,” you said automatically, and his eyes soften, making your whole body feel warm, like you’ve just sunk into the loveliest bath you’ve ever had. With rose petals and incense and a glass of wine and a good book and everything.

    Brian takes your hand, intertwining your fingers in his. “The others desperately wanted to throw you a party,” he says gently. “I think they just wanted an excuse for us all to get together and get plastered, frankly. But we’ll be home before eleven, and you’ll get to sneak me off to somewhere private as many times as you like.”

    You can’t help but smile. “I’ll never forgive you for bowing to peer pressure,” you say, and Brian smiles back.

    “I know.” He leans forward and gives you a kiss. “It’s at Fred’s. Party starts in ten minutes for everyone else, but I told him that we’d be getting there at least an hour late, so then we can just slip in and you can avoid saying hello to most people.”

    You sigh. “Somehow, despite all this, I love you even more.”

    Brian grins, and lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the back of your hand. “Go get ready, birthday girl.”

    Sure enough, the party is in full swing when you and Brian let yourselves into Freddie’s home. The music is pumping, people are talking and laughing – just loud enough that you know they’ve already had quite a bit – and there’s a table with a couple of drinks and some snacks.

    Brian’s hand is firm on the small of your back, keeping you grounded, as you start to wade through the guests. Some of your friends from university notice you, and they start cheering, and then the entire room is cheering, and you force a grin and a wave.

    A couple of friends bound on over and wrap you up in hugs and throw a drink into your hand. They’re all talking over the top of each other so you can barely catch any of what is said, but you can safely assume it’s mostly ‘happy birthday’.

    John and Veronica are next, followed by Roger and a girl he’s brought along. Freddie’s last, with Jim there beside him, keeping his hand on Freddie’s back, same as Brian’s hand is on yours. But, while Brian’s hand is there to help you feel safe, it looks like Jim’s hand is there to stop Freddie from falling flat on his face.

    “We bought you a present,” Freddie says, his words slightly slurred. “It’s in my bedroom.”

    “You didn’t have to,” you say.

    “Of course we did, darling. It’s from all of us, the whole band. Except Brian. He bought you something else.”

    “Fred, shush,” Brian says. “Don’t spoil it.”

    You turn to him. “What did you buy me?”

    “Oh, the Eiffel Tower,” Brian says nonchalantly with a teasing smile, and you give him an unimpressed look. He just laughs and kisses your temple.

    “Did you want a drink, Brian?” Jim says. “Can’t have you empty-handed.”

    “A drink sounds perfect, cheers, Jim.”

    “I’ll fetch you one. Freddie, love, will you be all right for five minutes?”

    “I’m fine,” Freddie says, his hands flying out wildly. “You don’t have to baby me.”

    Jim doesn’t look so sure. “Don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

    “You right if I go with Jim?” Brian murmurs to you, and you nod.

    He gives your hand a squeeze, and then he and Jim head off, chatting.

    Freddie watches them go, his face falling. “Where’re they going?” he says, heartbroken.

    “Getting a drink,” you say. “You just said to Jim you’d be fine on your own for five minutes. You told him not to baby you.”

    “Why would I say that? I like him babying me.”

    You chuckle. “I don’t know, Freddie.”

    Freddie looks back to you. “I love him so much,” he says. “Jim… He – he’s my everything. I feel like screaming, ’cause I have all this love for him all in here–” He gestures to his own body, “–and there’s so much of it I don’t know what to do with it, it just needs to explode out!”

     “Please don’t scream,” you say with a laugh. “Don’t alert the neighbours.”

    “But I have to!” Freddie takes a huge breath in, and opens his mouth.

    “Fred, what are you doing?”

    Freddie’s face lights up, and he whirls around. “Jim! I’ve missed you.” He throws his arms around his boyfriend, who stumbles a little, but curls an arm protectively around Freddie’s waist.

    Brian returns to your side, and you lean into him, catching his eye.

    “Hey,” he says lightly, smiling. “You all right?”

    “Yeah,” you say. “I love you.”

    “I love you too,” Brian says, cupping your cheek in one hand and stroking it with his thumb. “So, so much.”

    “Come sneak off with me,” you whisper, wrapping your fingers around his wrist.

    Brian grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”

    You find an empty hallway, and Brian pushes you against the wall, kissing you senseless. It’s so wonderfully familiar, but exciting nonetheless – the taste of him, the press of his tongue, the way he likes to tuck your hair behind your ear in almost an absentminded habit, how he breathes around the kisses. There’s something liberating, and fun, about hiding in a hallway, listening to the distant, muffled sounds of a party while you make out.

    You could kiss him for hours. You have, on occasion. But not tonight, not right now.

    Brian brings the kiss to an end, and he presses his forehead against yours. You keep your eyes closed, just listening to him breathing, feeling his breath fan over your face, feeling the thumping of his heart under your palm, staying in your little bubble for just a while longer.

    When you open your eyes, you find Brian watching you. There’s a light flush to his cheeks, his lips pinker than they were before, kiss-swollen.

    “You’re so pretty,” you say without thinking, and Brian breaks out into a big smile.

    “You too,” he says. He presses one more kiss to your lips, and then steps back, holding out his hand for you to take. “Back to the party?”

    “For now,” you say, threading your fingers through his.

    The night continues much in the same way. You do enjoy yourself, despite your dislike of parties, and a large part of you is so grateful that you have such loving, dedicated friends who’d throw you a party for your birthday.

    But your little make-out sessions with Brian help to keep you sane.

    Your energy starts to seriously waver after about two hours, and you find yourself daydreaming about your bed.

    Brian notices your attention drifting. “Time to head home?” he suggests, snapping you back to reality.

    “I think so,” you say glumly. “This is fun, but I just…”

    “You don’t have to explain, I understand,” he says. “Shall we make the rounds?”

    You find Freddie and Jim first, and thank them for such a wonderful evening. Jim does most of the talking; you suspect that he’s is about ten minutes away from putting Freddie to bed, the way Freddie is stumbling over his own feet.

    You find a couple of other people to quickly say goodbye to, but, really, your go-to move is a big wave and a broad, “I’m off, bye everyone!” as you back out the door.

    It’s only when you finally arrive home that you realise you forgot all about the gift that the band had bought for you. Oh well, you can get it another time.

    “Stay here,” Brian says as you take off your shoes by the door.

    “Why?” you say, but Brian’s already dashing off to the bedroom. You wait patiently, fighting the itch to go and take your make-up off, and then Brian calls out, “Okay, come here!”

    You pad over to the bedroom. Brian stands by the door, looking very pleased with himself.

    He’s strung up some fairy lights, and there’s a vase with roses on your bedside table. On the centre of the bed is a rectangle gift, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, a card nestled underneath the bow.

    You gape, and look to Brian. “How the hell did you do all this in three minutes?”

    “I had it ready to go,” he says. “The flowers were in the wardrobe, and I put hooks on the walls above the bed yesterday. I just had to put it all together.”

    “Brian,” you breathe, not knowing what else to say. You could cry.

    “Open the present,” he urges gently. “And you know I hate watching people open presents, so, to avoid being awkward, I’m gonna sit next to you and play a song.”

    You beam. “This is too much. You’re ridiculous.”

    “You make me ridiculous,” Brian says, pecking you on the lips. He fetches his acoustic from the corner of the room, and settles on the bed. He looks up at you, his fingers already plucking at the strings as if they have a mind of their own. “Come on, then.”

    All you can do is stare at him, at the room. It’s too perfect. This can’t be real.

    “Wait, I wanna take a photo.” You pull out your phone and open the camera.

    Brian dutifully smiles, and you take a couple of photos, then pocket your phone. “Okay, present,” you say, and sit down on the edge of the bed.

    Brian starts playing something softly, humming a little to himself as you open his card. His handwriting is hard to read, small and slanting, but you’ve had years to get used to reading it.

    To the love of my life, it starts. You feel yourself tearing up already.

    I know you said nothing too special for your birthday, but what can I say? I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic. And I love you too much not to do something special.

    You’re the smartest, funniest, most hard-working, most beautiful, most breathtaking human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. And the fact that you love me, somehow, is more of a pleasure than I’ll ever be able to explain, or understand.

    I love you, more than words can say. I know that’s a cliché, but it’s true.

    I hope you’ve had a happy birthday!

    Brian

    “This is so cheesy,” you say with a giggle and a wet sniffle.

    Brian just makes a sound of acknowledgement. “It’s what I’m known for,” he says, and shoots you a soft smile. He sees your tears, and his smile drops. “Oh, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry.”

    “Shut up,” you mumble, “I’m fine. Go back to your guitar, I have to open the present.”

    Brian passes you a tissue, and you take it, dabbing at your eyes. “Should’ve taken my make-up off first,” you say. “You’re a monster, making me look like a mess.”

    Brian chuckles. “I’ll take it,” he says easily, and focuses back on his guitar.

    You unwrap the present. Inside is a photo album. It’s a simple cover, white, with some pretty flowers.

    You open the photo album. The pages are filled with photos of you and Brian – mostly photos of the two of you, but some of you individually. Every other page, one of the slots is filled by a slip of paper with a short message written on it by Brian, just little love notes, things he loves about you, some short stories of memories you’ve made together.

    There are still plenty of empty pages. Lots of them. For photos and messages to come.

    “I love it,” you say, looking up at Brian. He looks up, his fingers pausing on the strings.

    “You do?” he says.

    You nod, and have to wipe a few more tears away.

    “I’m glad,” he says. “I was a bit worried it wasn’t nice enough.”

    “Of course it is,” you say. “Don’t be silly.” You set the album down, and crawl over to him, giving him a kiss. “I love you. Thank you.”

    “I love you too,” he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear.

    “I’m going to go take my make-up off,” you say with a smile, “and put that photo album and that card somewhere special, and when I come back, I’d better find all your clothes on the floor, got it?”

    Brian’s eyes light up. “You sure you don’t want to tear them off yourself?”

    “Good point.” You kiss him again, then climb off the bed. “Keep your underwear on. I’ll be happy just ripping those off. Everything else, gone.”

    “Yes, ma’am,” Brian says with a mock-salute, and you laugh as you head out of the room and to the bathroom.

    You can hear Brian singing happily to himself as you wipe your make-up off, and the thought of him undressing himself while he sings makes you laugh even more.

    The love inside you is utterly overwhelming. Maybe Freddie had the right idea. How else can you deal with the hurricane of love and affection and adoration inside you? How is anyone supposed to deal with this?

    You’re glad Brian is going to give you an excuse to scream.

    Happy birthday to me, you think to yourself, and rinse your face, patting it dry, and then trot off to the bedroom, a spring in your step.

