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pressreleasestrendsz · 2 years ago

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North America Used Stair Lift Market

size was valued at $165.2 million in 2020, estimated to grow at a CAGR of 5.8% during 2021-2026. The rising geriatric population especially including aged people having difficulty while climbing on the stairs and the growing home aesthetics are the most significant factors that are driving the North America Used Stair Lift Market. Furthermore, stair chair lifts provides the ability to be installed on any type of staircase, and are also added with optional features such as curved

stair lift

(chair glide), straight stairway lift (stairway gliders) and so on. These features thus meet the needs of the people making the adoption easy which will further lead to propel the North America Used Stair Lift Market growth during the forecast period.

North America Used Stair Lift Market Report Coverage

The report:

“North America Used Stair Lift Market report – Forecast (2021-2026)”

, by IndustryARC covers an in-depth analysis of the following segments of the North America Used Stair Lift Market.

By Type:

Straight Stair Lift, Curved Stair Lift, Standing Stair Lift, Platform Stair Lift, Pool Stair Lift

By Mode of Operation:

AC, Battery

By Mobility:

Indoor, Outdoor

By End User:

Healthcare Facilities, Home Care, Elder Care Facilities and Others

By Country:

U.S, Canada, Mexico

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Key Takeaways

The increasing demand for curved stair lift among the elderly population in the US and Canada is highly enhancing the stair lift market

The growing use of e-commerce platforms and the changing customer’s behavior towards online shopping are also making the trade of stair lifts more economical which is further fuelling the growth of the North America Used Stair Lift Market.

Moreover, the adoption of 3D imaging and virtual reality has also become the key factors that are significantly driving the North America Used Stair Lift Market.

The high cost of installation and the increasing requirement of electricity in order to run the stair lifts are the major disadvantages that are hindering the growth of the market.

North America Used Stair Lift Market – By Type of Product

Curved stair lift segment held the largest share in the North America Used Stair Lift Market in 2020 at 35.1%. The curved stair lifts are specifically designed to suit different types of staircases having turns or are in spiral form. This type of stair lift are widely used by the elderly as it does not require any extra support to handle. Also, in 2019 Platinum Stairlift has launched curved stair lifts in order to address the growing demand for stair lift among the geriatric population. Thus, the growing demand for curved stair lift in the US will further fuel the growth of the stair lift market.

North America Used Stair Lift Market Segment Analysis – By Mobility

The majority of the sales occurs through the use of stair lift for indoor purposes and it is forecasted to grow at a CAGR of 3.6% in 2020. The stair lifts can be mounted on any stairs irrespective of their installation location, indoor or outdoor surroundings. However, the use of stair lift for indoor setup is growing significantly and is also considered to be the most lucrative technology in the stair lift industry used in the US. Furthermore, the primary use of the stair lifts occurs in hospitals, rehabilitation centers and residential environments are leading to the rising use of stair lifts for the indoor purposes.

North America Used Stair Lift Market- By Geography

U.S dominated the market with a share of 69% in 2020. Handicare is investing in the EnviSion photosurvey 3D tool which enables the user to visualize how the stairs are going to look after the installation of stair lift by incorporating images of their homes into the software. Government is imposing strict rules across the globe to take up the initiatives to use stair lift in medical and other areas which would help aid disabled or old aged people who require them in case of health emergencies. Microsoft augmented reality technology is being used to install stair lifts where people can see by using hololens where the customers can make chairs in the chair or rail color and add additional features. By using this hololens the company is able to measure the stair case faster than even before by which it is helping to spend more quality time to spend with the customers on discussing and visualizing about more options such as the rail color.

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North America Used Stair Lift Market Drivers

Rising outreach of E-commerce

The rising of the E-commerce industry in the recent times has made a positive impact on the North America Used Stair Lift Market. Moreover, majority of the population in the US highly relies on online shopping for purchasing various products. This increasing outbreak of e-commerce has resulted in the easy trading of stair lifts and most of the companies are selling refurbished stair lifts at a relatively economical rates. Also, the proliferation of the e-commerce industry is becoming dense on a daily basis, and the demands for stair lifts are expected to flow through virtual platforms including Amazon, Alibaba and so on. This factors in turn support the growth of the stair lift market in the US.

Adoption of Emerging Digital Trends

The adoption of emerging digital trends such as the latest technologies including virtual reality and 3D imaging improve the construction of used stair lifts. Furthermore, 3D imaging also helps the customers to imagine the appearance of the stairs once they are mounted. In addition, the virtual reality device hololens optimizes the installation of the stair lift by increasing the measuring speed, thereby providing more room for visualization of graphical features such as rail color. These factors significantly propel the growth of the North America Used Stair Lift Market.

North America Used Stair Lift Market Challenges

High Installation Cost and Requirement of Electricity

The high cost of installation of stair lift and the need for electricity are the major factor hampering the growth of the North America Used Stair Lift Market. The stair lift which are used nowadays incurs high cost of installation and maintenance which affects the use of stair lifts for indoor purposes. Moreover, stair lifts need electricity to run which are not possible in every area and also lead to increase in the electric bill which hinders the use of stair lift in many home care settings. These key factors dampens the growth of the North America Used Stair Lift Market.

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North America Used Stair Lift Market Landscape

Technology launches, acquisitions and R&D activities are key strategies adopted by players in the North America Used Stair Lift Market. In 2019, the market of North America used stair lift has been consolidated by the top ten players – Acorn Stairlifts Inc., Bruno Independent Living Aids, Harmar, Kumalift Co. Ltd., Otolift, Savaria Corp., MediTek, Platinum Stair lifts, ThyssenKrupp AG, Handicare, Stannah Lifts Holding Ltd

Acquisitions/Technology Launches

In March 2019, Platinum Stairlift launched its single tube curved stairlift, which is designed to fulfill the increasing demand for the domestic stairlifts. Additionally, the company has also chosen Dolphin Mobility as an integral launch partner of the new product which will also lead to evaluation and development of the product leading to provide reliability the customers.

Related Reports

Stair Lift Market - Forecast(2021 - 2026)

Report Code: HCR 1213

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#North America Used Stair Lift Market size #North America Used Stair Lift Market share #North America Used Stair Lift Market price

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africanfemalearchitects · 2 years ago

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Diamniadio Train station by ID+EA

An essential link in the TER project intended to connect the center of Dakar to Blaise Diagne Airport (AIBD), the emblematic train station of Diamniadio is one of the elements of Senegal's first railway project after independence, 136 years after the opening, in 1883, of the Dakar-Rufisque section which was to join Saint-Louis during the colonial era.

Constituting an integral part of the Emerging Senegal Plan (PSE), the emblematic station of Diamniadio is presented as one of the main services of the new TER line between the center of Dakar and the new Blaise Diagne International Airport (AIBD).

A true hub of rail transport, the Emblematic Station contributes to the opening up of Diamniadio by the creation of regional development poles, the mobility of people and goods, the service offer thus actively participating in the realization of the Emerging Senegal Plan.

Occupying a site of approximately 10,000 m², the project plays the intermodality card with its large parking lots for vehicles and two-wheelers, its taxi rank, its bus stops and its proximity to the toll motorway.

Diamniadio station is made up of a main building with a capacity of 9,150 passengers to the north, an annex building to the south mainly serving the old city center, the two being connected by a 75-meter connecting platform long.

The architectural expression of this station is reflected in its aerodynamic shapes expressing the resolute race of three locomotives towards "an emerging Senegal in 2035 with a united society in a state of law".

NORTH TRAVELER BUILDING

The train station extends on two levels sheltered by a glass roof entirely made of composite panels whose wave-shaped pattern and its hexagonal sides are taken up on the enclosing wall and the reception desk of the hall.

Around the passenger hall are developed activities related to railway operations, shops and other amenities, ticket offices, waiting areas, restaurant, stairs and elevators.

The traveler can afford more discretion on the upper level with more private spaces: VIP lounge, business space, meeting room.

The mezzanine also gives access to the other plateforms through the 71 m long connecting platform which spans the 4 plateforms. It also makes it possible to avoid an urban divide by creating a link between the old historic center of Diamniadio and the new urban center of Diamniadio.

SOUTH TRAVELER BUILDING

The annex building, located to the south, is a building that extends over two levels with a footprint of 475 m2. Its architecture uses the same geometry as the main building and evokes the motor of the TER. It is located in the historical part of Diamniadio and makes the link with the new city.

The annex building houses sales counters, a waiting hall on two levels, shops and dedicated offices.

PLATFORMS

The Diamniadio station has four platforms, 160 m long and of different widths, three of which are exclusively reserved for the TER and one intended for the metric track open to the transport of passengers and goods.

They can each hold more than 1,000 passengers with access either directly to the hall or by the stairs or elevators located in the middle of the platforms.

The platforms are equipped with shelters with undulating roofs under which the benches and information screens are arranged.

The mobility of travelers with different disabilities (motor, visual, hearing, etc.) has also been taken into account with the installation of access ramps and lifts to facilitate movement on all levels for these people.

The motion geometries of moving trains were the inspiration for the architectural expression of this project.

The smooth, undulating curves of the main building were transferred and integrated into the geometry of the ground plan to beautify the new town and convey its unique and historic character as a transportation hub where various traffic systems converge intersect and overlap.

The cover is made up of 7 metal beams which support the glazed roof covered with Corian©. The interior cladding mixes different materials: Corian©, Aquapanel©, aluminum panel and masonry.

Client: Ministry of Infrastructure, Land Transport and Accessibility.

Delegated contracting authority: Agency for the Promotion of Investments and Major Works Senegal APIX SA

Architect: ID+EA

Surface :

6150 ²(useful);

49700 m²(land)

#projects #senegal

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semperintrepida · 4 years ago

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100% Relative Humidity

Kassandra had just finished inspecting the fenceline along the back forty when she saw the flash of red — not the orange-red of fire or the arterial red of blood, but the deep bright red of ripe berries, the kind that caught the eye and made the mouth water with imagined sweetness. The berries stood out against a backdrop of Kermit-green leaves the size of her hand, and she grinned with recognition: thimbleberries. Kyra's favorite.

Perfect. She'd been daydreaming about Kyra all day. Kyra, bent over the kitchen table. Kyra, pressed against the bookshelves downstairs. Kyra, splayed across their linen sheets, her skin dusky with arousal, whispering—

Soon. She'd have Kyra in her hands soon enough. She dug out a handkerchief and set to picking, despite the cloudy skies threatening rain, and she was careful to keep from damaging the fragile fruit as she placed them into the sling of fabric. All sorts of berries thrived in Oregon, but the thimbleberry had resisted all attempts at cultivation. Too wild, too graceful to tame, it carried its nature within its delicate flavor. All other berries paled in comparison.

A big handful was all she risked picking — too many in a pile and they'd crush themselves — and then she journeyed through the woods back to the house she and Kyra had built on a hillside overlooking a hollow in the Coast Range, in one of the last stands of wild forest left after the timber companies had clearcut every mountainside and replanted them with nothing but Douglas fir.

There were Doug firs here, yes, but also western red cedars, hemlocks, spruce, and pines, and she'd even found a few Pacific yews scattered across the acreage. After a career of trying to save forests from wildfire, she'd finally gotten some trees of her own.

Raindrops pattered the grass around her as she knocked the sides of her boots against the post at the bottom of the stairs up to the house. Even in Oregon it was rare to see rain so early in August.

Inside the mudroom, the door to the kitchen was wide open, and she shed her boots without making a sound. Kyra was standing at the kitchen sink, humming as she cleaned a paintbrush, and Kassandra crept up behind her, silent in her sock-covered feet. She carefully avoided the squeaky floorboard near the woodstove, then slid her body against Kyra's, pinning her against the counter so she couldn't turn around and deck her after being startled.

"What—" she gasped, then blew out a breath of exasperation. "Did you have to scare me?"

Kassandra smirked. "You'll forgive me, 'cause I have a present for you," she said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Close your eyes and open your mouth."

Kyra did. No hesitation. And Kassandra rewarded her with one of the thimbleberries.

A moment later, she turned around as far as Kassandra's hips let her, her face beaming with delight. "They're finally ripe?"

Kassandra smiled and nodded.

Kyra had a smudge of dark green paint above her brow and another under her chin. "We need to go picking."

"Yep." She held another berry to Kyra's lips. "Maybe tomorrow. Rain's starting up."

Kyra sucked Kassandra's finger into her mouth along with the berry, and she flicked her tongue against the pad of fingertip she'd captured, her warmth erupting into heat. Then she set Kassandra free, gifted her a silky smile, and turned back to the sink.

Kassandra's heart revved up, valves opening wide, the pump coming online. She set the berries on the counter. "Are you done for the day?"

