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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years

Text

Kauri and Keira

CW: Implied/referenced noncon/serious dubcon, implied/referenced abuse

He slides out of the bed when the world is quiet, when Owen’s breathing is deep and heavy. He doesn’t weigh that much, really, so it’s easy to shift his body slowly, back and back, without disturbing anyone.

The sheets are soft as silk against his skin - he’s so lucky he lives somewhere with such a good bed, some owners make their boys sleep in the boxes they came in. He pulls on the black jogger sweatpants and matching sweatshirt Owen brought home last week - how lucky, so lucky that his owner lets him wear such comfortable, soft things - and he’s so quiet, and moves so slowly, that his collar doesn’t even clink against itself.

He places each step carefully, but he doesn’t really have to. This place - condo, but he’ll forget that in a second - is new, top of the line Owen says. Owen is always saying how nice this place is, how good it is that he gets to live here.

They used to not allow pets, but they make an exception for nonproductive, Owen had bragged to him once, the two of them bundled on the couch to watch movies. There are movies the booklet suggests they not watch - a short list - but Owen doesn’t seem to care.

He likes when Kauri is scared, and he can hold him and make him feel better, pet through his hair and whisper that he’ll never let Kauri get cut up like the person on TV. He’ll never let him bleed like that. All the ways that Owen hurts him don’t really count as hurt, not compared to those other owners, the other pets.

It could have been so much worse.

Owen’s touch is safe, is the only safe place, the only safe thing.

645898, what do you say?

T-Touch is safe. Their touch is s-s, is safe, whoev-ever they are.

Look at him, he’s still buzzing, don’t you think?

All their nerves buzz after a jolt like that. He’ll be fucked up all day now.

Yeah, well, at least yours reacts. Mine just stares at me now.

Stop overusing your baton and he wouldn’t.

He earned it, cheeky fuck. Again, 645898.

Touch is s-safe. I want to be tuh-… touched. W-Want to be. It’s s-safe. The owner’s touch is s-s-safe.

See? Was that so fuckin’ hard? Your owner’s touch is safe, right? Say it again.

Oh-Owner’s touch is s-s-safe. Soh-horry, my voice won’t-

Yeah, don’t fuck up next time. 645898, lights out.

The lights are out as he creeps through the bedroom door, closes it silently behind him. The only sound is the low whirr of the nearly-soundless appliances in the kitchen, and Kauri smiles to himself, fingertips trailing the weird stone countertops that Owen was so proud of, had spent so much money on.

Clean enough to eat off of, and sometimes he made Kauri do just that.

In the dark, Kauri is a little nervous, but it’s not so bad. Everything has a place and stays there except for Kauri, really, and Owen doesn’t mind that he walks around at night as long as he doesn’t wake him up. Kauri doesn’t need much sleep - how long has it been, 645898, three days? - and as long as he’s back in bed before Owen wakes up, so he can be right there, it’s okay, Owen doesn’t mind.

A lot of owners don’t let their pets roam at night.

Kauri is so lucky.

“So fucking lucky,” He sneers, and feels a thrill of fear up his spine, but no one hears him. No one else is here but Owen, and Owen won’t wake up until his third alarm goes off, even though Kauri is usually up before the first

Out into the living room, where the cool floor turns to a soft carpet under his bare feet. He finds her just where he thought she’d be, in her docking station underneath the couch, beeping contentedly in the darkness.

“Keira,” Kauri whispers. “Keira, are you up?”

Hello Kauri, the Roomba replies in its slightly digital female voice. Owen had asked for the Roomba to have a female voice - you got to pick, he told Kauri, who had only nodded silently like he understood. Time: 3:15 AM. Cleaning routine commences?

“No, not yet. You might wake him up if you get stuck again. Can you come out of your station and sit with me?”

The Roomba is silent for a moment, then whirs out of the docking station on its tiny wheels, a perfect flat black circle with two blinking red spots on the top, like eyes. Kauri smiles, a little, and pats it on the shiny part on top, where he imagines she likes it. The whirr of her little wheels changes, and it sounds like a purr. Affirmed command. Kauri directs.

“I don’t direct anything,” Kauri says softly, and when he moves back across the room Keira follows at his heels, moving effortlessly over the carpet, bumping into him a couple of times in what he pretends is affection.

The doors to the balcony don’t squeak or creak - Kauri is careful to keep the hinges nice and oiled, although he’s not sure how he knows to oil them, because he can’t remember every being taught. Kauri opens them up and lets the cooler night air in, taking a deep breath. It smells like the trees with white flowers down below, along the walkway, where he has never been.

He knows it smells like the tree-flowers, because Owen told him so.

Owen tells him all about these things, and he is so nice compared to other owners, who don’t tell their pets anything at all. Owen is very careful to be ethical and humane, and he never leaves bruises.

But there are other ways to hurt someone.

Commence balcony? Keira asks, whirring at the edge of the doorframe. Kauri assist. Kauri assist. Kauri assist-

“Yeah, I got you, girl, hold on.” Kauri drops into a crouch, picking the Roomba up carefully by the middle part where her circle is widest. The wheels keep spinning as he holds her and moves out onto the balcony, but when he sets her down again she moves over to a corner by one of the big planters - this one has some kind of miniature tree in it, surrounded by flowers that Kauri carefully waters and gives plant food at Owen’s direction - and settles in, beeping her happy little contented noise. “There, that’s better. Go ahead, we’ll be outside for a little bit, okay?”

Gratitude. Grateful. Kauri is good. Keira balcony commence.

Kauri beams at the praise, and settles into one of the thick padded outside chairs, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Thanks, Keira. I just thought maybe I could look up tonight, and you could come out with me.”

Kauri is good. Keira grateful.

“Kauri is grateful, too,” Kauri replies, but really he isn’t. Owen is very kind to him - he’s so fortunate to have someone buy him who is so kind - but he can’t be as grateful as he’s supposed to be.

He looks up at the dark night sky, clear as glass that he can look up into and see the stars. The condo practices minimized light pollution, Owen tells him. It’s far enough from the city to avoid more than a hint of the reddish orange glow of those lights, off in the distance Here, the condo is surrounded by old trees allowed to keep growing and carefully managed. There is no one but the condo people for miles and miles and miles.

There are no lights at night between midnight and 5 AM. Instead, over Kauri’s head, the sky is a riot of white pinpricks he used to know the names for, and doesn’t remember anymore.

He sits quietly, looking up at them, letting them wash over him. All their designs turn into pictures if you connect the little dots, the sense that there is something so big out there and he is only the smallest, tiniest part of it, and so it doesn’t matter if he is hurt, because there are bigger hurts out there, and he is only dust on a planet orbiting a distant sun-

645898, what do you remember?

Kauri’s fingertips start to tap on the arm of the outside chair, nervously.

I-I-… I don’t know, it hurts, please stop, please-

Tap. tap.

No. I asked you a question. What do you remember?

Taaaaap. Tap. tap.

Taaaap. Taaaap. Taaap.

Taaaaap. Tap.

Tap.

Taaap. Taaaaap. Taaaap. Taaaap.

Tap.

Taaaaaaap.

N-Nothing! I don’t remember anything! I don’t remember, I’m sorry, I don’t know-… I don’t know anything!

Good. Get 645898 back to his Cubicle.

Keira beeps once, and he thinks she might sound worried, but he keeps his eyes up on the stars, and he lets his heart beat faster.

Tap. Taaaaap. Taaaaap.

Tap. Taaaaaap.

Taaaaap. Tap.

Taaaaap.

Pick up the pen.

N-No! I don’t want to do this! I don’t want this!

Pick. Up. The. Pen.

I don’t want-… Stop! Stop hurting me!

Kauri’s breathing has gone shallow, stutter-skipping breaths that make Keira beep again and he shakes his head at her. It’s only safe to think at night, when Owen is sleeping. Owen didn’t buy him to think, Owen bought him to be pretty, to have blue eyes and black hair. Owen paid a lot of money, Kauri is an investment, and he’s lucky he’s worth so much money or he could have been sold to someone worse.

“L-Lucky,” Kauri whispers, but his voice shakes.

Taaaaaap.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“I’m lucky.”

Tap. Tap.

Kauri heartbeat accelerating, Keira says, and her robotic voice drops a little, a mockery of the kind of concerned whisper Kauri sometimes uses with her. Kauri physical condition deteriorating?

“No, I’m f-fine,” Kauri says softly. “I’m fine, Keira, thank you. Thank you. Just, just give me a second. I’m okay. I just need-”

I need him to not be touching me right now.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He remembers stars, before. Lying on his back on a blanket in the grass, with Keira beside him, only it was a different Keira, then, and he was a different person. They had a book with constellations in it and they were pointing out all of the different ones, laughing like idiots.

645898, unacceptable incorrect thought aberration.

No, please, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean-

Unacceptable. Come here.

N-No! Please, please don’t do it, please-

Then learn to fucking forget when we tell you to, 645898. Dumbass

Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-… I-…

“I’m so lucky,” Kauri whispers. “I’m so lucky that I’m not in the facility anymore. I need to not go back to the facility. I need to not go back. I need to not-”

There’s a beep and small thump, and Kauri looks down to see Keira bumping the leg of the outside chair, scooting back, and then bumping again. Kauri reassurance require. ‘I don’t want this’. Keira provides. Reassurance Kauri. Keira provides. Kauri assist? Kauri assist. Kauri assist-

He unfolds his legs and leans down, sweeping Keira up into his arms, holding her rigid little metal body with the wheels spinning, although they settle and stop once he has her on his lap, his hands resting on the smooth curved plastic and metal shape. Her little red lights look right up into his eyes. She whirrs, softly.

Kauri reassurance require, Keira intones, and Kauri tightens his hands on her, just a little bit. Keira provides. Keira reassurance provide. Acceptable?

“Yes,” Kauri replies, and then he holds her up in his arms, vertical, hugs the rigid, unforgiving metal and plastic to his chest. “Kauri reassurance requires.”

645898, say it again.

Touch is safe, touch is s-s-safe, touch is-

“I’m so lucky,” Kauri says, voice soft and sweet. “I’m so lucky I have you. I’m so lucky I signed the contract. I’m so lucky I have Mr. Owen. I’m so lucky, I’m so lucky, I’m so lucky.”

Keira understands. Reassurance Keira provide. ‘I don’t want this’, Keira beeps, and Kauri holds her tighter. Kauri heartbeat elevated. Keira reassurance. ‘I don’t want this’.

“Me neither,” He whispers. “But I’m so, so lucky.”

Tagging @pepperonyscience who asked to be tagged but I’m pretty sure someone else did and I can’t remember who they were! Aaaahh! I’m sorry. If you want to be tagged for Kauri updates, please leave a comment on this and I’ll make an actual honest-to-God list I can keep track of

#whump #isolation #isolated whumpee #whumpee #conditioning #brainwashing #tw: implied/referenced noncon #box boy #box boy cinematic universe #Kauri #Owen Grant #Erase to Control #tw: implied abuse #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whumpees r us universe #conditioned #brainwashed #Captivity

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alloveroliver · 5 years

Text

Kiro x MC “No Time To Lose.”

Rating: Smut, Light Dom!Kiro

WC: 3,553

A|N: Contains slightly rough sex, over the counter, with clothes on, mixed with narrowly getting caught. This was inspired by Anons Thirstday submission and their Kofi donation. Thank you!

Summary: Unable to spend time together due to Kiro's busy schedule, you two manage to sneak away for a quick date. However, when things begin to heat up, it's a race against time not to get caught in the act to ensure there can be more secret dates in the future.

Mr. Love Queen’s Choice Fanfic

Kiro took off his forward facing cap and fluffed up his hair while he held the door to his home open for you. The scent of his shampoo filled the space as you walked past, ignited by the band of sweat that slicked his golden hair leaving you in a cloud of his soapy scent. Crossing the threshold the AC in his apartment hit you in the face, soothing your warm sun-kissed skin.

"Annnd here we are!" Kiro gestured to his open concept condo. He placed the black hat on backward with his hair thoroughly fluffed anew.

"It feels much better here than it did outside in the blazing sun." You comment, looking around at the semi-familiar decor.

