#room remodel tips

[mydecorative]

How To Stage Your Home For A Quick Sale

Whether you’re looking to move quickly or find the highest profit from your home sale, staging is a crucial factor in achieving those goals. In this post, we’ll walk through exactly what goes into staging a home.

[zaibbilawal]

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[2:17 pm]

This was supposed to be a quick trip. You needed some new pillows, a new plant, and Mark was really just along for the ride. He was in it for some Swedish meatballs, a slide of chocolate cake, and fruit flavored sparkling water. But somewhere in the time from the entrance to about the eighth showroom, you forgot about what you needed.

"I think this one is nice, but the paint on the walls makes the room feel too small," Mark hummed.

"Since when are you an interior decorator?" You asked with your arms crossed while you surveyed the room.

Mark laughed and you both moved onto the next showroom, a kitchen.

"This is nice! I like this island here and the gas stove," Mark mumbled to himself. He walked around the space, dragging his hands over the surfaces while he looked at the lighting fixtures.

He walked over to the stove and lifted the lid from the pot. He grabbed a wooden spoon from the wall and turned to you with a bright smile, "Oh good! You're finally home, honey. I was just starting on dinner. How does spaghetti sound?"

Despite the nagging voice in the back of your head telling you this was supposed to be a 'quick trip,' you played along. You walked over to him and pecked his cheek, "it smelled delicious. I had such a long day. It feels great to be off my feet."

You slumped into a stool at the island. Mark pulled open cabinets and pretended to shake things into the pot, "long day at the office?"

"The longest! Stupid Becky from HR was such a pain today. Honestly, she never shuts up! But anyway, how was your day, babe?"

Mark giggled, turning to you while holding the pot with both hands, "Not as long as yours, but long enough that I don't want to dirty any bowls. Let's eat."

You both pretended to twirl your forks in the pot, slurping up noodles and giggling at each other each time you made eye contact.

"It's the last noodle," you said in an amazed voice.

"Lady and the Tramp it!" Mark pretended to slurp up the noodle with puckered lips while you did the same.

You slowly moved toward each other until your lips finally touched. The kiss was short and sweet, a kiss that quickly turned to you both laughing with your foreheads pressed together and the tips of your noses touching.

"Thanks for making dinner," you smiled brightly.

Mark shrugged, "it was nothing fancy, anything to make you happy, honey." A loud grumble sounded from his stomach, "Hey my pretend spaghetti was good, but now I need some real food."

"I need my pillows first!" You exclaimed.

You both left the kitchen, hand in hand. "I actually really liked that island, maybe we could remodel the kitchen," Mark told you while you made your way over to the bedding area.

"Maybe we can just try a rolling island cart to see if we like it," you grabbed two pillows and put them under your arm, "time for real food?"

"Please, I need some lingonberry soda!" Mark cheered.

[rottenpumpkin13]

You know how moms have photos of their kids that the kids find mortifying, their friends find hilarious and moms find endearing?

What photos does Lazard have of his idiots?

Blackmail Photos On Lazard's Phone

• Sephiroth and Angeal sweeping confetti from the floor after an office party but they're posing like American Gothic, with Sephiroth holding up the broom like the pitchfork.

• The same after party cleanup, this time it's Sephiroth and Angeal beating Genesis with their broomsticks because he wasn't helping.

• Zack holding out his burger, where Sephiroth is taking a bite.

• Sephiroth in the corner of the conference room using Genesis' balled up red coat as a pillow and his hair as an eye mask.

• The First Class trio covered in mud after a mission. Head to toe. They clearly look like they're being forced to stake the picture.

• Minutes later, a photo of Genesis and Sephiroth flinging mud at each other while Angeal yells at them.

• Angeal mid-fall as the chair he had been teetering on finally tipped back. Lazard had been warning him he would fall, but Angeal didn't listen.

• Sephiroth with a failed merchandise prototype that's a plushie of Genesis, but it doesn't have eyebrows. Sephiroth is holding it like a trophy.

• Zack changing a lightbulb on Angeal's shoulder. Sephiroth and Genesis thought the pose looked cool, so Genesis can be seen on Sephiroth's shoulders in the background, except he's falling so he's just a blur of red.

• A shame photo he took of Angeal sweeping up the dirt he tracked into the 49th floor after purchasing yet another office plant.

• A photo of Genesis taken at 4:15 AM, where he's wearing sunglasses and holding a cup of coffee. His coat is inside out.

• Sephiroth at lunch with ketchup all over his chest after the ketchup bottle nozzle broke and squirted everywhere. Zack's hand can be seen dipping a fry into Sephiroth's chest.

• An unflattering photo of Genesis mid-yawn. Angeal and Sephiroth are beside him, Angeal is holding up a piece of Sephiroth's hair so it looks like Genesis is about to eat it.

• Sephiroth having an existential crisis inside a giant cardboard box, except only his eyes are visible, reminiscent of a hippo partially underwater.

• Zack standing in front of a PowerPoint presentation where one slide is just the word "ASS" on screen. He's doing a thumbs up.

• A followup photo of Zack lowering his head in shame, "ASS" still visible on the PowerPoint behind him. Angeal and Sephiroth are arguing in the photo over wether or not Zack should be allowed to spell "ASS" on an official PowerPoint presentation.

• A photo of Genesis laying on the couch in the break room, except it's zoomed in to see what's on his screen. Genesis is in the process of looking up "Sephiroth x Genesis fanfiction enemies to lovers slow burn" online.

• Zack, but his head is through a wall after he ran into it. Lazard actually took this photo to show upper management that they need to do some remodeling.

• Someone organized the letter magnets in the break room fridge to read "Fuck bitches get money" and Sephiroth is standing in front of it, doing a thumbs up.

• Angeal in the process of pouring a beer into a bowl of cereal instead of milk. What makes this photo funny is Zack sobbing in the background as he watches this.

• Genesis but he's just a red blur of motion mid-slip, the wet floor sign in full view.

• Cloud standing outside Genesis' office holding a cardboard sign that reads "PRAY FOR GENESIS. NOTHING HAPPENED TO HIM, HE'S JUST A CUNT."

• A shame photo he made Genesis, Angeal and Sephiroth take, where they're crossing out the "This department has gone 15 days without a Jenga-related fight."

• Another shame photo of Sephiroth who's sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, his fallen bowl of splattered ramen on the floor beside him.

• Genesis mid-mental breakdown, curled into a ball on the floor in his office, where they pranked him by filling it with cardboard cutouts of Sephiroth.

• Cloud Strife (in his infantry uniform) posing next to his employee of the month photo. Yes, this was on the SOLDIER floor.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Interesting 1865 townhouse in Hudson, NY. It has 3bds, 3ba, and is priced at $1.325M.

As soon as you walk thru the door, you see this amazing, unusual, rams head finial on the newel post, and a gorgeous patterned runner on the stairs.

Because it shares a wall with another townhouse, all the rooms are on the left side. The original fireplace in the sitting room has a dramatic mirror that tips the ceiling.

It looks like the owner has basically moved out.

This must be the dining room. Beautiful architectural features and a built-in cabinet.

Whoever took the photos didn't take full rooms, but focused on parts of rooms, so we can't see the entire kitchen. I can say that I like the floor.

Remodeled bath. I like the floor, tile and blue sink cabinet.

Original staff stairs.

I'm confused. The listing says single family home, so I thought that was a nice big bedroom that wasn't being used.

Lovely exposed brick wall and original stairs.

But, there's another full kitchen up here, complete with a wine rack in the island. I also like the gray cabinetry.

It's a large kitchen and they show more of it than the one downstairs. A chandelier on the 2nd fl. doesn't convey. It must be this one.

There's a nice new & vintage combo bath.

Large primary bedroom with a beautiful carved fireplace.

This bath feels so cozy. There's still an old fireplace in here that isn't functional.

Bright guest room with original floor.

Very nice rooftop deck.

Lit up at night.

The deck from the outside. There's no garage or driveway on the property, so parking would be on the street and I don't see any on this side street. For $1.325M, that might be a hard sell. I'm not a fan of doors on the sidewalk, either.

