#the washer and dryer are in my bedroom though (my house has a weird set up) so my theory is me or my mom left | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

calumance · 4 years

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LA Devotee - Part XI

Warnings: cussing, the end get’s a little hot and heavy, no details, it’s a bit angsty

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: Emily stays with Calum for a while, but soon returns to her own apartment, only to be met with the biggest challenge of dating someone famous. Calum receives some news, and drops a new bomb on Emily’s life.

A/N: Oof, okay. I rewrote this part many times, which is why it took me so long to update. 😂 I hope you all like it! Feedback and requests always welcomed!!! (want to be tagged? Let me know!)

Masterlist

I stayed at Calum’s until Tuesday, I would’ve stayed longer, but I ran out of clothes. Calum insisted on letting me use his washer and dryer, but I declined, telling him I needed to go home. He groaned into the crook of my neck pulling me closer to him before kissing me goodbye as I walked out the door to head to work. When I got home after work, I kicked my shoes off and went to my bedroom, which was still a mess from trying to find stuff to take to Calum’s. I picked up a little and found the hoodie Calum let me borrow the night we met. When I put my nose to it, it still smelled like him. So I changed into it and made my way to the couch. After spending four nights with him, it was weird to not be with him now.

After turning on the tv, I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through some social media. As I was about to move onto the next platform, Mikayla started to call me. I held the phone to my ear, and without saying a word, she starts spewing her words, “Emily, where are you right now? Were you on twitter, please do not get on twitter. For the love of god, please stay off twitter.” My eyebrows stitched together and before I could get any words out, my phone starts beeping telling me I have another call coming in. This time it was Calum.

I put my phone back to my ear, “Calum’s calling me, I’ll call you back.” As I pulled the phone away from my ear, all I could hear was her telling me to stay off twitter. My finger tapped to end Mikayla’s call and answer Calum’s. The speaker pressed to my ear, and a smile stretched across my face, “Hey there.” My back pressed against the back of the couch as my knees pulled toward my chest.

“Emily, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay. I’ll come right over if I need to.” My eyebrows pulled together again and my knees fell. I dropped my hand into my lap and my mouth formed into an ‘O’ trying to figure out what was happening.

My heartbeat picked up and I managed to find some words in my throat, “I’m fine. What is happening? Why is everyone freaking out?” A creeping urge to check twitter suddenly nudges its way into my chest.

Calum sighed into the phone, obviously exacerbated, “Listen, some pictures of us are circulating the internet, and not all the comments are nice. If you need me to say something, I definitely will, you are the most amazing person I’ve ever met.” His voice broke and I suddenly looked at my phone, my eyebrows pulling together so hard, my head started to hurt.

With Calum still on the phone, I went to my home page and touched the twitter icon. I could hear Calum calling my name, I told him to hang on. That’s when I found it, a whole stream of pictures and a whole hashtag built around pictures of Calum and I walking around on Sunday afternoon. Not a single picture of us showed PDA, not even a hand hold. We always stayed a few feet away from each other, and Michael and his girlfriend were with us. For all anyone knew I was Crystal’s friend. Which, admittedly, we did hit it off, but that was the first time we met. I scrolled through the comments, the internet is not as dumb as I wish they were. Even though we never touched each other, the way Calum and I looked at each other gave everything away. None of the comments were exactly accepting of us, and they were not too thrilled with how I looked on Sunday. I scoffed, who are they to judge me based off twenty pictures of us? And for god’s sake, it was Sunday, I don’t try to look at all decent on the weekends. So, I started laughing, even if deep down it did hurt.

I swallowed down the hurt and continued to laugh as I put the phone to my ear, “That’s all they’ve got? Shit, I might just kiss you the next time we’re in public to see what reaction we get.” The tears welled in my eyes and Calum fell silent. “Baby, I’ve been through way too much shit in my life to let negative comments from people who are not involved in our relationship bother me.” That was literally the opposite of how I actually felt. As much as I can put on a touch exterior, I could literally feel my self-esteem crushing under the weight of negative comments from thousands of people I didn’t know.

Calum let out a half chuckle, half sigh, “You’re sure you’re okay? Do you want me to come over?” His voice sounded so caring that a tear escaped from my eye.

My fingers swiped across my face as I cleared the tear off my face. “I’m fine. Hey, I’m going to head to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” My voice hitched in my throat and I swallowed it down before Calum could hear it. Of course I wanted him to come over, but after spending so much time with him, maybe asking him to come over was too clingy. From what I could tell, he wasn’t super convinced, but he said okay and we hung up. I played with my bottom lip before bringing up the message thread between Mikayla and me. “I should’ve stayed off twitter, and I just lied to Calum. Oh god, who am I?” Within just a few seconds, Mikayla called me, where I then cried to her on the phone for a half an hour. After I had composed myself, and shut off my phone, I curled into a ball on the couch and pulled Calum’s hoodie over my nose. As the scent of his cologne filled my nose, I closed my eyes, feeling like I was back in his arms, lulling me to sleep.

It wasn’t a good sleep, which was alright because I definitely forgot to turn my phone back on. My eyes were nearly glued shut from the amount of tears that I shed before I fell asleep on my couch. As I sat up on my couch, I ran a hand through my hair. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes as I reached for my phone and turned it on. As my phone powered on, the picture Calum and I took over the weekend appeared on the screen. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hand across my forehead before typing out a message to him. “Good morning, sorry for texting you so early, slept like shit last night. I just wanted to text you and tell you that I hope you have a great day. Xx” The message sent and I set my phone on the couch as I went into the bathroom to take my morning shower.

When I got out of the shower, I left my phone on the couch and walked straight to my room to get dressed. I decided to put a soft wave in my hair and put on a pair of flared, rose colored dress pants with a white satin button up tucked in with a pair of nude heels that were just tall enough that my pants didn’t drag on the ground. After I finished putting on my makeup, I made my way to my kitchen and started the coffee maker. My phone lit up on the couch, catching my attention. My heels clacked on the floor as I made my way over to the couch and picked up my phone, seeing Calum’s name sitting on my screen. “I can’t sleep for shit either. I miss you, have a great day at work. Xx Cal” A smile stretched across, my lips but faded when I remembered everything that I read last night. Instead of letting it bother me anymore than it has, I shake my head and make my coffee and leave my apartment.

When I got to the office, I sat at my desk and sighed. Mikayla wheeled her chair out and held her coffee cup to her lips. “You look amazing, but the dark circles under your eyes tell me you didn’t sleep again. Are you sure you’re okay? Did you have Calum come over last night.” She sipped at her coffee making that annoying slurping noise.

My eyes narrowed, and she immediately stopped, knowing that was one of those sounds that set me off. “No.” I said as I roughly tap the space bar on my keyboard to wake my computer up. “I felt like having him come over was clingy after spending so many nights with him.” After I logged into my computer, I leaned back in my chair and took a drink of my coffee and shrugged, “I just feel like it’s too early in our relationship to spend every night together.”

Mikayla nodded, pouting her bottom lip in thought as she rocked in her chair. “Trevor and I spent the night together in the first month of being together.” My eyes shot towards her and narrowed in confusion. “I spent the night at his house after he asked me to be his girlfriend and it was like we got addicted to each other. After that night, either I slept at his house, or he slept at mine.” She raised her eyebrows and took a sip from her coffee again, “It was only a month later that we decided it would be easier to move in together.” She set her cup down on her desk and shrugged.

My fingers adjusted on my mug, gripping it tighter as I thought about what she just said to me. It’s not that I hated the idea of moving in with him, especially since I had spent more time at his house than I have at my own apartment since we met. Thinking about living with him makes my stomach flip, and I run a hand through my hair to hide my flustered thoughts. I lick my lips and look at my keyboard before leaning forward as if Mikayla would hear me better, even though our desks were still too far apart for us to whisper. “Wouldn’t it be too early for us to move in together?” I wasn’t sure if I was asking her or myself.

Mikayla shrugged, her eyes focused on her computer, “That’s up to you guys.” I jumped when she responded, proving that I was more asking myself than I was her. “There is no set amount of time that a couple should wait before living together, at least not in my mind. You just have to talk to him about that idea.” Mikayla took another drink of her coffee then started typing so furiously that I raised my eyebrows.

I leaned back in my chair and then rolled the chair so that I could see her, “But how do you bring that up? ‘Hey, babe, I think we should move in together even though we’ve only been seeing each other for a month?’”

Mikayla moved her eyes from side to side then finally landed on me. “Yeah, that’s exactly how you bring it up, actually.” He eyebrows furrowed and she lifted her fingers off her keyboard, “Why do you think everything in your guys’ relationship is so hard? Just let it happen. If you’re happy, then it shouldn’t be a big deal.” She raised her eyebrows matter-of-factly and went back to her work.

Even though I went to her with every problem I had, I hated that she was right every time. I wheeled my chair back in front of my desk as I grabbed my phone. My nail tapped on the screen as I chewed on my bottom lip thinking about what I wanted to send to him. My phone vibrated in my hand making me jump half way out of my skin. It was almost as if he knew I was thinking about sending him a message, “What time do you usually have lunch? I wanted to stop by, need to tell you something. Xx Cal.”

My throat worked and my stomach tightened, that didn’t sound very good. My fingers tapped away, “Around noon, is everything okay? If you want, you can meet me in the lobby, there’s a café down there that has some really good food.” The message sent and I stared at the screen as I waited for him to respond.

The grey bubble appeared and I waited anxiously for his message. It disappeared and reappeared a few times before a message finally came through. “Everything’s fine, sunshine. I’ll see you in a few hours. Xx Cal.” I set my phone back on my desk and dropped my face into my hands. After a second, I flicked my hair out of my face and focused on my work.

When it came to lunch time, Mikayla and I walked into the lobby together. Calum was waiting by the front doors, and when he caught sight of me, a smile stretched across his face, and he met me half way. As the space closed between us, his fingers walked across my waist before he fully wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a kiss. “You look beautiful today.” He sighed after pulling his lips away from mine.

My cheeks burned as I blushed. I tucked my hair behind my ear and smiled. “Thank you. Do you want to get some food?” I grabbed Calum’s hand and tried to pull him towards the café.

He gripped my hand tighter and pulled me back towards him. “Baby, I can’t stay, I have a meeting I need to go to. Will you come out to my car with me real fast?” With a nod, Calum took my hand and walked me out to his car. He opened the passenger door and pulled out a bouquet of roses. “I was at the store earlier and I saw those and thought of you, so I bought them. It really has nothing to do with why I wanted to stop by, but I thought it would be a nice gesture.” He laughed, closing the door and then leaning against it.

As I smelled the flowers and smiled, he put his sunglasses on his nose, “Thank you, Calum, they’re beautiful.” A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips, I couldn’t help but blush, and a soft shade of pink washed over his cheeks.

Calum nodded, then shoved his hands into his pockets, his smirk fading. “I found out this morning we’re going on a promotional tour for our new album, and then shortly after that we are going on an actual tour.” My heart sank, I knew it was going to happen, but I wasn’t ready. “We leave in three weeks, and I’m going to guess that in the next three weeks, I am going to be insanely busy.” His eyebrows pulled together and he pulled his lips into his mouth.

I continued to hold the flowers up to my nose, but my eyes were connected to his. I faked a smile so he wouldn’t feel as though I was upset. “That’s great that you’re going on tour, you should be excited.” I dropped the flowers and held them at my side.

“I am,” His eyebrows lifted above his sunglasses and his hand rested on his chest. “Don’t get me wrong, I love touring, but we’re just starting to enjoy our relationship, and I’m about to leave. You’ll still be here when I get back, right?” My chest felt heavy.

“Of course I will, are you crazy, I’ll even come visit you. We can FaceTime every night and day, you leaving to do your job is not going to ruin what we have.” I reached up and ran the back of my fingers along his cheek.

A soft smile stretched across his lips. “Can I ask you something, Emily, and you can tell me if I sound absolutely insane.” I nodded and leaned against him, wrapping my free arm around his neck. He responded by wrapping his arms around my waist and looking down before looking up. “I think you should move out of your apartment and come live with me.”

Even though it was a topic Mikayla and I were talking about only mere hours ago, it still took me back. My mind raced and my fingers balled on the back of his neck into a fist. “Baby, I’m not sure if that’s the best idea.” I whispered and looked through his sunglasses.

He looked away from me and pulled a key out of his pocket and shook it between his fingers for a second. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now, but I do want you to have a key so if you want to come over, you can just let yourself in.” My fingers gripped the key as I leaned my body against his and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. “Will you come over tonight after you leave work?” He asked me once our lips parted. Of course I would, even if I wasn’t sure if I wanted to move in with him yet, I was not going to let they key go to waste.

Calum and I bid each other goodbye as I headed back into the building and he headed off to his meeting. When I met sat down next to Mikayla, she eyed the flowers in my hand. She asked me what happened and I held up they key he gave me. “He asked me to move in with him.” Mikayla smiled and I dropped my hands, “I told him I didn’t know if it was the best idea.” I shrugged and dropped my hands to the table. “He also told me that he’s leaving for tour in three weeks. What do you think I should do?”

Mikayla chewed for a second and then looked down and shrugged before sticking her fork in her lunch. “I think you should figure out what you want.” She lifted her fork and put her elbow on the table. “Not just if you want to move in with him, you need to figure out what you want out of him. If you think you’re ready for another commitment, then sure move in with him.” She eyed her fork before shoving it in her mouth, “But if you’re not, then don’t do it.” She mumbled through her food.

Mikayla’s words resonated with me the rest of the day. Every time I would look at the flowers sitting on my desk, I would wince. As I walked to my car, I spun the key to his house around in my fingers. I dropped it in my cupholder and drove to my apartment. Once I got to my apartment, I grabbed a few days of clothes and somethings out of my bathroom and headed to Calum’s. When I got to Calum’s, I used the key to let myself in. “Cal?” I called out, still feeling a bit weird walking into his house without him with me. He didn’t answer immediately, but I took a few steps into the house and heard him call from his music room. I walk down the hallway and dropped my bag in his bedroom. At the end of the hallway, the door to his music room was closed. On the other side, I heard the soft sound of music. I knock once and he tells me to come in. I quietly open the door, not to interrupt just in case he was doing something important.

“Hey, baby. How was the rest of your day?” He pulled the headphones off his ears and he smiled. He looked comfortable in his white “sensation” shirt, dark gray sweat pants, and a light gray beanie. He had a purple bass in his lap and a guitar strap slung over his shoulder. My heart swelled, maybe coming home to this every day wouldn’t be so bad.

“It was okay, I’m not interrupting anything am I?” I pointed to his bass and the camera set up in front of him.

He shook his head, “No, I’m just messing around. Are you hungry? I can fix us some dinner real fast.” I accepted his offer and he put his bass on the stand next to him before moving towards me, pressing a gentle peck to my forehead. We walked together to his kitchen and he told me to sit down. I sat on the barstool and watched him cook. We talked, and I couldn’t believe how much he smiles, and every time he smiles, my stomach flips.

He sat at the barstool next to me as he sat down both plates. As I grabbed my fork, I looked at him, “Why did you ask me to move in?” I asked him twisting the fork in my hand. Something inside me telling me that if he gave me a good reason, I’d want to do it.?

He paused from taking a bite of his food and looked at me, “So that I could have this every day.” I raised my eyebrows, edging him to tell me why he really asked me. He sets his fork on his plate and smirks, “Okay, and because I think you deserve more than that tiny apartment. I was going to pay for a new apartment for you, but I think moving in with me will save us both some money.” He laughed, but I didn’t. He’s always wanting to spend all this money on me, money that I can never pay back. My head spins and I nod slowly, “Is everything okay, Emily?”

“Yeah.” I said completely unconvincing as my thoughts ran around my head. My eyes closed as I dropped my fork onto my plate, “I need to ask you something.” I finally blurted out. Calum raised his eyebrows and swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. “Are we just together for fun, or are we together to actually try and build a life together?” The words came out of my mouth harsher than I wanted them to, so I didn’t bother to look at him. “I’m afraid that if I move in with you and you do all of these things for me, that we’re going to break up and I’m going to be right back where I was four months ago. I’m not afraid of commitment, I’m afraid of being destroyed a second time.” My voice became shaky towards the end, and I dropped my head to hide the tears that were forming on the rims of my eyes.

Calum dropped his fork and placed his hand on my knee. His hand reached around my face so he could gently guide my face to be looking at him. His eyes sparkled in the light, my stomach filled with butterflies and I blinked away the tears. “I’m scared too, okay? You know that my past relationships were great either. I’m not with you just to pass time. Before I met you, I had completely sworn off relationships and anything to do with them. You’re different, you’re worth it.” He ran his thumb under my eye as a smile twitched over his lips.

My heart skipped a beat after the last words fell from his lips. My head spun as the thoughts raced through. If I was worth it to him, then he was worth it to me. Even if I was scared, maybe he was worth it too. My fingers pressed against the back of his neck as I pulled him towards me, pressing my lips against his. “I’ll do it,” I whispered, “I’ll move in with you.” Calum let out a soft, happy laugh and pressed his lips to mine again. Our lips smiling against each other’s.

We finished dinner and Calum took our plates back into the kitchen and started washing the dishes. My eyes wandered around the house for a minute until I stepped off my chair and walked into the kitchen. My hand grazed his lower back as I stepped around him and started grabbing dishes to put away. He smiled, but pulled his eyebrows together in confusion “If this is going to be my house now, too, I might as well help out.” I shot him a look as he pushed his button lip out in agreement. After he shut off the water, he reached for the towel and dried his hands, his biceps flexing in a devilish way with each movement. My teeth dug into my bottom lip the more I stared at him. To take my mind off him, I look up and my eyes catch sight of the swimming pool, softly lit by the lights under the water. My lips turn upward into a smirk as an idea pops into my head.

Keeping my shit-eating smirk on my face, I turned towards Calum, causing him to stop all of his motions. He raised an eyebrow and draped the kitchen towel over the oven handle. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping in your own pool?” He placed one hand on the edge of the counter and the other on his hip. For a moment, he paused, but then he frowned and shook his head. My devilish smirk turned into a devilish smile before I reached down, holding onto the counter for support and took off my shoes. I skipped towards the backdoor and dropped my shoes off to the side. Without missing a beat, I opened the backdoor and ran outside. Once I was standing at the edge of the pool, I stripped my clothes off and jumped in. When I came up out of the water, I saw Calum standing at the edge of the pool, his hands in his pockets, laughing. “Come on, Cal, just do it.” He didn’t protest, instead he stripped off his clothes and jumped in.

After he resurfaced I swam over to him and locked my arms around his neck. He ran his hands down his face, wiping the water away and then wrapped his arms around my waist. I leaned forward and pecked his lips, suddenly feeling the need for more after the tingling danced across my lips. My lips connected with his again in a needy kiss. As his grip tighten, he let out a quiet groan, no way to hide what was going on under the water. I nipped at his bottom lip and smirked, “Want to continue this inside?”

He shook his head, “I have a better idea.” He reached for my legs, forcing me to wrap them around his waist. He connected his lips to mine while he made his way to the stairs of the pool. His hands held their grip under my thighs as he carried me over to a padded patio couch, laying me on my back. Before I could protest, I was lost in his touch and his body.

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btsqualityy · 5 years

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BTS Toddler Series #20: Comfort

Kim Seokjin

“Mommy, raccoon,” Kaiden whined as he tried to reach for his stuffed raccoon that you had in yours hands.

“Baby, I have to wash it,” you said as you walked into the laundry room, Kaiden following close behind you.

“No wash,” Kaiden protested. You grabbed the bottle of laundry detergent as you set the raccoon on top of the washing machine, opening the bottle and pouring a little right onto the fur of the raccoon.

“It’s super dirty Kade. Don’t you want your raccoon to be nice and clean?” You tired to persuade him and Kaiden just pouted at your words. You opened the washer and dropped the stuffed animal inside, pouring more detergent in and making sure the settings were right before you pressed the start button.

“It’ll be done in a little while Kade and then you can cuddle him all you want to,” you told him as he set his hands against the washer, watching as the raccoon began to spin around inside. “Come with me.”

“Stay here,” Kaiden said as he sat down in front of the washer.

“Alright, suit yourself,” you relented, deciding that there was no harm in him waiting for his raccoon. You walked out of the laundry room, going to do some other things around the house.

About 20 minutes later, when you heard the washing machine beep, you walked back into the laundry room to see Kaiden still in his spot in front of the washer. You walked over to him, opening the machine and pulling out his raccoon.

“See Kade?” You said as you held the stuffed animal up to his nose.

“Smell good,” he giggled and you nodded. “Have raccoon now Mommy?”

“It has to dry sweetie,” you grimaced and Kaiden’s eyes widened as he watched you open the dryer and toss the raccoon inside.

“No fair,” he pouted, making you chuckle and run your hand over his hair.

Min Yoongi

“Ready for bed baby girl?” Yoongi asked Kinsley as he bent down and picked her up, setting her on his hip.

“Yeah,” she mumbled quietly, nodding her head. You smiled and followed behind Yoongi as he carried Kinsley into her bedroom. You pulled back the blankets on her bed before Yoongi gently laid her down in bed.

“Do you want Mommy or Daddy to read you a story before you go to sleep?” You questioned and Kinsley shook her head. “Too tired, huh?” You cooed, reaching out and pushing a few flyaway strands of her hair out of her face as she nodded.

“Alright, good night baby girl,” Yoongi said but a loud whimper from Kinsley made his eyes widen. “What is it?”

“Paci,” she muttered, making you groan inwardly at the fact that she had noticed that you hadn’t given her her pacifier yet.

“Sweetheart, do you really need your paci? I bet you could sleep without it,” you tried to convince her but the way that she rapidly shook her head and the tears started to well up in her eyes made you want to change your mind.