"Yeah." Kyra flicked the brush, the water in the sink milky with paint. She'd spent all day working in her studio. It was once the old machine shed, and they'd knocked out the wall that faced the valley and put in floor-to-ceiling windows. If Kassandra knew mountains and forests by the miles she'd walked across them, Kyra knew how to capture them with paint, in large-scale landscapes of rocky crags and misty woods and still waters.

Ten years they'd been together, as Kassandra worked her way up from her first Hotshot crew to leading a crew of her own, and Kyra began making a name for herself with her paintings. Ten years, but they'd spent much of it apart for months at a time, as Kassandra's crew shipped out to fight fire from Washington to New Mexico. She'd even gone to Australia a couple of times.

There was nothing else like it, the way a wildfire moved like a living thing, how it could be benevolent when contained, or demonic when left to its own devices. And she'd loved her work: the camaraderie of her crew, the challenge of 16-hour shifts over days and nights, the satisfaction of a fire contained. She'd even loved the danger.

But a couple years back, when that deadfall had caught her and nearly taken her arm off above the elbow, Kyra had begged her to quit if her arm didn't come back right.

Her arm healed, almost good as new. She'd always been good at that.

But she still quit anyway.

The wildfires were bigger now, the terrain more rugged, the seasons longer. She used to work for six months at a stretch; now she could work almost year-round if she wanted to. But every shift was a gamble of life and limbs, and Kyra had already spent years waiting for her at home, dreading every phone call.

It was time. Her life was no longer hers alone to risk, not if she wanted to spend a good long chunk of it with Kyra, and she needed her limbs, to do things like slip her hand inside the waistband of Kyra's trousers, to slide along the curve of Kyra's ass, to find the source of Kyra's heat. She'd always been good at that, too.

Kyra was damp and only a little swollen. Disappointing. "You didn't think about me at all today, did you?" she whispered into Kyra's ear, a pout in her voice, milking it for all it was worth.

Kyra's ass pushed back against Kassandra. "I... had to focus." She'd been finishing up a painting, the canvas almost as tall as Kassandra, bound for some rich man's house up in the San Juans. The sale would pay their property taxes for the year.

She'd been working so hard lately. She deserved a reward.

That was something Kassandra could give her. "How about focusing on this?" she said, and she slid her fingers close to Kyra's clit, close, but not quite touching, and grinned when Kyra dropped the paintbrush into the sink and pressed her palms into the countertop.

"Fuck," Kyra said, her voice quivering, and soon her muscles were quivering too, as Kassandra's fingertip set a fireline around her clit and Kyra's body answered with wet, sticky heat.

"Patience, love."

Kyra's laugh was short and incredulous. "Patience? That's rich, coming from—"

She slipped two fingers inside and stole the rest of the thought, and Kyra gasped and rocked her hips in reflex. Kassandra leaned forward and pinned Kyra harder up against the counter, and she buried her face into Kyra's hair, breathing in the toasty scent of her, warm and familiar and perfect...

Then she heard Kyra's voice, saying, "How long can you hold out, really," the burr of it vibrating into her own chest and lodging there as Kyra clenched her muscles tight around Kassandra's fingers.

"Sounds like a challenge," Kassandra said, and her free hand brushed Kyra's hair aside to expose her neck, stroked across her solid shoulder and bicep and forearm down to her hand, and their fingers entwined as Kassandra bent and started branding hot kisses into the arc of her neck. And sometimes it wasn't a kiss — it was the sear of raked teeth, or the burn of suction, Kassandra's wants flaring against her surface.

Oh, how she wanted. The heat in her belly burned along her veins, like fire spreading through tree roots under the forest floor. She wanted to fuck Kyra hard until she came, then fuck her again and again. But the gauntlet had been thrown. How long can you hold out?

Now Kyra was trembling and panting as Kassandra worked her up with short, teasing strokes that climbed but never peaked. But as rarely as Kyra ever begged out loud, her body always did it for her, her mouth falling open, her thighs spreading wide to expose how fucking soaked she was.

Oh, how Kyra wanted, too.

She was so wet that she ran down Kassandra's fingers, pooling in the palm of her hand. Ready and willing. And so Kassandra smiled, flexed her fingers, and...

Stopped.

Outside, it was raining hard enough for fat droplets to splash in through the open window. Kassandra pulled her hand away, her heartbeat doubling up at Kyra's whimpers of frustration, and she reached across the sink and tugged the window closed.

Her hands on Kyra's hips, firm, pulling her around so they stood face to face. A kiss as she loosened buttons, tugged trousers down. And then she lifted Kyra up to sit on the edge of the counter next to the sink, and Kyra stared at her, breathless and flickering.

She ran her hand through Kyra's slick heat, eased the tips of her fingers inside. Kyra sighed and her thighs spilled open wider. Wanting more. God, she was beautiful this way.

Then Kassandra leaned closer so their foreheads touched, and Kyra lifted her arms and circled them around Kassandra's neck, and they breathed each other in, and Kassandra closed her eyes and listened to the surge and splash of her own blood.

"Kassandra?"

"Hmm?"

"If you don't do something in the next two seconds, you're sleeping in the studio tonight."

Kassandra played dumb. "Oh, was there something you wanted?"

Kyra rolled her eyes. "Isn't it obvious?" She always had an attitude when she was being done to.

"Something like this?" Kassandra asked innocently. And she stroked deep deep inside, easily, languidly, until Kyra tilted her head back and let out a moan in perfect counterpoint to the rain drumming against the roof.

Kassandra was retired now. She had all the time in the world, and she made sure Kyra knew it, knew that the stamina that had powered Kassandra up and down mountains while carrying fifty pounds of gear and a chainsaw was now going to keep Kyra right on the edge of orgasm as long as Kassandra wanted.

Rain on the roof, dripping from the eaves, soaking the earth, the air scented with dark rich soil and the musk of need as they moved outside of time. "Oh god," Kyra said at some point, as she wriggled on the countertop, eyes closed, arms a circle of tension around Kassandra's neck. She was close, too close. Kassandra pulled back. Slower now. Not so deep. Feel Kyra quivering around her fingers, feel Kyra want.

All Kyra had to do was say please. She knew it, always had. But she was stubborn, so stubborn that it gave her secret away.

"You love it when I do this," Kassandra said, and then she leaned forward and kissed Kyra, helping herself to that sumptuous mouth while her fingers kept moving in the rhythms of build-up and denial. "I haven't been taking care of you well enough, if you could go all day without thinking about me."

"'s not true."

"Maybe I should wake you up every morning like this." Her fingertips sought the deepest place, that soft, hidden spot, and she lavished it with gentle attention until Kyra was writhing against her. "Work you up so you're just about to come, and then... stop." And she stilled her fingers to match her words.

Kyra buried her face into the side of Kassandra's neck, shuddering into her in long, rolling waves.

"You'd think about me then, hmm?"

Kyra groaned into her skin.

"I like this idea."

Kyra lifted her head and stared at her, eyes dark as loam and filled with pure, naked wanting. Her lips parted, and her mouth moved soundlessly as she breathed, showing flashes of tongue that made Kassandra's clit burn. Later. They'd plenty of time for that too.

Kassandra smiled. "So remember this part," she said, and then she fucked Kyra for real.

It was glorious, the way Kyra arched her back in offering, the way the muscles in her neck and arms corded as she held on tight, the way she cried out with the fierceness of a hawk as she came. She rippled around Kassandra's fingers, her pleasure imprinting itself into Kassandra's skin, and Kassandra pulled her close, held her as she trembled and caught her breath.

"Fuck," Kyra whispered.

"I was planning to," Kassandra said, and she scooped Kyra up from the counter and carried her in her arms.

"Oh yes. More," Kyra said, smiling her slow, silky smile. "But this time in bed."

Kassandra was already on her way.

Part of the Heat Index...

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #wildland firefighter kassandra #yes lol yes yes yes #shameless smut #plot what plot #distracting myself from this hell week by writing smut #*slaps the top of this fic* this bad boy can hold so much self-indulgence #this is what sellout was supposed to be before i screwed up that story #yes mom I'm writing smut now #heat index

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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years ago

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chapter 10 paragraph xvi

Gyuri left us out in the Sixties, not far at all from the Barbours’. “This is the place?” I said, shaking the rain off Hobie’s umbrella. We were out in front of one of the big limestone townhouses off Fifth—black iron doors, massive lion’s-head knockers. “Yes—it’s his father’s place—his other family are trying to get him out legally but good luck with that, hah.” We were buzzed in, took a cage elevator up to the second floor. I could smell incense, weed, spaghetti sauce cooking. A lanky blonde woman—shortcropped hair and a serene small-eyed face like a camel’s—opened the door. She was dressed like a sort of old-fashioned street urchin or newsboy: houndstooth trousers, ankle boots, dirty thermal shirt, suspenders. Perched on the tip of her nose were a pair of wire-rimmed Ben Franklin glasses. Without saying a word she opened the door to us and walked off, leaving us alone in a dim, grimy, ballroom-sized salon which was like a derelict version of some high-society set from a Fred Astaire movie: high ceilings; crumbling plaster; grand piano; darkened chandelier with half the crystals broken or gone; sweeping Hollywood staircase littered with cigarette butts. Sufi chants droned low in the background: Allāhu Allāhu Allāhu Haqq. Allāhu Allāhu Allāhu Haqq. Someone had drawn on the wall, in charcoal, a series of life-sized nudes ascending the stairs like frames in a film; and there was very little furniture apart from a ratty futon and some chairs and tables that looked scavenged from the street. Empty picture frames on the wall, a ram’s skull. On the television, an animated film flickered and sputtered with epileptic vim, windmilling geometrics intercut with letters and live-action racecar images. Apart from that, and the door where the blonde had disappeared, the only light came from a lamp which threw a sharp white circle on melted candles, computer cables, empty beer bottles and butane cans, oil pastels boxed and loose, many catalogues raisonnés, books in German and English including Nabokov’s Despair and Heidegger’s Being and Time with the cover torn off, sketch books, art books, ashtrays and burnt tinfoil, and a grubby-looking pillow where drowsed a gray tabby cat. Over the door, like a trophy from some Schwarzwald hunting lodge, a rack of antlers cast distorted shadows that spread and branched across the ceiling with a Nordic, wicked, fairy-tale feel. Conversation in the next room. The windows were shrouded with tacked-up bedsheets just thin enough to let in a diffuse violet glow from the street. As I looked around, forms emerged from the dark and transformed with a dream strangeness: for one thing, the makeshift room divider—consisting of a carpet sagging tenement-style from the ceiling on fishing line—was on closer look a tapestry and a good one too, eighteenth century or older, the near twin of an Amiens I’d seen at auction with an estimate of forty thousand pounds. And not all the frames on the wall were empty. Some had paintings in them, and one of them—even in the poor light—looked like a Corot.

I was just about to step over for a look when a man who could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty appeared in the door: worn-looking, rangy, with straight sandy hair combed back from his face, in black punk jeans out at the knee and a grungy British commando sweater with an ill-fitting suit jacket over it. “Hello,” he said to me, quiet British voice with a faint German bite, “you must be Potter,” and then, to Boris: “Glad you turned up. You two should stay and hang out. Candy and Niall are making dinner with Ulrika.” Movement behind the tapestry, at my feet, that made me step back quickly: swaddled shapes on the floor, sleeping bags, a homeless smell. “Thanks, we can’t stay,” said Boris, who had picked up the cat and was scratching it behind the ears. “Have some of that wine though, thanks.” Without a word Horst passed his own glass over to Boris and then called into the next room in German. To me, he said: “You’re a dealer, right?” In the glow of the television his pale pinned gull’s eye shone hard and unblinking. “Right,” I said uneasily; and then: “Uh, thanks.” Another woman—bobhaired and brunette, high black boots, skirt just short enough to show the black cat tattooed on one milky thigh—had appeared with a bottle and two glasses: one for Horst, one for me. “Danke darling,” said Horst. To Boris he said: “You gentlemen want to do up?” “Not right now,” said Boris, who had leaned forward to steal a kiss from the dark-haired woman as she was leaving. “Was wondering though. What do you hear from Sascha?” “Sascha—” Horst sank down on the futon and lit a cigarette. With his ripped jeans and combat boots he was like a scuffed-up version of some below-the-title Hollywood character actor from the 1940s, some minor mitteleuropäischer known for playing tragic violinists and weary, cultivated refugees. “Ireland is where it seems to lead. Good news if you ask me.” “That doesn’t sound right.” “Nor to me, but I’ve talked to people and so far it checks out.” He spoke with all a junkie’s arrhythmic quiet, off-beat, but without the slur. “So—soon we should know more, I hope.” “Friends of Niall’s?” “No. Niall says he never heard of them. But it’s a start.”