I like the wrought iron fence & gates around the yard. The house is on a corner lot, right on the sidewalk and measures 2,178 sq ft.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/48-N-6th-St-Hudson-NY-12534/2101203887_zpid/

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟ itadori loves when you get messy for him.

♱ warnings — face sitting, f!reader, cunninglingus, all characters written 18+, one ass smack. / note. ngl this is totally a super old draft i just kind of remodelled so it’s not rly my best work sob . but this week has been sooo rough n it’s only tuesday ‘m sorry </3

RETURN TO KINKTOBER MLIST ♱ REGULAR MLIST 

you hear itadori groan from his place below you, his face between your thighs as you grind down on his tongue. his cheeks and the lower half of his face are slick with your juices as they drip down onto the sheets below him, his fingers flexing into the flesh of your hips every time your thighs tighten around his head.

“fuck, baby! keep doing t-that, taste so good.“ you hear itadori mumble under his breath before he buries himself back into you, the low tone of his voice sending vibrations straight to your clit as your hips twitch from the sudden jolt of pleasure, your fingers tightening in his hair as your hole clenches around his tongue.

“so good, need more—gimme more, come on!“ he shakily moans, pulling away momentarily to slide his thick fingers between your folds before spreading you so lewdly and diving back in.

he’s slurping and smacking at your essence as he drinks in the very taste of you that has his cock twitching between his thighs, beads of precum gathering at the tip while he pays no mind to it—only focused on the feeling of you creaming on his tongue.

itadori feels sticky, the air in the room heavy as he laps at your clit—he’s flushed from his cheeks to his chest and there’s a thin sheen of sweat over his toned torso but he needs more, messier. his palm comes down heavy against your ass as he sends you deeper into him, allowing him to push his tongue even further past your folds to dip into your hole, lewd squelches filling the room as he fucks you with the muscle.

he feels lightheaded at the arousal pooling in his stomach, his cock aching for any sort of friction but he’s just so lost in you instead. wrapping his lips around your clit before sucking it into his mouth, allowing his tongue to roll the sensitive bud so he can feel you jerk in his hold, his large palms rocking you against his mouth as he groans against you once more.

“see it feels good, baby. take what you need—please.” itadori almost growls, his words breathless and needy and you feel the coil in your stomach tighten when you look behind you to watch his own hips twitch at the idea of you cumming on his face, paired with the pressure of you grinding down on tongue.

his movements are almost desperate, your skin feels on fire when the pleasure races through you while you hear his own shameless moans against your cunt between smacks and suckling noises— your thighs trembling either side of him. “fuck—yuuji!” you babble, your clit knocking against his nose with every buck of your hips as you drag yourself along his mouth, your arousal drenching the sheets below you both.

you jolt when you feel itadori suck your clit between his teeth, nibbling on the sensitive bud before your orgasm finally washes over you, causing your thighs to tighten around him in response.

but instead of pulling away he only wraps his arms around your hips, pulling you even closer until you’re pretty sure he can’t breath—lapping as you cream into his mouth, tongue dipping into feel your walls clamping down around him as he slurps and drinks everything you have to offer him.

you feel your body slacken as you ride out your orgasm, grabbing onto the headboard to try and steady yourself while itadori continues to bathe your clit in strong licks, shooting tiny aftershocks through your body—his face sticky with your essence.

you pant softly as you try to catch your breath, preparing to climb off before you shriek at the feeling of him speeding up his ministrations again, his hold on you still tight as he grumbles from between your legs once more “don’t go yet, baby. you can go again, i’ll make you feel so good.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[stayteezdreams]

Haunted

Plot: You swear your new house is haunted, but Hongjoong doesn't believe you. So you make him sleep over to prove a point

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Gn!Reader (established relationship)

Request: “I’m telling you, I’m haunted.” Requested By: @yourfatherlucifer

Warnings: General creepy ghost stuff. Suggestive Content (kissing) but only for a moment.

Words: ~2.1k

You were humming to yourself as you unpacked various dishes and cooking utensils. It was the first time you were alone in your new place after moving all of your stuff over the last few days.

The bed finally arrived, so you would be staying your first night as well. The house was eerily quiet, and you had an odd feeling in your gut whenever you were alone. But you convinced yourself it was just because it was a new place. You weren't used to it yet, it didn't quite feel like yours yet.

You had been lucky when finding the place at all. Your last landlord didn't allow you to renew your lease due to them selling the building, so you panicked trying to find somewhere to live.

This place came up on your search, and you were surprised no one had snatched it up yet. The rent was reasonable, and the house itself was roomy and nicely built. It was a bit old, but had been remodeled. The landlord had a few houses for rent, but this one was by far the best price.

You thought it was a bit odd, but the landlord seemed pleasant enough, so you didn't question it much, you just felt too relieved too. But as the night would go on, you would start to regret not asking more questions.

Staring down the dimly lit hallway, where you swear you had just heard someone speak, you listened intently. Slowly, you tip toed down the hall, before peering into the rooms. Seeing and hearing nothing, you let out a soft hum of confusion.

Maybe it was just a neighbor, maybe the house isn't soundproofed very well.

It was an excuse that comforted you. Until other things began to happen.

A door that you swore you closed was suddenly open. The light in the living room flickering any time you entered the room. The sound of footsteps when you knew there was no one else in the house.

The most frightening thing to happen though, was when you were putting your stuff away in the bathroom. As you set your toothbrush holder on the counter, your eye caught on something in the mirror. From the corner of your eye, a black figure was standing in the room across the hall behind you.

You gasped as you spun around, only to be left dumbfounded when the room was empty. Without thinking you ran into the room and looked around, half-expecting someone to be there. But when there was no sign of anything or anyone, your heart pounded painfully in your chest.

Walking back into the bathroom, you looked in the mirror, before trying to recreate how you had seen the reflection. Maybe it was just a shadow, or a trick of the light.

No matter how many times you tried, you couldn't seem to see the same thing you had before.

You were officially unsettled, but you tried your best to stay calm. Texting Hongjoong about when he was coming over you hoped he could help you figure out what to do.

What you should have expected however, was not Hongjoong comforting you, but teasing you.

Hongjoong chuckle after you recounted the various things that had been happening.

"You're getting too worked up! It's only because you aren't used to this place yet, and it's still pretty empty so it makes sense that it feels off."

"But I swear I saw someone! And what about the footsteps?"

"It's an old house! Its just the old floorboards."

"The whole place was remodeled, it shouldn't be making those noises."

He grabbed your face as he stared into your eyes. "The house is not haunted, you are just a chicken."

You smacked him on the chest and he laughed before he pulled you into his arms as you leaned back on the couch.

"I'm kidding! But I promise it's not what you think! Its just your overactive imagination."

Even with Hongjoong's confident skepticism, you were still unsettled.

"Can you stay tonight? Until I feel better about this place?"

Hongjoong smiled as he peered down at you. "Hmm? You just want me all to yourself huh? You could have just asked, no need to make up ghost stories."

You pulled away from him as you pouted angrily at him, "I'm not making it up!"

He chuckled before grabbing your face and kissing you. "I'm sorry, I'm just teasing."

You glared at him before you got up, playing your own game.

"It's fine, you don't have to stay."

Hongjoong quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you back to the couch and into his arms.

"Baby!" He whined, "I was just kidding."

You repressed a smile as he started pressing kisses to your face. "I'll stay with you as long as you want me too."

You met his eyes and he pouted. You gave in as a small smile crossed your face. "Promise?"

He nodded, "Yes, I promise."

"Good." You smiled as you hugged him, making him chuckle.

Grabbing your face, he kissed you again, but this time you reciprocated. The kisses were slow and soft, as you held onto each other, getting lost in yourselves.

Just as Hongjoong started pulling at your clothes, a loud bang from down the hall made you both jump in shock.

You and Hongjoong stared at each other for a moment before he rose and slowly walked down the hall.

You watched with bated breath until he came back and smile softly at you. "A box fell over."

"How?" You asked with piqued confusion.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Was probably not on the table fully."

