#all I’m doing is repurposing an old pair of jeans I had and a kids sundress I had stuffed in a scrap pile

[little-pondhead]

So my sister is in the local high school play and mentioned she needs overalls for a costume but can’t find any that work and now it’s 1:46am and I’m making her overalls.

She is not aware I am making her overalls.

[mldrgrl]

Property of Stella Gibson

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Stella Gibson/Hank Moody Summary: Becca has a new man in her life and Hank will just have to accept it.

Hank dialed Stella’s cell phone for the third time in under ten minutes and his frown deepened when it once again went straight to voicemail.  He’d already left two messages and he took a drink of his Coke as he waited through the greeting to leave another.

“This is torture, Sherlock, sheer and utter torture.  First of all, it’s Brooklyn.  Second of all, the free food and drink options are limited to soft drinks and gluten free crackers with some kind of vegan bean dip.  Third of all, I’m standing in front of a photograph of two people sharing an umbrella and it’s actually such a good fucking photograph that I’m infuriated.  This kid is so talented it makes me want to kick his ass even more, so all I’m saying is that you better show up soon because in my hangry state of mind I’m bound to do something that would probably have me arrested in at least 49 states.  I’m just assuming killing your daughter’s boyfriend is legal in Texas for some reason.  Where are you?  Call me back.”

Hank hung up the phone and narrowed his eyes at the photograph he was looking at.  He took another drink of his Coke and considered the ramifications were he to throw the drink at the display.  Becca would probably never speak to him again.  Someone in the gallery was also bound to catch it on film with his luck and he’d be going viral on whatever the social media platform du jour was as Crazy Boomer Has Meltdown.  He’d be canceled immediately.  He missed the good old days when he could be a professional fuck-up and not worry about being held accountable for his actions.

His chest hurt and he pushed a fist against his sternum and belched under his breath.  He needed air.  He needed his wife.  There was a trash can next to the door and he tossed his drink on the way out.  He stood on the sidewalk with his hands jammed into his jeans pockets and looked up at squat little brick buildings he was surrounded by that had once been factories, but had been repurposed as lofts and bars and galleries and thrift shops.  He closed his eyes against the cacophony of music and voices and sirens.  He remembered that his father used to complain about the noise when he’d come to visit, but Hank had never been bothered by it before.  He hoped he was just in a mood and not permanently transforming into a cranky, old man.

Hank startled when a small hand slipped into the back right pocket of his jeans, but even before he opened his eyes, he could smell the hint of jasmine perfume and feel silky curls brush his arm and he relaxed.

“I realize that patience was never one of your strong suits,” Stella said.  “But, three messages in eight minutes is a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“You didn’t pick up.”

“I was trapped on the L without service.  They all just came through when I came up from the tunnel.”

He turned to her, wrapped her up in his arms and buried his face in her hair so he could nuzzle the side of her head and breathe her in.  She still had one hand in his pocket, but her other came up by his hip and her briefcase bumped against his thigh.

“Can we get out of here, Sherlock?”

“Afraid not, love.  We promised Becca.  Is she inside?”

“Maybe.  I haven’t seen her yet.”  He let her go slowly and she pulled back to look up at him, running her hand lightly across his backside.  He kissed her once on the lips and wiggled the briefcase out of her fingers.

“You’ll survive.”

“I don’t see why we need to show up for this, though.”

“Because, he’s Becca’s lov-”

Hank groaned.  “Do not, do not say lover, I may throw up in my mouth.”

“She’s an adult woman in an adult relationship with a man-”

“And don’t say man.”  He put up his hand, trying to block Stella’s face from his view.  She grabbed it and yanked it down, stepping up close to him so their chests bumped together.

“Stop being so childish about this.”

“You just said it yourself, she’s an adult.  She doesn’t need my approval.”

“No, but she would probably like your support.”  Stella took her briefcase back from Hank and then put her arm through his to guide him back to the door of the gallery.  “Admit it, Becca’s been happier than we’ve seen her for some time.  She likes this guy.”

“So,” he muttered, petulantly.  “I don’t like him.”

“You refuse to get to know him.”

“I don’t like how they met.”

“You don’t like how they met?”  She stopped and turned him towards her.  “You’d rather he picked her up in a hotel bar and and she slipped him her room key so he could come up for a quick fuck?”

“Oh my god.”  He gagged slightly and threw a hand over his eyes.  

“Because I do think asking to photograph one’s dog whilst in the park is a far more appropriate way of meeting one’s partner.”

“Yeah, well…”  Hank wanted to respond in some fashion, but he couldn’t really find an argument to make.

“If you’re going to point out that it worked for us, I’ll remind you that neither you or I are Becca or Tony.”

“Thank god for that, I guess.”

“I think you would like him if you gave it a little effort.  Just try to think of him as something other than your daughter’s lover.”

Hank tried not to gag again as Stella pulled him through the door.  There weren’t many people inside the gallery, just a handful of what had to be close friends or maybe even family.  Stella stopped at the coat check to leave her briefcase and then she picked up a slip of paper on the table near the refreshments.

“This says that the proceeds from any sales tonight are going to a non-profit that supports healing from trauma through the arts,” Stella said.

“Mr. Perfect.”

Stella browsed the row of photographs on the first wall, pulling Hank along with her.  She seemed to take an interest in one photo in particular of a crowd in Grand Central Station.  He’d seen it when he was inside previously, but hadn’t paid too much attention to it.  Now that Stella had stopped for it, he could see that the focus was on a couple near the ticket booth, possibly reuniting or possibly saying their goodbyes.  It tugged at his emotions a bit.  He remembered how melancholy he was on days when he or Stella would have to leave for the airport and he remembered how excited he was to see her again.

“Fuck,” Hank muttered.

“What?” Stella asked.

“Artists.”

The more they browsed, the less turmoil Hank felt.  He’d met Tony twice, briefly, and didn’t spend much time attempting to get to know him in any way, but he felt like he was learning about him through the photographs he took.  They were all evocative of something sensitive and almost pure.

The last picture in the first row of photographs was of a woman’s arm and a half-covered tattoo.  There was a name hidden under her fingers and Hank tilted his head to try to make it out, but it stayed in the shadows of the photo.

“You know I’m thinking about getting another tattoo,” he said.

“Hm?” Stella answered, her head tipped in the same way as his.

“Yeah it’s going to be on my left ass cheek in the shape of a stamp and it’s going to say Property of Stella Gibson.”

She smiled and laced her fingers through his.

“Dad?”

Hank and Stella broke apart to turn around.  Becca and Antonio, ‘my friends call me Tony’, were standing behind them.  Tony looked nervous, tightly gripping Becca’s hand.

“Daughter.”  Hank put his arm around Becca and pulled her into his side for a hug.  He nodded at Tony.  “Daughter’s…friend.”

Stella held her arms out for Becca and elbowed Hank before she embraced the girl, placing a kiss to both of her cheeks.  “Darling,” she said.

Becca stepped back and took Tony’s hand again.  “So, what do you think?” she asked.

“You’re good,” Hank said, trying not to grimace.  Surprising even himself, he offered his hand to Tony for a handshake.  Tony glanced at Becca first and then took Hank’s hand hesitantly, but gave it a firm shake.  “Might have to buy that Grand Central one back there.”

“Oh, if you like it, Mr. Moody, I could print one for you, you don’t have to-”

“Hank.  And I do like it.  And I will buy it.”

“Well…thank you…Hank.”

“It’s for a good cause, right?”

“One I’d be interested in hearing about,” Stella said, holding the slip of paper up between two fingers.  “Do you have any literature on this non-profit?”

“I do, actually, I can go and just…”

“I’ll come along.”  Stella glanced back at Hank as she escorted Tony away.

Becca seemed to wait until they were out of earshot to eye her father suspiciously.  “Are you buying that photo because you like it or are you just trying to prove you’re not an asshole?”

“Oh, I know I’m an asshole, no need to pretend otherwise.  I do actually like it.  I like all of them.  As long as I don’t come across any nudes that I have to convince myself aren’t of you, I’m good.”

“You should skip the back well then.”

Hank felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach flipped.  Becca grinned.

“God, dad, Tony’s not like that.”

“Okay.” ��Hank nodded and pressed his palm to the erratic thumping against his chest while he gripped Becca’s shoulder to steady himself.  “Okay.”

“I didn’t think you would actually show up.”

“I said I would.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But, historically I haven’t handled your relationships very well.”

“I’m not a kid.  I’m well past needing your permission, you know?”

He almost laughed at how alike they could be.  “I know,” he answered, drawing her a little closer so he could cup her cheeks.  “But, maybe you might want my support?”

Her eyes went wide before she nodded.  He nodded back.  He would try to accept someone else in her life, but she was always going to be six-years old to him, explaining to him in all seriousness that she was going to live with him and mommy forever and that they were best friends for always.

“I really like him,” Becca whispered.  “He’s kind and he’s patient and he’s gentle and even though we’ve been together for over a month, he’s not even pressuring me to have sex yet, which I-”

Hank sucked in a breath and let Becca go.  “Too far.”  He waved his hands in front of him and shook his head.  “I don’t want to know.”

“Fine.”

“Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They both nodded Hank leaned over to kiss the part in Becca’s hair.  He was relieved to see Stella headed back with Tony as the arrival of the two would put a damper on any awkwardness.  Becca slipped easily into Tony’s arms and Stella looped her arm through Hank’s again.

Later that night, after they’d taken a Lyft home and after Hank had tested various spots on their walls for their new photo to hang, he found Stella doing her nightly routine in the bathroom and he pressed up behind her as she brushed her teeth over the sink.  She was wearing the t-shirt he’d abandoned after they got home and he lightly massaged her breasts as he rutted against her backside in his unbuttoned jeans.

Stella spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and then cleaned her toothbrush, pushing her hips back into Hank’s enticingly.  “I’m proud of you,” she said, looking at him in the mirror as she wiped her hands dry.

“You are?”

She nodded and then turned around and put her arms around his neck.  He leaned her back into the counter and tipped his head at her.

“Why?” he asked.

“You’re trying not to get in your own way, for once.”

“Hm.”  He narrowed his eyes a little.  “Please remember that ‘trying’ is the operative word.”

“You’re the one that invited them over to dinner this weekend, so make sure you maintain the effort.”

“I’ll try,” he said, pointedly.  

Stella smiled and then she pushed him away from her and gave him a sharp slap to his left ass cheek.  He yelped and rubbed his backside.

“What was that for?”

“Because I own your ass and I want it in bed.  Now.”

“You could’ve just asked nicely, Sherlock.”

“True, but where’s the fun in that?”

He caught her around the waist and pulled her back into him as she tried to get out of the bathroom ahead of him.  “Have I ever told you how happy I am that I walked into that hotel bar and you slipped me your room key for a quick fuck?”

Stella’s wedding ring twinkled in the lamplight as she reached up and took a backwards grip on his neck.  “Show me,” she answered.  

The End

[saynotoshityouhate]

Chaos

Summary: Everyone was convinced you’d never meet your match. That was, until you got the literal kick to the head of a lifetime. 

Word Count: 1726

Tags/Warnings: alcohol, possible concussion, slight illegal behavior, just a little smutty

I’m feeling chaotic, let’s go dancing. Who’s in?

Your friends were used to you starting craziness as soon as you clocked out on Friday afternoon. You were sure they all got your text and rolled their eyes, but they were stuck with you at this point. 

You got all ready - glam but also comfortable - you never knew where the night was going to go. Last time you went out, you ended up dancing until 2am, and then watching the sunrise from the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse. You weren’t sure how many of these weekends you had left - your friends had started settling down and were less enthusiastic about joining you in your shenanigans. They all had tried (and failed) to set you up with their boyfriend’s friends - unable to find someone who could match your energy. But at the same time, you loved your life. You could do anything you wanted, whenever you wanted. You were financially stable, had a good job, a nice apartment...you weren’t really looking for anyone or anything to come in and change things. 

You met the girls at the club, wearing the dress that made you feel most confident, paired with your worn in Converse high tops. “HEY BITCHES!” You gave each friend big sloppy kisses on both cheeks. They handed you a drink - you were last to arrive, as usual. “Y/N, I was just telling the girls about the engagement party my future mother-in-law is planning. You wouldn’t believe how tacky it is going to be! The invitations alone…” You cut her off after pounding your drink, and pointed to the dance floor. “I’m gonna go there now. Bye!” Setting your empty glass on the nearest table, you ran over to the middle of the dance floor. 

You loved the feeling of the stereo bass pumping in your chest. The ringing in your ears blocking out your inhibitions as you moved your body without care, your skin lit up in colors and sparkles. Here, in this moment, you were truly happy. Not a care in the world. No thoughts in your head saying you were unworthy of the love your friends had found. Complete and full contentment at the life you had chosen for yourself. And it was then that you received a swift kick to the side of your head. 

A few seconds later, you opened your eyes to see the hazel eyes of a wild haired, sweaty man. “Fuuucking hell, kid! I thought for sure you were dead. Are you alright?” You blinked up at him and nodded, unsure how you got to be flat on your back in the first place. “I’m so sorry, I was carrying my best lesbian friend on my shoulders, and when we spun around, her fucking foot hit you in the head.” He wipes his hand down his shirt before handing it to you, helping you up off the floor. The man was tall, dressed in a hilarious mismatch of clothes, with a mop of brown hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead, partially covering his eyes. He sported a patchy moustache/goatee combo which brought your attention to his plush, pink lips. 

He leaned down to look you directly in your eyes, examining them closely. “I don’t think you have a concussion...are you sure you’re alright?” You took a deep breath. “Yes. Totally. Super duper alright. All good.” He chuckled a deep laugh, showing off his imperfectly perfect teeth. “Awesome. I’m Adam - we’re going to go find shit to throw off the overpass. Wanna come?” You nodded enthusiastically, never having been this lost for words in your life. He grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the bar, barely giving you the chance to smile or wave at your friends as you exited. 

Adam and his friends brought you all across the city. Finding items to keep or to toss, literally, off of the highway overpass. Your group steadily dwindled as you explored the city’s hidden pockets, eventually leaving you, Adam, and a reusable grocery bag full of spare car parts and rotten vegetables alone on the pedestrian bridge that crossed the city’s busiest highway. Standing together, you looked upon the city skyline, standing proudly against a dark sky that was littered with stars. It was your favorite view. Feeling Adam’s gaze on you, you turned to look up at him. “Everything okay?” you asked, unsure why he was making such a face. “Yeah, kid, just making sure you’re not gonna have a seizure or somethin’ dumb.” He chewed the inside of his cheek as he resumed looking at the city. 

With the early morning hour, there wasn’t a ton of good targets to toss your garbage at. “Wanna split a pizza?” You asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Adam smiled and nodded, giving you the chance get him back for earlier, to grab his hand and run. You took the long way, zig zagging through dark alleys, running up and down stairs, eventually landing at your favorite, hole in the wall 24-hour pizza parlor. “Jimmy!!!!” You squealed are the shop owner, waving at him and jumping up and down. The proprietor groaned, pushing himself out of his chair and walked up to the window. “What can I getcha, y/n...and friend?” Adam smiled at Jimmy, and then you, and then Jimmy again. Nervously laughing and still trying to catch his breath, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Anything but fucking green peppers,” you both said, almost simultaneously. Jimmy rolled his eyes and headed back to the kitchen. 

“Jimmy’s the best. He almost single handedly fed me all through my senior year of college. I was building this Trojan Horse out of Amazon boxes inside my apartment and I couldn’t access my kitchen because it was full of boxes so…” Adam grabbed your face, pulling you in for a rough kiss, his pillowy lips absorbing the blow. Your eyes were wide open, arms limp at your side. Sensing you weren’t reciprocating, Adam pulled back, hands still on your face. “I’m building a boat in my apartment right now, gonna sail down the Hudson. I’ve never met anyone like you before, like me - someone who could keep up with me and not be some fucking loser.” Adam looked deep into your eyes. “We were meant to meet tonight, Y/N. I was supposed to hit you in the head with my best lesbian friend.” Adam squeezed his large hands together, smooshing your face. “Fuck the pizza, come see my boat.” 

Jimmy walked up at that moment, pizza box in tow. “No, no fucking my pizza. Here - on the house - now get out of here. And y/n, I don’t want to find this pizza on some roof or in a tree or whatever the fuck you’re planning on doing tonight.” You turned your head towards Jimmy, with Adam’s help, and said through your smooshed face “Fanks Jummy.” Grabbing the pizza, you looked back up at Adam. Adam moved your head up and down, speaking in a high pitched voice “Yes, Adam, I’d love to see your boat!” Looking down at you with a cheesy grin, you started to laugh. “Fwine, but wet go uf my fwace.” Adam flailed his arms into the air. “Well let’s fucking go, kid!” 

Adam wasn’t kidding, he really was building a boat in his living room. It was the coolest thing you’ve ever seen. “Are these old pallets? Is that a fisherman’s knot? Did you repurpose 2x4s from…” “Whoa whoa y/n don’t get a lady boner over my awesome ass boat!” Your eyes were sparkling, climbing over piles of wood and fabric and an overused power strip. “When is she going to be ready to sail?” you asked, your voice giving away your excitement. “Why,” Adam stalked towards you, backing you up against the mast, “wanna be my sexy first mate?” Your heart was beating through your chest. This wasn’t your average one night stand, this was different - you could tell. This wasn’t the plan. But you couldn’t deny that he was your match. He was right, you were meant to meet tonight. You took a deep, shaky breath, looking into Adam’s eyes. “Aye, aye, captain.” 

Adam growled, wrapping his arms underneath your bottom and lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, squealing in surprise. He slammed your body harder against the boat’s mast, shoving his tongue into your mouth and squeezing your ass as he ground his rock hard erection into your pelvis. You lifted one hand from his neck, reaching down to unbutton his jeans, the slightest graze of your fingers causing Adam’s hips to thrust. The energy of that motion cracked the fragile integrity of the mast, causing Adam to fall forwards, landing on top of you, the broken splinters of wood scratched along your back. 

You both groaned. “Fuck, kid, you ok? How’s your head?” Opening up to the same concerned, hazel gaze from earlier in the evening, you replied “Yep. Super duper.” That was good enough for Adam, who stood up quickly, ripping his jeans and underwear down, kicking his legs for assistance. You lifted your hips to shimmy your own panties down to your ankles. Adam returned to his place between your legs. Looking up at him with a grin, you laughed “ahoy, matey. shiver me timbers.” Adam grunted - “you’re so fucking weird, and so fucking wet,” he ran two fingers through your slick, “and just for me.” You whined, moving your hips to meet his hand.  “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me. Gunna drop anchor in this hot cunt.”

Adam spent the rest of the night straddled over your back, where you laid on your stomach on his bed. Using a tweezer, he removed the hundreds of tiny splinters that had embedded themselves into your skin. You sighed contentedly, taking a large sip of milk, unsure what the future held. But for the first time, in a long time, the thought of sharing that future with someone didn’t make you sick to your stomach. You turned your head to take a look at him, wearing lab safety goggles “in case one flew out at him.” Smiling, you rested your head on his pillow, before falling asleep and dreaming of sailing down the Hudson together. 