“Daddy, paci,” Kinsley whined loudly as tears slipped down her cheeks, making Yoongi groan and look over at you.

“Y/N-ah, come on,” he pleaded. “Can’t we just give it to her?”

“Yoongs, she has to learn how to be without it eventually.”

“But it comforts her,” he pointed out. The both of you looked down at Kinsley, who was sniffling and rubbing at her eyes. Sighing heavily, you walked over to the high shelf where Kinsley’s keepsakes were and grabbed her pacifier. Walking back over to her, you held it out to her and she happily grabbed it before sticking it into her mouth.

“Alright, now good night baby girl,” Yoongi whispered as he bent down, leaving a gentle kiss on Kinsley’s forehead. You both watched as she settled underneath her covers, sleep taking over her almost instantly.

Kim Namjoon

“My sticks,” Mason pouted as you and Namjoon shared a weary look with each other. You had been in the process of getting Mason ready for bed, until he requested to take his drumsticks from his little drum kit into bed with him. Usually, neither you nor Namjoon had a problem with it but the other day, he had damn near poked his eye out from sleeping so wildly so you and Namjoon were both more than hesitant.

“I think maybe you should leave them in your toy box sweetie,” you suggested but the loud whine from Mason cut you off.

“No, sleep with them,” Mason said.

“Buddy, we don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Namjoon tried to explain.

“No hurt myself. Please,” Mason pleaded and your heart softened at how insistent he was.

“What do you think Joon?” You said as you looked over at him.

“I’d let him, but the possibility of him hurting himself in the middle of the night,” he trailed off and you nodded both in agreement and understanding.

“How about this?” You said after thinking for a minute. “You know that table next to your bed?” You asked and Mason nodded slowly. “You can put your drumsticks there, but not in bed with you. Ok?”

“Ok,” he agreed slowly, making you smile and kiss his forehead.

“You’re a genius, you know that?” Namjoon said, making you look up at him with a smile.

“Oh, I know,” you smirked, leaning up and kissing him firmly.

Jung Hoseok

“Have you ever noticed this?” Hobi asked you and you looked over at him with an arched brow.

“Noticed what?”

“How weird our children are,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes and peek into the doorway of Berkeley and Lennox’s bedroom. Looking on the right side of the room, Lennox was snuggled in his bed with one of the throw pillows from the living couch underneath his head. On the left side of the room, Berkeley was asleep was well, but with one of Hobi’s hats on top of her head.

“They’re not weird,” you tried to defend. “That’s just their comfort items. All kids have something that make them feel better.”

“But a throw pillow and my favorite hat though? Seriously?”

“Hey, my nephew went through a phase where he slept with a wooden cooking spoon in his hands,” you laughed. Hobi did the same and shook his head in disbelief.

“Well, I guess it could be worse,” he shrugged. “Doesn’t mean that they’re not still weird though.”

“Call my babies weird again and you won’t be getting any for the next two weeks,” you threatened before turning and walking down the hall to your bedroom.

“Y/N-ah, wait,” Hobi whisper-yelled. “I’m sorry,” he said before speed walking after her.

Park Jimin

“Mommy,” Noah whined as he walked into your and Jimin’s bedroom.

“What is it sweetie?” You smiled as he walked over and leaned against the side of your bed.

“Can’t find my blanket,” he pouted.

“Where did you last have it baby?” You asked him, and you had to resist the urge to laugh at how cute he looked when he shrugged his shoulders.

“I dunno.”

“What’s going on here?” Jimin wondered as he walked out of the bathroom, turning the light off behind him.

“Noah can’t find his blanket,” you explained, making Jimin smile.

“I think I know where it is,” Jimin said as he walked over to your shared closet, opening it and reaching inside. After rummaging around for a few seconds, Jimin stepped back with Noah’s blanket in hand. Noah bounded over to his father while Jimin bent down so that he was level with Noah.

“I found this on the bathroom floor,” Jimin said as he looked at Noah. “You have to keep better track of this and take care of it. Ok mini me?”

“Ok daddy,” Noah nodded and Jimin handed the blanket over to him. Noah then toddled out of the room and you looked over at Jimin as he walked over and got into bed next to you.

“I never would’ve thought that he’d actually fall in love with my old blanket,” you giggled, making Jimin grin.

“But he’s so adorable with it,” Jimin said and you nodded in agreement.

Kim Taehyung

“Spencer, stop that,” Taehyung sighed as he pulled the piece of paper that Spencer had been ripping up out of her hands.

“Daddy, mines,” Spencer whined as she stomped her foot. Tae groaned as he realized that the piece of paper that Spencer had torn up was his copy of the group’s upcoming schedule.

“Munchkin, this was important for daddy,” Tae said as he looked down at her.

“Mines,” she declared, making Tae raise an eyebrow at her.

“Spencer, you know better than to tear up daddy’s things,” he said firmly but he realized that what he said went into one ear and out of the other when Spencer threw herself onto the couch in a tantrum. Just as Tae was about to walk over to her, he heard the front door open and he looked over to see you walking inside.

“Hi Tae,” you greeted with a smile, walking over to him and smiling widely.

“Hi Y/N-ah,” he smiled back, leaning in and pecking your lips softly. After pulling away, you looked over and frowned when you saw Spencer whining and rolling around on the couch.

“What’s wrong with her?” You asked and Tae groaned.

“What isn’t wrong with her?” He said, making you look back at him. “She’s been fussy all day, she hasn’t been listening to a word I’ve said, and she tore up my schedule,” he ranted. You then looked back at Spencer, a smirk appearing on your face as you realized what was wrong.

“Tae, she’s tired,” you said, making him frown.

“How do you know?”

“She’s pulling her ear,” you explained and Tae’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. How could he not have noticed that? “Here, come on Spence,” you whispered as you walked over to the couch, picking her up and setting her on your hip. “Someone needs a nap.” Tae stood in his place and watched as you carried Spencer upstairs to her room.

“Wow. I had one job,” Tae mutters to himself.

Jeon Jungkook

“Hey hey,” Jungkook sung, making both you and Ava look towards the doorway of Ava’s bedroom.

“Daddy!” Ava cheered, climbing down off of her bed and running towards Jungkook. Jungkook bent down and caught her, hoisting her up and hugging her to his chest.

“I see you got out of recording early,” you smiled, watching as Jungkook walked over to you and left a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, it went pretty well so uncle Joonie let me out early,” Jungkook smiled as he looked down at Ava.

“Daddy, read story with us,” Ava said and Jungkook nodded as he set her down into her bed. Jungkook tried to sit next to you on Ava’s bed but the insane amount of stuffed animals in Ava’s bed made it almost impossible.

“Angel, don’t you think you should move some of these plushies out of your bed?” Jungkook suggested as he picked up some of the stuffed animals to move them onto the floor.

“No daddy,” Ava whined as she reached over, taking the plushies out of Jungkook’s hands and putting them back onto her bed. You couldn’t help but to laugh as Jungkook looked over at you with a confused look on his face.

“She likes having all of her stuff animals in bed with her because it makes her feel safe,” you explained.

“Oh, so they’re like her comfort items?” He wondered and you nodded in confirmation. “Well, I’m sorry Angel.”

“It’s okay daddy,” Ava smiled. “Now you read story with us?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded with a grin as you handed the storybook over to him.

586 notes · View notes

rhinozilla · 5 years

Text

Whumptober 24: Secret Injury

Summary: Connor comes back into Hank's life three days after the revolution, exhausted and bruised and with nowhere to go. Fortunately, Hank has always had a soft spot for strays.

In short, it was a fucking awkward drive home.

Despite the revolution that had rocked Detroit to her core three days ago, Hank had told Connor that he still considered him to be his partner. He had also offered to let the android recharge at Hank’s house, since he was clearly running on empty and didn’t have anywhere else to go. Hank had said that he still had his back, and he’d meant it. Still meant it.

But now they were standing in the living room, having just come in the door, and the fact of the matter abruptly flew up and hit Hank in the face.

Connor had nowhere to go.

Cyberlife had shut its doors, already going down hard in just the three days since the android uprising. The company had essentially disavowed Connor and left him to the wolves. The wolves being anybody’s pick of humans who hated androids, or other androids who saw him as and hated him for being the Deviant Hunter. The DPD was running on a skeleton crew since all the android personnel had fucked off; Connor would have no warm welcome back there.

All he had were the clothes on his back and Hank’s good will…God help him.

“All right, uh…” Hank rubbed the back of his head, dropping his keys in the usual spot and stepping deeper into the living room. “Like I said, couch is yours to crash on. I don’t, uh, have any of that thirium stuff that you guys drink, but I could order some if you need it.”

Connor remained rooted to the floor just inside the front doorway, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves and with eyes downcast.

“My thirium levels are within normal levels, but I appreciate the gesture, Hank. I…also appreciate you letting me come here to recharge. I won’t impose for any longer than is necessary.” His voice was low, tired.

Hank figured he was running on just a handful of hours’ rest spread over five days of shit, so how the android was still standing and functional at all was a goddamn mystery. Still, he didn’t look well, and Hank had always had a weak spot for strays.

“No imposition,” Hank assured. “Just me and Sumo bumbling around this house anyway, not much to disturb. Um…I’ll, uh, get you some spare clothes, and you can wash those—“ He waved vaguely to what Connor was wearing, what he had worn since the day Hank met him and presumably the only clothes he had.

“I don’t require—“ Connor started.

“Have you or have you not been wearing that exact same getup since I met you?”

Connor opened his mouth to argue, paused, and then closed his mouth, averting his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Washer and dryer’s in the garage.” Hank gestured to the doorway at the end of the hall, making his way to his bedroom. “You know where the bathroom is if you wanted to clean up.”

He rummaged through his closet and found a plain grey t-shirt and a pair of navy sweatpants. He tossed them on the bed, then dug out a few pairs of jeans and some other shirts that didn’t fit anymore. They might still be a little big on Connor, but Hank clearly wasn’t going to wear them again anytime soon. A man needed more than one set of clothes, especially if that one set was something he was dressed up in by his handlers. This would just have to do for now.

Hank grabbed up the bundle of clothing and went back into the living room. Connor had finally moved away from the front door and into the living room. He’d removed his jacket and unbuttoned his white shirt, though he’d been interrupted by Sumo demanding his attention. Hank set the clothes on the arm of the couch.

The way Connor was kneeling down to pet Sumo, the white shirt was pulled tight across his back. Hank’s eyes snagged on a mass of discoloration visible through the shirt fabric and stepped closer. He tilted his head and lightly brushed the edge of the shirt aside to get a better look.

“What is that—“

In a flash, Connor straightened up and pivoted, moving that side of his body away from Hank. His hands fumbled to close the open shirt, but not before Hank saw more of the discoloration wrapping around his back to his chest and belly.

“It’s nothing!” There was an edge of panic laced into the exhaustion in Connor’s voice, and it was even plainer in his eyes as he looked at Hank.

Hank held both hands up, taking a step back. “Shit, fuck, okay. Sorry.”

Connor relaxed slightly, seemingly by force, and took the first shirt and pants off the pile that Hank had brought.

“Thank you, I’ll—clean up in the bathroom.” He shouldered hastily past Hank.

Hank tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling with his hands in his pockets.

Leave it. Leave it. Leave it—

“What are those marks, Connor?” he asked, lowering his head to look at Connor again.

The android paused in the hallway, putting on an expressionless face that didn’t quite mask the anxiety in his eyes.

“There are no marks, Lieutenant.”

“Never heard of an android getting bruised before, but those sure look like bruises,” Hank said casually. “Are you okay?”

“Machines don’t bruise,” Connor said firmly.

“Yeah, they don’t break through their programming and rebel against their creators either, right?” Hank snorted, then grew serious, repeating his question. “Are you okay?”

Connor was quiet for a long moment, and Hank raised his eyebrows at him. When he didn’t get an answer, he sighed and twirled his fingers briefly in front of me.

“All right, c’mere, let me see.”

Connor deflated, moving neither closer nor farther. “I’m okay.”

“That’s good, but I still want to see for myself. Come here,” Hank said tiredly.

Connor remained where he was, one hand moving to the frame of the bathroom door. “Is that an order, Lieutenant?”

Hank stopped where he was, staring at Connor. He groaned and put his hands on his hips. “No. Fuck, Connor. I just want to make sure you’re okay, because those bruises look like you’ve been beat to Hell. Forgive the fuck out of me for being concerned.”

Connor stared at him, then seemed to resign himself to the situation. “Fine.”

Hank bobbed his head, gesturing for him to continue. Connor frowned but slowly removed his shirt, baring the battered state of his torso. Hank managed not to outwardly grimace and rattle the guy further, but...FUCK. The bruises were many in number and varied in size and shape, indicating multiple altercations happening to bring them about. Some looked like blunt force trauma, some looked like defensive damage, some could have been boot marks…

The worst of them was a dark blotch of blue, where the thirium from the broken lines had pooled under the plastic casting in a more concentrated manner. It was low on the left side of his chest, and the skin projection dipped slightly over the spot, like his casing underneath had been dented from the impact of the assault.

“Jesus…” he whispered, stepping closer and inspecting each of the worst of the bruises. “Kid, who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter—“

“The Hell it doesn’t matter. Connor, these are bad.”

“My healing program has been offline due to low power. Once I’ve recharged, it will reactivate and repair all of the damage,” Connor stated plainly.

“And I’m glad to hear that, but that doesn’t undo the fact that somebody beat the shit out of you.” Hank said, reaching out and gently touching the edge of a nasty mark above his hip.

Connor flinched and stepped back again. Hank gauged his reaction and retracted his touch.

“Pretty tender.”

“Androids don’t feel pain. It was an involuntary response to avoid further damage to the site.”

“Sounds like pain to me,” Hank said. “All right, don’t tell me. Just clean yourself up and park it on the couch. The sooner you rest up, the sooner you heal—“

“And the sooner I will be out of your hair,” Connor finished.

“That’s not where I was going with that sentence,” Hank said flatly.

Connor didn’t respond to that, simply turning and retreating into the bathroom and closing the door for privacy.

Huh, an android with a sense of modesty.

Hank put one hand on his hip, his other rubbing his jawline as he stepped back into the living room. Sumo was splayed out in front of the TV, and he lifted his head and raised his ears as Hank approached.

“He’s a weird one, boy,” Hank remarked.

Sumo made a low noise in his throat. Hank spread a hand out as if to ward off the offense.

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Just….” He glanced back toward the closed bathroom. “Fuckin’ weird…This whole thing is fuckin’ weird.”

Sumo whined.

Hank sighed, moving to the linen closet. “Of course I’m gonna make sure he’s all right. He’s my partner. Damn, we might even be friends now. Fuck.”

He pulled a spare pillow out of the closet. It was a sad, flattened thing, but it was something. He took that and one of the thicker blue blankets out and dropped them on the couch. He took a step back, looked at the pile, and then stepped back over, moving the pillow to one side of the couch. He took a step back, paused, and then moved in again, repositioning it against the armrest.

He took another step back, huffed, and stopped himself from fixing it again.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, pulling out his phone and opening an online shopping app.

Most stores had been either bought out of thirium or android looters had broken in and stolen what they could. But he managed to find one spot that still had a few bottles in stock. Sumo gave a loud sigh and a soft boof at him.

“I’m ordering it right now! Get off my back,” Hank grunted, placing the order for the three bottles of thirium that the store had left. Delivery was estimated to be two hours. He frowned and looked at Sumo, spreading his hands. “There, happy?”

Sumo licked his nose and rested his head back on the floor.

The bathroom door clicked open, and Hank startled slightly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Connor cautiously stepped out, having changed into the spare t-shirt and sweatpants and holding his old clothes in a carefully folded stack, like they were the most precious things he owned.

“I don’t…know how to wash these,” he said quietly. “I’ve never…done laundry.”

Hank pursed his lips. The kid somehow looked even worse now that he was in pajamas instead of a uniform. Some combination of the too-big clothes hanging off of him, the bowing in his shoulders like he was carrying a ton of bricks, and the way he wasn’t quite lifting his head all the way when he spoke. Looked like it was all catching up to him now that he was letting his guard down, now that he knew he was somewhere safe.

Hank reached out a hand. “They usually put tags on the inside somewhere that tells you how to—and of course Cyberlife didn’t do that. Great. Well, I bet I can figure it out.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Don’t worry about it. Go lay down. Do your rest mode thing. I’ve got some thirium coming too.”

“I told you I was okay—“ Connor stopped himself, stepping around the couch and eying the pillow and blankets there.

His frame seemed to sag further, and Hank fidgeted with the clothes in his hands. Instead of pointing out that androids didn’t need to be comfortable to enter rest mode, instead of saying anything at all, Connor just slowly sat down in the middle of the couch. His posture slouched in a cartoonishly fatigued way, and he more or less just collapsed sideways. Only luck had his head actually landing on the pillow. He sluggishly pulled his legs up onto the couch and remained on his back, seeming to fall into rest mode immediately.

Hank breathed a sigh of relief. He set the clothes on a kitchen chair to take care of in a minute. He stepped back over and used one hand to shake out the folded blanket, loosely draping it over the android…y’know, in case he got a chill or whatever.

Connor twitched, apparently not fully under yet, and he opened his eyes, blinking up at Hank.

“Sorry,” Hank apologized.

Connor blinked again, and a frown pulled at his mouth. “I won all of them.”

“Huh?” Hank asked, not sure he’d heard right.

Connor looked away, at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter who gave me those bruises because I won every fight they started with me. I walked away after every altercation—Some of them didn’t walk away…”

His LED was slowing. Rest mode wasn’t going to be delayed any longer. His eyes started to drift closed.

“…I always win the fight,” he murmured in weary resignation, and then finally, mercifully fell asleep.

Hank watched him for a moment, making sure he was really under this time. Then he exhaled and placed a hand briefly on the top of the sleeping android’s head.

“Rest now, son. Nobody’s gonna fight you here.”

#whumptober2019 #no.24 #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson

46 notes · View notes

corescorner · 5 years

Text

Charmberry Cove Chapter One.

Chapter Title: New Places, New Faces.

Wordcount: 3,517

AO3

Yay, chapter one!

Virgil moves into The Cove and meets a friend.

Taglist: @unsocialchapeau, @aularei

He was being shaken awake from his impromptu nap, he didn’t even realise that he fell asleep, but he supposes it was a long car ride.

“Hey there Pumpkin King, wake up kiddo.”

That would be his dad talking, well one of two of them anyway.

Emile Picani, therapist and cartoon enthusiast. And like, one of the best dads ever, the other being his other dad, obviously.

Virgil blinks slowly awake, staring at his dad, “how long have I been sleeping for?” he asks, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Not long, just under an hour I'd say, ya didn't miss much” he smiles at Virgil, patting his head. “Now go put Hex in your room, I'm sure she's restless after being cooped up in that carrier most of the ride down.”

Virgil shuffles grabbing the cat carrier and climbing out of the moving truck.

He goes to open the front door, but of course, it's locked. He looks back to Pops, who is opening the back of the truck to assess their belongings with a hand on his mouth his finger tapping his lips, the other on his hip and a thoughtful expression on his face. Virgil walks up to the truck to stare with him for a moment; they have a lot of stuff.

“Hey, Pops. The door is locked” he mumbles out. Emile startles then looks disgruntled.

“Oh darn it, I don't know if I have the keys” he looks thoughtful, then snaps his fingers. “I'm gonna have to text your father and see what he did with those keys of ours.”

Virgil watches as his dad climbs back into the drivers seat of the truck to get his phone, sitting there texting Remy.

He stands there for all of thirty seconds before Dad pulls up on the street in front of the house in their car.

That was fast, but Dad always has weirdly great timing.

“Anybody order some keys?” He says, getting out of the car and taking a sip from his travel mug of coffee. He hands Virgil a purple key with the handle in the shape of a cloud and the number 618 etched into it, there was also a lightning bolt going down into the keys teeth. Clearly he got the keys personalized; he wouldn't be surprised if Remy himself had a key handle shaped like a coffee mug. Dad hands Pops his key, Virgil notices that it's shaped like Finns sword, he smiles at his pops’ unabashed squeal of delight at this fact.

Virgil walks up to his new home, the 618 on the side of the front door in bold black and gold.

Well here it goes. He unlocks the door and steps into his new house, taking it all in. It's nice, is his first thought, his second thought is on how big it actually is, it looks smaller from the outside and considering that it's a townhouse, which is to say it's connected to other houses made it seem like it might be smaller than it really is.

Being at the front door he can practically see the whole first floor, it being very open spaced and bright from the large windows.

The front door leads straight into the living room, and separating that in the back is a half wall and a breakfast bar that goes into the kitchen, with a sliding door into the back yard.

The kitchen itself is a nice size, no doubt that Dad is going to have a good time experimenting in it.

The stairs off to the side of the living room and close to the front door lead upwards, with a door set on the side of the staircase itself and Virgil hopes that it leads to a basement.

Shifting Hex's carrier to be more comfortable, he steps towards the door intent on opening it, and he's not disappointed when he does, cause it does in fact open up to a staircase leading down.

Descending the stairs and flicking on the light at the bottom reveals the basement in a low glow, off to the right side is an area for a washer and dryer to be hooked up and at the far end in the right corner looks to be a small bathroom and in the left corner he's met with a larger looking room with a closed door.

A door that Virgil learns is unlocked and ready for exploration, it turns out that this door leads to a cozy sized room that’s probably for storage and the like, noting the high ceiling with rafters, the stone floor and lack of windows.

He immediately claims this as his bedroom.

Closing the door he lets Hex out of her cage and sits on the floor to look around more. There are a couple outlets to plug stuff in and there’s a single light that swings from the rafters that throws shadows around.