The wine was bad: supermarket Syrah. Because I did not want to be anywhere near the bodies on the floor I drifted over to inspect a group of artists’ casts on a beat-up table: a male torso; a draped Venus leaning against a rock; a sandaled foot. In the poor light they looked like the ordinary plaster casts for sale at Pearl Paint—studio pieces for students to sketch from—but when I drew my finger across the top of the foot I felt the suppleness of marble, silky and grainless. “Why would they go to Ireland with it?” Boris was saying restlessly. “What kind of collectors’ market? I thought everyone tries to get pieces out of there, not in.” “Yes, but Sascha thinks he used the picture to clear a debt.” “So the guy has ties there?” “Evidently.” “I find this difficult to believe.” “What, about the ties?” “No, about the debt. This guy—he looks like he was stealing hubcaps off the street six months ago. “ Horst shrugged, faintly: sleepy eyes, seamed forehead. “Who knows. Not sure that’s correct but certainly I’m not willing to trust to luck. Would I let my hand be cut off for it?” he said, lazily tapping an ash on the floor. “No.” Boris frowned into his wine glass. “He was amateur. Believe me. If you saw him yourself you would know.” “Yes but he likes to gamble, Sascha says.” “You don’t think Sascha maybe knows more?” “I think not.” There was a remoteness in his manner, as if he was talking half to himself. “ ‘Wait and see.’ This is what I hear. An unsatisfactory answer. Stinking from the top if you ask me. But as I say, we are not to the bottom of this yet.” “And when does Sascha get back to the city?” The half-light in the room sent me straight back to childhood, Vegas, like the obscure mood of a dream lingering after sleep: haze of cigarette smoke, dirty clothes on the floor, Boris’s face white then blue in the flicker of the screen. “Next week. I’ll give you a ring. You can talk to him yourself then.” “Yes. But I think we should talk to him together.” “Yes. I think so too. We’ll both be smarter, in future… this need not have happened… but in any case,” said Horst, who was scratching his neck slowly, absent-mindedly, “you understand I’m wary of pushing him too hard.” “That is very convenient for Sascha.” “You have suspicions. Tell me.” “I think—” Boris cut his eyes at the doorway. “Yes?” “I think—” Boris lowered his voice—“you are being too easy on him. Yes yes—” putting up his hands—“I know. But—all very convenient for his guy to vanish, not a clue, he knows nothing!” “Well, maybe,” Horst said. He seemed disconnected and partly elsewhere, like an adult in the room with small children. “This is pressing on me—on all of us. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you. Though for all we know his guy was a cop.” “No,” said Boris resolutely. “He was not. He was not. I know it.” “Well—to be quite frank with you, I do not think so either, there is more to this than we yet know. Still, I’m hopeful.” He’d taken a wooden box from the drafting table and was poking around in it. “Sure you gentlemen wouldn’t like to get into a little something?” I looked away. I would have liked nothing better. I would also have liked to see the Corot except I didn’t want to walk around the bodies on the floor to do it. Across the room, I’d noticed several other paintings propped on the wainscoting: a still life, a couple of small landscapes. “Go look, if you want.” It was Horst. “The Lépine is fake. But the Claesz and the Berchem are for sale if you’re interested.” Boris laughed and reached for one of Horst’s cigarettes. “He’s not in the market.” “No?” said Horst genially. “I can give him a good price on the pair. The seller needs to get rid of them.”

I stepped in to look: still life, candle and half-empty wineglass. “Claesz-Heda?” “No—Pieter. Although—” Horst put the box aside, then stood beside me and lifted the desk lamp on the cord, washing both paintings in a harsh, formal glare—“this bit—” traced mid-air with the curve of a finger—“the reflection of the flame here? and the edge of the table, the drapery? Could almost be Heda on a bad day.” “Beautiful piece.” “Yes. Beautiful of its type.” Up close he smelled unwashed and raunchy, with a strong, dusty import-shop odor like the inside of a Chinese box. “A bit prosaic to the modern taste. The classicizing manner. Much too staged. Still, the Berchem is very good.” “Lot of fake Berchems out there,” I said neutrally. “Yes—” the light from the upheld lamp on the landscape painting was bluish, eerie—“but this is lovely… Italy, 1655‥… the ochres beautiful, no? The Claesz not so good I think, very early, though the provenance is impeccable on both. Would be nice to keep them together… they have never been apart, these two. Father and son. Came down together in an old Dutch family, ended up in Austria after the war. Pieter Claesz…” Horst held the light higher. “Claesz was so uneven, honestly. Wonderful technique, wonderful surface, but something a bit off with this one, don’t you agree? The composition doesn’t hold together. Incoherent somehow. Also—” indicating with the flat of his thumb the too-bright shine coming off the canvas: overly varnished. “I agree. And here—” tracing midair the ugly arc where an over-eager cleaning had scrubbed the paint down to the scumbling. “Yes.” His answering look was amiable and drowsy. “Quite correct. Acetone. Whoever did that should be shot. And yet a mid-level painting like this, in poor condition—even an anonymous work—is worth more than a masterpiece, that’s the irony of it, worth more to me, anyway. Landscapes particularly. Very very easy to sell. Not too much attention from the authorities… difficult to recognize from a description… and still worth maybe a couple hundred thousand. Now, the Fabritius—” long, relaxed pause—“a different calibre altogether. The most remarkable work that’s ever passed through my hands, and I can say that without question.” “Yes, and that is why we would like so much to get it back,” grumbled Boris from the shadows. “Completely extraordinary,” continued Horst serenely. “A still life like this one—” he indicated the Claesz, with a slow wave (black-rimmed fingernails, scarred venous network on the back of his hand)—“well, so insistently a trompe l’oeil. Great technical skill, but overly refined. Obsessive exactitude. There’s a deathlike quality. A very good reason they are called natures mortes, yes? But the Fabritius…”—loose-kneed back-step—“I know the theory of The Goldfinch, I’m well familiar with it, people call it trompe l’oeil and indeed it can strike the eye that way from afar. But I don’t care what the art historians say. True: there are passages worked like a trompe l’oeil… the wall and the perch, gleam of light on brass, and then… the feathered breast, most creaturely. Fluff and down. Soft, soft. Claesz would carry that finish and exactitude down to the death—a painter like van Hoogstraten would carry it even farther, to the last nail of the coffin. But Fabritius… he’s making a pun on the genre… a masterly riposte to the whole idea of trompe l’oeil… because in other passages of the work—the head? the wing?—not creaturely or literal in the slightest, he takes the image apart very deliberately to show us how he painted it. Daubs and patches, very shaped and hand-worked, the neckline especially, a solid piece of paint, very abstract. Which is what makes him a genius less of his time than our own. There’s a doubleness. You see the mark, you see the paint for the paint, and also the living bird.”

“Yes, well,” growled Boris, in the dark beyond the spotlight, snapping his cigarette lighter shut, “if no paint, would be nothing to see.” “Precisely.” Horst turned, his face cut by shadow. “It’s a joke, the Fabritius. It has a joke at its heart. And that’s what all the very greatest masters do. Rembrandt. Velázquez. Late Titian. They make jokes. They amuse themselves. They build up the illusion, the trick—but, step closer? it falls apart into brushstrokes. Abstract, unearthly. A different and much deeper sort of beauty altogether. The thing and yet not the thing. I should say that that one tiny painting puts Fabritius in the rank of the greatest painters who ever lived. And with The Goldfinch? He performs his miracle in such a bijou space. Although I admit, I was surprised—” turning to look at me—“when I held it in my hands the first time? The weight of it?” “Yes—” I couldn’t help feeling gratified, obscurely, that he’d noted this detail, oddly important to me, with its own network of childhood dreams and associations, an emotional chord—“the board is thicker than you’d think. There’s a heft to it.” “Heft. Quite. The very word. And the background—much less yellow than when I saw it as a boy. The painting underwent a cleaning—early nineties I believe. Post-conservation, there’s more light.” “Hard to say. I’ve got nothing to compare it to.” “Well,” said Horst. The smoke from Boris’s cigarette, threading in from the dark where he sat, gave the floodlit circle where we stood the midnight feel of a cabaret stage. “I may be wrong. I was a boy of twelve or so when I saw it for the first time.” “Yes, I was about that age when I first saw it too.” “Well,” said Horst, with resignation, scratching an eyebrow—dime-sized bruises on the backs of his hands—“that was the only time my father ever took me with him on a business trip, that time at The Hague. Ice cold boardrooms. Not a leaf stirring. On our afternoon I wanted to go to Drievliet, the fun park, but he took me to the Mauritshuis instead. And—great museum, many great paintings, but the only painting I remember seeing is your finch. A painting that appeals to a child, yes? Der Distelfink. That is how I knew it first, by its German name.”

“Yah, yah, yah,” said Boris from the darkness, in a bored voice. “This is like the education channel on the television.” “Do you deal any modern art at all?” I said, in the silence that followed. “Well—” Horst fixed me with his drained, wintry eye; deal wasn’t quite the correct verb, he seemed amused at my choice of words—“sometimes. Had a Kurt Schwitters not long ago—Stanton Macdonald-Wright—do you know him? Lovely painter. It depends a lot what comes my way. Quite honestly— do you ever deal in paintings at all?” “Very seldom. The art dealers get there before I do.” “That is unfortunate. Portable is what matters in my business. There are a lot of mid-level pieces I could sell on the clean if I had paper that looked good.” Spit of garlic; pans clashing in the kitchen; faint Moroccan-souk drift of urine and incense. On and on flatlining, the Sufi drone, wafting and spiraling around us in the dark, ceaseless chants to the Divine. “Or this Lépine. Quite a good forgery. There’s this fellow—Canadian, quite amusing, you’d like him—does them to order. Pollocks, Modiglianis— happy to introduce you, if you’d like. Not much money in them for me, although there’s a fortune to be made if one of them turned up in just the right estate.” Then, smoothly, in the silence that followed: “Of older works I see a lot of Italian, but my preferences—they incline to the North as you can see. Now—this Berchem is a very fine example for what it is but of course these Italianate landscapes with the broken columns and the simple milkmaids don’t so much suit the modern taste, do they? I much prefer the van Goyen there. Sadly not for sale.” “Van Goyen? I would have sworn that was a Corot.” “From here, yes, you might.” He was pleased at the comparison. “Very similar painters—Vincent himself remarked it—you know that letter? ‘The Corot of the Dutch’? Same tenderness of mist, that openness in fog, do you know what I mean?” “Where—” I’d been about to ask the typical dealer’s question, where did you get it, before catching myself. “Marvelous painter. Very prolific. And this is a particularly beautiful example,” he said, with all a collector’s pride. “Many amusing details up close—tiny hunter, barking dog. Also—quite typical—signed on the stern of the boat. Quite charming. If you don’t mind—” indicating, with a nod, the bodies behind the tapestry. “Go over. You won’t disturb them.” “No, but—” “No—” holding up a hand—“I understand perfectly. Shall I bring it to you?” “Yes, I’d love to see it.”

“I must say, I’ve grown so fond of it, I’ll hate to see it go. He dealt paintings himself, van Goyen. A lot of the Dutch masters did. Jan Steen. Vermeer. Rembrandt. But Jan van Goyen—” he smiled—“was like our friend Boris here. A hand in everything. Paintings, real estate, tulip futures.” Boris, in the dark, made a disgruntled noise at this and seemed about to say something when all of a sudden a scrawny wild-haired boy of maybe twenty-two, with an old fashioned mercury thermometer sticking out of his mouth, came lurching out of the kitchen, shielding his eyes with his hand against the upheld lamp. He was wearing a weird, womanish, chunky knit cardigan that came almost to his knees like a bathrobe; he looked ill and disoriented, his sleeve was up, he was rubbing the inside of his forearm with two fingers and then the next thing I knew his knees went sideways and he’d hit the floor, the thermometer skittering out with a glassy noise on the parquet, unbroken. “What…?” said Boris, stabbing out his cigarette, standing up, the cat darting from his lap into the shadows. Horst—frowning—set the lamp on the floor, light swinging crazily on walls and ceiling. “Ach,” he said fretfully, brushing the hair from his eyes, dropping to his knees to look the young man over. “Get back,” he said in an annoyed voice to the women who had appeared in the door, along with a cold, dark-haired, attentive-looking bruiser and a couple of glassy prep-school boys, no more than sixteen—and then, when they all still stood staring—flicked out a hand. “In the kitchen with you! Ulrika,” he said to the blonde, “halt sie zurück.” The tapestry was stirring; behind it, blanket-wrapped huddles, sleepy voices: eh? was ist los? “Ruhe, schlaft weiter,” called the blonde, before turning to Horst and beginning to speak urgently in rapid-fire German. Yawns; groans; farther back, a bundle sitting up, groggy American whine: “Huh? Klaus? What’d she say?” “Shut up baby and go back schlafen.” Boris had picked up his coat and was shouldering it on. “Potter,” he said and then again, when I did not answer, staring horrified at the floor, where the boy was breathing in gurgles: “Potter.” Catching my arm. “Come on, let’s go.” “Yes, sorry. We’ll have to talk later. Schiesse,” said Horst regretfully, shaking the boy’s limp shoulder, with the tone of a parent making a not-particularly-convincing show of scolding a child. “Dummer Wichser! Dummkopf! How much did he take, Niall?” he said to the bruiser who had reappeared in the door and was looking on with a critical eye. “Fuck if I know,” said the Irishman, with an ominous sideways pop of his head. “Come on, Potter,” said Boris, catching my arm. Horst had his ear to the boy’s chest and the blonde, who had returned, had dropped to her knees beside him and was checking his airway.