You knitted your brow and he chuckled as if reading your mind, "It wasn't ghosts!"

"You don't know that." You mumbled and he sighed dramatically before plopping down on the couch again.

He hugged you close to him, "I'm sure it was really nothing okay?"

You met his eyes and he smiled, making you feel a bit better.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before smirking. "Now where were we?"

A few hours later as you and Hongjoong were getting ready to go to bed, you had begun to relax. Nothing had happened since the box fell over, and you were starting to take Hongjoong's words as reality.

Until, your eyes caught on a shadow in the hall. You watched it until it slowly disappeared around the corner.

You called out in curiosity. "What are you doing Joon?"

"What?" You heard Hongjoong's voice call out, from the opposite side of the house.

You froze, your heart racing as you realized it had not been him. You swallowed before slowly walking to the door. You peered down the hall where the shadow had come from before running to the kitchen where you had heard Hongjoong's voice.

When you appeared in obvious distress Hongjoong was quick to approach you. When you told him what happened, he told you to stay in the kitchen before he walked back towards the bedroom.

You stood impatiently as you twiddled with your hands, looking around for something heavy in case it was a thief.

Hearing footsteps a few minutes later, you watched as Hongjoong came back with a furrowed brow.

He shook his head. "There's nothing in the house."

You groaned, "Then what was it!"

"Maybe someone passing by outside. Let's make sure all the windows and doors are locked."

You nodded as you did as he said, checking everything thoroughly. Your mind raced as you wondered which would be less frightening. Someone outside the house, or some thing inside.

As you finally lied down in bed, Hongjoong could see your mind racing as you stared at the ceiling.

Facing you, he gently stroked your cheek. "Baby."

"Hongjoong. I'm telling you, I'm haunted."

He almost laughed but repressed it. "You are not haunted."

"Fine. The house is haunted."

He let out a soft laugh this time before he pulled you into his arms. "The house isn't haunted either. You're just scared."

As he cradled you in his arms for a while, you were gently lulled to sleep, though a nervous tension sat in your chest, and even though he wouldn't admit it, Hongjoong was feeling it too.

As Hongjoong's eyes fluttered open, he tried to figure out what had woken him. Glancing at his phone, he noted it was nearly two in the morning.

Turning over, he noticed you were no longer in the bed and something in his stomach twisted.

Sitting up, he heard a soft creak in the hall. His eyes moved to the bottom of the door, where he saw the subtle movement of a shadow underneath. He frowned as he climbed out of bed and towards the door.

As he pulled the door open, he saw your figure move around the corner of the hall and into the living room.

"Baby?" He called out softly, not wanting to scare you.

When you didn't reply he followed after you, worried something had happened. Did you hear something again? Could you not sleep?

As he rounded the corner, he felt his heart jolt as the house was empty. Looking into the kitchen, you were nowhere in sight. He walked to the front door, seeing it was still locked.

Feeling uneasy, he was about to call out for you when your voice came from the hall, "Hongjoong?"

His eyes darted towards the bedroom, and he rushed to the hall, spotting you peering from the bedroom with a confused look.

"What are you doing?" You asked softly.

He stared at you for a moment as he tried to figure out what happened.

"How did you do that?" He asked dumbfounded as he walked back to you.

"Do what?"

As he explained what happened, your expression slowly became more scared, only making him freak out more.

You shook your head. "I was in the bathroom, I didn't come out here."

He swallowed, as his chest grew tight and his heart pounded. Had you been right? Was there really something in this house?

"I told you!" You said with a forceful whisper.

He shook his head, "No, there's gotta be an explanation."

As Hongjoong walked around the house turning on the lights and checking everything you watched him in silence.

When he found nothing he sighed and you shook your head. "What were you hoping to find exactly?"

He sighed as he rubbed his face, "I don't know."

The moment of silence between you was suddenly filled with the sound of the door at the end of the hall creaking open. You and Hongjoong stared at it with silent shock.

Slowly, you reached out and grabbed his wrist in fear as you both held your breath.

In the dark room, you could just make out what appeared to be a person standing in the darkness.

"Hongjoong?"

The voice that called out from the room was your own, or at least an echo of it. Ice ran through your veins as you felt your breath hitch.

"Y/n?"

It was Hongjoong's voice this time, calling out your name, as the figure took a step closer to the door, a creaking floorboard announcing its movement.

Suddenly, Hongjoong grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the front door. No words were spoken as he grabbed his keys and pulled you out of the house. You ran to the car with no other thought than escape.

You didn't know who or what that was lingering in the darkness and there was no way you were going to find out.

It wasn't until you and Hongjoong were heading down the street that you seemed to find your words.

"What the fuck was that!" You said with an exasperated fear.

Hongjoong shook his head as his hands shook with adrenaline and fear.

Reaching over he took your hand. "I don't know, but you are not going back to that house, not alone, and not until it's daytime. We need to find out what the fuck is going on."

You sighed as you leaned your head back, letting the adrenaline and fear course through you.

"My landlord has some explaining to do. There is no way in hell they didn't know something was wrong with that house."

Hongjoong nodded his head as his mind raced. "You're staying with me until we figure this out okay?"

You nodded your head as you squeezed his hand, grateful that he had been with you tonight.

After a few tense moments passed, you peeked over at him.

"Is it too soon to say 'I told you so'?"

xx End xx

General Taglist: @otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669

Ateez Taglist: @soso59love-blog, @thunderous-wolf

[dominimoonbeam]

Soo... Darlin accidentally electrocute themselves / drowned and is in dire need for mouth to mouth from the vamp they just started seeing.. 👀

Just a suggestion. I love your work and know you're really busy so no pressure with that.I hope you have a wonderful day! ❤️

❄️

ANON! Thank you so much for this ask! I went with electrocution... This definitely got a little angsty but how could it not with these two? I hope you enjoy it! <3 <3 <3

Darlin/Sam

tags: near death experience, cpr, angst, fear of loss, idiots in love, first kiss

You Taste Like Life

He came over at sundown to help out with the remodel. Darlin bought a place, a dump, and wanted to fix it up. He’d warned them it was too much work but only half-heartedly because he was hoping they’d ask him to help.

They did.

It was the first time since he became a vampire that he had a friendship with no connection to his life before or his turning. It was… real, in a way nothing had been since. They were friends. Real friends. Friends that flirted sometimes…

He went back out to the truck to grab the rest of the painting supplies. They were finally done with the repairs and onto making at least a couple of the rooms livable.

A light flicked inside the house and he froze. It was like they’d plugged in the big spotlight lamp and the bulb had burst.

But it was the silence that hit him first, incomprehensible and yet instantly registering. It was a shock to his system, jerking his body upright and turning even before his hearing caught the sound of their body crumpling to the floor inside.

Sam hadn’t realized how entuned he’d become to them—to their heartbeat, until it went silent.

He hadn’t known he loved them like that, until the idea of them being gone rocked him.

He dropped the paint cans and was back inside the house in a flash. The living room was moon lit but his eyes took in everything. A scorch mark up the wall from the light socket, the scent of that burn still in the air, and their body on the floor beside it, hand still gripping the melted plug of the lamp.

“No,” the word fell out of him, not even a whisper. He was on his knees next to them, hands hovering. Their eyes were open but they weren’t seeing him—they weren’t there. It was like the life inside them had just been turned off. “Oh god, no.” He touched their sides, gently rearranging them on the floor on their back. “Please.” He didn’t know he was talking. The words streamed across his mind in a flood of panic and heartbreak he had never prepared for.

“Wait. Wait.” He wanted to heal them, to lean back on those powers, but there was nothing to heal when they were just… dead. He tipped their head back, thumbed their jaw down and leaned over them. Lips to lips, he blew air into their lungs and then sat up, hands together and pressing down on their chest.

“Come back. I’ll heal everything else. Just come back,” he pleaded, unaware of any of those words. He blew another breath into their lungs and then did compressions, cringing when he heard a rib crack but didn’t stop. He’d heal it. He’d heal it after they… After they…

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been doing CPR. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. Someone would have to find him and tear him away. He couldn’t just let them go. He couldn’t…

Darlin came back to life with a gasp, arching off the floor and then jerking to the side to cough hard. Their heart was a rampage in his skull, his hands always on them. He knew he should say something, should tell them they were okay, but his own mind needed those seconds to catch up. It felt like his whole world had ended and now it just wasn’t.