Definitely not made to be a bedroom.

He likes it even more.

He sets out all of Hex's amenities and petting her before leaving to go help with the boxes and such; closing the rooms door so she doesn't get underfoot while they move about.

When he gets back upstairs he blinks in confusion at the living room that now has a large amount of furniture and boxes scattered around, he didn't think that he was downstairs that long, but apparently he was.

“Hey bud, find your room alright?” Remy asks, lounging on the couch his shades perched on top of his head nestling in the waves of his hair his piercing eyes on rare display; the shining turquoise is almost hypnotizing.

“Uh yea, the um, the basement has a room in it, I like that one” he replies while picking at his hoodie sleeves.

Dad chuckles “of course you'd choose the dungeon for a room.”

He heaves himself off of the couch, ruffling Virgil's hair as he instructs his son “alright then, Phantom of the Opera, go bring your things into your room, that's all you need to help with.” He heads up the stairs yelling out to his husband “hey Babes, it seems like you've acquired that office, Virge wants the basement room.”

He hears a knowing muffled laugh of 'of course he does', it seems like they had this conversation already.

He goes to the truck to check on what to do first and decides on bringing all the large garbage bags filled with clothes and bedding to leave the boxes and heavier things for last.

He huffs and wipes his hands together, the bags were easy enough, though there were quite a few of them so he takes a short break on the front steps, letting his mind wander to other things, like how his new school is going to be. This town doesn't have a large population to begin with, so he can't really imagine the student body population to be much either (not nearly as much as his old school does.) He thinks that this whole town wouldn't fill his old school.

He gets distracted from his thoughts as another teen, about his age bounces towards him with a dog following by his side.

“I didn't know someone new was moving in!” He happily chirps at Virgil. Virgil just stares at him, not exactly knowing what to say in this situation. “Oh”- the kid laughs out, face palming -“where are my manners?” He thrusts his arm towards Virgil for a handshake. “I'm Patton” he brightly announces “Patton Sanders, I live two doors down that way,” he points to the right of himself.

Virgil nods, taking the outstretched hand and Patton beams at him.

Giving his own smile, though shy and not as open as Patton's he mumbles out his own name. He doesn't think Patton heard what he said, but looking up at the other boy he sees that Patton doesn't have any annoyance in his features, only a calm encouraging smile that trails into his eyes, the warmth he sees behind the thick black glasses puts him at ease.

It feels almost like Patton himself is pushing all the comforting feelings towards Virgil on purpose, and he finds he's not as anxious as he usually would be around someone new.

So he clears his throat to introduce himself properly, in an octave the other can actually hear him in.

“Virgil, um... Virgil Tempest.”

Patton's eyes widen and he claps his hands together.

“Oh! Like Tempest Coffee? Ms. Tempest is so nice and she makes the best cookies! I've always wanted to know what she does to make them that good!” He excitedly gushes it makes Virgil smile at the enthusiasm.

“Yea, exactly like Tempest Coffee, though I'm pretty sure Dad is going to change the name” he offhandedly mentions.

Patton tilts his head to the side he looks confused but quickly jolts like he was shocked; his eyes shine with sadness and guilt.

“Oh my gosh! That was so insensitive of me” he gasps out his hands flying to cover his mouth. “I am so sorry Virgil, I completely forgot, I guess my brain hasn't caught up to the fact that she's gone yet.”

And now Virgil made Patton sad with just being, cause of course he did.

Great, off to a good start with the neighbours then.

“It-it's okay, I didn't really know her. If that makes you feel better” he mumbles out that last part, shrugging.

Patton looks uncertain for a second and then plasters a smile onto his face, exuding that same calming feeling from before.

“She used to send me birthday gifts and weirdly enough, Halloween gifts too. That was as far as our relationship went” he looks confusedly back at Patton's own confused look “what?” he asks, enunciating the whole word.

“You don't celebrate Halloween?” His nose scrunches up with his confusion; it's adorable.

“I do” Virgil says slowly. “But, it's kinda weird to get presents for it no?”

Patton shakes his head.

Well then. Just him he supposes.

“It's not at all weird around here, Halloween is kinda a big deal in these parts” Patton says then asks: “what do you usually do then?”

“Well, you know. The usual, trick or treating” he ticks off his fingers as he goes down the list. “Dressing up, going to strangers houses to beg for candy, horror movie marathons, eating too much candy and then ditching school the next day cause, honestly, it was just Halloween.” He has a lopsided smirk as he says: “I love it, it's my favourite holiday.”

Patton nods along to all of his points.

“Well, we do all that stuff here too. Just more” he starts bouncing in place clapping. “Oh, you're gonna love it here if it's your favourite! The whole town goes up in lights and we have fireworks! Fireworks at the beach! And and and everyone participates in this amazing barbeque! And there's fun activities to do all 'round town, it's a spectacular event! Oh oh oh and and! There's a couple days off of school for all the festivities! And it's just so much fun!” Patton's excitement radiates out that his dog joins in on his bouncing. “I am so glad that I can show you all the cool stuff for the first time! This is so exciting!” He claps a couple more times.

Virgil can feel the excitement smash over him like a tidal wave and he can't help the large smile that spreads across his face as he watches Patton clap.

With a new sense of adrenaline Virgil decides that his break should be over and that he needs to get back to work on these boxes, he says as much to Patton.

“You want some help?” The other asks so genuinely it throws Virgil through a loop. “I'm sure you'll get so much more done with some help” his offer is so honest and pure all Virgil can do is nod.

Patton bounces in place once more “Oh, I need to bring Foster home but I'll be back to help you lickity split!”

Virgil watches as Patton practically skips home with Foster bounding at his heels, he opens his front door Foster goes in with one word. Patton waves at Virgil as he closes his door again, then skips right back to Virgil's side.

Well, it seems like moving his stuff isn't going to be as gruelling as he thought it was going to be.

Virgil gets up off of the steps as Patton reaches him, both turning towards the truck.

“Alright tell me what I'm bringing and where to put it” Patton exclaims, Virgil motions towards the boxes off to the side of the truck, some inside of it some outside so he instructs Patton farther than his hand wave gave.

“All the ones to the left are mine, if you don't know what to grab all my boxes have my name on them. And you can bring them... Um.” Is Patton going to think he's weird if he tells him his room is in the basement, willingly, in a room that's not meant to be a room? He looks to Patton from where he was focusing on boxes only to see curiosity and kindness on the others face. “Um, the basement. That's where my room is.” Patton just nods and walks with Virgil inside his house, and then down the stairs.

He's pretty trusting of new people huh?

Patton goes to open the door to the room but Virgil stops him just before he can turn the handle.

“Wait don't open it yet!”

Patton freezes in place at Virgil's panicked tone.

“Sorry” Virgil winces, “I can't let the cat out yet though.”

Patton's eyes go wide and excitement bubbles up in him once again.

“You have a cat!?” He breathes out with a slight high pitched noise following.

Virgil nods amusement colouring his face. He puts the boxes he was carrying down and goes to open the door while Patton puts his own box down.

The boys scurry into the bedroom, closing the door hurriedly behind them.

“You like cats I'm guessing?” He asks as Patton gets on his knees in front of the small black cat, and he nods frantically as she climbs on to his lap.

“I love them” he says as he cradles her to his chest, “I'm super duper kinda allergic to them though” he says lightly and Virgil startles at that.

“Stop rubbing your face on her then!” he shrieks, waving his hands around as Patton giggles.

“But she's just too cuuuuuuute Virgil!” He whines as he hugs the cat to his face.

Virgil splutters with a pained look on his face.

“But, your allergies...” he says lamely.

Patton giggles once more “worth it. She's too cute.”

Sigh.

“Yes, yes she is.”

Patton looks up, “what's her name?” He asks innocently, like he's not going to regret this whole situation.

“Hex” he answers, Patton smiles down at the cat.

“Well, she's gonna fit right in with that name.”

“I suppose so,” Virgil agrees. “Now stop killing yourself with my cat” he opens the door to enunciate his statement.

“Fiiine, bye bye Hex” he coos to the cat.

They get a couple more boxes downstairs before Dad stops them on their way to go get more.

“Who's your new friendo there Virge?” He asks his shades are back on his face sheltering his eyes from the outside world he’s sipping on an iced coffee; eyebrow raised.

“Uh, this is Patton he lives two doors down. That way” he adds pointing to his left. “Patton this is one of my dads.”

“You can call me Remy hon” he addresses Patton, then addresses them both “you boys hungry? I've got lunch sorted out, and Patton you are so welcome to join in on this sweet-pea.”

“That sounds great Dad” Virgil sits at the breakfast bar, Patton following suit.

“That sounds super, thank you Mr. Remy.”

“Oh God none of that 'Mr' crap around here kid, just Remy is fine and dandy” he finishes his sentence with a long drag from his straw.

Dad sets a sandwich in front of both of them and a plate of cookies in between them and then hands them both a soda before leaving to go upstairs.

They eat in silence for the most part, until Patton takes a bite from a cookie and gasps out loud.

Oh no, Virgil panics. Did his dad somehow mess up on this recipe that he knows by heart and accidentally poisoned his only friend?

Tears, there are tears coming from Patton's eyes, and Virgil has no idea what to do about this, his panic sky rockets and Patton immediately stops his stray tears and seems to force a lighter aura around his being.

Virgil would define this as 'emotional whiplash' on how that happened so fast.

“Are, are you okay?” He asks in concern (and maybe a little confusion.)

“Yea, it's- it's just these taste exactly like how Ms. Tempest makes them an it threw me off guard, I didn't think I'd ever get to eat them again is all” he softly says as he stares sadly at the baked good.

“Well,” Virgil starts “my dad is her son, so he knows all her baking secrets and tricks so you'll definitely be able to eat them” he smiles at Patton's soft expression.

“So, she's your Grandma then?” Patton asks.

“Yea, did... did you know her well?”

Patton smiles “yea, I went over to the cafe a lot to help her out.”

“Oh, that's nice.”

“Mmhm. It was fun.”

“Woah, what's with the mood in here?” Pops asks as he walks into the room, “It's like you just found out Bambi’s mum gets shot” he says brightly while grabbing a soda from the fridge.

Virgil's eyebrows shoot up to his forehead in surprise.

“Woah Pops, a little dark there.”

Emile stops, stares into nothingness and turns to Virgil with a serious look on his face and a tone to match.

“I've been spending too much time with your father.”

And then promptly walks out.

“How long have they been together?” Patton asks.

“Um, since like, collage...”

Neither of them can contain the loud laughter that comes.

~0~

Patton is genuinely happy in this moment, helping Virgil out with his boxes.

They just delivered the last one to Virgil's room.

Remy had already carried and put in the bed, shelving, dresser and desk while they ate lunch.

Well, that's what he said he did. But Patton didn't notice anything being moved, it's not like the staircase is out of their line of vision.

Remy is an odd character, just like his mother.

Patton can't get a read on him, just like with Ms. Tempest.

Nothing came from her, and nothing from him now too!

And come to think of it, he couldn't feel anything from Virgil's other dad either.

It was confusing.

If he can't read the person then it's harder to decide what emotion to put out there.

Virgil on the other hand, was more of an open book, if only slightly more.

Roman would probably call him 'dark and mysterious' and if Patton didn't know better, so would he.

“Hey” Patton pipes up while they're walking upstairs so he can go home “what grade are you going into?” He asks hoping that he'd finally get a friend in his class.

“Seventh grade” Virgil responds, dashing Patton's hopes.

“Cool, you'll be in Roman and Remus' classes then! And maybe some of Logan’s too, his classes are probably going to be sporadic cause he's so smart that he skipped a grade! So he probably will be in most of your classes if not all, although he's so smart that he might have some eighth grade classes too, hopefully cause that'd be super duper neat!” He realizes that he’s been rambling when he gets a look from Virgil. “I'm sorry, I blab too much sometimes.”

Virgil waves off is worries “it's alright, it just means that I don't have to” he smiles at Patton and his heart soars at the emotion that smile sends him.

His ranting doesn't bother Virgil. He finds it endearing if Patton's reading it right.

“Anyway” he says as he steps out of the house “I'll see you soon yea?”

Virgil nods “the next time you see my room, it's going to be awesome.”

Patton smiles he waves goodbye to his new friend and bounces all the way to his front door then yells out to Virgil: “I can't wait!”

And he can't.

He can't wait to tell Roman about the 'dark and mysterious' boy who he will most undoubtedly get along with.

He couldn't wait to tell Logan about his new friend that has a quick wit and silver tongue when he's not all tied up in his own thoughts, oh the debates that they'll probably get into.

He can't wait to tell Remus about the darker parts of this boy and watch their friendship bloom from that simple shared fascination.

He couldn't wait.

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flightyrock · 5 years

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The House Knows

My fill for the Fall Multifandom Challenge hosted by @sporadic-fics and @helplessly-nonstop . Thank you both, this was a lot of fun!

Prompt: They were roommates

Rating: T

Words: 3k

Pairing: Steve Rogers / Bucky Barnes

Other Characters: Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff

Tags: minor injury, stitches, swearing, questioning sexuality, no powers au, there’s no plot, cuddling, cute, roommates au

The place is perfect.

Too perfect.

Enough that Steve Rogers--a guy known for more bad luck than good, who habitually drags himself back to his feet after being kicked down by life and circumstance over and over again, a guy who can’t help but think the best of people--is suspicious. By all rights, he never should have responded to the Craigslist ad. The location, the interior, the number of rooms, even the profession of his potential roommates is the very definition of too good to be true, especially for the listed rent. And it’s in one of the better neighborhoods in Brooklyn.

Except it was so nice, that he couldn’t resist responding. A guy could dream, after all. No one was more surprised than he was when he got a response from a real human being. Or when that same human being answers the door of the gorgeous brownstone that matches the pictures online almost immediately after Steve knocks.

“Hey there, I’m Sam. The landlord,” the guy says, then shakes his hand with a friendly grin.

“Oh,” Steve says stupidly, blinking, willing it all to sink in. Someone actually answered the door. Then he realizes he’s still holding Sam’s hand. He releases it quickly, and rubs the back of his neck, trying and failing to dispel his embarrassment. “Sorry, it’s just. I didn’t think this was actually real. It is real, right? You sure you didn’t mean to throw a zero on the end of that rent?”

Sam throws back his head and laughs. “Oh, it’s real. Don’t worry, we get that a lot.” He steps away from the door. “Come on in. Don’t worry about taking your shoes off, it’s Clint’s week to clean.”

Steve snorts in spite of himself, but takes Sam’s word for it. He follows Sam through the house, and his disbelief grows with every feature. Washer and dryer included. Each tenant has a private bedroom. Landlord pays all utilities. “Even Wi-Fi?” he asks, mouth agape.

Sam clutches his chest like Steve has gravely offended him. “What do you take me for, Rogers? A monster?”

A terrible thought strikes him, and he’s certain his face goes white, because Sam gives him a funny look. “You’re not involved with the mob or something, are you?” Steve whisper-asks.

Sam laughs so hard, he has to bend over to catch his breath. When he’s recovered a bit, he claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I like you. You’re going to fit right in here. If you want it, that is.”

Steve gapes. “If I want it? Are you kidding?”

Sam’s face falls. “Yeah, I get it,” he sighs. “Look, if it’s the bathroom thing, Barnes and Clint have offered to share. You can take the upstairs one.”

“What? Why would you think. No,” Steve sputters. “No, I mean, of course I want it, it’s perfect. I love it, just. Why me? I’m sure you’ve gotten tons of applicants.”

Sam looks at him, his eyes piercing. Steve shifts in place. “You have an honest face,” he says eventually. “And you’re safe. I can tell. At the risk of sounding crazy, I’m particularly good at reading people. The other tenants will love you.”

“Wow,” Steve says. Because how do you respond to that. “So that’s it? That easy?”

“Well, almost,” Sam says.

Steve shouldn’t feel as disappointed as he does. He knows better. There’s always a catch.

“Clint and Barnes have to approve,” Sam clarifies. “They’re both vets, and gay to boot. Last thing I’m going to do is make this kind of decision without their input. They deserve to feel safe in their own homes.”

Steve’s not sure why he’s so surprised that Sam is as considerate as he is. The man has been nothing but friendly, but that kind of empathy isn’t something you see everyday anymore. “Wow, that’s. That’s amazing of you.”

“I admit that I have ulterior motives,” Sam smiles at him. “We gay military types have to stick together, you know?” Then he sobers. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Oh no, not at all!” Steve says quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, because Sam eyes him suspiciously. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t have any problem with any of that, I swear! Let people be who they are. It’s just. I know I’m fit, but I never actually served, and I’m straight, so I don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for? I don’t want to make anyone feel unsafe,” he says earnestly.

Sam’s staring at him. Steve feels himself shrinking unconsciously under that scrutinizing gaze. Steve’s fumbling for an apology for wasting Sam’s time, because why would he ever accept Steve now, when Sam says.

“Huh. Well, shit. I could have sworn...”

“What?” says Steve, bracing himself for rejection, already resigning himself to another late-night stroll through the housing and roommate pages.

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. Just, you’re probably going to be the first straight person to live here, ever. It’s actually pretty weird; it’s like the place knows. But yeah, the offer stands.”

“Wait, really?” Steve asks him. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Sam grins at him. “I may have guessed your sexuality wrong, but I know I’m not wrong about you getting along with the other guys. You’ll like them, I know it.”

“Wow, uh, great! When can I meet them?” Steve asks.

“How about in twenty?” Sam grins at him. “It is about dinner time. I’ll order pizza.”

Sam is an excellent host. He doesn't even blink when Steve politely declines wine and beer, getting him a fancy bottle of mint-infused ginger ale instead. Sam waves off his stuttered thanks. “Don’t worry about it. Barnes doesn’t drink, either.”

Barnes, amazingly, also doesn’t mind when Steve stares at his prosthetic. The man had dropped heavily into an armchair after shaking Steve’s hand and introducing himself as something that starts with a B, but Steve doesn’t quite catch because holy hell, the guy is gorgeous. He has soft-looking dark hair that falls in gentle waves past his shoulders, a jawline perfectly highlighted by five o’clock shadow, and grey blue eyes that shimmer in the light. Steve can’t take his eyes off of him. It only gets worse when he pulls off his baggy sweatshirt, revealing a broad frame and the shiny, intricate limb. The guy clears his throat, and Steve’s eyes shoot back to his face, embarrassment setting his face aflame.

Steve stammers out an apology. “I’m so sorry, Barnes,” Steve says miserably. “It’s rude of me to stare. It’s just that I’m an artist, and the design is stunning.” It probably makes him a terrible person, but Steve’s glad the prosthetic gives him such a good excuse for staring.

The guy just laughs, grinning at Steve. “Don’t worry about it, pal. Everyone does.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve says.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Barnes says amicably. “But I’m more offended you’re calling me Barnes, to be honest.”

Steve flushes. Can’t he do anything right? “Sorry. Sam calls you Barnes.”

“That’s because Wilson’s an asshole!” Bucky yells into the kitchen. He cackles at the disembodied profane gesture he receives in response. “Nah, but Sam’s the best,” he grins at Steve. “He’s never in town for very long, but it’s a great time when he is.”

“Aw, shucks,” Sam grins at him when he reenters the room, setting a stack of plates and a roll of paper towels on the coffee table. “I guess you’re pretty okay too, Barnes.” Bucky lets out a dramatic wounded sound, and Steve laughs along with Sam. Sam pats Bucky on the shoulder apologetically. He looks around. “Where’s Clint? At this rate, the pizza will get here before he does.”

Bucky shrugs. “Who knows? Don’t worry, he’ll be here. There’s pizza, and you’re buying.”

“True,” Sam chuckles.

At Steve’s questioning eyebrow, Bucky explains with a smirk. “Clint has a sixth sense for pizza. It’s wild. Just you wait; he’ll be here between the time we pay and the time the pie gets cold.”

The pizza comes, Sam pays, and a guy with short blond hair and chunky hearing aids comes strolling in the door a minute later. “Hey, Sam. Bucky. Ooh, pizza!” he grins, and makes a beeline to the box, rubbing his hands together.

Steve laughs, and Bucky winks at him, a mischievous spark in his pale eyes. Steve blushes in spite of himself.

“What?” Clint says, looking around. His eyes land on Steve. “Oh, hey,” he waves, then goes straight for the food.

Sam laughs. “Barton, put the pizza down for a second and meet Steve!”

“What? Oh, hi, Steve,” the guy smiles at him, then takes a bite of the slice he’s holding. “Ow! Hot!” He makes a grab for his burnt tongue, fumbling the slice. It lands on the throw rug, cheese side down. “Aw, pizza.”

Sam shakes his head long-sufferingly, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

Steve grabs the roll of paper towels and starts to pick it up. Clint shoos him away with a grin. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’ve got it. Happens all the time.”

Steve carries the messed up paper towel into the kitchen to throw it away. “Isn’t he sweet?” Sam’s saying to Bucky when he comes out, and Steve flushes.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says, turning to face Steve with a grin. “He’s perfect.”

Bucky, as it turns out, is the bane of Steve’s existence. The man’s always smiling at Steve, inviting him to go grab some tea, or come watch a movie. They often stay up later than they should talking about everything and anything. Steve feels like he’s known Bucky forever. So why does the man make him so anxious? At least, that’s what he thinks the fluttering in his chest is. It can’t be anything else. It is distracting, though. Steve catches himself thinking about the guy and that strange anxiety at all hours. It’s really cutting into his drawing time.

Anyone else would have guessed that if any of Steve’s roomates would be the bane of his existence, it would be Clint. The guy is always tripping on the last couple of stairs, or spilling soup on the carpet. Not to mention he’s probably broken more dishes in the time it’s taken fall to turn to winter than Steve has owned in his life.