[kelsmister]

Phoenix Fan Fusion 2019 -- Artist Alley Review May 23-26 2019 *Thursday - Sunday* ==Opinions expressed are completely my own, and from my own record. If your experience differed, then good for you. This is how the event unfolded for me. You are more than welcome to write your own review, and even allowed to vend at this event. Keep in mind my opinions are again, of my own accord.== Once again I decided to brave the desert sun and venture out of my comfortable air conditioned room to sell my various wares in the hopes of making a decent buck. After my hard drive crashed two weeks ago I had high hopes this event could at least cover part of those expenses. Oh boy, did this show do a 180 and nose dive into the deep end of the pool without bracing for impact. Where to start? I’ve been doing PCC (as it was formerly known as before the lawsuit involving San Diego vs some weird event in Colorado), for about 6 ish years now. Maybe closer to 10 by now. Point is, I’ve seen this show go from great things to downright lousy. This year was one of the lousier ones. For those who don’t know, or plum forgot, around 2 years back a man brought in real weapons, real bullet proof armor, and had threatened the life of one of the guests at the con. Idiot posted said exploits online where his one and only online chum alerted authorities and he was swiftly apprehended before he could do such vile acts. The next day the con had to crack down hard on security, as the city pressured them to not have one of those ‘mass shootings’ happen in THEIR city. (Hey I don’t want to be shot at either!) The whole scramble to get metal detectors and REAL security personnel (not just teen volunteers) took it’s toll as lines stretched for hours around the buildings in 110+ sweltering heat. Some passed out, others drenched in sweat, it was bad. Many vowed never to return, as last year did show a slight decrease in attendance. However the damage was already done. Last year the increased costs for security left the con with empty wallets and almost zero budget, they fell seriously into the red nearly going bankrupt because of it. So this year they revamped everything by cutting corners wherever they could. First thing- entry points restricted to just 3. I believe the prior year it was 5, so right there it’s not as many personnel you need to hire, or rather pay the company to hire. Secondly, they moved registration back inside the building, so saving on rental tents and such. Third, they really cut corners with the artist alley. They added more artists. Pipe and drape were scraped. Tables were now side by side, no gaps no 2 feet of spacing between you and your neighbors. Now everyone resided in 8 table deep rectangles with taped down walkways behind everyone to ‘allow entry/exit’ for the middle tables with mini pipe and drape at the ends to block out the attendees. Did I mention more artists? Seriously, they squeezed in so many that the aisles did not match up with the vendor aisles. Row 900 was actually row 1000 in artist alley. This confused several attendees walking by who would look up to see a huge banner saying one thing but the ground saying another. Our once nicely printed up table signs, which use to hang off of the pipe and drape backings were now lazily stapled to the front of tables, which fell off rather easily fyi. The rectangle of selling for each cluster of artists left many to just push their now brought from home photo backdrops to the very edge of their space, some not caring at all and just going over these 1.5 feet of ‘walkway’. Many tri-pod legs stuck out, I myself kicked a few out of frustration and even had to yell at a neighbor behind me who somehow thought the double lines were ‘his’ space. Again, no one ever came by and demanded the space be free. If pipe and drape were used instead it wouldn’t have been an issue. But being right up against each neighbor was infuriating to say the least. You couldn’t hang anything on the sides of your display for fear people would think it was your neighbor’s work. Without the pipe and drape the sea of artists looked horrid. Random photo backdrops as far as the eye could see. Some looked good, but others yuck. For those who don’t have backdrops it looked just like a big yard sale. And a lot, and I mean A LOT of tables were left empty. At cons it’s common for a few people not to show up, emergencies happen, but heck even my neighbor didn’t show allowing me to stretch out onto his space (free of charge kind of nice). Besides this they never did closing announcements. You got one at 5 minutes till but nothing else. Not saying every con does this, but at a show this big, and a hall this grand, you have to warn the public. “Hey guys 1 hour until the vendor hall closes!” “Not to alarm you all but the hall closes in 30 minutes!” “Better make those last minute purchases, hall is closing in 10 minutes. Please start making your way to the exit!” Nope, none of this. Also, randomly, on Saturday around noon someone got a hold of the overhead PA system and started blaring music. It was so loud we all were covering our ears. After song number two started to play I rushed over to the exhibit hall manager booth where I kid you not an ARMY of angry vendors were ready to lynch someone. Eventually the music cut off and we all cheered, but never heard how that happened. Maybe a blu-tooth thing?

Security. Oh boy. They had MAJOR problems. This was supposedly the same company hired the prior year, but man they didn’t act like it. Prior year everything ran smoothly, never a problem, but this year it felt like rookies-r-us training camp or something. Day 0 I overheard one of them, as they searched me ask another “Uh.. what do I do again?” Not exactly encouraging to hear. I get not all of them can be trained veterans of this, but most acted like day 1 newbies. Each day their ‘allowed/not allowed’ list changed. Sometimes they allowed bottled water, other days nope toss it. Luckily being a vendor they allowed me all the bottles of soda and water and snacks, but I heard the rumors. Some said they had to toss their sealed Gatorade or sandwiches in bags. And sometimes I was allowed in any entry point, the last two days they forced me to the one furthest away. Again, you guys can’t change the rules EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Pick something stick with it. Heck on one day, I think Friday, I got in the specialty line but the staff pointed me to general and said it “would be quicker”. Ok whatever. So I hoped over, nope. It wasn’t. Guys in front of me reeked of BO, and this was at 9am, and of course had bags in a bag in a bag. So searching took FOREVER. As I’m waiting for my turn a supervisor approaches me and points to the other line saying “Madam vendors are supposed to go through the specialty line-” I cut her off “YES I know, YOUR employee sent me HERE. I’m not hopping lines, I’m staying here. Go yell at her.” She tried to make me go but gave up after a bit.  Never had this problem before. Makes me wonder what this company did to suddenly get a bunch of rookies working for them who haven’t got a clue. OH. With the weird ness too, some days they made me open the money box and shuffle through it, other days nope didn’t care! AGAIN IT WASN’T CONSISTENT. NOT ONE BIT. Bathrooms. Another disgusting beast. This convention center has multiple bathrooms, I’m thankful for that, but the one closest to me oh boy, it was busy almost every hour. It reeked by the end of day one and never lost that lovely wretched odor of feces, urine, and chlorine. Did I forget to mention that cleaning staff, fed up with doing their one job of cleaning, almost went on strike during this? They complained to the con saying the bathrooms were too hard to maintain during this crazy event, and had threatened to just up and close the downstairs restrooms as a consequence. Con luckily put their foot down, but it did explain why at one point I saw the barrier up around the bathroom while the cleaning crew gave me the stank eye as I had to walk further down to whiz. So, the take away, if you didn’t bother to read my lovely little rant. PROS: - 8 foot table - 3 badges per table - Largest show in AZ - Easy to get into (application wise) - Big attendance numbers - Several hotels near by - Easy walk from light-rail (public transit)

CONS: - Table cost over $300 (for inline) - Table cost varying $300-500+ (endcaps higher) - Security and flip flop rules - No ‘cheap’ food alternatives - No food trucks, only con center food court - Strict food ban (cannot bring in whole pizzas) - No free parking - Booth space reduced - Pipe and drape gone (possible cost in future) - TONS more artists now - Guests not best draws - Crowded but not a lot of buyers - Huge homeless problem (it is downtown) - Ticket scalpers, you have been warned - Aisles narrowed - Tables side by side (no exits for some)

[firecakes-art]

Marker Man Misadventures 12

This is it. This is the world that will truly test my abilities as a map maker. It's as if the game is taking my map making as the actual point of the game and is upping the difficulty to maximum. I will do what I have done since the very beginning when faced with a challenge: adapt and invent new techniques in order to get to my goal.

The soundtrack sounds mischievous and is 6 measures even.

I do not show it on the map, but the parts where the black platforms turn gray is a gradual effect. What that means is that in the game the visible platforms slowly fade away to invisible ones, and then the completely invisible ones are indicated on the map by the gray color. So, basically the entire level is invisible. Not exactly ideal when you're trying to figure out where the platforms are. Not to mention there is ZERO background art. It just looks like I'm walking on air and there are also items that are on air. I mean, I get it that you cannot have background elements or else this invisible theme wouldn't work but I feel like this is just a cheap way for the level designers to not have to care about making the levels pretty.

Fortunately that dumb grid that has existed since the very beginning of the game is still there, so I can use the squares on the grid as a reference of distance traveled. Basically, I'm drawing circles and pushing them to see how they respond to the environment in front of me. It's probably a good idea to do that even if I wasn't mapping the levels out because it will help find potential traps for me. Let's face it: the developers are cheap enough to do that. They did it in the last level of the previous world. Of course I'm going to check for traps.

The part with the bouncy walls is annoying because you have to build around it to climb up. Either use a super jump power up or figure out the reach of the bouncy blocks to make the appropriate bridge.

These levels take no time at all to load. GEE I WONDER WHY. Also, do not try to force shut the game when you lose your last life. Just like with that water world, you will lose all of your progress. The only difference is your save file is just straight up gone instead of glitchy. Perfect. Watch out for long falls, and always check where the edge of a platform is before building or making a jump.

It's like a combination of the previous two levels, only simpler.

You sort of don't know which pits are places you can go to or places that will kill you. It's a safe assumption that if a shape you draw in it falls outside your view then it will probably kill you. Another really dumb thing is that sometimes you can draw shapes inside walls. If you're just making random guesses it's not entirely clear whether the successful shape is placed in an area you can walk to or if it's inside a wall.

You doubt my ability to try and make every level's title some kind of pun or reference? Just watch me.

These levels got homogenized really quickly. I had to replay this level and I had no memory of its existence.

Markers are cool. I like markers. Please give me more markers.

So, the first spiky wall area has a little bump before you fully pass the obstacle. If you're me, this means you'll get stuck under the wall, and before you can register that you need to jump, the spike wall crushes you. Note that when you game over, you only gain one life back. So every time this game decides to pull a stupidly cheap trick on me I have to redo the whole world over.

Wow. We have a new contender for the most basic level in the game. Congratulations.

One strange thing is the area under the exit. You can draw shapes under your platform and watch them disappear after falling a bit. No need to worry about crashing your game, because the developers placed triggers under the map that will delete shapes drawn out of bounds. They did at least one thing right there.

It's a level with invisible blocks and things and stuff.

Snoop around enough and you may find the coin. Or a spike pit. Same thing, eh?

I should be more upset at how hard they're trying to hide the coin and exit, but I think I'm too desensitized at this point to care.

Oh... I figured it would take until level 150 or something before the game was over, but maybe it's ending early! If you manage to die here, just remember the trick with the water world when the game over glitch happened: let the game over screen appear, continue, reset, and load to be at the level where you died. Isn't it fun when you apply what you learn?

Oh yeah, the point of the level. The giant ball is back for another rematch, and you have to scale down the level pretty fast in order to beat it (unless you're using power-ups). It took me a few tries before I was able to beat it. Be careful with some of the drops, as they are enough to damage you. After making it to the bottom, stand on the blue platform and let the ball push the other one down, flinging you upward.

Do I... really need a world map for this one? Yes? Ugh fine.

No no no no no. Nope. I'm not waiting any longer. This game is going to be finished in this post whether I like it or not. It's time to end this.

The cutscene showed the dog and marker man jump into some kind of teleporter. The result is that we are now on some space rock or something. It looks like they stuck with the themes of space too, such as making the level vast, yet empty. Hmm, not really a theme specific to this world, but oh well.

Long Boy

WHAT DID THEY DO TO SHOE BOY? It now has an oval head. I guess it's supposed to be an alien. It's really funny how they attack because they rotate their elongated head when they kick, and it just looks funny.

Ugh, these types of levels are the worst. Huge open spaces with lots of emptiness and lack of features between the platforms. It makes the game boring and frustrating to map and play, so why do it? Especially the road to that two-coin exit. Why make the player walk so far to get there? The developers could've easily added a path down from the coin to the hallway.

Alien

A projectile-based enemy, just like all the other projectile-based enemies. This one has a scarily fast firing rate, making it a very dangerous long-ranged enemy. Its barrage of bullets can also make quick work of drawn shapes. Be careful. When trying to block its bullets, don't just put a single line over it, as the place the bullet spawns can bypass the line. Place like, 2 lines. I don't know. What's interesting is the developers actually managed to make the bullet spawn from the gun's barrel instead of the top left of the sprite. Good job. You're learning! It's a little late for that, but whatever. This does mean you may need to place lines completely covering the alien before the projectiles are stopped.

Same glitch as last world. Do not force stop the game on gaming over. Let it happen, continue, exit, then get back to the level you died on.