They groaned, hanging onto the arm he had around them. “Fuck… What…” They croaked and winced, pulling the lamp plug from their hand, plastic and skin melted. “Damn it!”

He could heal that. He would. He just…

“Sam?” Their voice was rough and their eyes, one red where it should be white, turning up to him and filling with panic. “Your crying… Are you hurt?” They sat up, pain a flicker across their face at those broken ribs but it didn’t stop them from reaching for him with their good hand, eyes quickly scanning him for injury.

“I… No… I… You…” He closed his eyes. Fuck. He had to get himself together, but his heart was pounding and his emotions rampaging in all directions. “You were dead.”

They were still for a minute, sitting there on the floor facing him. “I was?”

He sighed and opened his eyes, really hating how unbothered they were about the fact, still just worried about him. “Darlin…” When he opened his eyes, they had a little smile he hadn’t been expecting.

They reached up slowly and thumbed the tear off his cheek with their good hand. “Did you save me, cowboy?”

He sighed, leaning his face into their hand. “I broke your ribs.”

Darlin shrugged. “That one always breaks. Not your fault.”

He frowned reaching out with the same slowness that they had—giving all the time to be stopped—before his fingers touched the hem of their shirt, sliding up under it to palm their naked side underneath. Their heart beat faster, their eyes on him. He poured magic into them, gently healing the delicate bones he’d broken inside their chest.

“Thank you,” they said. “And for saving me…”

He winced and shook his head, not sure he could talk about that yet. His hand moved slowly from their side to their arm, sliding down to their wrist and easing more magic through his touch to heal their palm. They shivered and sighed.

He hadn’t wanted to be left behind when he faced a world without their heartbeat. That was a lot to unpack. “Darlin…” Their hand had settled on the side of his neck, their eyes fluttered shut from the magic in their system. A little tug and they were sitting in his lap. Their heart beat faster and their eyes opened, one still violently red. He needed to explain how scared he’d been, how this changed things, but could only stare back at them and hope they got it.

A funny smile played at the corner of Darlin’s mouth. “Did you kiss me?”

He touched their temple, more magic, healing their eye. “I gave you CPR.”

“That sounds like some bullshit excuse for a kiss, cowboy.”

Sam sighed, inches between them, their body practically melting into his now that they had magic rolling through their muscles. “Are you really complaining?”

“I’m just saying… I would have liked to remember being kissed by you,” they countered in a mumble.

It was his heart that skipped beats then.

Their eyes opened again, meeting his gaze and waiting.

Sam had missed a lot of moments in his life—and his death. He had a habit of hesitating and letting things pass him by, of overthinking and talking himself out of things. But if he let it happen now, if he didn’t kiss Darlin the way he wanted to so badly… they’d think he didn’t want to. They’d accept that, of course, and they’d continue to be friends, but he would have hurt something he could never heal, no matter how much magic he burned. And life was so fragile. One second they were there and the next they were gone.

Fuck that.

He touched the small of their back, bringing them that inch closer to his chest and sealing their lips in a kiss. He felt their surprise melt away, arms curling around him and lips parting.

How could someone that had just been dead taste so much like life?

[minisgatewaytoinsanity]

Mood: Talking about retired!Dream and his understanding of maths and time somehow led to this...

Update: Read it on AO3 (Love's not Time's fool by Mini)

Hob opens the door to his flat, banishing all thoughts of lectures and classes from his mind, somewhat giddy with anticipation of what the evening might bring. It’s still so new and raw and fucking perfect – this thing with Dream, Morpheus, here with him in the waking world. He absently takes off his coat. It’s a constant journey of discovery, his friend slowly adapting, learning, enjoying. Hob loves being around for all of it, every mad second of it. He doesn’t mind indulging every whim, following an errant thought, an unorthodox idea. Now that the pressure of Dream’s function is gone they have nothing but time.

The coat slides out of his hands when he finally registers what he’s seeing. The walls in the entryway, the bare parts of them, painstakingly remodelled during the most boring days of pandemic lockdown, painted in mingling shades of grey, are covered in script – black letters and signs, Latin and Greek, symbols that almost look like hieroglyphs, neat yet intricate. He slips out of his boots on autopilot, tip-toeing on socked feet into the direction of his living room, following the trail of equations, curiously tracing some of the paint, barely drying, residue dark on his finger.

He reaches the end of the corridor, opening into the wide, open space of the lounge, last rays of sunlight filtering in through high windows, and gasps. The string of formulae fans out along every wall, swirling up and down, around paintings and decoration and furniture. Hob recognizes it as maths – but the kind that’s way beyond his comprehension. Non-linear his silly peasant brain whispers in awe.

Morpheus is in the corner between the bookshelves, clearly running out of space, tin of black paint on the nearest board, slender finger dipping into it every now and then, continuing his calculation at a steady pace. He’s wearing an impossible combination of clothes, black leather pants – the ones he got for their recent ventures into clubbing, tight to the point of obscene, no room for underwear whatsoever –, one of Hob’s old uni hoodies, bottle green, sleeves rolled up, and sapphire-blue socks, hand knit, courtesy of Constantine. It should look ridiculous, but Hob doesn’t, it’s – his mouth is very dry.

He waits for Morpheus to finish his latest array of variables and close a bracket before he clears his throat softly as not to startle him. His friend turns around with a smile that knocks the remaining breath out of Hob.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Love. What are you doing?” He takes a couple of steps until he’s right in Morpheus’ personal space, close enough to touch. The butterflies in his stomach reappear with fluttery vigour.

“I wanted to find out when you might be home.”

“But,” Hob stutters, “I told you, at six?”

“I wanted to understand what it means.”

Hob’s at a loss for a moment before it clicks. “You can rely on clocks here. Mostly. I mean, unless -”

Morpheus simply leans in and cuts him off with a kiss. Hob foolishly expects relaxed softness and stumbles a bit under an unforeseen onslaught of blatant passion and pure want. He gets lost in it, the accompanying touches sharp and hot and promising, yet not enough, never enough. He lets out an embarrassing whine and blinks his eyes open when Morpheus pulls back.

“I do not need to solve it anymore. You are,” a nip on his jaw, “here,” a lick on the side of his neck, “now.”

[possibilistfanfiction]

For the one word prompt: allergic

[a small bea & lil (platonic) backstory for tattoo artist/florist au]

//

'so let me make sure i understand you correctly,' you say, trying your best to seem unaffected and annoyed in front of both beatrice's and your parents in beatrice's childhood dining room. everything is austere and the back of your neck prickles in discomfort, years and years of it; you remind yourself to not fidget. 'you want me to, what? fly to oregon —' admittedly, an offense on beatrice's part — 'and... kidnap beatrice back to england?'

'stop being so dramatic,' your mother says, rolling her eyes. 'beatrice needs to come home. she's passing up a job in parliament to go choose to live a sinful lifestyle —'

'fine,' you say, just to stop where you know that would inevitably end up. admittedly, you do think beatrice is running away from, like, every single one of her issues, but you've never been good at talking to each other, and, anyway, no one has ever been able to force beatrice to do anything, especially not you. you doubt it'll start now. 'just send me the flight and hotel info.'

'you leave later tonight.'

'a red eye.' you resist the urge to groan. 'great.'