“You’re the physical manifestation of the term ‘gay disaster,’” Bucky complains at Clint as he helps Steve pick up the shards of the latest casualty, a nonsensical ‘World’s Best Best” etched clumsily on a cheap wineglass.

“I resent that!” Clint pouts. “If anything, I’m the physical manifestation of ‘bi disaster.’” Clint, of course, is banished to the couch. Bucky explained that the last time the guy helped clean up broken dishware, their last roommate had to take him to the local Urgent Care for stitches. “That’s bi erasure!”

“You can hardly blame me. It’s so long that you’ve taken anyone home that I forgot,” Bucky’s saying to Clint, a grin in his voice. Steve’s studiously ignoring them, concentrating on the shards in front of him to try to stop the blush that wants to creep up his neck at Bucky’s smile. It’s just as gorgeous as he is. Steve’s never seen a person so beautiful before, and it’s a daily battle to keep him from humiliating himself. The man was funny, and charming, and Steve has never felt this way about another person before. But they’re roommates, so Bucky’s off limits. And, after all, Steve’s straight. Isn’t he?

The glass, he reminds himself. God, it really had scattered everywhere. Steve has no idea how Clint managed it. Bucky’s laughing. Then something soft but firm hits his face hard, and he’s falling. He sticks a hand out instinctively to catch himself, and is hit with deep regret a moment before a sharp, burning pain.

Clint’s yelling a belated warning.

“Oh fuck, Steve,” Bucky’s voice is saying, and hands are helping him to his feet, guiding him carefully around the glass. Steve chances a glance down, and his stomach lurches at the piece of material he sees sticking out. He fights the haze that’s creeping into his brain, and tries to concentrate on Bucky’s voice, murmuring comforting things as he gets Steve settled onto a kitchen chair. Steve’s mortified at the way his eyes burn as Bucky gently works the shard out, then holds a kitchen towel to the wound, applying firm pressure.

“Oh, Stevie, I’m so sorry,” he says, bringing a spare towel up to dab at Steve’s tears. Steve lets him, still frozen from the event. It’s kind of nice, actually, underneath the embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have been teasing Clint while we were cleaning. Or ducked that pillow.”

“Sorry,” Steve echoes, feeling very small. “I shouldn’t be crying.”

“Sure you should,” Bucky says, putting down the towel and patting his arm. “It was a shock. Completely normal.”

“God, Steve, I’m so sorry,” Clint says miserably from the doorway. “Anything I can do?”

“Grab the first aid kit?” Bucky requests, and Clint nods.

“I can take care of it,” Steve says, embarrassed.

“With one hand?” Bucky raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Just let us help.” The man frowns suddenly, and lifts the edge of the towel. Then his face goes carefully blank.

“Clint?” he calls.

“Yeah?” the man calls back, voice muffled.

“Call a Lyft please!” Then he turns to Steve, and smiles reassuringly. He guides Steve’s free hand to grasp the towel. “Can you hold pressure for a minute, Stevie? I’m going to go grab your shoes.”

“What’s going on?” Steve says, afraid of the answer. But Bucky’s already hurried out of the room. He braces himself, then lifts the towel. Oh, shit.

He ends up getting stitches, Bucky never leaving his side. Underneath the humiliation, Steve feels something warm ballooning in his chest. It’s amazing. It scares him. That feeling only swells when Bucky guides him firmly to the couch when they get back, and settles a throw over him before pulling up Joy of Painting on the TV. They sit together, shoulder to shoulder, and listen to Bob Ross calmly walk them through blocking out sky and ground, then making the space come to life.

They’re three episodes in when Bucky pulls him into a hug. “It’s alright, Steve,” he murmurs, and Steve realizes he’s shaking. “Let it all out.” And Steve does. He’s not sure if he imagines Bucky kissing his temple, but he hopes not. He really hopes not.

He wakes up alone on the couch, eyes sticky, and hand aching. He stares at the ceiling blankly for a minute, before it all comes rushing back to him. God, why is he such an idiot! What was he thinking, crying all over Bucky like that? Now Bucky would never want to go out with him!

Steve’s eyes shoot open. Wait, what?

As he normally does in a crisis, his first instinct is to call Natasha. He hurries to his room, and dials her number.

“Are you in danger?” Natasha asks him, voice tense.

“What? Why would you--no!” he says.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “What the hell, Steve! It’s almost 2 AM!”

“This is important! I think I like guys,” he says hisses.

“Yeah, I know. So what?”

“You know?” Steve sputters. “What’s that supposed to mean? I didn’t even know!”

“Oh Steve,” Natasha says, fond amusement in her voice. “I’ve known for years. Remember that TA in our Gen Chem Lab?”

Steve does remember. His name had been Brian, and Steve had wanted to impress him so bad. But that was only because Steve wanted to pass, right? He’d conveniently forgotten that he’d lost all interest in the subject as soon as the guy transferred to a new school halfway through the semester. And oh, that would probably explain a lot.

“Oh,” he says faintly. “I never realized.”

Natasha snorts. “Of course you didn’t. So why the call?”

“I’m pretty sure I like this guy, but I just ruined everything,” Steve says miserably.

“Why, what happened?”

“I cut my hand on some glass, and Bucky cleaned me up and took me to get stitches. But then he sat with me on the couch afterward and I cried all over him like an idiot. There’s no way he’s going to want to go out with me now. Not that it matters; there’s no way he feels the same way, he was just being nice,” Steve says in a rush.

“Steve—” Natasha starts to say, but then the door swings open, and Steve jumps, dropping the phone to the floor with a bang.

Bucky’s standing there, face faintly pink and a small smile on his face.

“Buck,” Steve says stupidly. He wishes he could sink straight through the floor. How much did Bucky hear!? “Um. How long were you out there?”

Bucky walks over to him slowly. “Long enough.”

Steve feels himself turn red. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll move out, the last thing I want you to do is feel like you’re being oggled in your own home and I—”

Bucky pulls him into a firm hug, and Steve falters. “I like you too, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. “I have for a while.” He presses a gentle kiss to Steve’s cheek and releases him. He smiles. “Want to go cuddle on the couch? We can talk about it over boba tomorrow.”

Steve’s cheeks ache with the force of his responding grin. “Please.”