You've been here before, but never during the day while the sun poured into the massive windows. His manager wouldn't allow you to come here, not in broad daylight at least, and never hand in hand with the pop star himself.

"Yes, it does. Now that we successfully hid from everyone, we have another major decision to make." He looked over at you solemnly. "Are you ready?"

Your hair stuck to your neck and forehead while you tried to wipe off the thin sheen of sweat with the back of your hand.

"What decision is it?" You asked, slightly worried as you stare at his creased brows.

With a wink, he broke out into an infectious smile. "What flavor ice cream do you want, of course."

He chuckled, walking down the hall to the left. You followed after hanging your purse on one of the coat hangers at the entryway. Entering the spacious kitchen, the sensory lights flicked on at your presence. The countertops were backlit with a gentle blue glow highlighting the kitchen themed knick-knacks that the interior designer splayed about.

Kiro popped open one of the cabinets revealing a hidden freezer built into the wall and placed his hand on his hip. "We got cherry garcia, vanilla bean, milk chocolate, cookies and cream, rocky roa-"

"Cookies and cream!" You blurt out before he can finish listing off the ridiculous number of frozen desserts he hid in his massive fridge.

Kiro laughed at your eagerness. "Alright, cookies and cream it is. Do you want whip cream or sprinkles? Perhaps both?" He waggled his brows.

"Um," It was a valid question. "Both!"

"Alright!" His energy matched yours as he pulled out a tub of ice cream. "Bowls are behind you. I'll get the spoons."

You whipped around post haste, grabbing the turquoise and navy blue marbled bowls from his glass cupboard. He shut the utensils drawer with his hip once he found two large spoons and moved back to the cold tub.

Soon, you two were enjoying a delicious bowl of overly sweet ice cream with added rainbow sprinkles, whipped cream, and even a maraschino cherry to top it all off. The uninterrupted time together seemed so blissful, but you made sure not to get carried away in the silence.

"How much time do you think we have left?" Your spoon clinked against the side of the glass bowl.

Kiro pushed his cherry stim to the side then arched a brow to the clock above the stove. "I would like to say forever, but in reality, maybe more like twenty to thirty minutes?"

His leg dangled off the countertop you two sat on, hitting the cabinets in a musical tune below. The shirt Kiro wore brushed against your arm every time he took a bite of ice cream. You tried to sit closer to him, but any further and you would basically be in his lap.

Placing your empty bowl next to you on the island countertop in the center of the room, you hooked your ankle around his, halting his unfamiliar tune. Kiro let his spoon drop into his bowl and jerked his head over to you.

"Am I being annoying?"

"No, not at all. I just want to be close to you." You reassure him with a wide smile.

Your gazes locked and he nodded understandingly.

"Then," He placed his bowl down with a loud clunk on the granite stone and licked his lips of any remaining droplets of ice cream. "I want to be closer too."

A moment passed while you two stared at each other. The tension that built up every time you were alone became palpable in Kiro's grandiose kitchen. Alone, and close enough to feel the warmth of the other made the air sizzle magnetically. You were drawn to him, and he to you.

The way he dipped his head down to you was apparent what he was doing, yet your shyness made you look away. Smiling, Kiro brought his hand up to your cheek. With his fingertips cold from holding the ice cream bowl, he ran them along your jawline cooling your rapidly blushing skin.

The tender moment warmed your chest from the inside, making a smile quirk on your features. Kiro's crystal blue eyes looked briefly down to your mouth before he tore them back to your gaze. His lips parted as his jaw relaxed, guiding you to them with his large hand.

Gentle lips encase your own, radiating warmth from their touch. Kiro began to hold you tight to his chest, allowing you to get close enough to smell the soapy scent again mixed with a hint of musk. His fingers glide along the curve of your neck, slipping between the strands of your hair.

The island countertop was big enough for Kiro to push you back to lay flat on the surface. He guided you slowly until your head met the solid stone. He hovered over your form without breaking the passionate kiss. Your arms reached up to wrap around his neck, but the action knocked off his backward cap as your arms collide with the lid. Both of you ignore the accessory fluttering to the ground while the kiss grew ever more profound.

His tongue teased your lips, then delved past to explore your mouth. Kiro's hand moved to rest on your waist, using his thumb to massage your hip bone. This was the point of no return. You either stopped here, or there was nothing on this planet that could pull you two apart until you both knew the other was satisfied.

A tense moment past. Neither of you stopped.

His thumb ran circles over your shirt until the hem was askew, revealing the warm skin of your torso. His teeth playfully tugged on your bottom lip, keeping his eyes closed as he kissed you passionately.

Time ticked by tauntingly. The fear of his manager walking into his apartment at any time with the spare key hung over you like a dark cloud. Kiro was under a contract and had to follow what he was told, that meant if the manager didn't approve of you, he had to power to make you disappear from his life for good.

Taking that fear, you grab a fist full of Kiro's shirt and tug, clinging to him for dear life. Your boyfriend dipped his head, letting you pull the fabric up, baring his lower abdomen. His muscles were solid, perfectly sculpted. Your hand ran down his chest, feeling his taut muscles until you met his firmly toned stomach.

"If you touch me any lower, I'll think unspeakable things."

"Think them." You blurted. "I want you…"

His bright eyes grew dark, piercing yours with unbridled lust that he tried so desperately to contain. He blinked, and there was no way for his eyes to hide a flicker of fiery passion.

He pulled at the hem of your shirt until it was exposing your delicate bra beneath. Your forehead pressed into his, breaking the kiss. Kiro let out an open-mouthed sigh and moved away from your lips. His long fingers teased the band of your bra while he looked up at your mischievously.

His smile illuminated his features. Then he pulled the bottom of the undergarment up until your breasts spill out of the confines. The lips that once pressed firmly to your mouth were now gently encasing the sensitive peaks of your chest. His tongue smoothed over the soft nipple while his hand slid down the curve of your hip, holding you safely in his embrace.

Everything seemed to be speeding up exponentially when his hand obscured your skirt and your legs parted for him to draw nearer. Kiro's hips pressed against your leg once, then twice revealing how aroused he was for you. He gasped, pressing into you a third time.

Your hand moved to weave into his silky smooth locks. Kiro's teeth grazed your pert nipple, making you moan indecently. You pressed your lips together, trying to hide the sound, tasting the sweet whipped cream lingering on your lips.

Kiro's mouth moved to your lower breast, kissing and sucking at the sensitive spot until a small hickey began to form. He moved to the opposing one, leaving yet another mark of his existence intimately on your skin.

Deft fingers ran along your slit, above the thin cotton panties you wore. Kiro tugged at the fabric until it dug into your lips, making the sensation to your clit unending. His usually soft features were now sharp, filled with concentration. The world faded away as he teased your helpless little nub.

Your panties were quickly drenched in your desires, soaking his fingers in the process. Kiro moved to your neck, finding the sweet spot under your ear you loved so much and focused all his energy there.

The numbers on the digital clock above the stove continued to increase, causing your anxiety to crack wide open.

"He could be here soon," You open your legs further, allowing the panties to disappear deeper between your folds.

"I know," His voice was down an octave as his breath tickled your neck. "M- maybe I can sneak into your house tonight, and we can continue."

"No, Kiro." You practically moaned his name. "I want you now. I'm ready, I really am."

You didn't care if it was too soon for your body to take him, but Kiro seemed to be keen on that. He slowly dipped his pointing finger into your entrance, and you could feel how tight you were as his digit curled into you. It was a small attempt to add more foreplay to allow your body to take him easily.

"I said, I'm ready." You reiterate, glancing over at the clock again. "Please, I want you. I need you." You beg your pensive boyfriend.

He let out a long breath and stared down at you. A heartbeat passed as he sat still, studying the desperation in your eyes. Then a switch was flipped, and he removed his finger.

"Relax for me," His sensual voice coaxed you. Sitting up with his knees on the countertop, he fumbled with his belt buckle. Your bra dug into your skin, your hair was a mess around our face, and your back began to ache against the solid surface. The granite was unforgiving, pressing against your shoulder blades and spine as Kiro angled himself above you.

"Spread your legs," He pumped his free cock a couple of times, leaning down to your center. "And pull your panties to the side," Kiro added quickly.

You scrambled towards your skirt, pushing the fabric up then finding your lingerie. Kiro glance over at the clock you had been focusing on, and his sense of urgency began to match your own.

With joint effort, Kiro was able to push the tip of his length into your eager entrance. The way he gasped gave away what a tight fit it was for him. His cheeks grew red while his hands moved to find your wrists. He only pressed in minutely to make sure your body adapted to his inch by inch.

With his hands on your wrists, he pushed them above your head and held them there. Kiro's solid chest heaved against your exposed breast as he angled down to your level. He began to pump shallowly, bringing his lips down to share a deeply passionate kiss with you.

Your body was so eager, clenching around him helplessly bringing him in further without any effort on his part. You went to wrap your arms around his neck when you felt his grip tighten on your wrists. He held you there, unable to move the deeper he sank into your sex. With his strength, you wouldn't be able to wiggle free from his grasp.

You had a choice, keep fighting against him or let him have full control over your body. Choosing the ladder, you relax while Kiro moves your torso over into the position he wanted you in. Your arms stretched high over your head while his hips moved in a rhythm that kept your thighs spread wide apart.

He broke the kiss, using his teeth to tease your bottom lip. Kiro took a deep inhale, and you felt his hips flesh against yours. He sheathed himself fully into you, sitting there for a moment while his chest heaved.

"You have me." Kiro kissed your cheek as he spoke. "Now, what do you want?" His tone was teasing, linking his fingers with yours yet still keeping them above your head.

You sighed, feeling the cheeky grin on his face as he kissed your jawline. "Make love to me…" You whispered.

"Making love might take a while because, you see, I'm madly in love with you." Kiro playfully kissed your neck. "I could do that, or…" He paused. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Your eyes went wide and face heated. Suddenly the sensation of Kiro's lips were too much. The feeling of him kissing the shell of your ear made you so sensitive that small gasps escape your throat.

"Fuck me."

Kiro let go of your hands at your request. Soon you were being dragged over the smooth countertop and tossed onto your stomach. Your feet hit the ground just in time for Kiro to kick them apart. You kept your cheek pressed down on the counter as his cock entered you anew.

"Hands behind your back." He requested urgently.

You moved to fold your arms behind your back while your stomach and chest adjusted to the flat surface. Kiro used your arms as leverage, holding them together tightly, pumping into you faster than before.

The sensation of him hitting your sweet spot perfectly, over and over, made you cry out into his kitchen. He hardly removed himself from you, as if he didn't dare be too far away. His thrusts made him breathe heavily through gritted teeth, while his fingers dug deliciously into your arm.

It was bliss, all of it. The way Kiro let go of his inhibitions and fucked you senseless over the ledge set your mind into a frenzy. The mild pain from his nails in your skin sent waves of pleasure coursing to your core. He knew you liked it like this, desired him to act like this. Kiro would be anything you wanted him to be, act however you wanted him to act as long as you were happy.

"Harder," You rasped, pushing your hips back towards his relentless thrusts. "Deeper…"

Kiro stopped, lifted your right leg, and hooked it around his hip. Holding it there, he began pumping into you again, this time hitting you at a deeper angle than before. He obliged your other request by going faster and faster until the sound of your skin, hitting one another's filled the room.

His hand held your arms behind your back while the other held your leg. There was the thought of the clock again, but you didn't care enough now even to give it another glance. Your pussy fluttered against his thick cock, pumping ceaselessly into you.

The clothes you wore became too hot, and your vision became a hazy blur. Your back arched into the speed, and you felt how hard your walls clamped down around him.

"Say my name when you cum." Kiro panted. He was in fantastic shape, so the state of his breathing showed just how much effort he was putting into pleasing you. "That's how I know your cuming for me and me alone. Say my name."

He could feel how close you were as he watched you unravel before him. You moaned, making sure not to say his name until he instructed you to.

"Yes, yes… yes." Your groaning voice dripped with affirmations.

"I love hearing you moan, but my favorite is when you moan my name." He urged you on, wanting you to so desperately cum for him.

