JUST ROLL WITH IT ! 🏴‍☠️

#HarringroveApril Day 16: Nostalgia

***

When Billy signed those discharge papers, piled into his dented Camaro and headed west towards the sunset despite the screaming redhead banging on the windows crying “please don’t go!”, with an aching chest both metaphorical and physical, he didn’t think for a second about looking back.

So how he ended up back in the same shithole he turned his back on ten years ago was entirely beyond him.

He had made a life for himself in California. He got his associates degree at the local community college and worked his way up from a nine to five teller position at the local bank all the way to branch manager, making an upper middle class salary. It was easy work. Boring work, unfulfilling work, but easy and worth every penny. He had a couple of friends, mostly coworkers, more so acquaintances than friends. He had a fancy apartment in the city, he went on dates, though they usually ended in one night stands where the other guy snuck out in the dark hours of the morning leaving Billy to sleep in a bed that was just too big for one person. But he was free from all of those forces in his life that always held him back and pinned him down, and each and every one of those forces just reeked of small town America.

He hadn’t heard a peep out of Hawkins since Max had given up on calling around eight years ago, or at least he hoped that she’d given up and something worse hadn’t happened to her. He regretted not answering those calls everyday. The guilt of leaving her behind like that weighed heavy like an anchor, but he did it anyway. Bad decision after bad decision he was surprised he made it to where he had today, and he just wished she’d call again.

But he also wasn’t sure enough of himself that anything would change if she did, and that phone would likely remain on the hook until the ringing stopped and she was left to the sound of his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Billy Hargrove. Leave a message.”

He wasn’t home the day she finally did call, which fortunately took that decision away from him. Her message was tossed in with a mix of telemarketers and employees calling in for days off, it could have easily been dismissed, passed over like every other piece of junk in the system if her voice hadn’t been exactly the same as it was the day he left her.

“Hey Billy, it’s Max. I know you probably don’t give a shit, but Neil died of a heart attack last night…” Billy stopped listening after the words ‘Neil died’ came over the speaker. He had to replay the message to hear the rest because by the time he’d gathered himself it had already ended. “...the funeral is next Saturday in Hawkins. Nobody expects you to come but I thought you should know anyway and that everyone would still like to see you. Call me back at…” Billy wrote the number on the back of a blockbuster receipt and set it flat on the counter quickly with a firm hand and a quick retraction, like it might burn him. Max’s name and a ten digit number below it in a blue ballpoint pen stared back at him and he just drummed his fingers on the counter and bit his lip trying to think everything over.

He looked at it for probably another thirty minutes while the rest of the voicemails cycled through in the background before he decided to make a call of his own. Slowly and shaking, he dialed the phone number and tried to even out his breathing while he waited for the sound of the pick up. He was partially hoping that it never came.

But it did. The click sound was followed by a voice that didn’t belong to Max, but one he still recognized.

“Hello?”

Billy took in a deep breath. “Hi. This is Billy.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you actually called.”

Billy huffed and if it had been ten years earlier he would have already hung up the phone by now.

“Who is this?”

“Lucas Sinclair. I take it you want to talk to Max?”

Billy tensed at the mention of her name, as if that hadn’t been the whole plan in the first place. “Yeah,” he said, a little bit of shakiness to his voice, “could you put her on?”

After a few short moments of silence and a little bit of movement in the background, he heard her.

“Hey Billy.” she sounded… glad… and it made Billy let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Hey Maxine.”

“It’s Max.” There was that tone, she hadn’t changed at all.

“Yeah, I know.” There was a pause, Billy twirled the phone cord around this index finger to the point it started going pink and then purple while he tried to get the question to leave the tip of his tongue. “So, he’s really dead?” he asked, blunt as ever.

“Yeah. I don’t expect you to want to come for the funeral, but I just thought you should know, and if you need a place to stay you can– hold on one second” Billy could hear muffled bickering and Max yelling ‘Lucas Sinclair’ through clenched teeth and it brought a smile to his face. It reminded him of all those times he’d eavesdrop on her phone calls with him just to piss her off, just to hear her yell at him through their shared wall before she’d chase him around the house. Those were good days. “As I was saying. You can stay here if you need. We have a spare room.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“I really hope you decide to come.”

“We’ll see.” He was just about to hang the phone back up, but he stopped himself, “Hey Max?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice hearing the sound of your voice again.”

Billy wound up taking the week off and driving that same old Camaro, restored back to its former glory, that did the distance twice before, back over to Indiana, to the place he said he’d never go back to, and he really couldn’t figure out the reason why he didn’t just go into work. There was nothing to drive him to go but the weird feeling in his gut that refused to go away until he called in, and a little bit of that pressure was released.

For each freeway exit he came across on the over thousand mile journey he contemplated turning around, getting back on that on-ramp going the other direction and save himself from whatever hell he’d be walking into.

Because that’s what Hawkins was to him. Hell. There were monsters like his father, and then there were real, legitimate monsters as well and Billy wasn’t safe from either of them, well he was safe from one now. He couldn’t imagine why Max decided to stay in the shithole and not get out like he did.

Maybe that’s what makes him the coward.

The welcome to Hawkins sign gave him chills. He remembered seeing that for the first time, following behind the rickety Uhaul pulled by their beat up truck when Billy decided not to follow them into their next turn, and instead got lost on the “scenic route” of Hawkins which really meant “trees, trees, and more trees” when he hit the Quarry’s dead end and nearly went off the cliff into the water below.

At the time he might’ve thought it would have been better if he had.

A lot of things had looked to have changed about the town since the last time he saw it. Places that he remembered being nothing but vast forests now had neighborhoods and restaurant chains and the place that once had a natural canopy was now completely deforested and exposed to the sun.

But the Quarry was exactly the same as he left it.

From the beer cans crushed and scattered, to the sounds of gravel pieces bouncing up and chipping the paint on his car.

The continuities continued to add up when he stepped foot out of the car, pulling on that same old denim jacket he hadn’t worn in years after trading it in for a suit and tie. His boot hit the gravel path just like it always had, with that same stomp that demanded attention, like each time he got out of that car he had to play into the dramatics, put on the mask and play the part he chose for himself. The breeze and the smell, it was all the same as before, as if the industrialization just several blocks north hadn’t had any effects on this little corner of the town where the birds still sang their songs in harmony and the smell of nature was pungent. It felt like no time had passed at all.

But it had been the sound of a rumbling BMW rolling down the crushing gravel that made him feel exactly like he was back in highschool again, the same rotten kid who used fists as forms for problem solving, the kid who as an adult had worked on his impulsivity, standing there, staring up the gentle slope with his fists clenched so tight his fingernails left marks on his palms. All that work, all that progress he thought he’d gone through, thrown straight out the window at just the mere sight of something from his past.

The BMW pulled up beside him, and the quarry apparently wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed. Steve still had the same big swooped back hair and that same exact look on his face when they made eye contact through the passenger window, the same exact look he had the day he told him he was leaving, and screamed at him to get out of his hospital room.

That was the last time they spoke.

Steve got out of the car without a word and just leaned against the door, looking him up and down, and Billy didn’t feel like he had any right to say the first word, considering he’d had the last one.

“It’s good to see you Billy.” Steve broke the silence, and it was almost startling, with both the sudden change of volume, and the sound of that voice he’d almost forgotten singing in his head like a song he didn’t remember learning the lyrics to.

“Is it?” Because it felt like it was all just a formality coming out of his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting an answer to that, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when Steve changed the subject. It was oddly refreshing seeing Steve write the script this time, steering the conversation his way.

“Looks like we both kept our old wheels,” he said, slapping the top of his car twice, maybe a little too hard. The sound of a hand against metal echoed through the trees. “though there’s not as many dents from what I remember.”

“I had it restored.”

The majority of Steve’s body was hidden behind the car that separated the two of them, but he could see in the way that his shoulders moved that his hands had found his own hips, doing that same stance of a mother who just caught their kid in the act of something naughty. “Some good memories happened in that car.”

“Some bad ones too. Or do I need to remind you how the dents got there in the first place?” Billy crossed his arms over his chest, as if the thousand pound chunk of metal that served as a barrier wasn’t enough to protect him. Because it felt like Steve could see directly through him with the way his head tilted when Billy threw his words back at him. Because they both knew that it was horseshit. Memories of whatever happened between Steve and the Camaro existed only in the dents that remained and the neck pain that still lingered. He didn’t actually hold any grudge about that, and he never did.

Because Steve was right. There had been good memories in that car, some he didn’t remember until seeing him again, some that still played in his mind when he went to sleep at night. Maybe that was the reason he kept it around for so long, that one piece that contained all of those few good times, all of those times with Steve.

“You were always so good at that.”

“What?”

“Deflecting. Pushing people away.”

Billy opened his mouth to defend himself, but there was nothing that came out but his own breath, but Steve filled that silence anyway before Billy would have even had the opportunity to speak.

“You cut your hair.”

It was like he was being interrogated.

“Company policy, they practically had to strap me down and take the clippers to my head themselves.”

Steve actually laughed, and it seemed genuine at least. Billy pulled out the pack of red that he always kept on the seat like it was muscle memory. His hands would only ever stop shaking when he had that little stick between his fingers, and they were only shaking more since Steve got out of that car.

“You still smoke?”

Billy put the cigarette in between his lips and lit up, pausing for a nice drag before bothering to answer Steve. Just letting his eyes fall shut and experience just a short moment of relaxation.

“Some old habits never die”

Steve pursed his lips. Every single one of his mannerisms were exactly the same. This one meant that he wanted to say something that he didn’t know if he should.

“Was I just an old habit too?”

“Steve–”

Steve just kicked the side of his car with his knee, sure to leave a dent of his own. The sound was loud enough that the consistent stream of chirping birds transformed into a cascade of flapping wings as the birds on the trees flew away from the scene. He walked around to the front of his car and the physical object that once created separation was gone, and suddenly Steve was within reach and he couldn’t breathe.

“Glad to know it’s harder to quit nicotine than it was to quit me!”

Billy chucked his lit cigarette at the ground and scuffed it with his heel into the gravel. “Who told you it was easy?!” He had a finger pointed to Steve and had closed their distance a few feet more, less than an arms length apart from each other.

“You left!”

“Because I had to! You know I did!”

“You didn’t have to leave me!” Steve practically screamed that final word, his face was now just inches away from Billy’s and he was nearly foaming at the mouth and from an outsider's perspective, Steve looked about two seconds from either kissing him, or killing him.

He did neither. He took a step back and recollected himself with a dramatic clearing of his throat. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

“And you don’t think I regret that every fucking day of my life?” Billy’s voice broke, trembling throughout the sentence like he was containing a ticking time bomb. “Why are you even here?”

Steve just rolled his eyes at the steer. “Max sent me.”

“Of course she fucking did.”

“She cares about you y’know.” Billy scoffed, because how could she? After all he did to her? He could still hear those palms banging against those windows and her muffled screams for her to stay every time he got into that car. “Why are you here?”

“Did she not tell you the part where my dad died?”

“I know damn well you didn’t come all this way to pay your respects.”

Billy let himself drop to the ground and sit on the rough terrain with his back against his tire, unable to continue standing, his legs were ready to betray him.

“I have no idea why I’m here, okay? I just am.”

Steve nodded his head, and he didn’t say anything, no quip back in his face, he just followed Billy to the ground.

“Are you upset he’s gone?”

Billy let out a groan and tried to rub the growing migraine from his temples.

“I’m feeling a lot of things, but I don’t think ‘upset’ is one of them.” Neither of them said anything after that. They just sat there on the ground and enjoyed the silence together like they used to do. Looking up at the clouds and arguing over what shape they were. There’d be none of that today though, and it had nothing to do with the overcast skies. “You still keep a six pack in your trunk?”

Steve laughed and got up from where he was seated and popped the trunk. He was right. Some old habits never fucking die.

Steve tossed a can over to Billy and sat back down on the gravel, maybe a little closer than he had been before. Billy took a long swig and swallowed the bitter taste down. He hadn’t drank much since he was a teenager, he traded in his Coors for Cola and he doesn’t understand how he used to enjoy the taste of it before.

“Why did you stay in Hawkins?”

Steve dug his heel and pushed a pile of rocks forward, kicking a plume of dust into the air.

“Nobody ever gave me a reason to leave.”

Billy wanted to ask if he would have even come with him had he asked him to. But he opted against it, instead just taking another drink from the can and a genuine “I’m sorry.” passed his lips.

“You know I followed you?”

“What?”

“Yup. Made it all the way to St. Louis before I turned around.”

Billy was just staring at him at this point, unsure if he’d just heard him right. He just sat there with his mouth agape, catching flies and waiting for Steve to say more.

“I knew that you needed to go. I knew that you were hurting and it took me almost ten hours on the open road to realize that you needed time to heal.” Steve’s eyes looked glossy and his cheeks flushed but he kept his smile on. “So I came back home, and I waited here for you to come back. I wanted to make myself easy to find when you needed me.”

“You waited for me?”

Steve inched his hand over to where Billy’s was propping himself up and let his fingers gently trace the back of his hand. Steve’s touch was everything. It made his heart start racing and his palms start sweating and it felt just like 1985 all over again.

Billy took Steve’s hand in his own and entwined their fingers together and Billy let out a long exhale as they did.

“Billy,” Steve said softly, scooting his body just a little bit closer, less than a foot of separation now between the two of them, and he looked Billy in the eyes. Billy had almost gotten entirely lost in those pools of deep brown before Steve had the chance to speak again. But he heard it, loud and clear. “I’m still waiting for you.”

He waited.

Waited ten fucking years.

Billy wasn’t going to make him sit there and wait for a kiss too.

Billy closed the distance at the moment the penny dropped, sinking all of his weight into the kiss in a frantic and uneven pace just like they were eighteen again trying to squeeze both of their bodies into the backseat of the Camaro, refusing for even a second to separate themselves from the one point of contact that sealed them together like glue. The kiss felt just like their first. In the same spot, instead under the stars and the two of them both drunk off their asses, and that time Billy tasted of only blood and liquor.

But it was that same feeling. That desire to never pull away, that fear that it would end and that it would be the last time. He had that fear with everyone of Steve and his kisses, that each one might just be their last.

So he made a point to savor all of them.

They kissed until they physically couldn’t anymore. Out of breath with swollen lips and an inability stop the smiles that peeked through every couple of seconds. They sat there with their foreheads touching and their clasped hands still intact, relishing in the heat that was each other’s breath on their faces. Billy was crying, just streams of tears paired with a smile that Steve gently wiped away with his thumb, the brush of contact making him shiver.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

Steve cradled Billy’s head in his hands and peppered a few short kisses to his lips.

“I missed you too.”

“You think this is why Max invited me here?” Billy asked. “I can’t imagine she’d actually think I would want to come to this thing.”

Steve laughed. “No. She’s not an idiot. She figured you’d want to crash the funeral.”

Billy immediately got up from his place on the ground and held his other hand out for Steve to grab onto. “Well you wanna join me while I go piss on my old man’s grave?”

Steve took his hand without hesitation and let Billy pull him up off the ground.

“It would be my honor.”

Hawkins made a lot of bad memories for Billy, most of which he locked somewhere far away, but the good still remained. Right there in the look on Steve’s face with the way he looked back at him.