/

begrudgingly, portland is beautiful — green and lush and quiet for a city its size, the river meandering through its middle, all the bridges and fast-moving clouds on a relatively clear day, a barely-there warmth in the sun that signals the beginnings of real spring. you watch it all go by on your way from the airport to the address beatrice's parents had somehow found — you don't even want to know how; better to leave well enough alone, you've learned — and when you arrive at a small house, navy blue with a red door, a neatly kept pollinator garden in the front, you park your car and allow yourself to acknowledge that, well, it's kind of cute. the sun is sinking beneath the hills across the river and a chill is moving in, but the air is fresh.

you smooth down your hair, try to fix any wrinkles in your shirt, which is, of course, both fruitless and unnecessary as soon as you get out and put your favorite leather jacket on. honestly, you don't even know if beatrice is home, but there's a practical, small hybrid suv in the driveway, and you're pretty sure if you texted or called her that you'd been sent to fetch her back to london by both sets of your parents, she'd never see you. you pocket your phone and keys and walk up the little stone path to the small porch, then knock on the door. you wait while you hear some shuffling on the other side, and then it takes you a few moments to process that beatrice is standing in front of you.

apparently, her too, because she stands perfectly still for some seconds before, 'lilith?'

you take her in fully, because you can: her hair is short now, buzzed on the sides and back, swept back on the top, neat and dark, and you can see part of a tattoo on her forearm from under the soft, loose sweater she's wearing, pushed up to her elbows. she has on casual pants — navy, still well-tailored in a way you expect from her, cropped at the ankles — and blundstones, like she's getting ready to go somewhere. 'it's been, what, ten days? you're really assimilating quickly,' you say, even though you regret it as it's happening. her face goes from surprised to stormy, one you know all too well.

'piss off,' she says, and starts to close the door, but you stick your arm out and she glares but — thankfully, because she could — doesn't slam it in your face. 'if you came to convince me to go back to london, it's not going to work.'

'can you let me inside?'

she waits a beat but then sighs, still glowering, but steps aside. 'i have to leave in seven minutes.'

'hot date?'

the blush that creeps up from her chest, beneath her sweater, and spreads along her cheeks, to the tips of her ears, is also new.

'oh.'

she crosses her arms over her chest, an unspoken dare. you look around at the house: it's small, but it's been remodeled and has a beautiful open floor plan, marble countertops and a big fridge, a comfortable couch and a big tv, all warm woods and easy greens and rich oranges, mirroring the world outside. 'this is yours?'

she clenches her jaw. 'yes.'

'look,' you say, processing the fact that beatrice has apparently also purchased a house here, and hold up your hands, palms toward the ceiling. 'i come in peace.'

'there's about a 100% chance you're here at the bidding of my parents.'

'they want you to come back home, yes.'

she rolls her eyes. 'i'm an adult.'

you're twenty-seven, and beatrice is a year and a half younger than you, so that's sort of debatable, but it's not worth the argument you see written all over her posture, her stiff shoulders and ramrod straight spine, the set of her feet, ready to get into a fight. 'transparently, they did send me here with the purpose of convincing you to come back to london and do your parliament thing.'

she huffs and turns toward the kitchen and motions for you to follow; she opens the fridge and takes out two beer cans, opens them and hands one to you. a local west coast ipa, you take note of. 'no pint glasses?'

'like i said, i have to leave soon.'

'fair enough.' you lift yours in an offer for a salute — an offer of peace, more than anything — and she clinks hers with a resigned little expression, takes a long sip before putting her can down on the counter and leaning toward you.

'you know i'm not going back.'

'i do,' you say; you always had. 'mostly i wanted to see that you were, you know —'

'okay?'

it's kinder than anything that would've come out of your mouth in the moment, a hint of affection seeping in. 'sure.'

'i'm doing great.'

'clearly.'

she frowns, takes another drink. 'if you really believe all of our parents' bigoted —'

'beatrice.' she stills where she'd started to pace. 'you know that i don't. i just don't understand why you can't be a lesbian at home.'

beatrice tips her head back. 'of course you understand,' she says, more intense than you had expected. 'maybe not about being gay specifically, although, whatever, we can get into your proclivities later —'

'bea —'

'but — don't you want to have your own life?'

'you think, what, moving halfway around the world, with no warning, to help run some farm, is — '

'— is what, lilith?'

you feel yourself deflate; you take a sip of your beer because there are tears starting to burn at the corner of your eyes.

'it's a permaculture project — part science, part local politics, part business. it's a good opportunity.' she stills, glances at the time on her phone. 'and, even if it wasn't, i just — you know as well as anyone how suffocating our families are.'

you can't quite look at her yet — her sincere, golden eyes and serious frown, her freckles, things you've known since you were children whenever she was explaining something that hurt, something that mattered — but you nod. 'it's been ten days, beatrice. and you're already —' you swallow, a hurt silence sitting in the air, heavy and swarming.

but beatrice has always been braver than you. 'i need to breathe, lil. it was killing me.'

'you and your fucking flowers,' you say after you're able to gather yourself enough that you're fairly certain you won't cry. thankfully — full of more grace that you have ever been — beatrice grants you a laugh.

'why don't you stay with me,' she offers after a silence when you can't bring yourself to say anything more. 'i have a spare bedroom, and, lil —'

you reach out and squeeze her hand. 'please don't say anything.'

'just because you're allergic to any kind of affection —'

'fine.'

'yes?'

'yes.'

a smile blooms on her face that makes caving far too quickly — you want to breathe too, so badly — much more bearable. 'okay, well, i shouldn't be too late. there's leftover vietnamese food in the fridge if you're hungry, and i recorded the arsenal match from earlier.'

'plying me with katie mccabe?'

'well, i didn't know you would be failing at kidnapping me today.' she rinses out her beer can and puts it carefully in the recycling. 'kismet, if you will.'

you roll your eyes while she grabs a camel wool peacoat — one she's worn for years now, gorgeous and an inexplicable comfort, that she still has it — and then carefully pulls a pale blue beanie on. you gesture helplessly toward, well, whatever this aesthetic is. 'do you feel like, well, you?'

her smile softens. 'i think so.' she shrugs. 'more than i ever have before, at least.'

'well, i won't wait up, and i don't want to know any details.'

'it's a first date, lilith.'

'are these walls soundproof?'

'goodbye,' she says, but there's amusement in her tone and, before she leaves fully, she turns and strides back toward you and wraps you in a hug. 'i'm glad you're here.'

'me too, beatrice.' you hold onto her a moment longer than you normally would. 'she hot?'

she backs up and smacks you on the shoulder.

'have fun, bea.'

she nods. 'i'll text you when i'm headed home.'

[harvesti]

Hiiii! What would your advice be for someone who is overweight and looking for ways to improve their life? I'm 5ft and 96 kg which is def falling more into obesity but I've been working on improving myself. My mindset has grown so much but I still struggle to workout or be consistent or really build discipline in anything. I wanna change my entire life but I'm so held back by my own self. Not only this, but having a heavier bust along with extra weight just makes it so much harder for me to exercise and not even a good bra helps. I want to change, 2024 and every year coming is mine to conquer and I can just feel it. But I don't have discipline to keep my word or to get off my ass and actually do things that'll make me feel alive and healthy. Any tips for building discipline and more?

Thankyou, I love your blog and I hope this ask wasn't invasive or too long ⚝

I think the key here is in the part where you say you want to change your entire life, which is an amazing goal, but it is literally the biggest task ever, and maybe that's overwhelming you! coincidentally I have a good anecdote for this from something my friend was telling me about yesterday: she had some remodelling done at her house and it just left the entire place completely dirty, every corner of the house was a mess and covered in dust and stuff. so after the work as over and done, she made a 1-week plan on how to clean everything, with an actual sheet file detailing what would be done, in what order, with time-stamps and everything. she told me that there was so much to be done that just waking up in the morning and figuring out where to start would be stressful, so it was necessary to be specific and only tackle one thing at a time, otherwise she would be lost trying to do all at once.