His hand left your arms, then Kiro reached around and pet your swollen clit. You jerked at the rush of pleasure from his skilled fingertips. Kiro kept your leg hooked back while playing with your sensitive nub.

Your blurred vision went white, and toes curled, while you pressed your face down into the hard surface.

"That's it." Kiro cooed. "Cum for me."

The combination of everything finally came to a head. Your desires burst open, and rushing pleasure coursed through your veins. Your muscles tightened then relaxed over and over again while his cock kept hitting the best spot of them all.

"Kiro! Ki-ro…" You helplessly screamed. These moans egged him on, making him fuck you harder and faster while coming undone for him.”Kiro...”

He didn't stop, nor did he slow as your release came to an end. The overstimulation kicked in the harder he thrust into your quivering pussy. Kiro panted. He dropped your leg, then reached for both of your shoulders to brace himself.

Your collective moans mixed, growing louder. You kept your hands behind your back like he asked as his fingertips dug into your collarbone. Kiro raced to find his own release in the limited time you both had.

You felt his form falter and his moans draw out longer. A knock to the front door ripped you out of your concentration. Kiro held your shoulders tight while the person outside his apartment called out for him.

"He's here!" You panicked, realizing Kiro hadn't stopped. He kept going, desperately wanting to use your body to find his own release.

Hips slapping against one another, you sat still and strained your ears to hear the door. It was difficult to concentrate on when Kiro's cock started another coil in your abdomen to tighten.

"I think- Ah. I might cum again."

"I'm close too. So so close." He mewled, pressing his forehead against the back of your head. "Cum with me." He urged, rocking his hips just right.

The jingle of keys fitting into the front door made your stomach sink, but your release didn't waver. The coil snapped inside your belly like a rubber band, and you came on his cock again. Moaning his name, Kiro began chanting yours over and over like a mantra. You felt the heat in your sex, the pulse of his member helplessly spilling into you.

"Kiro!" A man's voice yelled out into the hallway. You both went silent, desperately trying to keep your breathing even.

Kiro grabbed you by the waist and helped you stand up. He zipped his pants and helped you bring your bra and top back down to cover you. Heavy footsteps grew near, and your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. If you two were caught together, especially in this uncompromising position, there was no telling what his manager would do.

Your hands intertwined, and he tugged you out the back way of his kitchen. Now in the living room, you two tiptoed towards his bedroom and slipped in.

"Kiro I know you're here! I can see your hat laying on the floor." The man's voice filled the condo again.

"Shit." Kiro chuckled almost soundlessly to you. "Busted."

Your back was against his bedroom door after he gently shut it. Kiro hugged you to his chest, nuzzling his face into your hair.

"Just stay quiet. I'll walk out there alone and distract him since he knows I'm already here." He kissed your forehead. "Alright?" His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded. "That's my good girl." He teased, showing you a dazzling smile

His hair was a mess, tousled, and sweaty. The heat outside could be a good excuse as long as the manager didn't know what just transpired.

As you stood there, pressed against Kiro's body, you could feel warmth began to trickle down your thigh. It made your heart kickstart and cheeks light up bright pink.

"You okay?" Kiro fixed his shirt and hair to be more presentable before he was to leave the bedroom.

"Um yeah, I'm fine. But, can I use your shower after you leave?"

His eyes locked to yours and they crinkled at the sides knowingly. Heat shone behind his cheery facade. "Of course."

Thank you for reading! I appreciate you <3 I am changing up the way I do things, so bear with me as I 'rebrand' XD

Masterlist is at the top of my blog~

#mlqc #mlqc kiro #mr love queen's choice #mlqc smut #kiro x mc #mr love queens choice kiro #kiro smut

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justlookfrightened · 6 years

Text

Locked out, Part 3

Read Part I and Part 2

“I’ve never been thanked with pie before,” Jack said, reaching to take the containers out of Eric’s arms before he stepped back to allow Eric to enter his condo.

“You never knew me before,” Eric said, following Jack through the entry and past a large living room area to the kitchen.

Jack set the pies down on a wide granite (yes, definitely granite) countertop that had very little on it. The countertop stretched between a deep sink and KitchenAid range, with a stainless steel Frigidaire side-by-side model on the adjacent wall. A granite-topped island divided the kitchen from the living room, with stools on the living room side turning it into breakfast bar.

“So, um, I found some video of your team,” Jack said, turning away from the still-covered pies.

“You did?” Eric said, stepping further into the kitchen. Maybe Jack expected him to do the honors, since he made the pies? “Umm, which pie do you want? There’s apple and peach. Either will be better if I heat it in the oven. Microwaving it ruins the texture of the crust.”

“Oh, you want pie now?” Jack said. “I don’t usually eat this time of day, but I guess I could … apple, I think.”

“I could cut you small slices of both,” Eric said, stepping to the oven. Given the state of the kitchen, he wasn’t entirely sure Jack knew how to turn it on. Which wasn’t fair; Jack probably baked fish or boneless, skinless (flavorless) chicken breasts from time to time. Wait -- this was a gas range with an electric oven. Jack definitely did not appreciate this.

“Once the oven preheats, it’ll be about 10 minutes,” Eric said. “I’d suggest adding ice cream, but …”

“I don’t have any,” Jack said. “I don’t usually eat dessert. Do you really have to heat up the pie?”

“It’s not absolutely necessary,” Eric said. “But if you don’t eat pie often, then when you do, it should be the best it can be, right?”

Jack nodded his agreement with that sentiment.

“It really does taste better warm,” Eric said, carefully cutting small slices, about half of what he would normally serve, from each pie. “Do you have a ceramic plate, something that can go in the oven for a bit? And a pie server? Or a spatula?”

Jack reached into a cupboard where there were white stoneware plates. “There might be something in that drawer,” he told Eric, pointing.

Eric found a yellow triangular server, something that probably came with a pizza delivery or maybe a cake. Jack had set two plates on the counter.

“We can probably put both on one plate,” Eric said. “The slices are small.”

“Aren’t you going to have some, too?” Jack asked.

“I made the pies for you,” Eric said. “But I’ll join you, if you like.”

“There’s no way I can eat this much by myself,” Jack said, and Eric’s heart broke a little. Surely Jack had friends he could share the pies with? Eric rarely got more than a slice -- if that -- of any pie he made and allowed his Haus-mates to eat.

“That’s why I was asking about heating them,” Jack continued. “There’s a table at the team facility where people leave food to share.”

So apparently NHL team facilities weren’t that different from other workplaces.

“Every office I’ve worked in has something like that,” Eric said, cutting two more half-sized slices and plating them. “Or you can freeze them to eat later, or serve when you have people over.”

“A lot of guys already left for the summer,” Jack said.

“You stay here?” Eric asked.

“For most of the summer,” Jack said. “I keep my sponsorships and stuff based here -- it’s close to Boston and not too far from New York -- and I do a lot of charity stuff. I do try to visit my folks for a couple of weeks, but I can get back in between.”

“Where do they live?”

“Montreal, mostly, but they have a cabin in Nova Scotia, too,” Jack said.

“Sounds nice,” Eric said.

“It is,” Jack said. “You said you might be working in Providence this summer? Do you usually go back to Georgia?”

The oven beeped that it was ready, so Eric slid the plates in. “Those will be hot when they come out,” he said.

Jack pulled a potholder from a drawer behind him.

“Anyway, yes, if I get this internship, it will be the first time I haven’t gone home for the summer,” Eric said. “My mother’s not real happy with the idea, to be honest.”

“How do you feel about it?” Jack asked. “Do you think you’ll be homesick?”

Eric shrugged.

“Maybe a little?” he said. “I’ll miss Mama, of course, and MooMaw, and even Coach, but I just don’t … fit in in Madison.”

“You’ll miss your old hockey coach?” Jack asked.

Eric laughed.

“While my hockey coach was great, no,” Eric said. “Coach is my dad. He’s the local high school football coach, and everyone calls him that. I wasn’t all that close to my hockey coaches, not like my figure skating coach when I was a kid. Katya was a force to be reckoned with. But I always called her Katya.”

“That explains some things,” Jack said.

“Like what?” Eric said.

“LIke how you played rec league hockey and still made an NCAA division I team,” Jack said. “And how you skate fast enough for that to make sense. I said I watched some of your games, and you don’t look like someone who was new to high-level athletics or the commitment it takes. Your checking game could use some improvement, though.”

“No kidding,” Eric deadpanned. “Do you want me to make coffee or something?”

“I only have caffeine in the morning,” Jack said. “But I have a single-cup drip filter if you want some. I was going to have milk.”

“Milk is good,” Eric said.

Jack got out two glasses and a carton of low-fat milk.

“So I’m guessing you were a pretty good figure skater?”

“I was the 2010 Southern Regional Junior champion,” Eric said.

“Why’d you switch?”

The oven beeped again, and Eric picked up the potholder and turned to get the pie out.

“The short version is we moved and we were too far from my coach to make it realistic to practice every day,” Eric said. “I really couldn’t improve -- or even maintain my level -- without that.”

“But if you were that good, couldn’t you have moved away from your parents to get the coaching you needed?” Jack said. “I left home at 16 for hockey. Or did you not want to?”

Eric put the two plates on the island and said, “That would be the long version.”

“I’ve got time,” Jack said. “If you want to tell me.”

Eric looked around at Jack’s condo, he wasn’t sure for what. A sign, maybe. He was pretty sure it would be safe to say he was gay. NHL players didn’t go around beating up random gay college boys they met through automotive misfortunes. But he liked Jack, and Jack seemed to be taking an interest in him, and he didn’t want to cut what seemed like an incipient friendship with a lonely hockey player short by outing himself.

The condo didn’t give him any indication about how Jack would react, It was tastefully decorated in grays and blues, with large black-and-white artsy photos of hockey rinks and memorabilia from Jack’s six years as a Falconer. Yes, Eric had Googled him last night, just to have an idea what he was getting into going to his condo. Yes, he knew there was an overdose when Jack was 18, knew that the hockey world thought the Falcs were taking a chance when they drafted Jack the next year. That taking that gamble had paid off for the Falconers in perennial playoff appearances and one Stanley Cup and absolutely no scandals involving Jack Zimmermann, whose personal life attracted almost no attention.

Well, how much of a friendship could it be if he couldn’t be out? That was why he didn’t want to go back to Georgia, after all.

“We moved, officially, because Coach got a new job,” Eric said. “And that was true. He did get a new job, at a bigger school. But he’d been looking for a new job for two years, because I was having trouble with kids in school who thought I was gay, at least in part because of the figure skating. And I didn’t want to go through that with a whole new group of kids in a new school.

“I could have moved away, like you said, and lived with my coach, but if I stayed with the same coach, I would have been with the same kids who locked me in a storage closet overnight in seventh grade -- without my parents there to support me. And, to be honest, I couldn’t have gone much further with Katya, I don’t think. She was great, but she didn’t have the facilities, the other people I would need to be Olympic-level.”

Jack nodded. He understood how much would go into making that happen.

“And the investment my parents would need to make for me to even have a chance, to get into the pipeline … No one is guaranteed success, and I’d be coming in late, with all the politics. I just decided it was enough.

“So we moved and I started a baking vlog and joined a hockey league. And I turned out to be pretty good at hockey -- except the checking part -- and I found a college where they would work with me on that and help me get better, and where it was okay that I’m gay.”

Eric couldn’t look at Jack immediately after saying that, so he picked up a fork and took a bite of the apple pie. Jack, who hadn’t eaten while Eric was speaking, did the same.

“Holy shit, this is good,” Jack said.

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

Tagging @thehockeyhaus

Read Part 4

#omgcheckplease #omg check please #zimbits #locked out #meet cute #my fic

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endlesstalesofwonder · 6 years

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I See You (Through the Dark)

I got inspired by something I found over on Pinterest about being able to see the beauty in everything around them except for in themselves.

This is for those who want a little feel-good fic.

“Here.”

Alec stopped mid-stride at the entrance of Orchard Park. He took a quick look around, then moved the two of them over to the bench near the fence. It was perfectly angled under the tree where the sunlight broke through in small rays of heaven. This time of year warranted a change of colors within the leaves, and the entire park seemed to be made of gold. The light, the leaves… Everything was perfect.