And he was happy to make a couple more.

Ooo...can i please request Fem reader who have just been heartbroken by a one sided crush and then one day she met The Joker and he makes her forgot about her crush? Can be nsfw if u want 👀

Hello, anon! Ok so this is longer than I'd originally planned but I was having fun 😆 it’s a little story in the realm of a crackfic that I had a lot of fun with! I hope you like it!!

Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader, crackfic

Word count: 2,121

Warnings: light nsfw, mentions of mild violence

Summary: Sometimes people surprise you with what they'll do when their back is up against a wall, even the Joker.

Who?

It had to happen today, of all days. You went to grab a coffee this afternoon and what did you see? The man she knew you were obsessed with had his lips on hers. Right across the street from the café, your so-called friend was making out with the guy you’ve had a crush on for years.

He was back in Gotham on a business trip. His stay would have been shorter if it wasn’t for state of things in the city for the past couple of weeks. It seemed your friend decided it was an opportunity to swoop in before you’d gained the confidence to do it yourself. But the kicker is that he’d already agreed to meet you for dinner tomorrow night on top of it. Looks like he gets around. You all had gone to the same high school years ago and things apparently haven’t changed much. Aren’t you too old for games like this? You tried not to dwell on it, you had a job to do, but it’d been burning in your stomach like caustic acid for hours now.

You resisted the temptation to text her, tell her you saw them. No, if they want to play games, you could play your own. So far you hadn’t come up with anything but the old stand-by, the silent treatment. But this needed something bigger.

Your revenge plotting would have to wait, though. A minor injury out on patrol last month landed you a position in booking at MCU just in time for shit to hit the fan. Being a Gotham police officer was nothing like you’d expected it to be. You had your sights set on helping the disadvantaged, the people who couldn’t catch a break in this god forsaken city, who fell victim to loan sharks and got stuck in an endless cycle of debt to the inexplicably powerful Mob presence here. But the amount of red tape and corruption making that hopelessly impossible was enough to make you resent your decision in the first place. By now, you were one drug possession arrest away from never coming back.

Today, however, had taken an interesting turn. Your eyes were glued to the tv screen in the front office where live coverage of the SWAT team’s descent on the Pruitt building captured everyone’s attention. Some were optimistic about it, but most of the talk around MCU was skeptical. “If he’s gotten out of it before, he can do it again.”

But they got him. Back up teams raced out of the precinct and everyone scrambled with nervous excitement to carry out preparations for his arrival.

You weren’t here the last time the Joker had been brought in. You were off duty and you’d found yourself feeling a little jealous that you weren’t. He was all Gotham talked about, particularly around here. You weren’t sure how many times you’d seen his face by now. That face. There was something about the way he looked into the camera, it sent a tingle down your spine. It was a strange mixture of fear and fascination. It left you feeling conflicted, uneasy from the butterflies it stirred in your stomach, like you shouldn’t get this kind of excitement from it, a little spark of thrill you’d managed to keep suppressed.

But that spark was growing dangerously hotter now that you knew he’d be coming here, so soon, nonetheless. You had to keep your composure. The excitement was enough that you’d almost forgotten the betrayal you witnessed this afternoon… almost.

Your heart pounded as you approached the booking office, the sound of shouts and cheering echoing through the halls. What was he going to be like? Would he be angry? Was he going to take an officer hostage like last time? What if it ended up being you? You tried to take a deep breath, fighting the shaking of your hand as you reached for the door handle before carefully opening it.

You froze just past the doorway, letting it shut behind you. He was so… tall. He stood behind the intake desk, at least several inches taller than the SWAT officer removing the cuffs from his wrists behind his back. His expression was blank, casually watching the officers try to do their job while looking like their nerves were about to snap, avoiding touching him as much as they could.

“One move and I won’t hesitate to shoot you,” one officer said, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking.

The Joker didn’t say a word. He just flicked his tongue over his lip and lazily rolled his eyes. Butterflies fluttered into your throat and you fought to swallow them down. You had to try to relax, you can’t let him get to you. Of course, that’s easier said than done, his presence alone was enough to ignite an oddly alluring anxiety within you.

The awkward silence was broken when the on duty detective voiced his intolerance for that kind of behavior before noticing your arrival.

“Nice of you to join us, officer.”

All eyes landed on you, including his. You couldn’t breathe for a moment. That feeling that you got when you saw his picture was nothing compared to the intense wave of adrenaline that struck you like lightning, leaving you in a cold sweat as his eyes connected with yours.

You tried to maintain a professional demeanor, but you couldn’t hide the way color drained from your face as you slowly approached him. Just breathing took an immense amount of concentration. So much that you didn’t hear the detective giving you the case number to record before beginning the booking process.

“Officer! I’m speaking to you!”

You jumped and broke your gaze away from Joker’s dark rimmed eyes to quickly grab the form as the detective mumbled under his breath. Your hand was shaking again as you tried to breathe normally and recorded the number then in the next line, “Name, Unknown. Alias, The Joker.”

A shiver trickled its way down your back as you could feel eyes on you again and you looked up from the form to see him carefully watching you. Your breath hitched and you quickly tore your eyes away to stare at the form as heat bloomed in your cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. You’d been avoiding talking with anyone about him for weeks and no matter how much you denied it, now you knew why.

The other officers took his long purple coat and suit jacket off of his shoulders, removing a variety of knives from his clothing before turning him around to face you. You kept your eyes down, taking the cuffs from your belt to hold them in your hands, ready to place them on his wrists. A knot has tied itself around your insides and grew tighter the longer you stood there and stared at his hands, stained with traces of white, black, and red paint. Your face burned hotter, and your heart pounded relentlessly in your throat, but you had to try to remain calm. If you kept showing them how nervous you were, you’d be booted off of the case and another officer would take your place. This was pure torture, but you still didn’t want that to happen.

You were surprised by a need for more. He already had you trapped in this confusing push and pull to give in to the unusual attraction you had to him even though you knew it was wrong. It had taken you this long to realize that was it. A deep seated attraction had been sitting in the back of your mind and now it was rapidly taking over your body.

Goosebumps prickled your skin when your fingertips grazed his bare wrists, clicking the latch on the cuffs in place. This was like nothing you’d ever felt before, the rush in your veins, the heat in your stomach. You managed to keep the exhilaration spreading through your body from boiling over as you lead him to the line up wall for his intake photo.

He stood in front of the digital camera, holding the placard displaying his alias with the date and case number, his green hair swept hastily out of his face and infamous greasepaint smeared wildly. When you looked at the screen to capture the image, the knot in your belly unraveled. His gaze focused directly up into the camera lens and straight at yours, the corner of his scarred mouth tugging into a smirk. Your heart pounded in your ears and you could feel yourself shudder as rational thought slipped away, drowned out by a pervasive impulse. You knew he was dangerous, of course, and you couldn’t explain it but, you didn’t care. The fire he’d ignited within you was in control now.

A nervous buzz spread from your hands and down your arms before you looked up from the screen to meet his gaze, returning a subtle smile. Joker lifted his eyebrow and his grin stretched across his face until the other officers approached and he let it fall with a swipe of his tongue across his lip. That was all it took. You let those tempestuous flames engulf you and now you weren’t going to do anything to stop them.

Everything felt slowed down, like you were dreaming, feverish with this sudden and powerful desire when you kicked the door to the private search room open, pulling him inside with you and locking the door. You had precious few minutes before they’d find you. You quickly unlocked his handcuffs and spun around to put your back against the door, gripping the lapels of his vest when you stopped and stared up at his face as your stomach dropped. Why did you just do that?

But the feeling of regret didn’t last long. A low chuckle rumbled in Joker’s chest before he leaned on his hands, placed against the door on either side of you and brought his face inches from yours. Your breath huffed over his lips and the familiar feeling of arousal swelled between your legs as you felt his heat wash over you.

“Needed somewhere, uh, private to perform your search, officer?”

His lips hovered over yours as you smiled and answered softly, “I figured we’d start with the oral cavity search.”

His giggles were muffled when you crashed your lips into his, surrendering to the spontaneous and intense lust you found yourself swimming in. Your heart soared when he kissed you back, raising the intensity and allowing your tongue into his mouth as his hands moved to grip the sides of your face and your eyes fluttered closed.

He hummed when you wrapped your hands around his neck to lace your fingers in his hair and pressed your body against his. You could feel his size beneath the fabric of his pants and your breath hitched. This was one of those moments that didn’t feel like it was really happening, but it was. His hands slid down your sides to grip your waist and your mouths separated to catch your breath.

His eyes traveled up and down your body before another devious smile sent a shiver down your back.

“You. How about you come with me, hm?” he said, his eyes flickering to the gun in your belt.

Your stomach fluttered and you stared back at him, flinching when fists started pounding on the other side of the door and voices shouted. You shouldn’t trust him, you knew you shouldn’t. But trust hasn’t gotten you much in the past, has it? Besides, you didn’t have to trust him. Whatever happens is going to happen at this point so you might as well enjoy the ride. You’d already let it go this far. You swallowed your nerves and nodded, holding on tight to his shoulders.

Another chuckle made you bite your lip before he leaned in and purred in your ear, “Follow my lead, doll.”

You straddled his lap in the back of an unmarked van speeding down the street only moments later, his tongue in your mouth as your hands slid down his torso to the button on his pants. Was he always this lucky? Or did he know this would happen all along? Of course, this was a crazy thought but nothing that had happened today was sane. He held your own gun to your head and made his escape like it was planned that way. Either way, you’d easily forgotten all about the betrayal that felt so insignificant now.

In fact, tomorrow you’d receive a text from the traitor herself bragging to you about hooking up with your now former crush and your response, short and sweet, was “who?”

Taglist! @youmaycallmebrian @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @jokersqueenofchaos @into-crazy @killingjokee @astheworlddturns @jslittlebirdie @drreidsconverse @vipervixxen

new  york’s  very  own  NESSA  LOCKE  was  spotted  on  broadway  street  in  𝓳𝓲𝓶𝓶𝔂  𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸  𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪  𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻  𝓽𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓵  𝓱𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼  .  your  resemblance  to  kylie  jenner  is  unreal  .  according  to  tmz  ,  you  just  have  your  twenty  two  birthday  bash  .  while  living  in  nyc  ,  you’ve  been  labeled  as  being  finicky  ,  but  also  alluring  .  i  guess  being  a  scorpio  explains  that  .  3  things  that  would  paint  a  better  picture  of  you  would  be  expensive  diamonds  clinging  to  delicate  fingers  ,  makeup  swatches  on  tan  skin , &  wine  induced  giggles  .

GREETINGS  ,   cuties  .   i’m  gi  ,  9teen  ,  and  go  by  she  and  her  pronouns  .  i  kind  of  suck  at  introductions  ?  so  please  excuse  all  of  the  rambling  and  unnecessary  comments  that  are  throughout  this  .   nessa  is  kind  of  my  baby  ?  so  im  super  super  excited  to  bring  her  into  this  group  and  play  her  once  again  and  even  more  excited  to  write  with  all  of  you  !!!!!!   everything  you  need  to  know  about  her  is  under  the  cut  ,  and  if  you  want  to  plot  please  give  this  a  heart  and  we  can  do  so  (  or  message  me  on  discord  ,  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐲#1776  )

*  basics 

FULL  NAME.  nessa  ryan  locke  .

NAME  MEANING.   pure  ,  holy  ;  butterfly  . 

REASONING.   it  was  suppose  to  be  vanessa  but  somehow  ended  up  being  just  nessa  by  the  time  she  was  actually  born  .

NICKNAMES.   ness  ,  nessy  .

PREFERRED  NAME.  ness  and/or  nessa  .

BIRTH  DATE.   november  third  ,  nineteen  ninety  eight  .

AGE.  twenty  two  .

ZODIAC.  scorpio  .

GENDER.  cis  female  .

PRONOUNS.  she  and  her  .

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION.  heterosexual  .

CURRENT  LOCATION.   moved  to  new  york  city  at  the  age  of  nineteen  ,  (  click  here  to  see  her  residence  ) .

PLACE  OF  BIRTH.  los  angeles   ,  california  .

HOMETOWN.   los  angeles  ,  california  .

FATHER.  jared  locke  ,  actor  .

MOTHER.   jillian  locke  ,  former  model  .

SIBLINGS.   nirvana  locke  ,  emerson  locke  .

BIRTH  ORDER.  youngest  .

PETS.  wolfie  ,  husky  .

HAIR  COLOR.   originally  a  black  color  ,  though  it  tends  to  go  from  black  to  a  light  brown  and/or  a  blonde  color  . 

EYE  COLOR.  brown  ,  but  she  takes  pride  in  the  small  specks  of  green  .

DOMINANT  HAND.  right  .

HEIGHT.  five  ft  six  .

TATTOOS.   nessa  has  five  tattoo’s  all  together  ,  the  first  one  being  something  that  resembles  the  fire  emoji  on  her  right  inner  hip  she  got  with  her  group  of  friends  .   she  has  a  rose  on  the  left  side  of  her  boob  ,  which  she  got  strictly  because  she  thought  it  was  pretty  .   she  has  two  butterflies  behind  her  left  ear  ,  a  smiley  face  on  her  right  upper  butt  cheek  ,  and  finally  the  words  ,  ‘  take  care  ‘  tattooed  on  her  right  arm .  

PIERCINGS.   she  has  five  holes  on  her  right  ear  and  seven  holes  on  her  left  ear  .  

DRUGS  /  ALCOHOL  /  SMOKING.  no  (  beside  smoking  weed  here  and  there )    ,  yes  ,  no  .  

SOUNDTRACK.   self  care  ,  mac  miller  .   angel  ,  the  weeknd  .  fetish  ,  selena  gomez  .  bitter  ,  fletcher  .  july  ,  noah  cyrus  .  bad  news  ,  kehlani  .   after  hours  ,  the  weeknd  .   needy  ,  ariana  grande  .   save  myself  ,  ed  sheeran .  p*$$y  fairy  ,  jhene  aiko  .  girls  in  the  hood  ,  megan  thee  stallion  .  

AESTHETICS.   emerald  hues  forming  into  a  distant  memory  ,   soft  laughter  in  the  dead  of  the  night  ,  luxurious  material  clinging  to  honeyed  skin  ,   tired  hues  ,   the  glow  of  neon  lights  lightening  up  a  dark  room  .  

LINKS.  here’s  her  pinterest  !! 

FUN  FACTS.   she  has  a  three  year  old  husky  ,  whom  she  treats  as  though  she  carried  him  around  for  nine  months  .  she  has  a  obsession  with  acrylic  nails  ,  you  will  always  find  her  with  something  different  every  two  weeks  .  she  always  has  her  toes  painted  ,  usually  baby  something          baby  pink  ,  baby  blue  .   she  enjoys  switching  up  her  look  which  includes  hair  changes  whether  it  be  sporting  a  wig  or  actually  dyeing  it  .  has  a  talent  of  painting  but  normally  doesn’t  have  the  time  or  inspiration  to  do  so  .  a  music  bug  ,  she  has  to  be  listening  to  tunes  if  she’s  cleaning  ,  cooking  ,  bathing  ...  hates  the  gym  more  then  anything  but  has  a  personal  trainer  (  she  spends  most  of  the  time  avoiding  )  to  kick  her  ass  in  shape  .  rarely  diets  and  with  this  she  has  a  bad  habit  of  eating  whatever  her  body  craves  .  she  loves  waffle  fries  ,  and  prefers  a  burger  over  a  chicken  sandwich  .   she  hates  neon  green  ,  don’t  fight  her  on  this  .  she’s  a  bit  of  a  car  junkie  and  constantly  purchases  them  despite  not  needing  to  .  her  worst  habit  is  online  shopping  ,  she  will  spend  thousand  of  dollars  at  ONE  store  .