I'm using this example because your life could be like a messy house right now, where there's dust covering every room, and you're struggling to clean everything up because you don't know where to even start, and you're trying to do everything at once. and that's just impossible! changing your entire life will not come from trying to change everything at once, because that's like trying to run a marathon before learning how to walk.

my advice is to take it slow and be more focused on one issue. think of it as a RPG game: changing your whole self is the main quest, but you'll only get there by achieving the minor quests along the way. what is the one thing, right now, that you'd like to change? it could be something as small as drinking more water, or walking to places more instead of going by car. pick one task and work on that, day by day, until it becomes a habit. then move on to building another habit. they'll add up and suddenly you'll already feel like a new person.

you don't have to rush or do everything at once. your life is the one and only project you'll have to work on forever, until the day you die. there's no deadline or timeframe for you to achieve your goal! take it one day at a time and you'll find your discipline ❤️

[antisocialmastermind]

Chapter 12

Chap 1 Chap 2 Chap 3 Chap 4 Chap 5 Chap 6 Chap 7 Chap 8 Chap 9 Chap 10 Chap 11 on Ao3

Day 12: PIRTAOR = airport

It starts like dominoes. Just one tiny tip and all Kurt can do is stand back and watch the momentum of cause and effect ripple outward until there’s nothing left. And he hates that he’s somehow not even surprised. Another chapter in the life of Kurt Hummel.

The restaurant lets him go. They love him and he’s welcome back if he can commit to a full schedule, but it’s not really fair to let Kurt claim the prime tips of the Saturday night shift when he keeps cutting the rest of his hours. It stings, but he understands. Elliott’s paying him now and if he can continue to sell his work, he should be okay. Probably.

But then Elliott starts talking about possibly moving in with Sebastian and to say Kurt’s stunned is putting it mildly. When did that happen? Things had seemed to be going well as far as Kurt could tell, but Elliott didn’t talk about it all that much and now suddenly this? It’s not definite – not yet – but Kurt’s just lost his primary source of income and now he may be looking for a roommate or an apartment in the near future and he cannot live with Chandler and what the hell am I going to do now just runs around and around in his head until he’s claustrophobic with it.

So he’s in a bad enough place on the August morning when he hears Elliott’s voice rumble through his bedroom walls as he’s trying to motivate himself to get out of bed. He can tell that Elliott’s pacing like a caged tiger around his own room because his voice keeps rising and falling and Kurt wonders crazily if the feeling that’s growing in his gut is just seasickness.

“ –can’t do this to us right now … any way we can get a little time to – “ Elliott sounds panicked and angry, which are not things Kurt expects of Elliott. And it’s like his mood seeps under the door cracks, because Kurt definitely can’t lie in bed for another second. He’s jittery and agitated and he doesn’t have any idea what’s going on. He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee and fidgets with things on the counter that are slightly out of place and finally washes the stray dishes sitting in the sink. At least the running water drowns out the sound of Elliott’s shaken voice.

Kurt actually thinks he’s going to vomit by the time Elliott emerges from his bedroom, phone clutched listlessly in his left hand and two bright spots of color heating his pale face. Kurt doesn't say anything. Just stands there, gripping the sink with one hand and looking at Elliott quizzically.

“Um,” Elliott says, staring fixedly at the kitchen cabinets, “looks like we’re losing the gallery space.”

And then Kurt does vomit. He just spins around and violently spits up his few sips of coffee into the kitchen sink. Thank god he just washed the dishes. He takes his time running the water, splashing his face, rinsing his mouth. When he finally turns again, Elliott’s sitting at the breakfast bar leaning his forehead into one hand. Kurt goes and sits beside him.

“Um,” Elliott says again, and Kurt would like to kill Jerome if that’s who that was on the phone, because Elliott’s never speechless. He doesn’t stammer or stall for time – he’s never unsure. He’s solid and honest and forthcoming and Kurt hates seeing him reduced like this.

“He needs to sell the building right away,” Elliott recites. “Medical emergency in the family, I guess.”

Kurt says stupidly, “But …”

“I couldn’t afford to buy it outright,” Elliott goes on. “I had enough to do the remodel, but not to buy it. The agreement was that I could lease to own and in a few years, maybe. But now he needs cash. It went on the market first thing this morning. He says he’ll put in a good word for us, but if it sells, he has no control over what the new owners do with the building.” His voice shakes the tiniest bit. “He’s open to us buying our unit. For three and a half million.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything. What is there to say? He reaches over and takes Elliott’s hand in his and they sit there, hands clutching each other atop the breakfast bar. They sit there. In the late August New York morning.

****

Because sometimes the universe is rife with ironic indifference, Blaine hasn’t been around to watch Kurt’s life spectacularly implode. He’s been in LA for a few weeks, embroiled in a copyright violation case that seems like it’s actually going to make it before a judge, and Kurt doesn’t want to burden him with this, too. So he stays silent and wishes Blaine were here to brainstorm or encourage, or just hold him, really. He’s never missed anyone so acutely. Except maybe his dad.

And then, that Monday, there’s an unexpected text from Blaine.

They settled! Catching a redeye tonight see you soon

Kurt’s whole body sags with relief. The truth is that he’s not been handling all of the upheaval very well. He’s not sleeping or eating much, and he’s spending every spare second trying to help Elliott figure out fundraisers or loans or a new space entirely. All of his ends are frayed and tattered and he just wants Blaine to pull him back down to earth for a little.

So of course, just when he’s looking forward to maybe beelining for Blaine’s apartment and climbing into bed with him in the early hours of Tuesday, he gets a frantic phone call from Chandler, who is so sorry but he has to take his sister to the airport in the morning and he can’t get out of it and Kurt is so disoriented and distracted that he has to ask Chandler why he should care about random Tuesday morning airport excursions.

“I won’t be back in time to open,” Chandler babbles, “and I think one of the collectors’ agents is coming. Can you just open up for me? I promise I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Right. The gallery. The one that’s hanging on by a thread.

Kurt would kind of like to throw in the towel on every damn thing right now, but he would never do that to Elliott, and he owes Chandler a lot of payback for all the times Kurt’s changed his own schedule. So he tells Chandler not to worry about it, just to get there as soon as he can, and he sets his alarm.

Which is why Kurt is sitting behind the desk at Muse figuring out what proofs of purchase he’ll need to see in order to release artwork to a buying agent. All of the pieces sold to anonymous collectors are crated and stacked in the studio, with the exception of those that have already been retrieved. Every piece has a lot number and any collector or agent should have a printed receipt with the lot number for the piece they’ve purchased. It’s all pretty straightforward. 

He sighs and tries to think about quitting the gallery and going to Parma to beg for his shifts back. He’s wondering if Elliott will still move out and whether he’s doomed to being a waiter for his whole life and if he will ever sleep again when the gallery door swings open and Blaine’s friend Wesley Jiang walks in.

“Oh, hi, Wes.” Kurt greets him. “Nice surprise on a Tuesday. Shouldn’t you be doing lawyery things?”

“I am,” Wes replies with a tight smile. He waves a manilla envelope in Kurt’s direction. “I'm here to pick up some artwork? I was supposed to be meeting with Chandler?”

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” Kurt tells him. “You want Elliott’s pieces, right? Come on back.”

Kurt leads him to the studio where the sold pieces are waiting, and pulls out Elliott’s two canvases. He leans them against the wall and turns back to Wes. “I’ll just need to see your proofs of purchase,” he says, even though it’s mostly a formality. He knows that Wes is Blaine’s friend and he knows that Blaine bought two of Elliott’s paintings.

Wes hands him the two receipts that match the numbers on the two crates against the wall. Kurt’s about to thank him when he’s interrupted by Wes saying, “And of course I’ll need these too.”

He hands Kurt a little sheaf of papers, and he’s trying to match the numbers between crates and receipts when he suddenly realizes that Wesley Jiang is holding the receipt for every single one of Kurt’s pieces. Except the one that Rachel Berry has already taken home to her swanky apartment, of course. Every single one.

He turns around to face Wes, who’s just standing there expectantly. Kurt’s eyes narrow slightly and his head slowly tilts to one side, and anyone who knows Kurt would know that this is the time to beat a hasty retreat. But Wes doesn’t know Kurt, so he keeps on standing there as Kurt opens his mouth. And Chandler chooses that moment to burst into the studio with a breathless, “I’m here! I’m sorry! I made it!”

“Excellent,” Kurt hisses. And he marches from the gallery.

****

Blaine’s going to live to regret that he made arrangements with the concierge to give Kurt free reign of his apartment. Because when Kurt tramps into the building and straight to Blaine’s private elevator, Conrad doesn’t even blink. Just half-raises a hand in greeting and goes back to whatever he was doing. 