The spike walls move at different frequencies. I recommend activating super speed and just focusing on the bottom one moving out of the way. Seriously, you better have some markers coming into this world or you're in big trouble. Actually, there's an easier way to get past this part. When the bottom spike wall is hiding under the floor, lodge a line between the floor and the wall and it will get stuck there, allowing you to pass without doing anything ridiculous.

Pleeeeeease give me more markers. I actually have to conserve resources in this world and it's annoying. There's simply too much terrain that needs to be covered that will inevitably use up all my markers. This is different from the lava world because in the lava world there were at least interesting elements in the levels that made you think on how to approach the problem. In this world it's just a battle of attrition.

Speed Cheese

It's cheese on.. wheels? This is probably a reference to moon cheese. It quickly moves back and forth, simply knocking anything that touches it out of the way. It deals no damage.

I think I know why there are so many dead ends here. The game just really doesn't want the player to have any markers in this world. How rude. This is why people like me have to come in and bright light to the correct pathway to victory.

Oh yaaay. Another level where you just have to look everywhere to find the coin and exit. The part of the map where it says SLIDING has no friction. Marker man will not stop moving on that platform until a wall is hit. The exit is kind of dumb to get to. In order to even see it you have to either stand on the platform with the alien (which noone is going to do) or build up and then look up. I recommend just making a giant rectangle on the corner of the map and then building off of that to the exit.

This is the realm of the shoe boys. Their final congregation is at this location. They are planning big things. They already have presence in just about every world. Their plans to finally take over the world of marker man have started to unfold in this meeting area, and you are in the middle of it all.

This is pretty straightforward, isn't it?

Beware of the many dead ends in this level. You get one marker in here. Well, there is a second one, but it's in a trap so I'm not counting that one.

What. Why is the map so linear? Why is there a pointless dead end to the right with a moving platform? Why is the map small? Why is there large stretches of nothingness? I don't understaaaaaaaaand. Maybe the devs want this game to end as bad as I do. Fair enough.

We all want this to be over! Just walk down this straight pathway, hug the left, and you'll get your coin, and you'll get your exit right above the coin. It's that simple. We even went ahead and put the useless parts of the map all on the right side so you don't even need to travel there. I'm doing you a favor, but don't tell my boss I'm doing this. These are supposed to be the hardest levels in the game. Go forth!

Uhm. What. WHAT.

This is the final level. There is no indication that this is the final level. There is no dog seen anywhere, and the level number didn't jump to the range where the dog levels appeared. I simply walked into the exit, my level got reset to one, a cutscene played, and the game is over. I think it's really fitting that the background track that plays throughout the cutscene and the credit rolls is the game over music, because did I really win by beating the game? Everyone's a loser for trying.

But hey. I get a star next to my save file now. I guess any recognition of me going through this torture is better than nothing. I was curious to see if this star meant some sort of change in the game, like a new game plus, but it doesn't seem like it. My markers and lives left carried over from the previous game to this one, but that's about it.

And.... that's it. The game is done. I mapped every level. Here is the final world map.

Thanks for reading. However, there is still one final post to make...

[beaflower77]

Do I Really Want To See                    What Is Down There?

Here is my first Creepy Writing Challenge Original Fiction. I tweaked the writing prompts @little-red-83 gave me, with her permission, of course.

Who : A Librarian   What : Creepy child, black eyed ghost (changed to amber eyed, tall mysterious figure)    Where : old trapper’s cabin (changed to old, run down house)    When : During a break in (changed to taking a break)             Why : Wrong place, wrong time (well maybe not, in my opinion. I’m ready anytime)                          

                     Do I Really Want To See What’s Down There?

They had spent the last fours driving. It was late, they were exhausted and the road was miserably long, dry and steady. And her leg was beginning to throb, cramping up.

“Hey, you awake?,” she asked, prodding her driving companion on the leg. That leg, the leg which was pushed and prodded, twitched slightly, and its’ attached body awoke. “Mmmm,” Lovey mumbled, “What’s the matter? Are we there yet?”

“No. I don’t know where we are, I think we’re lost,” Dexter said, slinging the map off to her. “Here. Look at the map. I need some help here.” Sitting up, groggily brushing her eyes and hair from her face, Lovey took the squished map, unfolded it. “It’s dark outside, you know,” she mentioned. Dexter lifted her arm from the wheel, “Then turn the light on.” She switched the little rectangle on the car ceiling. “I need to know where we are. Nothing about this area looks familiar from the map. You’re the librarian. Help me out.” Lovey in return rolled her eyes, sighed.

Unfolding the map, turning, folding half over, turning round again, “It’s gotta be somewhere up there,” mumbled Lovey. “This map is old. I thought you took the newer one. Doesn’t the library have tons of them?,” she mentioned, refolding it up, returning it to the glove compartment. “No. My library sucks, “complained Dexter. “That’s the one you gave me. Do you have any idea where we are?,” Dexter once again asked, eager to get somewhere, farther away from wherever they were. Hardly any lights were left on this forgotten stretch of land. It was getting very late.

“There! Up there!,” a smile creasing Lovey’s face, as she started to recognize small bits and pieces of landscape. Pointing ahead, “After this old gas station we should come to a fork in the road. Make a left, and my Aunt’s house should be bout a mile down.” Turning to Dexter, trying to make apologies, tapping her lightly on her arm, “See. We’re almost there. You did it. You did good with the driving. Good job. We’ll be there soon and then we can really get a good night’s sleep.” Giving a loud and wide yawn, stretching her back, with her arms raised as far as they could reach the car’s roof, hearing little crinkles from her joints “Oh, I’m so sick and tired of being in this car,” Lovey softly whined. “Yeah, well, I hope your Aunt is home,” was all Dexter could think of. 

Surprised no one was home, they had waited forever on the doorsteps, peeking through opened curtains lining sealed windows, “I don’t know. She said she was going be here.” Lovey tried shrugging that nagging feeling off. Thinking they should just announce themselves, “She left the door unlocked. Let’s just go in and unpack,” Dexter suggested warily. And lifting her brown and kaki duffle, “She’ll probably be here in the morning. No biggie.” “Maybe she’s already asleep?, Lovey asked. The two sighed, tiptoed in, sneaked and snooped round the old home, went upstairs, peek into unused rooms, then looked at each other. “I’m not sleeping up here,” Lovey suddenly proclaimed, eliciting a look of heart sinking alarm from Dexter. “Okay, well if you’re not, I’m not either.” And they withdrew themselves from the too tight confines of the one long hallway and half emptied rooms for a bigger, fresher looking double bedroom downstairs. The untouched rooms were left untouched.

Trying to settle in, looking round the old, semi dilapidated house, the sparse but manicured bedrooms upstairs, downstairs, the two young women, crept about, shyly peeping into full closets, opened doors, peered round dark corners. “Where’s your Aunt? Why isn’t she here?” Dexter was getting creeped out by the minute. The lighting was scant, shadows were flitting. Lovey’s emotional feelings of unease weren’t much better off. Where was her Aunt? It wasn’t like her not to be here at this hour. Yes it was very late, but still, where was she? 

Dumping their belongings on the floor and bed, “This is the newer part of the house.,” Lovey explained. “When my Aunt originally bought the place, the other owners said they had the kitchen and this room and the bathroom added on. They had one of their in-laws living with them. I don’t think she uses the upstairs much.,”  “Yeah. I guessed not.,” Dexter replied, obviously not too impressed. Dexter looked round the room’s corner to the bathroom. “Bath is big. You could fit an army in there.,” she mentioned, poking her head round the doorjamb, waiting for another of Lovely’s explanations. “Yeah.,” Lovey agreed. “It’s cedar. The shower. A jacuzi and shower.,” she smiled with a knowing thrill.

Walking back into the bedroom, Lovey went and closed the second bedroom door, which separated their room from the hallway. And older part of the house. And locked it. “Why are you locking the door?!,” Dexter asked, looking frightened for a moment. “No reason.,” Lovey gave her. “Just, I don’t know. It seemed the right thing to do.,” and she proceeded to empty her duffle in the hopes of finding some night clothes. “Want to take a shower first? Or in the morning?,” Lovey asked. Dexter opened her bag, found some clothes, grimaced at the thought of being alone all night. “No. Go ahead. I’m fine. I’ll wait till morning.”

Listening to the sounds of the water softly pounding down, coming from the bathroom next door, the everyday sound was comforting, normal even. Dexter began to forget the unusual noises from the house, the uncomfortable feelings nipping at her neck, the paranoid gazes she felt from empty, yet watchful corners. But as Dexter relaxed more and more, letting the sound of Lovey’s shower melt her dismay and unease, she began to let her feelings and guard settle down, think and remember.  Dexter had met Lovey a few times at the local library while on Lovey’s desk shift and the two became fast friends for these past eight months or so. Smiling to herself, reminiscing, Lovey was sweet, kind, intelligent, but just a bit stubborn. Like this, insisting they spend the weekend at Lovey’s Aunts’ place. In the middle of nowhere. Halfway to the other side east of the state. Dexter laughed at herself, pondering this, as the continual everyday sounds filtered next door. Right next door. Literally a footstep away from Dexter in bed. Was this where they would start, she wondered? Start their life together? Begin here, with telling Lovey’s Aunt, telling friends and family their relationship was more than just friendship? Dexter smiled, feeling finally at peace with their situation, finally finding someone she felt connected to, was relaxed around, felt loved and accepted for just being her. And mentally, emotionally settled down further, knowing Lovey’s feelings and hers were more than genuine for each other. 

Laying in the warm, soft double bed, drifting further from reality, she half lay, half sat. Trying to read one of her books, not truly concentrating on the paragraphs, as she gazed round the bigger downstairs bedroom in which they shared, Dexter’s thoughts continually came back to earlier in the evening. Newer part, she thought. It’s still creepy. This whole house is creepy. The sooner the morning comes, the sooner we can get out of here. Dexter mused and turned an unread page. The shower sounds lulled her a bit further, and she sank back more against the pillows, letting her heavy eyelids drift down, starting to doze, and her book finally settled against her chest. And the sounds of the shower continued. 

**************************************************

Where had the entire evening gone? The night was now darker than ever, and a tomblike quiet filled the eerie house. Dexter woke with a huge breath, stretch and a yawn. Had she fallen asleep? When did this happen? She rolled to the empty, chilled side of the bed, reached, and took a glance at the bedside clock. “Three a.m.?,” Dexter questioned the thickened air. She lay there in bafflement. Where was she? She stretched her mind. Where was she? “Oh, yeah,” she said aloud. “This house.” Trying to see through the darkness, “Lovey?,” she whispered sleepily. “Lovey?” That sound. What was that sound? That comforting, drip, drip, dripping sound she heard in the background. “Lovey?,” Dexter again whispered through the dark, as she woke more, becoming just a little concerned, a moment of fright actually beginning to root. 

Pulling back the comforter, stepping into the dim hall, she knocked on the door, pushing it ajar just slightly, peering inside. “Lovey?,” Dexter asked again. Why was she asking? It was three a.m. Did she seriously think her friend was still in the shower? After five hours of having been there in this house all night? “Lovey?,” again she asked, now becoming seriously frightened by the thought of aloneness setting in. The bathroom was empty. Devoid of life. No Lovey. The shower? The shower was on, fully on, steam having left the bath long ago. Dexter stepped close to the curtain, turned the knob, wiped her wet hands, fingers on the towel laying nearby. Not knowing what to think, where to look, Dexter left the bathroom light on, stepped back into their joint room. Flipping a switch near the bed, Dexter’s eyes clamped shut against the invading light. She looked round the room. The door opposite the bed was still shut and locked. Where was Lovey? Not wanting to go from this room, nor wishing to go exploring, the house was no longer just beginning to make Dexter uncomfortable, it made her upset.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

Dexter heard it. She heard it very painfully plain, clean. The stairs. She could visualize the set of stairs leading to the level above, and turned to listen. She herself had made those soft creaks as she and Lovey walked earlier. But unlike these footfalls, hers and Lovey’s were soft.