*  background .

stranded at  the  age  of  five  ,  a  stuffed  elephant  in  hand  and  confusion  lingering  on  skin  .  only  small  glimpses  of  heart  felt  moments  to  ease  the  tears  .  one  moment  she  was  there  ,  and  the  next  she  somehow  slipped  through  the  cracks  .  not  even  the  power  of  hollywood  being  able  to  track  down  the  angelic  emerald  hued  model  .  instead  ,  her  father  had  to  wrap  his  arms  around  his  three  children  and  fabricate  a  story  that  would  not  shatter  their  delicate  hearts  .  but  the  damage  was  already  done  .

drenched  in  sovereignty  and  affluence  ,  the  privilege  of  being  privilege  had  always  been  a  reality  ,  even  before  the  disappearance  of  her  mother  .  a  celebrity  child  ,  grew  up  in  the  spotlight  and  had  ears  filled  with  comments  from  millions  who  did  not  know  her  .   not  a  sob  story  ,  unless  you  considered  her  mommy  issues  .  inherited  her  father’s  ambition  and  her  mom’s  trust  issues .  started  branding  herself  at  the  age  of  seventeen  ,  a  trend  setter  .  the  title  of  social  media  personality  was  granted  to  nessa  before  it  was  even  a  thing  ,  and  she  did  not  stop  there .   ventured  into  the  beauty  industry  ,  building  an  empire  from  top  to  bottom  .  and  eventually  even  created  a  fashion  line  with  her  older  sister  ,  even  after  all  the  red  warnings  .

but  the  finer  things  in  life  did  not  come  with  all  blessings  .   her  delicate  hands  drenched  in  cold  glue  ,  shattered  pieces  clinging  for  their  lives  with  expectations  of  being  put  back  together  again  .  adored  and  envied  by  the  world  ,  but  the  outside  looking  in  did  not  see  bent  back  constantly  picking  up  pieces  of  her  sisters  who  crumbled  with  even  the  softest  poke  .  addiction  controlling  every  aspect   of  her  sisters  lives  ,  and  the  relationship  she  shared  with  them  .  it’s  never  been  pretty  to  watch  the  ones  you  love  self  destruct  and  take  everything  you  love  and  trust  down  with  them  ..  hard  to  look  them  in  the  eyes  as  anger  and  heartache  consumes   you  .  and  even  harder  to  forgive  .  

forever  fighting  the  demons  her  mother  instored  in  her  ,  and  the  demons  her  sister’s  stir  up  .  her  only  breath  of  fresh  air  being  her  daddy  ,  and  the  way  he  always  has  her  back  (  no  favorites  are  played  but  we  all  know  )  ,  and  the  life  she  helped  build  for  herself  .  wants  to  be  rid  of  hands  that  hold  her  back  and  take  and  take  until  she  has  nothing  left  ,  and  instead  plunge  into  the  world  of  living  for  herself  and  new  york  city  granted  the  brunette  that  opportunity  .  

*  personality .

affection  sings  to  her  in  the  form  of  a  love  song  ,  her  love  language  .  digits  itch  to  hold  friends  hands  ,  and  lean  on  lovers  shoulders  .  uses  pet  names  like  her  vocabulary  only  consists  of  the  word  angel  and  baby  .  a  chatter  bug  that  hides  vulnerability  with  ebullience  and  teasing  manners  .  impulsiveness  that  jumps  out  at  all  the  wrong  times  ,  and  a  carelessness  that  teams  up  with  her  pettiness  to  make  all  the  wrong  choices  .  feels  replaceable  and  easily  disposable  ,  makes  her  fear  of  ever  letting  anyone  get  too  close  .  finicky  ,  hard  to  please  and  even  harder  to  totally  figure  out  ,  some  would  say  she’s  hot  and  cold  .  tries  to  stay  out  of  her  head  with  burying  herself  in  work  .  knows  how  it  feels  to  feel  like  you  are  nothing  ,  and  fills  that  whole  with  giving  back  as  much  as  she  can  .  silly  and  sometimes  ditzy  .  loves  too  hard  for  her  own  good  ,  and  has  a  bad  habit  of  letting  people  back  in  even  when  they  do  not  deserve  it  or  her  ..  has  a  softness that’s  desperate  to  escape  .   hates  love  because  she  understands  what  it  can  do  to  you  and  loves  just  as  much  for  the  same  reason  .  built  a  wall  around  her  heart  to  avoid  adding  any  more  scars  ,  and  will  save  you  before  she  saves  herself  .  holds  on  to  people  a  little  too  tight  ,  because  she  hates  going  through  the  process  of  letting  people  in  all  over  again  .  a  twenty  something  year  old  who  craves  a  mother’s  touch  but  holds  a  grudge  that  sometimes  causes  her  to  miss  out  on  people  .   always  just  wants  to  feel  like  she’s  worth  making  sacrifices  for  .

* career . 

kylie    cosmetics  ?  nessa  cosmetics  ,  a  brand  built  at  seventeen  years  old  and  has  only  grown  from  there  .   collections  that  consist  of  collabs  with  close  friends  and  family  (  when  she’s  talking  to  them  )  ,   and  season  /  holiday  collections  .  does  something  for  her  birthday  ,  november  third  ,  every  year  .  has  a  collection  dedicated  to  her  zodiac  sign  , scorpio  .   constantly  changing  her  formula  to  better  her  brand  ,  and  does  everything  hands  on  .  does  most  of  her  work  from  her  office  .   can  find  her  instagram  stories  to  be  her  swatching  her  latest  products  .  favorite  thing  of  hers  being  her  eye shadows   (  applaud  for  the  pigmented  ) .  good  quality  ,  inclusive  and  diverse  (  more  then  actual  kylie  cosmetics  )  is  the  most  important  thing  when  it  comes  to  her  brand  . 

launched  nessa  skin  a  single  year  ago  ,  and  has  worked  on  it  for  the  last  three  years  .  her  latest  child  ,  and  plans  to  only  grow  it  .  skin  has  always  been  super  important  to  nessa  ,  and  delivering  her  supporters  with  products  that  will  actually  work  is  her  main  priority  .  

a  youtube  channel  with  ten  million  subscribers  ,  youtuber  as  a  second  job .  it  starting  as  a  hobby  and  a  way  of  connecting  with  supporters  to  becoming  something  she  cannot  imagine  not  doing  .   her  channel  consists  of  mixed  content  such  from  fashion  hauls  to  makeup  videos  to  even  vlogs  that  involved  her  friends  (  and  family  )  doing  stupid  things  .  

em  &  ness  ,  a  clothing  brand  her  and  her  sister  are  developing  .   features  trendy  street  wear  ,  more  to  come  soon  . 

* connections

the  childhood  friend  that  reminds  her  of  simpler  times  ,   mud  pies  in  the  back  yard  and  riding  their  bikes  around  the  neighborhood  .  secrets  and  promises  of  being  friends  forever  that  felt  secure  but  feel  short  .  bonded  forever  maybe  ,  but  constantly  feeling  like  strangers  .   (  or   they  could  still  be  close  friends  )

the  family  friend  that  their  parent(s)  swore  were  going  to  end  up  together  ,  though  if  the  two  caught  any  talk  of  that  would  scrunch  their  nose  ups  and  shake  their  head  .  or  at  least  they  did  for  a  while  ,  until  lines  started  to  fade  and  the  comfortableness  felt  like  something  more  ..  not  together  now  ,  but  constantly  a  what  if  ,  the  idea  still  runs  in  their  minds  but  is  a  friendship  worth  something  that  might  not  work  out 

a  friendship  or  more  so  platonic  soulmates  ,  if  you  see  one  you  know  the  other  is  not  far  behind  .  they  are  somewhat  extensions  of  one  another  ,  swear  they  cannot  survive  without  one  another  .  the  one  person  nessa  trusts  the  most  ,  someone  who  has  never  hurt  her  or  left  her  .  her  person  .

the  bad  influence  that  plays  on  her  impulsiveness  .  talks  her  head  up  to  get  even  or  take  that  tenth  shot  because  why  the  fuck  not  .  anytime  something  bad  almost  happened  ,  like  that  time  we  almost  got  a  fine  ,  she  was  with  this  person  .  and  while  she  adores  them  ,  she  knows  they  aren’t  exactly  the  best  for  her  .

the  friend  group  you  cannot  help  but  envy  ,  constantly  plastered  on  one  anothers  instragram  feeds  .  has  their  own  groupchat  that  does  nothing  but  blow  up  .  shopping  trips  in  italy  and  vacations  in  greece  .  do  not  always  get  along  but  there  is  always  love  in  between  them  .  they  are  constantly  in  her  vlogs  ,  and  would  kind  of  be  like  her  very  own  vlog  squad  .

the  friends  with  benefits  who  swear  they  are  just  friends  ,  and  the  sex  means  nothing  .  despite  the  fact  that  they  linger  a  little  too  long  in  one  another’s  bed    .  and  the  promises  of  this  will  not  ruin  anything  become  blurry  when  they  connect  on  a  deeper  level  .  and    it  gets  confusing  when  their  affectionate  comes  to  surface  ,  but  regardless  they  are  just  friends  .

a  trio  of  three  friends  who  are  always  seen  together  ,  best  friends  could  be  the  world  to  use  to  describe  them  (  bonus  points  if  its  all  girls  )  .

the heart  breaker  ,  the  person  that  fucked  her  up  for  good  .  ruined  the  way  she  loved  and  left  her  with  a  lot  of  regret  and  heart  ache  .  she  swear  she  hates  them  ,  but  she  hates  how  much  she  loved  them  and  how  close  they  got  to  her  .  hates  how  they  went  from  knowing  her  more  then  anyone  to  being  someone  she  cannot  even  look  in  the  eyes  anymore  (  bonus  points  if  it  involves  them  cheating  on  her  ,  extra  bonus  points  if  it’s  angsty  as  hell  )  

the  drinking  buddy  she  confides  in   ,  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  lot  of  shit  talking  that   always  end  up  in  talking  about  personal  matters  .  they  are  a  ear  and  someone  to  lean  on  .

the  on  and  off  fling  ,  their  back  and  forth  being  nessa  and  her  refusal  to  let  them  in  completely  .  her  feelings  for  them  scare  her  ,  and  she’s  not  ready  to  walk  down  the  road  of  being  with  someone  again  .

other  things  i  want  include  ;  unlikely  friends  ,  enemies  to  friends  ,  friends  to  enemies  ,  lovers  to  friends  ,  friends  to  lover  ,  ex  best  friend  ,  ex  friends  in  general  ,  ex  friends  who  miss  each  other  terribly  ,  other  youtubers  she  collabs  with  ,  other  ceo’s  of  makeup  brands  /  skin  brands  she  has  a  rivalry  with  because  the  media  made  it  seem  like  they  hated  one  another  .

A Familiar World

A Terrifying Tempest  ——————————————

Things weren’t always peachy in Roo’s early days. Aiden’s out of the house, and our favorite little paint cat comes head to head with something he’s never seen before. It’s more than a little scary.

This is a two part chapter! The first part is here!

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

——————————————

oh? two chapters in two days? what am i, some sorta competent??? nah, i’m just riding on a wave of productivity. Happy to have this one out tho!!! ‘s about time i finished this ;w;

enjoy some fun times with roo and his feral form, y’all ;3

WARNING FOR BODY HORROR! if that’s not your deal, skip what’s between these ( ~~~ ) and keep readin!!!

                                                      ————

Rain hammered against the villagers’ roofs. Thousands of its tiny droplets pounded against soaking wood. Lightning slashed through the sky, leaving jagged wounds of light against the ashy clouds. They vanished as soon as they’d come. Thunder roared deafeningly, like some monstrously angry beast. The wind howled back in fury. In the void-like darkness of the night, there were only a handful of people out, trying futilley to prevent the storm’s damage. All else stayed huddled in their dark houses. There was only one thing to do in a storm such as this. Wait it out. And hope that your fear didn’t invite it inside. For some, this was a feat greater than the squall. For some, the tempest outside was much more than a storm. For some… it was a nightmare.

                                                     ————

Thoughts swirled around in Roo’s head. The thunder outside threatened to drown them out, but they hissed louder in protest. He trembled fiercely as he dug under the blankets on Aiden’s bed. No matter how much of his paint stained them, they were safe, right? He was safe there, right? Right? The little cat curled himself into a tighter ball. His ears pressed against his head, eyes squeezed shut. Why hadn't his originator come home yet? Had something gone wrong outside? Where was he? It was so dark, so loud, so horribly nerve-wracking. Where was he?! He desperately scrambled to calm his rising panic. It was like trying to stop the tide from coming in. Sooner or later, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. No matter how hard you hold on, there’s bound to be a swell that sweeps you away. Unfortunately, the water was getting higher. And Roo didn’t know how to swim. Wh-what’m I suh-supposed teh do? He whimpered, paws over his ears. Aiden’s not- h-he’s not h-heah- Move. Wh... what? The sudden impulse- no, urge- nearly brought his fear to a halt. Where had that come from? … For the first time, the cat realized his chest felt much too tight.  His anxiety trickled back like a creek before a flood, bringing violent shivers with it. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. Get out. Run. His breathing picked up as he glanced around. Paint spattered blankets and darkness surrounded him. Where could he go? Where could he get to? Aiden- Aiden said he couldn’t leave the house right now- he couldn’t get out anyways! Have to go. Have to go right now. He couldn’t get enough air. Were the blankets starting to curl closer? He grit his teeth, baring tiny desperate fangs at the darkness. B-but where? I don’ know where i could- Go! NOW! GET OUT! The kitten pawed at his head, cringing at the claws that sliced through his fur. Why wouldn’t it stop?! W-where do I go I’ve got nowhere to go I c-can’t- I can’t! GET OUT OF HERE! Panicky whimpers started bubbling up from his maw, his fur following suit. It felt like his whole body was boiling. As if something was building- expanding- rising- like the ocean before a tsunami. W-why was he- what was he- wh- What’s happenin to me?! Where’m I supposed to go?! I’m- I’M STUCK! THERE’S NO WAY OUTTA HEAH-! NEED TO GO GO GO GO NOW RUN- The cacophony of wailing instincts and fear and terror was too much- too much- too much bad bad stop sTOP STOP I CAN’T I CAN’T I C-CA-HAN’T-

Roo felt something inside of him give a horrible, splintering snap. Everything suddenly stopped. It was just… silent. Numb. Jarringly disconnected.  But only for a moment.  Everything came crashing back down with a vengeance.

~~~

The little kitten let out a frightful cry as pain surged down its spine. Bubbles popped and roiled across its fur. It felt like the horrible flashes outside had come in- latched onto it- sent white hot tingling down all its limbs- the familiar thrashed about under the covers, just trying to get free. It’s head was a whirlwind of shrieking and agony. Nothing was processing besides pure panic. At least, not mentally. Magic was already at work. The kitten’s limbs began to stretch like taffy. It felt as if boiling lava was pouring all over it. Malleable and impossibly bendy, it’s arms and legs quickly stiffened into steely rods of bone. What began as tiny paws started sharpening into wicked claws. Each digit practically had a sickle attached to it- all the better to rend things in its path. Fiery limbs and flailing claws tore at the sheets desperately, hoarse gasps accompanying the ripping of fabric. A round of crackling sounded off from its back, and it shrieked again. It bucked and thrashed as the line of bones lengthened, making a stubby tail long and an aching body longer. The rest of its form was struggling to play catch-up. Ribs pushed out against skin, vertebrae poking up in a garish path towards its head, all the growth making a skeletal nightmare out of the once-fluffy kitten. From the crunch of its muzzle, it was clear that its skull had some reshaping to do. It’s screams were muffled now, but slipped out with increasing fervor. A stubby snout morphed into a slavering muzzle, baby teeth gnashing into deadly fangs. Big ears were shoved flat against its head, paint dripping down in a waterfall over ringed orange eyes. The blindness only stoked its terror higher. The thrashing became horribly violent, dumping the familiar off the bed and onto the floor. Shreds of the sheets clung to razor claws as it howled in pain. And just when it seemed things couldn’t get any worse... … The familiar’s form began shifting. Getting bigger. Taller. Swelling from an already-stretched foot and a half of agonized cat to a five foot horror panther. And all it could do was roar.