[goodnightallwhites]

Snowbunny Gone Dark by Zenalite

Chapter 1 - Kana Kana sat on one of the many boxes outside waiting for the movers to show up. It was another suffocating summer day in Germany, but at least soon she and her boyfriend would be moving to a bigger, cooler apartment in the nicer part of town. And to think they said cosplaying wouldn’t get me anywhere. Not only did her supporters on Patreon get her by comfortably on a day to day basis, but they also ensured she would be living it up. I could probably make even more than this, she realized at times. Her fiance was very much against her going beyond the current pin-ups; but if he ever changed his mind, or if God forbid something happened to him… I’d really be raking in the dough. Kana broke away from her empty daydreaming when she noticed a few men staring at her from the Turkish shawarma place across the street. The grinned and spoke hurriedly with one another, but their eyes never left her. They even wore their traditional Islamic dress, whatever it was called… Please don’t come over here. She averted her eyes. Pretending a problem didn’t exist was a stupid way to deal with things, but it had been her way of handling awkward social situations ever since she had been a kid. Her legs were bare, and Kana suddenly wished she had worn more. Granted, even her casual clothes now had become a little slutty as a consequence of all the hot cosplaying. What she wore today - a pair of jean shorts, frilly blouse, and a lacey white choker - would no doubt be seen as anything but casual by a normal person. One of the guys from across the street checked both ways, getting ready to cross over. Please, don’t… But just then, a huge truck rounded past the corner and came down the street, with loud rap music blasting from the open windows. Kana got up and decided to make a run for it upstairs and watch for the movers from the window instead. But as padded towards the entrance to the building, the rap music got cut off and the truck pulled over audibly. Huh? Two brawny African guys stepped out, talking with each other in a mix of German, English, and something Kana couldn’t even recognize. Both of them wore baggy shorts, and only one of them bothered with a top. The other put his ripped and tattooed chest proudly on display. Were these guys seriously her movers? They stepped up to the clustered boxes and then shot her a glance. “You the one?” Kana’s mouth opened but it took her a while to speak. “J-J-Ja,” she managed at length. For some reason, speaking with immigrants always made her default to a fancy German accent that sounded comical to others. The shirted guy laughed. “You alright?” She swallowed, feeling dazed by the sun and the pressure. “Yes.” “Well, alright.” He went and opened the back of the truck while the shirtless guy grabbed the box that held the washing machine with an ease that shocked her. She remembered the way she and her fiance nearly killed themselves struggling to get it downstairs, and this guy just lifted it up like that… Though she had grown up fancying the pretty boys from manga and dating only the sweet, shy guys like her soon-to-be husband, the few moments in real life when she had seen men display raw physical power always put butterflies in her stomach. Her knees weakened. “You gonna help us out?” the shirtless guy barked. “M-Me?” She lowered her eyes. “But I’m so useless! I’d only inconvenience you, sir.” The other guy suddenly cracked up so hard he had to lower the box he picked up. “Sir? Did you just call this nigger right here ‘sir’?” Kana could only stammer in response, her cheeks blushing faintly. “I’m sorry.” The shirted guy narrowed his eyes. “Hey. Don’t I know you?” He took a step closer to her. “Wait, yes, I do! Holy shit, don’t tell me you’re her. Are you Kana? The cosplayer?” He knew her? The recognition only made her redden up like a cherry. She stared down at the sunbaked pavement, unsure of what to do or say. “You know, I used to be your Patron.” “O-Oh... “ Used to be? “Thank you…” she said weakly. “I always hoped you’d do some more hardcore stuff. But it never happened.” “My boyfriend doesn’t really approve of that.” The guy shrugged. “Who cares? It ain’t him that’s paying you, is it? And I doubt he’s that good at fucking you. By the looks of him, I’d say he’s a low-test beta that can barely satisfy you.” The tattooed guy went to work, loading up the other boxes, but the shirted one came up to her. Out of nowhere, he grabbed her hand. “Maybe when we’re done moving you to that other place, you can cosplay a bit for us.” “Uh… I don’t know…” Cosplay for him? How could she do that? No, I can’t! The whole thing just made her mind reel. If only her fiance was here. He would freak out to see her getting chatted up by a guy like this. A black guy especially… Kana always had the misfortune of attracting pervs that went out and grabbed her, and almost all of them were black. Even before the cosplay fame, back during the early school days, some of the black students she barely even knew sometimes tapped her ass as she went by… “We’ll see. I’m Adisa, by the way.” The shirtless guy went for the TV, but didn’t even notice that another box rested on top of it. At some point Kana had run out of tape and simply repurposed some packages from electronics for clothes… As he pulled it, the super stuffed PS4 box that held all of her underwear got pulled with it, and came crashing down to the pavement. The lid came undone and her myriad pairs of lacey and cutetsy panties spilled out, some getting carried off by the low breeze. Kana stood frozen, absolutely mortified at what had happened. You dumb ape! she wanted to cry. But it was her own fault for failing to secure it properly… And now everyone, both of the Africans, along with the Muslim from across the street and all the passersby stared down at her lingerie. One pair in particular, made of tightly-fitting white cotton with a laced decoration at the front and pink ribbons on the side, got carried off across the street by the breeze. She knew that pair. Her boyfriend had made them for her ages ago. Kana sped after them, not even thinking, barely bothering to check for any incoming cars as she dashed to the other side. But before she could reach them, one of the Muslim men hurried and picked them up. He immediately brought them up to his nose and sniffed. “Ahhh…” She couldn’t even speak. What could she say? This was such a blatant display of perversion that her mind had no ready response prepared to deal with it. “Uhm…” “Oh, excuse me,” he said with a thick accent. “Those are mine…” said Kana weakly. “Well. They’re mine now.” He grinned lasciviously and tucked them in his robe. He made to go when she reached out and grabbed him by the arm. “Please! You can’t take those. I need them.” She didn’t have the heart to tell her fiance that she lost them. Never mind that they went to a person like this. The dark and beady held her. “Hmm. Well. Why don’t you do something for me in return?” “Like what?” “Like give me a kiss.” The two black guys joined her now. “There a problem here?” asked Adisa, all heated up and sweating. “What’s wrong?” Kana struggled to speak. “This m-m-man… He has my panties. And he won’t give them back.” “Of course I will! I just told you how.” Adisa heard both their stories and nodded sagaciously. Kana could tell that what he decided would go. The Muslim guy feared him, but he positively in awe of the glistening physique of his tattooed companion. My dark knights… thought Kana happily. They would save her from this nonsense. “Well,” said Adisa thoughtfully. “I think there’s a simple solution this.” His eyes swivelled to Kana. “You just gotta kiss the man and be done with it.” “Excuse me?!” Kana took a step back from the three instinctively. How could they side with that creep… With… “Come on, you want them back, don’t you? It will only take a second. Just kiss him and be done. I’m not going to beat him up over this, if that’s what you’re waiting for. You should’ve taken better care of your things.” What!! The nerve on these people… Yet, she couldn’t just let it go. She needed those panties. It would be easy to hide that this happened from her fiance, but if she ended up without them, he would begin to assume all sorts of stuff.. “Fine, then,” Kana whispered to herself for reinforcement. She would just get it over with quickly and be done. She stepped up to the old man and closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. Here she was,a famous cosplayer with hundreds of thousands of fans, with a booming Patreon, with a wonderful fiance, giving herself to this pervert Muslim… He could feel his stinky breath hitting her face as he closed in. His hand pawed at her ass, squeezing it and slapping it playfully, while his other hand came up to grope her breasts and massage them through her top. “That’s not--”   Her words were interrupted by his filthy tongue ramming itself into her mouth. It went in deep, crushing her own tongue in the process, swimming freely in her precious little mouth and filling it up with his booze-laced spit… Don’t… thought Kana. But there was nothing to be done. The old guy did whatever he wanted with her in the moment, moving those hairy gnarled hands all over her soft, creamy body and raping her mouth at leisure. Adisa and his friend watched it all with a glint of amusement in their eyes, arms folded as they chatted up in their African tongue. Don’t you laugh at me! It’s your fault! When Kana finally untangled herself from the guy, glimmering threads of spit still connected their mouths, and both her ass and breasts were sore from the brutalizing touch of his hands. These Muslims really are savages! She noticed Adisa staring, and then saw that a trickle of spit had dribbled down her chin and ran all the way down to wetten her and spoil her blouse. Angered by it all, Kana went ahead and snatched the panties from the old man, then ran across the street with the beginning of tears in her eyes and collected the rest of her panties from the ground.   She knelt down and bent over to pick them all up, a movement that caused her skintight shorts to stretch that much more and paint clear pantylines over the fabric. The shorts came up and gave a glimpse of the lower part of her supple butt cheeks. They tightened against her crotch, and Kana could feel the bundled up denim grinding against her pussy lips. For some reason… The whole thing turned her on. She could hear the footsteps of the two movers coming back. No doubt, they were watching her display her ass. They said nothing though. Instead, Kana gently swayed her ass and hips, unable to stop the waves of arousal that now built up inside her. How could she feel so aroused after that gross guy kissed her? She felt as stupid as one of those hentai characters now, used against her will yet horny all the same. Truth be told, she hadn’t gotten any action in a few days. And no real action… since the last time her fiance had gone away for a week and left her home alone. Though she loved him with all her heart, Kana couldn’t deny that his strength did not lie in pleasuring a woman. When they were younger she dismissed her concerns and thought he would get better. But now she had no illusions - he was simply too small, and though she had never acknowledged this in any way, she suspected that it took a toll on his subconscious and kept him from performing properly. Even for his size, he never got that hard, and a few gentle strokes was all it took to get him to come… “You okay?” asked Adisa. “Need any help?” “I’m fine…” She finished stuffing all the panties back into the box, then got up and carried it over to the truck. Kana noticed that both the black guys had stopped working now and stared at her instead. Not only that, but… Kana swallowed. … their cocks were clearly hard inside of their shorts. The ultra-thin, loose fabric outlined their stiffening rods perfectly. But what shocked her were their size. Enough of those BLACKED memes floated around for her to pique her interest in black guys, but she had always assumed that most weren’t that gifted. These two, though… They were very gifted. Kana found herself staring at Adisa’s big black cock and the way it snaked down his thigh. Just half an inch more - just half an inch! - and she would see the engorged head coming out. How in the world could anyone be that big? Fuck, but that’s so hot, she had to admit, but only in the quiet, private regions of her mind. Just thinking about it made her feel bad. It was bad enough that she preferred doing it alone than with her fiance. She couldn’t think about other guys though - too much guilt. In the past few months, she had only touched herself thinking about submitting before an aggressive dog. Surely, doing it with a dog could not be cheating. But this… Adisa grabbed his monster cock candidly through the shorts and adjusted it. Kana pried her gaze away immediately, but when her eyes came back she could see him staring at her knowingly. “No need to be ashamed,” he said. “We were staring at you too.” You were? Kana became aware of the intense way in which they stared at her now. Her visceral reaction to anyone staring at her was always poor, since she figured that they stood over her in judgment. But the way their dark eyes lingered over her body made her understand that they not only approved, but wanted her. Her knees rubbed together as she squeezed her thighs instinctively. She wondered what it would be like to feel one of those black cocks inside her. Even her dildo felt much better compared to her fiance, and that little thing wasn’t even half of the size of these monsters… They’re hard for me, she realized at last with full apprehension, and her vision almost swam with excitement. “We should finish up and get a move on,” said Adisa. Sweat trickled down her face as she sought to suppress the sudden lust she felt for these two black studs. Her chest heaved as she panted, her face all red with embarrassment. She couldn’t and wouldn’t look away from their magnificent cocks anymore. She watched them gloriously in the shorts as they finished moving the last of the boxes, the rods as thick and long as police batons. Most of the time, she had to struggle to find her fiance’s small cock if they initiated after dark. The comparison wasn’t even fair… Once they were done, the tattooed guy gruffly went up into the truck and slammed the door. “It’s too hot,” explained Adisa. “He doesn’t like it.” “Oh, I’m sorry… “ “Don’t worry. Maybe we can cool down at your place.” “Y-Yeah…” She glanced down at his beautiful black cock. Would she do it? “I sure hope so.” Betraying her fiance would be the worst thing that she could ever do, but… Adisa got behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Why don’t we take a picture of your place together? To commemorate it.” “Oh… Oh, yeah!” He took out his phone and prepped it for a selfie. But his arm held her tighter, and the curve of his throbbing cock suddenly pushed against the small of her back and nestled there. Couldn’t he feel it to? He had to. Yet he made no move to shift it away. If anything, it pulsed even harder now that it pressed directly against her. “Smile,” said Adisa. Kana brought her hands up to make peace signs and smiled warmly at the camera. All while a strong black guy held her from behind and grinned, his arm wrapped around her tiny waist. He snapped a photo. “There we go!” Kana felt too shy to ask him whether or not he would upload it and tag her. At the same time, the idea of other people seeing her with that guy without knowing what was going on turned her on. Even if her were to ask, she could deny it. It was his fault for not staying around for the movers to show up anyway… As they made their way to get into the truck Adisa gave her a playful slap on the butt. “You best be careful, cosplay girl.” The Volkswagen was an old model with cramped seats and no air conditioner. The shirtless guy fanned himself with a crumpled up newspaper when Kana clambered inside and sat next to him. Adisa climbed up and trapped her between the two of them. The truck started off, and the two guys couldn’t stop complaining about the heat. Kana pinched her shirt and fanned it against her chest. She could tolerate the summer heat to a certain extent, but this was far more than that.. They’re going to fuck me, she thought. All that talk until now… They were going to carry all the stuff inside her new place and then she would offer them a few drinks and… And they’ll fuck me. The idea that she would be taking two big black cocks inside her finally registered. I’m going to get blacked, too. Of course she could pull out of it. Find an excuse or something. But - her gaze swept over both their hard abs and throbbing cocks - I don’t want to. She would find a way to deceive her fiance. Probably, he wouldn’t even have an inkling about it. The problem is finding a way to live with myself after. “Yo, Kana, aren’t you hot?” asked Adisa. She smiled stupid. “I’m practically dying.” Adisa brought his black fingers down and felt the fabric of her blouse with a suggestive look in his eyes. “This is making you too hot. Let’s take it off.” Before she could protest, he lifted her arms up and slipped it off, then threw it on the dashboard. All that remained for a top was her lacy white bra. Though, it was a skimpy bra to begin with that she usually wore for cosplay sessions and less for practical purposes, with two tight cups that squeezed her breasts hard and left the upper part of them completely uncovered. The extreme and perfectly round curves were up for display. The bright noon light that streamed through the window caressed and warmed them, and Kana could see that Adisa stared at them intensely. With every jolt that passed through the truck, the soft flesh of her pale breasts trembled in response. “They look so soft,” said Adisa. “May I?” May he what? Her mind reeled. Touch them? Was he asking permission to feel up her breasts? Nobody had ever done that before! Not even her fiance. He did it sometimes, and a few other guys had groped her here and there or pretended to brush against her breasts, but no one had tried to get her candid permission. “G-Go ahead,” she finally whispered in a sultry tone. Nothing seemed more important right now than seeing those strong black fingers enjoying her creamy breasts. Nothing. Not even her fiance and future marriage. “Please, sir,” she added. Adisa reached up and began to move the tips of his fingers over their surface and to circle around the vulgar curves, all the way down between her deep cleavage. “Your skin’s so nice and smooth… A silky white girl, just how I like them.” “Thank you, sir…” Why did it feel so nice and so right to call him that? Sir. It had always been strange to call her teachers and other figures that way. But somehow, calling this strong and well-endowed black guy that came natural to her.   Even just gazing at him, he just looked so much stronger than all the white guys she had seen. Of course, he could probably beat her fiance with his pinky. But even compared to white guy that were supposed to be tough or athletes, he simply ranked so much higher… They stopped at a red light, at which point the tattooed friend reached over and place his hand on her thigh. So big. So black. For the first time she noticed that his hand had been inked up as well, with tribal patterns coming along the throbbing veins that calloused fingers. Outside, Kana could see the people waiting at the crossing for the light to change. A few of them glanced up, but Kana told herself they couldn’t see anything. Even though a few of them stared… It would’ve been embarrassing to know that random people would’ve seen her getting groped by black hands like this, especially if an old classmate or a family friend happened to be among the crowd… The drive to the new place would take at least an hour, especially in this kind of loaded traffic. But that only made the flowing action in the truck that much easier to keep going. Black fingers ran over her breasts and neck, her tight stomach and protruding hip bones, her slender neck, down her juicy thighs and between the freshly-washed hair. And every single one of their movements sent tingles of pleasure down to her pussy and put happy butterflies in her tummy. Kana submitted eagerly, amazed that two black alpha males like these would show interest in a nerdy white girl like her. And also blown away by the way she felt. She had been with her boyfriend for eight years now, a time long enough to forget such total lust if she had ever experienced it to begin with. Breathing became a challenge. She panted like a bitch in heat under their touch, red as a cherry from the embarrassment of showing off in this way. From appearing like such a desperate slut. Maybe I am a desperate slut. Certainly, the more they did and the more she saw of their bodies, the more apprehensive she became of that fact. Even if her fiance found out, she would apologize. He loves me. He’ll understand. After all, this wasn’t her fault. She never asked for these feelings. No more than it’s his fault for having a tiny cock. Did Kana choose for him to be born a beta white guy that couldn’t satisfy her? Not at all! “C-C-Can…” She swallowed, struggled to speak at all. Her chest jiggled up and down vulgarily as she fought to breathe normally. “What’s that?” Adisa caressed her face with the back of his hand, as a master would a good pet. “What is it?” “C-Can I touch you t-t-too? Sir…” “Oh, go ahead!” Kana’s small pale and rushed down and grabbed both their black cocks through the shorts as if she clung to them for dear life. “Fuck,” she whispered. She did it. She actually did it. The big black cocks were in her hands. Too late to turn back now… They throbbed powerfully in her grasp, in a way her fiance’s tiny white dicklet never could. These were different. These are black cocks. She traced her fingers over the bulging veins through the yielding fabric, desperately to feel the heat of them directly against her skin. Instead of slowing down, she felt them up in a mad rush, afraid to be deprived of them at any moment, still in total disbelief that anything this big could be real, and that she was not only allowed to touch them, but they were made hard by her unworthy white body. How can they be so fucking big? No wonder so many of her friends were dating black guys. The jokes about their size were always made, but Kana never expected them to be all true… Her phone vibrated against her. Fuck! It could’ve been her fiance. She needed to answer, but she couldn’t even get herself to stop touching their cocks. And before she made up her mind to do so, Adisa deftly pulled her phone out of its pocket. On the screen, Kana could see her fiance’s name staring at her. A feeling of disappointment in herself and revulsion hit her strongly… but she didn’t release either of the two cocks out of her grip. There was no time to do anything. Adisa tilted his head and gave her a lopsided grin, then flicked his thumb and answered in her stead, putting the phone on speaker. “Baby? You okay? Took you a long time to answer…” her fiance said worriedly. The two black guys cackled under their breath. Oh, honey… Kana bit her lip wondering what to say. But even as she struggled to find the right words to say to the man in her life, all her brain pumped into being were thoughts of how amazing the two big black cocks she held were, and how annoyed she was at nearly being interrupted from touching them. “I’m fine!” she cried weakly. “Still on the road.” “Were those guys okay?” “Oh, yeah, they’re great!” He laughed nervously. “You sound a little tense.” “No, no, no…” She felt the tattooed guy’s cock throb wildly against her palm and grow to an even larger size than before. How was that even possible… Did it seriously turn him on so much to hear her talking to her boyfriend? “I’m good, I promise.” “Okay… I think I’ll be done here soon. Then I’ll go to our new place and help.” “Sure thing.” As she spoke, Adisa caressed her arm reassuringly and slowly reached behind her. At first Kana assumed he only meant to prop her up for comfort. But then she could feel him messing with the lock of her bra. Oh, no, don’t! Not while I’m on the phone… But even as the clasp came undone and the bra began