The breeze picked up and blew a single leaf into Alec’s lap. It was between the stage of soft and crispy. Alec picked it up and set it in Magnus’ hands. His eyes were closed as he took in all the information that he relayed to him. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips, and Alec knew he was right.

“Tell me more.”

There were dogs running around with their owners in tow, some throwing balls back and forth as they walked. Several kids were chasing one another in a small game of tag. Their cries of joy could easily be heard across the large plain of grass. It widened the smile on Magnus’ face.

Alec continued to note the way that the wind was blowing and its effect on the leaves. Some fell and glinted like flecks of gold while others resembled fire. The sky started to change colors soon after. The pale blue turned pink and purple, some gentle shades of red, before plummeting into dark purples and blues. It was beautiful. Alec could watch the sunset for hours.

When there was no excuse to stay any longer, Alec stood. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

Their next outing was two days later. They were strolling around Fifth Street when Magnus told him to stop. “Here.”

Alec settled them against the brick wall of Russo’s Sandwich Shop.

There were still light clouds scattered across the sky after their small rain shower that had snuck in during the late hours of the night. Alec recalled waking up to the soft sound of the patter on his terrace. There was evidence of rainfall on the street as well - puddles big and small. Some were large enough for swimming, he noted.

Magnus chuckled. His eyes were closed again. He had once told him it enhanced whatever he was telling him.

There was also the faint glow of sunlight on the apartments, duplexes, and small shops around the street. The reflections and sun glares made it seem like there were stars during the day. Across the street, there was a terrace with several potted plants - all cacti - of different sizes and shapes. The room next to it had their windows wide open with a woman vacuum-dancing the flat and the Backstreet Boys blaring from the stereo.

“Is she a good dancer?” Magnus asked. He liked the finer details.

Alec shrugged, then corrected himself by continuing. He supposed that she was a good enough of a dancer - especially when he compared her moves to his own. He would look like a fish out of water vacuum-dancing like her. He could tell, however, that she was far too into the music. She kept pausing to dance or shout the lyrics rather than continue cleaning, which became a problem when she bumped into the same side-table twice. There was no more dancing for her that afternoon.

Magnus stifled a laugh. “Is she pretty?”

Alec scrunched his nose. He knew for a fact Magnus was pulling his leg. He knew he had no particular interest in women, in any sense, and still wanted the gay man’s opinion of description. The woman looked the type to be a heartbreaker - the kind to keep you on the edge of awareness and make you forget who you are and where you are all in the same moment. But there was still a seed of surprise in her, and clearly her ideas of entertainment. Alec would sum it up with a solid, I guess.

“Shame,” Magnus sighed, then opened his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands around before they settled back down on his forehead. Alec brushed them out of the way. “Thank you. Lunch?”

Alec agreed. Whatever Magnus wanted.

It had been nearly a week since their lunch date - which was not a real date in any sense of the word - and Alec was craving - more like wanting very, very, very badly - to spend time with Magnus. Alec went next door to get the finely dressed man when the rain decided to make an appearance and ruin any chance he had to spend the afternoon with him.

Magnus opened the door and let him in nonetheless. “Do you mind? Spending the day inside?”

Never. Any time with Magnus was already well-spent regardless of where they were. They could be stranded or surrounded by spiders - or maybe no spiders in particular, just as a strictly professional example - and Alec would enjoy his company.

Magnus poured them some drinks. It was nothing special, just some soda he had stashed in the fridge. He carefully slid the glass across the coffee table as they settled by the couch.

Alec knew it was coming long before he started drinking when Magnus said, “Here.”

They had never done it in his apartment before. They liked to keep it outside where it was unpredictable and everything changed day to day. Reading the inside of where he lived was walking a very thin line that Alec hoped to not cross. He grounded himself nonetheless.

There was something very comfortable about the arrangement of the room. It was very simple - very Magnus. Alec took pride in noting that he very much liked it.

Magnus urged him to continue.

The bookshelves that lined the entire wall perpendicular to the balcony was well-loved. There was some dust on other sections, showing that there was less attention in these areas of literature - Patterson, Orwell, and Roth. Then there was the center section that was organized completely different that the rest. While the others were organized alphabetically by the author’s last name, this section was by color, and without any dust to say they weren’t tenderly loved and cared after. Shakespeare, Christie, and Evanovich were among them.

“They’re classic,” Magnus objected.

Alec continued without the encouragement. The balcony was the best part of the entire flat, Alec had to be honest. The kitchen was very nice and up to date with every fixture and design, but he was never able to get control over the stove after one of his college incidents. He appreciated the room from afar. The balcony, however, was not like that. It beckoned Alec forward. The drapes that framed the large double, glass doors would billow with the easy breeze like a long-waited breath from someone above. The view from the building looked down over the river and towards the horizon of never-ending condos and businesses. It was also perfect to watch the sun rise and set over the large radio tower towards the south end. The gray hue that came with the rain did nothing to hinder the treasure of this apartment.

“You always have a way with words, Alexander.”

Alexander. Magnus always had a way with the saying of his name. It ignited his bones with this intense spark that made him feel like he could do anything. If he could listen to any word on repeat from Magnus’ lips it would be his name.

“So tell me about you.”

Alec loosed a tight breath from his chest. They had done this once before at a time where they weren’t as close or as friendly as they were now. He kept his descriptions short and clipped. He hesitated.

He didn't know where to start. There was nothing that struck him as the first thing to start talking about. He decided to start from head to toe. He got his dark hair from his grandfather, but his eyes from his great-grandmother on his father’s side. They reminded him of green tea that had been sitting out for too long and mixed with coffee grounds. He had a scar on his eyebrow from when his youngest brother took a tumble and he dove to stop him from hitting the corner of the countertop. It made his face asymmetrical and the topic of every discussion with distant relatives. He noted a few birth marks on his shoulders and the large one on his neck that attracted more people staring than asking questions. He’d prefer an interrogation rather than the looks he got from people on the street or at his job.

He moved down his body, and all the while Magnus was quiet. There was nothing on his face that would indicate that he approved of his description, nor deny it. He was completely stoic.

By the time he finished, he was out of breath but felt indescribably lighter. He massaged his thumb hard into the center of his palm as he awaited a reply - anything - from Magnus.

The first thing he got was a swipe of his thumb across his bottom lip. Then, a response, “Just like the first time, Alexander.”

His heart dropped. There was no other way that he knew to describe himself except for being concise and quick.

“It’s ironic, really. I don’t need my sight to see that you, Alexander, are undeniably and irrevocably beautiful.”

Alec opened his mouth to object, to say anything, but nothing came out of his lips. It was just a pained whine, and Magnus was there holding his hands.

“Calluses from working too hard, you say. I see a hardworking man who is dedicated and motivated to get further in life - don’t argue with me, you know it’s true deep down.”

Alec did.

“Broad shoulders for a bulky figure. Excuse me, but, bullshit. If anything, it makes you a protector - hell, a superhero. Just the perfect size for me, I say.”

Alec would be his superhero in a heartbeat. He gulped.

“Birthmarks and scars… They show your story, Alec. Your life. Your journey. Don’t let anyone take that away from you. Plus…” Magnus dragged his thumb through his split eyebrow. “The scar is sexy. Makes you rugged.”

Alec all but melted into the couch. He pressed into the palm of his hand without really thinking about it. The warmth was what he needed. “I-I’ve never seen myself as beautiful.”

“Darling.” I know, was heard without having to be said. Alec didn’t know he was crying until Magnus was wiping away a stray tear. “You have always been beautiful to me. Always will.”

Alec eased further into Magnus’ warmth, nearly tumbling off the couch to get as close as possible. Magnus laughed when his lap suddenly became full with the rugged, dark-haired man. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Rain or shine, Magnus. Rain or shine.”

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patiodininginsunsethills · 2 years

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grandstrandvacationsandrentals · 2 years

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neon-fruitmonger · 4 years

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farewell to princess meatball, a very good & brave cat

tumblr’s utility as a conventional blogging site has always been questionable at best; nevertheless, it’s the only reliable stream-of-consciousness space I have outside of google docs.

importantly: putting this out here helps me. i’d like to think it can help someone else, someday, too. (be forewarned that it is very long and mildly graphic.)

the beginning

josh & I bought our first house in portland, oregon in the fall of 2014, two weeks before my 29th birthday. it was a freshly remodeled, mid-century ranch-style house a few short blocks from peninsula park. it came with retro-inspired light fixtures, charming built-ins, and a scraggly backyard-dwelling tabby cat. we purchased the washer and dryer separately.

we were not in the market for another pet. just as well, because this cat didn’t seem especially interested in being anyone’s companion. she laid out on our fence and occasionally peered into our windows, her docked ear the only sign that she’d been handled by humans. bearing the obvious marker of TNR and looking otherwise fed, we figured that could be enough.

i couldn’t tell you what possessed me to talk to the cat, but i did. there was nothing eventful leading up to our first conversation. we fixed each other with the same measured gaze -- me from the deck and her from her perch on the fence -- and i said, entirely conversationally: “hey, kitty.”

something about her face changed in that moment. she perked up and responded immediately with what I would soon come to recognize as her signature greeting: a confident and startlingly loud, “MEOW.” she slid down the fence, all claws, and came trotting up to me with an expectant gleam in her eye.

what else was I to do but feed her? josh told me not to feed her; I lied and said I didn’t. one day at dusk (otherwise known as 2:59pm during winter in the pacific northwest), I caught him spreading out a blanket on the deck and inviting her to sit with him, bowl of kibble in hand. “don’t start feeding the strays,” I echoed back to him, and he called back sheepishly, “well, she seems pretty hungry. what else was I supposed to do?”

but she didn’t become our cat at first feeding. it wasn’t until we noticed the huge, gaping wound on her chest -- red and visceral with a glossy, sickly citrine overcoat -- and subsequently wrangled her to the local vet for stitches, that she eventually started the journey towards being our cat.

by this point, she was coming into the house just a little bit; enough to keep her out of the rip city rain and safely nestled in a cozy bed-and-blankets nest near the back door, but not enough to put her in contact with our other pets. she didn’t much like being indoors, either. we bought her a little outdoor cathouse with a heated bed where she could escape from the downpour, and that’s where she’d spend most of her time.

...that is, until I coaxed her inside with treats, wrangled her into a cat carrier, sustained significant injuries from the attempt, and somehow got her to the vet with my life intact. they asked for her name; we’d been calling her “meatball,” because of course we weren’t planning on formally adopting her, so why not give her a ridiculous moniker? (we would only uncover her royal heritage later, sometime between her peeing on the new mid-century modern couch and using the above-ground pool as a giant water bowl.)

turns out meatball was very well-behaved for the vet, so much so that they were able to clean her wound and stitch her up with a bit of local anesthetic and some veterinary elbow grease. I had her vaccinated and dewormed, with stitch removal scheduled two weeks out. there was just one problem: sweet meatball had to remain exclusively indoors from the time we arrived home until here stitches were ripe for removing.

tl;dr: she hated it. she yowled and scratched up all the furniture and peed on everything. she whined incessantly at the back door, staring out through the glass at the freedom she had always known. she would look up at the ceiling and flinch away, seemingly claustrophobic for the dearth of endless blue sky above her. she kept us up at night -- every fucking night -- for two whole weeks. all in, I paid $700 to be tormented nightly by a nine-pound demon spawn and was decidedly not stoked about it.

when we brought her home for her follow-up appointment, I was convinced we’d never see her again. we took the carrier straight out to the deck and opened the door for her, expecting some calculating hesitation at the very least. but no, she bolted out like lightning and never looked back, a shock of mottled brown fur running full-speed into the unkempt shrubbery where our fence met the neighbor’s behind us. she didn’t even pretend to be grateful. I chalked it up to my good deed of the year and we made peace with her unceremonious bailout.

until, that is, she showed back up two hours later for her dinner.

princess meatball was ever after that our cat. she was mostly our outside cat, since that was where she felt most comfortable and at home. I had grand plans to convert her to an inside cat, but it seemed a cruel thing to force on an animal who had spent most of its life outside and loved nothing more than sleeping in impossibly tall trees, tightrope-walking the wooden fence, and yelling at all other animals that dared set paw in her yard.