~~~

                                                       ————

“There’s too much water coming in-!” “We don’t have enough lumber left for this-!” “We’ve just got to give it up and move people until the storm dies down-!” Shouts like these were barely heard above the deafening pounding of rain and thunder. The storm had come up so suddenly that a family’s roof caved in. Too much water, not enough time to put up spells. Aiden had been laboring alongside three other questors to get it fixed for hours- all to no avail. No matter what they tried to do, their magic sputtered out in the rain. The work just left them all shivering and upset. And, for whatever reason, Aiden was feeling sore. His chest in particular was bothering him. The more time he’d spent working, the more it was bugging him. He’d chalked it up to his lack of training as of late. Either way, it’d gotten bad enough that he needed a break. The questor took a moment to breathe, setting down a large wooden board. It was as soaked as he was, if not more so. Not the best for building at all. He sighed in frustration, swiping bits of loose hair off his face. He grimaced as his sopping hair stuck to his hands. Evidently, his waterproof cloak hadn’t helped. Revaew. This was horrible. As much as he liked water, he hated being drenched like this. They weren’t making any progress here. Looking to his companions, he opened his mouth to suggest they give it a rest- Only for a deafening roar to cut him off. Blue mist flared to life on his fists before he knew what he was doing, gaze instantly searching for the source. He couldn’t see anything through the driving rain, and hearing? He might as well have been underwater. What was that? Was it a monster coming into town? Now, of all times? A look at his companions yielded just as much confusion. “The hell was that?!” One of them shouted over the rain. “No clue!” Aiden called back. “Whatever it was, it sounds big and mad!” “Should we send someone over to check it out?!” Another yelled, gesturing towards the source of the noise. “Probably!” Aiden spoke up again, following their gesture. Was it on the same side of town as his house...? “Someone’s gotta take care of it before anythi-“ Another roar rang out through the rain. It was a horrid, desperate sound. A zing of pain tore through Aiden’s chest, stealing his words as much as the sound. He grimaced, gasping. What in revaew’s web was going- It was then that something clicked. The chest pain. In the middle of a storm. More work meant more time away from his familiar. His familiar, who got stressed when he… left… Oh. Oh no. The questor didn’t wait another second to process. He was off like a shot. Yelling an apology over his shoulder, he dead sprinted over the wet stone path. Puddles splashed freezing water all over him. From the way his boots slid with every step, it was a miracle he didn’t fall. The thump of his belt pouch on his hip was practically promising to leave bruises. But he didn’t care. All he could think about was getting back to his familiar. The third roar just made him pick up his pace. Dark house after dark house slipped by as he wove his way through the village. His place was on the edge.  For the first time since he’d moved here, he regretted picking a house so removed from the main square.

As aiden ran the final stretch to his cottage, the squelch of mud beneath his boots had never sounded sweeter. He was drenched, dirt splattered, and had a nasty scratch from bashing his arm into a mailbox, but he was almost there. Rather unfortunate that the sight of his home didn’t have the same effect. The windows were dark and empty. The next roar was so much louder now. In a flash of lighting, he could see something big zip past the glass. Oh Revaew- was that Roo? His chest was already aching, but it was downright painful now. Putting on one last burst of speed, he made it to the door before thunder started to rumble. The questor nearly slammed into it, gasping. Thanks to a short overhang over the door, he was out of the rain. … And in more than a little pain. His lungs heaved desperately. His legs were on fire. His bruised hip and scratched up arm were throbbing. His head, too, had decided to ache. Sure, he was here. But at what cost?  Maybe running that fast was a bad idea, he thought dully. However. It had gotten him there. And the mad dash was over. All he had to worry about now was getting inside. Adrenaline starting to wind down, he pressed an ear against the door. He could make out anxious yowling under the sounds of the storm. He flinched at a dull crash and thunk, grimacing at the accompanying cries. Yeah, he needed in. He needed in before Roo hurt himself. If he hasn’t already, he thought fearfully. Waving a hand from his head towards his feet, he muttered a quick spell. Water came rushing off him in waves. It sent a violent chill down his spine, but at least he wasn’t wet. After all, he wouldn’t be able to touch his son if he had rain clinging to him. Slowly, he took one more breath. He faced the door. A little grumble of thunder roiled across the land as he stared at the damp wood. One last hurdle to clear. His hand raised to take the handle. I’m here, Roo. With a soft click, the door slowly swung open. I’m home.

Everything was loud. Cold. Dark. So, so dark. No matter how many times it tried turning its head, how many directions it looked, everything was dark. It felt like it was suffocating. The loud rumbling and crashing wasn’t helping at all. The thundering of rain was grating on its ears. It couldn’t stay here. Lashing out, it roared again and again. Pleading- begging someone to come help. All that met it was pain as its paws and tail snagged on unseen assailants. They were everywhere! All around it! There was no way to run from them. And it tried. Oh, how it tried. It kept bashing into invisible walls. Smashing into obstacles. Roaring and thrashing and scrambling around in the dark. Slipping desperately into a new space, only to bash into something else. An unending nightmare with deafening sound. … Until something new cut through the cacophony. A creak. Long and soft, bringing a freezing draft with it. It froze, back arched. Fangs bared. Low yowls drifting from its maw. Smells tickled at its nose, but it was too worked up to identify them. All it knew was something had just walked in the door.

Aiden’s eyes widened in shock. Hand trailing to his face, he just… stared. He hadn’t known what to expect. Even with his memories of feral familiars, even after the pain in his chest, even after the shadows and yowls from inside the house… he had no idea. But he knew, instantly, what was standing in the darkness of his house. Or, more accurately… who. Roo. The questor stood silently in the doorway, across the room from a five foot long panther. Paint dripped steadily from every part of it, leaving streaks and puddles on the floor. Mangy fur stood anxiously on end. Fearful breaths hitched through deadly jaws. Though its eyes were covered in a waterfall of indigo, Aiden knew its gaze was on him. He didn’t know if he could move. The panther wasn’t budging either. They seemed to be at a standoff. But how long would this last? Minutes? Hours? Seconds? Someone’s gotta make the first move, Aiden thought grimly. Might as well be me. Holding his breath, he took a hesitant step forward. The panther’s ears flicked towards him. It curled its lips a bit higher, tail twitching. Aiden paused. Okay. One step at a time, then. Slowly spreading his hands, he tried for some words. “... hey roo. I’m back,” Aiden called softly. Where the step set the panther on edge, the voice received a warning yowl. Its spine curved higher, claws digging into the wooden floor. It looked like a skeletal fluffball with how much fur was puffing up. Aiden tried not to flinch. He just stood his ground. If he was gonna get through to Roo, he had to keep going. “It’s- it’s just Aiden, bud,” he tried again. “You know me. Nothing to be afraid of.” The name gave the panther pause. The sounds of driving rain seemed to fade as it thought. Aiden. Aiden. It knew that name. But… from where? Its brows furrowed, a halting yowl drifting from it. It wanted to keep the person away… didn’t it…? … then why did it wish they’d come closer? Aiden advanced a bit more. Gently, as the panther hesitated. Though it bristled again, it didn’t make any noise. It just crouched. Aiden eyed it uncertainly. “... you ok, Roo…?” he continued. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” The panther shivered. Meowed softly. Safe. It was… safe? The person… they… no, he was… was safe…? It’s tail curled around its feet. Nervous. Afraid. Aiden took another step. Nothing happened. Another. Nothing. Two more, and he’d be right next to the panther. He was almost close enough to touch it. Yet, he stopped. The panther couldn’t see. It was so afraid. He had to make sure it knew it was safe. He had to. “... roo…” he started softly, crouching down. “It’s okay. Really. Aiden’s here. Dad’s here. You’re safe.” The panther trembled. Another soft meow slipped out. A questioning sound. A skittish sound. It knew the person was right there. It wanted him closer. Please, come closer. Safety was nothing without him. Without… … without… Aiden. Silently, everything fell into place. Tears rose to Roo’s eyes. Aiden. Oh Revaew. Aiden. His body shook as he tried to process, little huffs bubbling out of his mouth. There he was. The familiar was back, but his fear had gone nowhere. It was still so dark here. He didn’t know what to do. He just shivered, pawing anxiously at his eyes. ‘Aiden?’ he tried to say, meows coming out instead. ‘D-dad? Aiden? P-please- please, i-i nuh-need help-’ The questor understood the moment Roo teared up. To call his sigh relieved might have been an understatement. He closed the gap without words. Pulling his familiar into his arms never felt so sweet. Roo latched onto him. Aiden did likewise. Just sitting there, quietly shushing the big kitty. “Dad’s here, Roo…” he murmured. He held Roo as his sniffles bubbled into sobs. “You’re safe…” He held him even as his painted form started running like a busted faucet. “You’re alright…” He held him as his body shrank down smaller and smaller. Held him as he morphed back into a scared little kitten. Held him as little paws clutched handfuls of his shirt. Just… held him. Eventually, Roo tried to speak. His little voice broke and mewled too badly to make out words. But Aiden knew what he meant. Cradling his familiar in his arms, the questor got to his feet. He shut the door with a small wave of magic. The mess could wait for the morning. They weren’t going anywhere but bed. Roo mewled again as he carried him back to the trashed bedroom. Aiden shushed him quietly. Gently. “You’re safe, Roodle,” Aiden hummed. “I’m here.” Carefully, he wrapped the kitten in a torn blanket. Good enough for now. Good enough to sleep. He settled himself up as best he could in bed. Just letting roo curl up on his chest, arms still cradling him. The rain was the only sound for a little. Ever present drumming from the sky. Roo dozed off easily.

After awhile, a bit of thunder rumbled over the house. Roo shivered in time, curling up tighter. “... mrr…” Aiden’s hand gently smoothed Roo’s fluffy fur. Tired. Half awake. But still determined. “I’ll be right here, Roo. Don’t worry.”

“You’re safe.”

A new beginning: An OC story

Chapter 3

Drift stood outside the medbay fidgeting with his digits nervously. With only five days until their next stop, today Drift had to ask Remedy out. “What if she says no? What if she knows of my past and gets scared? No Remedy would never hate me for my past, she’s so forgiving.” Drift continued to argue with himself about wether or not this was a good idea or not. As far as he knew, Remedy was unaware of his previous actions during the war, hell Remedy left Cybertron when the war was just getting intense so surely she had no knowledge of Deadlock whatsoever. He let out a shaky breath and walked into the medbay.

Ratchet was showing Remedy some of the more basic medical procedures that would be common while aboard the Lost Light. Remedy then heard the door open and due to her curiosity she immediately looked up seeing Drift walk in, that goofy side smile plastered on his face. Remedy gave her friend a warm smile before asking Ratchet if she could have a couple minutes with the mech, Ratchet nodded giving the two a warm smile and left the two alone. Drift walked over to Remedy, his pedes heavy, the feeling of more doubt setting in. Remedy noticed this and immediately had him sit down next to her, she looked at him confused about this strange behavior.

“Drift are you alright? You seem off.” He gave her a reassuring smile showing that he was in fact fine and in no need of any medical assistance, seeing how she cared so much for his wellbeing made his spark beat harder. “I’m perfectly fine, I came here to ask you something. Our next stop is supposed to be a beautiful sight, glowing plants and waterfalls, it’s beautiful! I would be honored if you joined me to see the sights.” He then took Remedy’s servo into his and gave her a pleading look. Remedy was stunned by his sudden proposal. Her processor running a million miles a second, something inside her was telling her to say no, all the previous sparkbreak and pain flashing before her. She looked back at Drift then shook her memories away. “I’d love to go with you Drift, it’ll be fun and give me some time to relax. Drift leaned over and gave the femme a huge hug.

Later that night Remedy was in her shared room with Nightshade humming happily and thinking about her upcoming date with Drift. Nightshade took notice of Remedy’s overly giddy behavior. “Someone’s in a good mood, did Swerve offer you more free high grade?” Remedy was pulled from her thoughts as Nightshade waved her servo in front of her face. “I have a date with Drift! Yeah that’s right, he asked me out I have a hot ass mother fucking date!” Remedy was practically jumping up and down frantically with excitement and wrapped her arms around the larger femme, pure joy and happiness clear on her face. Nightshade patted Remedy’s helm and pulled away from her strong embrace.

“Rems are you sure you wanna go through this? I know you really like Drift and all and you see him as this prince charming and shit but don’t you remember the last time a relationship didn’t work out?” Remedy thought for a moment but shrugged. “Remedy the guy cheated on you and you beat the shit out of him and then you went through a major depression for primus knows how long. How could you possibly not remember that?!” Remedy looked off to the side in attempt to avoid the topic altogether, she remembered what happened, she remembered all her past relationships, some healthy some toxic beyond belief. Something about Drift made Remedy happy, she saw true love in his optics, he saw her as more than just a pretty face, he saw her as her own independent bot. “I know you’re trying to protect me, I know you want what’s best for me but seriously, Drift is the one who will make it all better I just know it.” Nightshade sighed in defeat, she knew arguing with the femme would be futile and only anger her, she gave Remedy a reassuring smile and wished her the best of luck on this new journey.

Remedy waltzed her way to the medical bay to finish up some work Ratchet asked to do, it had been a couple days since Drift had asked her out, the scene constantly replaying in her processor. “Well I haven’t seen you this happy in eons.” Remedy was snapped from her thoughts when she heard Ratchet’s voice, he was sitting at his work station looking over some datapads. “Well I do have a date tomorrow night, with a very special mech.” Ratchet looked up from his datapad giving a fake amused look to the young femme. Really now, and who might this mech be?” He gave her a small smile and handed her a small box with a data pad under it. “I assume this is from your admirer, Drift.” Remedy had a shocked and confused look on her face as she took the items Ratchet gave her. “Why would he leave me a gift? Wait how did you know Drift asked me out?” Ratchet gave her a small smile and set his datapads on the table. “Well Drift came in here a couple cycles ago and for some odd reason he assumed he needed my permission to ask you out. He’s a good kid, he’ll treat you like a princess.” Remedy rolled her optics and opened the small box, inside was an assortment of her favorite energon sweets, she then lifted up the datapad with a message written on it.