to fall, she still clung to their cocks and stroked them affectionately, idly wondering which one would turn out to be the biggest of the two. She would have to work hard and arouse them both as much as possible. “Honey?” Kana watched her bra slowly slip away, inch by inch, until it finally toppled over and fell into her. “Y-Y-Yes, dear?” She couldn’t keep calm. Her breasts were fully exposed before these two strangers, these strong black alphas, and they jiggled in crazed excitement in their newfound freedom. “I love you.” Adisa placed his palms under her hefty breasts and lifted them appraisingly, eyes going wide at how perky they managed to be in spite of the vulgar size. The black fingers came up to circle around the diffused area of her areolas. “I love you too, baby!” stammered Kana recklessly. She couldn’t do this. The call needed to end. She could barely keep her head straight even without having to respond to her fiance. Her nipples, which rarely hardened even in the cold and almost never responded positively to any playful teasing, were suddenly fully erect and shot out like little pink bullets. And as soon they came into contact with the black fingers, an overwhelming bolt of pleasure electrified her body and made her shudder weakly. “Well, I see you’re not very talkative,” her fiance said, annoyed now. Kana tried to speak low. “Honey, I’m still in the truck. You know how I am. I’m nervous.” “Oh.” He sighed deeply, sounding more understanding. “Okay, then, we’ll talk at home. Bye, bunny.” Adisa ended the call before she could reply in turn, then chuckled grimly. “Bunny?” he asked her, his dark eyes boring into hers. “Is that what you are?” “I don’t know…” “I’d say you’re a snowbunny.” He pushed his fingers hard into the yielding, soft flesh of her full breasts. “Aren’t you?” “Yes, sir…” mewled Kana submissively. “I definitely am a snowbunny.” They weren’t just words, either. As embarrassing and as strange as this whole affair turned out to be, it opened up new doors to her that she never thought possible. Experiencing anything but the tame, boring sex she got from her fiance or the pathetic masturbation sessions she tried to sneak into her schedule unnoticed hadn’t entered her mind. All the pleasure she had denied her body for the last eight years by being with her fiance came pouring down on her in an unstoppable flood that drowned her judgment, her morals, and any sense of decency. These godly big black cocks broke that dam, and she had no way of building it back now. And I don’t want to. The worst thing that could happen now was that her fiance would leave her. And is that really so bad? She could pursue wholly new things, expand her offerings on her Patreon, and possibly find heights of sexual pleasure unimagined by others. A once in a lifetime opportunity. As her eyes finally lifted from from the two black studs at her sides, Kana noticed that they were in the center of town. Were they taking a detour? What’s worse, she now knew with certainty that the people on the other side of the window pane could see her. One older lady that had a Slavic look about her narrowed her eyes as she stared into the truck and crossed herself. Jealous bitch, thought Kana. They could all stare. To hell with them. She was accomplished cosplayer that made more money dressing up for fun than they did by working their shitty jobs. And now, she found the affection of two wonderful black men. If they became a problem, her switching towns would be their loss. “I can’t wait to get there.” “Me neither,” Adisa said. “What do you say you do a little cosplay for us?” Kana giggled. “As what?” “I’ll think about it.” He tugged lovingly at her swollen nipples. Kana smiled and melted away, her body coming undone with arousal. She sank into the seat and slid down, her legs opening wide instinctively. This was heaven. In her mindless cocklust, she couldn’t even tell that they reached the new place until Adisa gently slapped her back into the world. All she did was nervously think over how she would take their cocks inside, and in what way she would seek to pleasure each as much as she could. To serve their black cocks with her utmost. “Come on, bunny,” said Adisa. “We made it.” Both the guys hopped down from the truck, leaving Kana feeling alone and needy. She searched for her top and bra, but couldn’t find them anywhere. She made a hand bra and went after the two. “Have you seen my clothes?” Adisa shook his head and smiled wickedly. “Haven’t seen them, sorry.” The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. People passed by on the street giving her long looks, eyes lingering over the overflowing flesh of her breasts and her smooth, pale back. She would sure make an impression on the new neighbors. The tattooed guy opened up the back of the truck. “Where do we take these?” he asked gruffly. “Oh, right. Shit. I forgot. I have to go to my landlord first. Can you search for a box that’s labelled for clothes?” “Hold on,” said Adisa, grabbing her wrist. “What do you need clothes for? You know where this landlord is?” Kana gulped. She already sensed what he wanted her to do. “Yeah.” “Well, let’s go see him.” They entered the classy building together holding hands, Kana struggling to hold her breasts with a single arm. They swayed violently as they went up the steps, and she found herself craving desperately to feel the weight of them taken away by Adisa’s strong black hands. They went up to the third floor, found the door, and knocked. Kana wondered what her landlord’s reaction would be at seeing her half-naked and holding hands with a buff and shirtless African. She and her fiance had presented themselves as a nice, quiet, almost old-fashioned German couple. The door cracked open warily. “Who’s that?” rasped a voice from the other side. “It’s m-me!” said Kana. “The girl from downstairs. I’m here with the movers and I need to pick up the keys.” The eyes peered at her intensely. “You?” Adisa leaned against the door and sent it flying open. He quickly apologized, but now the obese landlord stood before them in the light, with an angered expression. “I thought you were moving in with your fiance!” cried the old man. He gesticulated towards her bare top and Adisa. “What’s the meaning of this? I’m not bringing in people like you in my building, I can tell you that.” Oh, you annoying cunt, thought Kana. But all she could do was smile awkwardly. She opened her mouth to speak when she had both her hands yanked behind her back and yelped painfully instead. Adisa held her down from the back, her hands positioned in such a way that her fingers could move over the huge head of his cock. He pushed her forwards and arched her back theatrically, presenting her breasts before the landlord. His angry expression went away, and instead he leered down at her perky and full breasts with great interest. Without a word from anyone, his gnarled, liver-spotted hands came up to cup them. He smiled as stupidly as a little boy. “My, what amazing breasts…” “See!” said Adisa. “And you want her to leave this building.” The landlord swallowed uncomfortably as he massaged the creamy flesh between his ancient fingers. “It’s not me… It’s these neighbors…” “You’ll talk to them. You’ll make them understand. And in exchange, I think Kana will be real grateful. She’ll even come over and take care of you from time to time. Won’t you, snowbunny?” “Yessir,” said Kana eagerly. She glanced down at the way those veiny old hands groped her chest, and focused instead on how vigorously Adisa throbbed in her grip. She would let this old man do whatever and whenever he wanted. So long as she had some time with Adisa after it all, all would be well. The landlord agreed to the terms and waddled off to bring the keys. “Told you it would work,” said Adisa. You actually didn’t tell me anything… Not that she minded. She had spent her whole life worrying about making the wrong decision. It was one of the few things she hated about her fiance. He thought he was being sweet by letting her make decisions or trying to consult with her - in reality, all she wanted was for him to take the lead and tell her what to do and when to do it. Serving was much easier. Kana took the keys from the old man and jingled them happily as they went back down to the truck. She couldn’t believe that it had been so easy to solve that problem. It took them week and weeks of back and forths to get that stupid geezer to even see them for real, and then they’d spent days deciding what to wear and what to say. And all it took to bring him from the brink was letting him have some fun with her breasts. I need to stop underestimating my natural charms, thought Kana, only half-jokingly. The tattooed friend had already moved most of the boxes by himself at the right door. “It was on the papers,” he explained. “Oh,” said Kana. She opened the door for them and entered the lofty and luxurious apartment space. Everything was so much nicer here. The white-paneled walls, the flawless floorboards, the enormous windows that poured in sunlight, and the balcony opening that let in clear, fresh air, and faced the center of the city, with the cityscape spreading below her. “Nice place you got here,” said Adisa. The guys dropped off the first series of boxes. “We’re going to have to christen it together.” Kana smiled at them mischievously. “Yes, we will.”   She offered to make the guys some drinks and went into the large kitchen that connected to the living room, already stocked with silverware, appliances, and some basics like coffee and wine. Kana first poured herself a glass of wine and gulped it down. She took a deep breath, feeling the cold liquid going into the fiery warmth of her body. I needed that. She poured herself another. And then one more. She couldn’t hold her drinks very well, but today she felt fiercely thirsty and in need of a boost to break the remaining barriers in her psyche. I need to make these guys happy.   By the time she went back to them with two slender glasses filled to the brim with wine, all the stuff lay clustered in the corner and the door had been closed. Her two black studs rested on the pristine white couch and had taken off their shoes to stretch their legs over the antique table in front of them. “Thanks,” said Adisa. “My pleasure, sir,” said Kana with a delighted giggle. It made her so happy to please them. That’s what I’m for. Their snowbunny… Adisa yawned and folded his muscular arms over his toned abs. “I was thinking, Kana. Why don’t you cosplay Atago for us? I’d like that.” “A-Atago!” Kana bobbed her head. “Right! I’ll go get ready, sir.” Adisa grinned. “Good girl.” It’s happening, she thought. I’m going to fuck them. She needed to hurry about it too. Her fiance could come over at any moment. She wanted at least an hour with the studs before she had to go back to that. Just thinking about having to pretend to like her soon-to-be-husband’s little dicklet again made her groan with disgust. I love him, but that’s just too much. She went through the boxes in a mad rush, trying to find the costume before the studs lost all interest. Finally, she came over the one labeled the right way and headed with it into the bedroom. She dressed up as quickly as she could and perfumed herself thoroughly, making sure to spare a few drops for the insides of her thighs as well. They’ll be going all over… When she finally walked back into the living room, heels clacking in announcement, she only found Adisa lying sleepily on the couch. “Where’s your friend?” “Bathroom.” His eyes opened and widened as soon as he saw her. “Jesus. But you look good.”   Kana smiled and twirled before him. “Thank you, sir.” “Come here…” She went and sat down in his lap, feeling her ass press against his thick cock. Adisa stroked her thighs and opened her legs up, and finally brought her mouth low for a kiss. My third partner. She hated that the Muslim guy had gotten to kiss her before Adisa, but then, so had her wimpy white boyfriend. You can always start fresh. They made out lovingly, exploring each other’s body slowly. Kana couldn’t believe how good every part of him felt to the touch - how hard and tough all his muscles were. She got too used to her slouch of a boyfriend. Just seeing flawless, smooth, dark and hard flesh was enough to make her mouth water. Adisa leaned his head back and closed his eyes as muttered her adoration and kissed his upper body in pure worship. “You’re so beautiful...” she repeated. Her fingers traced over his stunning abs repeatedly. “So strong and so nice.” “Goddamn,” he said, giggling darkly. “Snowbunnies really are the best.” Kana smiled shyly and slid down from his body, then knelt before him as a willing slave, not daring to touch his cock without direct permission. She watched it move under the weathered shorts like a monster under the surface of the water, revealed and only a step away from being displayed in its full crowning glory. “You want that?” “More than anything,” said Kana. “I’ll trade you for it. You give me that ring, and I’ll breed you.” Breed me… Her memory ignited with all those memes and raceplay porn she had seen floating around Tumblr. ONLY WHITE GIRLS CAN BRING ABOUT WHITE EXTINCTION. DO YOUR PART. Captioned on top of a picture of a blonde teen with her mouth stretched out by a big black cock. There were tons. She found them cringy in the past, but now… Maybe they had a point. The idea of being pumped with black seed and being made into a breeding toy held an unimaginable appeal… Her eyes went down to the slender, diamond studded ring. She had cried so much when her fiance offered it. Accepted the proposal without so much as a second thought. Now… Kana took the ring off and held it out towards Adisa. He took it from her without hesitation and put it on his own finger. “You’re desperate to get blacked, aren’t you?” The word came out breathless: “Yes.” Adisa stood up before her and dropped his shorts. His enormous cock stood a mere inch away from her face, its veins bulging down the shaft. Kana was so stunned by it she couldn’t even reach out to grab it. He laughed and took a step forwards, letting it slap her gently across the face. The heated black cock pressed against her lips and nose, its musky smell filling up her nostrils. Her pussy tingled in response, no longer able to withhold the flood of juices that threatened to spoil her panties. Kana kissed it gently, relishing the feeling of the soft dark skin against her lips, then brought her hands up and began to massage the massive cock as she stroked it with her flickering tongue. The whole thing glistened with her spit and got stiffer with every passing second, the giant head pushing aside the foreskin to emerge, throbbing and leaking delicious seed. Kana lapped it happily, unable to make out what Adisa was saying. He held her by the hair and murmured approvingly. To think I’m here now. Sucking a big black cock. It was all so dirty and naughty. Christening her new home by betraying her fiance and selling out his most precious gift for a good dick. I really am a slut, thought Kana, rubbing her pussy through the soaked panties. But that only made it feel that much better. A heavy weight came down upon her head. She moved her face up to see the other BBC that rested on her forehead, ready for action. With one in each hand, she stroked them happily, kissing the head of each with more love than she had kissed her white boyfriend in years, lapping up every drop of seed and slurping it into her slutty white mouth. “I love your big black cocks…” “Oh, yeah? I can’t wait to put a black baby inside of you.” Kana grinned unhesitatingly. “Me neither.” The tattooed stud picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, then carried her with ease towards the bedroom. Yes, please! Finally! He threw her down on the bed unceremoniously and lied down next to her. Then he pulled her on top, with her breasts pressing against his hard chest and her eyes staring down into his. He reached back and flipped her skirt. He pulled hard on her panties, the stretched fabric biting into her pussy as it tore apart and snapped. The tearing sounds sent a shiver of terrified glee through Kana’s unexperienced body. She could feel the breeze coming through the open window hitting her drenched and heated pussy. Kana looked down into the piercing black eyes and begged: “Please, fuck me. Breed me. Please!” The ever-gruff tattooed guy only groaned, slapping his heavy cock against her pussy. He rubbed it for a few heavenly seconds against her sensitive lips, then shoved it inside roughly, as if she were an animal used to this sort of treatment. Kana screamed and shuddered, burying her head into his warm chest. Tears of pain welled in her eyes. But she had never felt this good in her life. Fuck me. This really is amazing… How could white girls not go black-only when this was on offer? She only lay on him passively, trying to keep it together while he rammed his cock deep inside her thick white bod. Her cherry had been taken long ago; but it might as well have never happened. Fucking with her fiance or with her dildo put no real pressure on her at all. But now the walls of her pussy stretched to the tearing point, and this magnificent fucking BBC threatened to rip her to shreds. I hope he does, she thought with grim exhilaration. I hope he breaks me down into nothing but a cumdumpster. Being a prized receptacle for his seed was all she could ever wish for. “You’re going to be bred real good.” Kana raised her gaze to see Adisa hovering over them. He brought his cock and slapped it against her face, then squeezed a few more drops of cum into her mouth. “Thank you, sir…” “Are you excited to make a black baby together?” Whenever her fiance brought up the idea of having a baby she only felt revulsion. Dogs were all she ever wanted, and they were infinitely better than some whiny little human. But… But. The idea of growing something inside her that would be a direct result of this moment, that would be a gift from her black masters, and the continuation of their superior line given directly through their seed… “I would love to have your babies,” she confessed. Anything for you.   She could feel the black cock hitting regions in her she never even thought existed. Her eyes rolled in her sockets of their own accord as a blast of pleasure nearly knocked her out, her legs quivering as the first true orgasm of her life took her breath away. Her mouth gaped soundlessly as her body exploded in joyous pleasure. In revery for big black cock. Adisa plugged her mouth with his throbbing shaft, sending it down her throat hard enough to make her choke and gag. He laughed and took it out, then slammed it hard against her face a couple of times, making her a mess of spit and cum. Kana could feel him prodding behind her. What are you doing? The answer came soon enough. At first she thought he meant to put it up her ass and she was ready to scream against it. Her ass had never had anything inside, and she doubted she could handle anything as big as his BBC. Instead, he held her steady by the hips, and as his friend slowed down, forced his cock alongside his into her already stretched-out pussy. “No, no, no…” Kana started, panicked, feeling her pussy giving in and burning with agony as it got stretched above and beyond what a white girl could’ve ever taken. “I--” The blow from the tattooed guy almost knocked her out. Her ears rang and she sobbed and as the burn spread over the left side of her face. “Don’t talk,” he ordered in his broken German. “Understand?” “Yessir,” she whispered obediently. Kana didn’t talk. She only screamed. The piercing shriek threatened to leave her voiceless, but the pain was unbearable. She scratched the guy’s shoulders and bit into them, trying to deal with the pressure of feeling both those cocks merging into one and ramming her insides with an almost evil desire to see her fully broken apart. Yet, as the moments passed, the pain slowly went away, replaced instead with blissful pleasure. She wasn’t sure when the moment that spelled the turning point came, but rather than screaming in pain she soon began to pant in pleasure, drooling all over the guy below her and happily getting slapped around for being such a gross and slutty bitch. The tattooed hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed, cutting off her air, then brought her in for a deep french kiss. Her pussy wrapped around the two giant cocks like a comfortable sleeve, not allowing a single drop of their seed to go to waste. She could feel the furnace-like that came from her tummy as they came over and over, dumping hot seed into her womb. “Fuck, yes! Please, fill me up! Let me have your black babies. Let me be a good snowbunny. Pleaaaaseeeee!!!”   How could anything compare to this? How could her white fiance ever hope to match up to these black monsters, much less exceed them in pleasuring her? Being used in this brutal way was every girl’s dream. And for a strong alpha male like a black guy to do it to a weak and submissive female like any white girl was just nature’s way. “Do you think your fiance would be proud of you?” asked Adisa. “I don’t know.” Somehow she doubted it. He would probably cry. “He should be. Not just any girl can take two black cocks at once in her pussy. You’re a special kind of slut.” Special? The confirmation of her performance combined with the bursting feeling coming from within her sent a new torrent of pleasure through her. An orgasm so powerful that she cried in joy hit every nerve in her body, lighting up in the fire of cocklust in her eyes and tightening every muscle in service of her two black masters.   She shook and drooled with her mouth open like a bitch in heat as her pussy clenched their cocks too tightly for them to escape, keeping them locked in as if she were being knotted and bred at the same time. She laughed and screamed and cooed and mewled as an endless succession of emotions passed too fast for her to make sense of any of them in particular, spinning like a broken slots machine, her consciousness moving in a total haze of conflicting thoughts… There was only one thing Kana could say with certainty… It feels so fucking good… And… Nothing can beat a big black cock… “Fuck me,” she ordered them, working herself up into a beastly frenzy. Her teeth gritted from the pain as she cried. “Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” They did, breaking her little white pussy beyond the use of any white guy ever again, making a sloppy mess of it. Kana arched her back in response and shivered as one orgasm after another rippled over her flesh and spasmed deep within the core of her body, her womb receiving every drop of their tasty seed. All she could do was let her tongue loll out in response as she allowed herself to be used and bred like a perfect little snowbunny. Her fiance could hear the animal noises echoing down the staircase as he made his way upstairs. They seemed to be coming from their new apartment but… They couldn’t be, he thought. As he had no key, he knocked on the door. No response. He knocked again. And again. And harder. At last the loud noises ceased for a period. The door opened and Kana appeared, all dressed up for one of her shoots, but with completely disheveled hair and beads of sweat running down her face. “What happened?” he asked. “Oh, I’m just… Struggling to move some of these boxes.” “What about the movers?” She rolled her eyes comically. “Oh, they left!” He couldn’t tell why she seemed so upset and breathless. “They… They were busy. Here!” Kana grabbed a cup from the table and forced it into his hand. Some kind of fizzy drink, with some effervescent addition still bubbling up to the surface. “What’s this?” Her face went white. “Don’t tell me it’s calcium…” “I’m sorry, honey,” she said apologetically, “but you know you gotta take it.” “Right, well… Okay.” Her fiance gulped the drink down reluctantly. He looked around the new place, until he noticed most of the boxes were still piled up. “I thought you did some moving.” “I did! It’s just… a slow process, you know.” He wanted to respond with doubt, but he suddenly felt incredibly sleepy. He could barely talk. His eyes were closing without him. He spotted the couch just moments before losing balance and tottered towards it, crashing down into a deep sleep. He awoke later to a loud banging noise. Outside, he could see that it was dark. Only the mixed light of the city and the moon streamed through the windows. He got up, still groggy, and went to get the door. A hulking, black policeman stood there, accompanied by his white partner and surrounded by a couple of the older neighbors. He flashed a light into his face. “You the guy livin’ here?” “Uhm, yes?” The policeman took a step inside. “Care to explain that noise?” Only now that the banging had stopped could he make out the intense grunting that came from the bedroom. It sounded like some sort of satanic ritual was taking place. “I have no idea…” The policeman shut the door and told his partner to take take care of the neighbors. They went and opened the door to the bedroom together. The sight that her fiance saw took his breath away. His fiancee lay sandwiched between two huge black guys, writhing like a single organism together, all of them completely naked and glistening in the intense beam of the flashlight. “KANA!!” he screamed. “What are you doing?!” She looked up from the scene with a crazed, drugged look on her face. But she smiled. “Baby?” The two guys fucking her made no attempt to stop. If anything, they only fucked her harder now that he entered the room, and Kana moaned joyously in response. Kana… Tears came to his eyes. “Stop it! Stop that right now! You can’t do this! We’re supposed to get married!” “I’m sorry, honey. It” - they pushed deep into her - “just” - her eyes rolled - “feels” - she yelped - “so” - smiled at him - “good.” He rushed towards the bed to stop it all when the policeman grabbed his arms. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “Are you going to assault this nice woman?” “Assault her? She’s my fiance! Look what she’s doing.” “She’s just getting blacked, that’s all,” said the grinning policeman. “You should be expecting it. By the looks of you, you probably can’t satisfy her in any way.” Kana nodded. “It’s true, honey. That’s why... “ Her eyes closed again and her whole body quivered in response to an orgasm. She sighed deeply, the pleasure written all over her slutty face. “That’s why I need to get black bred now.” “No!” he cried. He ran towards the bed again; but this time the policeman twisted him around and slammed him against the wall. “What do you think you’re doing, huh?” He kicked her fiance down with his steel tipped boots until he made no move to stand up anymore. “You sit there and you wait for her to finish. Quietly.” The policeman prepared to leave, but Kana called him over. She looked him up and down with appraising eyes, then reached out and grabbed his cock. “Come by anytime, officer.” He caressed her face in return with a brown hand and slapped her. “Be a good slut in the meantime. Do whatever these guys here tell you. Or else I’ll have to arrest you.” Kana nodded obediently. He left. Her fiance sobbed, slumped against the floor. This can’t be real. This is a nightmare. But as much as he tried, the image wouldn’t go away. She just went on getting fucked by the two black guys. “Why?” he asked her. Kana gave him a long look. “You know w-w-why, d-darling,” she struggled to say. “You’re just so s-small and p-p-p-p…” Another powerful thrust broke her concentration and left her mewling in ecstasy. “If you d-d-don’t stop, I’m l-leaving.” “Please, honey, just try to enjoy… I know you will.” Enjoy it? How could he? Yet, as he came cognizant of his own body and needs, he realized that he was, in fact, incredibly aroused. His hand went down almost with a mind of its own and began to grab at his tiny white cock. “See…” said Kana. “Just enjoy it…” He stroked himself pathetically as he watched these two black men take his fiancee. Wasn’t Kana always a good girl? He thought so. At times he entertained the idea that she could secretly be slutty, but this, this… A few strokes was all it took for him to come, and then he returned to total heartbreak. How could this be happening? How could he go on with things like this? “STOP CRYING!” he heard one of the black guys yell. When he looked up he noticed that the guy stood above him, his gigantic black cock dripping with Kana’s warm juices. As he moved, a few of the drops flew and hit her fiance in the face. “I can’t,” he mumbled. “I just can’t.” Kana came now and crouched before him. “You have to accept this. Otherwise we can’t go on. I’m sorry.” Her whole body was covered in sweat and dried seed, while her breasts and ass were red from all the mauling and ravaging. “You’re such a cunt,” he said. “Go kill yourself.” Slowly, with agonizing pain, he made himself stand up. He didn’t realize his cock was still hanging out of his pants. The two black guys laughed upon seeing it and slapped him in mocking support on the shoulder and apologized. Something flashed. He could see the engagement ring in between her fingers. Kana reached out and dropped it into his pocket unceremoniously. “You keep it now,” she said. “I’m sorry it had to end like this. Maybe you can change your mind. I’ll give you some time.” That their laughter and her dismissal made him hard again left him horrified. He rushed out of the room and fled the apartment in a rush. For two weeks, he didn’t see her at all, nor did anything really change. She went on posting as if nothing had happened and hadn’t even announced their break-up. Maybe she thinks we’re still together. In the meantime, he had watched so many interracial videos and imagined Kana getting fucked so much that he became desensitized to the matter. Either way, she would be getting blacked. At least he could try to enjoy her as well. But the day he went over to talk to her, there was no answer at the apartment. The few neighbors he met told him that the noises had never ceased coming from the apartment, but that the police refused to do anything about it. As he left the building, he saw a whole gang of black guys going upstairs. Probably to her. Then her name change happened. From Kana to Kana Black, officially. With it came the announcement that she would be offering hardcore content once the Patreon hit an enormous sum. He himself donated a lot of the money he planned to use on the wedding ring. Two days later, when the goal was hit, Kana posted new pics of herself. She cosplayed in all of them, but this time, she posed with different black guys that she either made out with or allowed to feel her up. The more money started pouring in, the more she put up. It started with handjobs but worked its way up to blowjob videos soon enough. The whole world could see his pure little fiancee choking on a big black cock.   Rather than going down, the new content made her number of followers surge, and the sums being donated by single people outweighed what she sometimes made in a whole month before. Her whole Instagram got taken over by the blacking fever, and along with all the pictures she posted of herself in the company and hands of black guys, Kana quickly began to put up things about white extinction and the superiority of big black cock. The chokers she always wore around her neck were replaced instead by a pet collar with the inscription BBC SLUT. It had been a partnership with some company that focused exclusively on black domination. Many of the girls that followed her and looked up to her soon joined in on it all as well. He tried to message her, to call her, to get through somehow… But Kana seemed to have forgotten that he even existed. The last Patreon goal for the year was so exorbitant that she even made the local news. A hundred thousand euro for her to release a video of her getting blacked. The money came in, but slowly. So slowly that he went out the second day and made a loan for 10k, and quickly donated it to the website. He needed to see his sweet Kana again. And he needed to see her getting blacked. The goal was finally hit. Within the hour, a video went up. It opened with Kana lounging on a chair in the middle of her living room. She wore a white lace leotard that showed her breasts candidly apart from the crossed pasties she wore over her nipples. She smiled at the camera, running a hand nervously through her long hair, the inscription on her collar flashing in the light. “Hello, everyone!” she said in a cute voice, waving towards the camera. “I’m so happy you all donated and made today possible! I hope you’re going to love every moment of this.” “I know you will,” said the gruff voice of the cameraman. Kana looked away shyly and reddened. “I mean, yes…” He reached out and began to stroke her face gently with the back of his hand. His skin was completely black, with stubby and gnarled fingers that showed countless scars. Just what kind of guy is this? her fiance wondered, worried. But his ex seemed more than happy with her black man. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, practically purring as a kitty might when touched by her master. Her tongue came out and began to lick quickly at his fingers. “You like that, huh?” “Uh-huh,” cooed Kana. “I love it…” He shoved two fingers into her mouth and got a close-up of her face as she sucked on them obediently. The slutty glimmer in her eyes said it all: she lived to serve black men now - to serve them in any way possible. The black fingers went deep down her throat and choked her, then came out dangling with her spit. Kana only cried out in disappointment: “More!” Instead, the cameraman smacked her hard. “Don’t you talk back! You stupid white whore. Don’t you know that?” “Sorry, sir.” Her fiance couldn’t figure out when she had become this way. Had she always been so submissive deep down? He often feared arguing with her on any topic. But to see her acting in such a subservient way… All to a bunch of African immigrants. The guy grabbed her hair and yanked her back, then ordered her to open her mouth wide and stick out her tongue. “Tell your fans, what are you going to do today?” “I’m going to get gangbanged by some big black cocks.” He grabbed her soft pink tongue and tugged on it, feeling it up between his fingers as if it were only a toy. “And what do you have to say to your fans that don’t want you taking black cock?” “Dat iz da bes.” He released her. “What now?” Kana giggled and licked her full lips. “That it’s the best,” she said quietly, staring at the camera as if it were a secret. Her fiance could almost feel that gaze boring into him through time and sending that message for him in particular. You’re not good enough, her judging eyes seemed to say. You never were, you tiny white dicklet. Now watch me fuck real men instead. And the guys that came in and joined her were real men. Tough, barrel-chested black guys with defined bodybuilding physiques, massive tattooed arms, and the biggest, veiniest cocks her fiance had ever seen. Once again, the camera focused on her face. “With your donations,” Kana explained, “we managed to get the best people we could find and fly them in special.” Not one of the guys spoke a single word of either English nor German. They looked as if they had been dragged from the darkest heart of Africa, for no reason but to come to Europe and properly black a deserving white princess like his fiancee. As Kana spoke to the camera, they begun to rest their cocks on her head and face, covering her up as she declared her love for the patrons. “I can’t wait for you guys to tell me what you think!” Once she was done, they put her on her knees… Kana had looked forward to this moment for some time. The name change and the Instagram pictures weren’t enough. Her brain was on the verge of exploding from all the ideas she got about how to communicate her love for BBC to the world and help it spread among the other miserable white girls of Europe that hadn’t been reached by it yet. She no longer even thought about that loser she used to be with. There was no point. There was no real love without lust, and there could never be real love for men that were such pathetic betas. It really is true, she thought. White guys are finished. But she and her new friends were happy to be at the forefront of white extinction. Nothing made her prouder than to think she would help bring about a better Europe, full of alpha black males that each had his white harem, and supported by hardworking white cucks that would slave away just to be able to watch it happen. But that would have to wait. For now, she closed her eyes and giggled with boundless joy as the African bulls slapped her face with their baton-like cocks. They were told beforehand that they could and should be as rough as possible with her, and Kana wanted to experience that and share it with her loyal patrons. It started quickly enough. One of the guys cupped her face and held her head still as he brought his throbbing big black cock and plunged it straight into the depths of her throat. No warm-up, no mercy, nothing. He pushed until he crushed Kana’s cute nose against the base of his cock. Kana gurgled and smiled as she used her throat to massage his cock. The camera came down and filmed the way the huge dick filled up her throat and bulged dangerously. She struggled to get her tongue out and ran it over his gorgeous, heavy-hanging balls, thinking dreamily of all the hot black seed that waited for her. He held her down by force, enjoying the way her throat spasmed and how the spit mixed with precum dripped from her nose. Tears welled in Kana’s eyes and flowed down her pretty face, running black with her make-up.   They’re making a mess of me, she told the camera with her eyes, trying to somehow smile as the black cock spread her jaw so wide that an inch more to his girth might’ve dislocated it completely. Look at how good I’m doing for you, my patrons… The big black cock throbbed powerfully, and Kana could feel the heat of his seed going down into her stomach, filling her up like a good whore. Kana gasped when he drew his cock out, staring up at it in worship as hovered above her face, dripping spit and cum all over her lewd face. But just as she planned to go up and give it a kiss, the second guy yanked her away and stuffed her mouth. The head of his cock pushed against her cheek and made it bulge, while the cameraman crouched down to pet her face and congratulate her on her performance. “You’re doing great,” he said. “Show those white boys what they’re missing.” So she did. She let this cock fill her throat as well and dump its cum inside, but this time she caressed the seed-laden balls. As soon as his dick left her throat, she pushed her face right into his nutsack, kissing it and massaging it with her tongue, letting him know how much she appreciated the opportunity to serve black men. “I love you,” she whispered, barely able to think. “I love you so much.” The guys all laughed, and the others in the group came over to beat their cocks over her face. This time, when the third BBC plunged down the depths of her throat, another guy got down behind her. He felt up her drenched pussy for a couple of seconds, then quickly moved the strip of fabric aside and put his cock deep inside. Kana spit the shaft out to moan: “Ah, fuck! That feels so good, sir!” In return, the guy she was sucking off snapped at her in his African tongue and smacked her face, displeased with the audacity of her behavior. “I’m sorry, sir…” They filled her up from both ends, impaling her on their black rods and massacring her insides with hard thrusts that made her body spasm and leak juices and seed at every opportunity. Kana surrendered to abuse gladly, thrilled to be used in such a way by her black masters. They must really like me, she thought shyly. Her patrons would surely be proud of her for getting them so hard and working up so much seed out of them. Her fiance watched the scene unfold with tears in his eyes and a hand covered in weak cum. How could he allow himself to watch this, or even come to it? But, even as the thoughts rolled through his mind, they were quickly replaced by a new fountain of arousal. He wished now that he could go back and offer Kana enough BBC from day one so that he wouldn’t have lost her. As degrading as it was to have to watch his beloved get gangbanged by some Africans, and as difficult as it might’ve been to be there as it happened, he would’ve preferred it… The camera focused on her ass. It had been smacked relentlessly until it went red, and the black fingers still grabbed onto it roughly as he pushed his huge cock into her tight and vulnerable pussy. A shower of juices came out of her with every powerful thrust while her legs quivered in response and announced her non-stop orgasms. When the camera came to her face, it caught her white, rolled-back eyes as she lost herself in a sea of pleasure. In awe and worship. Her collar said it all. BBC SLUT. And that’s what she had become. Her face glistened with sweat, tears, and seed, as was proper for any snowbunny. The mascara, the eyeliner, the eyeshadow - all of it was plastered all over her face in a total mess. … but Kana couldn’t get enough of it. As the guys took turns exchanging her different holes, she instead reached out and used her hands to stroke the others by turns, not wanting to leave a single second to waste. If she missed the smallest opportunity to please these massive big black cocks, she could never forgive herself. “Please fuck my ass,” she managed to croak between the constant pumping of her throat. “I need it.” But the cameraman gave an order to the guys and they dropped her in the middle of the room. “Look at yourself,” he said. “You’re a mess. How can these guys want to fuck you when you look so bad?” Kana wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very exposed and vulnerable. Had she screwed up in such a major way? “I’ll go clean myself up…” “No, no, no. You stay there. I have a better idea. Close your eyes and keep your mouth open.” Reluctantly, Kana did as told. Her fiance put a pause to touching himself, just to see if this would really happen. He watched as the first African stud approached and aimed his cock towards her face, and began to piss right into her mouth. Rather than crawl away in horror as he expected, Kana began to smiled and arched her back, using her hands to wash her face with the golden shower that flowed down her body. “T-T-Thank you so much!” she stammered, nearly in tears with emotion. The second guy came up and straight into her throat, making her gargle as it overflowed and came rushing down her chest. Kana massaged her breasts hard, tugging on her nipples, clearly aroused out of her mind. She loved it. She loved knowing that her black masters pissed on her for all the world to see. For it to be recorded forever. This is how a white girl should be treated. And everyone needed to know that. “You still want your assfucked?” the cameraman asked. Did she ever… “Please!” Once they were done pissing on her, he came over and put a leash on her collar, then walked her up to the balcony. He wrapped the leash around the metal bars of the railing, making sure her head would stick through the bars. Kana nearly got sick with vertigo. She could see the heavy traffic down below. However, she soon noticed people from neighboring buildings looking her way. So they would see her too. Her assfucking would be a public spectacle. How wonderful! she thought. Her fiance saw that she still shivered and that the seed dumped inside her womb still poured from her ruined pussy. But Kana reached back and spread her reddened ass, displaying her tight and willing asshole. “We gotta plug you up first,” said the cameraman. And for that purpose, he brought a gigantic studded dildo and slowly forced it inside her pussy. Her fiance could hear Kana’s pathetic mewling as she struggled to take it all just half while dealing with metal studs that must’ve grinded against her insides. What came next surprised him. Rather than any of the black guys approaching her, they instead brought up the largest hound he had ever seen. His fur was short, which allowed a clear glimpse of the bulging muscles underneath. For sure, the dog must’ve been roided up long before to give that unnaturally beefy look. The cameraman came down to show off his cock: a red, swollen instrument of pain that dribbled thick ropes of cum from the tapering tip. The hound came up to lick her asshole, which got a yelp of surprise out of Kana. But if she seemed bothered that it was a dog she showed no sign of it. She instead allowed him to mount her comfortably, despite the scratches, and even helped him bring his deadly cock into her ass. The first part of it entered without issue, but around the midway point, Kana began to breathe heavily and hold the metal bars of the railing tightly, while the Africans helped the dog force the cock in for the rest of the way, ignoring Kana’s agonized screams. With the dog dick lodged inside her asshole, Kana trembled weakly and lowered herself, becoming the real obedient pet. She lowered herself on the brutal dildo - but the leash tugged at her collar and made her choke. No matter, she kept forcing it inside her pussy. Meanwhile, the dog assfucked her violently, scratching her pale and fragile skin. His snout opened. A wild tongue lolled out and dripped, showing just how much he took pleasure in ruining his human prey.   Kana could feel herself getting bathed in the dog’s hot drool, while the gigantic cock knotted inside her little white ass. I’m just a pet for these wonderful black men, she thought. To please them and to amuse them. The studded dildo ravaged the walls of her pussy and tore at her insides, but that didn’t matter either. Not so long as they and my patrons enjoy it. Her own tongue came out as she choked herself out and felt her two holes getting destroyed all at once. They’ll all be so proud of me… Her fiance nearly destroyed himself in the process of watching the video as well. He wept and jerked himself until his whole being felt numb. This was the end of the line. This was what Kana had becoming. A white slut to be bred by white men and to convince others to follow down the same route. An example of what a nice, white German girl could become - a vessel for stronger, better black seed. A tool for the upcoming white extinction. He watched as his fiancee dripped with seed from both her holes, filled to the brim, and she finally passed from an orgasm that rippled through her whole body and made her shriek in joyous laughter loud enough to echo down to the streets below. Everyone would know now. That she left him. That she had become a BBC addict. That she would rather fuck a dog than fuck him. To make matters worse, going by the many responses and reposts the video got everywhere, they all approved. “Kana was been made to be blacked.” When even the dog was finished with her, the black studs left her on the balcony lying in a pool of filthy juices, drooling and shivering from the debased treatment that she had received. Kana came and slipped out of consciousness, each time just enough to enjoy the tug of her collar and the orgasms that traveled the whole length of her body. She curled her toes, whimpering with a pleased smile on her face as she felt the flow of hot cum deep inside her womb. Finally… Finally, I’ve been bred.   She reached down and scooped up fresh seed on her finger, then brought it lick it off and suck on it like a little girl enjoying candy. It tastes so nice and so sweet. And soon it would come to life inside of her, gifting her a wonderful black offspring that she could show to everyone. Was there anything better than submitting to BBC? Nothing. And to think she had almost gotten married… What a mistake that would’ve been. A terrible mistake. She wondered where the guys and the cameraman had gone. Likely, to breed another eager German girl now that they were here. Ah, at least I was first… Thank you so much, my patrons… she thought happily, carried once again into a sleepy state. I couldn’t have done this without you. Only when she got up the following morning and inspected herself in the mirror, did she notice the Queen of Spades tattoo that been left on her for-now flat tummy. Kana cried intensely, surprised that they could’ve been so thoughtful. She caressed it for a time, dreaming of the next time she would be blacked. Then, she went to grab her phone, excited to share the finding with her loyal followers.