Creak. Creak. Creak. Creak.

Someone was on the stairs. Dexter sat on the bed, not moving, not breathing. Someone was in the house. Someone was on those stairs. Someone heavy. Their step was heavy. She fervently watched the bedroom door while sitting there, knowing on the other side was the older part of the house. She was in the newer part of the house. So, she assumed, she was … safe? The sound stopped. Dexter waited, listened, stared.

The knob turned. 

The knob of the bedroom door outside turned. And turned the opposite way. On the other side of the door, someone’s hand obviously was on the knob. The door was locked from this side. Dexter stared hard at the door. What was there? She wanted to call out, to ask, ‘Lovey?’, but she couldn’t find her voice. All Dexter could capably do was sit there, on the bed, in the newer part of the house, and stare at that blessed, wretched door. It rattled, rattled, rattled. And stopped. Silence. The air was thick with silence. Dead, drawn-out silence. Slowly crawling off the bed, still staring at the knob, the locked door, her fingers of their own volition reached out, stretched out to touch the knob, then quickly retracted back against her body. Dexter quickly backed away, retreating to the bed once again.  Knowing the opposite bedroom door near the bath was built on the new side of the house, she partly stuck her head out, mildly calling, “Lovey?!, Lovey?!”

The slow, cryptic creaking seductively whispered through the air again. 

Creak. Creak. Creak. 

The stairs began to strain against someone’s heavy footfalls, this time leading up to the second level. “Lovey?!!!,” screamed Dexter. She had enough. Rising, putting shoes on without socks, Dexter ran out the other side of the room, into the kitchen. The sky blue, newly designed kitchen. Flipping switches here and there, turning lights on. Newer parts, older parts of the house, she didn’t care anymore. “Lovey?!!!” Dexter needed to know. Running through all parts of the house now, Dexter came full circle back to the opposite side entrance of the locked door to their room. And looked up the stairs. Where there was not a thing, except darkness. Dexter was not going up there.

Returning her gaze back to the bedroom door, putting her hand tentatively on the knob, Dexter slowly turned it. And turned it the opposite way. Nothing. The knob didn’t budge. Dexter pulled, pushed, rattled it. Nothing. The blasted door on this side was solidly locked. Dexter was now in the older part of the house. Her comfortable bed was on the other side, in the new part of the house. “Shit,” aloud she exclaimed. Her comfort level dropped a few feet.

“Dexter,” whispered a voice. She heard it, causing her to come to a standstill, looking at nothing but flat air. “Dexter,” it spoke again. Not a menacing sound, not a thrilling one either. Just a sound. A thought borne on the air. A word on the breathless, darkened air. “Dexter.”

Coming to a stop, Dexter glanced round. Where to go? Where to look? More importantly, she decided, where to hide? Where was that voice coming from? “Hello?,” quietly Dexter asked the void. “Hello?,” then more forcefully, “What do you want?!!”

She ran back round toward the kitchen. The new kitchen. Feeling a little safer there than the older parts of the house, the foyer, the dining-living space, Dexter stilled, quieted her breathing. Looking round at the kitchen appliances, the walls, the sink, she could hear the plumbing seamlessly dripping away. Drip, drip, drip. She turned the sink knobs hard. The dripping continued. She sneered. Turning her head, Dexter willed herself to focus. That was when she heard it. Quiet, but soft, a deadly serious knocking against some small panel they hadn’t noticed before had begun. Whirling round the kitchen, this way, that way, as it knocked, knocked, knocked. 

Her heart skipped, her guts clenched, she wanted to vomit. Taking a polite, steady, frightened step toward the knock, Dexter looked down at the panel. Just a panel, no bigger than a two by three metal paneling bolted on a door. Another door, great. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Widening her eyes, taking a step back, her arms prickling up, “What’s there?,” Dexter whispered. “Dexter.,” came the whisper again. She couldn’t breath, yet her breath came and went in a thick, deep rattle. Approaching the panel with cautious trepidation, Dexter noticed the small panel was actually only a little rectangular shaped piece of metal, bolted onto the bottom of the door. Just a little cat trap she thought. Cute. A little whispering, scary, bolted down cat trap, somewhere in the back recesses of her mind, she thought reasonably. Looking up from the panel, Dexter noticed the doorknob, and almost yanked it open, wanting to yell. Yell at what she couldn’t fathom. However she wished to, she couldn’t. Starting to cry, to weep, not knowing what else to do or think, Dexter started to fastidiously scratch at her hands in nervousness. “What’s there?,” she whispered. “Dexter.,” it whispered back. Inside, she shrank.

Perhaps, “Lovey?,” she asked, half hoping to hear her friend’s familiar voice, convincing her this was just a stupid, messed up night. “Lovely, stop playing around. This isn’t fun anymore. Lovey? Hello?” Silence ensued. She couldn’t move.

                           ***********************************************

Lights suddenly went out! Darkness! 

A multitude of darkness came rifling through the house, startling, shaking Dexter in a panic. And with the dark, a sudden gush of cold, frigid air. Looking round, twirling, Dexter’s eyes couldn’t adjust fast enough. With some creaking, a loud shudder, the door with the silver, metal panel burst open, emitting a figure, an outstretched arm, hand, and pointed fingers. “Ahhhh!!,” Dexter screamed before it in abject horror, pity for her own life taking hold. She looked on in frozen terror at a darkened, foreboding figure. “Lovey!!,” Dexter screamed again. “Please! Where are you?!!” A look or horror glossed Dexter’s face, her pleadings came tripping over her words, thoughts. “No!!,” Dexter whimpered, a dawning realization coming from within her being, as the amber eyed, colossal figure slowly advanced toward her, a half maniacal look crossing her otherwise beautiful, soft, kindhearted features.

As it raised its’ arm, extending a slim, single finger behind itself, “She is waiting for you,” it suggested. It was more of a command. “Down there.” The female figure waited. It stared Dexter down, demanding a response, but giving no more words, only its’ perceived thoughts. Shaking her head rapidly, her hands, fingers folded over themselves, tucked up to her mouth, Dexter could not force herself to move, even if it was to look down into the depths of the opened doorway. A doorway which led to a never-ending, ebony abyss, with only a pin prick of light smoldering beneath the gloom above.

Holding Dexter’s terrorized gaze, the figure continued. “Down. There,” it again commanded. Lowering her eyes, lids shaded in obedience of sorts, Dexter managed to take three halting steps forward, peered down into the basement, sensing steps spiraling downward. “Do I want .. to see … what’s .. down there?,” she whispered, half looking, half cowering before the tall figure, shoulder up close to her ears.

The figure raised its’ chin, looked down severely, and stared while continuing to point in the direction of the dark. “Down. There,” it repeated. As Dexter heavily shifted her leaden feet forward, she peered down the stairs. When her eyes reached the bottom, when what she saw came slowly came into focus, Dexter began to see what appeared as a light colored, no a white colored hole. In that hole, something lush and green awaited. And on the lush greenness, lay Lovey. Dexter’s mouth opened. “ Lovey?,” she spoke, asked. Dexter called down that hole again asking more firmly, “Lovey!!” It was then the towering cloaked figure turned, and just as suddenly, gave a hefty shove to Dexter’s back and shoulders.

Clawing, kicking her way through the turbulent, thick ozone, Dexter finally descended down through a misty haze. Spilling through the haze, further falling, falling, hurtling towards the only tree within sight, Smacking against branch after exposed branch, tumbling, scratching against her limbs, Dexter thunked, thunked her way to the ground. Bruised but slightly, not so damaged, Dexter’s poor body rolled, abruptly coming to a stop and, she began to push herself off the dirt ground. As Lovey’s concerned face came into view. “Dexter?!,” she exclaimed. Then more firmly, “Dexter!” Falling quickly, “Aahhh!,” Dexter continued to scream, clawing at nothing but the thickened air.

Lovey clambered, rushing over, calmly at first then more forcefully, prodding her friend into alertness. “Dexter!,” she harshly whispered. “Dexter, what has happened to us?!”  “What didn’t happen?,” Dexter claimed herself, at first not realizing a thing, trying to sit, regain her breath, holding her head in hand, starting to stand. Her hands, limbs, beginning to shake terribly, from the fall as from the momentous turn of events. Now she truly noticed Lovey.

“Dexter,” Lovey hastily whispered. “We don’t have time to goof and talk. Come on, get up! Look around! We’re not at home anymore! Come on!,” and she helped her dazed beloved up. “What the … ,” Dexter exclaimed, grimacing, her limbs tired, sore, feeling out of whack. Her face turned to a grimace, pointing in the distance, “What the hell is that?”  Motioning Dexter away to some hopeful safety of a sudden nearby wooded glen, “Those look like Orcs Dexter,” Lovey soberly explained. “And those,” pointing in the opposite direction of riders with horns, arrows and golden armor, “Those look like elves.” Giving Dexter another good shove, and pull, “Come on. Let’s move. We’ve ended up someplace. And it’s not home anymore.” 

Looking up at the now empty, placid blue heaven above them, Dexter let Lovey drag her away from the upcoming skirmish, hiding themselves among lush, green and golden leaves and trees. “Seriously?,” Dexter considered, looking with perplexity upon Lovey’s calm but watchful gaze. “Yep. Home has been replaced by …. Middle Earth.” And they walked ever near some bewildering wooded, elven dwelling.  

They tell the tale of the old house just for fun these days, perhaps just to keep immature, locals from playing inside. Perhaps to keep kids from getting hurt on loose floor boards or whatnot. But still, the door with the little steel trap, had been barred, locked, nailed shut by someone. Or something.

Lovey’s Aunt? She was never found. And the two young women? Well, people say they ran off, eloped or something of that magnitude. Some say they were never there to begin with. Fact is, no one really knows. But every so often, someone goes into that house on a dare. Their friends wait outside for their return.

But no one has ever been known to come out. 

Ever. 

[kittae]

Pepero Day (M)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Smut, Bestfriend!Yoongi, Valentine’s Day themed

Word count: 5.7k

warnings: Rated M, language, graphic sexual descriptions

A/N: This was meant to be a valentine’s day fic, but it’s a day late, rip. I hope you enjoy it regardless!

“The fuck is the point of this stupid holiday anyway?”

“Oh so now it’s a stupid holiday, huh? What happened to your ‘It’s a beautiful day of celebration between two people who have found the other half of themselves in each other’ bullshit?”

“Yoongi, will you just shut up and get over here already?”

“I’m just saying that you had a whole different view on it last year, that’s all i’m saying. Whole different.”

‘”get it, i get it. I’ll get the snacks ready, be here in five.”

“I’ll bring the booze.”

“Great.”

You hung up with a sigh, probably more theatrical than strictly acquired, but who honestly gave a damn anymore. Not you, that’s for sure. The day you’ve been dreading since you and your ex broke up was finally here. Valentine’s day. You couldn’t help but imagine those two measly words in a mocking, childish tone every time it popped up inside your head.

“Valentine’s day,” you tried out loud, physically unable to say it normally, as if it would curse you if you did. Or just because you were petty as hell. Never again will you take this day of fake affection and overpriced presents seriously. How could you have been so naive and conform in the past. Love makes you a brainless doll who isn’t capable of thinking rationally, you’ve decided, and therefore it is useless and unnecessary. Some people may call you bitter or sour or salty or whatever else god damn flavour there is to call someone who finally got to think for herself. But you knew there was always one person who would understand your so called ‘bitterness’.