“Remedy, I remembered you telling me how much you loved these, luckily I had some saved when we left Cybertron. No amount of sweetness can compare to yours, you’re so caring and beautiful and I can’t wait for our date tomorrow night. ~Drift

Remedy read over the message a few more times then looked over at Ratchet. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t tell him to spoil your ass.” Remedy sighed dreamily at the thought of someone actually loving her and taking the time to do something so sweet for her. Ratchet shook his helm at her childish behavior and urged her to get her work done.

The day had finally come, the crew finally reached their stop before continuing on their wild goose chase for the Knights of Cybertron. Their stay at this new planet would only last 24 hours so Everyone on board was in a hurry to see the sights. That evening Remedy was getting ready for her date, waxing her paint job and looking herself over multiple times. “How do I look?” Nightshade sat up from her berth letting out an annoyed groan at her friend. “I already told you, you look great and if he doesn’t say anything then he’s not worth it.” Remedy giggled and rolled her optics at the seeker. “So are you coming to see this planet before we leave? Ultra Magnus suggested everyone leave the ship at least once to check it out.”

Nightshade let out a sad sigh and laid back down on her berth face down. Remedy look at her friend, obviously wanting and explanation for her behavior. “I’m not going, I don’t wanna go by myself and I have no one to go with me.” Remedy Grabbed her large servo in an attempt to pull her off the berth but to no avail. “Nightshade c’mon Rodimus is going he said it’ll be fun, although his definition of fun seems to involve impulsive behavior so maybe it’s safer you stay here.” Nightshade quickly sat up with a loud groan, she gave Remedy an Annoyed look. “Fine I’ll go, only because you wont stop bugging me. And Remedy, be careful on your date with Drift.”

Remedy look at the seeker confused at her warning. “If you think Me and Drift are gonna-“ “NOT THAT REMEDY!” The smaller femme was taken back by her friend’s sudden outburst. “Remedy you’re not gonna like hearing this. I had heard some things about Drift, bad things.” Remedy tilted her head even more confused. Nightshade sighed and places her servos on Remedy’s shoulders. “Drift was a once a con, a horrible con by the name of Deadlock. Whirl told me all about it, he killed many. From what Whirl told me, Deadlock was a terrifying bounty hunter who later traded his guns for swords changed his name and became this whole born again spiritualist or whatever.” Remedy burst into laughter, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing from her friend. “So you’re telling me that Drift, the sweet quiet mech who asked me out is actually some murderous decepticon named Deadlock?! Shades that’s quite a story and my god it would make for a human soap opera plot line but seriously c’mon.” Nightshade gave her a serious look. “If you don’t believe me go ask Ratchet or any of the others, they’ll tell you the same thing. Just, maybe ask about it tomorrow I mean the guy did ask you out and you’d be a glitch to stand him up.” Remedy nodded her helm and left the shared berthroom to find Drift.

“So... you nervous? You look nervous, like you look like you’re gonna fall over and die.” Drift and Rodimus were headed to meet the others outside the ship, Drift had told Remedy to meet him there. “What if she doesn’t show up? A femme like her, any other attractive mech could have asked her out and she decides to go with him.” Rodimus looked slightly offended by Drift’s assumptions. “Hey I would never ask Remedy out behind your back! And I really doubt she would say yes to someone else when she already said yes to you.” He put his arm around Drift’s shoulder in reassurance, a cocky smile on his face. “If you’re so worried about losing her then do something that will make her beg for you, talk dirty to her. Tell her ‘Damn girl are you from outer space? Because your ass is out of this world!’ Believe me chicks dig that shit.” Drift gave the orange mech a disgusted look, the fact that Rodimus even suggested such a stupid pick up line. “Rodimus I want her to love me, not slap me.” After a few moments of silence that led to laughter the two mechs headed out to the main entrance of the ship.

Desperandum Victum Chapter 2

Jimin x Female Reader

Genre: Demon AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut (future chapters), Mature, Slow Burn

Warnings: The story will get really fucking dark, including themes of incest, cannibalism, rape, murder, slavery, gore, yandere, religion, and way more oof. This chapter has mentions of violence and gore at the end.

Word Count: 10,129

Summary: You’ve had a traumatizing hard life and you move to a new town for new beginnings. But what if this town was hiding secrets of it’s own?

A/N: Sorry I’m late, this was supposed to be out hours ago but I just got home and don’t know how to use the fucking queue. This was originally due weeks ago, but I redid the story 3 times because I didn’t like how it kept turning out hahahaha wrote over 34k words and for what??? Anyway, last boring chapter I promise! Shit’s about to hit the fan ya’ll. Unedited, sorry, let me know of you find any mistakes!

Buying an old house was perdition disguised as a home.

Jun scoured through the wires of the electrical system. FallHaven weather circumstances were something he was cautioned about beforehand. Days consisted of hard-hitting heat, while the dusks were frigid and aloof. The outdated HVAC wiring had made the temperatures of the self-contained rooms a roller coaster, never knowing how severely the ventilation of said room would get tropical or glacial. Behind him, beyond the croaking and crickets; laid his back-porch barrier, it’s paint chipping from the fractured foundation. He previously spent $1000 to fix the asbestos grit around the house, and just yesterday he made a call to confirm the rumors of lead paint. Never has he regretted anything more than not contacting a house inspector prior the move.

Closing the chaotic cabinet of cables, Jun huffs, patting the few beads of sweat with the bottom of his tank top. He’ll ask uncle Alp about it in the morning. Maybe he should start a fire tonight. Taking a few steps to his back door, he opens it and squints at the hallway’s light. Locking the knob, he turns around, treading into the hall leading into the living room, before he stops in front of your decrepit door.

Right after you stepped into the house, you shut yourself in your room. Not responding to any of his inquiries or pleads. The hours had passed on in silence, and the house seemed too lonely for the night. Your food was left untouched on the table. Wanting you to come out, he had made your favorite stew with the produce he bought today. Its rich spice had glided throughout the capacity. He knew it was fruitless, and he tried to be patient, but his mind glimmered with hope that you’ll come out your door in any moment, drool at the side of your mouth, ogling his food like a bear ogles at honey. He chuckled at the image.

But it didn’t come true. You hadn’t come out. You hadn’t even made a sound, and that to him was worrisome more than anything. As someone who always had a comment on everything, much to Jun’s displeasure, to see you so mute reminds him of those days. The worst fucking mistake of his life. A nightmare that often visits him still, making a nest in his subconscious like a fatal tumor. And then there’s the wounds on your wrist.

Jun wasn’t an impatient man; high off his own ego plenty to break down your protective barrier. It was something he had to teach himself, just like most of the things in his life, coming from a place where you don’t learn anything from anyone, but see it all anyway. Yet his intolerance for desolation splintered the shield that was his reasoning. He grew up this way. A string of impulsive verdicts-results of mental burdens, dissociating him from himself. They could only lead to tragedy and he’s had abundant amounts of that serving. So instead he’ll pride himself in being cautious, especially when it comes to you.

Staring at the imbedded wooden material, he starts fretting about your bruise. The color is probably richer and unusual. You hadn’t even let him look properly, and there’s no aid in your room. Biting his nails, he contemplates urgently of what to do. Teenagers are impossible, he sighs, you were much easier to handle when you were a kid. Not to mention cuter.

That’s when it hits him. He’ll sing that song you love, just like he used to when you were a kid! Yet he cringes as soon as he thinks it. It’s been a few years, and you were way older now. Still, it worked before, it worked during that nightmare. He soundlessly pleads with the god you believe in.

Quietly clearing his throat, he hums almost inaudibly. Can’t believe I’m getting warmed up for this, he reflects. If you don’t come out subsequently, he’ll die of grief or shame. Whichever hits him first. Pacing back a bit, away from your heavy door, he slowly begins to sing,

“Somewhere over the rainbowww-,”

…

“Waaa-y up high”

“There's a land that I heard of once, in a lullaby…”

“Somewhere over the rainbowww-, skies are blue,”

…

“And the dreams that you dare to dream…”

“…really do come true…”

A second passed. Then 10…eventually 30.

2 minutes had passed.

He looks down, dejected. Despair coursing his veins, he lets out a heavy breath; he didn’t want to go through this once more.

The lock clicks open!

His head jumps up to face the door being pulled in and your timid figure walking out. He wants to cry and give you a huge hug; wrap you around in his arms with love and comfort, but he doesn’t have the heart to scare you again, so he just stands there as you do too. You stare at him with meek eyes, the dark bags laying just beneath them pull at the strings of his heart.

Pulling his thoughts together he softly speaks to you,

“Hey”

He’s not sure what to say though

Does he question who that lady was? Does he ask about your wrist? Or dinner? Should he drop the topic and make a joke about something entirely different instead? Which option would make you open up? He’s as naïve as he was 3 years ago.

“Hi” you whisper

“Listen I know you don-”

“I don’t know” you interrupt Jun, “I don’t know who that lady was and I don’t want to”

“I’m gonna talk to some people about her tomorrow, someone should know” he cautiously puts his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it slightly in comfort, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let her come near you again”

You stare at the floor, not saying a word while Jun analyzes even the tiniest twitch of your nose

“Can I look at your wrist, princess?”

Shutting your eyes, you tense your shoulders. It’s all right, it’s just Jun you think, as you bring your wrist into view. The both of you were examining the purple blue hues around the skin together. Jun touches it lightly with his digits making you flinch, so he backs up before marginally trying yet again. Making contact with your cold casing, he shudders and averts his head before he grabs your fingers in his own and tugs your hand back down. He can’t come to terms with it still like a run-away, and it’s the one thing he deters from. How much of a coward he is.

“Jun-”

“Sorry, yeah I know,” He knows better than anyone, that’s what he said. But he doesn’t know when you make his way into his chest and wrap your arms over his trembling limbs. Doesn’t know he needs comfort more than you. Doesn’t know why you still trust him. Doesn’t know when you’ve grown up so much.

“Jun” you stifle in his shoulders, “It’s alright now, I’m fine. My wrist. My wounds…it doesn’t hurt, I don’t feel anything”

“I’m just sad,” He feels your tears on his shirt as you let out a choked sob, “That nothing has changed within 3 years. That I’m still so weak…she could’ve done anything”

“No, no, no!” Jun holds you protectively, “nothing is gonna happen to you…not when I’m around”

And you weren’t.

His evil mind brands the painful statement of his truth as he secures his senses and holds you tighter.

“…I just want to forget today Jun…please. I don’t want to talk about it again. Not when we have so much to look forward to”

“Anything…”

Just like him you don’t want to go through this again. You scarcely survived last time, and its misery expanses through your blood, the evidence on your wrist. Adversity is what you were doomed with, you were aware-made peace with it long ago. And so, like any survivor would; you did what you had to do to move on. Block out the pain and smile. Even if it kills you.

Removing your face off his torso, you wipe your tears with your fist.

“Did they find Mojo?”

“Mojo? …Oh, the dog? They did!” Jun laughs helping you wipe your tears, “He was found barking at a fresh beef jerky station”

Thank God he was safe. For some reason you assumed the old woman kidnapped him. Found barking at beef jerky huh…that sounds delicious.

 “I’m hungry” your lips form into a pout and you pat at your lowly rumbling stomach and Jun gives you the biggest grin

“Excellent” he says while fiddling his fingers together like an evil cartoon character “Let me go fix your plate and grab the first aid mwahahaha”

You’re extremely confused with his demeanor and make it known by scrunching your face in half confusion and half disgust

“Did you poison the food?”

“Ahahaha…no,” He starts stepping away towards the kitchen, “Some things just work out according to your plan”

“Like the lullaby?”

He stops in the middle of the hallway as the expressions on your face’s switches with each other “I didn’t know you were still so soft Junie”

“Shut up”

“And your voice! Have you been sneakily practicing Mr. Sinatra?”

“M-m-maybe you sh-should go to bed without food!” He stutters with a red face and his hands on his hips

That shuts you up as you give him a ‘Hmph!” and pass him on the hall into the dining room. “Whoa!” you gasp as you notice the clock, “11:41 already”

“WHAT?!” Jun shouts rushing into the room and witnessing your comment “You have school tomorrow! This isn’t good,” he grabs your plate at the table and speeds to the microwave

“Does this mean I get to stay up till 2?”

“NO!”

_

The weather was frosty these days, tickling you through the ruffles of your tight purple dress. You skipped amongst the inner lining of the wooded area, close enough to see the highway through the shrubs, holding tiny rocks in your fist. You weren’t fully clothed for the temperature, short sleeves and loose tights making your tiny limbs tremble for a good 20 minutes; you wanted to go home. Instead you distracted yourself by picking up little bits of the earth.

“Don’t get too close to the water” you hear from behind. Twirling on one leg, you observe the petite woman towering on the upper side of the ditch, glaring through your soul. She stood by one of the large dead trees, her arms folded across her chest.

There are shadows under her eyes, stiffening the complexion of her pale skin. She stares down at you with her flooded pupils. Her fingers scratching at her arm through the warm jacket she wore.

“The water…don’t get too close” She repeats in the familiar fatigued tone. Her scarf seems to be suffocating her neck, and the padded jacket made a sleek noise every time she made a move. You can spot her steady breaths in the bitter air. For a moment there’s nothing but silenced stares shared between you and her.

That vanishes as soon as a large black car passes by. She whips her head into the direction of the street she’s near, as her breath comes out in a speedier rate. You also turn away from her stature, focused on finding more rocks. They lead into the mini creek in the end of the ditch. Walking up to the creek, you squat to watch your reflection in the water. It was better than your small mirror, you think, fixing your beanie and wiping the stray hairs irritating your face.

“Hey! What did I tell you?” you once again turn to find her figure in your direction once again. There was a hint of anger in her pupils, she appears like she’ll walk up to you any second now until you hear another voice.

“It’s you right?” The stranger wearing all black paces up to her, he seemed scary – you couldn’t see his face by his hood covering, but he was taller than her and you were scared for her.

“Nice place you picked, asshole” She grits at him, having completely forgotten about your presence, digging into her purse feverously

“Come on, it’s a dead road sweetheart. No one comes around these parts” he laughs at her annoyed attitude.

He makes eye contact with you, and you sense your heart skip a beat. “Cute kid” he smiles at you.

The woman gives you a quick glance from her rummaging, “You’re scaring her” she returns to her digging

“Aww why? I’m not a bad guy,” he gives you a wave as she snorts

She gets out a bunch of money, you don’t know how much, it’s all stuffed and crumpled in her hand. Giving it a glance over, she shoves it into his chest. You watch him sigh, and mildly remove the cash from her fingers. He straightens out the bills and begins counting them.