[argylemikewheeler]

102 Peach Street

|| started by this ask. will and mike are married and very happy ||

On Sunday mornings, Mike always liked to spend the early sunlight hours pulling weeds out of the garden. He’d stand in the warm sunshine, feeling the morning breeze on his arms and through his hair– he refused to cut it above his shoulders in the early nineties. Will would often stand at the kitchen window, washing the dishes, and smile down at him and their full green country yard.

It was part of Will’s therapy to tend to something that would grow and thrive if loved and taken care of– just like he would. The summer they moved out of Hawkins and into a place of their own, Mike helped Will plant greenery all along the front of the house and by the porch steps. Will watered and fixed the soil frequently, but Mike always offered to do the weeding; Will’s knees had gotten bad in his early college years from a childhood of incorrectly running (for his life) and couldn’t spend the hours hunched over like he used to.

Of course, though, Mike didn’t mind. He lovingly got his favorite pair of worn and tearing jeans and knelt in the dirt, reminding himself what it was like to actually do something with his hands– he really had something going as a kid with all those Lego projects. Those days, he really only spent time at his desk shuffling papers. Mike would willingly trade paper cuts for all that dirt under his fingernails. He didn’t dislike his job though, let that be known. Copy editing was a joy and writing in his free time reminded him of planning campaigns, but Hawkins just never had sunshine like this.

Will and Mike didn’t runaway from Hawkins necessarily, but they did give their (unwanted) family a very short notice before packing their car up and driving east. They unpacked their boxes in their small cottage, faint sounds of the ocean reminding them they were far from their childhood, but had finally come home. They eloped– in the way that they could– in ‘95. Neither spoke a word, but quietly changed the single, default name on the mailbox to both. Will painted it on with his best attempt at a flower that seemed to have a face of some kind– but maybe that was Mike’s interpretation.

Will’s middle school art students seemed to like the plant’s “face” when he drew it on their work too, understandably so: Demogorgons looked cute when they had googly eyes and smiley faces.

“Good morning, Mr. Byers.” Mike stood up and turned at the sound of a young voice behind him. A girl was standing at the end of their front walkway, holding up her bike. Her hair was in two pigtails on the top of her head, wrapped in pink fuzzy hair ties.

“Hi. What can I do for you?” He couldn’t remember her name, but he knew she lived just down the road. Her parents made them a pie when they first moved in. He was allergic to it– but he didn’t hold that against them.

“Do you know where Mr. Wheeler is?” She asked. They’d traded names so technically they weren’t noticeably married, but could still enjoy answering to the last name of the other. Mike really liked being a Byers.

“He’s just inside, I can get him if you want. What’s wrong?”

“I messed up my bike.” She sighed, holding it out to him.

“Oh! I can help with that.” Mike wiped his hands on his jeans and used his shoulder to nudge some of his curls out of his way.

“It’s not just the chain– I fixed that myself. When I fell I scratched the paint up pretty bad… and I know Mr. Wheeler has good paints in his garage.” She looked down at her accident’s handiwork– a long scrape going along the entire length of the frame.

“Oh! You need an artist’s help. I understand– I’ll be right back.” Mike grabbed the banister and swung up the front steps. He made sure not to leave any smudged fingerprints on the door as he opened it and stepped inside. He kept his dirty shoes on the doormat. “Oh, Mr. Wheeler, the girl from down the street is here to see you. She has an art emergency.”

Will ducked and emerged under the hanging cabinets in the kitchen. He’d cut his hair above his ears, almost to balance out Mike’s, and finally started letting his hair swoop back and show his forehead. He was the most handsome man Mike had ever seen, and Mike thought it every time he laid eyes on Will. He knew he was lucky just getting out of Hawkins alive, but he considered his greatest luck finding Will all those years ago.

“Sara?” Will placed his dish towel down on the counter and walked around, coming toward the door. “What happened?”

“She crashed and needs some new paint.” Mike held the door open for Will, letting him onto the porch. “Here he is, Sara.” Mike was glad someone remembered people’s names.

“Hey, sweetheart! What happened!” Will gripped Mike’s arm and braced himself as he took the stairs. Mike could practically hear Will’s joints squeaking as loudly as the wood steps.

“A car blew a stop sign and I skidded to stop so fast it went sideways and slid right out from under me!” She groaned, rolling it toward him and exposing the scrape.

“Oh, God. Are you alright?” Will asked, squeezing Mike’s arm in response.

“Yeah, I had my elbow pads and helmet on. I’m fine.” She said. “But Sandra here really got it.”

“You named her Sandra?” Will smiled and braced his knees to crouch and admire the flaking paint. His knees popped as he sank down. “I don’t think I ever named mine when I was growing up– did you, Michael?”

“Nope. Me neither.” Mike shook his head. “If I did, I completely forget by now.”

“That’s fair.” Will muttered. He adjusted his weight on his feet and ran his hand over the exposed frame. “I don’t know if I have the same color as your bike, so how about a stripe? I can give you a racing stripe right down the side!”

“Can you?”

“Of course I can.” Will laughed, nodding. “I can even do a little design for you– Michael, you know where my really nice white paint is, right? On the–”

“Top shelf of your metal cabinet, just by the garage door? Yeah. I know where.” Mike touched the top of Will’s head as he stepped past them. “I’ll get your good brushes too.”

“Thank you, Mike.” Will grinned, somewhat shyly due to their audience, and watched Mike cross the lawn.

The garage was disconnected from the house and held all of Will’s art supplies as well as Mike’s old typewriter. Will’s easel was leaned up against the model bench and Mike’s old manuscripts were still in a bit of a mess on the lid of one of Will’s toolboxes. He’d clean that later, after he found that one passage he’d written ages ago and suddenly found a way to repurpose.

It was a short paragraph, maybe three sentences, about a brief memory Mike remembered having as a kid, but knowing he’d never lived it. It was a image of this figure– this boy– passing in front of his vision and drawing him farther and farther in to him. It had been a dream Mike had, knocked out and lying on his local mall’s floor. He’d thought he was being drawn to death then, but it turned out he was brought back to consciousness by the faint tug of his heartstrings.

He wanted to find it and rework it for an upcoming anniversary. The manuscript had never seen the light or day or the desk of any publishing house, but it had stuck with Mike since he’d buried it under boxes of old bike parts and vinyl records.

Mike grabbed the paint and Will’s brushes by the door before backpedaling and going to Will and their neighbor. Will was sitting on the grass by then, legs stretched out and hands gently patting his left knee as he spoke.

“– it’s supposed to rain soon too, so my knees aren’t any better. I’m okay though, Sara. Mr. Byers and I are just old.”

“You aren’t even thirty.” Mike quipped, placing the paint beside Will and gently nudging his leg.

“I’ve got old man knees though.” Will said, rubbing them slowly. “Sara was just asking my why bones sound like popcorn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No! No!” Will laughed, reaching over for her arm gently. “It’s alright! It’s funny. They do, they really do sound like popcorn. I got it from an old childhood accident.” He used the back of a paintbrush to pop the lid to the paint. Mike held the can still, letting his already dirty hands get covered in the flakes of dried white paint.

“Did you play a sport, Mr. Wheeler? My dad said he hurt his knee back in high school playing football.” Sara asked, gripping Sandra tightly by the handlebars.

“No, nothing like that. I just fell when I was a kid. I was running inside– which I shouldn’t have been doing, that’s never safe– and I tripped over something and took this big spill. Rolled myself up into knots and really bumped up both my knees.” Mike didn’t remember Will getting so good at telling that lie.

In reality, Will was running toward Hopper’s cabin, deep in the woods, completely barefoot. The ground was uneven and Will’s legs were flailing out in unhealthy and painful directions as he forced himself to go ahead another inch. It was pitch black and the rest of the Party was standing on the porch, waving him forward and screaming to go just a little farther. In the last stretch, and last jump over a fallen tree, Will’s ankle caught on a branch and brought him tumbling down to the ground. The growling behind him grew louder as he tumbled through the fallen leaves and into rocks and sticker bushes. Mike didn’t remember leaving the safety of the porch, but he remembered pulling Will out of the foliage and dragging him the rest of the way to the house. He remembered crying too. That’s all.

“I’m fine, Sara. Don’t worry, I’ve got Mr. Byers here to help.” Will looked over his shoulder and winked at Mike before leaning back to the bike with his dipped paintbrush.

“Is he your helper?” Sara looked at Mike with such innocence and kindness. There was an instinct to feel guilty– like it would all go away if she only knew the truth. But Mike knew it was a false sense of guilt. Their marriage was the best thing in Mike’s life. He wasn’t ashamed.

“No, actually Michael’s my husband.” Will said, his hand moving steadily and making a clean stripe on Sara’s bike. “I’ve known him since we were kids.”

“Oh. T-That’s cool, I guess.” Sara said, obviously taken aback. She didn’t seem bothered, just wildly surprised. She’d lived next door to them for most of her life, and apparently it never occurred to her that young, happy men could be married too.

Part of Mike was pleased to be a surprise. Typically, that meant the person had never met a gay couple before. Mike was glad he and Will could be her starting example.

“I’m going to leave you two to your work, alright?” Mike said, wiping his hands on his jeans again. Sara had stopped staring at him, but had now moved on to Will. Mike was sure she had more questions. “I want to clean up the garage, Plum. I’ll be back.”

—

Mike sat down on the garage floor and started separating the loose pages and clipped manuscripts. Mike avoided reading any of his very old writing– it was still embarrassing to think he was published in his college lit mag forever with such sappy love poetry. At least he still had the work’s muse living with him. Helped him improve and write the same message again, far better: later, said embarrassing poem became Mike’s wedding vows so it wasn’t all a loss.

Before Mike could reach the bottom of his stack, the garage side door opened. Will placed his paint and brushes down on the floor and slowly approached Mike’s sporadic piles.

“What are you looking for?” He stood tall but squinted to try and read the pages below him.

“Something I wrote in college. I remembered it the other morning– remember when I stumbled out of bed for my notebook?” Mike laughed, turning to look up at his husband.

“When you tripped three times just getting across the room? Yeah. I remember. I thought we were being robbed. But it was just you having a stroke of genius?”

“If you want to call it that.” Mike held his arms out to the scattered organization with a sigh. “Did you fix Sandra up?”

“Sara’s already on her way home! Gave her a stripe and even wrote ‘Sandra’ on the side. Gave her flowers and swords, the whole nine.”

“Swords?”

“She told me she’s learning about Joan of Arc.” Will shrugged. “I thought it was pretty cool.”

“It is. And so are you.” Mike placed his unsorted pages down, frankly not needing their words anymore. His world was right there. Being absolutely adorable. Will placed his hand over Mike’s face and shoved him playfully.

“Help me inside, Mr. Byers?”

“That bad?” Mike’s tone changed in a snap, pushing off the ground and getting to his feet. “We should change out those stairs, Plum.”

“No, it’s just the barometric pressure. They’re fine.” Will took Mike’s hand. “A convenient excuse to keep you around though, have to say.”

“Don’t make me carry you again.” Mike jokingly went to sweep Will off his feet. Will yelped and jumped back with a giggle. “I’ll only hit your head on the doorway a little bit this time.”

“I love having to tell the story of ‘no the bruise I got on my wedding night was because my husband walked me into the doorway’. My mom thought we were idiots.” Will sighed, following Mike out of the garage.

“Babe, we are idiots.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t need to know that this late in the relationship. We’ve kept it a secret for quite a while, I like to think.”

"Will, for every monster we fought on a school night is another ten reasons we’re both idiots.” Mike reasoned. He stepped up onto the stairs first, letting Will pull up on his tensed arm for leverage. “You taught me that.”

Will grunted quietly as he pushed himself up the rest of the stairs. At the landing, he broke into a smile. “I know. I’m just testing you, Michael. Just testing you.”

“Shut up and get inside.” Mike laughed, swinging the front door open. “Make sure all the windows are closed before it rains, I’m going to make you some tea.”

“What? That’s not how that works.” Will laughed, shaking his head as he kicked off his shoes. “You know we didn’t open any windows last night.”

“Welp, looks like you have to sit down and let me make you tea.” Mike said, dramatically sighing and starting off toward the kitchen. Will shuffled after him, trying not to slip in his socks.

Their house was about the size of Will’s childhood home, maybe a bit smaller. They didn’t need much room, if Mike was being honest. All their childhood they’d practically lived right on top of each other, being able to do so as adults was a bonus. Between the foyer and the kitchen was only a small alcove with their round wooden dining table. It only held the two of them; they rarely had guests anyway.

Every time he passed by the table, he remembered that first month, sitting in the morning silence and staring out the window at the long stretches of trees. Will was sipping tea, careful not to slurp too loudly and get under Mike’s skin at seven in the morning. Under the table, Mike could hear Will gently rubbing his feet together: a habit of comfort Mike had learned to observe. Mike had been drinking coffee and eating a bagel, definitely getting crumbs everywhere. He’d placed his breakfast down and cleared his throat– twice– and placed his hand on Will’s. Will still made him nervous sometimes.

“Hey, Will?” Mike had said, careful to break his peaceful look.

“Yeah, Mike?”

The words were so easy to say. Mike couldn’t remember a time when they seemed so far off: “Will you marry me?”

“So, what stroke of genius did you have?” Will asked, easing himself down into his chair. Mike placed the kettle onto the stove with a furrowed look. “You said your old writing– a new idea came to you?”

“Oh! Right. I got confused when you said genius.” Mike teased.

He got out Will’s favorite mug and placed it on the counter beside his teabag. Originally, it had just been a random floral mug his mother had found at a thrift store, just trying to get enough mugs for when the entire Party– and monster hunting congregation– found its way into the Byers house. Will had been drinking out of it when they solved their last mystery; was steeping tea when he got accepted to college, and nearly spilled it diving for the phone to call Mike; and brought it to his dorm for his four years at MICA. And, obviously, it was the one he was drinking out of when Mike proposed– if you want to call it that. Mike considered it a waking up of sorts, of finally getting his shit together and asking Will the most obvious question.

“So, what’s the idea?” Will asked, placing his feet up on Mike’s seat. “You know I like hearing about them.”

“Yeah, I know. But this one’s boring.”

“Your ideas are never boring, Michael. I love them.” Will said sternly, although his smile ruined the effect. “I’m listening.”

The kettle began to whistle and Mike tried to use it as a distraction, but he could feel Will’s eyes patiently watching him.

“It’s an old something I wanted to fix up… it’s from college, but it’s about back from before we started high school.” He waved it off before pouring their water.

“You say that like it’s not any good.”

"It’s just about… this dream I had once.” Mike sighed. He rolled his eyes at his own preface. “It was when– okay, so do you remember that time in Starcourt when I was hit? I fell down and smacked my head really hard?”

“Do I rememb– yes, of course I do.” Will exclaimed. “I thought you’d shattered your skull right open in the goddamn food court while we were running for our lives.”

“Well, it’s just about that. The dream I had while I was completely knocked out for five minutes.” Mike tried to nudge it away with another shrug. He returned to the table quickly, still trying to maintain a feeling of nonchalance. Will took the mug slowly, narrowing his eyes but still thanking him. “What!”

“You’ve never told me about this before.” Will said, moving his feet up off Mike’s seat so he could slide under them. Mike always let Will rest his feet on his lap. “How is this new to me?”

Mike set his jaw, trying to defeat his growing smile. “It’s supposed to be a surprise! Don’t ask too many questions. It’s your anniversary gift, so don’t go poking around.”

“Michael, you don’t have to do anything for me!” Will reached over and grabbed both of Mike’s hands. “I don’t want you to.”

“You married me and let me buy you a house.” Mike said, like it was the simplest rebuttal. “I have to thank you every year. Afraid my luck will run out.”

“How many times have I told you,” Will said, pulling Mike’s hand up to his lips, kissing it quickly. “It’s not luck. That’s not why we’re together. It’s–”

“I know, I know.” Mike sighed, smiling. “It’s fate.”

Will grinned, his face lighting up; it was what Will had said in his own wedding vows. The moment Mike heard it, unprepared and already wonderfully weak at the altar, he started weeping. Before then, he’d never thought that everything in his life had all been for something. All of his past suffering could stop hurting, even for a moment. It wasn’t going to come back and haunt him; he had finally reached his own, permanent happiness. The one his family never said he’d have, the one he started to believe he was never meant to experience– only write about, growing envious of his characters.

But Mike’s happiness was there, sitting across from him and all around. It was 102 Peach Street, house of Mr. Michael Byers and Mr. William Wheeler. It was waking up to the same faint sound of even and slow breathing– the reassurance he’d still get to live his best dream another day. On the hardest days, it was the paint-smudged young man that would come through the front door, smiling from ear to ear, already somehow knowing that Mike needed extra love– and an overly dramatic mwah of a hello kiss. On Mike’s best days, it was just Will.

No matter what, it was always Will. Mike had found his happiness, run headstrong into his fated future, and nothing was ever going to take it away.

Mike blinked, tears suddenly welling in his eyes, and thought of his dream. The floating figure was one he had always assumed as an angel– a sign that death was closer than it had ever been– and it was an angel. It was just that this one looked a whole lot like his childhood friend. Looked like his husband.

“Why are you crying?” Will moved his legs off Mike’s lap in order to pull his chair in closer. Will cradled Mike’s face, his thumbs moving over his cheeks slowly, waiting for a tear to fall. “Michael, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Mike laughed, sniffling. “I just forget how kind fate was to me… I got the perfect house, the most beautiful husband with the most extraordinary heart, neighbors that bake us pies for fuck’s sake… Did you ever think we’d get all this?”

“No.” Will said, shaking his head. “But I always knew I’d have you. And that was always enough.”

Mike hiccuped a short but loud sob, laughing wetly. “God, you’re making me cry more. I love you. So so much.”

Will didn’t speak– he often never did when Mike was in his moods of disbelief. He just pushed Mike’s hair back from his eyes, looking at him with a sense of wonder, before leaning forward to kiss him.

When Mike closed his eyes, he knew the vision was no longer a memory and it definitely wasn’t a dream. No, it was a feeling. It was this feeling. One of comfort and relief, of letting Mike’s whole body relax into the warm touch of another person– another man. Laying on the floor of the mall, in danger and unconscious, Mike had been given a glimpse into his own future– and it was gloriously simple, safe, and sweet. It was Will.

ao3

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “All the Beautiful Pieces” (Rated NC17)

Blaine Anderson is spending the summer after graduation flipping houses with his brother for Cooper’s total home renovation show. The show features the worst houses Cooper can buy, with Blaine playing the role of lackey so that Cooper can torture him in front of his viewers. The last house Blaine has to renovate is an original Victorian House in San Diego, CA, which is in terrible condition. But this house turns out to be more than just another job. It was once owned by a famous Vaudeville ventriloquist by the name of Andrew Smythe. It houses a very interesting collection of items - among them, two life-sized puppets. Blaine isn’t sure exactly why, but he’s drawn to them - especially to the one with the beautiful blue eyes. He convinces Cooper to give him the puppets, and Blaine starts to restore them. In the course of the restoration, Blaine finds out that neither puppet is simply a run-of-the-mill puppet, and Andrew Smythe was hiding a secret that will be the key to saving two lives.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 (6811 words)

Blaine pulls up to the house at a quarter after ten. It looks exactly the way he left it, horrendous paintjob and all, but with the addition of a U-Haul truck parked by the curb, and a grown man wearing a navy blue polo and retro 1980s acid wash jeans staring in at the window with his hands pressed to the glass. From the back, he looks like an oversized Cabbage Patch kid, but in the reflection of the window, he more closely resembles a young Karl Marx with the iconic frizzy beard.

“Blaine,” the man plaintively moans. “Blaine, where are you? Open the door…”

Blaine shakes his head when he sees him, chuckling at his woeful wail. Blaine parks in front of the house, but the man doesn’t notice, focused as intently as he is on the living room full of toys, visible through the curtains that Blaine neglected to pull closed the night before.

“Gary!” Blaine calls out as he steps out of his minivan. “Have some self-respect, man.”