With that, as if jinxed, you heard the doorbell ring and break through your whirling thoughts. When you opened it, the most familiar figure stood in front of you, looking bored to death as per usual.

“You got the vodka?” you asked him almost equally as uninterested.

“What, am i not allowed to come in if i don’t?”

You just silently stared at him, leaning against your doorway and observing his hands in the pockets of his huge, black winter coat.

“What do you think?” he asked with an overdramatic roll of his eyes adding to the slightly aggravated tone in his voice while he pulled a bottle of liquor from his pocket. You’d grown so accustomed to his sass, it almost felt like home.

“Your ticket has been verified sir, please do come in.”

As you turned your back to lead him into your apartment, you heard the faint sound of an indignant scoff that instantly managed to bring a smile on your face.

“So, what are we watching tonight?” he questioned as you walked through the hallway and up the stairs, ‘and why aren’t we taking the elevator?’

“World War Z and because it’s busted. You should get more exercise anyway.”

“Speak for yourself,” he murmured underneath his breath, but still loud enough so he was sure you could hear him and shake your head in amusement.

You opened the door to your humble abode, widely gesturing him to enter.

“Voilà!”

“Ooh, fancy, you even made us a blanket and pillow fort this time. You’ve really outdone yourself, ____-,” a hint of sarcasm lingering in his voice, but he couldn’t hide the overbearing excitement in it when it raised a few tones.

“Well, it is Valentine’s day after all.” you mimicked his sarcasm.

“Ugh,” another roll of his eyes. See, he understood.

6 shots and 2 bags of chips later, you were halfway through the movie, watching how a mass horde of gruesome zombies tried to climb over the enormous wall and succeeded in doing so. Normally you’d cover your face with a blanket every time one of those ugly fuckers would sink their teeth into some poor guy’s flesh, but you were already too drunk to care this time. You didn’t know why you’d chosen a zombie movie yet again when you knew they usually made you sick to the stomach, but you did know they’re thrilling and they make you forget about certain unpleasant thoughts and memories. Besides, you felt at ease being accompanied by the presence of a silent Yoongi, surrounded by a pile of junkfood and following garbage.

Your hand disappeared into a bag of chips, only to realise it was empty. Sighing, you groped at the ground without taking your eyes off the screen, feeling around until your fingers stumbled upon a small, rectangled carton box. You knew you had some Pepero laying around somewhere! When you ripped the packaging open, Yoongi suddenly snapped his head in the direction of the sound.

“Are those Pepero?” he asked, his eyes locked on the chocolate covered cookie sticks that were sticking out of the tin foil.

“They are. Want some?”

“You know i do.”

He grabbed a handful of sticks, so he could binge eat them one after another. You preferred to take them out of the packaging one at a time and savour the taste of chocolate melting on your tongue while you both continued to watch the movie in silence. After a few minutes, you reached out to grab another, only to find the packaging empty.

Except for one single pepero.

You slowly pulled it out of the foil, keeping your eyes on your so far unsuspecting best friend as he was too engrossed in watching the bloody and horrific scene in front of him. Making as little sound as physically possible, you managed to get it out safe and sound and brought it to your mouth. But then Yoongi’s hand landed on the box, feeling around and quickly discovering it was empty. He turned his head and was just in time to see you open your mouth.

“Is that the last one?” he asked, his eyes squeezed to slits in suspicion.

“N-no?”

“____-, the box is empty, i’m not an idiot. Share it with me.”

“No!”

“Damn it, ____-! Don’t be selfish! The vodka i bought is worth like 500 of those things!”

“No, it’s mine!” you whined and quickly put the tip in your mouth and thereby claiming it as your own, “What are you gonna do n-”

Your eyes widened comically when there were suddenly only a few inches left between your face and his, the chocolate part of the last pepero stick ending where Yoongi’s lips began.

You were too shocked to react, or maybe it was the way he looked at you with those half lidded eyes and full, rosy lips curled around the snack that rendered you immobile and speechless. You felt your face heating up quickly, your ears burning hot while your heart raced in your chest, your head feeling light and empty. You wanted to ask him what he was doing, but somehow your mind forgot how to form words.

The short sound of the snack breaking between his teeth reached your ears, yet he didn’t let go of the small piece that was still stuck between your own lips. You stopped breathing, holding your breath in anticipation of what was going to happen, your eyes going dry as you completely forgot what blinking was. A quick flash of a sly smirk appeared in the corner of your eye before he backed away as fast as he showed up in front of your face.

It took you a good few seconds and a few blinks of your eyes to finally recollect your thoughts and shake yourself out of the strange high, while he just got back to watching the movie as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.

“What the hell was that?!” you asked him, verbalizing your confusion in a snappy question.

“Hm? What was what?” he murmured, not even bothering to look away from the screen.

Was your imagination playing tricks on you or did you see the corner of his mouth pull up in that same sly smirk again?

“You-You know! What you just did!”

“Take a bite of the pepero?”

You felt heat rising up in your face again, pretty sure you got a bright red colour by now, but this time more out of frustration rather than excitement or embarrassment.

“Why did you do that! You can’t just do that and-and-” you stuttered, your head spinning with all kinds of emotions and you wondered why in the world it had affected you so much.

“Are you mad?”

The question echoed in your head, having you stare at him with your lips still slightly parted as if you were going to say something, but you had no words once again.

“W-what?”

“Are you mad i didn’t kiss you?” Yoongi asked, this time looking you dead in the eyes, a dark glint glistening inside his and that smirk back on his lips.

You gasped, a bright blush spreading across your cheeks for the third time that night, making you feel grateful about the fact it was dark in the room except for the TV still playing the movie. It was awfully silent, the animalistic, guttural growls and snarls of the zombies in the background the only sound resonating through the room. The flickering light of the TV illuminated parts of his face, bringing out the blue hue in his raven hair and the shadows contouring his features in a way that made breathing harder and you suddenly realised your cynical friend was actually really attractive.

After swallowing hard, you gave yourself some posture by scoffing and rolling your eyes at him.

“No? Are you crazy?” you retorted as if he just asked you the most stupid question in existence.

He simply shrugged and focused his attention back on the TV in complete lack of interest. But you couldn’t. Your eyes were glued on your best friend’s profile, studying his cute, little nose you never seemed to have noticed the beauty of, the way his black hair fell on his bright and pale skin, how full and inviting his lips looked. It felt as if a whole different person sat beside you. How did you not notice these things before? Was it because you’ve been too hung up on your ex after all these months since you broke up? Whatever it may be, you could never unsee him the way you were seeing him right now. And to think a stupid pepero was all it took.

Your hand moved as if it had a mind of its own, your fingers closing around the fabric of his sleeve and tugging on it. Yoongi turned his head and looked down at where your hand was groping his sleeve.

“What is it?” he frowned, looking between your eyes staring up at him and your hand, silently questioning what you were doing.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t an idiot before?” you asked him softly, slowly moving closer to him.

“I did.”

“Then kiss me, idiot.”

The whispered request got his eyes to widen for a second, but darkness filled them again deeper and more intense than the first time before he clutched a handful of your hair in his hand and crashed his lips on yours without hesitation. You completely surrendered yourself to him as he stole the air right out of your lungs, your fingers tangling themselves inside his charcoal locks while you devoured eachother, soft hums and whimpers escaping your lips as you practically sat yourself into his lap. His hands cupped the back of your thighs and pulled you closer while his tongue slipped itself inside your mouth, which you eagerly accepted. He tasted of vodka and chocolate and you were instantly addicted.

You grabbed onto the collar of his hoodie as you positioned yourself better in his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist while he supported your back with his arms before you decided you wanted the piece of clothing off of him. You tugged on it until it fell down his arms and he briefly let you go to shrug it off and throw it somewhere in the room, his lips never separating from yours for even a second.You ran your hands up his chest, your fingers brushing over his prominent collarbones sticking out of the black V-neck Tshirt he was wearing and you softly groaned in want. At the same time, his own fingers played with the hem of your shirt, dipping underneath the fabric and making you shiver in delight every time they made contact with your skin.

It wasn’t long before you noticed a very apparent bulge where you sat. Even through the denim, it was hard as a rock and poked against your ass, making you even more riled up then you already were. You rocked your hips in an experimental grind, testing the waters and earning you the satisfying response of a moaning Yoongi against your lips. The sound was so captivating, so you did it again.

“Mmm, fuck babe,” he moaned once more as he started to kiss his way down your neck and you giggled.

“Did you just call me babe?” you asked him teasingly, your bottom lip in a smile between your teeth and your eyelids fluttering in delight from the feeling of his lips dusting faint bruises on your sensitive skin.

You promptly found yourself on your back when he pushed you down in the many comfortable blankets and pillows you’d gathered for the fort, your legs still curled around his waist while he continued to attack your neck.

“There’s a lot of things i’ll be calling you tonight if we’re going to continue like this,” he breathed against your ear and a delicious shiver crawled over your skin.

He pushed himself up a bit so he was hovering over you, black strands of hair randomly falling in front of his handsome, flushed face when he looked you in the eyes, pupils blown in his own. You wanted nothing more than for him to continue.

“Don’t stop, Yoongi,” you exhaled before you quickly yanked him down by his shirt, already missing the feeling of your swollen lips connecting, tasting him, feeling him, you needed more.

Another soft whimper rolled off his tongue when it entangled with yours and you weren’t sure if all of this had sobered you up and made your head spin in desire or the high you were experiencing was mainly due to the alcohol. You were burning, your hips rolling in circles against the front of his jeans when he pushed himself flush between your legs, his straining erection perfectly tangible against your aching, clothed center. You didn’t think you’d ever wanted something, someone, so badly before.

You’d also never thought about making out with your best friend, but with the way his lips molded so perfectly against your own, his slender hands gently roamed your body, over your thighs, your sides, your chest, your hair, your face and the sounds he made while doing so, you never wanted it to stop.

His fingers closed themselves around the hem of your shirt again, subtly pushing it up and tickling your skin when they brushed over it, making you giggle softly against his lips and his lips curling into a smile in response, accompanied by a playfully frustrated groan.

“This needs to go,” he chuckled against your lips, something resembling a whine lingering in his voice.

“Take it off then,” you responded breathlessly, your heart going 100 beats per minute as your chest heaved in anticipation.

He didn’t need to be told twice as he practically ripped the thing off in all his excitement, your hair all tousled and messy from the force he pulled it over your head with, making it nearly impossible for you to suppress a laugh. Has he ever been this energetic before? You only seemed to recall a generally uninterested, unbothered Yoongi during the time you’ve known him, except for the times he was talking about his music.

His hands quickly found the firmness of your bra-covered breasts, his fingers softly caressing the swell sticking out of the garment as he left your lips to kiss his way down your neck. Quick pecks soon reached your collarbones, his tongue joining in once he came close to your mounds and his hands moved to your back to unclasp your bra. He just shoved the fabric down, too impatient to take it off properly, lips closing around your stiffened buds and humming contented when he laved his tongue over the soft flesh.

You stifled a moan when you felt the hot, wet muscle stimulate your sensitive nips, arching your back to somehow give him even better access to your chest when he sucked and licked his way around one breast and thoroughly massaged the other with his hand. Your fingers found themselves back in his jet black hair, caressing his scalp as a way to express your enjoyment. He simultaneously started fiddling with the button of your jeans, your heart pounding against its cage as your breathing got shorter and heavier.

It didn’t go by unnoticed.

“Are you nervous?” he asked when he looked up from your chest, a bit of worry present in his expression, though you saw his knuckles turning white around the waistband of your pants when he stopped all movements, indicating the self restraint he’s trying to hold up to make sure he wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with.