As they consulted urgently in German, more noise and movement behind the Amiens, which billowed out suddenly: faded blossoms, a fête champêtre, prodigal nymphs disporting themselves amidst fountain and vine. I was staring at a satyr peeping at them slyly from behind a tree when, unexpectedly —something against my leg—I started back violently as a hand swiped from underneath and clutched my trouser cuff. From the floor, one of the dirty bundles—swollen red face just visible from under the tapestry—inquired of me in a sleepy gallant voice: “He’s a margrave, my dear, did you know that?” I pulled my trouser leg free and stepped back. The boy on the floor was rolling his head a bit and making sounds like he was drowning. “Potter.” Boris had gathered up my coat and was practically stuffing it in my face. “Come on! Let’s go! Ciao,” he called into the kitchen with a lift of his chin (pretty dark head appearing in the doorway, a fluttering hand: bye, Boris! Bye!) as he pushed me ahead of him and ducked behind me out the door. “Ciao, Horst!” he said, making a call me later gesture, hand to ear. “Tschau Boris! Sorry about this! We’ll talk soon! Up,” said Horst, as the Irishman came up and grabbed the boy’s other arm from underneath; together they hoisted him up, feet limp and toes dragging and—amidst hurried activity in the doorway, the two young teenagers scrambling back in alarm—hauled him into the lighted doorway of the next room, where Boris’s brunette was drawing up a syringe of something from a tiny glass bottle.

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flyfireflyfly · 4 years ago

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Tagged: Self-Promo

Was tagged by @promisesox for a self-promotion thingy, with posting 5 of your favorite creations. Technically only 3 of mine are complete, but I wanted to include the other 2. Anyone who wants self-promote, consider this as me tagging you ♥

1. All I Want For Christmas

My first story, posted 7 years ago. It doesn’t seem like that much time has gone by. I used to go back and read it every so often. It amazes me how much my writing has changed, and how much is still the same.

2. Hope and Chances

I do have some regrets with certain stories. There’s about 5 of them I’ve actually come to hate. Hope and Chances is one though that I think I really got it right. There isn’t anything about it that I would change.

3. A Good Girl

1,982 subscribers on AFF. My most subscribed story, more than double my second most subscribed story. I take it to mean that it’s my most popular fic. I don’t know why that is, but I can honestly say it gave me a huge confidence boost seeing so many people enjoy it. It really made me feel like an actual writer, that I can expand in to other genres or themes, that my stuff really was worth reading. That I didn’t mess up again. 1,982 may not seem like much, especially compared to a lot of other writers on AFF, but it means everything to me.

4. This-title-keeps-changing

Blurred cause I’m too embarrassed for it to be seen >.< They’re notes, filling up a notebook that @supastareden had gifted me. It’s for a book I’m writing. Well, I’m not really sure yet if it’ll be 1 or 2 books... And “writing” is a bit of a stretch since I haven’t been doing anything let alone writing... But, yeah. I’m writing a book. One day (probably in about 30 years) it’ll be published, even if I have to self-publish it.

5. Doll

Again, I’m really not writing. I work 6 days a week. My brain simply shuts off when I get home. When I do write, I get a paragraph or so down. And it’s agonizing that that is all I can manage. It feels like I lost the ability to write anything more than those book notes in a notebook while daydreaming. Yet I still keep going back every couple of weeks or so to jot down a few more sentences. I’ve been working on Doll, a smut fic with Yongguk, for a little over a year now. It’s still not finished and I’ll cry in the shower about that later, but here’s the first 2 chapters:

As you woke up, you kept your eyes closed. You could feel your mat under you and the warmth that it gave off. It was odd but it was something you loved. Something about that heat that calmed you and strengthened you. Letting the moment go, you finally opened your eyes and sat up. The room was completely dark like always, save for a thin strip of light shining in from under the door that helped you make out all the other bodies around you. They each had their own mats that were crammed together, fitting as many people as possible in to the one room. Or rather, as many 'dolls' as possible. You looked at the male doll to your right. He was sitting up and picking at a loose thread on his boxers. You turned your gaze to your own clothing. A black lingerie set with lots of lace that barely hid anything. Adjusting it, you checked to make sure it wasn't falling apart anywhere. You liked it much better than the previous set you wore and you didn't want to have it replaced just yet. Suddenly the room got much brighter and you lifted your head. The door was open and a woman beckoned everyone out. "Let's go!" You stood with the rest of the group and shuffled forward. Once through the doorway, you found yourself in a brightly lit hallway. Its white walls were empty of any decoration. You kept walking, following the lady and the rest of the dolls. Another door and you entered a room that was a tiny bit more inviting. The lush carpet felt better on your bare feet than the hard linoleum of the hallway. On the light blue walls hung pictures, all of dolls in various sexual poses. The group separated with the boys lining up against one wall and the girls moving to the opposite side. Time for work. You glanced over to your left and saw the doorway that had a curtain hanging in it. Through it was a much larger room where the sales took place. Other dolls would be lined up in there, the ones that were 'new'. Dolls that haven't been with anyone and could fetch a higher price. You and the rest of the dolls in the back were technically for sale, but it was unheard of for a working doll to be bought. There were rumors of it happening in other stores though. The curtain moved and the lady from before walked in with another woman. "Here is our selection of males." The new woman slowly walked down the line, eyeing every one of the guys, before stopping in front of a large, muscular man. "I'll take this one." "Great. He is your keycard for your room. You're in room number one." The customer took the card and headed towards the stairs. The male doll followed after her, putting his arm around her waist and settling his hand on her hip. He said something quietly to her that you couldn't hear, and she responded with a flirtatious giggle. When they disappeared from view, you glanced back over at the curtained doorway. The lady was gone now, back up front where she could assist any other customers. There would be plenty more throughout the day that would pay for the backroom experience. Select a doll of their preference to be taken upstairs and have their way with. Suppressing a sigh, you leaned back against the wall and waited. It was only a few minutes later though that the curtain was pulled back again so you hurriedly straightened. The man examined the line of females before his gaze lingered on you. You subtly shifted, sticking a hip out and pulling your shoulders back to show off your curves. "This one." A coy smile formed on your face and you stepped forward. "Good choice. She's one of our newest dolls. I'm sure you'll be happy with her."

The man wrapped his arm around your waist and lead you to the stairs. The wood steps didn't feel as good on your bare feet as the carpet, and the customer's hand that moved down to grab your ass wasn't pleasant either. But you ignored all that and went up to the second floor. On this floor were several doors, each with a room number on them. The male went over to the third room and opened the door with the keycard. You swept past him through the doorway while glancing around the room. It was identical to the others, just big enough to fit a large bed with a small television in the corner. Suddenly you were shoved and you stumbled forward. Then you were pushed again, making you practically fall on to the bed. You crawled on to it and rolled your eyes at the guy's impatience. When you looked back at him though, you made sure you kept your face neutral so he wouldn't see any displeasure. The man stripped off his clothes in a hurry, his sharp gaze never leaving your body. It was a look you had seen before and mentally cursed. You started to take off your clothes, only managing to unclasp your bra, when he closed the distance to you. He yanked the bra off before grabbing your underwear with both of his hands. There was a distinct sound of cloth ripping as he wrenched them down your legs. You watched helplessly as he threw the panties aside. He dropped down on to you and without warning, he pushed in to you, filling you with his whole length. You threw your head back as you cried out, and then gritted your teeth as he started thrusting in to you. There was always the ones that only cared about their pleasure. So you simply laid there and let him have his way with you while listening to his grunting. He planted his hands onto the bed on either side of you and pushed up so he was hovering over you. Even now he stared at your bare breast, his gaze never wavering. You examined everything about him. His demeanor, his expression, and mostly the way he was ruthlessly pounding in to you. He didn't want pleasure. He wanted dominance. Shrinking in to yourself, you screwed up your face to reflect more of the pain he was giving you. Instead of moaning, you whined and whimpered. Finally he met your gaze and you hoped there was enough weakness in your eyes. You didn't have to wait long to find out as his pace faltered. He grimaced and let out a string of profanities before collapsing down on to you. His slick, sweaty skin made you wrinkle your nose in disgust, but you forced yourself to endure it until he finally rolled off of you. Panting still, he sat up and surveyed your body. He reached over and grabbed one of your boobs, squeezing it roughly and making you hiss as you arched your back. Then he let go and his hand moved between your legs, groping you. "Not bad." he nonchalantly said. He moved off of the bed and started getting dressed. You took that as a signal that he was done with and climbed off the bed as well. Instead of putting your bra and underwear back on though, you held them in your hands. It was standard protocol, though you would have stayed naked anyways. The last thing you wanted was to get his sweat and stink on them. Only after he left the room did you leave, following him to the stairwell. As he went downstairs, you hurried through a door tucked away in corner. It led to a small bathroom with an open shower area. You stepped under one of the showerheads and a stream of warm water hit you. You cleaned yourself thoroughly before moving to the shelves that held clean towels. As you were drying yourself, the male doll that had went upstairs before you entered. He didn't spare you a glance though as he went in to the showers. Dropping the towel in to a bin, you retrieved your lingerie. Holding up the underwear, you found a slight tear along the seem and pouted. Just as you feared, that asshole ruined them. You carefully dressed, being extra mindful to not tear it anymore. Hopefully they'll last till the end of the day so you could try to mend them. Once you were ready, you left the bathroom and descended the stairs. There were a few dolls still lined up but you noticed some were missing. More than likely upstairs with their own clients. You took your spot along the wall while suppressing a sigh and waited for your next customer.

The day slowly passed by with a steady stream of clients coming and going. Of course it got busier in the evenings. People getting off work and coming in for one little tryst before heading home. Sometimes there would even be clients waiting for their turn in a separate lounge, insisting on a particular doll. Stifling a yawn, you watched as the curtain was pulled back yet again. The newest customer examined both lines of dolls and you silently prayed you wouldn't be chosen, even as they neared you. Then they picked the girl standing beside you and you forced yourself not to let out a breath in relief. They barely made it halfway up the stairs though when you heard the rustle of the curtain. You glanced over at the doorway and inhaled sharply. The man shyly smiled as the storekeeper directed him over to the female dolls, causing an odd sensation to form in your stomach. "This is her." They stopped in front of you, which meant that this was a special request. You took a hesitant step forward and eyed the man curiously. There was no denying how handsome he was, even in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. And with the way the lady who ran the store was standing so close, you had a feeling you weren't the only one admiring his looks. "Here is your keycard." she said and held it up from him. When he went to take it from her, she quickly put her hand over his to stop him. "I do hope you enjoy your time. Let me know if there is anything you need." A small smile formed on your face over her behavior, and it grew larger as you noticed him blush. "Thank you." he replied as he took the keycard from her. Then he turned his attention to you. "Uh... well..." He indicated for you to walk ahead of him, much like a gentleman would with a lady. That odd feeling in your stomach intensified and you attempted to ignore it. Nodding politely at him, you started to head towards the stairs. He walked beside you, not touching you and making him stand out even more. He didn't act like every other man that entered the back room. Once you were on the second floor, he checked the number on the keycard. "Room ten." Then he examined the doors near the stairwell. "It's further down." you informed him. Taking his hand, you led him down the hallway to the right door. After unlocking it, the man opened the door and stepped aside. You moved past him to enter the room first and made your way to the end of the bed. You turned around and stood there, waiting. He never approached you though. He simply stood there, hesitating, as if he was unsure what to do. "What's wrong?" you asked. Then a thought came to you as you recalled the shy smile he had earlier. "Oh wait, here." You went to the television and pushed the power button. Instantly a porno was shown on the screen, accompanied with the loud wailing of a woman. His eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the television. "Oh, uh... Actually..." He closed the distance and turned it off. Then he turned to you. He hesitated once more before he gently placed his hands on your hips and kissed you. This time you were surprised, but you hurriedly kissed him back. You set your own hands on his arms just as gently. You knew now what he was expecting. He wanted a more personal experience and you made a mental note of that in case he came back. He pulled back and licked his lips as he gaze lowered. His hands slid up your sides before going back down, moving just past your hips. Then he brought them upwards again, much higher than before. He briefly met your gaze, as if giving you a chance to protest. When you didn't, he moved his hands over your breast, fondling them. Reaching up behind you, you unclasped your bra. He licked his lips once more, this time in anticipation, and moved his hands back. You let the bra slip off of you to fall on to the floor. More hesitation, even as you noticed the growing lust in his eyes, and then he grabbed your breast. More gentleness, so when he suddenly squeezed them roughly, you gasped as your back arched. Then his fingers toyed with your nipples, pinching them and rubbing them as they hardened. The fact that he wanted it to be personal filled your mind again. "What's your name?" He looked away from your breast and raised his eyebrows. "Yongguk." You closed the distance, forcing his hands to move away. Tilting your head slightly, you began to pepper his neck with kisses. Your hands found the hem of his shirt before disappearing under it. Running you hands over his skin, you started to lightly suck as his neck as well. A sigh escaped his lips, encouraging you to continue. So when you sucked on one particular spot that made him stiffen, you gave his neck a harsh suck. You were rewarded with a tiny cry, sending tingles through your body. Then you pulled back and licked his neck upwards to his ear. You sucked on his earlobe just as your fingers ran over his nipples. "Yongguk." you quietly whimpered in to his ear. "Fuck." He swiftly stripped off his shirt before grabbing you and yanking you closer. His lips smashed in to yours, eagerly kissing you as his hands squeezed your ass.