not a year after we’d bought that house, I entertained a job offer in the bay area, in tech, a far cry from the boutique firm where I'd spent the last five years an underpaid editor, and where everyone was about to lose their job in an acquisition. we packed up the pets and drove 12 hours straight to san jose, where I hoped against hope that the yard in the house we rented -- a house we’d only seen through the lens of my local relatives who’d scoped it out for us -- was up to princess meatball’s lofty standards.

honestly, it’s hard to remember every detail from august 20, 2015 to december 21, 2020. between josh and I, we took enough photos and videos over the years to piece together a pretty accurate revisionist history, but there’s no need to rehash every detail. meatball’s days were mostly the same, in the best possible way: she spent her time outdoors, lapping up water from a bowl we filled with a garden hose, chattering at the many birds that nested in our trees, chasing butterflies, rolling around on the concrete porch, and sitting in the sunshine.

over the years, she acquired a two-story outdoor condo lined with turkish towels my aunt sent us for exclusive human use; we called it meatball’s summer house, but really it was an extension of her primary residence, and she gave no thought to the season. the princess had also commandeered the growing collection of patio furniture we amassed, along with all of the blankets and towels and everything else that made its way onto the patio. we joked that the back yard was “meatball’s house,” a concept that only grew in merit as she routinely greeted us every time we deigned to visit her.

it’s hard to convey through words alone, but the yard was her place. there isn’t a single inch of that space that wasn’t touched by meatball. when she wasn’t lounging in (or on top of) her villa, she was prowling in the bushes, taking shade under the hammock, or curled up on one of the seat cushions. she was everywhere, all at once. she was sunning herself on the deck. she was scaling the fence, albeit far more clumsily as she’d gone softer and, ahem, plumper from regular feeding and coddling alike. and if she saw you drag a blanket into the grass, she’d follow close behind, ready to lounge alongside you.

mindfulness often eluded me, but sitting in the grass with that little tiger-ticked tabby -- the breeze fluttering her dark-rooted whiskers and tickling her nose, ears twitching towards the sounds of bluebirds and finches, fur glistening in the warm california sun -- was the only time I truly knew peace.

she had dozens of fuzzy blankets indoors, but meatball could be comfortable anywhere. she could lounge in the gravel; she slept in the dirt; she’d nap on the ice chest. inside the house, where her humans dwelled, she would flatten herself under the furniture; nest in open drawers, however shallow; lie in loaf position, head straight down, on the back of the couch near the window. she slept on both beds, all chairs, any piece of cardboard -- box or elsewise -- and every other surface imaginable, save the countertops. some of her sleeping positions seemed supremely unnatural and yet, meatball was so at ease in every space she occupied.

so when, in the summer of 2020, meatball seemed less and less comfortable in any space that wasn’t the bottom of the shower, I knew something wasn’t right.

the end

one night, late in the spring, I'd remarked to josh that our princess seemed to be losing weight. she’d gotten fairly rotund up to this point, so the slimming didn’t seem drastic at first. even her increased thirst and cold-seeking behavior wasn’t totally alarming; we’d had unseasonably warm weather in the bay area, after all. deep down though, my conscience was nagging at me: something is going on with the cat.

meatball, like most other cats on planet earth, did not like going to the vet. unlike most other cats, meatball had been adopted semi-feral off the street and deeply feared all but the two humans who had dedicated their lives to socializing her. compounding this unfortunate fact were statewide covid-19 restrictions, which barred us from going into the vet’s office with her. nevertheless, on july 9th, we took her in for evaluation.

she was anemic, we learned. her bloodwork revealed some other anomalies, but nothing definitive. her x-rays were practically useless. the doctor guessed parasites; we gave her a dewormer and went about our way.

meatball maintained a strong appetite, but it wasn’t clear that she was gaining weight. against my better judgment, I googled her symptoms and her blood-tells. the internet’s vast crystal ball suggested hyperthyroidism and kidney failure and cancer. all of these were rare in a cat meatball’s age (or what we guessed was her age), but set my mental alarm fairies alight all the same.

near the end of that same month, I slid my hand idly along her flank, scrolling mindlessly through the phone in my dominant hand, and felt a lump.

it’s that same sick sort of feeling you get when you know you’re getting bad news -- life-changing, heart-rending bad news that will alter the trajectory of your worldview -- bad news that feels like a hard mass of something that doesn’t belong on your cat. I was not calm or collected; I was entirely mechanical as my feet dragged me to josh. I did not say, “I need you to come here” or “I need you to see this,” because those phrases were reserved solely for when the princess was being indescribably cute. instead, in a voice that felt unsteady and faraway in my own head, I said to him: “I need you to feel something on the cat.”

the results of this double-blind study were conclusive enough to warrant a call to the vet. the other vet. the really expensive vet with the on-premise hospital and compounding pharmacy and every type of specialist you could imagine. the vet that took three weeks to get into during the pandemic. that vet.

by the time we were able to take her in on august 13th, she was alarmingly thin: just under seven pounds despite extra treats and stealing her sister’s leftovers. the expensive vet took a biopsy of the lump and examined it under her microscope. “it looks waxy,” she said of the results. “it’s not what I would expect to see with cancer.”

vets have a tough lot. the totality of the healthcare system for humans in america is rotten enough on its own; naturally, most folks don’t have two nickels to rub together when it comes to preventive care and diagnostics for their pets. the typical next step for a human patient, said dr. blackwolf, was scheduling an ultrasound. but with pets, the expense was often tough for owners to justify, and she didn’t think it was urgent.

of course we opted for the fucking ultrasound. but the very soonest they could do it was september 5th. it would be ok to wait that long, she said, though the labor day holiday meant that we wouldn’t receive our test results back until the following thursday.

meatball remained as loving and good-natured as ever, but continued to lose weight. days before her ultrasound, she seemed increasingly uncomfortable, especially after eating. when the eternity between her biopsy and her ultrasound finally elapsed, we waited in the car, anxious and hopeful for the promise of a resolution. as with all appointments prior, meatball had peed in her carrier.

when the doctor called with her findings, she did so in the voice that people use when they’re breaking tough news to you. that voice that’s practical and giving you space to process, but feels pandering in the moment. “we shaved her belly and found more lumps,” she said somberly. “her spleen looks like swiss cheese. her intestines are very irregular-looking. her kidneys are failing.” every word a mach truck to my gut. finally: “the prognosis is likely very poor.”

she gave me options -- I don’t know what all of them were -- and advised me that they were contingent on the more conclusive lab results they’d get back. the doctor would not prescribe pain medication or recommend any therapy in the meantime, as this was highly dependent on the diagnosis.

it took nearly a week for the “conclusive” results, which were as conclusive as: maybe your cat has cancer of some kind? if it was cancer and we wanted to treat it with anything but “giving up,” meatball would have to go to a specialist at an even more expensive hospital, because changes to california state law prohibited the adequately-expensive hospital from administering chemotherapy within its current square footage. so I called the specialist. september 24th was the soonest available; sooner than I’d guessed, but nowhere soon enough. I took it, and then begged dr. blackwolf for the aid of any political capital she could summon. in her last mercy to us, she emailed meatball’s test results directly to the head of oncology. I received a call later that same day that dr. regan could do a telehealth consult that friday.

by this point, meatball was urinating in her sleep. she slept at the bottom of the shower and would wake up with her left hind leg soaked in diluted pee. when she wasn't in the shower, she would lie on the outdoor dining table or the metal cooler or even the dirty concrete. she no longer liked to perch upon blankets, especially the fuzzy ones -- formerly her favorites. her breathing was labored. she was clearly uncomfortable.

dr. regan was able to see meatball the morning after her consultation. she'd need to leech more of meatball’s precious blood, perform another ultrasound, and do all the things I'd wasted weeks and dollars doing before. but it didn’t matter, because help was on the horizon, and dr. regan was an oncologist.

I thought about chronicling all the particulars of meatball’s appointment dates and protocols, but I'm not sure that it’s necessary or even helpful to get it all exact, here. importantly, meatball was finally diagnosed with high-grade lymphoma; the lumps we had felt on her flank were actually her lymph nodes. the prognosis was indeed poor, and we could either choose to give her steroids until her passing, or attempt a chemotherapy protocol.

after seeing my coworker put her dog through chemotherapy only a year prior, I had silently promised myself that I would not put my pets, my partner, or myself through that emotional rollercoaster. and yet, when an expert is on the line telling you that you can buy your beloved best friend -- currently a shadow of the animal you once knew -- a few good-quality months or even years of life, it’s really fucking hard to remember those commitments you make to yourself, when your pets are healthy and your life is going just fine.

we told ourselves that we’d see how it went. if meatball felt better, we’d continue as long as she did. if the treatment stopped working, we’d stop taking her in. simple, really.

and the thing is, the treatment worked. we’d started her on a 16-week protocol and she got five solid weeks of marked improvement. she put weight back on; not a hint of her former paunch, but the muscle returned to her legs. she wasn’t peeing in her sleep anymore. she was active, even playful at times. she hated the daily dose of prednisolone, and she wasn’t a fan of the weekly hospital visits, but we’d reasoned it was a small price to pay to see her enjoying food and treats, pain-free. each week, the doctor had said her lymph nodes were feeling normal.

week six was her follow-up ultrasound and blood panel. once we saw how the cancer had diminished, we could put her on an every-other-week schedule, a much-needed respite from the weekly visits that sometimes kept her boarded for seven hours at a time.

unfortunately, this was also the week that the doctor felt meatball’s lymph nodes swelling up again, which meant the current protocol was no longer effective. every time we were at a crossroads with meatball’s health, I'd ask the doctors what they’d recommended. dr. regan said that we could try lomustine, a rescue chemotherapy protocol. there were risks, she’d said, but we could administer that to meatball instead of a now-pointless ultrasound and see how she responded.

if she’d responded at all, it wasn’t a good response. lomustine could only be given once every four weeks to keep its heightened immunosuppressive properties from overwhelming poor meatball. the first night, she threw up her undigested dinner on the bed. we’d brought her back weekly, still, for blood tests and monitoring. over the course of the next few weeks, she continued to lose weight and had lost her voice.

it was so important for me to be strong for meatball. I reasoned that she was enduring so much, the least I could do was provide her a source of stability and confidence. but hearing her signature loudmouth meow grow increasingly hoarse before falling completely silent nearly broke me. she ate haltingly, taking labored gulps from her dish. she could no longer alert me when she wanted in or outside, so she scratched at the door or simply sat and waited.

when we took her back to the oncologist, I thought that would be it; she’d tell me that there was nothing else we could do except “keep her comfortable,” an option that seemed out of our reach by then. selfishly, I wanted someone else to tell us when it was time to let go. but she offered to give meatball another dose of elspar and pursue another course of treatment from there, so I thought, may as well try.

and wouldn't you know it: our fierce little tigress, slayer of wayward rodents and champion of the tall grass, had once again bounced back from the brink. she put on weight. her meow returned in full force.

it was one of many gifts we had and would receive for the duration of the princess’ reign. denial had a powerful hold on me for weeks, as I'd started to feel the notches in her spine once more; but the doctor said her lymph nodes were feeling mostly normal, remarked that her being was more substantial, and we held on to that hope until the very last. we held on until dr. regan called us an hour or so after we’d dropped meatball off for another treatment and said, I'm sorry, but I can feel her nodes again.

somehow, I expected the call before I even received it. meatball’s quality of life hadn’t decreased in any manner of obvious significance, but over the final weeks and months of her time in this mortal realm, I'd grown so in tune with her health and the deviations in her body and demeanor, however minor. the prominence of her ribs was as clear a diagnostic as any lab test, to say nothing of any disturbances in her eating and lounging patterns. these changes, like the ones preceding her eventual diagnosis, were gradual, subtle; viewing them as individual points in time, you could almost mistake them for the signs of aging, even in a cat as young as we think the princess was.