They’re so wrapped up in each other that neither of them hear the exasperated yelling echoing from the phone with a freshly-cracked screen laying forgotten on the ground.

~~~

Natasha forgives Steve eventually, especially once he introduces her to Bucky. The two of them bond over classic Russian Literature, and Steve couldn’t be happier. Clint teases them relentlessly, and takes credit for getting them together. Of course, he also pays for pizza the next month as an apology for Steve’s hand. And as for Sam…

“I called it!” their landlord crows during his next visit, pointing at the two of them where they’re cuddled together on the couch watching a movie, neither of them wanting to move to let them in. Steve and Bucky look at each other in confusion. “The streak is still alive! I’m telling you, no straight person has ever lived here. The house knows.”

“Maybe,” Steve concedes, with a grin. “I’m really glad to be here, all-knowing house or not.”

Bucky pulls him closer. “Yeah?”

Steve pecks him on the cheek. “Yeah.”

#fallmultifandomchallenge #stucky fanfiction #tw: stitches #tw: medical practices #tw: swearing

7 notes · View notes

lilacsos · 5 years

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Glory Days: Greaser AI Part 1

A/N: So, this is the first part of a story I came up with! Thanks to my dad, @heartbreak-5sos , for helping me out with this. I’m actually pretty excited about this series I have planned up. I made the like moodboard up there for the story. Anyway, I would love any and all feedback!

Words: 4.3k (yikes)

Pairing: Eventual greaser!Ashton Irwin x OC Nova McAlister

*Warnings*: Swearing, ghosts, ouiji boards, mediums, witches, mentions of violence and shooting

Summary: Nova and her boyfriend Calvin recently moved into a house that Nova bought. Everything was going great until Nova began to hear funny sounds, see shadows, and find cold spots in her new home. After some research, she learned that the leader of the South Side greaser gang in the 50s, Ashton Irwin, died in her home. Now in order to make him leave, she is faced with the task of bringing him back to life

Masterlist Wanna be tagged?

After years and years and years of saving, Nova McAlister finally saved enough money to buy her own home. She was beyond thrilled especially since she would be living in her new home with her long-time boyfriend Calvin. The two had been an on and off again couple since they were 17. Recently, they’ve been on a good streak and have been ‘on’ for about four years. Now that Nova is 23 and Calvin is 25, they feel secure in their relationship and like they are really in it for the win. Which is how they came to the conclusion to buy the house together. With the keys to her new home in hand, Nova pushed open the front door, taking in her new home. It was a simple house. Originally it was built in 1950 but it had been renovated in 2015 to make it more appealing to the general public. A family bought it right after it went on the market and they lived there for a little over three years before they sold the house as well. Nova wasn’t quite sure why they sold the house, but it was going for a good price and there wasn’t much work to be done so she bought it. It was a simple two-bedroom one-bathroom house with kitchen tucked in the back along with a small nook the previous family used as a dining room. Each bedroom had a sizable closet and enough room for a queen-sized bed to fit comfortably. Down below in the basement was a washer and dryer. There was no garage for the car but there was a driveway, so Nova didn’t mind. The kitchen was remodeled and now had all the newer appliances, the heater and air conditioner were in great shape, and all the plumbing was new. She didn’t think it could get any better. Calvin wasn’t thrilled with the house but considering the fact that it was Nova who paid for it all, he didn’t get a say. Nova squealed as she saw all their boxes and furniture sitting in the empty space that would soon be their living room. In her joy, she spun around and threw her arms around Calvin.

“This place is perfect!” She kissed his cheek before she ran into her new home, her fingers running over the walls. They would be making so many memories here and she couldn’t wait to get started on that. “The internet guy said he would be here tomorrow to get started on hooking all of that up for us.” She whispered, feeling arms wrap around her waist.

“You really like this place don’t you Nova?” Calvin asked, kissing the side of her neck.

“Of course I do!” She spun around to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “This place is perfect. Especially since I get to share it with you.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips before she slipped out of his arms and went to look at all the boxes. “Now, you know what would make this place even more perfect?”

Calvin, already knowing her answer, rolled his eyes. Just to humor her, he asked, “what’s that?”

“You help me with these boxes. I need your muscles.” She laughed and made her way to the large pile of boxes cluttering the new house

Nova dropped down onto the couch and sighed deeply. “I am so glad you could move the big stuff.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could have done it too my love.” Calvin came to sit next to her, pulling her feet onto his lap. “What else do we have to do to make this place amazing?”

Nova thought it out, wondering just what this place was missing. It had the charm, clearly. It now had furniture. The internet and phone would be set up tomorrow. Besides some little décor items, she didn’t see anything missing. “I don’t think it needs anything.” She smiled up at him.

Calvin hummed in thought before he shook his head. “I think it’s missing something.”

“Really? What is it?” She asked, suddenly worried she had forgotten something important.

“We need to make some memories here,” he whispered, moving her feet off of his lap and onto the floor as he began to crawl on top of her, “and I know just the one to start with.”

Nova and Calvin laid in bed, her playing with his fingers and him playing with her hair. “You know I love your hair,” Calvin whispered as he twirled the strands around his fingers. “Love the color, love the curls, love the smell.”

“You’re so weird.” Nova laughed and pushed his hand away from her. “You really love the color though?” Nova had grown up in a very beachy city where everyone always had beautiful blonde, beach wavy hair. Nova had dark brown, very close to black, hair and some of the craziest curls you’d ever seen. Hermione has nothing on her. So, of course, this was an insecurity she had growing up, knowing she didn’t look like all the other girls she knew and went to school with. Once she reached 15, she bleached her hair and she was blonde for a while, but she didn’t like it. Took a major change for her to realize that she likes her hair the way it always was. Of course she can still get insecure about it which might be the reason Calvin seemed to mention how much he loved it so often.

“Course I do. I love everything about you.” Calvin kissed her cheek and smiled, pulling her close to his chest. “I happen to think you’re perfect.”

The first few nights in the house were amazing, to say the least. Nova loved every second of it and once the internet had been hooked up, she loved it even more. Nova had been working for the local newspaper for the last few years, writing stories and such. Her real dream was to be an author but for now, the newspaper was great. She hardly had to go to an office to work which was great. She could stay home in her pajamas as long as she wanted. Life was good. She had a great boyfriend, a job she loved, and now she had an amazing house that was all hers. Really, she couldn’t think of anything that could go wrong. Ok, she could think of a lot of things that could go wrong but she didn’t want to dwell on the bad things that could happen. She wanted to focus on the good things that had already happened. Her and Calvin got started making memories right away, planning for the future, discussing repainting the walls, and even adding another room. So far, things seemed perfect. Of course Nova couldn’t stop the nagging words that seemed to creep into her mind constantly. Calvin worked for a tow truck company, so he was often gone during the days and even was on call during the night. It made life a little harder knowing that sometimes she could wake up at two in the morning and find his side of the bed empty. She knew he would never leave her for someone else or anything like that, but it didn’t stop the worries. After all, back when Nova was 18 and Calvin was 20, they were on a break and he slept with some girl. The fight the two had was huge and there had been a lot of yelling. Nova cried more that night than she had in the past month. Calvin yelled at her for thinking that because they were on a break that meant they couldn’t see other people. It wasn’t that Nova thought he couldn’t see someone new, she just didn’t think he would do that the day of their break up. That was their longest break up as the two were separated for about six months. Calvin spent those six months with the girl he had slept with and Nova spent them on her own, going to school to get her mind off of whatever the love of her life was doing. After their break, Calvin came back to Nova and asked if they could get back together. It was no surprise when Nova agreed and soon, they were back to acting like lovesick teenagers. However, their relationship was never the same after that. Nova was always worried that one wrong move would cause Calvin to leave her. She never brought up their break anymore because whenever she did, Calvin would go off on her. That wasn’t the worst for her though. Whenever Nova asked if he had been seeing someone else, he would begin yelling at her and blaming her for being worried and not trusting him. Sometimes when he really wasn’t in a good mood, he would break up with her. Nova knew this wasn’t how most relationships worked but this was hers and she wanted it to last. So, she put up with it. She put up with the yelling and the fighting and the constant breakups.

A sudden sound brought Nova from her thoughts, causing her to spin around in her chair and look for the source of the noise. It sounded like a door or a window had slammed closed. That didn’t make any sense to her. There had been no open doors or windows, at least not that she knew of. She carefully stood, adjusting the waistband of her shorts before she began wandering around the house. Nova kept her eyes peeled for anything that looks like it could have been an open door or window. She stopped at each door and window, checking everything she could find. It seemed like nothing had been opened so she made her way back to her seat. Right as she sat down, she heard a loud crash and she spun around. There on the floor behind her was a broken vase. Glass and water scattered the floor. That vase hadn’t been anywhere near the edge of the table. She made sure of that because she was pretty clumsy. If anything breakable was too close to an edge of a table or anything else, would end up on the floor with Nova around. With a soft sigh, she made her way over to the broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the glass. Something wasn’t right about this. It was just her in the house so how on earth did something like this happen? She carefully dumped the glass and did one last check of the floor before returning to her seat. She started to work on her assignment for the paper again when it began to get very cold. “What the hell?” She whispered to herself and took note that she could see her own breath now. This wasn’t right. Something was off and she didn’t like it. Nova began to do some digging online, looking for an answer to what all of this could mean. Random sounds, falling vases, and now a sudden chill to the room? What the fuck is this? It didn’t take Nova long to find her answer. “Ghosts?” That makes no sense because ghosts aren’t real. Ghosts and demons and witches are not real. Sure there are people that claim they can do magic but they’re either liars or they’re crazy. Nova quickly shut her laptop and step away from the desk. She needed to clear her mind and get out of this house for a minute.

She threw on some clothes she wouldn’t mind being seen in and made her way outside, making sure to lock the door before she left. She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she began walking. She had no idea where she was going but she knew she just needed to clear her head. She had to get this paper done by tomorrow and she wasn’t going to be able to do that if she was worried about something that doesn’t exist. At the end of the street, Nova could see a book store and she decided that would be a good place to go. She could always use new books to read. Within a few minutes, she made her way inside and began wandering the aisles, not really looking for anything in particular. At the very back of the room, she saw a glass case that was locked. Curiosity got the best of her and she took a look at what was inside. On the shelves in the case were tarot cards, books on spells and astrology, and right in the middle was a Ouija Board. At first, she rolled her eyes at the discovery but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to buy the board. Ghosts aren’t real so if she got the board it really wouldn’t mean anything, but she could test it out and see if maybe, possibly, there was something in her house. No, that’s absurd. She doesn’t need one because there is no such thing as ghosts. She quickly turned around and made her way out of the store, not wanting to waste any more time here. Nova kept her head down as she walked home, not wanting to see anything that could make her think of ghosts or anything else that isn’t real.

After struggling to get the key into the lock, she finally made it inside and took a look around the place. Nothing seemed to be out of place so she could only assume she was overreacting.

The rest of the first week in the house went smoothly. Nothing fell and broke and there were no more slamming doors. Calvin had really grown to like the place and Nova couldn’t be happier. It was pretty obvious when she first bought the house that he didn’t like it but now it must have grown on him. It was nice having her own place with her boyfriend. Before this, the two were in a one-bedroom apartment in the middle of downtown. There was never any peace and silence and her neighbors were quite the party animals. Now that they lived in a nice little neighborhood, they didn’t have to worry about any of that. So far, the only downside was it was a further walk to the city hall where the newspaper had their office, not that Nova minded. Walking was one of her favorite things to do so a long walk just meant more time. So even the downside was good to her. This place was perfect.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” Nova mumbled and gave Calvin one last kiss as she waved him off to go to work. She stood in the doorway until he was out of sight and then she began making herself some breakfast. Calvin liked to pick up food when he had an early call so most days, she had breakfast alone.

With the bacon in the pan and the waffle iron heating up, she was almost ready to have an amazing breakfast when she could have sworn she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Did Calvin forget something and he needed to come back? She poked her head around the corner and when she didn’t see anyone, she frowned and went back to her bacon. That was really odd but of course it could have just been the curtains moving. There was no reason to think it could have been anything different. With a shake of her head, she finished making her breakfast and took her seat at the dining table. She would admit that sometimes it was lonely being the only person in the house, but Nova had grown used to it. Growing up her parents were always at work since they didn’t have the best financial status. Her mother was working her way up in a company and her father ran a burger joint by the beach. They managed to make it each month but sometimes it was hard. When it was too cold or a bad surfing day, her father’s restaurant didn’t do very well so the winter months were the hardest. Nova learned that she wouldn’t get everything she wanted but she had everything she needed and she couldn’t thank her parents enough for that. They were always so supportive of her and even when it was hard to make ends meet, they made sure their little girl had everything she needed. She played with the bacon on her plate as she remembered all those lonely after school days when her parents weren’t home when she thought she heard something. She stopped playing with her food and strained her ears to listen to what she thought she heard. “I miss bacon.” She whipped her head around to look behind her since it seemed like the voice was so close to her ear. However, no one was behind her. Of course, no one was there. She’s alone in the house so there shouldn’t be anyone else talking but she heard it. Someone or something said that they missed bacon. She must be going crazy, that had to be it. She rubbed her face and sighed, wondering if all of her ghost fears from earlier in the week had come back to haunt her. Ha, haunt. Nova giggled at her own wording and stood but she heard more talking.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” She stopped dead in her tracks and held her breath. What the fuck is happening? “Yeah that’s right, be scared of me.” Slowly, she turned around to face the direction of the voice but there was no one there. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move and, in her fear, the plate slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. This is insane and it can’t be happening. Ghosts aren’t real so the voice she’s hearing must be her imagination. She carefully began picking up the larger pieces of the plate and her leftover food and as she walked to throw them away, she heard the voice whisper, “cute butt.” That was not her imagination. She could hear it and she knew she wasn’t imagining it anymore. She ran over to her computer, the broken plate forgotten. Quickly, she began searching the records for her house to see if there could be any explanation for this. After a few minutes of searching, she came upon an old newspaper article from 1955.

On March 23 at 11:30pm, a shooting took place on Sunset Road. The fight broke out at around 10 o’clock between two neighboring gangs. What started as a simple fist fight soon grew ugly as one member of the South Side gang pulled a switchblade, threatening the North Side members. The South Side boy was quick to take a slice out of one of the north kids. After that, all hell broke loose. Other boys drew weapons and began to attack one another. The north was not looking too great until their leader, well know James Curtis, pulled a gun and shot the south’s leader, Ashton Irwin. The south took off running and two south members carried Irwin into the house located on 152 Sunset. Irwin’s shot to the chest was fatal and within 15 minutes, he died. Police encourage citizens not to be worried as now with the South Side leader gone, there will be no more gang wars.

Nova stared at her computer screen. So someone died here and now she’s seeing things and hearing voices and all this other crap. Maybe ghosts are real. She slowly closed her laptop and turned to look at her empty, or at least it should be empty, living room. What the hell was she going to do now? The first thing that came to her mind was the Ouija board she saw at the book store. That sounded like a terrible idea but what else was she going to do? So with that, she grabbed her bag and began walking to the book store.

When Nova paid for the board, the old woman ringing her up gave her a dirty look and Nova had never felt so looked down upon. What does this lady know or care about? She could just be using it as décor. Nova also noticed she had gotten a lot of weird looks when she was walking home with it in her arms. This town was full of old ladies, all who probably remember the shooting from 55, who didn’t like anyone that was different. When she finally made it home, the first thing she did was take the board out of the box and set it on her floor. She was never scared of these things because she never believed in them but now that she could only assume ghosts were real, she had to believe in these too. “Swear if I die, I’m gonna kill someone,” Nova mumbled and placed her hands on the board. “Alright um… are there any spirits here?” She waited, expecting something to move her hands and the planchette but nothing happened. “Ok well, if there are any spirits here, I would like to speak with you.” Again, nothing happened. “I promise I just want to talk, I don’t want to hurt you.” Nova rolled her eyes. This was getting ridiculous. The man behind the counter at the bookstore warned her not to antagonize the spirits or threaten them at all but fuck this. “Alright you little bitch, listen up. I know you’re here and you have been fucking with me these past few days and I’m done. Either you talk to me like a fucking grown ass man, Ashton, or leave my fucking house!” She yelled into her living room, breaking the silence. Suddenly, the planchette her hands were on began to move and she was not moving it.

“F…U…C…K…Y…O…U.” Nova glared at the board and huffed.

“Fuck you too pal.” Nova honestly thought that something else would have happened to her for talking to the ghost like this, but she guessed not. This ghost was a little bitch. “Why are you even here? You’re dead so just move on.” Nova stared at her hands for a moment and she thought that maybe he wasn’t going to answer but sure enough, her hands began moving again. “I-C-A-N-T. You can't? Well, why not? What’s keeping you here Ashton?” Her hands once again moved but this time it seemed like Ashton the Ghost had a whole story to tell. “I hate to interrupt but this is a little long for spelling. Can I like, talk to you another way? Medium? You want me to get a medium?” When the planchette moved to ‘yes’, Nova sighed. “So I get a medium so I can talk to you and then you will tell me why you won’t leave me alone and how I can get you to leave?” When nothing moved and her hands still rested on the word ‘yes’ she took it as confirmation. “Fine. Bye bitch.” Once the planchette was resting on goodbye, Nova ran to her phone and began calling around. Apparently, there were more mediums in this small town than she ever thought possible. After a few hours of calling, she found a woman by the name Sapphire that was willing to come to her house in less than five minutes. Scrambling, Nova hid the Ouija board in her closet, not sure if Sapphire was a fan of them. Just as Nova left her room, there was a knock at the front door. Quickly, she made her way over and opened it to see Sapphire, who was not who she expected. Sapphire was an older woman who looked to be about 60 or more. She smiled at Nova and made her way inside.

“You said there is a spirit here? And you want to talk to him?” Nova nodded and before she could explain, Sapphire closed her eyes and hummed softly. “Oh, he’s here. He’s saying that he needs your help if you want him to leave you alone.”

“Well, what does he want?”

Sapphire quickly shushed Nova and continued humming. “He says you must kill the man that killed him.”

“What? Hell no! I’m not killing someone just because some dead guy wants me to.” Nova huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Stupid ass dead dude.”

“Or, he said you can find a way to bring him back so he can do it himself.” Sapphire opened her eyes and turned to face Nova. “I can’t help you with that though. You see, I can speak to the dead and I can even see them, but I am no witch that can bring them back. I can, however, do something else for you.” Before Nova could ask what this woman had planned, Sapphire grabbed Nova’s face in her hands and began to whisper. Nova had no clue what she was saying but she did know that it wasn’t in English. Moments later, Sapphire made her way to the door. “Good luck finding help Nova.” And with that, she left.

“What the fuck kind of name is Nova?” A deep, masculine voice said behind Nova, causing her to spin around. There, standing by the kitchen entry, was a man. He was dressed in a leather jacket and jeans with his hair slicked back.

“Who are you?” Nova yelled and threw a book at him, but it passed right through his body. The two stared at each other and in amazement, and horror, Nova carefully made her way closer to the man.

“You can see me? You can hear me?” He asked as he also began to move towards Nova.

“You must be Ashton Irwin, the ghost that’s ruining my life.”

“The one and only,” said Ashton with a smirk. “Nice to meet you.”

Tags

@lustingfor5sos @mycollectionofnuts @ohhmuke @softboycal @norawashere @who-do-you-love-5sos @astrosashton @katiaw2 @littlesinnersins @bbyboyycal @rosecoloredash and tagging other people (hope it's ok): @calumsendgame @aspiringwildfire @cal-pal-cuddles

#my shitty writing #ashton irwin #ashton 5sos #ashton irwin fanfiction #greaser!ashton #5 seconds of summer #5sos #5 seconds of summer fanfiction

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homespork-review · 5 years

Text

Homespork Act 2: The Racism of the Conductor’s Baton (Part 1)

Years in the future, but not many…

TIER: Now what in the heck is this I wonder?

BRIGHT: ...the reader wonders what’s going on now, as we jump to a sun-bleached desert with a Wayward Vagabond wandering across it.

CHEL: Here, we introduce another count:

WHAT IS HAPPENING??: 1

Should the baffling developments to which this count is applied be explained satisfactorily later, we’ll take the points off, but we use the counts in the present to express how one feels on seeing them for the first time. Even if it does get explained later, I feel like this is oddly placed, especially since it doesn’t get explored in any detail here. Mileage may vary, though.

FAILURE ARTIST: I think when I first encountered this upd8 I didn’t click on the link.

BRIGHT: Thankfully - and unexpectedly - this state of affairs only lasts a page, and then we return to something associated with the storyline so far: Rose Lalonde has started a game walkthrough of SBurb. After spending quite a few words to say that she will be brief, she explains that installing the game is bringing about the end of the world.

Then she takes a couple more paragraphs to express her condolences and reassure everyone that it was all inevitable anyway.

CHEL: Not a case of HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING, as I considered briefly - writing the FAQ is about the only thing she can do in the circumstances. Warning people not to play the game won’t help now, since enough people have already started that the resulting meteors are going to destroy the Earth anyway. All anyone can do now is set up their own session and hope to escape through it, and all Rose can do to help is advise them in the hopes some succeed. Sucks for all the people in the world who don’t have a computer, though, but the apocalypse isn’t exactly supposed to be fair.

FAILURE ARTIST: Amidst her purple prose she uses the r-slur. It’s one thing reading John or TG say it, it’s another thing with her.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 5

BRIGHT: Over on the next page, John has survived! As has his house, and his father, although there are eyes peering out from under the bed...and through the kitchen door...oh, yeah, and the house is now perched atop a rocky crag in a dark sky.

FAILURE ARTIST: That’s a good atmospheric animation. The next animation doesn’t have the [S] for sound but it’s longer than a couple seconds. I probably accidentally clicked next when I first saw it.

Next, we get a new voice: some mysterious insistent prompter who calls John “BOY”. We’ll find out later who this person is.

CHEL: I’d say this doesn’t earn a WHAT IS HAPPENING point because we’re used to John obeying prompts. It’s curious that the style has changed, but not completely confusing.

FAILURE ARTIST: Next comes the first walkaround game! The reader moves John via the mouse, arrow keys, or the WASD keys. When you click on certain objects, a little yellow box comes up with messages clearly from the mysterious prompter. If you click that box, John’s opinions come in a green-lined box. You can walk around the whole house and backyard - except for John’s father’s room.

Since this is an interactive game, you can go in whatever order you want, but for the sake of summarizing, let’s go by the order in the printed edition.

John surveys the balcony. The prompter wants you to “do something with” what it calls the “ghost clown” and John explains that ghost clown is the kernelsprite and the Sburb server player is supposed to be the one to prototype it. Meanwhile, the kernelsprite spouts wingding.

John goes down the hallway. Dad’s room is locked so John goes to the bathroom. He notes that Rose did a “piss-poor” job of fixing the bathroom. He wonders if he could just pee over the cliff. Thankfully, this never happens.

John goes into his bedroom. It’s a mess. The door has been ripped off the hinge and there’s black goo everywhere. John is annoyed at the mess but begrudgingly admits Rose saved his life. John (or the reader) takes the time to look at the posters.

The prompter doesn’t like Little Monsters anymore than TG but John wishes he could hang out with Fred Savage. John’s wish to hang out with candy-corn-horn monsters could be considered foreshadowing and Hussie jokes about it being that but Hussie probably didn’t have trolls in mind at that point. Clicking the Con Air poster elicits the question “IS THAT JOHN CUSACK?” from the prompter. When we find out who the prompter is, it will make little sense they would recognize John Cusack, but the actor is a universal constant. Clicking the Ghostbusters 2 poster, we find out TG calls the film “nasty manbro bukkake theater” and poor innocent John doesn’t know what that means. It’s rather disturbing that TG does know. (CALL CPA PLEASE?)

CHEL: Not sure. At that age with access to the internet I picked up a bunch of obscene words without actually seeing the material they applied to. Then again, this is TG, and considering his later-seen home life it’s quite possible he didn’t just get curious on Urban Dictionary, so…

CALL CPA PLEASE: 1

FAILURE ARTIST: He examines the totem lathe, which the prompter calls a “sewing machine”, and wonders if other punch cards will make other shapes.

If you click on the computer, you see Rose is trying to get in touch with John. He ignores her for now.

John leaves the bedroom and makes his way down the stairs. Both he and the prompter hate all the harlequin art, but John does like the crude bust sitting on the floor.

The Cruxtruder is still in the middle of the room with its lid open. When you click on the lid, the prompter commands John to reseal the opening and John says “Pandora’s tube” has been opened, which is awfully literary for him. When you click on the Cruxtruder itself, the prompter demands John push it and exit the house. John says he can’t without grist and comes close to dropping the comic’s name.