You shook your head in denial, trying to shove his head back down to where he left off so he wouldn’t notice you actually were. You didn’t want him to know he actually had such power over you. But who were you trying to kid here. A mischievous smile played at his lips as he crawled back up until his face was right in front of you again.

“You so are. Do i make you nervous, baby?” he kept teasing, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he couldn’t contain the wide grin on his face.

“Of course not, it- It just felt good.” you muttered, angling your face away from his in fear he’d feel the heat radiating from your skin contradicting your words.

“Then why can’t you look at me, hm? Afraid i’d notice that…I make you nervous?”

He just wasn’t going to let it go, was he?

“You’d better stop playing games and start trying to expose me in a whole different way, Min Yoongi or i swear to god I- Oh fuck!” you cut yourself off in the middle of your heated scolding when he pinched your nipple not so gently, but oh so deliciously, making you bite your lip hard and scrunch your face up in pleasure when you couldn’t hold down a moan this time.

“What was that?” he asked with feigned innocence, acting as if he didn’t have a clue where that sound came from. God, you just wanted to smack this boy so hard, but you wanted to fuck him even harder.

“S-shut up and do it again.” you silenced him with your lips, pulling him in a rough kiss to show him just how much you were running out of patience.

He seemed to get the hint, or he just didn’t care for his little game anymore, and gave you exactly what you wanted by pinching your other nipple the precise same way between his thumb and index finger, coaxing another moan from your lips into his mouth. He groaned in response, catching your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it while resuming his previous attempt to get your pants loose.

You helped him get them off by kicking your legs, your hands now flying to his belt and unclasping it, suddenly feeling a burning desire and curiosity to see and feel what was hiding underneath the denim. When his jeans were off as well, you couldn’t resist cupping him through his boxer briefs, feeling him shudder on top of you while you marveled over his apparent size and thickness, your mouth already watering at the thought of it.

“Well damn, Yoongi,” you raised your brows in approval, a smug smirk plastered on his lips by this new boost of confidence.

“Wait until you see what i can do with it,” he quipped before reaching for his back with one hand and pulling his V-neck over his head, leaving his torso bare and for you to drool over.

He was very lean, not particularly muscular, but rather a strong delicacy in the way his muscles faintly tensed with every movement. And it was beautiful.

You’d gotten your bra off properly as well in the meantime, as it was starting to bother you. Now you were equally as naked, you started to feel a bit embarrassed. You’d been so engrossed in your excitement and his ministrations, you hadn’t stopped to think your best friend had never seen you this exposed before. You knew you basically asked him to, but still…

As if he could read your mind, he grabbed your hands with his and entwined your fingers with each other before bringing your arms over your head and leaning down for a kiss, a different kind from the past ones. It was soft, reassuring, slow, leisure in contrast to the raw passion it had been up until now. It took away your breath as well as your worries.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he asked when he finally separated from your lips, again in the super casual tone you were used to and made you smile, as it felt like he didn’t expect anything different. Nothing could put you more at ease.

Upon seeing you smile like that, he couldn’t keep his lips from curling up either. He positioned himself back between your legs, placing them around his waist again and rolling his hips into yours to test the waters, the friction between your clothed parts already having you both groaning in pleasure. You bucked your hips up to feel it again and sighed in contentment when another wave of electric sparks surged through your core.

“Mhm, fuck,” Yoongi moaned against your skin before he started to kiss his way down your half naked body again, but this time he didn’t stop at your chest.

After he playfully nipped at each of your buds, he resumed his journey south further and further, his fingers kneading at your sides before they curled around the fabric of your panties.

This was it. This was really going to happen. No turning back now. And to be completely honest, why would you ever want to turn back from this?

His eyes shot up while his mouth descended, locking them with yours as he placed soft pecks on your pelvis when he pulled your panties down your thighs. Your chest rose and fell heavily, the short and ragged breaths making a comeback upon seeing the incredibly sinful sight in front of you. You couldn’t keep your cheeks from flushing bright right when you realised you were now stark naked in front of your best friend, especially not when his eyes left yours to look at the treasure between your thighs.

His mouth fell slightly agape and as if in a trance, he slowly lowered himself down on his stomach, his hands spreading your legs a bit wider to get better access. A few lazy kisses adorned the inside of your thighs before his tongue darted out of his mouth for an curious lick that already had you falling back into the pillows, face hot and resembling the colour of a tomato. You felt him gently spreading your lower lips with two of his fingers and you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

“So pretty and pink,” you heard him murmur under his breath a mere second before he full on buried his face in your heat, his lips molding against your core so perfectly and precise you couldn’t stop the moans from ripping through your throat already.

Your heart was pounding in your chest and throbbing in your core, toes curling so hard you almost cramped the muscles when he added his tongue flat on your clit, applying varying pleasure and sucking on it inbetween so there was nothing left to do for you than grip onto his hair and hold on tight, because it looked like this was about to be a wild ride.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you gasped helplessly as your lungs seemingly couldn’t keep up with the overwhelming pleasure shooting through your body wave after wave, assaulting your nerves in frequently occuring shivers. You were positive you were probably crushing his head between your thighs, but he didn’t seem to care much as he relentlessly lapped away at your slit, humming as he refused to spill a single drop of your nectar and his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips so hard they were sure to leave bruises.

His name rolled off your lips in a frenzied chant at the point where your legs started to shake on top of his shoulders, for Yoongi a sign it was time to kick it up a notch.

He inserted one finger inside your throbbing heat, circling it around a few times before adding another, curling them up against your wall and hitting that sweet, sweet spot just right and making you scream.

“Oh fuck, holy shit! Y-Yoongi i- Oh!” you cried out, the combination of his fingers and his mouth just too much to bear for much longer as you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten more and more, threatening to snap with each time his digits rubbed your wall or his lips sucked on your nub.

Your hips started jolting forward, a string of curses cascading from your lips when the pleasure consumed all other senses as you hit your climax so hard your whole body tensed up like a statue while you gasped for air before you let go in a loud cry of his name, the blissful waves washing over you for a few moments longer and relaxing you steadily as Yoongi guided you through it by leisurely lapping up your release and caressing your thigh in a soothing motion until you fell limp in the soft pillows. You tried to steady your staggering breath and racing heart while also trying to regain some vision after squeezing your eyes shut so tight you were seeing white dots everywhere.

“Oh, fuck me…Holy shit…” you managed to sigh out inbetween heavy pants, staring at the ceiling in shock. You didn’t even know you were physically capable of coming so hard.

Yoongi finally detached his mouth from your swollen center when you started to tremble in oversensitivity.

You nearly screamed when you saw his face.

“Yoongi! W-what is that?!” you squeaked out before slapping your hand over your mouth in utter surprise.

He casually wiped the excessive amount of your release off his face with the back of his hand, his lips in a cocky smile.

“I didn’t know you were a squirter, ____-,” he snickered, cleaning the last drops around his lips with his tongue, a sight that made you want to sink into the ground even more than you already did.

“I’m not! I’m not a squirter, i don’t squirt!” you squealed almost inaudibly, your eyes still wide in shock as you tried to cover the rest of your face with your hands.

Yoongi just took your hands and pulled them away so he could look at you and smile while he retorted,

“Well, you do now.”

You didn’t know if you were supposed to be impressed or embarrassed, but he didn’t give you much time to decide when he smashed his lips back on yours and you knew damn well he did it so you could taste yourself. You wanted to complain, but once his tongue wrapped itself around yours again, the taste of him mingled with your distinct flavour proved to be strangely pleasant.

“Wait, Yoongi let me-” you started as you reached for his boxers, ready to reciprocate, but he just took your hand and guided it away from them.

“There’s plenty of time for that later,” he interrupted you, but shoved his underwear down regardless, “right now i just need to be inside you.”

Your heart skipped with excitement, already taking pity on your poor, oversensitive core in advance but also dying to have him fill you up, to be full of him.

You pushed him down into the pile of blankets, straddling his hips with your knees and reaching for his shaft with your hand.

“Wait what-” he began, but this time it was your turn to shut him up with your lips while you gave him a few jerks with your hand, groaning when you felt how thick he was, and placed his tip at your entrance.

His eyes went wide as you steadily guided him inside you, throwing his head back to moan loud and prolongued, his breaths frantically entering and leaving his lungs as he panted while you kept lowering yourself down on his with some effort.

“So-so t-tight, fuck! I kn-knew it-mhm!” he stuttered out, his mouth hanging open wide as he squeezed his eyes shut in ecstasy.

You were too busy concentrating to take him inch by inch, careful not to have him stretch you too much, too fast. Yoongi let you decide your own pace, although it was excruciating for him this way, his hands fisting the blanker underneath him as he desperately tried to hold back his moans, but failed miserably.

When he was finally sheathed inside you completely and you found a comfortable position, you started rocking your hips back and forth, slowly at first, testing the waters, but soon picking up speed when the stretch didn’t sting anymore and made place for a delicious, full feeling. You could feel him, the throbbing of the blood rushing through his veins, the heat of his skin, the shape of his head, everything.

A whimper of his name escaped your lips as you tossed your head back and started riding him properly, circling your hips and forcing him deeper and further so you could feel him in every corner.

Yoongi couldn’t take it anymore, no matter the steady rhytm, no matter how deep you took him until his eyes rolled back in his head, he needed it to go faster. He wrapped an arm around your waist, holding on to your hip before he started snapping his hips up into you at a frantic speed, sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room and hitting all the good spots all over again, making your orgasm build up again that much faster and easier.

“Fuck,” he growled, panting, before grabbing the back of your thighs and lifting you up, making you lay on your back so he could take your legs and stretch them out in front of him, his arms wrapped around them as he drilled into you, keeping up the rhythm and not losing any of the speed or strength of his thrusts for even a second.

You could make out a sheen of sweat on his skin, moans and whimpers endlessly falling from both your lips as he kept going. He went so hard and deep and it felt so good you felt tears stinging at your eyes, your climax looming around the corner, especially when he lifted your hips up even higher to hit you from an angle that had your back arching and your toes curling once more.

“Y-Yoongi i-i’m going to-” you moaned in intervals, his hard thrusts having you go back and forth but he kept you in place with his arms, his hips colliding with your ass over and over and it would’ve hurt if it didn’t feel so fucking good, his legs shaking with his approaching orgasm.

“Me-me too, baby…I’m-fuck!” he panted, exhausted and on the brink of his downfall as it took only a few more of his thrusts to have you both coming undone, pushing eachother over the edge as he buried himself balls deep and you clenched yourself around his girth while he unloads himself inside of you with a last groan, his cock twitching against your walls as he spurted loads of white into you before he collapsed on top of you. Lazy pecks peppered along your jaw and neck as you tried to recuperate from your own, second orgasm in such a short time.

After you laid there for a few minutes, coming down from your highs and thoughtlessly caressing random parts of eachother’s bodies, he finally pulled out of you and stood up to get you a soft towel to clean you up with.

“God damn, Min Yoongi,” you sighed as he wiped the remains of both your release from your inner thighs and very sensitive center.

“I know right,” he responded, the smile on his lips audible in his voice and instantly making you smile in return.

“That was…Just…Wow,” you babbled, still too high on bliss to be able to talk properly.

He laid himself down beside you, pulling you into a hug for a post-sex snuggle. His heat felt so comforting.

“Will you be my valentine today?” he snickered, as if he was making a joke.

“The day is almost over though.”

You felt him nod against your hair before he pulled back a little, gently taking your chin between his fingers and making you look up at him. You scrunched your brows in confusion, sensing the sudden serious mood when you watched something flicker in his eyes.

“What about the next one?” he asked, his voice still a bit husky and no trace of mockery or anything else that could indicate this being a joke.