every time the disease changed course, dr. regan (and all doctors before her, for that matter) would present me with a set of options, typically in threes. this time was no different: we could try another, highly specialized course of treatment that required trained staff to administer; we could continue giving meatball the gentle elspar that had been working so well; or we could simply keep her as comfortable as possible for the remainder of her life on steroids alone.

unencumbered by emotion, I'd always prided myself on my practical, often utilitarian thinking. just like I thought I'd never elect to put my cat through chemotherapy, so too did I assume I would inherently know the right path at any crossroads during treatment. and once again, I had grossly miscalculated the impact that unimaginable sorrow would have on my decision making. as with every inflection point in this ill-fated choose your own adventure: cheating death on behalf of your cat, I hemmed and hawed.

because what do you even say when faced with those choices? for so many people, the cost of life-saving or -extending care is infeasible, often for their human and animal loved ones alike. that doesn’t make the choice any easier; I suspect in many cases, it can even make finality of such a decision that much more gut-wrenching for its lack of alternatives. but we weren’t at the end of our rope, financially, nor had we apparently exhausted our options. to me, possibilities meant hope.

just like the law, there is both a letter and spirit to interpreting a course of action. taking another route was a literal possibility, but if the guiding principle behind every decision was maintaining a good quality of life for meatball, then pursuing that path had to be in service of her best interest.

as usual, I asked the doctor, “what do you think is reasonable?” it was a cop-out, maybe, and one that flirted with unduly burdening her, but I trusted dr. regan to give me an objective response. she had already let me know that there was no shame, no defeat, in simply keeping the princess comfortable from the outset. this was her life’s work and her speciality; in the absence of known monetary hurdles, which we’d define if and when the expense became untenable, she could more readily chart the boundaries into moot territory. she could be meatball’s health advocate in a way my heart might not allow me to be.

this time, dr. regan did not recommend the alternative treatment. we agreed to take the middle ground of administering the elspar once again, and then every three weeks until it was no longer effective. in conjunction with the daily prednisolone, dr. regan said it would likely give her a few more weeks of good-quality life.

this time, when we picked meatball up from treatment, it was a different nurse who carried her out into the parking lot and into my arms. she asked me if I had paid over the phone (I had) and said the doctor wanted to see meatball again in three weeks’ time. I asked if they would schedule us ahead of time, as they’d done before. “we’ll call you,” she said, and it felt non-committal under the sag of meatball’s carrier.

they never called. not that it mattered; it was obvious to us that the elspar was no longer effective. meatball seemed stable enough in the following week. then, the week after, she started a noticeable decline.

it hurts to think about the degradation of her quality of life at all, let alone in detail, but honoring meatball’s life means honoring all of her life, the hard parts included. she’d developed chronic diarrhea and was vomiting once a day. we reasoned that she was still eating, still purring, still perky. we ordered her high-fiber food and probiotic supplements. we babied her incessantly, and she ate it up. but starting that weekend, it became clearer that she wouldn’t make it to that next appointment; the one we never even made.

on sunday, she’d barely eaten. she had grown so fearful and resistant to her steroids, that the process of medicating her became traumatic for us all. after a very early and reasonably hearty breakfast, she vomited many hours later, in a voluminous splash that sounded like a hefty water balloon tossed onto the tile, all full of partially-digested food and mucus. it was then that josh made the call to the in-home euthanasia service, and we somehow agreed to a 1pm appointment the following day, gasping for breath between sobs.

usually after she’d throw up, meatball would want to turn back around and eat again. this time, she retreated quietly outside to rest in the sun. when she ultimately came back in at night, the light in her eyes had visibly dulled. she enjoyed a few freeze-dried salmon treats from josh’s hand, but little else. I made her a nest out of a large cardboard box and a duvet cover, where she spent most of the night and the next morning, tucked away.

in the middle of the night, she heard josh get up to use the bathroom. like she often did when he rose at night, she followed him. only this time, she wanted to eat a full meal. he sat with her, petting her while she devoured her late-night dinner, listening to her purr rattle in her tiny chest before she curled up with him in bed. then, after giving him that last gift, she crawled into her box-nest and stayed until morning.

I didn’t get up with the two of them that night, though I treasure the memory of her little crunching sounds echoing in the hallway. it’s a bittersweet feeling of happiness, tinged with sorrow; I wish that I had joined them in that last moment of meatball being meatball, but at the same time, I’m happy that they had a moment of shared tenderness and vulnerability. sometimes, knowing and observing is enough. in this case, it has to be.

in the morning, I laid on the floor in front of her corrugated hut -- another property to add to her empire, and proof that anything could be a bed to meatball. she’d bunched herself up against the back of the box and when she changed positions, slowly and methodically, we saw that she’d urinated in her sleep. as far as we could know, it was the first time since her formal diagnosis. cats are clean and prideful animals, but meatball was always immaculate. while it wasn’t embarrassing for her to soil herself, it was surely unpleasant, if not outright vexing.

as painful as it is to relive the loss of her life, hashing out the loss of her trust is somehow harder. over the last two or three days, she’d been especially wary of me. it seemed any affection she had left was reserved for josh, whom I'd intentionally positioned as the “good guy,” swooping in with treats and affection after I'd administer her daily steroid. selfishly, pitifully, I needed absolution before her passing.

so, against that damnably practical nature of mine, I put a small pillow on the floor and curled up near her, careful not to block her exit route. her eyes were dull and wide; she had little interest in anything but managing her own discomfort. I tried my hardest not to cry too much. and I spoke to her.

it’s important to note that my family believes in a lot of weird shit. at least, that’s how I always saw it. as a kid, my dad would talk to me about animals having a shared soul and collective conscious. a few years ago, my aunt had gone on safari in africa and met a purported interspecies communicator; she’s now convinced she can talk to animals telepathically. and while I can neither validate or invalidate their beliefs, I can say that, at bare minimum, talking to meatball helped me. I hope it helped her, too.

I started to tell her an abbreviated version of her life story as I knew it, and as I’ve written about it. I told her that she was one of the best things to ever happen to us, and I meant it. I told her that her legacy would live on with us, and that we would never forget about her. I told her that I wasn’t going to let her suffer any longer, and that I was so proud of how strong and brave she was, and that I only ever wished to help her. I told her that all of us did everything we could; the we knew she needed us to be strong; and that help was on the way for her. I told her how much I loved her, and how much I would miss her, but that both josh and I would be okay. I told her that it was okay for her to go, that she could rest, and that we would be here for her always.

as I spoke to her, she slow-blinked a few times, an homage to the fond way with which she’d regard us when we complimented her, petted her, sang songs about her, or even asked her questions she couldn’t very well answer. when I was done, I asked her to forgive me. and for the first time in days, she leaned down to my outstretched hand and gave my fingers a lick.

perhaps I'm guilty of anthropomorphizing; maybe I sound like a quack. but somehow, meatball always knew what we needed. and even if she couldn’t understand my words, she seemed to know that I needed her love and acceptance in that moment. (and of course, I promptly lost my shit, cried, and thanked her profusely for her grace).

another hour or so passed in the box before she got up, walked to her water dish, and then promptly exited the human house through the propped-open back door, entering her domain for the last time.

meatball was weak; a shadow of her usual self. she was gaunt, frail, and visibly tired. but she relaxed in her summer house one last time. she sat on the cushioned bench where she used to perch next to josh, grooming herself while he’d read. and then, one last time, she came to lie with us in the grass, on a blanket in the sun.

among the aversions she’d developed during her bout with lymphoma, she most distrusted the sight of the two of us together. to her, it meant we were going to tag team getting her to her her appointments, and she was not having that. but she relaxed and allowed us both a spot on the blanket. she no longer purred, but she gave us both a few final head-butts. she licked my nose one last time, despite the taste of sunblock I'd slathered on. and she let us pet her for hours, until the doctor -- the last doctor in a sea of too many medical professionals -- arrived.

by this point, meatball had grown suspicious. she could sense our combined anxiety; having to don face masks didn’t help ease her skepticism. I went to greet the doctor and go over logistics. by the time I escorted her into the back yard, meatball was back on her bench, next to josh, where she loved to be.

while friendly and infinitely loving, the princess was feral at heart. we’d spent a long time socializing her, but she really only had eyes for us two. she feared other humans, especially humans dressed like doctors, and we, in turn, feared that she would try to make a break for it at the sight of dr. cheung. the nightmare scenario was that meatball would spend her last moments afraid, and being forced out of hiding by the two people she loved.

meatball tensed lightly as the gentle doctor approached, but seemed to relax just as quickly. we went through the paperwork. we picked out an urn. we tried to give meatball some ice cream, but she was too sick for it. then, the doctor gave her the first shot, a combination of morphine and general anesthesia.

being true to meatball’s legacy and experience, and without having the human words to share her thoughts, I can safely say that meatball fucking hated that shot. for a brief, wild moment as her angry yowl culminated in a fierce hiss, my brain panicked with thoughts of, “these are her last conscious moments and they are filled with fury and betrayal.” she tried to run off, up the stairs and onto the deck, towards the house. she made it up, but not inside; the drugs worked quickly, and Josh and I followed her with reassurances.

honestly, I can’t remember what either of us said. I don’t know if it mattered. I think we both petted her. I think we both told her we loved her. and she began to settle, the drugs taking her pain and discomfort away. she eased into a peaceful sleep. at some point, I became painfully aware of my face mask filling up with snot. I felt like I was choking for air. I worried I would pass out there next to her.

dr. cheung clearly felt bad about meatball’s reaction. she came and tenderly folded a soft blanket under meatball’s little head. she let us sit and pet her for awhile. while we’d been forewarned, the sight of meatball’s beautiful, but unseeing eyes was disconcerting for me. I forced myself to look anyway.

her breathing was even and steady for the first time in days, unburdened by pain or nausea. her little front paw twitched involuntarily. dr. cheung, comforting us as well as herself, I suspect, told us, “if she knew from the start that we were giving her a peaceful end to her suffering, she would have held her leg out willingly.” then, even more quietly, she said, “I can feel the lumps in her belly. there are so many.”

I don’t know how much time we took, holding each other and crying, petting meatball and repeating assurances that she couldn’t hear, much less comprehend. I clipped a few tufts of belly fur off of her while she slept, a practice that felt mildly violative but still preferable to defilement of a corpse. at some point, not too long after, we gave the doctor the okay to administer the euthanasia.

maybe I'm a coward, but I couldn’t watch meatball take her last breath. I held her front paw, the one that had twitched, the entire time. seconds (minutes?) later, dr. cheung held her stethoscope to meatball’s chest and said quietly, “she has passed.” I opened my eyes to look at hers, which had dilated unnaturally under the bright sky. part of me sincerely wishes I hadn’t burned that last image into my brain; still, I didn’t look at her belly, no longer rising and falling in the gentle cadence of calm breath. I buried my face in josh’s shoulder and kept hold of meatball’s little paw until we signaled dr. cheung to take her.

as soul-crushing as it is to hold your pet while they breathe their last, to sit with their little body in death, to feel the oppressive weight of finality descend upon you, and to be so painfully raw and vulnerable in front of a stranger, it came with a sense of relief for an end to her struggle.

from her perch on the top step, the doctor slowly -- so very slowly -- removed the blanket from under meatball’s head and laid it out on the deck next to her. she gently shimmied the waterproof pad under meatball’s backside and used it to carefully lift her onto the blanket, supporting her head and she went. although meatball would not have known, in death, if she’d emptied her bowels, we were glad for her sake that she hadn’t. this day, she did not vomit. she went to the bathroom moments before the doctor had arrived.

dr. cheung swaddled meatball like an infant in her arms, leading us out to the back of her SUV where she lowered the bundle of meatball into a lined basket; a baby in a bassinet. finally, she peeled the blanket back from meatball’s little face so we could see her one last time, at peace, with yet another bed to her name -- as was her way.

life after meatball

meatball died on monday, december 21, 2020 at approximately 1:30pm. it was the winter solstice, and a day that marked the great conjunction of jupiter and saturn. somewhere, some sect surely believed this would be the day the world would end; for me, it may as well have been.

that may seem melodramatic, even to an avowed animal lover, but if you were lucky enough to be loved by meatball, it would feel like the understatement it is.