“Blaine!” Gary exclaims. He spins around, face glowing with childlike excitement, but his voice tinged with exasperation at being kept waiting. “You can’t leave me out here with all those toys inside, begging for me to take them away from this awful house.” Gary presses his ear against the glass. “I can hear them, Blaine,” he says as Blaine approaches the door. “They’re saying Gary…come rescue us, Gary. We need you…”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, sorting through his key ring for the correct key. “I got held up.”

“Yeah” - Gary flashes a knowing grin and a wink - “your brother told me all about it. Getting into the puppet biz, huh, Blaine?”

Blaine makes a disgusted face and turns away from Gary to unlock the door. “Jesus Christmas! You, too?” Blaine pushes the door in as far as he can. He grabs a broken ottoman to prop it open.

Gary walks in behind Blaine, but stops inside the doorway, his eyes wide with awe, his jaw dropped, a hand raised to cover his heart.

“I can’t…I can’t believe it,” he says dramatically, staring at the heaps of toys and the stacks of boxes. “It’s…it’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees, pulling his webcam out of his pocket and switching it on, “and this isn’t even half of it.”

Gary whimpers. Blaine trains the camera on his face.

“It’s like a dream come true,” Gary whispers, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

“Snap out of it, Gary.” Blaine snaps his fingers in the air above the webcam. “You have to do your spiel.”

Gary startles out of his trance at the unpleasant noise.

“Right, right…” He tugs down on the hem of his polo to straighten out the wrinkles (not that it does any good, or that they matter compared to the mustard stain on his collar) and looks into the camera. “When should I…”

“Now,” Blaine says, launching straight into the segment. “Hello, guys, gals, and Internet pals (Cooper’s tagline; Blaine had nothing to do with it). This is Blaine Anderson, coming to you from day 2 of our renovation. I’m here with our good friend Gary Shepton…” Gary gives the camera a timid wave, his eyes bouncing between Blaine and the webcam, unsure where to look even though they’ve done this several times before already “…and he’s going to be appraising the toys in the house. Gary, please tell our viewers what exactly it is you’re going to be doing while you’re here.”

“I’m going to start off by photographing and cataloging,” Gary explains. He pulls an iPad mini tablet out of his back pocket and holds it up. He accesses an empty Excel document and shows it to the camera. “When I’m done, I’ll load up the toys that I can sell immediately into my U-Haul and take them to my shop. In the interim, I’m going to send Cooper a detailed inventory of all the toys, their conditions, and their estimated values.”

“How will you get that information?” Blaine asks, again taping filler for Cooper to use in case he runs a few minutes short of his time slot.

“I use Google Goggles and other appraisal specific Internet surfing software to help me research the items I’m looking at fairly quickly. One photograph and I can bring up the information I need.” Gary switches to a program on his tablet and turns on a demo that illustrates the technique. “It makes researching a lot easier and more accurate. It can also put me in contact with other appraisers who have encountered the same items, who might have some insight that could be useful. Cuts down on the possibility of accidentally dealing in counterfeit merchandise.” Gary smirks. “I wish I had this five years ago, I’ll tell you what. Would have saved me a ton of money on my AT&T bill, tracking that information down one phone call at a time.”

“We have rooms and rooms full of toys in this house. How long do you think that’s going to take?” Blaine asks, his question a veiled way of finding out how long they’re going to be there.

“Most of the day, if I’m lucky,” Gary says with a dreamy sigh.

Great, Blaine thinks, hoping that Kurt and Sebastian don’t get too bored watching old movies all day long.

Yup, bored puppets. Because that’s a definite possibility.

“Okay,” Blaine says, switching off the webcam while trying not to sound too disappointed. “I have some things to do in the house and some phone calls to make. If you need me, just holler.”

“Will do,” Gary says, his attention already drawn to a stack of vintage Barbie dolls in the far corner.

Blaine watches him go, shaking his head at the odd man.

“Have fun,” he says, watching Gary put on a pair of white cotton gloves and get to work.

***

Unlike dealing with Cooper’s other project houses, which were a simple matter of calling in a clean-up crew to get rid of the garbage and occasionally coming across a gem or two that they could sell, this house is a complicated mishmash of treasures and antiques, coupled with the fairly typical, grotesque trash. Blaine needs to pull out his whole metaphorical Rolodex of contacts for this project. He needs to find someone to unload the heavy tools in the basement, someone else to appraise the sports memorabilia upstairs, and he needs to order a temporary storage unit for the furniture. Authentic Victorian furnishings are highly coveted, which makes them hard to locate, and ultimately expensive when you find someone willing to part with them. He intends on keeping anything he can salvage and repurposing it for the renovation.

The upstairs bedrooms are going to be the easiest rooms to renovate by far. It’s a given that Cooper is going to want to sell the baseball pennants and the bat, and probably the opera posters, too. There’s a huge market for those vintage posters, especially ones in mint condition with bright colors like these posters have. But the furniture will stay.

A pit blossoms in Blaine’s stomach at the thought of dismantling Kurt’s bedroom.

Blaine had originally thought that the workshop in the basement where the puppets were made was the heart of the house. After he saw the bedrooms, he realized he was wrong. The upstairs rooms, so well-tended, adorned with carefully chosen mementos – those rooms are the heart of the house.

Blaine feels sick at the idea of tearing that heart apart.

But he has Kurt, he reminds himself. He saved Kurt…and Sebastian…and that’s all that matters.

Yes, all that matters is my burgeoning insanity and a future on tabloid talk shows, he acknowledges ruefully.

Blaine heads down the hallway to the dining room, smiling to himself when he hears Gary chirp in triumph at some amazing doll-related discovery.

“They had the whole Bob Mackie for Barbie collection? Sweet!”

Blaine heads up the stairs to the next level, but bypasses the bedrooms, opting to start in the attic. They spent practically no time up there yesterday during the walkthrough. Blaine wants to get a better look at the neat stacks of boxes and the furnishings that were kept up there. He knows he’ll have to deal with those latent memories in the bedrooms eventually, plus the possibility of another fantasy involving Kurt, so for now, he’ll start with the easy-to-handle stuff.

Blaine switches the webcam to still-camera mode as he heads up the last flight of stairs. There doesn’t appear to be a light switch up here, but sunlight floods in through a large circular vent in the outer wall, making the whole room warm and bright.

Blaine puts on a pair of his own protective gloves and examines the furniture items stored up there closely – a stand-up lamp with what looks like a Tiffany shade; another table lamp with a pleated, cream-fabric shade, sitting on a squat, cherry wood end table that had most likely been in the living room at some point; four chairs that belonged to the dining room table downstairs; and a matching pair of Queen Victoria wing chairs, upholstered in a cream fabric imprinted with gold ivy leaves.

Blaine photographs each piece, mentally fixing where he wants to put them in the house. He wonders if Kurt would have liked one of those wing chairs in his room, or maybe the stand-up lamp next to his sewing machine while he worked. What kinds of clothes did he sew? Did he make outfits for himself, or did he maybe make clothes and sell them?

Or perhaps he worked in the theater, designing costumes. Those posters in his room could be from performances he worked on.

Blaine smiles, imagining Kurt as a student at McKinley, working on the costumes for the musical Blaine starred in his junior year – West Side Story. They could have chatted while Kurt took his measurements, discussed what outfits Kurt could see Tony wearing during certain scenes and why. What insights might he have had on Tony and Maria’s motivations, and how would he have portrayed that through their costumes? Blaine always felt that the people in charge of wardrobes on certain television shows understand the characters better than the writers do sometimes. What would Kurt have to say about that?

Blaine moves the standing lamp into better lighting while he daydreams of afternoons spent with Kurt after school, talking over fittings between rehearsals. Blaine could picture himself asking Kurt to help him run through his lines while he built up the nerve to ask Kurt out on a date…provided, of course, that Kurt liked guys that way. Blaine can’t shake the feeling he did. Blaine sighs. Didn’t he get on Cooper’s case for making assumptions about the sexual identity of the person who inhabited Kurt’s room? Blaine doesn’t want to be a hypocrite, but for some reason he can’t help doing the same thing. Everything he sees, everything he touches is a clue to who these people were, the same as in every house, but with Kurt…there’s an impression Blaine gets that has nothing to do with the posters or the sewing machine. It’s like he feels Kurt in this house. A part of him is there, telling Blaine about him; things that Blaine wouldn’t otherwise infer from the stuff lying around. But it’s not as simple as that, either. This impression of Kurt, it’s not passively hiding in individual objects, waiting to be uncovered. Blaine feels like it’s following him, guiding him, the same way he did when he first went down to the basement.

Whatever secret this house holds that has to do with Kurt, it wants to be revealed.

Blaine repositions the lamp shade so that the sunlight streams through the dark glass and takes a picture. He’s all set to take another picture when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots peculiar markings along one side of the boxes. Blaine pockets his webcam and walks over to take a look. He runs a gloved finger over one line of writing. It’s difficult to read because whatever marker had been used to write this has bled into the cardboard, but a skeleton of the words remains.

Blaine has seen this before. He wishes he had brought one of the photographs from the album at the beach house with him to compare against. He had thought about carrying Kurt’s picture in his pocket, but he didn’t want to ruin it. These nearly unreadable words, hastily scribbled by a hand that probably didn’t spend too much time writing, look identical to the writing on the backs of the photographs.

Blaine tears into the first box. The interlocking flaps, softened by age and dampness, pop up with little effort. The very top of the box is layered in newspaper, faded where the inch-wide seam between the loose flaps exposed it to sunlight but otherwise intact. Blaine digs through the pages, catching sight of conflicting dates. The newspaper on top is the most recent, albeit from about thirty years ago, but a few layers down the dates get older. Beneath them, Blaine finds a wealth of leather bound books. Blaine lifts the ones on top to peek underneath.

Yup, more books.

Blaine frowns.

A lot of people collect vintage books. That’s not unusual. It just seems too normal for this house. Blaine isn’t sure what he expected to find in this box, but it wasn’t boring books. Blaine picks one up anyway to examine it.

At least Cooper will be thrilled. He has a guy in L.A. who buys rare books, and considering all the other collectibles in the house, these books are probably first editions.

Blaine opens the cover and turns to a random page.

January 18th –

I’ll never get used to the weather in Seattle. Always so wet, always so dreary. I much prefer the California coast with its sunshine and warmth. And the ocean. God, I love the ocean. If only we could find a place to settle down there where we all can be happy. I miss you guys. Every day I miss you guys. I’ll never forgive myself for missing the most important day of our lives…and I did it again. But I’m trying to make a new life for us, doll, and when I break into the big time, it’s going to be the best of the best for the Smythe family.

Blaine stops reading. He looks at the black leather cover, the spine bare except for a gold embossed number – 1915.

These aren’t just books, Blaine realizes. They’re journals.

Blaine reaches into the box and looks at the books again, each one similar, each with a different year embossed along the spine – 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919…

It doesn’t seem like there’s an end to them. Blaine returns the book, pulls the box down from the stack, and goes for the next box. The flaps spring open as if they have been waiting years for someone to come along and find them, and a strong smell escapes.

A burnt smell, like coals left over after a barbecue.

No newspapers cover these. Blaine picks up the first journal on top. The date on the spine is worn flat and almost too difficult to read. He traces his finger over it, revealing an imprint of the number 1932. Blaine examines his glove covered digit. The cotton is stained black by a layer of fine ash. He raises the book to his nose and takes a tentative sniff.

It smells like a fireplace.

Blaine looks the journal over thoroughly. The gold rind on the pages is singed, and parts of the leather cover are burnt. Blaine opens the book to a page in the middle.

November 24 –

It’s Thanksgiving Day, but there’s nothing to be thankful for. Everything is gone. All of it, my entire life, gone. I would bring you all back if I could. I would trade everything that I said and did to make it all right again.

The paragraph cuts off there with a long, violent swipe of black ink cutting across the page, leaving an impression so deep that the tip of the pen sliced through the paper. Blaine turns the page to look for another entry but there’s nothing. No entry for November 25, none for November 26, no other entries for the rest of the month. Blaine keeps flipping the pages, but the book is blank until Christmas Day.

December 25 –

Merry Christmas to all those I love who are no longer here with me. I feel your presence every day, haunting me, but it’s not the same.

That’s the last entry for the remainder of the year.

Blaine stares at the blank page labeled December 31st.

It seems so empty, so final.

Blaine wishes there was something written there – anything. Something that tells him that despite it all, despite this obvious pain, life continued on and good things happened.

Blaine turns back to the beginning of the journal, to the earlier entries for the year.

February 14 –

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I miss you so much that I don’t think that I could even begin to tell you. I made your favorite dinner, bought a bottle of that God awful wine you loved so much, and ate alone. Well, not alone. Kurt was here with me. I love that boy and I appreciate his company, but it wasn’t the same as having you here. Meanwhile, Sebastian went out drinking…again. He takes a little too much after me, I’m afraid. He’s going to get some floozy knocked up, and then what? He’ll get chained down with a brood of simpering brats and no future. That’s not what you wanted for him, and it’s not what I want for him, but he doesn’t listen to me.

The sad thing is that I’m past the point where I think I care anymore.

Blaine feels his throat tighten as he reads on, blowing through a bunch of pages, letting the book lead him to where he should read next.

March 6 –

Everyone is telling me to pack it in. They tell me that it’s over, but I refuse to believe it. So maybe the work isn’t out there the way it was, but we’ve suffered dry patches before. The audiences will come back. Once they realize these talkies are just a gimmick, they’ll return. They always do. They’ll be begging us to perform for them, and we’ll be able to name our price. The money will flow in ten deep, I’m sure…but if they don’t, what will I tell my boys? How do I tell them it’s over? That the world thinks we’re finished?

“What?” Blaine asks the book, thumbing through the pages and hoping he’ll magically stumble on the answer. “What’s over?”

Blaine scans the pages, but he’s overwhelmed by the amount of entries and the nearly indecipherable script. He looks at the boxes stacked in front of him. There are six total. They can’t all be full of books, can they? Did whoever wrote in these journals write one for every year of his life?

There’s only one way to find out. Blaine would have to read through them all.

The boxes are going home with him.

Blaine repacks the box and hoists it into his arms.

It’s a treacherous trip down the narrow stairs with this box of books he’s carrying, but as with the puppets, there’s a compulsion within him to see this through. Whatever went on here, these books are a clue he’ll need to solve the mystery. He can’t leave them behind.

Blaine walks into the dining room and shuffles across the floor, down the hallway and into the living room, which has become emptier now that Gary has started loading the dolls into his U-Haul. Less clutter means more room for the house to breathe. The atmosphere in the downstairs level already seems lighter.

Blaine carries the box out to his minivan. He balances it between the door and his leg in order to fish his keys out of his pocket and open the back hatch. He puts the box in his trunk, shoving it over as far as he can to one side to make room for the others. He doesn’t shut the hatch completely before rushing back inside for another box.

“How’s it goin’, Gare?” Blaine asks as he blows past the man heading toward the front door, his arms laden with pink boxes. Blaine asks the question, but doesn’t stop to wait for an answer.

“I never want to leave,” Gary calls after him.

Blaine grumbles to himself, “Well, you’re gonna.”

One by one, Blaine carries the boxes of books down to his van, eager to go through each box and unlock whatever secret these journals may hold.

As he carries the last box through the living room, he remembers that he’s supposed to be filming Gary working, and to a lesser extent, himself.

“When I come back in, I need to film you, Gary,” Blaine yells to the man unloading the toys in the downstairs bathroom.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Gary replies. “By the way, I think your brother is going to be really happy with the numbers I’m going to send him.”

“That good?” Blaine asks, stopping for a moment out of curiosity.

“Oh, yeah,” Gary says. “Most of this stuff is going to be no problem to move. I have a guy who’s looking for half the stuff I’ve found already, and he’s willing to pay higher than market price. I think he’s reselling them in Japan or something. He’ll probably get ten times as much over there.”

“Wow,” Blaine says, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah. If I were you, I’d ask for a raise.”

Blaine swallows. Too late for that, he thinks. God knows he could have used the money, too. But he’s not about to unload on Gary – not about this.

“I’ll do that,” Blaine says instead and heads out to his van.

All six boxes fit, shoved against each other tight without a single centimeter of space between them. The rear of his minivan sinks about a foot beneath the weight.

He closes the trunk, intent on heading back into the house right as a silver Lexus pulls up to the curb. Blaine doesn’t recognize the car and waits to see who it is. Maybe a neighbor stopping by to see what the activity is about. Blaine hasn’t met anyone from the neighborhood yet, which seems peculiar. Not one lookie loo. Not a single nosy neighbor.

The Lexus parks in front of Blaine’s Honda, nearly bumper to bumper. The driver’s door opens and a woman steps out, but she doesn’t acknowledge Blaine. She may not even realize that he’s standing there with the way she has her gaze honed in on the house in front of her. When she stands completely, she’s an inch or two taller than Blaine. She’s dressed to intimidate in a tailored, aubergine suit. A billowy, white shirt underneath the jacket lends an air of femininity to her starched ensemble. She has sleek, auburn hair styled in a bob that falls an inch above her earlobes. Her tan looks artificial – too perfect, too even, and a touch too orange, but everything about her appearance has been meticulously thought out. She seems put together with exceptionally clean angles, from the razor cut of her hair, to the severe downturn of her mouth and her sharp, pointed chin.

“So, it finally sold,” she says, shaking her head with blatant disapproval. “I almost didn’t believe it when I heard.”

“Uh, may I help you?” Blaine asks. He walks toward her, reaching for his webcam, but the scowl on the woman’s face causes him to reconsider whether or not he should record this conversation for his brother’s show. She turns only her head and looks Blaine over from head to foot with an unamused half-smile/half-frown playing on her lips.

“I don’t know,” she says curtly. “Can you?”

Blaine jerks back at her impolite and, frankly, adolescent response. “I probably can if you tell me…”

“My name is Catherine Dorst,” she interrupts. “I’m a liaison for the San Diego Historical Society, and I’m curious to know what the new owners have planned for this house.”

“I’m Blaine Anderson.” Blaine offers the woman a cordial smile and his hand. She looks him over again and scoffs, turning back to the house.

“Okay,” Blaine starts, pulling his hand away, “well, we plan to bring the house back to its original design,” he says confidently. “We’re going to keep all the original structural details and…”

“We?” she interrupts again with a smirk, examining Blaine shrewdly. “You and who else? I mean, how old are you? Twelve?”

“Uh, no,” he says, ducking his head and adopting what tries to be a polite smile. He doesn’t take too much offense since looking younger than his age is a boon in his chosen profession. “Cooper Anderson bought the house for his home renovation show. I’m his brother. I’m in charge of the renovation.”

Her eyes pop open, still glaring at him, but with an excited expression on her face.

“Cooper Anderson?” she asks. “The Cooper Anderson?”

Blaine sighs. Oh boy. A fan.

“The one and only,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I’ve seen him on TV,” she says, straightening her suit and fussing with her hair. “Is he here?” She starts up the walk as Gary walks out with another armload of dolls, humming to himself and laughing at odd intervals. She glances at him with a grimace but keeps on walking.

“No,” Blaine replies, tailing after her, “he’s not here. He’s in L.A.”

She stops short and stares at the open door, deciding whether or not it’s worth going inside and checking for herself. When she spots Gary walking back to the house, brushing grey dust off the legs of his jeans, she comes to the conclusion that risking similar damage to her $1200 suit isn’t worth it.

“Shame,” she says, turning back around and heading for her car. She crooks a finger over her shoulder, summoning Blaine to follow. “The Historical Society has been trying to buy this house for a while now, but I guess it just wasn’t in the stars.” She opens her passenger side door and pulls out a leather briefcase. Resting it on the roof of her Lexus, she dials the combination to the lock. When the lid snaps open, she pulls out a manila file full of paperwork. “Since this is a historical point of interest, we have some recommendations for the renovation, a list of materials we ask that you use, a request form to put the address of the house on our tour list…”

“What list?” Blaine asks, taking the papers that she thrusts in his direction.