When you click on the urn, the prompter commands John to topple it. John refuses, saying he’d never do that… at least intentionally. If you click on the portrait above the urn of Nanna, John wishes for her wisdom.

The prompter calls the doors to the kitchen “like you see in a cowboy saloon”, a turn-of-phrase that will be weird when we find out who the prompter is.

So John goes into the kitchen. There’s lots of black goo around and an orphaned bowl of cake batter, but no Dad. The black goo is apparently oil. John wishes for his father back. If you click on Colonel Sassacre’s book, John declares that both it and WISE GUY are his “favoritest book”. The prompter wants John to eat some of the Betty Crocker cake mix but John calls Betty Crocker a “wench”. This is the start of John’s feud with Betty Crocker. On the fridge is a primitive drawing of Slimer that John drew at the tender age of almost thirteen. This won’t be the only picture on a fridge we see. There’s board games in the kitchen cabinet, a callback to Death’s games in Problem Sleuth and also a weird place to put board games. If you click on the kitchen phone, you find out the prompter does know what a telephone is, but this phone doesn’t work.

Through the door is a laundry room, but both John and the prompter agree there’s no time for that. Note that the prompter knows what washer and dryer machines are.

Next, John goes into the backyard. The prompter wants John to fiddle with the live wires and John wisely refuses. John checks what the prompter calls a “wall-mounted gadget” (electric meter) and discovers the house is still powered. How come the prompter is familiar with so many electrical devices but doesn’t know about live wires and electric meters? In his commentary, Hussie does note that this is strange.

CHEL: To be fair, “magic” is a legitimate power source in this world.

FAILURE ARTIST: From the tree hangs a pair of trick handcuffs over the void and the prompter wants John to claim them. The prompter seems to be out to get John killed.

John goes back into the house (via what the prompter calls the “luncheon parlor”) and goes to the piano room. If you click on the huge mural, John says Cirque du Soleil filed a restraining order on Dad. I think Hussie once said it was because Dad tried to shave a performer. The prompter wants John to “consume nut” (again with the death!)...

CHEL: “Consume nut”? *immature snickering*

FAILURE ARTIST: ...but John says there’s probably no hospitals in this dark realm. If you click on the piano, the sheet music for Showtime pops up and that songs plays instead of the constant wind noise. Maybe you should visit this room first. There’s a safe in this room but John doesn’t know the combination.

Though Dad seems obsessed with clowns, we’ll later find out something that turns that on its head. However, Hussie does have his own interest in clowns, having once created a comic about a hapless circus clown named Whistles.

According to the book commentary, the entire walkaround game took less than twenty-four hours to draw, write, and program. Still looks good. That wind noise does get awfully annoying.

CHEL: The walkaround game is also the original source of “Trickster Mode”, an Easter egg in the Flash in which Hussie’s face floats on the screen and John looks like this:

Speculation ran rampant in fanfic and art for years, usually involving the “Tricksters” being the Superpowered Evil Sides of the kids. This isn’t quite how it turned out when Trickster Mode appeared again (much to my disappointment, I admit, I liked those), but that’s for much, much later in the comic.

John and Rose chat again. John can’t find his dad. Rose explains that John and his house have been transported to a mysterious somewhere which saved him from the meteor impact that destroyed his neighbourhood. Her research has turned up many similar collisions across the world, getting bigger with time, and the two conclude that the objective of the game must be to stop the meteors and save the world. There’s a rather cute bit of dialogue where Rose wishes John happy birthday and mentions her gift to him is in progress, and she helps him retrieve his father’s PDA from the precipice for portable internet.

FAILURE ARTIST: In Andrew Hussie’s annotation, he says this conversation made fans see the two as a “shippable commodity” (Hussie’s exact phrase) but compares them to shipping Colonel Sassacre/Pogo Ride.

CHEL: I’m pretty sure he was being facetious there, especially given that equally weird ships are actually canon, but the worse parts of the fandom latched onto it and John/Rose shippers get a lot of shit, mostly from people who ship Rose with girls. People who ship John with boys seem a lot more mellow about it. That’s Tumblr for you.

FAILURE ARTIST: On Dad’s PDA, you can see a chatroom called SERIOUS BUSINESS where a FedoraFreak is updating everyone on his rescue of his wardrobe from a house fire. FedoraFreak’s story doesn’t end here. While he doesn’t ever appear on screen his conversation can be seen on the PDA a few times later and at the end a character exposits important backstory to him before he passes away. Andrew Hussie brought up FedoraFreak a lot on his defunct Formspring with facts that like many of his answers on that site might be just taking the piss.

CHEL: John is now starting to notice the mysterious commands in his head, and attempts to refuse to follow them further; the cut back to the Wayward Vagabond immediately afterwards shows that he’s the one giving the commands by way of a strange-looking console. The console has four screens, three dark, one showing John. Now he’s starting to seem a lot less random, though we still don’t know much about him. If it was up to me I might have used this as his introduction instead of the first page with him that we got. He’s wrapped in rags but we can see enough of him to know that he doesn’t look human - his fingers are sharply pointed, his eyes are tiny and beady, he has no hair, and his flesh is stark black. Admittedly he doesn’t look a lot less like a real human than the stylised sprites of the human characters do, but you see what I mean, he doesn’t fit the appearance they have.

FAILURE ARTIST: I like this reveal of Wayward Vagabond, though I think again my first read I didn’t click the link. I don’t know why it’s a link and not a panel.

CHEL: Rose’s FAQ further explains what was demonstrated earlier, warning users not to activate the Cruxtruder until they’re ready to start the countdown. Once it is activated, it produces “cruxite dowels”, cylinders of mysterious material, which can be used in conjunction with the “Totem Lathe”, the “Alchemiter”, and special punchcards to produce objects from nothing, which will prove useful, though honestly I don’t know why they need to put the punchcard through the Totem Lathe and then the totem in the Alchemiter. I feel a step could be eliminated there in the design of these machines.

Unfortunately the FAQ also contains this line, and I don’t mean it’s unfortunate because Rose making typos is OOC:

Removing the lid signals the moment your life becomes a great whirling batshit pandemonium, somewhat resembling the chaos of an especially ethnic wedding. Somewhere, a soused uncle deliberately shatters china on the floor. Muddy livestock is decorated, and then lost track of. The question “Who’s mule is this?” at times can be heard over the din. CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 6 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 3

FAILURE ARTIST: Oh wow. Guess there’s a lot hidden in these easy-to-skip parts.

CHEL: Rose herself is still in the observatory, watching the storm outside and the flaming collisions of meteors in the distance. Her laptop battery is running low, the house’s electricity is out, and the fire is getting closer, but there’s a backup generator behind the backyard mausoleum. While she has time, she tries to help John by prototyping the sprite for a second time, but it dodges the various items she tries to put in it, until Nanna’s ashes are knocked over a second time, directly onto it.

FAILURE ARTIST: I think it is said later that the prototyping is drawn to dead things. While the Betty Crocker box would be very interesting considering the mythology that later develops around that marketing icon, obviously the sprite would chose Nanna’s ashes.

CHEL: The Colonel Sassacre book has some importance in the lore, too. We’ll see that when more backstory is revealed.

The sprite disappears, but as John searches for an escape route from the house to retrieve the second CD-ROM, we see it again, slightly changed…

TG messages John and still seems pretty calm about John’s reports of weird happenings, coming out with a pretty entertaining rap about the situation. I still always giggle at “afflecks saclifice, i mean -crifice, would have to sufflice. aw fluck it”.

TG: ill have to make a rap about TG: i dont know TG: morgan freeman or something TG: being the president TG: itll be called TG: "obama made it so that no one gives a shit about black presidents in movies anymore" WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 4

FAILURE ARTIST: Fanon makes TG a great rapper but he really sucks and the only time he doesn’t (and in fact is the best in paradox space) we don’t actually get to read it.

CHEL: Probably that’s because the fans saying he’s great can’t rap any better. I know his rapping is a lot better than any I could do - for one thing he’s able to come up with one at all that quickly. I mean, yes, he does use words like “derangerous” in it, but I listen to a band who tried to rhyme “plane” with “California”.

FAILURE ARTIST: Good point. I can’t rap either.

CHEL: Is this a Problematykks point? I don’t think black people are the butt of the joke exactly, but…

Anyway. John stands on the balcony and Rose lifts the car from its precarious position on a spike of ground over the abyss, with the intention that John can break the window to retrieve the second part of the game, but just as he almost reaches it, her connection is lost, and the car plummets out of view below the clouds beneath the house.

FAILURE ARTIST: “The loss of any Dodge Dart is a terrible thing.”

CHEL: While checking his PDA, John is messaged by GG again! She’s surprised when he knows the explosion near her house was a meteor. Fortunately she’s unharmed, and mildly surprised but encouraging when John explains. Since he can’t reach Rose, John decides he has to get TG involved; TG is still rap-typing, and John’s reaction of “aaaaaarrrgh!” is pretty appropriate. John tells TG he has to use the game to save Rose, but TG’s lost his copy, and his brother apparently won’t be happy about TG borrowing his.

Rose gathers up her stuff to head out to the backup generator. Attempting to use her Grimoire for Summoning the Zoologically Dubious in her strife specibus results in this creepiness, so instead she uses her knitting needles. Some pages are spent consulting the Grimoire anyway, introducing the reader to the NOBLE CIRCLE OF HORRORTERRORS and some diagrams of what appear to be windows.

FAILURE ARTIST: Problem Sleuth had weird teleporting window shenanigans so this is a callback to that.

Rose goes outside briefly and thinks of a T.S. Eliot quote (“April is the cruellest month..”) that she attributes to Charles Barkley. Misattributed quotes are a running gag in this comic but for all we know in this verse maybe Charles Barkley did say that.

CHEL: She re-enters the house and prepares to risk confrontation with her mother…

And suddenly we jump to TG.

FAILURE ARTIST: Insufferable Prick Dave, unlike John and Rose, doesn’t simply shake his head disapprovingly at the joke name but takes out his sword and slices the box. He has a strong sense of self. Strider was probably a Lord of the Rings reference but Andrew Hussie didn’t come up with the names. He only chose them.

Like I said earlier, Dave Strider is sort of an author avatar for Andrew Hussie. Dave and Andrew have a similar sense of humor, similar bodies of work, and perhaps similar neuroses.

Dave’s introduction lists a few interests that never really come up again. He is said to like BANDS NO ONE’S HEARD OF BUT [HIM] but we never hear of these bands either. Andrew Hussie in the printed book bemoans that he never got around to talking about that interest. He collects WEIRD DEAD THINGS IN JARS but besides creating one abomination this collection never amounts to anything. He even lampshades his forgotten interests much later.

CHEL: The other kids at least get something made of their interests; John’s bad movies come up a lot and are the starting topic of a later important conversation, and Rose and GG’s interests are relevant to their game powers. Dave’s, well… The swords are his favoured weapon, but swordplay is much more of his brother’s interest than his, which is thematically appropriate, but leaves Dave’s own interests rather out of the spotlight.

Dave has a very cramped-looking room with furniture made of boards and cinderblocks and a bed which appears to merely be two mattresses stacked together. When the prompts bring up the game, he has the game in his possession and claims to have no intention of playing it, showing this is a flashback.

FAILURE ARTIST: Dave looks in his closet and finds the box his 13th birthday present from John came in plus a jar full of a yellow substance. John had given him shades worn by Ben Stiller in a movie and while the movie isn’t named it is the 2004 remake of Starsky & Hutch featuring the comedic duo Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson. That movie appears in Problem Sleuth and much much later Stiller and Wilson become part of Homestuck’s mythology.

Meanwhile, the jar full of a yellow substance is not what you think.

CHEL: He browses the internet for a while, showing his satirical reviews of GameBro magazine, and introducing one of the comic’s favourite running gags, Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff.

SBaHJ is something of a legend even outside the Stuckosphere. Hussie originally drew it as a parody of bad two-gamers-on-a-couch webcomics, intentionally using terrible art, terrible dialogue, confusing layouts, and non-sequitur “jokes”. It proved popular, so he turned it into an entire comic strip, getting steadily worse with each entry. It… well, go check it out, words can’t really do it justice. Be warned that there is some graphic and disturbing content including incest, scat, gore, and bestiality, albeit all drawn so poorly it’s kind of hard to tell what one is looking at.

FAILURE ARTIST: Not just a general parody, it was in response to this guy on the Penny Arcade forum who wanted to learn just enough art to make a two-gamers-on-a-couch webcomic and refused to listen to people who told him he’d have to learn the basics.

CHEL: In-universe, the comic is drawn by Dave, who has “legions of devoted fans, most of whom are totally convinced of your creative persona's sincerity. Which is just how you like it.” Dave’s devotion to the concept of “irony” is a major part of his character; he hides behind “irony” as his reason for doing almost everything, up to and including liking his birthday present.

We then see a few pages from the fictional webcomic John also liked, depicting the Midnight Crew. While this could be interesting and relevant (you’ll see why soon), it would be more so at a point when we weren’t waiting for one of the main characters to be rescued from a meteor strike and/or massive fire.

GET ON WITH IT!: 4

FAILURE ARTIST: That is a lot of panels just to spend watching a character read a webcomic, even considering the importance of the webcomic.

CHEL: And while we’re at it, I’m assigning another point for posting Dave’s first conversation with John again. The reader might need a reminder of what was said, yes, but the magic of the internet means it would be possible to provide a link back to that page rather than making archive bingers read the same thing twice.

GET ON WITH IT!: 5

The new conversation he has with Rose is entertaining and establishes their relationship of mutual friendly snark very well, though.

TG: if you ever find yourself in the position where your life depends on me playing that piece of shit game, then ill play

Unwise words, Dave.

We briefly cut back to John, who finds another mysterious trail of oil in his house, and whiplash back to Dave. This might be an issue of the webcomic format again; in a webcomic, it’s reasonable to occasionally remind the readers that yes, this character’s still there and still doing things. In a book or in an archive binge, it’s a little jarring, but if the former applies that’s not really the writer’s fault.

Back at Dave’s, there’s a Flash DJ game on Dave’s fancy mixing equipment (much nicer than anything else in the room, as we’ll discuss further later), on which Dave accidentally spills his bottle of what despite John’s comments is definitely apple juice. He emerges from his room to fetch a towel, and now we see some clearer hints of the weirdness of his home. In the short trip to the bathroom we see two marionettes, created out of photo collages in jarring contrast to Dave’s sprite self, one overlooking the hallway and one hanging in the shower. Dave, meanwhile, cleans up the juice and hangs the soaked CD-ROM envelopes up at his window to dry. Despite his remembering to turn off the electric fan so they don’t get blown out, the game discs naturally end up going out the window anyway in somewhat more unusual fashion; specifically, a crow flies in and randomly steals them. Dave’s attempts to stop the bird result in sylladex shenanigans, causing his katana to fly out, impale the bird, and send it and the game discs crashing through the window.

#homespork #homestuck #homestuck meta #homestuck reread #homestuck review #let's read homestuck #literary critique #sporking

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purplesurveys · 5 years

Text

439

What do you usually drink at meals? Just water. I can’t finish my meals drinking anything else. Does your washer make a lot of noise? I’m not sure for the most part because our washing machine is isolated on the rooftop so I never get to hear it, but I don’t think it’s noisy. How many hair straightners/curlers/dryers are in your house? Three in total, I think. My mom has a hair dryer and a straightener; I have my own hair dryer. Which side of your face do you like better? I like them the same amount? Do you think that was a weird question? I wasn’t weirded out too much by it; I know there are some people who really prefer a certain side of their face.

Did you pull any pranks on April Fool's day, or vice versa? No I hate pranks. Do you wave when you see people from your classes outside of school? Depends how close I got with them. Most of the time I would ignore them. Would you prefer a black or white cellphone, or a bright colored one? Definitely just a plain black or white one. I don’t really like my stuff colored unless it’s pink. When you believe in the Easter Bunny, what did you picture him/her like? The Easter Bunny was never as big a deal here as Santa Claus is, so I was never familiar with it up until I was a little older. I don’t really have a vivid image of the Easter Bunny other than it being a bunny carrying a basket of eggs. Does your mom, dad or silbings play any instruments? My dad plays some guitar. My sister had piano and guitar lessons but she never quite learned either haha. Are you allowed to eat meals in the living room? We’re allowed to eat anywhere in the house as long as we clean up the mess if we make one. How many people could fit comfortably to sleep in the room you're in? I’d say 5 if I put some mattresses on the floor. Around how much do you spend on Christmas presents? Too much. Idk, I like spoiling my friends. Your last ex: how did you two get together? We’re best friends. We just ended up liking each other and it solidified after a trip to a museum and a cute dinner date. Do you always have an ice cube in your drink? I prefer having them when I eat out, but it’s not like I religiously pay attention to ice cubes at home or anywhere else. Does the last person you spoke to have any siblings? Yes, my mom has two brothers. What's the best food for sleepovers? Pizza, wings, and chips. If you skip class, what one do you skip most? This sem, it’s econ. I used to have perfect attendance because the class has an incentive for not having absences (+5 on the finals) and I used to be obsessed with following it. By mid-April I started to get fucking sick of that class so I ended up having 3 cuts in one week LMAAAAAOOOOO. That class can go fuck itself. I hate it too much to care. Do you have any pictures of yourself on your bedroom walls? I have my Prep graduation portrait up on my wall, yeah. Does your mom dye her hair? She used to have brown highlights for her old job, but she hasn’t done it in like ten years. If yes, does she deny that she does? What do you do for fun when the power goes out? Honestly, there is nothing fun when we get a blackout. It gets really hot and everyone becomes cranky, rightfully. I end up fighting Meralco on Twitter and demanding when they’ll respond to the power outage lmao. Are 'personal response' essays painful to write for you? I don’t see why they should be. I appreciate essay reqs that just make you write about your own experiences and opinions; they make it so much lighter on the rest of the workload I have. Do you say 'skip', 'pip off', or something else? I have no idea what this is referring to. Are we just talking about skipping? If you had to, would you rather marry your English or math teacher? I’m taking neither. About how many books are in the room you're in? Probably around 20-30. The rest of the books I own are in my sister’s room; I just ran out of space in mine. What number do you ignore when it comes up on the display? ??? What is the best restaurant in the mall? What do you typically order there? We have several malls in the area but my favorite is either Yabu or Torch. I’ll normally have a katsu set from Yabu; I forgot what my usual in Torch is called but it’s a maki roll that’s deep fried, has mayonnaise, and I think it has salmon in it. Do you find history interesting? Ugh I love history more than anyone I know. I didn’t need to take a history elective but I’m taking one right now and will probably take up some more in the next semester. Think of a friend whose name starts with any letter between A and M. Got it. How would you react if this friend kissed you? Slap them, ask them what the hell they were thinking, and tell her boyfriend and my girlfriend. If you were to a throw a party, would you invite them? She’d be the first person invited. Do you text this person? Pretty often. Have you ever had a sleepover with them? Yes, a few times. Does your best friend ever wear fake nails? I don’t actually pay attention hahaha. What's the last thing you searched on google? ‘Pip off’ from the last few questions above, because I had no idea what it meant. Still don’t. Have you read all the books on your bookshelf? I’ve read them all but I haven’t finished them all. Would you ever go on a date with the last person you spoke to through IM? God no. She’s too overbearing for me. Harry Potter or Twilight? Twilight. Would you be okay living on your own? I most definitely would be. How far can you run without breaking a sweat? I wouldn’t know what to tell you as I haven’t tried this in a while haha. After swimming, do you just strip or go into a change room? I...go into the changing room and take a shower? Would you rather date an older man/woman, or a younger one? I haven’t experienced dating either so I might have to take a pass. I still prefer seeing someone my age. Have you ever seen the last person you hugged naked? Yes. What about in their underwear? Yep. Where did you get your favorite shirt? We got it in one of the indie stalls at the mall. It was a buy 3 shirts for P200 promo so we got two for Gabie’s siblings and the other one for me. How much was it? ~P65 for one shirt if we’re considering the promo that came along with it. Do you/your parents have any creepy pictures or painting up on the wall? No. I think my siblings and I would let them know if it were too creepy. What's the best kind of video game? (Adventure, shooting, etc) Not sure if this is a legit genre but I can always ride with open-world games. How young is too young to date? Idk, 14? How old is too old to date? I don’t think there’s such a thing as being too old to date. Does your mom swear? Hahahaha yup. What was your biggest fear as a child? Cockroaches and bungee jumping. Your biggest dream? Work for WWE. Do you know anyone who has road rage? ME HAHAHAAHAHAHAHA. It’s safe road rage anyway. My friends all point out that I have really short patience when driving but still prefer to ride with me than with anyone else who also drives since for them, I’m the only one who hasn’t tried to kill them lmaooo. How would you react if your mom got a lip piercing? I’d probably say ‘cool’ and asked if it hurt.

What animal is really common to see in the woods where you live? Stray dogs :( Would you like to follow in one of your parents' footsteps? Not really. I was never interested in what their degree requires or their subsequent career choices. Where did you get your favorite pair of pajamas? I don’t have a favorite pair. Do you know anyone named Desmond? Do you like that name? I don’t think so. Not really a fan. What/who do you take the most pictures of? My dog and my girlfriend. What's your screensaver? I don’t have one on my laptop. Do you prefer your hair in a bun or ponytail? Bun! Have you ever kissed someone who had reallllllllllllly dry lips? Mmm no. What is the last thing you celebrated? My birthday, though it didn’t feel like celebrating it. What were you last Halloween? I wasn’t able to celebrate Halloween last year :( I think I just stayed in that day. Have you ever suspected that your last ex was cheating? Why? No. Has anyone ever told you they wanted to be with you forever? No. And are you still with them? I’m still with my girlfriend after three years, but we don’t really tell each other lines like that. Was this survey interesting? I’m sure I haven’t taken it yet so yes, it was pretty interesting for me.

#survey #surveys

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aquawolfgirl · 6 years

Note

If you want to for the Dark fic prompt, "Ghosts, hauntings (whether by external source or a dead character.)" Loved your necromancy AU!

Thank you, anon! I’d forgotten about that one!

Here’s the necromancy AU, for whoever wants to read that one, too. It’s fluffier than you would expect from a ‘necromancy AU’.

For this one, I think I’m going to flip it, and go with Rey! (And yes, I used the ‘loving back to life’ again, because how could I not?) Post writing: This got a shit ton longer than I thought it would I’m so sorry

Send me a dark prompt!

It starts with Cocoa Puffs.

He swears he bought Cocoa Puffs. He remembers putting them into the bag at the self checkout, he remembers scanning them, he remembers seeing them in the bag as he loaded his car up, he remembers seeing them on the kitchen counter as he unloaded the rest of the groceries.

But for some reason, Ben Solo cannot find his Cocoa Puffs.

He’ll admit it, he was lazy. He put the box in the cabinet as-is instead of transferring the cereal to the jars he usually does, so that he can recycle the box and make the cereal keep a little longer. But when he opened the cabinet, bleary-eyed and still wearing his glasses and pajamas, there was no sign of Cocoa Puffs. Just Cheerios, and the sad remains of Frosted Flakes.

If he’d left them at the store, then it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, they weren’t that expensive. But he knows he didn’t leave them at the store, he knows he put them in the cabinet, and so to say he’s confused is a vast understatement.

And then one of his t-shirts disappears.

His apartment has its own washer and dryer. It’s not like he washed it in a communal laundry room and then forgot it. No, there’s no reason why it should have gone missing. He’s a clean person, too, everything has it’s place. It’s not like he could have left it in a pile somewhere. It would be in the hamper, in the washing machine, in the dryer, in his closet, or on his body. Those are the only places it could possibly be.

And for some fucked up reason, it is in none of those places.

Ben briefly considers a burglar, but that doesn’t make any sense, either. His expensive watch is in the little leather dish he puts it in. His laptop is charging on his desk. His phone and his wallet and his keys are right where he left them in the organizer by the front door. Why would someone break in and take only a t-shirt and his Cocoa Puffs?

“Is this building haunted?”

Breakfast with Maz is a monthly treat. Sure, he has to hand her his rent, but she always invites him in for the best French toast he’s ever had. Honestly, they’re kind of worth the absurd amount of money he gives her.

“What makes you think that?” The old woman replies. She has to stand on a wooden box to reach the stove. Ben thinks it’s a fire hazard, but the orange paint of the stool has worn away where her feet are, and so if it’s been around that long, it’s probably okay.

“Some of my things are going missing.” The thief takes his Cocoa Puffs, but refuses to touch his Cheerios. “Weird, specific things.”

“Hmm. Maybe you just misplaced them?” she asks, looking over at him. There’s a tone to her voice he doesn’t recognize, a twinkle in her eye he’s never seen before, but he lets it go when she slips some bacon in front of him.

He meets her in the middle of the night.

He wakes to the sound of his TV. It’s low, it’s soft, probably on one of the lowest volume settings, but he can still hear it. And when he opens the door to his bedroom, he can see the light, too. If he hadn’t had previous experiences with something weird, then he would pass it off as a power surge or something. But instead he grabs one of his slippers, which is pitifully the closest thing to a weapon he has, and he sneaks his way out to the living room.

And then he sees her.

She’s curled up in the t-shirt he’s missing, a bowl of Cocoa Puffs in her lap as she sits crosslegged and watches the TV. He stares, watching as she takes a few puffs and pops them into her mouth without milk. She’s watching some cartoon. Spongebob, he thinks, recognizing the character’s voice.

For someone who steals his stuff, she sure is gorgeous. Long, bare legs, brown hair pulled up into a bun, a pretty pert nose and freckles across her cheeks. Pretty, he thinks, just before he throws the shoe at her.

She’s in his house, after all, and she’s wearing and eating his stuff.

She gasps, the bowl of Cocoa Puffs spilling across his couch and floor, and he watches as the flocked slipper goes right through her.

And then she disappears, the bowl falling right through the air where her legs once were and the t-shirt crumpling as though no one was ever in it.

“Wait!”

He’s not sure why he’s asking her - whoever she is, whatever she is - to wait, but it’s his instinct as he stares at the Cocoa Puffs on the floor, the t-shirt that was missing for weeks, the bowl that was previously cradled between her bare legs.

What the fuck?

“Who is she?”

“Who’s who?” Maz asks. Her tone suggests she already knows. Her tone also suggests she doesn’t very much appreciate being woken up at 3 in the morning.