You squirmed against him, causing you to feel the forming hardness in his pants. You attempted to wrap your leg around his but he suddenly started pushing against you. Kissing him still, you awkwardly walked backwards as he guided you. Then your legs hit the bed and you unwillingly broke off the kiss. You moved on to the bed and scooted backwards until you reached the pillows. Yongguk followed you, crawling over you. Before he could lay down, you reached downwards and rubbed your hand over his dick. He let out a moan, his mouth dropping open as his eyes unfocused. Fluttering in your chest left you breathless, and you quickly set about undoing his jeans. As soon as you felt the cloth of his boxers, you pushed your hand inside them and wrapped your fingers around his hard member. You only managed a few strokes through when he forced your hand a away. Pinning your wrists to the bed, he leaned down kissed you once more. You closed your eyes and managed to hold back a moan until you felt Yongguk's tongue moving over your lips. As soon as you gave him an opening, his tongue entered your mouth for a brief moment. Then he pulled back and gently kissed your jaw. Your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. He shifted to the side and brought his mouth down on your left breast, sucking on it and causing your back to arch. You opened your eyes to watch him just as he nibbled on your nipple. Biting your lip, you attempted to lift your arms but he forced them to stay against the bed. Pulling back slighting, he flicked your hardened nipple with his tongue a few time. Then he met your gaze as he relinquished your arms. You no longer had any desire to move them though as he slid further down your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach and to your lace panties. He hooked his fingers in to them and sat up. You lifted some of your weight so he could smoothly pull the last of your clothes off of you, leaving you completely naked for him. He looked over you body, his gaze lingering a bit more in certain places. Reaching forward, he slipped his fingers through your wet folds and a quiet moan escaped him. He circled your entrance with one finger and then moved upwards to your clit. He pushed on it a few times before rubbing it. You gasped as pleasure flowed through your body, causing your legs to stretch out and your back to arch off the bed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drown in it. Which was easy to do as you felt him quicken his pace. It wasn't long until you were squirming, your heavy panting filling the room. "Yongguk." you whined as you shuddered. The pleasure disappeared as he moved his hand away. You opened your eyes to watch him remove the rest of his clothing. Once naked, he draped his body over you, settling between your legs and rubbing his dick on you. His lips found yours again for a brief moment before he shifted and you felt him pushing in to you. A long moan escaped him and he pressed his face in to your neck. Then he began to rock his hips, swiftly pumping in to you. You gasped and quickly reached up with your hands to grab him. The pleasure from before returned with ferocity, a storm threatening to break you in to pieces. His name played on your lips over and over, turning in to a desperate chant. Which seemed to only urge him on and his pace increased. His moans growing louder and coming more frequently to drown you out. Tremors racked his body and his arms wrapped around you tightly. As if clinging on to you could help temper his own storm consuming him. Finally something inside you snapped and you cried out as your body jerked. Seconds later Yongguk cried out as well and his hips slammed in to you, pushing his dick deep in to you as he cummed. Then he collapsed on to you.

You laid there, listening to his heavy breathing, and holding on to him. His sweaty body didn't repulse you like your first client much to your surprise. And when he went to roll off of you, you were reluctant to release him. He laid on his back next to you and you rolled on to your side in order to look at him. "That was better than I expected." he stated with a small chuckle. Then his eyes met yours and a blush graced his face. You smiled and sat up before leaning towards him. You trailed a hand down the side of his face, caressing him and earning a startled look from him. You ignored it though and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Which only made him blush harder and you giggled. With a shy smile, he sat up and slipped off the bed. You watched as he rounded the bed to retrieve his clothes before climbing off the bed yourself. You gathered up your lingerie and waited for him. When he was done dressing, he glanced at you and hesitated as he eyed your still naked body. "I have to go clean up." you informed him. More blushing and another shy smile. "Oh... yeah." He indicated towards the door and you nodded your head to signal that you were ready. Then he opened it and moved aside for you to leave the room first. The two of you walked down the hallway in silence. At the staircase, he started to go but stopped when he noticed you weren't following. "I have to go in there." You pointed to the cleaning room's door and then as an afterthought, you asked, "I'll see you around?" There was a bit of surprise in his eyes but then he smiled at you. "Sure."

#personal #self-promo

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moonlightwinterdxxix · 4 years ago

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Here again with a story idea 😂 A day where all the brothers have plans for to go out but there's sudden expected construction work outside their house so they literally can't leave?!? (Let's assume the Matsu parents didn't think their NEETS really had anything to do outdoors that day so they didn't bother to informing them about it haha) Maybe either a hilarious series of escape events or forced family bonding time? 😂

Ah, @yisongye Here it is!! 😂😂 I hope you enjoy my interpretation of this very interesting 2020 experience 🤣🤣🤣

~~~

The bedroom door slid open and slammed against the wall, and he screamed out, “Hey, guys! Guess what!”

Karamatsu raised his chin from the hand mirror, smirking. “Yes, my dear older brother Osomatsu? What might you have upon you as to call for your excitement?”

“There’s this really big gamble that’s gonna happen in Pachinko today from a visitor!” Osomatsu informed, a pair of fists rocking in his exhilaration. “And here’s the big deal: she’s a chick! A very pretty one too! I have no idea what she would want as a penalty aside from money but I’m dead-set on challenging her!” Osomatsu flushed, sultry in a green fantasy. “Ooh man, oh boy, I’m not just gonna give her a run on her money! I’m gonna challenge her into having s** with me!” He laughed maniacally, a predator’s villainous cackle.

Todomatsu scoffed in amusement, rolling his eyes. “Well, try as hard as you want. You’ll never succeed—you’ll be a virgin NEET forever.” He angled his phone, checking himself in the selfie feature of his camera. “On the other hand, there’s a very nice girl that Atsushi informed me will come to the mixer. I’m planning on going out to buy myself a nice new jacket later so I can look nicer come Friday. There is a sale at the mall, after all, so I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Can that beat my luck though?” Choromatsu boasted, popping the collar of his green shirt. “I managed to get VIP passes to Nyaa-chan’s concert. So all of you might be hopeful, but I’m meeting my cat idol in a few hours. So weep in your misery, everyone. Your Choromatsu is going forth into another world.”

“Heh,” Karamatsu retorted, narrowing a perpetually theatrical gaze. “Might I remind you first, my brother. Fap none of the dazzling women that might catch your eye, no? Set a good example to all of your brothers, non?”

With his smile wilting, Choromatsu sputtered as his face went rosy. “Wh-Wh—You shut the hell up, Shittymatsu! I know stuff, you moron!”

“Heh! Good for you, brother! For my luck shines upon me like it came from heaven itself!” Karamatsu flashed them his teeth, touching an eyebrow with two fingers. “You see, my brother, my day too flows with the passionate love from Akatsuka-sensei himself! Today I have been welcomed passage into the core of Akatsuka Ward itself, and I am to meet with a lady of whom I blind date for us was set! Hm, I thank Chibita for his kind heart, how could I have known that he would know such a precious soul—BOEHH!”

Ichimatsu slammed the back of Karamatsu’s head with an unplugged iron, and Karamatsu tumbled down onto the floor. “I bet your sorry ass that you’ll be meeting up with a dishwasher, you piece of crap.”

Jyushimatsu hollered out, “As fun as meeting with girls sounds nice, me and Ichi-nii decided to go to Sealand instead! There’s this annual dolphin show that happens every so often, and after attending it once I decided to invite him to the next one! I spent my entire allowance on getting us front-row tickets, so he has a nice experience when watching the show! The dolphins are always trained so well, once I had a dream of wanting to be one too.”

Ichimatsu grinned slightly, amused. “Hm, and after that I’ll be taking Jyushimatsu to the cat shelter. I’ve made an appointment to adopt one of the cats there—Mom and Dad already let me. She’s a very young one, about two months old, found beside a river where she almost drowned. I felt bad for her and decided to keep her so she doesn’t drown herself again. Her name’s Kawa, and she’s a plain white one. I hope she likes it here at the household with me.”

“Awwww~” the collective chorus of his brothers cooed lovingly, and Ichimatsu flushed bright pink and turned away with his hands smashed to his ears.

“Shut up! Stop shedding attention to my shitty life!” Ichimatsu exclaimed miserably.

“Either way, it seems that all of us have plans for today,” Choromatsu laughed, over from his former humiliation as he shrugged his backpack on entirely. “Anyway I need to go now. The arena could get pretty crowded if I came in much later than twelve.”

Osomatsu darted his gaze to the clock to Choromatsu then back again. “But it’s eight-thirty.”

“The earlier the better.” Choromatsu lifted his shoulders, chuckling. “Perhaps I can eat lunch while waiting too. Can’t watch a concert with an empty stomach. We need energy for screaming at the top of our lungs.”

“As if you don’t do that everyday already,” Osomatsu murmured, but remained unheard.

To Choromatsu, “Yeah, I agree,” Todomatsu said, standing up from the couch and patting his pants. “I’d better get to the mall early before it gets too crowded. I mean, sales are still sales, aren’t they? I don’t wanna be stuck in a traffic of people before I see something pretty.” He directed himself towards the cabinet and rummaged through the pockets of one of his hoodies, grabbing his wallet and stashing it into his current pants. “Yep. Imma go for now. See you all later?”

“Yeah, sure!” Jyushimatsu exclaimed, waving. “Later! Have fun!”

“Kiss Reika for me, okay, Fappymatsu?” Osomatsu derided, the curves of his features smug.

Choromatsu scoffed in reply as Todomatsu tittered, and then the bedroom door shut as Choromatsu and Todomatsu exited.

A minute passed.

And then...

“EEEHHH???!!!”

The rest of the Matsuno household were already out the bedroom and down the stairs, sliding into sudden halts as they saw Choromatsu and Todomatsu frozen in front of their door. They were both with mouths so rounded that their jaws were on the floor, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. Their fingers were spread out from their hands at their sides, legs parted.

“Totty? What’s wrong?” But then all the other four were soon to realize it, and with matching, elongated yells all six were better classified with the term ‘identical’ as they all sported the same gawking, disbelieved expressions.

In front of their front door, the ground was a literal swimming pool of wet cement. Across that, there were careless-of-them construction workers with complete top-volume cranes and drillers, the workers saluting each other and bearing wide blueprints as long as a man was tall. This occupied the front porch all the way to their gate, nearly tore down completely, now granting the brothers a perfect view of Matsuyo and Matsuzo as they stared at their own sons, a pair of shopping bags dangling from their mother’s arms.

“Wh...” The first with a voice managing to come out his lips, Choromatsu averted his gaze to their parents. “Mom?! What in bloody hell is this?!”

“Ah, that!” Matsuyo laughed, unbothered in the slightest by the unexpected construction. “It’s just a bit of construction, my NEETs! I didn’t think I needed to tell you since you can handle yourselves, but never mind that! Don’t worry! It’ll only be about three days until you can go outside the house again.”

“Three days?!” Osomatsu exclaimed, face contorting in horror. “But that sexy-chick gambler will leave the city in three days!”

After shooting his brother a pointed look, Karamatsu yelled out the more proper response to their mother’s statement, “How are we supposed to leave the house?! And how are you two getting back in?!”

“Ah, don’t worry about us,” Matsuzo said, chuckling lightheartedly. “We booked a stay at the hotel about a week ago because we knew about this. Plus we bought a ton of groceries last week, so the fridge was practically an entire factory of sushi and takoyaki. I’m still surprised that there was only about a shelf left of it before we left the house three hours ago.”

“Th-That was our storage?!” Todomatsu sputtered. “Our food?!”

“Gee, I wonder where all of it went,” Ichimatsu sarcastically drawled, maliciously digging a dagger-sharp gaze against Jyushimatsu, who had gone from pale to red in a matter of seconds through the transition of realization to shame.

“No, we can’t survive this!” Osomatsu protested, gesturing wildly at the commotion lining each space of their front. “Mom! Dad! This is worse than suicide! No, we need to get out of this house! You can’t expect us to stay locked in here the entire three days, do you?! We’re your sons! You know that!”

“And we’re your parents,” Matsuyo retorted, her glare making Osomatsu and his brothers all shrink. “And you know well enough that we hate it when you have no consciences. This is punishment for illegally performing on the streets a month ago just to get money for a fish sale for Totoko’s sake! Grow up! Cod, you’re all a bunch of oversized children. You’re lucky we still gave you a storage of takoyaki.” Turning her nose up, she said, “Let’s go, Matsuzo-dear. We have that specialized screening on that one movie, right?”

“Of course, darling,” Matsuzo said devilishly, internally guffawing at his son’s anxieties. “Shall we?” He extended his arm.

“My pleasure.”

All six began yelling in unison as their parents began walking away, striding off with the pride of victory and the blessing of their lack of child tomfoolery. The brothers all tumbled down defeatedly on the floor, groaning in exasperation. It was Jyushimatsu who remained standing, mind calculative as his pupils dilated and his mouth was covered by a hand. Then...

“I think I can make that jump.”

“Ah, I see you wanna die early,” Todomatsu chortled groggily, unimpressed. “Ichimatsu-niisan, take notes. Your medal’s been snatched.”

“No!” Jyushimatsu contradicted. “I think I can make that jump! Then when I do, I’ll get all of you a ladder or something so you can get across.”

“Sure, I believe you,” Osomatsu said casually, pouting. “You’re the same guy who can turn into a living Jyushimatsu virus. If you can jump that gorge of death then go for it.”

“Idiots, it won’t work,” Choromatsu finalized, crossing his arms. “He won’t make it. Trust me.”