“You’re short” He says, folding the notes and fitting them into his back pocket. “15 milligrams only”

“15?” she shouts before noticing her surroundings, and harshly whispers “You gave me 30 for this much last time”

“That was last time sweetheart, price’s changed”

You gawk as she leaps at him, her palms clutching the sides of his hoodie, having you seal your tiny rocks into your own palm. “P-Please – don’t do this” she spits out “It doesn’t – it barely works anymore, it hurts, it hurts so much – everywhere I-I can’t”

He pushes her off him, into the ground making you stand up straight as heat fills your bones. “That’s not my problem, don’t spit on me bitch” he yells as she heaves on the scattered dead leaves. He watches her struggle a bit before taking a long breath, “Shit, I didn’t mean that…I’ve already been having a bad day, don’t just jump up on me” he messes with his hoodie

Dragging her up to her feet, he takes out a petty clear bag, filled with white powder. Her neck’s bending towards the ground, she refuses to look up at him, which gets him rowdier. He pulls her arm up and crams the bag into her hand.

“You want more? Get more money” he sneers, “Sell that kid” he points at you

“Or better yet, buy her a jacket” he finishes, stomping away with his hands in his jacket’s pouch.

You watch him leave as the freezing wind picks up again. She doesn’t move a muscle facing away from your view. Having the alarms in your head pacified by the lull of the forest, you return your gaze to the creek. There’s a shiny rock in the center of the stream, which makes you squat out of curiosity once again. It’s shimmering the light of the sun, which you were sure was covered by fluffy clouds when you stepped outside. Your face turns up, as you make direct eye contact with the ball of glaring fury. Squinting at the flares you bring your small fist up to protect your sight.

At that moment you hear the crunching of leaves by your rear, a voice deeply surrounding your passive frame –

“What did I tell you about the water”

_

Sitting up in your bed you stare off into the corner of your messy mattress. The lining seems to be ripping from the sheet due to your endless fluster. You’re deep in your thoughts, not being comprehensively conscious to the morning chirps of blue jays – their high-pitched revenue placating you to doze off. In brief, you were still perplexed by your dream. It’s been a long while since you’ve thought of her.

Saturday was finally here. The rest day for a million chores, sunny and bright for your pleasure. You think back on the week, which has been smooth sailing minus a few unintentional mishaps. It's been an easy couple of days, if you take away your anxiety and the few occurrences where you’d look over your shoulder to make sure no elderly lady was following you. Yesterday you almost peed yourself when you ran into the neighbor lady. It was a coincidence, you didn’t know she’d be standing right in front of the entryway as you opened the door to leave for school, and she didn’t know you’d scream right in her face. Long story short, after you screamed, and she screamed, and Jun scolded you; she gave you some lemon meringues. The reason she was at your house. They were so delicious, you’d become fond of her.

Jun had been dropping you off to school these days. It was cute at first, until you realized all he would talk about was his favorite Alfred Hitchcock movies. Since almost all of them made you fall asleep, you weren’t exactly a fan. You didn’t heed to anything as soon as you caught other voices though, most likely students indicating the school building was near, so you booked it. Registering him running after you with a ‘Hey wait up’, you dashed into the gates and onto the platform leading inside the school. You were going to ignore him the whole way, but you had to feel guilt-ridden and twirled about to see him waving goodbye. Smiling, you return the gesture only to regret it as soon as he shouts

“Have a good day! I love you princess!”

-at the top of his lungs. That’s it. You were going to kill him. Spotting some students staring at you, the source of the weird old guy yelling, you sprint into the building with a muffled scream.

That was yesterday, and sadly he’s still alive and well.

Today was your officially your first church visit, hopefully to become a certified member of FallHaven Baptist Church. For some cause, you couldn’t deny you were nervous; the church had a bit of an intimidating exterior. Well at least you’d finally get to buy new shoes for school.

Speaking of school, you had made friends! Or well, Candance and ‘a’ friend. Her name was Jasmine, and she was the nicest red head, a complete package of glasses and freckles. She came over to ask if you were okay when you had a terrible headache on Wednesday. Afterwards you noticed her in a few other periods, which wouldn’t be odd considering there are 60 kids in senior year. Jasmine joined you and Candance for lunch since then. Maybe you’re becoming a bit too attached to both too quickly, fault of only your own social awkwardness. But you knew they’re both great people, as well as members of today’s church.

You feel guilty for even thinking this, but you hadn’t had a run-in Jimin around after the strange incident on Monday. Sometimes you’d spot him talking to a pretty girl in the back of the class. Or well, she would talk, sitting right on his lap while he looked out through the window. His guard would stand behind him without an expression and you found yourself growing even more interested in his world. It’s not that you had feelings for him, you knew yourself and that was impossible. You tried but you couldn’t get Jimin out of your head…or that look in his eye. His aura was magnetic, and you were drawn to him by an invisible force. Is Jimin also a member of the church? He must be, everyone else is. Then again Jimin wasn’t like anybody else, not with those enflamed locks and sharp abyss eyes.

Knock Knock

You break from your thoughts as your door speaks, “Heyyy~ you up? We’ve got to leave in an hour” Jun hums in a hype tone.

Listening to the tune in his voice reminds you of Monday night, how you were swept in his large arms and you could smell his soft oceanic scent – rosemary and a hint of musk from his burdens lingering his neckline. His uncovered skin was on your lips, your torso swallowed by his. You turn a bright red, clenching the sheets around your fingers before you choke a shout

“I’ll be out in a minute”

“Alright, breakfast is on the table” He responds and finishes walking away. Taking a huge sigh, you wake yourself by smacking your cheeks, swinging your legs off the bed and stretching your rigid physique. It’s going to be a long day.

The walk to the Church was a good 20 minutes. Jun had insisted today, no matter how many times you begged him not to, to conversate about how Casablanca was the greatest movie in American cinema. You didn’t know why he knew every character’s name by hand, but that was another mystery of the Fabulous Jun. Letting him talk to his fulfillment was the best option, sighting how he sulked the tiniest every time you interrupted him.

By now, it should be obvious that Jun doesn’t have a car. Ironic, seeing where he works. It’s another reason why you moved here, everything was meters from each other. The town’s population was about 2100 folks from what Uncle Alp told you, and that number seemed so miniscule compared to the busy city. You think Jun was the most excited to move here, he was never much of a people’s person and the somber skies, reticent road gave him comfort. Your poor lone wolf.

“And that’s why Rick doesn’t believe in god”

“…Wait, what?” You turn to stare at him, the sentence your ear caught far more interesting than the pebble you were kicking with your feet.

“Weren’t you listening? I was just explaining the bane of existence Rick Blaine has to deal with!”

“Jun, we’re literally walking to church, would you please knock it off with the jokes?”

“Come on” He winks, “We’re going to be Christians in a good hour, can’t I have my fun while it lasts”

You roll your eyes to hide a smirk, ready to leave him behind once again when you spot huge white gate tubes from the corner of your eyes.

As you come face to face with the front gate, you stare at the gigantic structure known as the church. The white bricked building made the holy edifice seem even holier. The place was built like a palace, complete with a royal entrance pathway you walk through with Jun. Each side of the pathway had an endless field of grass, containing some of the most colorful flowers on earth.

“Not bad” He whispers

As you walk up to the building, you notice the gray bell tower on the right side of the roof. You wonder which lucky fellow gets to ring that bell. Once you get inside though, is when even Jun becomes speechless.

The interior stretches for a mile, the chapel big enough to seat the whole town. A warm aroma sifts through the wood of the benches, and you feel like you can stay in this golden-lit room forever. Stained glass was at every corner of the room, letting through the light the images wished. At the altar resided a large organ piano, candles decorating the pillars of the organs, burning an intense flame for it’s visitors.  Above the piano stood the crucified Jesus, the pain sculptured on his face an intimidating reminder for anyone that comes across the his eyes. The chapel seemed decorated. White flowers adorned the benches of the sanctuary, and people seemed to be polishing the walls. A set of people were on a ladder, pulling up a decorative banner. You spot Joan at the right side of the room, by a small statue of Mary, chatting with 2 strangers that seemed to be closely heeding her words.

“Joan,” Jun calls out to her, and when she turns to him, he waves. She says her farewell to the strangers and comes your way. You wish there was someone else who could show you around, but alas luck was not on your side.

“Welcome, we have been patiently awaiting your arrival” Joan smiles, walking up to you with her hands held together

“Are the preparations for us? You shouldn’t have!” Jun jokes

Joan gives him a swift gaudy chortle, making you squint. That bad gag sure made her happy. Actually, everything seems to make her happy.

“We are getting ready for the arrival of one of our most cherished facility members. He will be attending our sermon tomorrow, you two have arrived on a marvelous period for the town” She gleams

“He sounds like someone special…has he been gone somewhere?” You question

“Yes, he has been lending a hand to the victims of the tragedy in Samaria in the beginning of the month…he has currently completed his concerns on the town and is returning home. His family is holding a ceremony for him tomorrow to reward his efforts”

You and Jun offer sympathetic glances.

The fire in Samaria had been circulating on television for weeks. In the beginning of the month, a local well-loved priest in the small town of Samaria had shut in worshippers during mass and torched the statue of Jesus on the cross in the front of the altar. 300 lives suffered grave deaths, including his own. It was said spectators could hear the vibration of children screaming through the blaze from a hundred miles around, as firefighters tried to tear down the bolted doors. Not a single survivor.

“We would love to be here tomorrow,” Jun smiles

“And we would love to have you. Now please come this way,” She extends her arm toward the inner hall on the right, “Our Archbishop is quite excited to meet you”

You follow Joan along the hall, her heel’s clacking echoing around the assembly of the broad interior. The ceiling was caved outward and dispersed among the hallway to the very end. It was the biggest building you had ever been inside, and your neck ached as you pressured your marveled gaze upon everything. The church had a dim, golden color and you walked along indoor pillars; each pillar encompassing a soft light fixture and a holy cross. Every column had a large brown door.

“Um, Joan, I read on your brochure this place has a confessional? As far as I know New Testament Christians don’t believe in the confessional method.” You see Jun’s expression out of the corner of your eye at your question. He was dazzled at your knowledge. Heh, how insulting.

“You are absolutely right, ___” She turns her head a bit and you spot her pleasant expression beyond her blonde tresses, “Actually, we are the only place of worship for many for around a thousand miles. This Church is also famous for its beauty. Everyone becomes enraptured with it, like you have,” She laughs as you blush. When did she catch you in amazement? “Members of our family come from far and wide to seek refuge in our humble Church, and therefore to ease their souls, we offer a great many sources for all kinds of our relatives. Including Protestants and Evangelist. We also offer everyone a place at the Holy Communion, baptized or not .”

“That’s…amazing. And so kind.” You awe. This was great, I mean you still wanted to be baptized along with Jun. New beginnings and all, but it’s great that you’re Church is so open hearted.

“Are there any problems because of this? Like do any leaders from those other tribes get upset?” Jun casually ponders, while you elbow him for asking something so insensitive…and did he just call them tribes?

“Au contrair!” Joan giggles, “We have the Vatican’s blessing, and many devout religious leaders visit our Church with boundless respect” She stops and turns her body toward the right side of the hallway, while you both have a clear view of her face. She smiles way too much. “So yes, our “tribes” get along well”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude” Jun mutters, scratching the back of his head

“Oh no, I didn’t take your words for offense, Jun” Joan steps closer to the wall, hidden from your sight by a pillar “This is our Archbishop’s office” She knocks on what you believe is a door.

You hold your breath as the door glides open, the slight creaking at the hinges relaying it’s ancient age.

Out steps a sharply dressed tall old man. He embodied a tan-colored suit, edges ironed to perfection and not a fringe out of place in his off white head of hair, combed perfectly neat to the right. There was a handkerchief poking out from his front pocket and a brown bow tie adorning his collar. You couldn’t recognize any signs of fatigue and barely that of aging. The facial format of his appearance communicated passion and vigor, the wrinkles around his clear coffee eyes were soft and fresh, while the lines of his mouth were welcoming. Nothing but his hair gave away his age, not even a sun spot adorned his porcelain skin. He had the same stretchy smile on his features like Joan.

“Are these two beautiful souls our new neighbors?” He spoke in a harmonious tone of voice. You could sift the aura of a dominant charisma emitting from his stature from every word.

“Yes, they are!” Joan replies, “They want to become members of our Church, isn’t that wonderful, Robert? This is Robert,” She directs her words at Jun, “the Archbishop and eldest head of our Church”

They both stare at you, practically illuminating holy lights out of their asses, temporarily blinding you and Jun.

“Yeah, It’s nice to meet you, sir” Jun steps up and held out his hand; which the pastor, who you notice is taller than Jun, encompasses in both his palms, for an extra friendly greeting “My name is Jun and this is my sister, we just moved here last week, looking forward to joining your lovely Church, if you’d let us”

“This Church is open to any soul submitting himself to God” Robert speaks, rubbing Jun’s hand with both of his own, to which Jun uncomfortably laughs

“And you” He turns to you as you slightly startle, “Are you willing to submit your being to the high and mighty, little lamb?” He lets go of Jun’s hand and faces you. As do Jun and Joan, which irks the anti-attention personality in you.

“Um yes, I’m ___” You offer him your hand, which is easily taken in both of his own again. You immediately feel his warmth traveling through your arm from contact of his fingers, as he glides it over your casing delicately. It was as if he was a furnace. Goosebumps arrive on the affected area of the skin.

He pauses just a bit suddenly, and you watch his eyes open a bit further through his big smile, the corner of his lip turning downward. The chocolate of his iris had become darkened until it was an endless black, staring through your outer layers. You felt naked even with your clothes on, and it frightened you so you slowly pull your hand back. Trying not to make a rash movement.

Yet as soon as it came, it was gone.

He pulled your hand towards him again, and the blank gaze had dissolved into the familiar sweet caramel expression – not giving you a chance to react. You look at Jun and his relaxed expression, neither of the other two noticed your discomfort. Which was rare for Jun.

“Joan, You’ve done right by bringing these two here. I can tell they’ll fit right in and bring much fortune! You both are official FallHaven Baptist Church members”

“Oh wonderful!” Joan claps in celebration

Robert puts his arms in the air, his fingers and head raised towards the sky, “I can feel it already, the lord sending a message through me.” You stay still and watch as Joan immediately pulls out a wooden cross from underneath her blouse, bringing it up to her lips and chanting something under her breath. Jun takes a step back.

“He wants me to do it as soon as possible, he wants it done immediately. Yes Lord! For I am your humble servant! You both,” He turns back to you, “Will be baptized at tomorrows communion! Praise the Lord!”

“Amen!” Joan shouts, a bit out of breath and you notice how much her pupils dilated.

“Alright then boy,” He lets go of holding you under his intense gaze and rotates to Jun while you discreetly rub at your hand through your extra-long sleeves.

“Why don’t you and I have a little chat about some grown up stuff, while Joan gives a sort of tour of our holy house to the little lamb here” He puts his hand on your shoulder to refer to you and you stiffen immediately

“Sounds good” Jun raises a eyebrow at you “You alright with that?”

Alone with Joan?

“…Yes”

“Oh small one,” Robert slightly rubs his thumb around the back of your shoulder, “You’ve done so well by accepting Jesus. No longer will you grieve alone, for he will be by your side. He’s made it clear to you, he has!”