“The ghost girl in my apartment,” Ben snaps. He doesn’t mean to snap, not really, but what the actual fuck?

“Watch your tone,” Maz says warningly, pointing a wrinkled and slightly crooked finger at him before she gestures for him to come in. “Let me explain.”

Her name is Rey, his landlady explains, over a cup of chamomile tea. She was an old tenant, in the 80s. An abusive relationship, Maz explains. Ben can fill in the rest for himself. He’s not sure he wants to, but he can.

“You must be special. She usually only shows herself to the female tenants who’ve had your apartment,” Maz explains. “They’re usually more understanding.”

“Either that, or she just really likes Cocoa Puffs,” Ben mutters, nursing his cup of tea before looking to the ceiling.

Rey.

He buys more Cocoa Puffs. He also buys Reese’s Puffs, just for the hell of it, and smiles when he notices those are gone, and the Cocoa Puffs are left behind. So she prefers peanut butter and chocolate, but will take chocolate … good to know.

Why he’s buying cereal for someone who isn’t alive, he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t want to think about how she can eat, either.

He washes the t-shirt, holding it for a few moments before eventually lifting it to his nose. It smells different. Like lavender, and peppermint. Nothing like anything he uses. He wonders if it’s the smell of ghosts, or just her.

He washes it, and folds it, and puts it on the end of his bed. By the time he gets home from work, it’s gone.

The TV turns on again Tuesday, at exactly 2:36 am. He’s waiting, because it’s been exactly a week, and when he hears the low voices of some cartoon - Scooby Doo, maybe - he sneaks out to the living room.

This time, she’s not eating cereal. She’s just curled up on the couch, her head resting against a pillow. When he comes around the corner, she sits up immediately, and he can see the couch through her for a flicker of a moment.

“No, please,” Ben pleads. “Stay?”

She looks suspicious. Of course she looks suspicious. But she solidifies, ever so slightly, and says, “You’re Ben.”

Her accent is vaguely British, he notices. “Yes,” he replies. “And you’re Rey.”

“Maz told you.”

“She did.”

“So you know what happened.” Her voice is dark, and bitter. So angry, and sad, for a girl wearing a loose t-shirt and watching Scooby Doo.

“I do,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

She stares at him for a long moment. Her eyes are dark, stare piercing before she says, in the softest voice he’s ever heard, “I have to go.”

And then she’s gone.

She can’t stay here for long. It’s something he learns in the next few weeks, after short conversations with her. He buys her leggings, so she has something else to wear beneath the t-shirt. She sits next to him on the couch, the pattern of the throw pillow just barely visible through her as she explains that it takes a lot of energy to manifest, but she can do it for a short while. She takes advantage of it to indulge in cereal, and to watch something that makes her happy. For the most part, that’s cartoons, or comedies. He learns she likes Scooby Doo the best, because she enjoys mysteries, but she also likes Friends and the Golden Girls.

He makes a mental note to buy them on Amazon for her.

He learns what happened, truly, even though he didn’t ask. She lifts her shirt and shows him the stab wound, and explains that’s why she grabbed the shirt first, so she didn’t have to see it.

She’s tied to the apartment because she has unfinished business. “I don’t know what it is, unless it’s my student loans,” Rey mutters darkly as she sits beside him, closer than she was a month ago. He chuckles. He can’t see the pillow through her, today.

After two years, they learn that ‘unfinished business’ apparently meant falling in love. Finding her soulmate, finding her fate, some bullshit like that.

Every day, she gets stronger. Every night, she can stay a little longer. Every moment, she gets more and more solid, until she can spend an entire night with him, curled up against his side, and he’s able to have a few moments with her in the morning before she disappears, the sheets collapsing beside him.

“It’s because you’re a stronger tie than the building,” Maz eventually explains to both of them. She has to come to Ben’s apartment. Rey can’t go downstairs. She can hold his hand, though, and he lifts her fingers to his lips, feeling the icy-cold fingertips against his mouth, and not giving a damn.

He didn’t think that her coming back was possible. He still doesn’t know how it’s possible. But one day he comes home from work to her shouting his name.

“Ben! Ben, come quickly!”

She sounds like she’s panicking, and he drops his keys and coat, rushing into the bathroom where Rey’s touching her face. As soon as he crosses the threshold, she grabs his hand and puts it against her cheek. He can feel the tears, can feel … can feel warmth.

“What-” he stares, wide-eyed, before she grabs his hand and presses it to her neck, her fingers guiding his to her pulse.

Her pulse.

As much as he loved her kisses back then, he doesn’t think he’ll ever miss the chill if it means he can feel the warmth, now, and feel her smile of joy against his lips.

#aqua answers #aqua writes

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leahwithanidea · 4 years

Photo

15 Oct 2018 - THE FIRST EMAIL

Hello friends and fam!

I made it Pittsburgh last Wednesday evening and met the whole wave of other new missionaries who had just flown into Pittsburgh from the Missionary Training Center in Provo. I was the only one there who hadn't gone to the MTC so it was a little difficult to fit in. Lots of the missionaries there had been living in the dorms at the MTC together for 3 weeks already and knew each other pretty well. It was a lonely first day. I also met my Mission President, President Bednar and his wife! They are in charge of the 160ish (I don't know the exact number) of missionaries serving in the Pittsburgh mission. They make sure we are alright, fed, and learning as a missionary. They are the sweetest. For those of you who are wondering, yes, President Bednar is related to David A. Bednar. My mission president is David A. Bednar's nephew, although they are more like brothers because they are so close.

After that first day of meeting everyone and training, all the new missionaries stayed at the Mission Home (President and Sister Bednar's house) for the night. What a spacious estate full of air mattresses. The next morning, we piled into vans and went to the nearby church building where we were assigned our trainers (a more experienced missionary in our mission who has been serving their mission for a while) and our areas (where exactly within the mission boundaries we would be serving). I was assigned to be companions with Sister Smoot in the Towanda area! It was quite the doozy because the Towanda area is like the absolute farthest area in the mission from the city of Pittsburgh. It's on the very eastern side of the mission boundaries. After we were all paired up, we were off to our areas! For Sister Smoot and I, that meant we had a 6-hour drive ahead of us. YIKE. It was good though. Gave me much needed decompression time in the car and lots and lots of miles to get to know my new companion! She's from Utah (big surprise) and her parents are actually serving as Mission Presidents in Japan.

Driving from Pittsburgh to Towanda was basically a whole tour of the state of Pennsylvania so lucky me. The SUNSET as we drove was one of the most vibrant sunsets my eyes have ever looked upon. Of course pictures don't do it justice but I'll attach one anyway. It was like we were out running a wildfire. Gorgeous. God knew just what I needed after feeling so lonely the day before. Also, Sister Smoot and I share the same zest for life so we are pretty much the queens of optimism in this joint.

Our house (yes, HOUSE, not apartment building) is also the cutest. We live in a little red house on the banks of the Susquehanna River. I can literally see the river from the kitchen sink window. There are people living on the upstairs floor (I guess *technically* it's an apartment but let's just call it a house to make me feel better). We have a nice porch, a giant (and I mean giant) mudroom, a big kitchen, a bedroom, a living room, and a dining room which we use for studying. Everything in our house is significantly older than me. Like it feels like you just walked into a recreation of a civil war home that has been sorta renovated in the 70s. None of the doors shut without body slamming them, but at least we have a washer and a dryer (BLESS)!

The morning after we moved in, we got to work. 6:30am up and at em. The Towanda area is interesting because there haven't been Sister Missionaries here for 25 years! Everyone here knows about the Elders (guy missionaries) but a lot are surprised when they see us girls! The ward (congregation of members) has us Sister Missionaries AND a pair of Elders, which doesn't usually happen. Usually there's only one pair of missionaries assigned to a ward. We're the Elders reinforcements LOL. The ward here is super small. 30 people max. There are a few kids and almost zero youth. They don't even have a young men's program because there are no young men :o What a contrast from my ward back home where there are like 40 youth. The Towanda area is so big, so some of the members have a 45 minute drive to the church building every Sunday. Wowza that's dedication.

Towanda is so pretty. It's a borough tucked away in the hills of the Pennsylvania countryside along the river and it has so much history. It's getting cold here very fast and the leaves everywhere are starting to change color. Every day when we go out, I put on my puffy coat and cronch through leaves on the street (the sidewalks are so broken up and uneven and overgrown with grass that we don't even try to walk on them). Cronch cronch. There is a cute little historic downtown just down the road from where we live with some shops and a library and a post office. There are a few good grocery stores here so we get our foodstuffs alright.

Since we are the first Sisters here since forever, we have lots of work to do. Every night from 6pm-9pm we walk the neighborhoods and knock on people's doors. So far we have given out a good 6 copies of the Book of Mormon to people who were interested! It's always exciting when people want to learn more. There are a TON of churches around here so lots of people slam their doors on us. I find it funny that all of the ones who slam their doors on us believe in and follow Jesus Christ. We believe in and follow Jesus Christ too so for them to reject hearing a message about Him is weird to me. There was one nice lady who opened her door and talked to us, but just kept wanting to talk about Trump. Thank you ma'am for being so politically enthused, but we are here to talk about the Son of God. Another lady chased us off her (and her neighbor's) property and watched us walk all the way down the street from her car, headlights shining on us like a spotlight down the road, making sure we were gone for good. YIKE. According to the residents of Towanda, Towanda is not a safe place to be after dark, but so far I haven't seen anything sketchier than my hometown LOL. The scariest thing about Towanda is that the average age for kids to start smoking here is age 11, although I've seen 6-year-olds with cigarettes in their mouths. I can't even tell you how many times people have opened their doors to our knocking just to tell us You Know It's Not Really Safe For You Girls To Be Outside This Late. Yet, I have never felt in danger. God truly protects His missionaries (especially His Sister Missionaries). I feel it every day. It's hard work out here in good ole 'Wanda but we work hard. My least favorite thing is coming home at 9pm and realizing how much my feet actually hurt. You don't realize it much when you're outside walking and talking to people. My favorite thing is seeing all the cemeteries here. If you know me, you know I love cemeteries. They're pretty punk rock places because it's literally a field full of dead people but all the graves look so beautiful. Golden hour at cemeteries is my absolute favorite.

I miss home (and my Utah home) but Towanda and all its cold autumn air sets me on fire. What an adventure. Everything I do is on the Lord's time. Who can I help? Who needs me? Nothing about my time here as a missionary is about me. Our focus is always on Jesus Christ and sharing His gospel. Surprisingly, not being so concerned about myself makes me feel MORE MYSELF. That's wack. My days are filled with aching feet, red ears, numb nose, and sore knuckles, but so much smiling my cheeks hurt. There is no way the message we are sharing about the Restored Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, isnt the truth because otherwise I would feel miserable. Otherwise, I wouldn't and couldn't wake up at 6am every day and be working and on my feet until 9pm. There is just no way. I know Christ's true church has been restored on the earth and that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, otherwise I would never have chosen to be a missionary. It is brave work and it takes all my courage and more, but it is so worth it. The peace, comfort, and absolute joy I feel from living the gospel is just too good not to share.

Sorry this email probably took you a million years to read, but I thought it would be nice to share the details because a lot of people don't know what missionaries actually DO or what it's like at the beginning. Just know that I am adjusting well to missionary life thanks to my lovely companion Sister Smoot!

Please don't send anything to the address may have sent you before because that is the address of the Mission Office which is 6 hours away. So I won't get anything sent there for another 6 or so weeks.

Love you guys to the moon and across the galaxy and back again a million times!

SISTER GAUSH

The flicks:

1. Me n Sister Smoot pre-6-hour-roadtrip

2. All the new missionaries and their trainers. Peep ya girl.

3. Sister Smoot's head and the SUNSET

4. LITTLE RED HOUSE

5. I Am Bad At Taking Selfies So She Did It

6. Ya girl! Featuring our recycling bins

7. Cemetery down the street from us at golden hour

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cassiecantyousee · 7 years

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All I Really Need to Know I Learned on Summer Staff

If you can believe it, it’s been one month since Irma (it hit Barbuda on September 6th, and officially made landfall in the Keys the morning of September 10th). I’ve been back home for over two weeks, and things are nowhere near back to normal. So here’s another attempt at getting my thoughts down before too much time passes. Also, I spent two summers in college working on the ropes course at Saranac, a Young Life camp in the Adirondacks. That will become important later.

Just a heads up: I’m not going to post a lot of pictures, because I find it sort of weird. I’ll post some of my own house, but I felt uncomfortable sharing other people’s hardship. If you’re curious about the destruction in the Keys, there are a lot of photos and videos posted by or with the permission of the residents themselves. Feel free to do some Google searches, or you can message me privately and I can send you some links. Also, I’ve included some good donation links later, but they are not comprehensive! Feel free to find another organization you care about and donate there (but yes, there is a Mote link in there!). Okay, on with the show:

After quick stops in Orlando (to get my car) and Boca (to sleep!) I drove back into the Keys on the morning of Thursday, September 21st. The Keys had opened to residents on Sunday, and Wednesday had been the last day of the checkpoint so I could just drive right in. That in itself felt weird. It was one of those moments where I had trouble remembering that I am 26 years old and not 10; I kept waiting for someone to come to their senses and send me away. Clearly this unaccompanied child should not be allowed into a disaster zone! How irresponsible! Obviously that didn’t happen, because I AM 26, and a legal resident of the Keys, and therefore totally allowed to be there. So after that brief existential panic, the drive continued.

The first thing I noticed was the foliage: all the leaves were off the trees. It looked like New England in the winter (without the snow, obviously). Since there’s no foliage in the Keys that does this normally, it looked very odd. I could see into neighborhoods off the side of Route 1 that I had never been able to see before. There were also big piles of debris by the side of the road, but these were mostly vegetation. I know some places in Key Largo were hit very hard, and I don’t want to minimize that, but the beginning of the drive looked reasonably okay (part of this was also that Key Largo residents were allowed to return sooner, so they had already done a lot of clean-up).

As I continued south, things started to get worse. Entire trees were down, and more and more of the debris piles were made up of people’s personal belongings. Refrigerators, mattresses, shelves, coffee tables, and everything else were piled by the side of the road. In the upper Keys many of these piles had already started being consolidated, but as I drove they started spreading out. Every home and business had a similar pile, and the piles were often at least a full story tall.

When I hit Marathon, it started getting hard. The upper Keys I essentially just drive through, but Marathon I’ve actually spent a lot of time in. It was also the beginning of the worst of the destruction. Businesses that I’d been to in the past were completely flattened, telephone poles were snapped in half, and many side streets were completely impassable due to debris. But even that wasn’t as bad as when I hit Big Pine Key.

While I don’t live on Big Pine, I’m very close. It’s where I go to church, go to the library, shop for groceries, and pick up Chinese food. Many dear friends live on Big Pine, and it was decimated. There’s so much destruction it’s a bit hard to describe, but believe me when I say it’s hard to see. Entire streets were reduced to piles of rubble. The next few islands (including mine) looked much the same. My usual gas station had been literally knocked over. The entire roof that was over the pumps was bent over and lying on its side. By the time I was turning down my street, I thought there was no way my house could be in as good shape as my roommates said it was. I had seen all these newer, better quality homes completely destroyed, how could ours have survived? So I braced myself as I prepared to see how the Gulf side of Ramrod Key had fared.

As it turns out (and as you probably already saw on Facebook) hurricanes are extremely random and we live in a miracle house on a miracle street. Our house had a roof, all four walls, and had only gotten about a foot of water inside. The Atlantic side of Ramrod (where we used to live!) had seen multiple streets completely flattened. A house two blocks closer to the water than us got an eight-foot storm surge (we know because the owner stayed and took pictures). I think that part of what saved us is an extremely lucky location: between our street and the Gulf is the largest area of preserved hardwood hammock habitat in the Keys (our version of a climax forest), and that absorbed a lot of the surge. But we could just as easily have been hit by the pockets of extreme wind or tornados. We truly got very lucky. And since I didn’t get back until Thursday, I never even had to live without power, AC, and running water.

That being said, there’s a lot of work to do. When I first got back the entire lower Keys had a weird swampy smell from all of the flooding (TCI friends: it smelled like the salinas!). So being outside to do yard work wasn’t super pleasant. And while most of our house has cement walls and tile floors, we have to rip out anything that might be growing mold. This includes any and all drywall up to a certain height, the one room with wood flooring, all of our doors, and most of our living room furniture (those of you who have visited: we saved the tall bar chairs! I was so glad). The dishwasher, microwave, and washer and dryer all work, but the stove is broken. Also somehow the grill, which was outside the whole time, is fine. Our sheds were largely reduced to kindling, and we lost most of the little fruit trees in our back yard. Personally, I had to throw out my futon mattress (old to begin with) and two empty bookshelves (very cheap from Kmart). So no huge losses there, and all of my actual personal stuff is fine. We’re making a lot of progress, and some wonderful friends have come to help us. I’m learning so many life skills!

But it’s been a couple weeks of this now, and the fatigue is starting to set in. I know people always say this, but it’s really true: surviving a disaster is one thing, recovering afterwards is entirely another. Every time we complete one task, there are suddenly five more that we hadn’t even thought of yet. Have you ever seen that Tom Hanks movie The Money Pit? It’s like that. I don’t think I’ll ever find that movie entertaining again. Our house is livable, but it’s not like it’s back to normal. One bedroom is completely under construction, our counters are still covered with hurricane rations, and we haven’t replaced the doors yet so they keep sliding across the floor in a manner that makes it sound like the house is haunted. Plus, after a few more torrential rainstorms, the roof started leaking. We’re getting one of those blue roofs from the Army Corps of Engineers, but they have a lot of houses to get to (don’t worry, we’ve patched it for now). And since it’s so hard to dispose of waste in the Keys (not a lot of land), there are still piles of debris everywhere. They’re starting to consolidate them, so there are these giant walls made up of essentially people’s entire lives lining the highway. They’re honestly about three stories tall.

The biggest thing though, is that we’re all just so TIRED. It’s hard to go to work all day, where you’re probably cleaning up from the hurricane, to then go back home and have to keep cleaning up from the hurricane until you go to bed. You can’t escape it. I catch myself getting irritable, and fed up, and impatient. You start feeling desperate for just one part of your life to be how it was before the storm, but that’s impossible. It’s not an exaggeration to say that people’s lives will never be the same. Some may argue that it’s just stuff, but that’s not really true. It’s your home. It’s where you made a life, made memories, maybe where you raised your family. For me, it’s the first place that felt like home after I graduated college. It’s been destroyed, and the work it’s going to take to fix it looks endless right now. Your emotional “home base” is gone, which is exhausting enough even before you factor in all the physical labor needed to bring it back. There is no home base anymore; there are only piles of trash and drywall. I just really want to stress how tired we all are, especially because we’re actually doing really well (I promise!). So if those of us who were comparatively lucky feel like this, imagine how everyone else feels. Imagine the tragedy in Puerto Rico. Donald Trump can go suck an egg, everyone is working their butts off.

To finally bring all of this back to the title of the post, I never thought two summers at camp would prove so useful years later. The skills I learned on Summer Staff have been invaluable. After safely seeing hundreds of teenagers through a high ropes course I feel pretty prepared for a variety of disasters. The obvious skills, like experience with landscaping and power tools (#ropescapenance4eva) have obviously been helpful, but also the ability to work long hours, keep a good attitude (hopefully), and work as a team with people I just met. Also, I’m pretty good at cleaning bathrooms. There hasn’t been any call for safe belaying techniques yet, but if that comes up I’ll be ready.

But the most important thing I learned is the result of one specific Bible study. Without getting too theological or technical, we were talking about the importance God gives rest and also about how in the Jewish tradition (so also in the Old Testament) the day starts at sundown. That means the day starts with rest, and ends with work. After some more Biblical digging, we finally crystallized an idea that changed how I think about rest forever: you should rest FOR your work, not FROM your work. In other words: rest first, work later. So often we use our rest time, be it actual sleep or something else, as a time to obsess about the previous day when what we SHOULD be using it for is storing up energy for the tasks that lie ahead tomorrow. Put yesterday behind you, rest up, and move forward. It’s purely a mental game; I’m not saying my sleep pattern changed drastically or something. But this shift in mentality (when I remember it) really helps me not get burnt out. To be honest, I had totally forgotten this little piece of wisdom until I came across a quote I had put in my planner a month earlier. It’s by Robert Louis Stevenson, and he said: “Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds that you plant.” So that’s all I’m really trying to say to my fellow hurricane people. Rest for the work ahead, and don’t worry, you’ve been planting a whole forest. We’ll see it grow eventually.

And there really are a lot of bright spots in all of this. Neighbors helping neighbors and so on. Various Facebook groups have actually done a great job distributing key recovery information, and even in returning personal property to their rightful owners. Despite some sensationalist reports (helped along by some paranoia), we’ve barely seen any looting. Volunteers have been coming down from the mainland, and we were sent so much bottled water and non-perishable food we now have too much. If you want to help, and you’re close, we can always use more work teams. If you want to help, and you’re farther away, find a local organization to support and just send money. They’ll get it to where it needs to go.

And please PLEASE help Puerto Rico. They are in much worse shape than we are, and the government didn’t move to help them nearly as quickly as it moved to help us. They are fellow Americans (which really shouldn’t be the point, but it needs to be said), and they need help. Send some.

Before I go: eternal thanks to everyone who has reached out, offered help, checked up on me, or even just sent me funny YouTube videos. Your support and compassion truly means the world to me. And ESPECIALLY thank you to the friends and family I stayed with throughout this whole ordeal! I will be forever grateful. Rest up, everybody.

#Irma #hurricane irma #Florida Keys #recovery

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todayissquareone-blog · 6 years

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Motivation is hard to come by

I haven’t made any posts since my first one over a week ago, because I just haven’t felt like it. It’s been a good week (a great one, actually), but the drive to write has not been there. But whatever, I’m forcing myself to do it today, because I know I’ll feel good once I’m done.

I have always struggled with motivation. When it hits, I feel the need to get everything done, and that is because I have no way of knowing when it will hit again. I’m not feeling particularly motivated today, if I’m being honest. I got today off because I’m scheduled a Saturday shift, and having a weekday off feels like the perfect excuse to be lazy.

But still, I got some things done today. Nothing huge--loaded and ran the dishwasher, folded some clothes and put them away, cleaned up some clutter (not much, admittedly--I still need to finish that), and went to my local polling place to vote.

I have been doing pretty well this week. The washing machine was giving us hell this weekend, but my boyfriend was thankfully able to get it back in working order. I can’t wait to buy a new one soon though. I love the idea of getting one of those stacked front-load washer/dryer sets with the little musical tones, but we’re probably just going to replace the washer with a similar, newer model when this one inevitably breaks down. Thankfully, after doing some research, the issue with our washer is an inexpensive DIY fix, if we need to prolong its life a while. Our dryer is fine for now, so I can’t complain. (If you needed one, this is your reminder to clean your lint trap frequently! It is important!)

The “laundry room” in my house is just a corner of the garage, but I want to make it cute, and most of the ideas I’ve found on Pinterest is geared towards actual laundry rooms. Some friends have made some suggestions to pretty up my “laundry corner,” though, so maybe that will be my next project.

This weekend, I felt very motivated to get stuff done. My boyfriend just landed a job that will allow him to work from home, but the master bedroom (which we have been using as a computer room/laundry sorting room/miscellaneous storage space) was so cluttered that I knew it would be harder for him to focus. We got it straightened up, and converted it into a workspace/office for him. Just getting the clutter sorted did SO much to make the room feel calmer.

It’s weird, but we use the smaller bedroom to sleep in, instead of the master bedroom. I like having the bigger of the 2 spaces be free for whatever we need it for (such as office space!). This weekend, I had the idea to push our bed from the middle of the room to the corner, and shift the bigger dresser to another wall. We moved the nightstand that had been in the corner of the room to the other side of the bed. This small shift left us feeling like we have so much more space in the smaller bedroom. It’s all about making the most of your space! My house isn’t big, but we have the space we need--the trick is optimizing that space.

Our cats looked so confused after we made all these changes, so I did feel a little bad, but they have adapted just fine. :)

I cleared some stuff off the shelf in my bathroom, and moved a bunch of my hair and skin products from the bathroom counter to the shelf. It’s crazy how much nicer things look when you just shift them around. Visual space is weird.

We also got a good amount of general cleaning done, so by the end, we felt pretty accomplished.

I felt the energy in me this weekend to get all of that done, and I am so glad I used it and was productive. I just need to get better at being productive more of the time, instead of just doing things in spurts. I think that’s one of my biggest flaws, but I am working on it. After a long day of work, it’s so easy for me to not get anything done, so that’s something I need to address, for sure.

All in all, though, a pretty good week. Positive overall!

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theliterateape · 6 years

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I Shot My Dog in the Eye and All He did was Love Me More

By David Himmel

Today would have been my dog’s 11th birthday. He died on Oct. 29 from prostate cancer. I had his likeness tattooed on my arm in February.

The plan was to leave early in the morning. That would get us out of the city ahead of the holiday traffic and down to central Illinois to Katie’s parents’ house where we would spend three days leading up to Christmas Day.