everywhere you were, there was meatball: loud, expressive, and a little bossy at times. she was so talkative, never minding the fact that we spoke in different tongues. over time, she only seemed to grow louder and more insistent, her meow often being mistaken for a screaming child in the background. strangely, she relished receiving pets while she ate. in fact, she would often consume her meal with more gusto once she had a hand gliding down her back and a familiar human voice praising her, bestowing formal recognition upon her as the very good eater that she was. we joked, once, that we’d created a monster by coddling her so; it seemed that after years of indulging her, well, indulgent behavior, she began requiring an audience for her meals.

demanding though she may have been, she gave back a thousandfold. every time we returned home, always entering through the back yard, she would greet us enthusiastically, meowing and chirping and sticking her little face through the gap between the gate and the side of the house. she knew the sounds of our footfalls and the scent of our presence drawing nearer. oftentimes we wouldn’t make it through the door without showering her with affection, petting her belly while she rolled around on the ground, flipping back and forth and purring.

our PDA didn’t hold a candle to hers, though. meatball was a connoisseur of hand hugs, stretching out her limbs while we’d stroke her chest, then retracting them in a firm embrace around the hand whosever hand was tending her, nuzzling her face into the touch with a small, accompanying squeal, eyes squeezed shut. she loved to kiss and be kissed; we would take turns kissing the patch of golden fur on her forehead before presenting our own faces, upon which she graciously reciprocated the act.

but she needed no invitation to lavish you with licks from her sandpaper tongue. meatball would approach the both of us at eye level and lick our foreheads, cheeks, noses, chins, and hair, wholly unsolicited. to this day, and for at least the year prior, I’ve sported a perpetual small, circular red spot at the tip of my otherwise bloodless nose; a physical testament to her unending devotion. earlier this year, I had resolved to discourage meatball kisses in the hopes that the mark, so obvious against my pale flesh, would eventually go away. it’s thoughts like those that make me feel so sick and sad. fortunately, I lacked the resolve to keep her at bay for long.

meatball loved to press her forehead against yours; rub the side of her face against yours; nuzzle you unabashedly and for absolutely no discernible reason. if you held a book or beverage or device in your hands, well, she would head-butt your hands and whatever thing that occupied them. at the risk of assigning human motivations to a tabby cat, we never got the sense that meatball’s sole objective was commanding your attention. rather, meatball was a cat that took matters into her own paws: if your fingers weren’t available for caressing her, she’d pet herself on them while you went about your business.

similarly, meatball could make her own fun. she never lacked for toys (or cardboard boxes), but when her mortal nemesis, rainbow snake, was nowhere to be found, she would just... attack the blankets. or the grass. or launch herself at a piece of furniture.

more than anything in the world, meatball loved life. her vigor went beyond the unmistakable survival instinct that connects humans and animals by a spiritual thread; everything captivated meatball. every sound, every smell, every sun beam, every breeze, every little movement or flash of light. she took such joy in drinking fresh rainwater out of the divots in the deck; in watching the squirrels run along the fence; in being brushed; in receiving treats of any sort; in having one of us spoon her wherever she lay.

to write about her like this almost makes her seem needy; to the contrary, she was fiercely independent and happy to be part of the action without inserting herself at its center. she wasn’t a lap cat, but she was a lover through and through. and while concepts like time and gratitude were much too human to project unto her, I know that she spent the rest of her short life expressing her gratefulness to us for having saved her. I felt her thanks in every lick, every slow blink, every purr.

2020 was a tough fucking year for so many people. I know that josh and I are among the luckiest of the bunch: we didn’t get sick, none of our human friends or family members fell ill, and both of us were able to work from home. we have good neighbors, a big back yard (that meatball generously let us use), and live in the heart of silicon valley, where we could have everything delivered to us with relative speed and ease.

but comparing the suffering of one human to another is apples to oranges. despite our position of relative privilege, we suffered heavily under the demands of our respective jobs. like everyone else, we were robbed of our routines, unable to see friends or be part of the community in the ways that we so enjoyed: the farmer’s markets, local coffee shops and restaurants, our favorite small businesses, and even the occasional trip to the coast. the stress of us politics and global events weighed on us. quarantine was depressing, the world was depressing, and life as we knew it just... changed. it was ok to grieve that loss.

the one bright spot: we could spend more time with our pets. meatball, in particular, loved this. for one, it meant that she wouldn’t have to choose between indoors and outside; we would leave the back door propped open with the metal, cat-shaped doorstop, allowing her an easy transition between spaces at will. it also meant that we could take lunches and breaks with her out on the patio or in the grass. and if she wanted a morsel or two of food she wouldn’t otherwise get outside -- we didn’t want to attract ants or other critters, after all -- well, then, that was just a bonus.

the sensible part of me is glad that we had this time together, in light of her diagnosis. it allowed us to be present for her and to maximize the remainder of her life with us. it also gave us flexibility with scheduling medication and feedings, and the peace of mind that we would always be around with her if a complication arose.

the irrationally angry, still-grieving part of me is so unbelievably gutted that the universe saw fit to take away my one silver lining of this fucking pandemic. that, by acknowledging what was most important to me, I somehow doomed her to be taken away.

and I know, I know: it’s better to have loved and lost. barring another tragedy, I knew we’d both outlive meatball, and that even another decade with her wouldn't have been long enough. I know she’ll live on in our hearts; I know that loving her made us better people. but right now, I'm struggling to breathe under the crushing, suffocating, unfathomable absence of her. the back yard is overwhelming in its energy and the absoluteness of never hearing her curious and joyful meows again.

because for all the routines we’d abruptly given up in march of this year, meatball so often was the routine. it might not sound rational or healthy to say, but in many ways, our day-to-day life revolved around meatball (and our other pets, past and present). despite my misgivings about enabling outdoor cats, meatball’s origin story made it entirely impractical for us to imprison her in a house, and the assortment of california fauna that might scrabble its way indoors in her stead had rendered the possibility of a cat door equally futile (to say nothing of the fact that we’ve been renting for the last five years, anyway). this meant that meatball needed a perpetual doorwoman at her beck and call; apparently, this was my true life’s work.

it would be dishonest of me to suggest I always accommodated her willingly and happily. leaving the door open was fine during the day, but at night, we’d close and lock it. if meatball wanted inside, she would have to yell to get our attention, scratch mercilessly at the back door, or both in tandem.

sometimes it would only be once a night. more often, it would be two, three, or even four times she’d want in and out: to get a bite of food, to cuddle in the warmth of the bed, or for some unfathomable, attention-seeking reason I couldn’t comprehend at 3am. sometimes I groused about it; occasionally, I would have a meltdown about it. but I always did it. I never wanted meatball to feel like she would be abandoned by us or that she couldn’t have access to food or fresh water. similarly, and despite the obvious toll the cumulative sleep loss took on my health, I wanted reassurance that she hadn’t been captured by a nocturnal predator, hadn’t ventured outside of the yard and gotten herself injured or worse, and wasn’t suffering in an unexpected storm or drop in overnight temperature. and if she was in some sort of trouble, then I would never forgive myself for sleeping through her distress.

so many other rituals revolved around meatball’s wants and needs (or our various interpretations of them). she would wait outside the bathroom door if you were in it, waiting to be greeted. she would frequent “treat station,” a grassroots cat treat co-op sprung up from the bench at our dining room table where she’d sit and wait silently for one of us to give her some goodies. she would simply sit between us on the couch at night, watching whatever was happening on the big screen while her humans were preoccupied with their small screens, taking turns at absently petting her.

her loss is felt in every corner of this property. I struggle to resume the search for a house to purchase, because leaving here means leaving a part of her behind. we can open the back door and glance two paces ahead at the spot where she died, a few of her little hairs sitting dormant until the next rainfall. we can take with us the furniture and the many blankets she loved, but the yard she owned and championed, the space where she lived her best until she ultimately perished, cannot be taken with us.

the ugliest side of grief

writing this out has been cathartic, in many ways, and painful as a motherfucker in others; I don’t know that the two are mutually exclusive. but still, it feels like the journey through inexplicable loss has just begun.

the thing is, we were trapped in a cycle of mourning for meatball with no foreseeable closure until now -- and even now, truth be told. cold fear had me gripped in the weeks leading up to her diagnosis, bone chillingly aware of how bad a sign unexplained weight loss was in cats. we feared we’d lose her before her treatment would even begin. then, her incredible response gave us such hope. we wept and grieved when she lost her voice; we cried any time she showed a sign of illness or discomfort. we knew that we couldn’t save her life; only buy her some time and solace.

I used to think that when meatball did eventually pass -- innumerable years into an abstract future, as I'd imagined it then -- I would have no regrets about the life we provided for her. and on the whole, I really don’t. right now -- today and all days following her passing, though hopefully someday with decreased frequency -- I struggle with the kind of guilt only wrought from hindsight.

was there anything I could have done differently? was I not careful enough in administering her medication? did the droplets that leaked from the corners of her mouth or ricocheted off the insides of her cheeks make a difference of weeks or months? should I have at least tried the alternative treatment? was there anything else I could have done for her pain? should I have called the vet about her diarrhea and vomiting sooner?

if I knew that princess meatball would die on december 21, 2020, would I have still explored all of the treatment options I did? was it worth it?

did she know how much I loved her?

did I force her to prolong her suffering on my account?

so many of these questions have answers I can’t possibly know. I know that I did my best; we both did. I know that we gave her a merciful end, even if she was angry about the needle part at first. I know that she isn’t suffering any more. yes, we could have called a day or two sooner and prevented any further decline; but with her ability to rebound after a bad day, it felt almost premature. I feel absolutely certain that the timing was right based the information we had.

she knew that I loved her, even if she couldn’t understand why I constantly subjected her to things she didn’t like. she knew that I didn’t like those things either, I think. whether there was anything I did or didn’t do: who knows? everything I did for her was out of pure love, and for most of the treatment cycles, she was relatively comfortable and happy. she didn't like going to the vet, but she loved sitting on my lap for the car ride home. she hated her medicine, but she enjoyed being rewarded with tuna water and brushes under her chin. the treatment side effects, when they did manifest, were mild and few. and for awhile, we saw her enjoy herself as she used to.

her loss is profound, and it chokes me throughout the day. I want to fight against fate, or give up and die, too. but that would be very silly of me to do, when a little tabby cat who weighed no more than five and a half pounds at the time of her death could fight so hard to stay alive for her people.

rest well, my golden-crowned princess. your light lives on in us.

#pet loss #grief/mourning #pet death tw #needles tw #bodily fluids tw #all the fucking sad in my body just dumped here on the page #hyperventilated at least twice while writing this #cried constantly but it's fine #honestly feel like i could write an entire trilogy about my grief and still have plenty of sad leftover for the footnotes #loved this cat more than i love most people #2020 is dumb af

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boydteam · 5 years

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http://dlvr.it/RLy1Sy The Pelicans Watch Community was designed with everyone’s summer vacation in mind. The ocean view building enjoys the use of an outdoor pool which is conveniently located on the ocean front. This allows families to either utilize the pool or to enjoy the ocean, both within close proximity of each other. Pelicans Watch 321 is a large 3 bedroom and 2.5 bath floor plan with an ocean view from both balconies. The offset layout of the units creates the same effect as a corner unit, so its additional side window in the living room allows for more light and a sense of additional space. Pelicans Watch 321 is also being sold fully furnished. You and your guests will enjoy the large screened in balcony that is accessed through sliding glass doors in the living room. The master bedroom features its own private balcony and its own full bath. Recently there were significant upgrades to Pelicans Watch by the Homeowner's Association. All the insulated windows in this unit were replaced as well as the insulated sliding glass doors in the living room and master bedroom. In addition, the carpeting on both balconies was replaced and a new ceiling fan will be installed in the large screened in balcony. The outside of the entire community was also painted. The owners also upgraded this unit with Bamboo Hardwood floors in the living room and all bedrooms. Also, granite countertops were installed in the kitchen and all three bathrooms. In the kitchen all stainless steel appliances were added and the unit’s ceilings were redone to make them smooth along with the addition of crown molding. An elevator is conveniently located to allow easy access to all residences from the ground level. The location of Shore Drive truly is incredible! You can keep your car parked as you visit the famous Ocean Annie's oceanfront bar, or the very popular River City Cafe, home to one of the best hamburgers on the beach. When you do have an inclination to get in your car, you are just minutes away from shopping at Tanger Outlets, Myrtle Beach Mall, Broadway at the Beach, or Barefoot Landing. Or, you can visit Alligator Adventure, House of Blues, Alabama Theatre, Carolina Opry, or Pirates Voyage, all providing great entertainment for the entire family. For the golfer in your family, you are just minutes away in any direction from some of the most challenging golf available along the Grand Strand. Pelicans Watch 321 is the complete ocean destination. Call the listing agent and make your appointment to see this condominium today! The square footage is approximate and not guaranteed. The Buyer is responsible for verification. #condo #townhome #beachretreat #beachlife #vacation #homesweethome #realestate #boydteam #results #wesellthebeach #family #memories #eddieboyd #julieboyd #www.boydteam.com #8432228566 #www.boydteam.com

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samuelmmarcus · 5 years

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Florida Coastal Condo Interior Design

Beautifully designed by the talented interior designer Lisa Michael Interiors, LLC (previously featured here – you need to see it!), this vacation condo located in North Palm Beach features resort-style living with Moroccan flair. Here, the designer shares more insights about this project:

“The water club way project is unique in that it transports the homeowners to the feeling of being in an exotic locale. Through the use of color, texture, materials, and specialty paint applications, the finished look pulls from various design genres that coexist together giving the home an eclectic collected feel. The living areas within the condo were designed to create an experience for the homeowners, each possessing its own unique identity and sense of place. The condo has a tropical and exotic feel, but also an ethnic flair with a contemporary bohemian twist.”