“Our website lists the addresses of authentic Victorian houses in the county for people to drive by and look at. You’re not required to add the Smythe House to the list, of course, but that doesn’t mean people won’t find you and drop by anyway. At least if you are listed on our website, people will have to abide by the rules we lay down to protect your privacy.”

Blaine’s eyes flick up from the papers in front of him. “Smythe House?”

“Andrew Smythe,” Catherine says. “He bought this house back in the mid-30s.”

Smythe. The same name that’s on the Little League jersey in the bedroom upstairs.

“Who was Andrew Smythe?” Blaine asks, giving Catherine his undivided attention.

She rolls her eyes. “Did you even Google this house before you started tearing into it?” she asks bitterly.

“I only first saw it yesterday,” Blaine says, trying not to sound too defensive. “And I haven’t torn into it. We’re in the process of clearing it out. I intend on taking my time to get this renovation right. I was actually planning on dropping by your offices myself later on this week for some advice.”

Catherine stands up an inch straighter, visibly impressed. “Well then…Andrew Smythe was one of the last great Vaudevillians of his time,” she explains with a smidgen more respect, but for him or for Andrew, Blaine doesn’t venture a guess, “as well as one of Vaudeville’s staunchest supporters.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Catherine shuts her briefcase and puts it back in her car, closing the door to lean against it while she speaks. “He was one of those precious few who were holding on with both hands, waiting for Vaudeville to make a revival.” She crosses her arms, and her eyes go slightly unfocused, recalling a memory. “Vaudeville took a lot from Andrew, like it did from other performers.”

Blaine has a feeling he knows what she’s referring to, but he asks anyway. “What did it take?”

Catherine gazes over Blaine’s head at the house with a sorrowful look in her eyes before she answers. “His wife,” she says heavily, “and his sons.”

“He had sons?” It’s both a question and a declaration. Blaine is stitching up the clues he already knows, adding Catherine’s confirmation to the seams.

“Yes. Two. Though there was speculation that one of them wasn’t his son.”

Blaine narrows his eyelids at the woman staring past him at the house. “Were their names…Kurt and Sebastian?”

Those names seem to snap her out of her haze, her eyes shooting down to meet his. “Yes, they were.” She smiles. “It looks like you may have done some homework after all.”

Blaine is about to mention the puppets in the basement and the journals from the attic, but he holds his tongue. He doesn’t want Catherine asking to see them…or possibly to take them. This house was declared a historical landmark before Cooper bought it. According to the auction company he purchased the property from, everything inside the house belongs to him, but if it has historical significance, can Catherine claim it? Blaine is iffy on the legalities of their situation, so he says nothing. He’s not willing to part with his puppets – to part with Kurt - or these new clues that he’s found.

“Look,” Catherine says, her turn to break Blaine from his thoughts, “I apologize if I’m being a little touchy about this, but we were supposed to be the first ones contacted when the owner died. We were poised to buy this house, but the bank moved straight to auction and we were never informed…”

Catherine’s comment strikes a chord – something Blaine read in the paperwork his brother sent him that doesn’t match up to Catherine’s story about Andrew Smythe owning the house.

“Okay, but what I don’t understand is” - Blaine interrupts this time, feeling an ease to do so - “my brother bought the house at auction, but the owner prior to the bank is listed as…Terry? Tricia?”

Catherine shakes her head as a breeze picks its way through her auburn bob, blowing a few strands in her face. “Teresa,” she corrects, brushing the hair from her eyes. “Teresa Calhoun. She was named on the deed to the house as his niece.”

“So, Andrew had a sister?” Blaine asks hopefully, interested in finding a living relative who might know the story of Andrew and his sons.

“No, Andrew Smythe had no other family according to public record. I don’t think she was a blood relative. Vaudeville performers were a tight knit group. I think Teresa was dumped off on Andrew because there was no one else to care for the girl, and he couldn’t say no. But by that point, he didn’t quite have all his ducks in a row, if you catch my drift, and with good reason.” Catherine sighs. It’s a fretful sound. “I don’t think he sent her to school. I don’t think she even left the house.”

Catherine pauses, watching Gary emerge through the front door while Blaine stands by quietly, waiting for her to continue.

“Before Andrew died, he tried to make arrangements for Teresa, but she had no other relatives, and she couldn’t live on her own. Without a guardian, she would have been committed. So he contacted us, and we worked together to have the house declared a historical landmark.”

“I heard Victorian houses were a hot commodity out here,” Blaine interjects.

“They are, but being a historical landmark, she would be safe to live out the rest of her life here. There were some requirements with regard to the house’s upkeep that Andrew still had to fulfill. We had discussed plans for turning the house into a Vaudeville museum eventually, but Andrew died before we could finalize the paperwork. After that, Teresa wouldn’t answer the door when we came by, and she never picked up the phone.” A veil of longing clouds Catherine’s eyes. “You know, Andrew bought this place pretty much right after his sons died. I think it was a way for him to try and start over. Maybe he was considering starting another family. I don’t know. But I hope whoever buys this house knows what it’s worth.”

“I’ll make sure my brother finds someone worthy of it,” Blaine says. The moment the words come out of his mouth, he commits them as a vow. Usually Blaine doesn’t concern himself with who buys the renovated houses off of his brother once he’s done with them, but he can’t let just anyone buy this house…not now.

“See that you do,” Catherine says with a wink, extending a hand his way. “It was nice meeting you, Blaine.”

Blaine takes her hand and shakes it. “It was nice meeting you, too.”

She smiles at him, takes one last look at the house, and then climbs back into her Lexus. She starts the engine, but doesn’t pull away from the curb. She rolls down her passenger side window and leans across the seats.

“Oh, Blaine? One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“We still have an exhibit down at our main offices on the history of Vaudeville in San Diego, but we are desperately short on any actual artifacts. If you come across something in there that you think you can part with, would you give me a call?” Catherine reaches into her glove box, pulls out a business card, and hands it through the window to Blaine.

“Sure.” A spark of possessiveness lights in Blaine’s chest, almost as if she had asked for his puppets outright. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Anything really,” she says with a non-committal twist of her lips. “Posters, costumes…if you guys find Sammy, and your brother is willing to part with him, I’d be extra special grateful.” Her words sound oddly suggestive, but Blaine lets it go.

“Sammy?” Blaine scrunches his nose.

“Andrew’s puppet,” Catherine clarifies. “His main puppet, I should say. After Andrew left Vaudeville, no one saw Sammy again. I would love to see him resurface.”

“So, Andrew Smythe was a ventriloquist.” Blaine reads the words on the business card before sticking it in his back pocket. “Were Kurt and Sebastian ventriloquists, too?”

“Sebastian was” - Catherine sits up in her seat, preparing to drive - “or his dad was training him to be. People say he wasn’t all that good at it.”

“And Kurt?”

“He sang. He was a countertenor - a rare talent. He would have been a headliner, too, only…” Catherine glances down at her steering wheel. “Well, I think you can guess.”

“Yeah. I can guess.”

Catherine raises a hand and waves at Blaine. Then she turns her Lexus around in the cul-de-sac and drives away.

Blaine stares at the papers in his hands. Every day at this house is going to be a new adventure in pain and heart break; he can feel it. Now along with Andrew and his sons, he can add the mysterious Teresa to the mix. But even with this new information, he has more questions and less answers than he did before. He stows the paperwork Catherine gave him in the van and returns to work, eager to wrap things up for the day and go already.

“Hey! I uncovered the fireplace,” Gary says, gesturing to a space in the far corner of the living room when Blaine re-enters the house.

“Fireplace? Oh, yeah…” Blaine had seen the chimney from the outside, but for some reason the idea of the house having a fireplace hadn’t occurred to him. A working fireplace will definitely tack higher digits to Cooper’s asking price. But that hollow recess in the living room wall made of soot baked bricks, the corpses of dead birds piled where logs normally would be, immediately brings to mind the burnt journal currently sitting in his trunk, waiting to be read. And he’s dying to read it. He groans, knowing he can’t leave until Gary is done with his work.

There’s got to be a way to get him to move faster.

Blaine spends the rest of the afternoon slogging through the busywork that he didn’t get done the day before. He makes his phone calls, schedules more appraisers to come down to the house, and orders a storage unit for the furniture. Then he putters around with Gary, taping him for Cooper’s show. He gets the brilliant idea to help him move the dolls to the U-Haul so he doesn’t just sit around and count the hours before he can return to the beach house and Kurt.

It’s a little before seven in the evening before Gary has to call it quits for the day, his eyes crossing every time he tries to read the print on another pink box. He begs Blaine for the opportunity to come back tomorrow and finish with the lot.

Blaine needs Gary to sell the toys. Did Gary really think Blaine would say no?

Blaine waves to Gary, watching the box truck pull away with its haul. Blaine is glad that those toys will find new homes, but seeing them go feels like carving away at the spirit of the house. But without them littering the floor, Blaine gets a better idea of what the house looked like when it was new. It wasn’t a glorified storage unit or a junk pile. It was a home, and this one might have been more full of hope than any Blaine has ever seen. It was supposed to be a way to start over.

Blaine wonders how far Andrew Smythe really got with that goal.

He peeks over at his trunk, filled with boxes of journals that might answer that question, ready to travel to the beach house.

That’s a lot of reading he’s got ahead of him.

Blaine starts locking up, making sure that the curtains are drawn this time around before he leaves to deter any other curious eyes, but just as he’s about to throw the deadbolt, he has a thought. He unlocks the door and heads back in, jogging upstairs to the bedrooms. He goes into Kurt’s room and retrieves the suit from the bed.

This suit was made for Kurt, and Blaine is eager to see him in it.

It still astounds Blaine how this suit seems so brand new, like it could have been made yesterday.

Blaine brings the fabric to his nose and sniffs it.

It even smells new; not like it’s ever sat in mothballs, even once. Blaine’s mother had inherited dresses of her grandmother’s that had been stored improperly in mothballs after she passed away. His parents had those dresses professionally repaired, but no amount of dry cleaning could get that odor out. It adheres to the fibers, embeds itself there.

But this suit simply smells like fabric.

Blaine examines it. He admires the weave and the stitching. Then he turns his attention to the rest of the room – the bed, the sewing machine, the dress form, the posters… Everything in here was tailored for Kurt, the way the other room was decorated specifically for Sebastian.

Everything looking brand spanking new…new and unused.

Blaine thinks over his conversation with Catherine, and as her words repeat in his head, he pulls the suit close to him, hugging it tight to his chest.

If Andrew Smythe bought this house to start over after his sons died, that means Kurt and Sebastian were never in these rooms.

Sebastian likely never wore that jersey, never saw that signed baseball bat or those pennants hanging on the wall.

Kurt never used the dress form, nor the sewing machine, even though the bobbins are full and the needle threaded.

They never opened their wardrobes, never slept in their beds.

Blaine gulps down the pit that’s been bouncing around in his stomach all day.

Kurt and Sebastian never set foot in this house.

This isn’t a bedroom he’s standing in.

It’s a shrine.

[yesterdaysdreams]

How Did That Hold Up? (Vol. 5)

It’s always helpful to know if some of the bigger DIY’s you might see on A Beautiful Mess are worth the time or money spent making them, right? Apart from the satisfaction of making something greater than the sum of its parts, it’s important that some of these projects last awhile and are suitable for most lifestyles, i.e. those with pets or kids and maybe those who rent instead of own their home. I’m happy to share that all of the projects in this post are still golden! If you’ve ever given two thoughts to making one of them, consider this your green light and get to work!

This Woven Leather Bench DIY lived at the foot of my bed after it was finished, and even though it spent a lot of time supporting baskets of clean laundry, it did it with great style. Ha! Not only was this one of my favorite (and relatively easy) DIY’s to create, it was one that always drew comments when it was shared on Instagram. It felt more expensive than it really was because the elements that made up the construction were substantial materials. I’m forecasting this bench lives a very long and happy life. I couldn’t bring it with me during my recent move, but it’s found a good home with Emma so this won’t be the last you see of it! If you’re looking for a home refresh or relatively simple furniture project, this one is a great option for a bedroom, a hallway, a dining table, or even a studio.

If I had to do it over, I might have sealed the pine bench with something before adding the leather, but I still wouldn’t have painted it. I love the pairing of warm wood and caramel-colored leather.

This Transformable Hairpin Leg Desk has been a workhorse in my studio. It’s been in use since I made it and made the cut list for what I like to refer to as “the BIG move” to my next place. I love that I can easily switch it from a corner desk to a long workspace for packing orders in assembly line fashion depending on my workflow that day. The surface is still nice and flat and as sturdy as the day I made it. In fact, I switch it back and forth so often that I stopped drilling the screws in that hold the two pieces together where they overlap. I just set it up where they fit together and the two legs underneath, as well as the puzzle piece joinery (if you can call such a simple overlap joinery) hold things in place nicely. I sealed it with a poly seal originally and it has protected the pine beautifully.

This project has probably gotten the most bang for its buck in regards to how often I use it and for how much it adds to my space visually. Those powder-coated legs aren’t cheap but you can get a similar look with more economic raw steel legs, if you don’t mind getting behind a can or two of spray paint.

This Indigo Envelope Bolster Pillow DIY was one of my favorite projects from 2017! It’s still the star of the show on my bed and only gets more lovely with time. It has faded slightly with washing but the white parts are still white and the pattern is still beautiful.The unassuming canvas drop cloth I used from a local hardware store is the key to this project because the cotton softens over time and shows the indigo beautifully. I never had any issues with the blue rubbing off on anything because it was usually just used decoratively and had been washed at least once before use on the bed. Working with an indigo dye kit can make this a really fun late summer project and you’ll probably end up with more than a dyed bolster pillow!

This Denim Rug DIY was made over three years ago but only recently shared here on A Beautiful Mess. Three years and tons of cycles through the washing machine and it’s still looking great in our master bathroom. I’m not sure if it’s because denim is just naturally so sturdy or because of my excellent craftsmanship (ha!), but this one gets a gold star. If I could go back and remake it, I would make sure all of the different denim pieces I used were 100% denim and didn’t have any elastic in them. I remember thrifting all of the denim used from jeans at a few different thrift stores and I was a little less aware of the fabric make up and more focused on the shades of blue. I also think I would have left out the brightest blue and just done more muted and darker shades, but I still love the vintage vibe this rug offers. And did I mention it’s still looking great after a jillion washes? Worth all of that hand-piecing.

If you’re not already familiar with your sewing machine, this one may offer a bigger challenge, but I believe in you!

This Modern Toddler Bed has been one of my favorite woodworking projects in the last year because it turned out looking exactly like I wanted. It’s survived over a year of being jumped on, slept on, and snored in and is still as sturdy as the day it was built! My youngest is 4 1/2 and still fits in this bed, but I imagine we’ll be upgrading him to a twin in the next year. It helped free up more floor space for their shared bedroom and I think he loved the coziness of his bed frame being above the mattress. I also designed it with legs that could be detached and moved to a twin-sized box frame (or any other project that might need a cute set of legs).

I wouldn’t change a thing about how this one turned out.

I just sold this Modern Wooden Wardrobe DIY to another small business owner after using it for over two years. Our old house didn’t have a lot of easy access clothing storage, so I built this versatile piece to solve a storage problem. It ended up becoming an anchor in the layout of the room—adding some visual height and allowing me to display seasonal accessories that also acted like decoration. I didn’t seal this piece when I built it but if I could do it over, I would’ve sealed it with beeswax to bring even more warmth out of the wood and protect it from dust wanting to stick to the wood grain fibers.

This piece is very renter-friendly because you don’t need to attach it to any walls and it can be unscrewed for a big move. You can customize your shelving according to your needs using the basic tutorial I shared in any room where you need more storage or an open-shelf display piece. I would easily build another one of these again in any future space if I needed one.

This sturdy canvas Gym Bag DIY has accompanied me on several weekend trips and weaving workshops in the last year and is so useful! I love how large and roomy it is as well as how easy it is to carry. If I were to do anything different, I would’ve ordered a longer zipper so that I might have wider access to the inside. The zipper I purchased was the longest they had in the store and I was in a hurry to finish it before I took it on vacation. It works fine but a longer zipper would be ideal. The pockets on each end were definitely a good idea for stashing smaller items, too. It’s usually where I toss my sunglasses and chapstick on the way to the beach or stash my water bottle when I’m packing up for a day trip.

The extra wide straps on this design are probably vital for this size to be comfortable lugging around, so be sure you don’t skip that and go for the standard option. I ordered the yardage online and got them pretty quickly in the mail. I definitely paid less for this project than it would’ve cost to purchase something similar at a boutique store and it’s still doing a great job.

I made this Hand-Stitched Pouf last fall and it is still in use. The kitty, however, takes up a lot more space on it than he used to! The exterior is really sturdy but the filling has gone a little lumpy, as sometimes poufs do. In hindsight, I would add in bean bag stuffing along with the repurposed items I stuffed this with so that it had a little more cushion and filled out even more. It was perfect for movie nights when my big kids wanted to sprawl out and there wasn’t any room left on the couch. Ha! It also got dragged upstairs to their shared room a few times during the winter when we needed a little more coziness for bedtime stories.

It was beautiful in a warm white but after having used it for awhile, it’s definitely showing a little dirt. If I did it again, I might choose a busy pattern in a complimentary color to our home colors that might hide possible stains or dirty toes crawling on it. I think this original design was wishful thinking, considering we have three kids and two indoor pets. Ha!

My Small Space Vertical Herb Garden was doing great until we left for vacation last year and then the hot June sun did its work. So, my suggestion is to make sure you have helpful neighbors who will water your water-sensitive plants while you’re away or move things to a shady spot and hope for the best. Otherwise, the black fabric held up great and the plants were getting bigger and filling in the gaps.

This project gets an A+ for construction but needs to be maintained with regular watering. It’s perfect for apartment living if you’ve got an outdoor patio where you can add a hook to the wall. It’s also perfect for people that remember to water their plants everyday. On another note, this might be the perfect organization project using wool felt or canvas and located indoors. With similar construction and smaller pockets, you’d be able to hang it over the back of a door and keep things within arm’s reach!

So, which of these is your favorite? If you could pick one to have someone else build for you, which one would you choose? I hope your summer has included at least one or two fun projects for your space but if not, there’s always this fall! – Rachel

Credits//Author: Rachel Denbow. Photography: Rachel Denbow and Janae Hardy. Photos edited with A Color Story Desktop.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8265713 https://ift.tt/2wdN6EK via IFTTT

[helloworlddemo1122-yahoopar-blog]

Tribe Kelley: Inside the Good Vibes and Growing Fashion Empire From Florida Georgia Line's Brian Kelley

There's nothing "Simple" about it: the Florida Georgia Line empire is growing by the day.

FGL's Tyler Hubbard and Brian Kelley continue to conquer the music world -- expanding from country to pop with their chart-topping Bebe Rexha collaboration, "Meant to Be," building their very own publishing house, Tree Vibez Music, with massive hits like Kane Brown's "What Ifs" and Jason Aldean's "You Make It Easy," while working on their fourth studio album for Big Machine Records. On Friday, the duo released their newest single, "Simple," providing a delightfully nostalgic, easy listening, feel-good anthem for summer. 

Meanwhile, the duo counts themselves as restauranteurs (Nashville's FGL House opened last summer on Downtown's 3rd Avenue South) and spirit connoisseurs (with their Old Camp Whiskey label), among other numerous side hustles. 

And while Tyler and wife Hayley have turned their focus to the world of parenting, welcoming daughter Olivia Rose in December 2017, for Brian and wife Brittney Marie, the fashion world beckoned as the natural next step for their own family. Shortly after the couple quietly wed in an intimate 2013 ceremony, Tribe Kelley was born. 