The night before, Katie and I hosted our first annual Holiday Party. We called it a “holiday party” because we celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas in our home, and calling it a Christmakkah Party is a stupid thing to do. The party followed the closing night performance of Christmas in Chicago, a comedic musical year-in-review show I co-wrote for the Fine Print Theatre. The party, like the show, was a success. People laughed. People got drunk. We’re 99 percent sure one friend fucked her extremely drunk boyfriend in our bathroom in between bouts of him vomiting in our toilet. Around 3 a.m., we had to politely kick people out.

Because we wouldn’t be home together for Christmas, Katie and I started a tradition that night of opening our gifts to each other and our dog, Eddie, the night before leaving for Christmas with her family. Everyone has a Best Gift of Christmas each year. In 2013, mine was the Retaliator, a totally awesome NERF gun that I think more school shooters should consider using. I was overcome with excitement upon unwrapping it, and immediately took to ripping it out of the box, loading the spring-action clip and blasting Eddie’s stuffed animal toys like the love child of Lee Harvey Oswald and John Rambo.

“Please be careful,” Katie warned. “Don’t shoot Eddie.”

“I’m not an idiot. I’ve handled real guns safely* before, I can handle a NERF gun.” After a few minutes of childish violence with my new toy, we called it a night. We had an early morning and a three-hour drive ahead of us.

When we woke, we were half-way between still drunk and hungover, but we knew we had to get a move on. I took the first shower, then Katie. While she rinsed, I grabbed my new gun. I set up more dog toys around the apartment. Eddie, always the willing playmate, was by my side. He snorted and barked at the toys, and me as they held their positions and I took my aim.

POP! *cock* POP! *cock* POP! *cock* POP! *cock* POP! *cock*

I knocked down every insurgent with extreme prejudice and Wilkes Booth-accuracy. Eddie barked at each shot fired. I cocked the gun one last time and took off down the hallway from our living room — where the carnage occurred — toward our bedroom — where a different kind of carnage occurred (See what I did there?). Eddie was on my heels.

And then he yelped. Screamed, really. You know that horrific sound dogs make when they’re hurt? That’s what Eddie did. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned back to him. He leaped into my arms as I knelt down. Eddie was only 18 pounds but he nearly knocked me over from the force of his jump, then nearly tipped me over from how hard he was leaning into me. As immediately as it happened, Katie, who had been in bliss inside her steamy shower, whipped open the bathroom door and bounded out into the hallway naked as the day she was born, dripping with steamy water and soap suds. Her motherly instinct in full Hulk Mode

“What happened?!” she shrieked.

“I don’t know,” I said. He just—”

“What happened to his eye?!”

I didn’t see it at first because of the way he tucked himself into me but his left eye was alarmingly red and swollen shut.

“Oh God!” I said.

I didn’t mean to do it. Really. It’s not like I took aim at his face and pulled the trigger. Here’s what must have happened: We had slaughtered all the insurgents — me the sniper, Eddie the spotter. We fled our nest and while running down the hallway I accidentally fired off a shot. It either ricocheted off the floor and into his eye or struck him directly from the barrel. Either way, I had shot my dog in the eye and all three of us were in a panic.

Katie grabbed him from my arms. As she carried him into the bedroom, I could see how bad the redness and swelling had become. His right eye — the good one — conveyed his emotions: Scared, hurt, but comforted in mommy’s arms.

Eddie had been through traumatic experiences before. As a puppy, he broke his leg chasing a tennis ball. While living in the South Loop, he got caught in an elevator going up, leash still attached with Katie not in the elevator. Katie would budget one big injury in the vet column of her annual spending spreadsheet for an Eddie mishap

During the latest incident, Katie was calm, cool, collected. She had me get a cold compress — I soaked a washcloth under the kitchen sink faucet. She held it to his face. She and Eddie crawled back into bed. She spooned him with the compress on his eye. She lifted it every few minutes to gauge its progress. When it became clear there was none, she called the vet.

Our instructions were to keep the cold compress on his eye. If the swelling and redness did not go down in an hour, call again, bring him in. It was the longest hour of my life.

Eddie didn’t let out any more yelps. Didn’t cry at all. Katie kept her cool, too, though she was understandably upset with me for accidentally shooting her dog in the eyeball with a NERF gun. I say “her” dog because at that point, Katie and I had been dating 16 months and we had only lived together four months. Eddie and I always got along. But he and Katie had been mom and pup for five years before I came into the picture. We had spent a lot of time together while his mom and I dated but neither of us had become comfortable with him being considered my dog or me his dad.

I didn’t like him much. That’s probably because Eddie was exactly like me.

When Eddie and I first met, I thought he was the strangest looking thing I’d ever seen. He had these long, skinny legs, a pointed snout and, was neurotic and clingy to his human-mother. I didn’t like him much. That’s probably because Eddie was exactly like me. The first time Katie brought him to my apartment, she cooked me dinner while he and I played fetch with the tennis ball. Eddie loved only Katie above his tennis balls. I learned that night that he could play fetch for hours. And part of the game for him was not giving you the ball so you could throw it again. Fetch meets tug of war was how Eddie rolled. He would bring it right to you then sit there with it in his mouth, not letting you take it. I told him to “drop it.”

“He won’t do that,” Katie called from the kitchen, down the long hallway of my bachelor’s apartment to my living room where Eddie and I negotiated. “It’s part of the game for him.”

“I’ll get him to drop it,” I said with a new boyfriend’s confidence.

A half-an-hour or so went by of this struggle of will between Eddie and I. Him withholding the tennis ball, me telling him to “drop it.” Katie brought dinner — a personalized version of my favorite dish from the restaurant where I worked in high school. As we enjoyed it, Eddie and I kept playing the game.

“You have to tell him ‘Night Night’ and just stop playing with him, or he’ll never stop,” she said.

He shoved his tennis ball-stuffed mouth into my hand. “Drop it,” I said. Eddie dropped the ball, took a few steps away from me and sat down. He looked at me with confident eyes and waited for me to make my move.

Katie’s eyes bulged from her head. “What?” she said.

“I told you,” I said with proven new boyfriend’s confidence.

I tossed the ball down the hallway toward the kitchen, and he ran after it, scooped it up off the bounce against the cabinet where I kept my pots and pans then ran it back to me. “Drop it, Eddie.” Dropped. And again, we played our game. Eddie and I were pals from that point on. He was less strange looing, cute even. Handsome. And though still a mama’s boy and neurotic, it was the kind of neurotic I could appreciate.

Katie and Eddie would stay at my place. She’d get up and go to her agency job, Eddie and I would hang back and work from home. He’d sleep on the couch. I felt weird the first time I kissed him on the head. He didn’t seem to mind. We were, after all, pals. At first, I made Eddie sleep in a makeshift dog bed I had fashioned out of an Amazon delivery box, and an old blanket and pillow. I didn’t want him in my bed because I didn’t want dog hair in my bed. What I didn’t know at the time was that Katie was sneaking him into the bed after I’d dozed off then sneaking hi out before I woke up. He was small enough that he didn’t crowd us so I never knew. Eventually, of course, I lifted my dog ban, but I still lint rolled and vacuumed the sheets each morning. They both thought I was crazy, and rightfully so. They should have run for the hills. What kind of man doesn’t let a sweet dog sleep in the bed?

But they didn’t run. They stuck around, housebroke me and convinced me to move in with them. Katie found us a great apartment. My half of the rent was less than what I was paying on my bachelor pad, and I was getting a parking spot, in-unit washer and dryer, garbage disposal, separate bath and shower with jets in both, and so much more than my other place — though I loved it — had to offer. And how did I repay them? I shot Eddie in the eye with a NERF gun.

An hour later, Katie pulled the compress away from Eddie’s eye. What I saw horrified me. The redness and swelling had gone down but the eye itself was a fucking mess. A creamy whiteness filled the area, his pupil was off to the left and it looked like a half moon. I had shot his eye loose in his head. It was floating around like the answers in a magic eight ball at best, a cheap, plastic googly eye at worst. I broke the dog. I began to panic.

I leaped out of the bed where we had all been relaxing and nursing each other. Pacing at the foot of the bed, I spewed fear and regret. Tears filled my eyes.

“I broke him. I broke Eddie. His eye is loose in his head. He’ll never be able to take a cute photo again. He’s a freak! He’s broken! He’s probably blind. This is why… Do you see? This is why I can’t be a father. I’m going to break my kids and I… I can’t handle that. I can’t handle this. OH GOD! Eddie! I’m so sorry! Katie! I’m so sorry! I’m SO SORRY!”

Katie laughed at me.

“Why are you laughing?!”

“Because it’s cute. You love him. And he’ll be fine.”

“How do you know he’ll be fine? Look at him!”

She called the vet again. Katie was concerned about the floating eyeball in her dog’s head, too, but had to keep cool during my meltdown. Nothing good comes from absolute panic. Someone must always be in control despite the madness and fear. This was her time at the helm. Vet told us to come in. I pulled myself together and held Eddie on my lap in the back of Katie’s car as she drove.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, boy, I love you. I’m sorry,” I whispered to him along the way.

The vet examined Eddie. Light in the eye, and all things that you’d expect from an eye exam. “It’s just irritated,” she said. “A little red and swollen but he’ll be OK. Just to be safe, let’s give him some antibiotics. Two drops daily for a week. If it gets worse or doesn’t get better, call us.”

“Wait,” I said. “What about his loose eye?”

“His what?” the vet said, severely confused.

“His loose eye.” She looked at me like I’d just shot heroin through my dick hole. “Look at him. It’s like his pupil is rolled back into his head. Look at all that whiteness in front.”

She looked again. “I don’t see what you mean.”

“How can you not see it? His eye is all… googly. Look! All that white, that white, creamy area, and his pupil is only like showing a quarter as much. What about that?!”

She used the light and reexamined him. She concluded something and stood back for a moment, processing my madness. “Do you mean his third eyelid?”

Katie and I pulled our breaths in. “I don’t know,” I said sternly. “Do I mean his third eyelid?”

The vet pulled Eddie’s eye open for us. “This milky area here? That’s what you’re asking about?”

“Yes!”

“That’s his third eyelid.”

“Dogs have a third eyelid?”

Yes. It comes out when they’re fighting or when distressed. Think of when you have something in your eye and you squint. That’s what their third eyelid does. His eyeball isn’t loose. He’s fine.”

So apparently, dogs have three eyelids. Take note, y’all.

We, of course, didn’t leave for central Illinois as planned. This was my second Christmas with Katie’s family and I didn’t think I was setting a good example of the kind of person I was. Or, perhaps I was setting a highly accurate example: an immature, emotional lunatic who knew fuck all about dogs’ eyeballs. Christ, Katie’s sister-in-law was a vet tech. I was a fool.

After the vet, we returned home and continued resting. Katie and I began a three-week long binge of The Wire. By that evening, Eddie was feeling much better and his third eyelid had receded back into his head, wherever the fuck third eyelids live. We managed to take a photo of the three of us with our Christmas tree. If you look closely at it, you can see Eddie in a half-wink. That’s because his left eye was still a little sore and swollen.

I was careful not to claim Eddie as my dog. He and Katie had been together five years. I was the new guy. But Katie, by the time we moved in together, was OK with it. I mean, we did split his vet bills and his food bills and his toy bills. And I was the father figure in his life. Katie will tell you that he even started playing differently after my influence took hold. He growled more. Good or bad, that’s my doing. Thing is, Eddie saw me as his dad — or owner, if you want to avoid the personification of animals.

Before heading off for a week-long road trip to Toronto, Katie and I attempted to leave Eddie in the care of a dogsitter. We stopped by a few days before takeoff to test the waters. While Katie was talking to the sitter, I hung back and watched Eddie engage with the other dogs. One big bastard started fucking with him. Eddie was a tough dude in his own territory — our living room, yard and local dog park. No fear. Total badass. But he was, like his human mother, in new situations shy at first, sometimes unsure. And this dog rubbed Eddie the wrong way. Usually, Eddie would bolt to mommy because he was, through and through, a mama’s boy. Instead, he ran to me. He saw me as his defender, the guy who would keep him safe, even after I shot him the eyeball with a NERF gun.

We didn’t leave him there. He spent the week with friends who had a dog Eddie appreciated and vice versa.

Eddie and I became best pals. My grandfather had this thing with us grandkids called the Pals Club. It was created as a way to form a behavioral alliance, and it worked. I have carried on the tradition, though I’ve turned it into less a controlling club of exclusivity and more a club of true friendship. Eddie was my best pal and VP of our two-person/dog Pals Club chapter. There were times when Katie would get jealous of our time together. She was always number one in his world, but I was a close third, behind the tennis balls, of course. Eddie joined me on walks when I was stressed. He came to (dog-friendly) bars with me to drink. He watched Marvel movies and PBS documentaries with me. He snuggled with me in bed and on the couch in my office. A couch that was my grandfather’s and smelled of his pipes that Eddie loved — a couch that has become just as much Eddie’s as it was my grandfather’s. I’ll bury my nose in that couch now and smell both my grandfather and my dog, and it’s wonderful.

Eddie was there when I married his mom. Unrelated, Eddie was there when I hit a terrible turd of depression and wept into his neck and back for at least 45 minutes before I could come up for air. And he just sat there, hugging me, not moving, just being there. He was exactly what was needed. Eddie helped me come to terms with being domesticated and was always a moral compass when Katie and I would have a fight. Eddie was absolute righteousness.

That’s the thing about dogs; they are both your babies and your best friends. And you are both their parent and their best friend. You don’t have that with anything else. It’s a complicated but inherently simple relationship.

I had a dog growing up, and I loved, and still love, that dog incredibly. But Eddie was different. Where Max was my brother dog, and lived among a family with parents and three idiot boys, Eddie was my responsibility. He was my child. And yes, I know how annoying that sounds. Keep in mind that I’d never, ever call him a “furbaby.” That kind of shit is awful. But he was more than my child, and I was more than his dad. He was my dog and I was his person.

When I met Katie and Eddie, I did not want love or domestication or marriage or children or responsibility. They broke me. I don’t know that Katie could have done it alone. Maybe, but it would have been a lot harder for her, which is saying something because I did not make it easy

I realize it’s a stupid thought, but whenever I imagined mine and Katie’s future, Eddie was always a part of it. Through the birth of our kids to their graduation from journalism school to my disappointment that they followed in their father’s footsteps to the birth of our grandkids… Eddie was always in the picture. Of course, dogs die. But Eddie was such an integral part of Katie that to consider her without him was to deny Katie’s existence in those imaginations. Katie and Eddie were E.T. and Elliot. Sympatico. Beautifully co-dependent.

That’s part of what remains so special about Eddie; he was Katie’s heart. My god, the two of them… The universe rose and set for them both around the other. If you ever saw them together, you know just want I mean. Since Eddie died, this house, as much fun as we might have, as much joy as Harry has brought to it, it’s not the same. Eddie is always missing.

Dogs are something special… All of them. Always. Eddie was more to me. More to us. Some might laugh. I don’t care. Fuck ’em. They never played tennis ball fetch with Eddie or taught Eddie to dig or made him into a boat dog or snuggled with him or watched how he gazed at Katie or tried to insert himself in human activities like gin rummy card games. Anyone who thinks I’m silly never knew Eddie.

And they certainly never saw how I shot him in the eye and only then did both of us realize that we were best pals, trusted confidants, human-father and dog-son.

My first — and currently only — tattoo is of Eddie. An illustration Katie made 10+ years ago when he was just a puppy. When I miss him, I look at my forearm and I see his face. And I see all our times together. I can hear him and feel him and smell him. Sometimes I smile. Sometimes I cry. Because I miss Eddie.

I miss his silliness. I miss his companionship. I miss him and Katie. I am sad that Katie is without her heart. And yes, I’m comfortable knowing that I’ll always be second chair in her heart. It goes Eddie; Harry, our son; me. As more kids come along, maybe they bump me. I doubt any dogs will, but maybe. And when those new dogs come, they’ll be loved. But they won’t be loved like Eddie. Not any less, just different. Because those dogs will have Katie and I from the start. They’ll have Harry. Harry… You better believe we have photos of Eddie in Harry’s room. He needs to know who Eddie is/was just as much as he needs to know his great grandfathers and his aunt Jenny and his dad’s best friend Mike who are also gone from this mortal world.

Eddie and Harry did know each other, sort of. One night, the two of them had a kicking match against Katie’s belly. Eddie on the outside, Harry on the in. It was hell for Katie but a riot for me. I like to think there was serious conversation happening. Yeah, it’s silly to think that way, but it makes us feel better, so blow me.

Eddie would have been 11 years old today. He shares a birthday with two really good friends. Today was the same day my first book was published. It’s my brother’s birthday. It’s four days before my birthday. Eddie and I shared a birthday celebration. I liked that about us. It was perfectly Himmel as this time of the year is busy with Himmel birthdays.

Our days are filled with threats and bad news and confusion. Among all that, if you can get your hands on an Eddie, you might not feel so bad. I wish everyone could have an Eddie. The world would be a better place with more Eddies. In my experience, Eddies are heart warmers. Heart healers. And my Eddie was my best pal. And I miss him terribly. Eddie loved with his entire being. He was sometimes choosey about who got it, but when he gave it, he gave it all, otherwise, he was perfectly polite and charming. Eddie remains my emotional support animal. And because he’s tattooed on my arm, I have no trouble bringing him with me wherever I go.

And because he’s tattooed in my heart, well… That just makes everything easier. Eddie was special not because he was a dog, but because of the dog he was.

Still, I miss my boy everyday in terrible ways and am so grateful I got to know a dog like Eddie and that Katie brought him to me and that he let me fall in love with Katie. And that he he let me fall in love with him. And so grateful that he fell in love with me, too.

*Never mind that one time I almost shot my grandfather in the back with a .410 shotgun.

Watch Eddie in an episode of the award-winning webseries, Greetings! From Prison.

vimeo

#Fun Bags to Feed Bags #Eddie Himmel #Happily Ever Himmel #Dogs #Dog love #Dog People

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vincentbnaughton · 8 years

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Beach House Style Inspiration

We’re nothing if not house optimists, so even as our our beach house comes apart (literally, we have mold and termite damage and bad wiring and no HVAC and a failing foundation and pretty much all of the other not-ideal things that necessitate carefully rebuilding a lot of it) we’ve learned that sometimes you just gotta focus on the fun exciting home-reno aspects to make it through the highly unglamorous and grimace-inducing ones. We’ll update you on our rebuilding progress soon (it’s pretty slow-going), but today we’re swinging open our brains and sharing the much-more-fun-to-think-about beach house style ideas that are bouncing around in there. Because even if there seem to be a million steps between now and the whole decorating thing, it’s totally keeping our house-reno mojo up right now. So without further ado, welcome to my brain:

Before we dive into the pics, you may want to refresh yourself on our floorplan and preliminary renovation plans in this post. There’s a full house tour video there too, and we’ve included the floor plan below for quick reference. Note: Our only significant change since originally creating it is that we plan to move the downstairs bathroom door into the mudroom, rather than having access from the dining area.

Our general inspiration for the inside can be summarized as: relaxed, uncomplicated, comfortable, and old-meets-new. We want to resist the urge to overfill or overdecorate the house, since it’s meant to feel easy and light (not meticulously organized or over-styled). Plus, it’s an old home, which is one of our favorite things about it – so we are embracing that full-on (keeping all the old doors and knobs and refinishing the old heart pine floors, and keeping our beloved curved wall and the original back staircase – we even uncovered an old brick chimney that we’re going to chip out and expose).

Of course we’ll be adding some updated touches factoring in guest comfort, mostly in the form of new things like fresh mattresses and bedding and curtains (as opposed to filling it with antiques until it feels like a set from a period film). And I realized after uploading all of these pics that they’re feeling very white. Which, don’t get me wrong, we’re definitely going for light and airy – but my guess is that we’ll end up making the space feel a bit more colorful than some of these inspiration images might suggest.

Let’s start with the bedrooms, since they pretty much epitomize our goal of relaxed and uncomplicated…

Bedroom Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from top left: 1 / 2 / 3

A bedroom – especially one meant for guests or renters – doesn’t need much in it, which is good because the bedrooms in this house aren’t huge. So our main goal is to create a bed that looks crazy comfortable and not too fussy. Maybe a simple nightstand, some fun artwork above it, and a cool light or two (maybe our $90 sconces in one of the rooms?). I love that these images all demonstrate that you can still make a simple, uncomplicated bedroom look welcoming and calming, as opposed to stark and bare.

Bunk Room Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from left: 1 / 2 / 3

In addition to the three main bedrooms, we’re carving out a bonus sleeping zone for kids. It’s going to be tight (pretty much wall to wall with a ladder or something in front) and we’ll probably go white with the beds to keep the small space feeling bigger (that wood one is an Ikea hack!) but we’re aiming for something a little less formal and tailored than that bottom right pic (how cool is that rope ladder though?!). Dibs on the top bunk!

Bathroom Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from left: 1 / 2 / 3

We have a tub in our master bathroom just like the one above – JUST LIKE IT! Same claw feet and everything! Well, except ours is scratched and rusted and it isn’t painted that cool color on the outside. YET! But I smell potential. Can’t wait too get it reglazed. And back into the bathroom, since it’s currently in a bedroom because the bathroom was literally falling off the house (did I mention we have ALL the not-ideal things going on?). Quick, let’s look at more pretty things! We’d love to inject some natural tones and/or colorful accents via the vanities or floor tiles, and John especially loves the classic hex pattern in that bottom right pic, just maybe a medium gray instead of black so it’s not as dark.

Mudroom Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from top left: 1 / 2 / 3

The mudroom space will essentially be for corralling sandy beach stuff, while also giving access to the full bathroom downstairs (so people can shower straight from the beach) and toss sandy towels right into the washer and dryer, which will be housed within the mudroom. We’ll probably incorporate some closed storage for beach toys and towels, but otherwise some simple (and affordable!) shelves and hooks are probably more than enough, since this isn’t your everyday coat & backpack-filled mudroom.

Kitchen Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from top left: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Since the beach house will just need to have a few cooking and serving staples, we’re not going to fill it to the brim with gadgets and gizmos aplenty (shout out to Ariel). So we like the idea of some unfussy base cabinets, maybe some open shelves, and perhaps a little color on the lowers. We want to do it relatively affordably and we don’t mind if it feels a bit old or rustic (versus feeling top of the line or super sleek). We’re thinking butcher block counters – maybe on the island – plus a few other hits of wood, like stools. And a freestanding piece like the cabinet in the top left picture would be all that and a bag of chips. Can we bring that phrase back? Please?

Dining Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from left: 1 / 2 / 3

“Dining room” is probably too formal of a term for what will likely end up as a casual eating area, so we love the vibe of these pictures above. I’m especially loving the black round pedestal table + bench seating + coppery chairs + peach pillows equation (seriously, it’s giving me all the warm fuzzies). We’re digging the coziness of the bottom picture too, with that natural table and the woven light above it. Although sheepskin covered chairs in a rental house is probably not the smartest choice…

Door Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from left: 1 / 2 / 3

My love for the old wood and chippy-painted doors in this house borders on unnatural. We have a veritable smorgasboard of original doors. A doorgasboard, if you will. So we’re planning to reuse all of them (even though our contractor has warned us three times about the challenges of making old, crooked doors function properly). Assuming we can get them all back to being functional (which we’ll do if it nearly kills us! I’m a dog with a bone!), we know they’ll give this old house character for days. Bring it on, doors. Let’s do this. After we deal with the mold and the termites.

Living Room Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from left: 1 / 2 / 3

The living room isn’t very large and we’ll have a cool but layout-challenging curved wall to contend with. We’re not picturing a lot of furniture in there – maybe a couch, chair, coffee table, and TV? – so we want them to be interesting, especially since it’s the first room you’ll see. We LOVE the clean lines of the wooden coffee table in the big pic (maybe we could build something like that?) and those blue ottomans got us thinking that a colorful sofa or chair could be a fun option too. Just gotta find something dark enough to wear well.

Bookcase Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from top left: 1 / 2 / 3

I know it may seem weird to make a separate category for bookcases, but as much as we’re trying to keep this house simple and uncluttered, we still want at least one or two book-filled spots that feel lived in and homey (a bookshelf packed with books, magazines, and games makes those rainy days spent cooped up at a beach house SO MUCH BETTER). So we’re including these to remind us of the range of bookcases we could potentially consider. We’re not sure if we’ll have enough books to emulate the top left pic, but maybe a more casual wood rack like the one under it (perhaps in the bunk room with some colorful kids books on it?).

Stair Inspiration:

image sources, clockwise from left: 1 / 2 / 3

The front/main stairs of the house will remain wood (although the risers and spindles of ours are white), so the large pic on the left is making me super excited for getting them back to their former glory. And we’re pretty excited to have a bonus back staircase (some folks have asked why we’re keeping that since the layout would be easier without it – and the short answer is that WE FREAKING LOVE IT and all of the original character it adds. Many of our neighbors told us theirs was already gone when they moved in and they were so sad to have lost it, so we’re downright giddy to get to keep ours!). It’s definitely in rougher shape than the front steps (the risers are also already painted white), so we’re thinking that might be a cool spot to inject some color. Maybe the whole shebang like the top right pic if we can’t salvage the worn wood treads? Or just by adding a hit of minty green to the already-painted risers inspired by that bottom photo?

Side note: I just learned baskets like the one on the floor in the top right pic are called Belly Baskets and I LOVE THIS ONE.

And so ends the in-my-dreams-the-beach-house-will-be-this-fabulous tour that’s going on in my head. I’m sure there will be a lot of twists and turns as we get closer to a finished house that we can actually paint and furnish and decorate, but it’s really fun to toss out all of our inspiration to see what sticks. One thing’s for sure: there will be built-ins! And blue-green! And old doors! And light walls! And peach pillows! And lots of wood! Viva la beach house! Ok, back to dealing with that highly unglamorous bathroom’s-falling-off-the-house sitch. Thanks for daydreaming with me.

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