“I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born, says the Lord! And that’s you!” He raises his finger into your face, his voice dominating through the walls of the hallway, echoing off the corners of the roof “You’re born again!”

“You’re free from your suffering!”

_

Walking down the left hallway on the second floor, you marvel at the glass ceiling, the cloudless sky letting in all the wonders of the world. Through the golden hues, you watch as Joan struts in front of you in the glittering hallway, occasionally detailing the authenticity of paintings and figurines decorating each side of the walls. So far, you’ve had the pleasure of seeing the study, the confessional also known as the reconciliation room, and the bell tower.

She displayed the charisma and pride of an honest church member. Bragging about many key aspects the large shelter provided. In total, the cathedral could serve up to 2000 worshippers at a time. It wasn’t the Jubilee, but it was still an amazing feat.

There were a few things you had learned already. The youth bible study met up twice a week after school. Classes for certain instruments and vocal lessons were also available. You signed the roster immediately after seeing the name of the person that led the group. Sunday mass lasts an hour after sunrise, led by the Archbishop and called for by the large bell tower. For those who miss it, there’s a make-up held by one of the priests and a deacon in the evenings. On Easter, mass lasts 3 hours with additional services including altar calls and extra hymns led by the youth group. It was so surreal, you were now actually apart of a community and you were going to do things with them…like a family does. For so long, it’s been just you and Jun. Speaking of him, you muse on how touchy he’ll get at you coming home late, or how cranky he’ll be in the early mornings for mass.

You let out a soft chuckle imagining his furrowed eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth flipped downside in a strong pout. Joan steps up to a door and you follow close behind, she pushes it open and turns to you.

“This is our Biblical library! The 4th largest in the world!” She pleasantly brags about the brightly lit room, where you have to keep your jaw from dropping. It finally made sense as to why this church was as big as it was.

Your eyes glaze over the giant cherry wood shelves, towering over the lax white chamber, straining your neck to the clouds. They pushed on for miles, one shelf after the other harboring hundreds of books. It was a bit intimidating. There were tables containing a few busy bodies lingering the maroon carpet in the front, and everything was vast and silent. At the front desk, there was a lady with a pointy nose which her bifocals rested upon, reading a blank brown covered book and whispering to herself inaudibly. She covered herself from head to toe with a black veil wrapped around her figure, a tunic like dress connected to a bib at the neck-line. A nun.

“Sister Haggith” Joan leans in to whisper to you, “She oversees the library and everything that comes with such a task. She knows every nook and cranny of this place, including each book and it’s location. Sister Haggith is an amazing woman, and another trusted member of the board”

“Wow” You gasp, “Is she from the monastery?”

“Yes, she has been with us for 21 years. Actually quite a few of our sisters have work around town. Have you gotten the chance to visit your school’s infirmary?”

“No, not yet. But I’ll be sure to check it out,” you tell her and she replies with a smile.

In the corner of the room, one of the clear glass cases catch your eye. Inside the display case was a worn out piece of khaki paper, looking about 100 years old. The paper was thin and fragile, torn the slightest at each of the ends. There was something written in shrill black ink, but you were too far away for it to be anything but blurry.

“Um, may I ask about that?” You shyly point at your object of interest and Joan follows your line of sight.

“Oh!” She chirps “The scripture of Nathanael”

When you give her a confused look, she leads you toward the stand with a ‘come with me’. Next to the  display case were a few other ones, containing more ancient objects. Another that caught your eye was an extremely rusted dagger.

You examine the tabloid carefully, now that you were closer, you could easily read the paper. Or not? The writing wasn’t in English.

“What does it say?”

“It’s in Hebrew” Joan answers, “It was given to us by an angel from the heavens. He identified himself as Nathanael”

She bends down and reads a sentence off the paper, “thy fate lies in the conscious of thy choices; of thy wilt to serve the mighty”

Immediately your mind rushes toward what Candance had told you; about the tower and the famine and the ‘great warning.’

“It’s true” you accidently whisper out loud

“So, you have been enlightened?” Joan asks

“Yeah…I think…” You grin awkwardly

“There is no need to worry, there’s quite a few fables made about the tower” Joan giggles, “The reality is simple though. 120 years ago, our town was made up of devout Christians, filled to the brim with their love for our father.” She looks toward the ceiling happily, “They were refugees of the south, unbinding from their laws and wars, seeking a place to start over. However, we were new to this land. We settled into it’s foundation in the beginning of that year.” Her tone suddenly deepens and she slowly brings her head back down, “And you see, sometimes foundations become barren. Sometimes they crack. Then comes the drought”

For the first time you see Joan frown. That one word has her staring deep off into space, no longer a silver of light in her eyes. She stands there, glaring a hole through the white wall, and time slows around you both as you shift uncomfortably at the heavy atmosphere. You much rather have her creepily smiling.

“The drought” she whispers “That summer, the heat…the sounds of battle cries over the horizon…so endless, so suffocating. Oh how bad the drought was” she closes her eyelids as she shivers slightly. “We prayed and prayed and prayed for the bad drought to go away, on our knees till they bled, till our mouths were dry and our eyes felt that they would fall off. Oh bad drought go away, Oh Lord save us! And it happened” She raises her arms up into the air and open her eyes with one sudden motion, as you watch with astonishment

“Just like he promised! A miracle, a great mercy! He came down to us, he saved our damned souls!” the corners of her eyes well up, as she breathes heavily into the air practically yelling each syllable, “We-

“Joan!”

You both jump as a stern voice interrupts the silence of your small corner. There you spot Sister Haggith, quiet and still, her intimidating aura making you feel small. She appeared out of nowhere.

“You are being too loud, child. Shall I remind you of what a library is?” She speaks, staring through Joan as someone insignificant and you can feel the lady beside you straighten herself.

“Y-you are correct. I am so sorry” she takes a handkerchief out of her blazer’s breast pocket. She dabs  sweat from her forehead with her fabric and turns to you. You notice how dilated her pupils are again, and you find yourself worrying for her.

“I-I am sorry, the moral of the story is that angel Nathanael saved us from the drought and laid down ground rules, which are written in the scripture. Alright, we should get on our way,” Grabbing your arm, she commences to walk away from the displays, around the woman who hadn’t moved an inch and toward the large doors as you wince.

You make a grunt of disapproval which has her peeking back and letting go of your arm. As you both step out of the library onto the foyer of the hallway, she treads quietly in front of you, until you both are once again in the chapel.

She turns around, and looks at you with apology.

“I am sorry, once again for my behavior. I get deep into my feelings about our lord, but a library is no place to behave that way.”

“No, I didn’t…think anything…”

“Is your wrist alright?” She questions suddenly

“Um-what…”

“You seemed like you were in pain when I held your arm,”

“Oh yeah,” You bring your arms up and pull down your sleeve to revel a thin layer of bandage around your wrist.

“My goodness,” Says a shocked Joan

“Oh no! It’s not what you think! Jun is just easily suggestible, and it’s just on until the bruise vanishes”

“Bruise?” She says, even more worried than before

“No – I mean yes, I ran into a small accident, but it’s no big deal really!” You flail your arms around in denial, trying desperately to mend her concern

“There you are!” A familiar jolly voice interjects you

“Robert!”

“Jun!”

You both shout in unison, a wave of relief unapologetically obvious in your voices.

“You ladies have a grand time?” Robert asks as he walks up to you and Jun trails behind with a wide grin

“Just wonderful” Joan answers, her blinding smile re-embellished on her features

“It was great, I learned a lot” You reply, taking a peek at Jun and his suggestive expression. He was holding in a laugh.

“Now that’s what I like to hear ‘round here!” Robert laughs out loud, “Me on the other hand loves this goofy fella” He pats Jun on the back

Jun jokes back at the senior, “Not as much as we love Thanksgiving dinner” he winks

You pale at the horrendous joke, while Robert cackles louder and pats Jun harder as he holds his abdomens with his other arm, seemingly in better spirits than in the morning. Joan covers her mouth and lets out a tiny giggle as well, while you make a strange ‘ha ha’ sound.

“See, see, what I tell ya, he’s goofy!”

Jun looks at you with accomplishment while you subtly roll your eyes at his ‘charm act.

“Alright then, I’ll see you both here in the early morning! Your baptism will be right in front of the chapel, after the service!” Robert informs you

The four of you exchange a few other pleasantries, and before you know it you’re on your way home with a slushy and a new pair of shoes in your hand.

“I didn’t know there were so many cake varieties before!” You chirp, marveling at the cake shop you had stopped by in the mall.

“Well I for one, am excited to try out this new electric hand mixer” Jun takes out a box from his shopping bag of said item, “Always wanted one of these”

“$4 bucks says you break on the third try” You squint your eyes, teasing the tall boy next to you

“And where will you get that money?” He asks as a matter of fact, making you ‘hmph’ in return

“…Do you like the church?” Jun questions

“…I do” You return, looking at his expression for something hidden. You just could never tell what he was thinking.

He smiles, “Robert’s quite the character, huh?”

“Yeah, Robert’s…something”

As you’re discerning, you make a turn at the intersection just to trip over one of your shoes and fall onto the pavement. Thank god your drink was almost empty, you think as the slushy falls by your side. You catch your body on your hand and knees as your bag slips out of your hand and into the ditch on the side of the sidewalk. Jun shouts your name as he bends down to check on you and you let out a curse watching the bag roll down the patchy green hill, toward the canal. Quickly, you get up and run after it while Jun runs after you, still yelling your name and telling you to stop.

Before your bag goes anywhere near the water, a long silhouette halts the object and picks it up with one hand. When you get closer you recognize the figure to be a young man, wearing a white suit. Your running ends and you stand a feet away from him, when he turns to look at you, taking away your breath for a good minute.

In the serenity of that afternoon, when the sun was at it’s highest and the nightingale sprung it’s chorus; the water reflected the colors of the rainbow and the winds softly whispered through your body, you met an angel.

“Hi, I’m Namjoon. Is this yours?”

He hands you the bag you had already long forgotten about. You stare at him, as motionless as a feather while you watch his face turn to one of confusion.

“Yup, that’s hers! Thanks man!” Jun breaks you out of your daze as he takes the bag from his fingers.

“Um, yes. Thank you so much!” You splutter, embarrassed              

“It’s nothing” He smiles and your jaw drops open

Dimples.

“Bye the way, you took quite a fall back there. Are you alright?” He asks

When you fail to answer, Jun nudges you, breaking you out of your daze for a second time.

“M-more than! I don’t feel any pai-ow!” You grab your wrist and remember your injury. It feels suggestively worse than when you first got it. It couldn’t be that you sprained it…could it.

“Shit, I knew it was just a matter of time!” Jun shouts, grabbing your wrist to take a look himself

“Owwww, don’t pull it!” You whine tugging your arm back

You play tug of war for a bit, before you feel someone else gently grab your wrist and you both freeze. Namjoon opens your sleeve, and places his fingers on your wrist. He delicately presses down a few times,

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” and it didn’t. All the pain had evaporated just like that while a strong warmth spreads in place of any discomfort. Namjoon concentrates on your bandage, and it appears as if he could see through it, which makes you subconsciously draw your arm back. He couldn’t notice it, could he. While you stare at him, Jun’s head awkwardly angled to the side slides into the corner of your eye.

“I’m glad, must’ve been temporary” Namjoon says, releasing your hand and backing away, “Are you both new in town?”

“Yes, we just moved in a week ago!” Jun responds

“And how do you like my town?” He asks, putting his hands in his pockets.

“It’s been well, the house is old so adjusting’s a bit tough but we’ll get the hang of it”

“Where did you both move in from?”

“One of the inner cities from the north”

Namjoon becomes silent. “The one where they…uh…I-I’m sorry”

“It’s no big deal” Jun thwarts his worry, “Everyone’s reaction is the same, so we keep it hush-hush, but yeah”

“We’re town-folk now” You add

Both men look at you for a moment before they laugh.

“That’s right” Jun says through a gummy smile

“Of course,” Namjoon pipes in with his dimples

“We should get going, I need to make a few arrangements,” Jun shakes Namjoon’s hand as they exchange names, “See you around Namjoon? At the pub maybe?”

“Maybe, but not there,” Namjoon chuckles, “I’m still in school”

You and Jun look like a fish out of the water. I mean, he looks so mature? So wise? Which high schooler could be this angelic?

“So maybe I’ll see you around” He winks at you

You feel your legs give out but you hold still to not further your humiliation “H-how-”

“Every kid at FallHaven high wears those” He points at your shoes “Which grade are you in”

“S-senior year”

“Me too! Hopefully we’ll be class buddies”

“But I haven’t seen you around before?” You say

“I’ve been on a trip, just returned today. Monday will be my first day back”

“Wow! This is so cool cause she doesn’t have a lot of friends but you look like a popular guy, Namjoon! Take care of her! Hey come on over after class sometime and I’ll make you my famous choco-“

“Let’s go!” You push a rambling Jun, red-faced at his blabbering

“Wait, I’m just talking to the nice young ma-”

“Jun, we’re leaving!” you shout at the older boy

“B-bye, see you at school” You shyly shout back at Namjoon through the idiot’s screeching. Blushing harder when he waves a goodbye with an amused expression

As he leaves your view, you thought you spotted someone running up to his side, but maybe you were mistaken.

“I like him!”

“I get it Jun, you’ve said it a hundred times” You giggle at the child-like expression on his face. As you take one step after the other, almost at your house, Jun wouldn’t stop talking about the encounter with Namjoon. You liked him too. He was such a gentleman, so much class. School was going to get so much more interesting. Wait…Why was everyone at your school so good-looking. What’s up with that. How’re you going to survive being surrounded by hot people? Especially that one guy,

“Jimin”

“Who?”

It takes you a second to figure out you’ve said his name out loud, and when you take your eyes off the ground, Jun is glaring a hole right through your face.

“W-what?”

“Who’s Jimin” He questions with his breath in your face

“Nothing, go away” You avoid him

“First you’re a blushing mess in front of Namjoon, and now you’re whispering a name of a boy I never heard about?”

“I-I wasn-”

“I guess it’s time to tell you this” He looks ahead suddenly, his features hardened and serious

You watch him breathe through his nose, and blink slowly and you find yourself becoming nervous “Tell me w-what”

“The moment has come” He stops walking as your right in front of your house and puts all his focus on you, which in return makes you gulp.

“Princess…” the wind picks up and you gaze at him with goosebumps on your skin

“When a man and woman fall in love, sometimes they get these urges to become one, now what those are-”

“Say one more word and you won’t be able to pee standing up again”

_

You were making your bed after setting up the alarm clock Jun had bought you. It was time to sleep for tomorrow’s big day and your teeth were chattering just thinking about it. That and it was really cold inside the house. Uncle Alp had told Jun he would talk to some guy he knows, but so far you haven’t heard anything further. Hopefully it would be fixed by the end of next week. You don’t know how many more nights you’ll have to survive sweating through your house in the middle of the day and becoming a frozen statue on your bed at night.