I hope you get inspired and transported to this special place.

Florida Coastal Condo Interior Design

Beginning in the elevator vestibule you are introduced to what lies ahead.

The hand painted stenciled walls in vibrant orange and a shimmery gold wash create a backdrop for a charpoy bench. A large painting with a moody collage of dots mimics the texture of a Moroccan fabric, giving the home a sense of being in an exotic locale.

Stencil work: artist: Dana Donaty Designs.

Color: “Sherwin Williams Robust Orange” and gold metallic wash.

Artwork: Custom Giclee in custom color – Name of Painting: “A Kiss and 14,125 Hugs” by Robert Robinson.

Bench: Moroccan Charpoy Bench ABC Carpet and Home – similar here.

Pillows: ABC Carpet and Home – Others: here, here, here & here.

Entry

Upon entering into the foyer, the walls are saturated in the same vibrant orange that draw the eye up to the mirrored inlay chevron tile and custom Murano glass triple pendant, enveloping the space. A grass cloth entry table sits below a rattan sun shaped mirror adding a sense of whimsy and a tropical touch (Selamat).

Paint Color: “Sherwin Williams SW 6628 Robust Orange”.

Mirror: Selamat Ray Round Mirror (Available through the designer) – Other Beautiful Mirrors: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Console: Bungalow 5 Papyrus – similar here – Others: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Front door stencil: Royal Design Studio Rani Paisley Damask Stencil.

Ceiling: Mirrored chevron mosaic tile from Artistic Tile.

Lighting: Custom Murano Glass Triple pendant.

Kitchen

In the kitchen, a river shell mosaic tile backsplash was selected to add texture and reflect light while keeping the space serene.

Kitchen Cabinetry: European Cabinetry, white gloss mixed with white washed wood and taupe/gray gloss panels on island.

Counterstools: Charleston Forge. Fabric: Kate Spade for Kravet – custom. Other Counterstools: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Backsplash

Backsplash is Rivershell Mosaic from Artistic Tile – Similar: here – Others: here, here, here & here.

Artwork: Client’s own purchased from an art show watercolor print – Fun Artwork: here.

Cooktop & Range hood: Jenn-Air.

Countertop

Countertop is Quartz in Taupe/Gray.

Faucet: here.

Pendants: Ro-Sham-Beaux Orb Glass Pendants – Similar here & here – Other Pendants: here, here, here & here.

Breakfast Nook

The light fixtures in the main living space were carefully selected for their natural elements, adding texture and creating a cohesive lighting story. Both the pendants and beaded fixture were custom ordered from Ro-Sham-Beaux I believe that natural elements calm a space and soften the architectural envelope lending a sense of comfort and warmth.

Artwork behind table: Customized vintage print from textile print of antique rugs.

Chandelier: Ro-Sham-Beaux Frankie Malibu Chandelier – Other similar Chandeliers: here, here, here, here, here, here & here.

Dining Chairs: Serena & Lily.

Dining Table: Serena and Lily.

Living Room Side Table: HomeGoods – similar here.

Living Room

The main feature of the living space is the custom designed Moroccan inspired étagère backed by a hand painted and stenciled paisley wall in an indigo blue.

Television console and media piece: Designed by the interior designer. She custom designed the media piece with integrated etagere. Finish is Benjamin Moore Snowfall White and silver leaf.

Accent Wall

The hand painted paisley wall creates interest and depth to the space, while the étagère was designed to house the television, while adding shelving for décor. Other key design elements in the living space are the contemporary dramatic and visually engaging rattan lounge chairs.

Rattan armchairs: Palecek with Kate Spade for Kravet upholstery fabric (available through the designer).

Pillows: Custom, Ikat fabric by F.Schumacher.

Side table: here.

Coffee Table

The coffee table is an antique Moroccan tray which adds an eclectic vibe sitting upon a handmade imported jute rug adding texture and warmth.

Wall Paint Color: “Benjamin Moore Snowfall White”.

Sofa: Custom, Lee Industries Slipcovered sectional in white denim (available through the designer) – Similar: here– Others on Sale: here, here, here, here & here.

Pillow: Robert Allen Paisley, Custom – Other Beautiful Blue & White Pillows: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Coffee Table: Antique Moroccan tray table base refinished in gold wash – Other Beautiful Coffee Tables: here & here.

Rug: Handwoven jute rug in natural and indigo – similar here, here, here, here & here.

Table Lamp: Arteriors Home.

View

The outdoor area design continues the color story and resort concept outside and connects the interior and the exterior through color. Table was selected for curved lines and cut out detail. Pop of orange on the chair cushions melds with interior orange accents while the Talavera pottery adds ethnic vibe and woven modern rope chair juxtaposes with dining area for interest and texture.

Talavera pottery: HomeGoods – similar here.

Den

The den has west views of the city and also functions as an additional guest bedroom with a sleeper sofa.

Enveloping the remaining walls is a saturated cobalt blue that plays back to the linen sleeper sofa dressed with exotic textiles found on the throw pillows. A rattan coffee table juxtaposes with a contemporary lacquered grass cloth desk for her husband who works from home. The windows are framed out with custom draperies with a batik leaf print from Robert Allen fabrics.

Sofa: Duralee Slipcovered queen sleeper sofa – similar here & here.

Orange Acapulco chairs: here – similar.

Wooden sidetable: Homegoods – similar here, here & here.

Color Scheme

The space features an electric orange accent wall displaying a collection of handmade African baskets giving a tribal touch (non-profit-good cause – from “AllAcrossAfrica”).

Paint Color: “Sherwin Williams Knockout Orange SW 6885”.

Pillows: Custom Embroidered and batik throw pillows – similar: here.

Rattan/glass coffee table: Selamat – similar here.

Master Bedroom

Down the homes main hallway, the master bedroom is saturated in a rich dusty navy blue with a white bed and night tables from Redford house that pop against the wall color.

Art above bed: Classic Sea Fan – Artist: Karen Robertson – similar here.

Bedding: Quilt Serena and Lily, Anthropologie white duvet with fringe, Serena and Lily scalloped euro shams with navy embroidery.

Bed: Redford House Fiona Bed Luxe (Available through the designer) – Others: here, here, here & here.

X Benches: Haven Bench by Redford House. Custom Fabric: Robert Allen, Mussell Shell (Available through the designer) – Others: here & here.

Rug: Custom, White Shag Rug – similar here.

Paint Color & Artwork

The room features art from nature seen in the sea fans, and geometric shell piece.

Paint Color: “Sherwin Williams Indigo Batik SW 7602”.

Artwork: WJC Designs Sliced Spindle Shells.

Pillows: Anthropologie & Homegoods.

Throw blanket: Anthroologie.

Nightstands

Nightstands: Redford House Milla Side Table (Available through the designer) – Others: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Fabric: Robert Allen – White linen with embroidered and batik Design.

Table Lamps: Hudson Valley.

Master Bathroom

In the master bathroom, the designer created a serene space with soothing color that certainly compliments the master bedroom.

Chandelier: Arteriors Home.

Paint Color

“Sherwin Williams Daphne SW 9151”.

Window Treatment: Custom, Robert Allen Fabric with Kravet Trim.

Artwork: Harbor by Lisa Cuscuna.

Hallway

Hallway Paint Color: “Snowfall White by Benjamin Moore”.

Desk: Bungalow 5 White lacquer and lacquered grasscloth.

Chair: Selamat Designs with custom fabric – similar style: here.

Lighting: here & here – similar.

Artwork: Palecek.

Guest Bedroom

The guest bedroom features a woven natural abaca rope canopy bed from Palecek.

Beautiful Canopy Beds: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Chandelier: Serena & Lily – one of my favorites!

Pillows

The guest bedroom pillows inspired the use of metallic in the space. The hand painted Jon Robshaw pillows mix effortlessly with the striped blanket and embroidered shams for a bohemian layered vibe.

Bedding: Custom Cream and navy striped blanket paired with hand painted throw pillows and linens by Jon Robshaw.

Throw: HomeGoods – similar here.

Artwork: Wayfair.

Nightstands

The night tables are resin and inlay shell by made goods, and give the space a collected feel.

Mirrors: Regina Andrew Triple Diamond wall panel mirror.

Paint Color: “Benjamin Moore White Dove”.

Table Lamps: Regina Andrew.

Rug: Serena & Lily.

Many thanks to the interior designer for sharing the details above!

Interior Design:Lisa Michael Interiors, LLC (Instagram – Facebook – Make sure to follow her!

Photography: Jessica Glynn Photography.

Best Sales of the Month:

Thank you for shopping through Home Bunch. I would be happy to assist you if you have any questions or are looking for something in particular. Feel free to contact me and always make sure to check dimensions before ordering. Happy shopping!

Serena & Lily: Amazing Rug Sale!

Wayfair: Up to 70% OFF on Furniture and Decor!!!

Joss & Main: Up to 70% off “Don’t Think Twice Sale”!

Pottery Barn: 40% OFF plus free shipping. Use code: FREESHIP.

One Kings Lane: Outdoor Sale Up to 60% Off.

West Elm: Up to 40% Off on Sofas, Sectionals & Chairs!

Anthropologie: New Fall Arrivals!

Nordstrom: Sale – Incredible Prices!!!

Posts of the Week:

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Modern Farmhouse.

Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen’s Home – Full House Tour.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Coastal Farmhouse Design.

2019 New Year Home Tour.

Neutral Home.

Dark Cedar Shaker Exterior.

Florida Beach Cottage.

Small Lot Modern Farmhouse.

Lake House Interior Design Ideas.

Before and After Bathroom Renovation.

White Kitchen Renovation.

Kitchen with Blue Island.

Coastal Shingle Home.

Coastal-inspired Home Renovation.

Southern-inspired Modern Farmhouse.

Coastal Farmhouse Home Decor.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: British Columbia.

Reinvented Classic Kitchen Design.

Florida Beach House Interior Design.

New England Home.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Urban Farmhouse.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Fixer Upper.Beach House Interior Design Ideas.

Tailored Interiors.

Modern Farmhouse with Front Porch.

Classic Colonial Home Design.Grey Kitchen Paint Colors.

Follow me on Instagram: @HomeBunch

You can follow my pins here: Pinterest/HomeBunch

See more Inspiring Interior Design Ideas in my Archives.

“Dear God,

If I am wrong, right me. If I am lost, guide me. If I start to give-up, keep me going.

Lead me in Light and Love”.

Have a wonderful day, my friends and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

with Love,

Luciane from HomeBunch.com

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