~~~

“Or not. Of course. I rest my case.”

Preparing himself, Jyushimatsu bent his legs.

“On three, Jyushimatsu,” Ichimatsu announced. “One...two...three!”

Jyushimatsu bolted, and with the speed of a fictional being he raced across the entire room until his feet were no longer on the ground, and he was hovering in the air, his shadow overlapping gray as his form paralleled the top of their doorframe. He was only by the first half of the entire cement pool when gravity played its part and tugged him downwards.

With his arms up, Jyushimatsu yelled out a stainless “BOEHBAA!!”, only stopping when a cross-crossed surface dug into his butt and he was pulled back into the house.

And dropped on the floor with a thud, tilting his head towards Todomatsu and the butterfly net he had in his hands. “Thanks, Totty.”

“I told you it won’t work,” Choromatsu grouched.

“Work or not, where was this butterfly net from?” Todomatsu questioned, scratching his head in confusion.

Jyushimatsu said, “I also got it from Dayon’s stomach.”

Todomatsu immediately panicked, dropping the net and struggling for the closest sink.

“Aha! I have a new plan!” Karamatsu extolled, spreading his arms wide. “My brothers, this plan of mine is guaranteed to entrance our grand exit! Be amazed, my brothers! We shall be able to access our hopes and dreams on finding the romance, enjoyment, and entertainment that our lives have waited for! My brothers, join me!” He began spinning around dramatically, a hand sailing to his back pocket for a rain of rose petals that he sprayed over the floor. “Grab a pen, and wonderful stationary. We are writing letters.”

Everyone stared at him dumbfounded, except for Ichimatsu, who bluntly said, “Kill me now.”

Minutes later, all six of them were gathered around the living room table, color-coded papers assigned to each brother. At the center of the table was a pack of markers, as well as some glitters none of them (but Karamatsu, apparently) knew they even had. At the head of the table, Karamatsu smirked at them, a finger-gun connected to his jawline as his sunglasses hid his dancing eyes. “Now, pick up a pen,” he instructed.

They all did, grabbing the marker colored with the hue of the sibling closest to them. Karamatsu picked last, raising his pink marker. “Step two, revisit your talents in mastery. Perfect, swooping calligraphy, as a dazzling prince such as us possesses.”

“Bro, I failed art class because of calligraphy,” Osomatsu deadpanned.

“Now,” Karamatsu pronounced as if no one had spoken, “Take the tip of your pen to the page. Then with the watery softness of a fountain, draw the letter ‘I’.”

Though hesitant, everyone followed.

“Good, my brothers. Next, add a space. Then, the letter ‘L’.”

They obeyed.

“Brothers, the letter ‘O’.”

They complied.

“The letter ‘V—”

“Karamatsu-niisan, what’s the message you’re making us write?” Choromatsu asked bluntly.

“Um...” Karamatsu made a heart with his hands, smiling boldly, “It will say, ‘I love you, dear cement! Please let us pass through your jinxes, allow us passage because you reciprocate my feelings to you!’ Oh, brother, the ground will harden almost immediately because of passion! I can see her heart beating from our kindness! Oh, brother, my brother, it shall make her weep tears of rock that would melt into a river of the soul! I see it, brother! It shall work, brother!” He was dancing in his reverie, nearly crying. “Oh, brother, my brother, sweet brother—BOEH!”

He collapsed on the ground, and Ichimatsu dropped his fist. “How about, ‘Brother, shut the eff up’.”

“Ugh, this sucks!” Todomatsu whined, tossing his paper away. “You’re all stupid and useless! Now I’m never gonna be able to look attractive enough for the new girl.” He buried his head in his arms on the table. “It’s hopeless for me. I need to be stuck with a bunch of ‘overgrown children’ until Atsushi sweeps her off her feet.”

“No.” Osomatsu stood up, all serious. Everyone looked at him. “There’s still hope. I think there’s one more thing we can do before we can say that we failed.”

Choromatsu lackadaisically suggested, “Request the construction workers for a way across?”

“Even better.” Osomatsu straightened his body, chin up, spine vertical. “Everyone. Off to the roof.”

Silence (...)...

“...eh?”

It was even louder on the roof than outside, because the entire view was there to present itself. The machines were huge, matted with soil and cement, some of the yellow on the bodies faded or whitened. Five of the six of them watched the entire thing with fearful anticipation, the giants in front of their house like dragons hovering over a field of lava. Whatever plan this Osomatsu-niisan of theirs had, it had better be worth it. Because so far, it looked like death was going to be the option here if it weren’t success.

“Boys,” Osomatsu announced, hands on his waist. “It’s time. Jyushimatsu, come here.”

Gulping, Jyushimatsu didn’t protest as he allowed himself to be led by his oldest brother, scarily close to the edge of the roof. Sweat ran down the sides of his face, his legs trembling in his discomfort. But he stayed there with his hands at his sides, staring straight and down towards the valley of Tartarus below.

“Karamatsu, come here,” Osomatsu instructed, and with the same worrisome posture Karamatsu stepped next to his eldest and fifth-born brother. “Karamatsu, go over Jyushimatsu’s shoulders.”

Karamatsu sputtered, and Choromatsu let out a “NO!” louder than the entire construction company combined.

But Choromatsu was ignored as Karamatsu timidly climbed onto Jyushimatsu’s back, and rested his thighs over Jyushimatsu’s shoulders. Both of them were perspired and horrified, already awaiting doom before a signal can even be clarified. Jyushimatsu clasped Karamatsu’s legs like it was giving him reassurance, but the threat of failure was still too strong for that.

“Ichimatsu, you next!” Osomatsu called out, and Ichimatsu greenly approached the building tower with his chin dipped and his eyes sullen. Internally, he was mouthing his last will and testament.

But he climbed nonetheless onto Karamatsu’s shoulders.

“Okay, my turn.” Osomatsu climbed onto Ichimatsu’s shoulders, and the weight began tugging down on Jyushimatsu as a wobble began to wrack their brother building. Hands grabbed legs, butts nestled tightly against napes, and lips went pressed as three of them stifled the screams that were growing in their throats.

“Choromatsu! You’re up!”

“This is dangerous, you idiot eldest!” Choromatsu reprimanded, arms wide for emphasis. “No more kidding—you’re literally trying to kill us!”

“Wouldn’t you die for Nyaa-chan?” Osomatsu inquired calmly.

Choromatsu was up over Osomatsu’s shoulders ten seconds later.

“Finally! Totty!”

On top of the tower, Todomatsu shook harshly as he grabbed the sides of Choromatsu’s head for dear life, legs intertwined over Choromatsu’s chest. Actually, most of them were like that. The only exception was the oldest brother, as determined as an eagle, staring straight through the obstacles separating him from making out with a beautiful gambling girl.

“Jyushimatsu, on three, run back, and then jump.”

“We’re gonna die,” Ichimatsu rasped with a plastic smile.

“Yup,” Karamatsu agreed in a tiny voice.

“On three, Jyushimatsu,” Osomatsu repeated, fiercer, and Jyushimatsu stepped back, all his brothers doing the same with the connections binding them in that formation. Jyushimatsu’s legs were shuddering. The pores on his skin were leaking.

“One...two...THREE!!!”

Eyes shut, Jyushimatsu made his run and jumped.