"The name came from the night before our wedding," Brian tells ET in an exclusive interview for the brand's denim launch at their Tribe Kelley Trading Post in Nashville, Tennessee. "Tyler and Hayley dropped off a teepee and so Brittney and I, after the wedding, had a really cool ceremony, burned some sage, and that kind of became the logo. 

"But the clothing line specifically was kind of birthed on the road. [Brittney] has been on tour with me for the past couple of years and we found ourselves altering our clothes and customizing things," he continues, directing the attention to his wife. "This girl right here, she's the boss lady and I'm thankful to be on the ride. She's an amazing creative as well as an amazing businesswoman. She's the brains behind this thing." 

I ♥️ walking through the desert with you 🌵

A post shared by Brittney-Marie Cole Kelley (@bcole429) on Apr 23, 2018 at 8:19pm PDT

"We just wanted to make it a family brand," says Brittney, who studied psychology and business at the University of Georgia prior to launching her own Etsy shop. Before Tribe Kelley, Brittney cut her teeth repurposing vintage jewelry, hand-dying and creating clothing, and working with women in Guatemala on handmade items, turning profits back into their local communities. 

The name, Tribe Kelley, was inspired by Brittney's own Native American roots. At the Trading Post in Nashville, shoppers find themselves surrounded by crystals and antique displays sourced from the couple's travels -- including vintage tees for sale. For a look inside the store and how they've masterfully mixed "old and new" in their offerings, watch this week's episode of Certified Country. 

"Once we decided to do the denim line, I said, 'Babe, that's a good thing because I know my show outfit from here on out 'til I'm gone is gonna be double denim of some sort," Brian teases, showing off his favorite Beach Man jeans paired with the Out West vest, perfectly exhibiting his many tattoos. Each item is 100 percent American made and ethically produced in a Los Angeles factory. 

"We just believe that's super important, to be able to shake these people's hands that are creating these pieces and to be able to have quality control over it," Brittney says.

The couple hopes to inspire consumers to be more aware of where and how various clothing brands are made, and to be conscious of what's behind each price tag. 

"We wanted these jeans to last," Brian adds. "They are USA made, they are custom, they are strong. There are a lot of other brands that are made in other places that aren't the best situations, so we're proud we're doing it the right way. We've seen pictures of how dye houses wash into rivers and mess up the whole planet in a way, so being smart with what we're creating and trying to leave a better imprint is important to us." 

With the Trading Post up and running in Nashville, the Kelleys have set their sights on a new venture near their Florida home base.

"We bought an old house in Grayton Beach, Florida, right across from the historic Red Bar," says Brian, beaming with excitement. "We went through the county and they allowed a grandfather note to be born again to make it commercial, so we've turned it into a surf shop with a little studio on the top floor."

The store will appropriately be dubbed the Tribe Kelley Surf Post and will find the brand immersed in the world of wellness and swimwear. 

Tribe, we’re looking at a MID-JUNE opening! 🌊 Still looking for one or two more full time tribe team members! Send your resume to contact@tribekelley.com

A post shared by Tribe Kelley Surf Post (@tribekelleysurfpost) on May 17, 2018 at 5:26am PDT

"We're just creating a vibe down there," Brian says, noting that they're happy to have saved the structure from being turned into condos. "That's what our tribe's all about -- making sure what needs to stay, stays." 

At home, the couple draws inspiration from their role as fur parents to four pups. "We need to venture out into some dog clothes!" Brittney jokes. For now, they've designed a line of onesies and kids' clothing items inspired by baby Olivia Rose Hubbard. Brittney teases that she and Hayley have already discussed collaborating on a complete baby line in the near future.

"Seeing Olivia smile and happy, all her little expressions, it definitely makes you want your own," she adds. 

While they haven't come down a full-blown case of baby fever quite yet, they do have their sights set on continuing to expand their Tribe -- all in good time. 

"We don't see this as being oversaturated, we want it to be organic and to have our hearts in every single area that Tribe Kelley or a Trading Post pops up," Brittney says. "We have a lot of places that are dear to our hearts, but it has to be right place, right time and be for the right reasons."

"We gotta be attached to the space," Brian says. "We are drawn to unique spaces that we know people want to go or there is a really cool story at one point, so let's bring some of that energy back and a vibe. It's also fun for us to tinker around and learn about architecture and real estate."

For more good vibes from the Kelleys, watch this week's episode of Certified Country. In case you missed it, catch up on last week's exclusive at-home interview with the Hubbards and their new bundle of joy below. 

RELATED CONTENT: 

Florida Georgia Line's Tyler Hubbard Opens Up About His Growing Family, Plans to Adopt (Exclusive)

The Florida Georgia Line Effect: Mentoring New Artists and Setting Sights on Pop Stardom (Certified Country)

EXCLUSIVE: 7 Things We Learned About Florida Georgia Line After 11 Shots of Whiskey: Interviews Under the Infl

[yesterdaysdreams]

How Did That Hold Up? (Vol. 5)

It’s always helpful to know if some of the bigger DIY’s you might see on A Beautiful Mess are worth the time or money spent making them, right? Apart from the satisfaction of making something greater than the sum of its parts, it’s important that some of these projects last awhile and are suitable for most lifestyles, i.e. those with pets or kids and maybe those who rent instead of own their home. I’m happy to share that all of the projects in this post are still golden! If you’ve ever given two thoughts to making one of them, consider this your green light and get to work!

This Woven Leather Bench DIY lived at the foot of my bed after it was finished, and even though it spent a lot of time supporting baskets of clean laundry, it did it with great style. Ha! Not only was this one of my favorite (and relatively easy) DIY’s to create, it was one that always drew comments when it was shared on Instagram. It felt more expensive than it really was because the elements that made up the construction were substantial materials. I’m forecasting this bench lives a very long and happy life. I couldn’t bring it with me during my recent move, but it’s found a good home with Emma so this won’t be the last you see of it! If you’re looking for a home refresh or relatively simple furniture project, this one is a great option for a bedroom, a hallway, a dining table, or even a studio.

If I had to do it over, I might have sealed the pine bench with something before adding the leather, but I still wouldn’t have painted it. I love the pairing of warm wood and caramel-colored leather.

This Transformable Hairpin Leg Desk has been a workhorse in my studio. It’s been in use since I made it and made the cut list for what I like to refer to as “the BIG move” to my next place. I love that I can easily switch it from a corner desk to a long workspace for packing orders in assembly line fashion depending on my workflow that day. The surface is still nice and flat and as sturdy as the day I made it. In fact, I switch it back and forth so often that I stopped drilling the screws in that hold the two pieces together where they overlap. I just set it up where they fit together and the two legs underneath, as well as the puzzle piece joinery (if you can call such a simple overlap joinery) hold things in place nicely. I sealed it with a poly seal originally and it has protected the pine beautifully.

This project has probably gotten the most bang for its buck in regards to how often I use it and for how much it adds to my space visually. Those powder-coated legs aren’t cheap but you can get a similar look with more economic raw steel legs, if you don’t mind getting behind a can or two of spray paint.

This Indigo Envelope Bolster Pillow DIY was one of my favorite projects from 2017! It’s still the star of the show on my bed and only gets more lovely with time. It has faded slightly with washing but the white parts are still white and the pattern is still beautiful.The unassuming canvas drop cloth I used from a local hardware store is the key to this project because the cotton softens over time and shows the indigo beautifully. I never had any issues with the blue rubbing off on anything because it was usually just used decoratively and had been washed at least once before use on the bed. Working with an indigo dye kit can make this a really fun late summer project and you’ll probably end up with more than a dyed bolster pillow!

This Denim Rug DIY was made over three years ago but only recently shared here on A Beautiful Mess. Three years and tons of cycles through the washing machine and it’s still looking great in our master bathroom. I’m not sure if it’s because denim is just naturally so sturdy or because of my excellent craftsmanship (ha!), but this one gets a gold star. If I could go back and remake it, I would make sure all of the different denim pieces I used were 100% denim and didn’t have any elastic in them. I remember thrifting all of the denim used from jeans at a few different thrift stores and I was a little less aware of the fabric make up and more focused on the shades of blue. I also think I would have left out the brightest blue and just done more muted and darker shades, but I still love the vintage vibe this rug offers. And did I mention it’s still looking great after a jillion washes? Worth all of that hand-piecing.

If you’re not already familiar with your sewing machine, this one may offer a bigger challenge, but I believe in you!

This Modern Toddler Bed has been one of my favorite woodworking projects in the last year because it turned out looking exactly like I wanted. It’s survived over a year of being jumped on, slept on, and snored in and is still as sturdy as the day it was built! My youngest is 4 1/2 and still fits in this bed, but I imagine we’ll be upgrading him to a twin in the next year. It helped free up more floor space for their shared bedroom and I think he loved the coziness of his bed frame being above the mattress. I also designed it with legs that could be detached and moved to a twin-sized box frame (or any other project that might need a cute set of legs).

I wouldn’t change a thing about how this one turned out.

I just sold this Modern Wooden Wardrobe DIY to another small business owner after using it for over two years. Our old house didn’t have a lot of easy access clothing storage, so I built this versatile piece to solve a storage problem. It ended up becoming an anchor in the layout of the room—adding some visual height and allowing me to display seasonal accessories that also acted like decoration. I didn’t seal this piece when I built it but if I could do it over, I would’ve sealed it with beeswax to bring even more warmth out of the wood and protect it from dust wanting to stick to the wood grain fibers.

This piece is very renter-friendly because you don’t need to attach it to any walls and it can be unscrewed for a big move. You can customize your shelving according to your needs using the basic tutorial I shared in any room where you need more storage or an open-shelf display piece. I would easily build another one of these again in any future space if I needed one.

This sturdy canvas Gym Bag DIY has accompanied me on several weekend trips and weaving workshops in the last year and is so useful! I love how large and roomy it is as well as how easy it is to carry. If I were to do anything different, I would’ve ordered a longer zipper so that I might have wider access to the inside. The zipper I purchased was the longest they had in the store and I was in a hurry to finish it before I took it on vacation. It works fine but a longer zipper would be ideal. The pockets on each end were definitely a good idea for stashing smaller items, too. It’s usually where I toss my sunglasses and chapstick on the way to the beach or stash my water bottle when I’m packing up for a day trip.

The extra wide straps on this design are probably vital for this size to be comfortable lugging around, so be sure you don’t skip that and go for the standard option. I ordered the yardage online and got them pretty quickly in the mail. I definitely paid less for this project than it would’ve cost to purchase something similar at a boutique store and it’s still doing a great job.

I made this Hand-Stitched Pouf last fall and it is still in use. The kitty, however, takes up a lot more space on it than he used to! The exterior is really sturdy but the filling has gone a little lumpy, as sometimes poufs do. In hindsight, I would add in bean bag stuffing along with the repurposed items I stuffed this with so that it had a little more cushion and filled out even more. It was perfect for movie nights when my big kids wanted to sprawl out and there wasn’t any room left on the couch. Ha! It also got dragged upstairs to their shared room a few times during the winter when we needed a little more coziness for bedtime stories.

It was beautiful in a warm white but after having used it for awhile, it’s definitely showing a little dirt. If I did it again, I might choose a busy pattern in a complimentary color to our home colors that might hide possible stains or dirty toes crawling on it. I think this original design was wishful thinking, considering we have three kids and two indoor pets. Ha!

My Small Space Vertical Herb Garden was doing great until we left for vacation last year and then the hot June sun did its work. So, my suggestion is to make sure you have helpful neighbors who will water your water-sensitive plants while you’re away or move things to a shady spot and hope for the best. Otherwise, the black fabric held up great and the plants were getting bigger and filling in the gaps.

This project gets an A+ for construction but needs to be maintained with regular watering. It’s perfect for apartment living if you’ve got an outdoor patio where you can add a hook to the wall. It’s also perfect for people that remember to water their plants everyday. On another note, this might be the perfect organization project using wool felt or canvas and located indoors. With similar construction and smaller pockets, you’d be able to hang it over the back of a door and keep things within arm’s reach!

So, which of these is your favorite? If you could pick one to have someone else build for you, which one would you choose? I hope your summer has included at least one or two fun projects for your space but if not, there’s always this fall! – Rachel

Credits//Author: Rachel Denbow. Photography: Rachel Denbow and Janae Hardy. Photos edited with A Color Story Desktop.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8265713 https://ift.tt/2wdN6EK via IFTTT

[yesterdaysdreams]

How Did That Hold Up? (Vol. 5)

It’s always helpful to know if some of the bigger DIY’s you might see on A Beautiful Mess are worth the time or money spent making them, right? Apart from the satisfaction of making something greater than the sum of its parts, it’s important that some of these projects last awhile and are suitable for most lifestyles, i.e. those with pets or kids and maybe those who rent instead of own their home. I’m happy to share that all of the projects in this post are still golden! If you’ve ever given two thoughts to making one of them, consider this your green light and get to work!

This Woven Leather Bench DIY lived at the foot of my bed after it was finished, and even though it spent a lot of time supporting baskets of clean laundry, it did it with great style. Ha! Not only was this one of my favorite (and relatively easy) DIY’s to create, it was one that always drew comments when it was shared on Instagram. It felt more expensive than it really was because the elements that made up the construction were substantial materials. I’m forecasting this bench lives a very long and happy life. I couldn’t bring it with me during my recent move, but it’s found a good home with Emma so this won’t be the last you see of it! If you’re looking for a home refresh or relatively simple furniture project, this one is a great option for a bedroom, a hallway, a dining table, or even a studio.

If I had to do it over, I might have sealed the pine bench with something before adding the leather, but I still wouldn’t have painted it. I love the pairing of warm wood and caramel-colored leather.

This Transformable Hairpin Leg Desk has been a workhorse in my studio. It’s been in use since I made it and made the cut list for what I like to refer to as “the BIG move” to my next place. I love that I can easily switch it from a corner desk to a long workspace for packing orders in assembly line fashion depending on my workflow that day. The surface is still nice and flat and as sturdy as the day I made it. In fact, I switch it back and forth so often that I stopped drilling the screws in that hold the two pieces together where they overlap. I just set it up where they fit together and the two legs underneath, as well as the puzzle piece joinery (if you can call such a simple overlap joinery) hold things in place nicely. I sealed it with a poly seal originally and it has protected the pine beautifully.

This project has probably gotten the most bang for its buck in regards to how often I use it and for how much it adds to my space visually. Those powder-coated legs aren’t cheap but you can get a similar look with more economic raw steel legs, if you don’t mind getting behind a can or two of spray paint.

This Indigo Envelope Bolster Pillow DIY was one of my favorite projects from 2017! It’s still the star of the show on my bed and only gets more lovely with time. It has faded slightly with washing but the white parts are still white and the pattern is still beautiful.The unassuming canvas drop cloth I used from a local hardware store is the key to this project because the cotton softens over time and shows the indigo beautifully. I never had any issues with the blue rubbing off on anything because it was usually just used decoratively and had been washed at least once before use on the bed. Working with an indigo dye kit can make this a really fun late summer project and you’ll probably end up with more than a dyed bolster pillow!

This Denim Rug DIY was made over three years ago but only recently shared here on A Beautiful Mess. Three years and tons of cycles through the washing machine and it’s still looking great in our master bathroom. I’m not sure if it’s because denim is just naturally so sturdy or because of my excellent craftsmanship (ha!), but this one gets a gold star. If I could go back and remake it, I would make sure all of the different denim pieces I used were 100% denim and didn’t have any elastic in them. I remember thrifting all of the denim used from jeans at a few different thrift stores and I was a little less aware of the fabric make up and more focused on the shades of blue. I also think I would have left out the brightest blue and just done more muted and darker shades, but I still love the vintage vibe this rug offers. And did I mention it’s still looking great after a jillion washes? Worth all of that hand-piecing.

If you’re not already familiar with your sewing machine, this one may offer a bigger challenge, but I believe in you!

This Modern Toddler Bed has been one of my favorite woodworking projects in the last year because it turned out looking exactly like I wanted. It’s survived over a year of being jumped on, slept on, and snored in and is still as sturdy as the day it was built! My youngest is 4 1/2 and still fits in this bed, but I imagine we’ll be upgrading him to a twin in the next year. It helped free up more floor space for their shared bedroom and I think he loved the coziness of his bed frame being above the mattress. I also designed it with legs that could be detached and moved to a twin-sized box frame (or any other project that might need a cute set of legs).

I wouldn’t change a thing about how this one turned out.

I just sold this Modern Wooden Wardrobe DIY to another small business owner after using it for over two years. Our old house didn’t have a lot of easy access clothing storage, so I built this versatile piece to solve a storage problem. It ended up becoming an anchor in the layout of the room—adding some visual height and allowing me to display seasonal accessories that also acted like decoration. I didn’t seal this piece when I built it but if I could do it over, I would’ve sealed it with beeswax to bring even more warmth out of the wood and protect it from dust wanting to stick to the wood grain fibers.

This piece is very renter-friendly because you don’t need to attach it to any walls and it can be unscrewed for a big move. You can customize your shelving according to your needs using the basic tutorial I shared in any room where you need more storage or an open-shelf display piece. I would easily build another one of these again in any future space if I needed one.

This sturdy canvas Gym Bag DIY has accompanied me on several weekend trips and weaving workshops in the last year and is so useful! I love how large and roomy it is as well as how easy it is to carry. If I were to do anything different, I would’ve ordered a longer zipper so that I might have wider access to the inside. The zipper I purchased was the longest they had in the store and I was in a hurry to finish it before I took it on vacation. It works fine but a longer zipper would be ideal. The pockets on each end were definitely a good idea for stashing smaller items, too. It’s usually where I toss my sunglasses and chapstick on the way to the beach or stash my water bottle when I’m packing up for a day trip.

The extra wide straps on this design are probably vital for this size to be comfortable lugging around, so be sure you don’t skip that and go for the standard option. I ordered the yardage online and got them pretty quickly in the mail. I definitely paid less for this project than it would’ve cost to purchase something similar at a boutique store and it’s still doing a great job.

I made this Hand-Stitched Pouf last fall and it is still in use. The kitty, however, takes up a lot more space on it than he used to! The exterior is really sturdy but the filling has gone a little lumpy, as sometimes poufs do. In hindsight, I would add in bean bag stuffing along with the repurposed items I stuffed this with so that it had a little more cushion and filled out even more. It was perfect for movie nights when my big kids wanted to sprawl out and there wasn’t any room left on the couch. Ha! It also got dragged upstairs to their shared room a few times during the winter when we needed a little more coziness for bedtime stories.

It was beautiful in a warm white but after having used it for awhile, it’s definitely showing a little dirt. If I did it again, I might choose a busy pattern in a complimentary color to our home colors that might hide possible stains or dirty toes crawling on it. I think this original design was wishful thinking, considering we have three kids and two indoor pets. Ha!

My Small Space Vertical Herb Garden was doing great until we left for vacation last year and then the hot June sun did its work. So, my suggestion is to make sure you have helpful neighbors who will water your water-sensitive plants while you’re away or move things to a shady spot and hope for the best. Otherwise, the black fabric held up great and the plants were getting bigger and filling in the gaps.

This project gets an A+ for construction but needs to be maintained with regular watering. It’s perfect for apartment living if you’ve got an outdoor patio where you can add a hook to the wall. It’s also perfect for people that remember to water their plants everyday. On another note, this might be the perfect organization project using wool felt or canvas and located indoors. With similar construction and smaller pockets, you’d be able to hang it over the back of a door and keep things within arm’s reach!

So, which of these is your favorite? If you could pick one to have someone else build for you, which one would you choose? I hope your summer has included at least one or two fun projects for your space but if not, there’s always this fall! – Rachel

Credits//Author: Rachel Denbow. Photography: Rachel Denbow and Janae Hardy. Photos edited with A Color Story Desktop.

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