Kurt flings the apartment door open to an eerie stillness and looks wildly around for signs of life. Is Blaine not home? He’s about to start yelling when the man himself stumbles from the bedroom looking disheveled and bleary and utterly confused. Right. Red Eye. 

“Kurt?” he says stupidly.

Kurt’s voice is deadly clipped and quiet when he says “Did you think you could buy me?”

If Kurt weren’t so blindingly furious, he’d laugh at the confused puppy look on Blaine’s handsome face. As it is, he grits his teeth when Blaine blinks at him and says, “What?” as if he doesn’t speak English.

“Did you think you could buy me, Blaine?” he repeats. “I’m another acquisition for you? Is that what this is?

Kurt could just strangle him for the utter calm in his voice when Blaine says, “Kurt? Forgive me, but I’ve barely slept in the past forty-eight hours. What exactly are you talking about?”

His throat is tight and his jaw is clenched and he feels that tight knot in the middle of his chest that portends very bad things. “Blaine. Stop,” he snaps. “You bought all of my pieces. At the gallery. All of them.”

“I … Yes?” Blaine still looks thoroughly confused.

“Why?” Kurt spits.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why?” he repeats. But he’s not quiet any longer. He’s yelling and he’s furious and hurt and damn Blaine for being so adorable in his deceit. Goddammit.

“Why, Blaine? You didn’t even like them.” 

Blaine’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, but Kurt barrels on.

“Don’t,” he warns. “You didn’t like them. You called them passionless. So why the hell would you buy every one of them? What are you even going to do with them? The fancy dinners and the opera and the fucking gondola weren’t enough, Blaine? Huh? You had to make sure and seal the deal? I’m so stupid. I was halfway to being in love with you, and right now I feel so stupid and cheap –” 

He knows he’s going to cry if he keeps going, and that’s the last thing he’s going to do standing here in this apartment in front of this man. And Blaine’s standing there looking as if he’s been slapped, all the color gone from his face. It reminds Kurt a little of the very first time he saw him. 

“I’m done, Blaine.” His lip is starting to quiver and it makes him furious. “Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t show up at my place of business. I’m sure you can find some other idiot who’s selling what you’re buying.”

Blaine’s body rocks backward ever so slightly. He looks pale and confused and so, so tired.

Kurt leaves the apartment without looking back.

Chapter 13

[a-local-idiots-shitpost]

Yuu get´s sick and the Dorms have to take care of them Pomefiore + Ignihyde

Pomefiore

Vil

he did not dare approach you, he can´t risk getting sick

to your surprised he didn´t approach you with a hazmat suit

he also tried to put make-up on you, in his words “being sick is no excuse to look like the dead”

and to remodel your wardrobe

but he did bring you some food, it was disgusting incredibly healthy one, but it´s the thought that counts in this situation

and considering this is NRC you can be glad someone even came to look after you

he also tried to force you and Grim to join him into doing yoga

it ended with you and Grim falling over and him losing his cool

Rook

you do not know how he got in here

I mean you know he broke in but besides this not more

you do not trust him at all

he assured you the only time he will continue stalking hunting you

is when your feeling better, it would be awfully boring to hunt when your prey isn´t in their best possible condition

this just made you scared, you don´t know if that is what he wanted or he tried to reassure you if he tried to reassure you he did a very bad job

you could think both of you changed rolls by the way you are watching

you think he´s excited by this change, this just scares you more for what he might think about

you really hope either you´ll get well soon or he sees Leona or someone else

Epel

he partially did this so he can have an excuse to hide from Vil and Rook and not follow Pomefiore's dumb rules that Vil enforces

but he ate so many candies he got sick

you had to make him chamomile tea and put him into one of the spare bedrooms to sleep it of

Vil would kill you if he heard about this

honestly at this point Epel is more sick than you

but he did give you some homemade food, which sucked if you had a apple allergy

Epel just saw this as an opportunity to get away from Pomefiore´s rules for some time

and as much as it sucks you can understand it

you only spent one week with Vil´s rules and were ready to kill him

Ignihyde

Idia

he can barely take care of himself and why should he take care of a sick person!?

can´t he just get Ortho, I mean he would definitely be better equipped to deal with such a thing but there was one thing that got him to agree

I mean technically two which were, he got to spend time with Grim and no one would bother him, I mean who would visit a sick person, ridiculous right?

you can´t believe his shock when he saw strangers in your Dorm

it was very funny

not so funny was when he locked himself into one of the guest rooms

Ortho also came to visit him

he was very happy to see that both you and Idia got along well, or well enough so he won´t try to hide back home in Ignihyde

Ortho

he was very happy and saw this as a way to get more friends for him and Idia

also Idia would be able to cuddle with Grim win win for both of them :D

but he was saddened by the fact Idia refused to go to Ramshackle because he didn´t want to get sick

he´s scarily good at looking after someone too, like he knows what to do but he´s somehow intimidating, despite being a very little guy

he even scares Grim, but it could also be for the fact Ortho threatened to blow up Grim if he doesn´t stop bothering you

he also tried to get some tips from you so he can get Idia out of his room

Ortho also had fun staying at Ramshackle, despite you being sick, he just saw it as an extended sleepover

he had fun staying at a friends place and it was also his first time being allowed to stay at a friends place (or having proper friends in general)

[vex-bittys]

Flufftober 2020: Day Nineteen

Prompt: Sharing a Bed

Pairing: Swapfell (fanon) skelebros

Category: Familial

----------

“AND THE ENTIRE PREMISE OF THE STORY IS THAT THE SKI LODGE MIXED UP THE RESERVATION AND THE ONLY ROOM LEFT HAS ONLY ONE BED!”

Mutt watched the city pass by in a blur as the taxi wove through traffic and his brother complained loudly about Blueberry’s manuscript, which he had so graciously offered to critique. Blackberry apparently took the job very seriously, waving around the sheaf of papers he’d printed out so that he could read Blue’s work during their conference trip.

Mutt unloaded the taxi and carried their luggage into their hotel, checking in while Blackberry continued his tirade about “IMPLAUSIBLE PLOT ELEMENTS” and “GROSS LOGISTICAL INCOMPETENCE.” He hoped that Blueberry had the mental fortitude to withstand Blackberry’s laundry list of negative opinions. His brother could be quite abrasive, as evidenced by the fact that the hotel staff refused to make eye contact with him, not wanting to attract any of his loudly disgruntled attention.

“the room key, m’Lord,” Mutt murmured, offering the keycard to his brother and using an honorific that he hoped would soothe Blackberry’s seemingly endless agitation.

Blackberry waved the keycard away. “TAKE OUR LUGGAGE UP TO OUR ROOM,” he ordered Mutt as if his brother worked as a bellhop for the hotel, a bellhop who would be lucky not to receive a rebuke in place of a tip. “I NEED TO GO OVER THE ITINERARY FOR TOMORROW.”

Mutt hauled the suitcases to the elevators, feeling a brief flash of sympathy for the conference planner. Blackberry did not simply “go over” an itinerary. He passive-aggressively suggested changes until the human delegates of the Integration Council surrendered to his whims. Nothing could stop Blackberry when he set his mind to something, not since he was a babybones being spoiled by his big brother.

Black’s first utterance, like most babybones, had been “MUH!” which would have worked out fine if they'd had a mother to look after them. To avoid the inescapable humiliation of being called Mom by his baby brother, Mutt had opted for a tougher nickname, and even Blackberry himself never knew the truth of it. Still, in the role of a single parent, Mutt took the blame for letting Blackberry grow up spoiled.

Mutt missed his bossy babybones brother. Despite their unstable situation as young skeletons on their own in a dangerous Underground, Blackberry had always been affectionate with him… until he grew up and decided that a proper Royal Guard didn’t need pesky emotions or brotherly affection. Sure, he would fight until he dusted to protect Mutt, but a hug? Out of the question.

Mutt dragged the suitcases into the room and tossed them onto one of the queen-sized beds. He stared at the luggage for a moment as his mind turned the word bed over and over until an idea fell out of it. 

Only one bed!