A few seconds later, at the other side of the gate, there were six bodies lying on the streets they’ve cracked, car horns roaring angrily in the traffic they caused.

~~~

Matsuyo tapped her feet. “I don’t think I need to scold you anymore. You know very well what you’ve done, right?” She crossed her arms, tilted her chin. “And because of that, there won’t be any more takoyaki. Not just because you absolutely don’t deserve it anymore, but because we can’t afford it.”

“Eh? Why not?” Osomatsu asked, then whimpered when he tried to move his head a little. With a full body cast matching those of his brothers’, there was no twitching a pinkie nor a strand of hair on the hospital beds.

“Not only because I have six sons confined with full body casts following surgery,” Matsuyo said madly, “but because of the damage! Not only did you break almost every bone in your body but you broke the road itself! There’s gonna be so much construction in front of our house now and guess what! We are the ones who need to pay for it!”

“Are we that fat?” Karamatsu sobbed.

“Think about what you did, you NEETs,” Matsuzo moaned, massaging his temples. “This didn’t just ruin our day with all these expenses. But your day too. Didn’t you all have anything better to do?” With that, Matsuzo and Matsuyo left the room, shutting the door behind them.

When they were completely gone, Jyushimatsu whimpered, “So...No dolphin show?”

“No cat...?” Ichimatsu followed up miserably.

“No clothes...?” Todomatsu wept.

“No Nyaa-chan...?!” Choromatsu cried.

“No date?!” Karamatsu tearfully yelled.

“No sexy-as-hell gambling babe?” Osomatsu whispered.

They all went quiet.

Then together, they all cried as one.

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mariettamobilityoh · 4 years ago

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Restore Independence with Safe Chair Lifts for Stairs in Athens, OH and Vienna, WV

For some people, limited mobility becomes an issue even at home. This is where chair lifts for stairs step in to help. These chair lifts can be conveniently installed at home by professional companies to make an individual's life simple.

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#chair lifts for stairs in Athens OH and Vienna WV home chair lift in Athens OH and Vienna WV

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mobilitydirect · 4 years ago

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Straight Stairlifts

Find the Most Excellent Providers for Stair Lifts Dublin

Countless mobility products are there that you can buy according to the needs or demands. For example, a stairlift is one of the most beneficial devices for people with walking difficulties. It is a device or equipment that offers assistance who can not navigate stairs without assistance. When it comes to buying quality mobility products, ensure that you find the best supplier. The best stairlifts Dublin suppliers offer quality products and affordable prices.

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Visit our website to get more information related to Straight Stairlifts Dublin.

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ukmobilitystairlifts · 4 years ago

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How to Get Great Value for Money on Your Stair Lift

Many people around the world with reduced mobility rely on stair lifts to help them continue enjoying their home without the need to move to another residence. For the elderly as well as those with temporarily reduced mobility due to illness or injury, these devices can help ensure that users continue to enjoy an excellent level of independence.

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The second way to get a good price on these items is to speak to your local council, as there are many government initiatives worldwide that will offer funding towards one of these devices for the home. This is especially true in the case of disabled individuals, who may require a permanent fixture in the home for the enjoyment of their property.

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The next tip to get money off your device is to pay attention to sales run by authorised vendors of these items. As with all items available in the marketplace, new models will be released and sellers will begin to shift stock of older models.

Read More: How to Get Great Value for Money on Your Stair Lift

#UK Mobility Stairlifts & Acorn Stair #Stairlifts #Straight Stairlifts #Perch Lifts #Wheelchair Lifts

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emybain · 6 years ago

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Welcome Home

I really liked the last fic I wrote, possibly bc it’s in a world where there’s a (somewhat) happy ending. so I decided to write a little continuation that’s set three months after the events of the last fic!

“They’re turning the corner!” Oscar announced, looking at his messages. Everyone quieted down and hurried to find a place to hide. Nova had to refrain from rolling her eyes as she strolled to the door leading out of the kitchen and crouched down. It was the easiest getaway, after all.

Adrian was returning from Egypt after being invited to help Danna out with her global mission to spread activism. What was supposed to only be a two week thing ended up being a month long thing, much to Nova’s frustration. Not that she wasn’t happy for the opportunity Adrian was getting and that he��d be able to catch up with Danna and all, but she just missed him.

Three months before, Adrian had visited Nova’s apartment for business reasons, only to leave kissing her goodbye hours later. The next day, actually, as he spent the night at her place. Two years of pretending not to be attracted to one another anymore required a lot of catching up.

They officially started dating, and it had been the happiest three months of Nova’s life. But the only thing was, only they knew. They had agreed that it would be best to keep their relationship a secret until their friends and the public would be able to handle it. It was hard and exasperating at times to lie, but for the most part, Nova got a thrill from sneaking around so much with Adrian.

Oscar turned off the lights in the kitchen and made a shushing sound, even though no one was talking. Nova saw Ruby swat at him jokingly from across the room as he knelt down beside her, arm instinctively wrapping around her waist. Nova watched them, biting the inside of her cheek. Oscar had proposed a few weeks back, and Ruby said yes, of course. Nova was elated for her friends, but it was small moments like now that Nova was the tiniest bit jealous. They could laugh and flirt and kiss one another in public without fear of repercussions.

Nova heard the front door click. All movement ceased in the kitchen. She heard Hugh’s booming voice first, jokingly calling out if anyone was home. Then she heard Simon laugh, then she heard Max’s voice, speaking insistently about a video game. Poor Max, he was at that awkward stage in his early teen years known as puberty, and his voice was suffering the worst from it. Although it was annoying that Nova was now officially the shortest person she knew, as he had sprouted up and not necessarily towered over Nova, but she now had to look up to see him.

Her heart skipped when Adrian replied, arguing with as much enthusiasm as his brother. Sure, they had spoken over the phone while he was gone, but it was different than hearing it in person.

The family entered the kitchen through the other door one by one, with Adrian coming in last. Once he entered the room, Simon flipped the lights on, and everyone jumped out from their hiding places, yelling “Welcome home, Adrian!”

“Great skies.” Adrian jumped back, holding a hand over his heart. Nova drank him in, unable to keep a smile from spreading across her face. For whatever reason, he looked different. Nova couldn’t place it. Maybe it was because she had been forced to imagine his face whenever they had spoken over the phone. Whatever the case, he looked handsomer, if that were possible when Adrian Everhart was concerned.

Nova stood back as Adrian greeted everyone, mostly family friends. He congratulated Oscar and Ruby, stopping to talk with them for a moment. Then his eyes scanned the room, falling on her, and she forgot how to breathe. Her stomach lurched at the loose, yet secretive, smile he gave her. Attempting to collect herself, she purposefully bit her lower lip, turned her eyes downward, looked back up at him, and then left the room. She was brave enough to shoot him a half smile over her shoulder before she turned the corner. Quickly, she made her way downstairs to his room, heart pounding with every step.

She decided to wait on his bed, sitting on the edge with her hands in her lap. His room hadn’t changed much over the years. He had gotten rid of a few posters here and there and reorganized furniture, but other than that, it was more or less the same. Nova rarely came over in more recent months because of his dads and Max. Like the rest of the world, they were clueless that Adrian and Nova were dating. Adrian had talked a few times about getting his own place, even showing Nova some apartments for sale on his tablet. He was twenty-one, after all. He had told Nova he was only still at home because his family needed him, especially Max, and because of the fact that Gatlon was still healing from the Final Battle.

The stairs groaned underneath the weight of feet. Nova sat up straight and ran a hand through her hair. If whoever it was wasn’t Adrian, she would have some serious explaining to do. But it was Adrian who appeared at the bottom of the stairs, so Nova let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

For a minute, they just stared at one another, as if they couldn’t believe they were in the same room. He may have only been gone a month, but Nova could have easily mistaken it to have been a lifetime.

Nova stood suddenly and rushed to him. His calm composure was replaced with a grin and open arms as they embraced. She inhaled his scent, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He lifted her off her feet, and a laugh escaped her when he spun her around, only to walk forward and sit her down on top of his dresser.

“Hi,” they said at the same time, ridiculous, goofy smiles mirroring each other.

“How was Egypt?” she murmured, pulling him to her once again, this time to settle between her legs.

His hands went to her waist, resting casually. “It was an experience,” he replied, eyes glinting as he took her in.

Nova hummed happily. “And Danna? How’s she liking her trip?”

“Very much. Although, she would not shut up about this girl she met in France. Celeste, I think was her name.” Adrian shook his head, chuckling.

Nova raised an eyebrow. “Should we be expecting another wedding soon?”

Adrian pushed a stray hair behind her ear, then cupped her neck. She leaned into him, buzzing under his touch. He sighed, and his breath on her neck sent chills down her spine. The look he was giving her only increased her nerves.

“Definitely,” he said, and when he closed the remaining space between them, pulling her against him and kissing her deeply, Nova had a distant feeling that he wasn’t talking about Danna.

Nova’s hands mapped his back, tracing the edges and curves she had long since memorized. She wanted nothing more than to slip her hands up under his shirt, but restrained herself. Instead, she moved her lips to his face, trailing featherlight kisses across his cheeks, over his eyelids. He sighed and held her, eyes closed in content.

“Great skies, I missed you, Nova,” he breathed as she kissed underneath his ear. “So, so much.”

Nova pulled back and placed a light kiss on his lips. “I missed you, too.” Her thumb massaged a spot on his neck.

“Next time I’m taking a long trip, you’re coming with me,” he joked, resting his head against hers.

“What would people say about that?” she whispered. A teasing smile played at her lips, and Adrian had just started to kiss it away fervently when a gasp broke them apart.

“What the hell!” Max nearly fell, eyes comically huge as he took in Nova and Adrian’s...position. Nova was frozen, heart having stopped working all together. Adrian didn’t move either, but before Nova could assume it was for the same reasons, he turned his head around and sighed.

“Hey, Bandit. What’s up?” As if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Did you find them?” Oscar called from up the stairs. When Max didn’t answer, he showed up as well. Nova buried her head into Adrian’s shoulder, groaning loudly. “Hey man, not cool. We throw you a party and this is all you cared about?”

Nova peeked her head up to see Adrian smile, a mix between sheepish and smug. He boldly squeezed Nova’s waist, causing her to squeak and swat at him. This was not happening this was not happening this was not happening.

“We’ll be up in a minute, Oscar. Now take Max with you and please leave.”

Ruby padded down the stairs. “What is going on-OH MY GOD WHAT THE FU-”

Everyone shushed her, including Nova, who gained enough dignity to raise her bright red face.

Oscar shook his head and nudged Ruby playfully. “Told you. You owe me twenty bucks, babe.”

Ruby’s eyes flicked between Nova and Adrian, who were still in a compromising position, too shocked to think about moving away, and her fiance. “Do not. We made that bet before you proposed.”

“That doesn’t make a difference,” Oscar cried indignantly. They started to argue, and Max, poor, innocent, sweet Max, slowly backed up and attempted to sneak back up the stairs.

Adrian looked at Nova apologetically, but there was humor in his eyes. “Guys,” he said loudly. Everyone froze and looked at him, even Max, who was three steps up on the stairs. “Just...please don’t tell anyone, okay? We’re not ready for that yet.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Please, Everhart. Like you were fooling anyone before.”

Nova narrowed her eyes at him. “What does that mean?”

Oscar started laughing. “Well, it’s not like either of you are very discreet. Always disappearing together, returning around the same time, the looks,” he gagged, “God, the looks are disgusting.”

“How many people know?” Adrian’s grip on Nova tightened, but this time, it wasn’t joking.

“Just us,” Oscar reassured. “And Danna, of course. Your dads might be suspicious, but then again, when are they not?”

Adrian nodded slowly. Nova bit her lip. They exchanged glances.

“Well, the party is still upstairs.” Oscar nodded to the ceiling. “I suggest you two head up soon.” He placed a hand on Ruby’s back and they turned around to leave. But then Oscar looked over his shoulder, an evil grin plastered to his stupid face. “Don’t eat too much, now. Save some room for the cake upstairs.” And then he, Ruby, and petrified Max were gone.

Nova hid her face in Adrian’s chest, humiliation flowing through her body, quickly replacing the previously wonderful feeling she hadn’t felt in months.

“I’m definitely getting my own place.” Adrian planted a kiss on top of her head. “Would you like to look with me this weekend?”

Nova pulled back enough to face him. She was still mortified over what just happened, but her heart swelled at the smile Adrian gave her. It had been forever since she had seen it. She sighed, nodding. Clearly, her plans for his homecoming would have to wait.

“It’s a date.”

#archenemies spoilers #nova artino #Adrian everhart #nodrian #danna bell #Oscar silva #ruby tucker

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timelordthirteen · 6 years ago

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Carol of the Belles

Mr. Gold/Belle, G

Summary: Mr. Gold is being driven slowly mad by the caroling outside his house.

Notes: Yes, I did that with the title. Yes, I'm awful. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #12 - Caroling

[AO3]

Gold swallowed the last of the scotch and scowled.

He could still hear the music from outside. It had been almost twenty minutes and showed no sign of stopping. At this rate, he could either keep drinking until it didn’t bother him anymore, or he could confront the offensive noise and force it to stop. The former option was not likely to happen before he was so into his cups he couldn’t make it up the stairs to bed. The latter, however, meant opening the front door and facing Belle French.

She was a blessing and a curse.

Whatever had made her knock on his door a week before Christmas and then park her caroling quintet on his lawn was born of the same stubbornness that made her stand up at the town hall meeting two years ago and demand they reopen the library. Except the city budget couldn’t manage it. That didn’t deter her though, not any more than his closed curtains and no trespassing sign. She started a petition, threw a fundraiser, held a bake sale, and even got crowdfunding. And then she worked unpaid for six months, all so Storybrooke could have a library again.

She was magnificent, and he was not unaffected by her intelligence, her charm, or her sparkling blue eyes. He’d been half of the crowdfunding donations and more besides, and he made sure he was appointed to the committee overseeing the renovations of the library and the eventual reopening.

Gold sighed, set his glass down on the table beside the chair, and made his way to the door. As soon as he pulled it open, the singing petered off into silence. It wasn’t that the singing was bad, far from it in fact, especially with Ariel Fisher and Mary Margaret Blanchard leading things. Their voices were not unlike what one might expect of a Disney princess, and Sister Astrid more than held her own in the choir. It was just that there was only so many renditions he could take of Silent Night and Away in the Manger before he wanted to tear his own hair out.