“What?”

“And the one after that?”

It suddenly started to dawn on you…Was he really asking you what you thought he was asking you?

“Yoongi…Are you saying-”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” again, no hint of a joke. Nothing at all. Just two eyes staring at you intensely and a hopeful smile on his lips. Nothing has ever felt more right.

You nodded, your mouth too busy gaping at him to form words, but he figured to put it to good use as he pulled you in for another one of those slow, but loving kisses that seemed to last a lifetime.

When you finally separated your lips from each other before they started to hurt, you couldn’t suppress the wide grin on both of your faces and you chuckled as you gently flicked him on the forehead while saying,

“I’d love to, idiot.”

[laseroy89]

Coffee Stains

I looked at my mug, the words “World’s #1 Dad” emblazoned on the outside. My lovely daughter, Summer, had given it to me as a Father’s Day gift, and I had just started drinking from it after many days of using it as desktop decor. Smiling, I raised the cup to take a swig of coffee, but nothing entered my mouth. “Dammit.” Nothing inside but coffee stains.

I leaned back with my mug in hand, taking a break from the mound of work on my desk. My, oh my, oh my, what a freaking big lump of proposals to edit. As I absent-mindedly looked at my mug again, something caught my eye. Something seemed off about the coffee stains. They seemed to form a pattern…that resembled a printer. Ha, now this is something more interesting than work!! Kinda cool, you know. The stains even showed some details, such as the lines for the drawers where you put the paper and the toner cartridge in. I poked at the stains, watching in wonder at the various intricacies -

A loud bang sounded from behind me, startling me and a few of my coworkers. I turned around to find that Sharon, that bumbling intern, had knocked into the printer while carrying a huge bundle of files, which were now scattered over the place. The machine had also fallen over, pinning Kevin underneath, another intern who by now was screaming bloody murder. With a sigh, the workers surrounding them, including me, stood up to help Kevin out of his little predicament.

As Kevin chastised Sharon about her extreme clumsiness - seriously though, no one else but Sharon can miss a machine twice the size of her waist, AND knock it over - I thought about the coffee stains. After ensuring that both of them had no serious injuries (other than their bruised pride), I made my way back to my desk, and stared into my coffee mug, trying to get another glimpse of the coffee stains. Most of it was still there. I could still see the outline of the printer, but some of it seemed to have blurred. I couldn’t see some of the lines that framed so nicely the intricate details of the printer. It was as if the stains in the mug magically faded a little after the incident happened. However, being the rational person I am, I dismissed it as just a mere coincidence. My drinking pattern simply coincided with the small contours on the side of the cup, to form a nice little pattern that looked just like the incident that was about to happen.

The next morning, I had a slightly thinner stack of paper on my desk. Slouching back on my cheap office chair, I raised my cup to take a sip of my favourite drug, annnnnd nothing entered my mouth. “Dammit.” Cursing, I looked inside again, to find nothing but coffee stains.

This time, my coffee stains didn’t look anything like a printer. Today, there were relatively fewer lines, all converging on a single point - wait, that looks like the corner of a table. Huh, that’s funny. Well I guess I drank my coffee at a faster rate this time, so there isn’t much time for the coffee to settle on the sides of the cup -

“Hey!” I yelped as my arm was suddenly kicked from behind, and my elbow jerked forward, hitting a box holding several files, which was unfortunately placed at the corner of my desk. I watched as my carefully-organised folders fell to the floor, in a deafening “FLOP FLOP FLOP”. I looked up in annoyance and found the sheepish face of my cubicle partner James, who was holding his empty water bottle.

“Sorry Lance, I didn’t see your arm.” James bent down to give me a hand with the documents, which were now scattered all over the floor.

“James, watch where you step! I spent half of yesterday organising those stuff.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I’ll help you with this shit after I finish my proposal.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Most of these stuff is mine anyways, I like it sorted out my way.”

I waved James away and gathered all my stuff. Gosh, that James undid all my hard work, now I have to redo everything all over again. If he was an intern, I would have unleashed hell on him, and sentenced him to the more cramped cubicles in the basement. I stared at my coffee cup. The coffee stains were now more blurred, where the bottom marks are almost too faded to be seen. Much like the printer image the day before. My curiosity was piqued. I thought it was just a show of affection from my lovely daughter. But could it be more than an ordinary mug? I glanced at the extra work that James just added to my already hectic schedule today, and hastily brushed those idle thoughts away.

On Wednesday, I paid much more attention to my coffee mug than usual, noticing how my coffee left marks on the side. As the minutes pass by slowly, the water line in my mug gradually went down, leaving stains as expected. What I did not expect, was that the stains did not form any discernible patterns like the previous two days. I was completely bewildered, but continue examining it every time I took a sip.

By 10.10 am, I finished my coffee, and proceeded to spend about five minutes scrutinising each and every stain inside my coffee mug. I attracted a few curious glances from my coworkers as I spun my mug round and round and cocked my head to the side, trying to get a better angle. They probably thought I went a little looney after I put in some overtime the day before. But to no avail, I couldn’t see anything.

“Lance, you need a coffee top-up? I can get some for you if you like.” James came over with his empty water bottle.

“No need, thank you.” I looked up for a moment. “You going to the pantry? Mind bringing over some chips? Sour cream and onion, thank you.”

“No problem, Lance.” James went on his way and I turned my attention back to the mug. There’s a rectangle inside a larger rectangle, then there’s a few short lines, then there’s this round blotch at the side. Yeah, a little weird, doesn’t it look like a…microwave?

Immediately, I jumped up from my seat and turned around, catching a glimpse of James as he rounded the corner and entered the pantry. I took off after him, pushing past the cabinets and coworkers in the corridor. James had just started refilling his water bottle when I reached the entrance of the pantry.

“Hey Lance! You decided to pick up the chips yourself?”

His smile disappeared into a surprised gasp as I tackled him to the floor.

“What the hell Lance?!” His irritated glance raked my face.

“Er….” I was at a loss for words when faced with his expression of anger. But all questions were answered by thunderous bang behind us. We both rolled away for cover as sparks and small pieces of debris showered us.

With our ears still ringing, we picked ourselves up to find that the microwave had exploded - just a few inches away from where James’ head had been. The door had split up into charred, twisted pieces that pelted us along with the burnt remains of someone’s instant pasta. If I hadn’t pushed James out of the way, I wouldn’t want to know what his face would have looked like in the full blast of the explosion.

“Er, thanks for saving me, Lance. How did you know - why did you tackle me to the ground - why…” James, while grateful, couldn’t really find his tongue in the immediate aftermath of the incident.

“I saw sparks in the microwave.” I lied. No one would believe me anyway. After helping a shaken James back to his table, I returned to my own work desk and stared at my coffee mug. As expected, the coffee stains had already blurred. I looked at the ceramic receptacle, perched so innocently on a stack of unfinished reports. Slowly, I bent over and whispered softly, “Thank you.”

From that day onwards, I was pretty attentive to my fortune-telling coffee companion. It did help me, and many fortunate coworkers, a lot. From files placed precariously on shelves, plugs not plugged in securely, heavy objects placed on top of cabinets - I must have prevented many stubbed toes, swollen foreheads, short circuits, you name it, I’ve saved it. I became known as the guy who would spot accidents before they happened. It was some Final Destination shit - just less morbid, and also even though I prevented the incident from happening, the would-be victim wouldn’t suffer any worse consequences. None that I know of anyways. It was felt good to have such a power. I began treating the cup not as a receptacle, but as a friend, making sure to carefully set it down on the table far from the edges and away from any sharp objects that could scratch it.

Recently, due to poor sales, our firm had been struggling to break even. The situation has gotten so bad, that the higher-ups have considered laying off some staff, in a bid to reduce costs. As a result, the mood in the office has changed from the usual upbeat atmosphere to a more gloomy one, where everyone was tried to prove their worth by taking on more projects even though the said projects were becoming more scarce. The pressure was at an all-time high, with many people stressing over their future at the firm. I was not left out - I became more selfish too, trying to solo the simpler tasks so as to prove that I was efficient and indispensable to the firm. It’s human nature, after all - my rice bowl was threatened.

As I became more and more self-absorbed, I stopped saving people from mishaps. It wasn’t that I was too caught up with work to watch my coffee stains anymore - I actually paid more attention to it, to avoid meeting with accidents myself. But for other incidents that happened to my coworkers - I decided to turn a blind eye. Accidents started happening again, and sometimes, it helps relieve the pressure on me. Some worker injures himself from, say tripping over a box full of files, gets his leg strained, decides to take sick leave, which lowers his reputation among the higher-ups and gives his partners a chance to prove themselves, thus damning his own chances to stay in the company. I’ve seen it, and sad to say, I’ve enjoyed watching people lose their jobs like this.

But yesterday was different. Yesterday was so different.

When I finished my coffee yesterday morning, I saw something I’ve never seen before - an image of a malicious-looking person holding a knife. The person had an elongated face, with narrow eyes, narrow nose and thick lips curled in a snarl. I was petrified, and was at a total loss of words. What was going to happen? I looked around me, at all my fellow workers working feverishly on their own projects. I don’t recall anyone in here with such a long face that was able to make such an expression.

I got up and went to the pantry, intending to top up my coffee, in the hope of getting new coffee stains so that I could get a clearer picture of what would happen. As I refilled my mug, I idly looked out the window at the carpark, and I spotted a man wearing a black jacket walking towards the entrance of the building. Squinting, I could make out his trademark triangular face, his sharp nose and his small eyes. That was Jeremy, one of those who got laid off just a week ago. He shouldn’t be wearing a jacket under the blazing hot sun, and he shouldn’t be walking into an office where he doesn’t work at anymore. What was he up to?

It didn’t take long to make the connection. Shit was about to hit the fan. Now, the problem was what should I do?

On one hand, I could stir up the entire office, evacuate everyone and call the police. It wouldn’t take them much to believe me, considering my “fortune-telling” reputation. I would be lauded a hero. However, there was a chance that I’ll be branded a lunatic, since I only predicted small accidents, and if Jeremy only came to pick up the rest of his stuff, then the false alarm would kick me out of the boss’s good books. On the other hand….I could hide, and let Jeremy literally kill off all my competition. After all, my coffee stains were always right - something big was definitely gonna happen, and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end. Maybe…maybe I’ll be traumatised and claim insurance and go for free counselling.

Choices were hard, and being anxious at that point in time, I couldn’t think clearly. I went with the second choice.

I entered the toilet, and hid in one of the cubicles. Sitting down, praying, praying….it was silence outside for a good ten minutes. I began to wonder if I was just paranoid. Perhaps my mug had predicted wrongly, for the first time? I stared hard at my coffee cup. The image was still there, every detail in stark contrast to the original white colour of the cup, having not blurred one bit.

Then the screams started.

I jumped up and leaned against the cubicle door, listening intently to the commotion outside. The faint patter of rushed footsteps, the muffled shrieks of terror, stifled sounds of furniture breaking. I closed my eyes. All that - could have been prevented, or at least deescalated, if I had done something about it. Maybe I could have gotten a few close friends to hide with me, or ask them to discreetly pass down the message, to evacuate the office…millions of thoughts ran through my head, but none spoke louder than the nasal, squeaky voice: “It’s alright, you’ll surely be indispensable to the company when they’re all dead.” It’s amazing how cowardice sounded so meek, yet his words reverberated through my entire being. I exhaled, and let him take control of me. I found myself on the lavatory, opening up the ceiling access door, then squeezing myself into the tiny crawlspace together with dust-encrusted pipes and cables. After I put back the trapdoor in place, I watched as my boss Trevor run into the toilet with James and Matthew, followed closely behind by a bloodstained Jeremy wielding an equally bloodstained knife.