Mutt swept the suitcases onto the floor. Next, he hurried over to the window and pried it open. Their room faced a courtyard because Blackberry would never choose a room without a view. It took some effort (and the loosening of the bolts that held the bed securely to the floor and wall), but Mutt managed to haul the entire bed (frame, mattresses, bedding and all) to the window and tip it over the edge until it plummeted to the courtyard below like a cartoon piano.

Mutt leaned out the window to check his handiwork. Sure, the mattresses had taken out a few lounge chairs and tables, but who sat outside in a hotel courtyard anyway? Nobody now, that was for sure. Blackberry could deal with that issue during checkout if anyone dared to make the egregious mistake of confronting him about his faults as a temporary tenant.

Blackberry stormed into the room minutes after Mutt had schooled his face into an expression of mild confusion. “WHO DID THAT HUMAN THINK HE WAS DEALING WITH?” snapped Blackberry triumphantly before trailing off to take in the hastily remodeled hotel room. The story of the battle for the conference itinerary fell by the wayside in light of this puzzling new development.

Mutt spoke before Blackberry could gather words. “m’Lord it seems that there’s been some sort of booking error. there’s only one bed.”

Blackberry’s sockets narrowed to slits, and his eyelights traced the path of destruction from the bare bolts and obviously unfaded queen-sized bed shaped rectangle of carpet to the open window where surprised shouts drifted up from the courtyard outside. He inhaled deeply, paused, then exhaled. The conference started early in the morning the next day, and he would need to rest his lungs to point out various acts of incompetence committed by the Council until late into the night.

This matter of the mysteriously missing bed could wait. Whatever reason Mutt had for wanting to share this single bed, Blackberry decided not to argue with him. They hadn’t shared a sleeping space since Black wore stripes, but it didn’t bother him to revert to the old habit, just this once.

With a sigh, Blackberry unpacked his suitcase and donned his pajamas. Mutt stripped off his jacket, sweater, and pants and dropped the clothing directly onto the floor. Wearing only a tank top and his boxers, Mutt curled up on one side of the bed. Once he’d properly prepared himself to sleep, Blackberry joined him, awkwardly tucking himself into Mutt’s arms. Mutt readjusted his brother so that Blackberry’s skull rested under his chin.

Slumber claimed Mutt almost immediately, but Blackberry laid awake for awhile as he usually did. He actually… enjoyed the sensation of Mutt being curled protectively around him. It brought back nostalgic feelings of being a babybones, protected and carefree with no responsibilities to trouble his mind.

Closing his sockets, Blackberry leaned into his brother’s embrace, and right before he drifted off to sleep he thought that perhaps the premise of Blueberry’s manuscript might not be so farfetched or terrible after all.

READ ON AO3

DAY EIGHTEEN | INDEX | DAY TWENTY

[scarlet-heels]

The office refurbishment was taking longer than expected and entirely longer than was at all acceptable by Miranda’s standards. She could not understand how people enjoyed this…’working from home’ business. Call her old fashioned but the work day is for the office, not for the luxury of accessing ones own pantry or artisan Brazilian coffee beans on a mere whim.

The truth is…the truth is. Miranda priestly hated working from home. Granted, working from home on an evening, reviewing the Book, was one thing. Working from home during the DAY was something else entirely. Oh she knows she could have requisitioned an empty office somewhere in the Elias Clark building…a discreet corner away from the chaos … but Miranda Priestly was not someone to be shoved away in to a temporary storage room-turned-office while her luxurious office was being remodelled and so, alas, working from her home office was the most pragmatic arrangement.

Something she did not bargain for was the effect her brunette assistant would have on her when literally by her side hour by hour, day by day. The gentle tapping of the keys on keyboard, the intermittent and somewhat irritated clicks of the tongue while tying to arrange and rearrange Miranda’s schedule, the soft exhalations of breath before and after each phone call….It was only day 3 of the townhouse-as-office arrangement and already Miranda was ready to send her plucky assistant home on a completely unauthorised leave of absence.

“Of course, Mr Hirsch. Miranda will be more than happy to meet with you to discuss the finer details. She IS fully booked for the next two months, however we do have an unexpected slot of availability of the 5th august at 3:40 if this is acceptable?”

Miranda hid her smirk behind a well manicured finger to the lips. This was Andrea’s MO…a politely apologetic stance in rebuffing unwanted and unnecessary appointments and a diffusion of any ill after effects by dangling a faux last minute exclusive opportunity only to cancel closer to the time with equal aplomb and heartfelt apology. A sure fire method whereby no one felt uninvited to the table yet, if they did not get the opportunity to feast, it was completely out of their, and Miranda’s control. Her assistant, it has become clear, is a master of diplomacy and PR.

Watching her assistant over the top of her glasses, Miranda can’t prevent the small smile playing across her lips, pride swelling in her chest. She held her gaze, finger tip running over her lower lip, as Andrea’s eyes lifted to her own with a smile, utterly pleased with herself.

What happened next makes Miranda’s stomach turn inside out and her heart rate speed up suddenly. There, in her very own home, in the middle of the WORK day, her assistant threw her a cheeky wink.

A WINK.

Miranda could barely prevent the strangled gasp that left her mouth, before quickly averting her eyes to stare once more at the mood board spread out on the desk before her. She barely saw the muted earthy tones, far too aware of the bright crimson blush that she felt creeping up her chest and neck to settle in her cheeks.

She shifted in her chair, thighs squeezing together, as she cleared her throat and reached for the chilled Pellegrino in front of her. She was suddenly parched.

Andreas gentle tapping of the keyboard resumed and Miranda dared to lift her eyes again to observe her fully concentrated on her laptop screen. Shaking her head slightly and tilting her head to the right to stretch her neck muscles, Miranda closed her eyes briefly before taking a silent breath and forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

[alwaysbethewest]

Narcos fic: Starter Home

This is for @by-ilmater. Ash, I actually wrote this for your birthday last year but I was in the throes of writer's block at the time and felt dissatisfied with it and didn't have it in me to keep redrafting. But now I kind of feel like, it's probably still better to share an imperfect fic rather than hoard it to myself where no one else can enjoy it even a little tiny bit. So I hope this brightens your day 😘

Title: Starter Home Pairing: Steve/Connie/Javier Rating: Teen Word count: 405 Content/warnings: AU (no baby), post-series, established (poly) relationship, domesticity, intimacy. Unbetaed.

The house was cramped from the beginning. It was what they call a starter home—sold as a two-bedroom but the second room no bigger than a county jail cell—with a small kitchen and a small living room and a tiny bathroom featuring a single pedestal sink and an old, built-in tub that even Connie couldn’t sit in without tucking her knees nearly to her chest.

The bathroom was undoubtedly the worst thing about the house.

The best thing—well, that was easy. The best part came when they’d convinced Javi he belonged there with them, too. And somehow, he fit right in, brightening up the place like the brand new bulbs Steve had installed in the ancient chandelier-style light fixture in the foyer.

But she must have groused about the bath one too many times, because she found them one day sitting on the back steps, heads tipped together as they shared a cigarette and murmured back and forth over a sheet of paper marked up in pencil lead. At the sound of the screen door cracking open, they looked up at her with matching conspiratorial grins, and it didn’t take much to convince them to let her in on the plan.

The house got worse before it got better. The remodel took weeks to complete, depleting their rainy day funds, and by the halfway point they were all sick of the hammering and the limited facilities and the careful budgeting.

But finally. Finally. That back porch sketch came to life: with the bonus room’s wall knocked out and the bathroom expanded, they had the luxury of double sinks and a tub that Connie could stretch out to her tiptoes in. Pure bliss.

Some days now it still got cramped, knees all folded up again under her chin—but this time it was because Javi had fitted his way into the tub behind her, pressed warm against her back, his own knees bracketing hers. He acted like he couldn’t get enough of her, mouth trailing kisses down the back of her neck, damp with steam from the bath and hot with arousal. Steve’s bare feet dangled in the water with theirs, perched next to the tub while he drawled out loud a chapter from the book they were sharing. She had everything she wanted right there in her little home, and it felt like the perfect starting place after all.