His eyes narrowed, moving from one face to the next and fixing the entire group with a harsh glare as he stepped out onto the porch.

“Good evening, Mr. Gold. Nice of you to come out and join us.”

Belle’s bright, perky voice made him soften slightly, and he huffed. “Didn’t seem like I had a choice,” he replied. “This radio station has a very limited playlist.”

“Well,” she said, moving away from the others, “perhaps if we had more donations, we could afford more song selections.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted and his lips twitched. “Is that so?”

She continued up the steps, slowly. “Or, we could afford to buy some Christmas presents for less fortunate children.”

He assumed the addition of a sad pout was supposed to pull at his heart strings. “How much will it take for all of you to leave me in peace?”

Belle licked her lips slowly, and his breathing deepened, his eyes following the movement of her mouth with too much interest. “Are there two digits or three in the price?”

She smiled warmly, her eyes flicking down for a moment and then up to meet his. “Whatever you think a child’s joy on Christmas is worth, Mr. Gold.”

Oh, that did it. Those blue eyes, that smile, and the words that he knew were so very heartfelt had him pulling out his wallet almost immediately. He withdrew some money, more than enough to cover toys and socks and whatever else for several of the kids at the orphanage, and held it out.

Her fingertips closed over the ends of the bills, but she didn’t take them, not right away. “And maybe one more thing, if you really don’t want us to have to show up here every night until Christmas…”

“Yes, please,” he said, rolling his eyes even as her deal making efforts amused him.

“A kiss.”

Gold’s eyes went wide and he stared at her, certain he’d misheard. “Wha-what?”

She smiled wider, flashing her teeth and pulling the money out of his hand. “You heard me,” she said, tucking the cash in an envelope in her pocket with the rest of the donations they’d collected. “And then you can invite me in for a drink.”

He blinked. “Oh?”

She nodded. “To warm up, of course.”

“Of course,” he breathed, still gazing intently at her face, seeking some sign that he wasn’t dreaming or crazy or worse.

Glancing over her shoulder he saw that her compatriots had already moved on, to the opposite corner of the street, belting out O Come All Ye Faithful. When he looked at her again, she wasn’t smiling. Her face had turned more serious and she was much closer than she had been a minute ago.

His tongue pushed at his bottom lip and he noticed her eyes shifting for that brief second. Then she pushed up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his in a soft, yet certain kiss. There was a whoop from across the street, Leroy he presumed, and he felt Belle smile against his lips.

She dropped back on her heels, her hands pressed to his chest and his at her waist, as puffs of breath floated up between them.

Gold’s mouth curved into a crooked grin as he stepped back and held open the door. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #christmas fic #31 days of fandomas #fandomas 2018 #omg this is so dumb #sorry #fic #my rumbelle fic

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mmjitae-blog · 6 years ago

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preserving the moment;; self-para

Jitae had been carrying the flyer around in his bag for a few weeks, tucked in beside his camera. He’d left it on his bedside cabinet one night, testing to see how it felt. Then he moved it to the desk. It went by unnoticed, then back to his bag again, until he left it once more on the kitchen counter.

Then finally, one morning at breakfast, Hayoon’s delicate fingers lifted it to her face. “What’s this?” she asked, taking another bite of the sweet peach she was eating.

Jitae pushed his chair back from the breakfast bar and tried to look casual about the speech he’d been rehearsing.

“A photography exhibit,” he said, artfully snatching Minsuh’s bib from the air as she flung it to the floor. “I’ve been invited. You get to tour around some of the major photography institutions worldwide and showcase your work. Too much travelling though, and it costs money.”

Minsuh grinned her newly-cut teeth at him as he fastened the bib back around her neck. He wriggled a thumb against the cute upturn of her nose. She turned her reign of destruction to the suckered bowl in front of her instead, chubby fists reaching out to tear it from the table. Jitae risked a glance at Hayoon, who was still reading the flyer and chewing thoughtfully.

“You should go,” she said at last.

“What?”

“Go,” she smiled, using a quick over-arm to toss the peach pit in the trash. “You work so hard for us, you should take the time to chase your dreams for a while.”

He’d spent so long telling himself to forget the idea, that it was a ridiculous, unreasonable concept, that he was almost incredulous at Hayoon’s agreeability. The roles in his imagined version of this conversation had unexpectedly switched. “Hayoon, it would mean six months apart.”

She shrugged, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her suit jacket. It was lined with rose-pink, like her nails. “It sounds like a long time but it would be over before either of us know it.”

“Minsuh will have grown so much in that time,” he said, so distracted by the thought that he almost missed the bowl coming free in Minsuh’s hand. Hayoon swooped in to catch it and recenter it on the table. “What if she doesn’t remember me when I’m back?”

“Gangaji, that’s why they have Skype,” Hayoon circled behind him to pull her purse from the chair. She kissed the top of his head. “Besides, you’re her Appa - she’s not going to forget you.”

“Hey,” he gripped the corner of her jacket as she walked by. She stopped, and he cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She smiled up at him, and if he hadn’t already intended to kiss her, he would have certainly done it then. Thank you, he let his lips say against hers. “I’ll think about it, alright?”

“Please do. It would be good for you.”

“And you’d be okay?”

Her nod was definitive. “I can do it. Six months without you hogging all the covers sounds like a blessing,” she teased.

With a victory cry that would have been at home at a sports game, Minsuh finally pulled her bowl free and threw it - in a glorious spray of milk - across the room. The two of them turned to see the toddler, covered in her own breakfast and grinning with pride.

“You go,” Jitae said, in between laughter. “I’ve got this.”

***

“You look like you’re made of squares.”

“The signal’s just bad, it’ll work in a second.”

“There you are,” Jitae said to his screen, as Hayoon and Minsuh came into focus. He recognised their bedroom in the background - they were sitting on a bed he hadn’t slept in for almost three months.

Minsuh was grinning and pointing at the camera, the chubby blot of her finger obscuring the picture. “Appa!” she says, brightly.

“Yes, it’s Appa!” he replied. “I’m right here, Minsuh.”

“Where are you now?”

“Paris,” he replied, as the other photographers from his team bustled in the cramped hostel room behind him. “We’ve just landed.”

“Are you unpacked?”

“I wanted to call you first,” he said, feeling the familiar ache for home begin to bloom in his chest. “You look tired, Hayoon.”

She was rubbing at her forehead like she was kneading bread, but she stopped then. “Oh, I just have a headache. Nothing to worry about.”

“I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Sangook is coming over soon, he’s going to help with Minsuh for a while. Maybe I can take a nap or something.”

Jitae nodded, “Make sure you do.” He was grateful Hayoon had friends like Sangook who were willing to step up and help when she was struggling - even if it made him feel like a void of a father.

The surge of excitement from his bunkmates got louder, so much so that he struggled to hear her ask: “How was the last show?”

“It was amazing,” he said, walking with his phone out into the hostel hallway. “Someone actually wanted to buy one of my photographs - can you believe that? I had to tell him they weren’t for sale. Maybe I should get some business cards made for when--”

“Minsuh, don’t go that way, you’ll fall! Sorry gangaji, what did you say?”

“Don’t worry, it looks as though you’ve got your hands full,” he smiled, because that was all he could do. “Three more months.”

“Three more months,” Hayoon repeated, kissing her hand and touching it to the camera. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

“Can I call you back? In the middle of a diaper situation.”

“Yeah, of course. Speak soon.”

***

“Minsuh, say hi to Appa!”

“Hi Appa!”

“She wants to show you something.”

“Wow! You drew that? Minsuh, I’m so proud of you!”

***

“Where is she?”

“Asleep.”

“Shoot, I forgot about the time difference. I’m so sorry. You look like you’re in bed too.”

“I’d just drifted off. We can talk if you want to.”

“No. Just let me tell you stories until you fall asleep.”

“I’d like that.”

“Six more weeks.”

“Six more weeks, gangaji.”

***

A few calls went unanswered, dialled from a rooftop on a crisp night in Prague.

***

“We got the package you sent, didn’t we, Minsuh?”

“Yeah!” Minsuh exclaimed, clutching a fluffy chicken plush to her chest. He’d seen it in the airport in New York and couldn’t resist. He was just glad the little guy could travel where he couldn’t.

“I’m so happy you like it! What did you name her?”

“Chicken!”

Jitae laughed. “That’s better than anything I could have come up with. Hayoon, did you get your gift too?”

“I did. You should have waited though, you’ll be home next week.”

The words sounded so sweet. “I can’t wait to hold you both.” He made little grabbing motions with his hands until his fingers bumped the screen, like a fish’s head on the underside of a frozen lake.

***

Six days later, his mother was collecting him from Incheon International Airport. He talked to her about the trip excitedly during the drive back to Uijeongbu, gave her the collection of fridge magnets he’d picked up for her in every city he’d travelled to. His body felt alight with excitement.

“Did you put crickets in your pocket before you came home? Keep still!” his mother laughed, delighted by his demeanour.

When they got back to the house, Sangook was there and they passed him as he was leaving. Jitae shook his hand and thanked him for his help with Minsuh. He seemed in a hurry to go, so Jitae didn’t ask him to stay. Secretly he was glad, because all that was left to do was for him to climb the stairs to their apartment, two at a time, and be reunited with his family.

He burst through the door to find Minsuh watching cartoons on the floor. She turned to look at him and gave him a long stare, as though without the screen glare and pixel-riddled images, she couldn’t quite place his face. His heart squeezed with sorrow. Quickly he tried to calculate how he could cram six months’ worth of lost time into only moments, to try and take all of his absence away.

Then, in the sweetest, briefest moment, her face broke into a smile. “Appa!”

She ran towards him, cartoons forgotten, and he heaved her up to his chest, fluttering her face with kisses that made her laugh and squirm. She had grown, but she still fit into the cradle of his arms - and for that, he could not have been more grateful.

Hayoon emerged from the kitchen. Her eyes were red and the perfect curve of her lips wobbled as she made her way to him, sweeping like a ghost across the living room floor. He hooked an arm around her tight, and held them both as though he could absorb them into the piece of his heart where his love for them lived. Hayoon shook softly against his shoulder.

“You’ve been crying,” he said.

“I’m just so happy you’re home,” she replied, before bursting into tears.

***

A photograph, taken at a party. A man and a woman share a conversation at a linen-covered table. Their words are interrupted by the happy greeting of the photographer, and they apply their smiles mid-sentence. Hands hover over hands.

The photograph is stored in an album, alongside many others from the same night.

It wouldn’t be significant for another two months, two weeks and four days.

***

Jitae came home to find the apartment in darkness. “Hello?” he called into the quiet. He checked his watch. He had come home at his usual time, and it was far too early for Minsuh to be asleep. He would have assumed Hayoon was out, if her purse wasn’t sitting on the hallway floor.

He walked through the apartment in darkness towards one single distant light source, coming from the kitchen.

Hayoon sat inside, staring into the murky surface of her green tea. Another mug sat on the other side of the table, untouched, softly steaming, and obviously meant for him. He sat down behind it without being asked to, already feeling the disjointed sensation that his body wasn’t his own.

“I need to tell you something,” she said. “It’s probably better if you don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?”

“Okay.”

“While you were away,” he recognised the voice she used as the one she practised her work presentations with, “things were really hard for me. Not just the day to day things - the early morning wake-ups, packing lunches, dropping Minsuh to the sitters, work all day, collecting Minsuh, feeding her, bathing her, putting her to bed, getting up to her in the night, and then doing it all over again the next day, and the next - I was prepared for that. I got some help. But I hadn’t prepared for how hard things would be emotionally. I felt lonely, Jitae. I was tired all of the time, and so sad. During that time, Sangook and I got really close.”

“How close?”

“We slept together.”

The confession ran him through like a sword. His stomach clenched, a physical reaction. At least she’s not sick, he would remember having thought, later. At least Minsuh is okay. “Just once?”

“More than that.”

“When did it start?”

“You said you would let me talk,” Hayoon recoiled, her voice wavering.

“You can talk, but answer my questions first.”

“Gangaji…”

The name made him flinch, and he threw up a hand as though to guard himself from hearing it. “Please don’t. Not right now. When did it start, Hayoon?”

“Around three weeks after you were gone.”

“I…” he struggled for a thought to verbalise. His understanding of the world was unravelling in his mind and his new perspective was blurred by the way these new threads fell. In all of their lives, they’d only ever had each other, and now… Sangook’s face swam into his mind, and he remembered the day where he had shook his hand and thanked him. He remembered Hayoon’s trembling tears which she said had been for him.

Hayoon saw he was struggling, and spoke instead. “You can’t tell me in all those places you went, all those people you met - you didn’t do the same thing?”

“No…” he exhaled, the sound layered underneath breath upon painful breath. “Of course I didn’t. Are you saying you did this because you didn’t trust me?”

“I’m saying I did it because I was lonely.”

“And why are you telling me now?”

“Because I want to be with Sangook.”

“You’re still… you’ve been sleeping with him since I’ve been back?”

“I tried to tell him it was over once you were home,” she admitted, hands tightening around her cup. “And we stayed apart for a while but… I can’t stop thinking about him, Jitae.”

The silence that settled around them was unfamiliar, the soundscape of this unchartered territory in which they now found themselves. They were reluctant explorers of this barren new land, with not even one another for a guide.

At some point, Hayoon started to cry. He wanted to get up and hold her, but something kept him rooted to his chair, watching his green tea slowly cooling in front of him.

“I should never have gone away,” he said to the tea, to the table, to the strangeness of his own home.

“I told you to.”

“So you could spend time with him?”

“No! No, that was never my intention,” she said, but she already felt like a different person - a stranger whose lying tells he couldn’t recognise.

“Would you change it? Would you change what happened?”

Hayoon shook her head softly.

“Then I’ll go,” he said, standing. The statement felt less like a decision that it did an inevitability. He couldn’t stay where he wasn’t wanted. Everything he had was gone now, and had been gone for longer than he’d realised. “This had all better be worth something, for one of us at least.”

He went to collect his bag and realised he was still holding the strap. His hand didn’t even feel like his own. He walked around the apartment as though in a dream, picking up things he would need, trying to ignore Hayoon’s make-up, Minsuh’s toys - little fragments of a life he would no longer be a part of.

On his way out, he stopped at the kitchen door. Hayoon hadn’t moved an inch. She looked like a statue, someone else’s carved impression of her. Woman, Heartbroken in Kitchen. His hand flinched for his camera instinctively, until he realised that this was a moment he would never want to remember.

If only forgetting was as simple as choosing not to preserve the moment.

#self-para;;#(if you wanted a little glimpse into his life before the sharehouse this is it)#(if anyone reads all this i will love you down)#(graphic by dabs thank you bae uwu)

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