“Look, Jeremy, we can work this out, let’s not make any rash decisions…”

“I have five kids and a wife. They depend on me to put food on the table, to pay for the house, to finance their education…and you sacked ME!” The heat of Jeremy’s rage burnt through the false ceiling.

“Jeremy, we all have families to feed. Please, Jeremy, I have a wife and two kids too, you know they depend on me as well -”

“If you decided my family was the unlucky one, I don’t see why I can’t make your family unlucky too.” Jeremy didn’t hesitate. He stepped forth and started working his knife on the three men.

I don’t remember much. It was all over in a flash. Blood spattered all over the stalls, not dissimilar from the microwave explosion I saved James from. I recalled limbs flying about. Flashes as the knife reflected the fluorescent lights. Grunts as Jeremy landed blow after blow. Screams as the three workers shielded themselves. Gurgles as their throats opened up. My traumatic stupor wasn’t really helpful to the police when they interviewed me after they helped me down from my hiding place.

As I sat in the interview room, safe and sound in the police station, I fidgeted with the coffee mug, which I refused to let go of. The image had more or less blurred, but the ugly face remained clear as ever. The longer I looked at it, the more the snarl resembled a smile. That demonic coffee stain, sniggering at my self-imposed silence. I could hear it laughing, as I replayed the memories of me voluntarily suppressing my warnings to others. It giggled as I remembered that fateful moment I turned and made my way to the toilet. It guffawed at the image burnt into my retina - the image of James making eye contact with me through the slit in the ceiling, him reaching out above him, trying to shield himself - or was he reaching out for me? Asking me for help one last time? - and his final dying gurgle as blood spurted out from the gaping wound opened up by the knife.

But…what could I have done?

[kingsofeverything]

house reno

hey, so i’m going to make a big stupid house renovation post, but i’ll put it all under a cut. also i’m going to tag any further posts about this “house reno” if you want to blacklist :)

helloooooo and welcome to me rambling on about my house renovation. so this is the house i grew up in. it was originally an ocean front beach house that my parents had picked up and moved here. all that basically means is that it was never intended to be lived in full time. that’s why it sucks for storage. also it was built in the 50s. it’s a basic ranch style house.

my parents moved in with my grandma 6+ years ago to help take care of her and asked us to move in here. we did and put our other house on the market. long story short, my grandmother passed away about a year and a half ago and this spring my parents decided to sell us their house. so we bought it and are adding on and renovating the inside.

the inside now is about 1200sqft and a lot of that is set up weird, so it’s not really usable. the closets are tiny. my dresser lives in the living room (which was an addition when my parents moved the house originally), my husband’s dresser is in the dining room (originally the living and dining rooms), and blah blah blah. 

basically, we are redoing the entire house. including all the window and doors, the walls, and some of the plumbing and electrical. because it’s old and shitty. and in the end, in like 15 years, when all 4 kids are off at college (shut up omfg i’m crying), my parents will move in here with us so we can take care of them. 

ok so, the plans:

lol at this first one. it’s the rough sketch that the builder did before he had the actual plans drawn. my additions are super fancy. this is the front. the part on top that is the 2nd floor is new. the roof over the front porch is new. on the back of the house, the screen porch and regular porch are switching places.

ok, so this is the rough sketch of the existing house plus the addition. the white squares are where i erased my kids’ names lol. the top of the pic is the front of the house. the front door is on the right side of the living room (looking down). the original house ends down where that first red line is, where it says remove door? the red rectangle is the shape of the second floor part of the addition.

ok so this is the addition in the plans. flipped around. the top of the pic is the back of the house. y’all the master closet is the size of the bedroom we have now. exactly the same measurements.

this is the plan for the bonus room. that will be our school room. i seriously am not going to know what to do with all of these bathrooms? it’s going to be weird. we’ve been living with 6 people and one and a half baths for almost 5 years.

OKAY SO EXTERIOR. to add to the sketch above, the windows on the front of the house will have these. they’re called hurricane shutters. i included 2 pics because idk i wanted to.

the house is cedar siding right now. not cedar shake like this pic above, but the boards sort of like the bottom of that house. the addition will have the same. that’s the color we were discussing @phd-mama i think navy blue will look cool. all of the trim will be white, white hurricane shutters, white roof.

white roof:

i  got bored looking for a good pic of a white roof. anyway. so that is the outside.

did you notice the plans for the kitchen renovation? hahahaaa it’s like an empty room. i have to pick out shit for a kitchen, and 3 + 2 half bathrooms. (literally wtf that is a lot of bathrooms). 

the house is really very dark. it always has been. so the kitchen is going to have white cabinets. i think black counter tops. idgaf about granite or whatever. just something black and easy to clean. my other counter top idea is stainless steel like a commercial kitchen. idk if that’s feasible.

the bathrooms? i would love to have black and white hexagonal tile. i’ve always loved black and white tile and i want it. so i’m going to make it happen. 

the kitchen though??? i want to do something different with the back splash tile. idk what. i love 60s and 70s stuff and i’d like to look for some old ass vintage tile. orange and brown and avocado green are like... i would die happy. but i can’t handle anymore wood toned stuff. i’ve lived with it forever and i hate it now. either of these tiles in blue/green (i lol at that because the blue/green thing in my houses has been a thing since i bought my first house when i was 23! and now i’m like... i was a larry before larry existed!)

we’re knocking down the wall between the living and dining rooms. it’s a pain in the ass wall of shelving that is completely unusable because of the size of the shelves and really i just hate it, so it’s going. the front of the house is probably going to have blue walls. living room, dining room, kitchen and hallway. that’s the way the kitchen and living room are now and i love the color. 

oh lol the rest of the house??? pine paneling. that’s right. we’re having drywall put up. and new floors throughout because that shit is 80s linoleum. fake wood floors though because 2 dogs and 4 kids mean i don’t want anything to do with real wood.

ugh ok i’ll stop now. 

oh wait! master bedroom! rust orange velvet headboard that’s like a huge ass rectangle with nail head trim.  

@someonethatsfunny i’m tagging you since we’re commiserating with reno stuff

[mgmarkham]

Chapter 2.5 “The Locker”

My parents put in wood floors and wall to wall mirrors so Beth could teach classes to children at Sola. With Damian’s stylish lair as inspiration, I dragged my bureau into the walk-in closet, along with the twin mattress. Pulling my writing desk under the window, I rolled out my sewing machine table, along with bolts of faux fur and velvet.  An hour later, I’d stitched fur swaths together with velvet, with flannel sewn envelop style over it.  Turned right side out, I had a huge rectangle area rug lined with flannel. Spreading it out in the center of the room, and moving my wingback chair back into place.  What I really needed was a coffee table, and a Victorian couch. It was already 6:30 am, and I needed to get to school.  Today was going to be a good day.  Tonight I had class in the city.   Coasting down the hill from our driveway, the same black Lexus approached. It had tinted windows, possibly diplomatic, with an insignia resembling a bolt of lightning on its plates. The car slowed near our driveway, then sped past me. I dismissed the feeling that someone was watching me from behind the glass as paranoia, and pedaled harder. The brisk morning ride turned into an escape as I cruised along, forming plot lines for Derek in my head, as he untangled the complex web of conspiracy surrounding the Malaysian assassination plot, with the help of a mysteriously insightful librarian he’d met whilst doing research on Lithuanian crime boss families. Nearly to my locker, I heard the buzz of voices. Elbowing my way past a dozen students, I saw why everyone was standing around.  My locker door had been removed from it’s hinges, and was nowhere to be seen.  A rainbow assortment of my folders and binders, dumped in a pile on the floor, riffled, ripped, and covered in yellow mustard.   Someone next to me noticed I was there and whispered to the person next to them.  Furtive glances came my way, and they quickly moved off down the hall.  In moments, I was alone with the ruin of my work.  I wondered if anyone could have realized that it was the next semester’s worth of assignments, each neatly completed and filed.  I doubted it.  It looked more like a rabid raccoon had scavenged its way through the locker, a rabid raccoon armed with a mustard bottle. I could think of only one person who would stoop to such a mindless, mean-spirited prank. But would Angela would take time out of her busy social schedule to engineer this show?  I must have gotten under her skin deeper than I’d thought With a long sigh, I kicked the papers into a pile, then slogged to the cafeteria for a trash bag. Gathering everything on the floor up, I just emptied all the rest of the contents of the locker in too.  No point in leaving it open to future vandals. I’d need a new locker assignment. Rounding the corner to the office, an angry hiss stopped me.  Retreating, I peeked around to see Angela, her back to me, whispering hotly to Seth.  Dark brows gathered like angry birds, he looked seriously angry.  But not as angry as Angela.  Moving past, gaze averted, I heard more than saw her slap him hard across the cheek.  Surprised, my eyes met his for a second.  In that moment his expression shifted from surprise to anger, then unease. With an effort he summoned back the aloof mask.  Eyes slid away from mine and he snorted down at Angela.  Arms crossing his chest, his sneer could have peeled paint, and he murmured something unintelligible, his lip curling into a snarl.  She stiffened and marched away, only then seeing me.  Glaring, she tossed her hair and passed me with a little smirk.   Strange. But not my problem. Hearing footfalls, I realized Seth was following me. He caught up to me easily, and kept pace. Glancing sideways, I saw the dark red hand print materializing on his jaw.  He was looking directly back, so I glanced away.  He walked silently beside me the rest of the way to the office.   My hand on the office door, I stopped, ready to inquire if he was going to follow me in there, too, but he was gone as suddenly as he’d come.  Again I wondered why I was now an object of interest to the upper echelons of popular power.  I hadn’t done anything, that I knew of, besides publicly insulting Angela last week.  That might, might explain the locker thing, but certainly didn’t warrant any attentions from the infamous Seth Watson. I metaphysically scratched my head.  Really, I should be more appreciative. Like nearly every other female at M-Town High, I had covertly observed Seth since he’d moved here freshman year. Beyond the general gorgeousness, he dressed well. His family vacationed in Paris and Madrid, while most M-towners went to The Cape or Disney World. (I, of course, was doomed to our cross country trips to the Midwest crammed into the family station wagon.) He was mysterious, monied, and exuded confidence.  Lead in the school play every year, he also captained the debate team, the soccer team, and won awards with delicate pen and ink illustrations. Rare for faculty to have a such an accomplished student, they fawned over him, and the rest of us had sighed over him, too. But I couldn’t help but notice his scorn for everyone around him. I didn’t think anyone should have that much social power over others, especially since he seemed to distain us, and rarely spoke to anyone but Angela and her minions. I wasn’t sure if all Seth’s admirers realized it, but I could see it on his face; he thought he was better than this place.   Was I jealous? I’d have given anything to travel out of M-town. But it was more than that. I couldn’t respect someone who allied themselves with a vain, petty townie like Angela. It’s one of the evil rules of the universe.  Trust me, I know- I’ve lived with my sister Beth all my life: Brains, talent, and creativity do not stack up to the golden calves, tiny-waist, and blond, busty appeal of the girlie-girl.  Never have, never will. Seth was no different. I couldn’t stay interested in someone who didn’t see past lip gloss and the push up bras.  Perhaps no male could, which likely explained why I’d given up on them ever noticing me.  One thing was certain: whatever had attracted Seth’s attention to me now, he must have an ulterior motive.  What that could be, I didn’t have the faintest idea. Administration issued me a new locker, next to the girl’s locker rooms, and on different floor from all of my classes, but at least I had somewhere to dump my mustard sodden books for the day.  Even after I left them, I couldn’t get the scent of mustard off my hands. Riding home, I wondered again about the whole locker effacing, face slapping, Seth-stalking day, and wished I could get some sleep.