In the mall, before you had lunch, Jun reminded you a hundred times to get a heater, but guess who forgot. Honestly you did it on purpose so he’d take you shopping again, but he doesn’t need to know that. What you didn’t like about today was Joan calling Jun by his name. I mean, adults call each other Mr. last name unless they’re close, right? Especially respectful ones like ‘Joan’ but here she was “hahaha Jun this hahaha Jun that.’ Ok, maybe you were being a bit mean. You felt really bad when Joan got yelled at by that elder lady. There is something about the old people in this town that freaks you out. Learning more about the town was a good thing. You were gonna revisit that Scripture and see what else you can find out about FallHaven. At least there’s no cannibalism.

You walk by your closet and take off your dress. It was when you were changing into your pajamas that you notice your wrist. The bandage was still wrapped around it but it didn’t hurt. It hadn’t hurt all day. Curious, you remove the tape and unwind the white ribbons off your wrist. Your heart beats a bit louder as it clears itself off your skin.

You let out a gasp.

Smooth, clean, no signs of staining or any discoloration. Twisting your wrist around, you decide to give it a flick. And still, no pain, no ache.

This morning, you had opened up the bandage to find a light purple bruise. Then just a few hours later…it vanished? Something wasn’t adding up. You recall how the pain had disappeared when Namjoon had touched it. Could he have somehow healed you?

Did people like that exist?

But then again. Those marks were still there. The reminders of your hell still scarred into your vision. If he had healing abilities…wouldn’t he have healed these? Definitely. So he’s not a healer, just a very good-looking boy. But then…where’s your bruise?

Argh, it was giving you a headache. Either way you won’t need this stupid bandage anymore, you think as you stand up and throw it in the dust bin. Shutting your door closed, and lights off, you cheerily skip onto your bedside and jump onto the springy mattress. Lying in bed and wrapping the covers around yourself tightly, you close your eyes in hopes to doze off into a new bright and sunny day. Today was over, and you and Jun were safe. In the end that’s all that mattered.

_

Bzzz Bzzz

It’s fully dark when you regain conscious and there’s something light knocking into your face. With your eyes closed in discomfort you swat away at whatever’s bothering your slumber.

Bzzz Bzzz

You sigh, as you fan yourself. Why was it so hot? Did Jun get the heat to work again? You kick off your covers, but then realize that there’s nothing to kick off. There was nothing covering your body but your pajamas.

Bzzz Bzzz

“Fuck” You sit up in your pitch black room. Turning to check the time, you spot 2:57 on your clock. That’s when you see a little black dot fly into your view, and you work quickly to stamp your hands together. It works because you feel something between your palms. Hesitant to let go, you move your arms away from you and open them up.

“Ew what the-”

You say at the sticky black goo encasing both your palms. Examining in through the moonlight, you stare at the icky gunk on your hand as the curtain from the window brushes your shoulder.

Wait, what?

You whip your head toward the missing glass above your bed in horror. Why was your window open?

Who opened it?

Before you know it, you’re breathing heavily and you turn around into your dark room once again. The quiet no longer giving you a sense of calm, instead replaced with the terror of reality. Someone broke into your room, the alarms go off in your head, and your sense of rationality goes flying out the open window. It’s dark, but you can make out most of the furniture in your room. And that’s where you see it.

In the corner of your room, by your dresser stands a long, bulky dark shadow, the recognition had you tightening your fingers on your sheets.

At this point your hyper ventilating as tears stream down your face.

“W-who” Is all you manage to make out, closing in on yourself to protect your body from any potential harm.

Bzzz Bzzz

There’s a minute that goes by before the shadow moves closer, and this time there’s buzzing surrounding you. You look around the room and it’s filled with tiny black spots rummaging the shadows, you choke on your sobs, as the buzzing grows louder. One of the black dots land right on your hand. The moonlight exposing the common fly. Yet there was something off about it. You shoo it off, covering your ears with your hands, you shut your eyes tight as you fall over, face first onto the bed; trying to drown out this nightmare. Every second the buzzing becomes louder and unbearable and you feel the shadow right on your back.

Then it stops.

No buzzing

No shadow

No flies

You peek out from your hands staring at the spot once occupied by the thing when you feel something brush your ear

“Don’t be scared”

A deep, gruff voice is all you hear before your back is being plowed open by what seems like a claw. You scream out at the feeling of your skin being ripped open on your back. Something attaches itself to your spine as you cough out blood in the middle of your deafening shrieks. Writhing on bed as the shadow holds you down, you scream and whimper out your lungs. Flies cover your face and drown out your own ears until you can only hear your internal damnation. Years of deeply buried memories come swelling up, and you claw at your mattress for some sanity.

You feel every rip and tear of flesh, every drop of blood pour from your back, every nail of the claw digging into the deepest corners of your body,

and in that moment, you wish for death.

You wake up with a loud gasp, as tears stream down your face. Turning your eyes at every inch of your room, your hands rapidly move across your body. There’s no blood, no opening, no trace of any violence. Turning to face the window, you find it shut and barren. Shivers run up your body from the cold room. Which calms you down the slightest. Sweat pours through you like an open drain, your pores still living in your nightmare. You check your clock, the 3:00 am glares back at you in bold red. A dream.

Just a dream. You slow your heavy breathing wrapping your arms around your torso, yet there’s no end in sight for your tears.

You’re about to calm down when you feel it. There’s bile crawling up your throat, you’re aware of the suffocating substance littering your esophagus. Falling out of bed, you crawl your way out of the room. You drag your body with your hands, barely making it over the toilet. It doesn’t take long – just one groan and you’re disgorging today’s contents into the toilet bowl. Everything’s chaotic and wet, saliva attaching the last bit of your vomit to your mouth. Coughing out the last fillings of your insides, you spit into the putrid bowl, before flushing away any trace of retch. Grunting, you crawl back towards your room, there’s absolutely no sensation in your legs. You tremble as you make your way back into your mattress, pulling up the blankets on your sore limbs.

It was just a dream. You aren’t gonna tell Jun because it’s over. It was a dream. Some hellish nightmare born from the uneasiness of your past traumas and changes you aren’t comfortable with. You’re safe. There’s no shadow, there’s no monster. Dad’s not here. Jun doesn’t need to worry because of you. It’s over.

You shake like that for another hour or two, it feels like someone is smashing a hammer into the side of your skull, before you somehow pass out on your bed.

enjoy your stay - chapter twelve

A/N - I don’t put links in anymore so that this comes up on search, but check my masterlist linked in my bio for links to every previous/future chapter.

Word count 2.9k. This chapter is the tiniest 100 words shorter than they normally are, but that’s because chapter 13 is pretty...full on. I will almost definitely be updating again this week as a celebration for 300 followers, so watch this space! There’s more coming very soon...

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER TWELVE ↳You confront Taehyung about him and Jimin, but his reaction is unexpected. You navigate some boundaries with Jungkook, but he has one condition. You go to Yoongi’s office to show off your budget, and he makes an impulsive decision.

“You look lovely.”

You glare at him; having forgotten you were wearing a work uniform in a black-tie event. “Shut up,” you mutter irritably. “When did you take that photo?” Your voice is more vulnerable than you had intended, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Shortly after I arrived in town. I was testing out the zoom on my new rig and I saw you in the parking lot. It’s a good shot.”

A waiter passes with a tray of champagne flutes and your fingers twitch. As much as you wanted to, you still had to drive back after this. “Isn’t that, like, illegal? Taking a photo of somebody without their permission?”

He runs a hand through his perfectly tousled hair with a clipped sigh. “I didn’t realize you’d be so opposed to it. You should be honored that I chose your photo for my final project. I had hundreds to choose from, you know. And I’ve had three different offers to buy a print of it. Like I said, it’s a good shot.”

“Okay, Steven Spielberg, I get it.” Now that he keeps insisting on it, you can kind of see the twisted flattery of the situation. “Don’t I get a print, then? Since it’s my eye.”

He gives you a cheeky grin. “Sure. It’s going for $250.”

You let out an incredulous cry, but you can’t help your lips from quirking up. “Fuck you,” you spit out, but there’s no malice in your tone.

“Hey, now,” his hands come down on your shoulders, head leaning in closer to whisper, “please don’t show up at my place of work with such foul language. I’m sure you’d hate if I did the same to you.” His eyes twinkle mischievously.

You desperately try to quell the grin spreading across your face, but one thought drops it in a split second. “I was the one, back then.”

He blinks, confused smile playing on his lips. “What?”

You clear your throat. His warm palms on your shoulders, burning through the fabric of your blouse are the only things keeping you anchored. “That night, in your hotel room. Namjoon asked me to go sort out a noise complaint. Jimin was there.”

He sobers instantly, eyes staring out to middle distance, probably recalling the door you slammed on your way out, before he catches himself and looks back down at you in pity. “Oh, Y/n…”

“It’s… It’s fine if you two are a thing, you know. I don’t have any right to, uh, to stop it.”

He bites his lip thoughtfully, glancing around the room, then slides a hand down your arm to curl around your elbow. “Let’s go to the backroom,” he mutters, “we can have a little more privacy.”

You obediently let him lead you out back, to a cramped space filled with covered canvases and boxes of materials. There’s a dirty sink with dried-up paintbrushes in one corner, and a couple of odd chairs and stools in the other. The plastic linoleum is splattered with decades-old paint, and the air smells of turpentine. The distant noises from the party are cut off when he closes the door behind you.

“Jimin told me about everything,” he begins, sitting tiredly on a wooden stool. Even with his expensive clothes and ostentatious accessories, he still fits in with the room, and you’re taken by how graceful he looks among it all. “Everything that went down between you two. He felt like you weren’t willing to give him a chance. He called the hotel directly and was put through to my room. He explained it all, then asked me if I was willing to comfort him.” He scratches at a burnt ochre smudge on the rounded edge of the stool, ignoring the pigment getting caught under his fingernail. “It upsets me that he did it to get at you, not because he actually liked me. If I’m honest with myself, I knew it when he was calling me. I guess I could’ve just hung up, but… It’s hard to say no to Park Jimin, you know?”

You did know. You grabbed a seat of your own, an old metal school-chair that wobbled every time you shifted your weight. “Dammit. I wish I could be angry at you.”

He scoffs good-naturedly. “I watched a movie once. Three women getting back at the man that cheated on all three of them. Instead of being angry at each other, let’s team up.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully at the suggestion.

“I think I remember that movie. Cheesy Hollywood chick-flick. I didn’t take you for the type to watch cheap comedies. I always assumed you would be the one to have a binder dedicated to Kubrick’s moon landing theory and cry about the golden age of cinema being over.”

He tilts his head innocently. “Oh, what about me could possibly draw you to that conclusion?”

You raise your eyebrows pointedly. “It seems redundant to answer that.”

“Fair enough,” he allows. He straightens up. “Hey, shouldn’t you be at work?”

You nod. “I got sent on a mission from the Better Kim. He wants me to convince you to sell your pictures to the hotel.” “Ah, you can have them,” he waves a hand dismissively.

“Really? Namjoon seemed pretty happy to pay. Surely you’d want to take the opportunity to make some money off of your hard work?”

He sends you a quick wink. “The beauty of the digital age is that I can print out more copies again and again until the day I die. I’ll be making money off these bad boys forever, I can afford to give Joon a set for free.”

“You punk. You business-savvy punk.” You get up off your chair, sick of the unsteady leg. “If that’s settled, then I only have one more question.” He rolls his eyes when you pause for dramatic effect. “How are we gonna get back at Park Jimin?”

You’re surprised that Namjoon doesn’t comment on how long you’ve been gone when you finally do return. Once you announce that his little brother is willing to give over the prints, he probably assumes that you spent those two hours trying to convince him, and you feel no need to correct this presumption.

You find yourself able to smile at Jimin again when you do your rounds in the lobby, no longer feeling like he’s got one up on you. Of course, he doesn’t know what’s coming to him yet, but he gives you a surprised but jolly wave back nonetheless.

Hobi is uncharacteristically subtle about the whole thing and doesn’t question you about the drastic twists and turns your attitude about Jimin has gone through.

Jin has left a little saucer with a couple chocolate eclairs on it when you stop by the kitchen, and beside it is a little note with a pun about how you were ‘sweet enough’ on it. Your mood had lifted quite a bit from when you had left home that morning, but more importantly, you felt more clarity than you had in a long time.

You made your way to the bar last, knowing you might be a while. Jungkook had his glasses on today, little round lenses with a gold wire, which meant he had been studying at work again. His expression automatically brightened when he saw you, but then he settled back into a pout and rubbed at his tired eyes. You noticed with a pang of guilt that they were still red.

“Jungkook,” you say gently, sitting at the bar instead of coming inside it like you used to, “let’s talk.”

His jaw shifts, and his eyes are downcast, but he nods.

You suppose you should’ve expected his sullen mood, but it still disappoints you. “I wanted to apologize,” you start, “not for the fact that Yoongi was over, because you still had no right to accuse me of anything, but for the way I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

He nods again, not saying anything. As you speak, he keeps lowering his head, tucking his chin into his chest, and you think you hear him sniff quietly.

“But we do need to take this as a sign that things are moving too fast. I like you, Jungkook, I really do, but you were right. We’ve gone about this all backwards. Sleeping together, moving in; those things should happen later in a relationship. You’re still young, and inexperienced,” he scoffs indignantly but you keep talking, “you are, and that’s okay, but it means that I have a responsibility to make sure you’re safe. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

He makes a strangled noise in his throat, and when he looks up to reply, his eyes are glassy. “Noona, you aren’t taking advantage of me. I’ve never been happier.”

“Okay, Jungkook, but that doesn’t change things. I still need to be careful. If you want to be in a relationship with me-”

“Yes!”

You sigh tiredly at the interruption, but you can’t be angry at him. “If you still want to be in a relationship with me, we’re going to need to start from scratch. We need to go back to square one and take things slow, okay?”

He whines. “I don’t wanna take things slow.”

You try to bite back your clipped tone. “Well, it’s non-negotiable, Jungkook. Take it or leave it.”

He sniffs noisily and wipes his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. “So, you’re breaking up with me so that we can get back together again? That’s stupid.”

You hum, unamused. “What’s stupid is that you’re getting upset over nothing. I’m giving you a chance to do this right, or we won’t do it at all, okay?” You bite your lip, worried you’ve been a bit harsh on a boy who clearly just doesn’t know what he’s doing. “Jungkook, did you notice that you never once actually asked me to be your girlfriend? You just assumed, after we…” You clear your throat. “Technically we were never officially together, so I’m not breaking up with you.”

He blinks away his tears, more put-out than upset. “Still feels like it,” he mutters petulantly.

“Gah, stop with the pity party,” you tease lightly, “if you want us to be together, you have to ask me out like a real man.”

He blinks at you suspiciously, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes. “Noona, will you be my girlfriend?”

“No.”

He slams a fist on the benchtop. “Then what was the point of-”

“Ask me out, Jungkook. We have to go on a few dates first, get to know each other.”

He releases his fist slowly. “Noona, will you go out with me?”

“I’d love to,” you answer breezily, chuckling at the dramatic sigh that leaves his lips when you do. You get up from the bar-stool and brush the creases out of your pants. “Now, I’ve got to go, but you can tell me the time and date when you-”

“Noona, wait!”

You freeze. “Yeah?”

All of a sudden, he’s avoiding your gaze, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He laughs nervously. “Could I ask for a favor?”

You eye him suspiciously. “…I guess. It depends on the favor.”

He shrugs sheepishly. “I kinda, sort of, already told my parents I had a girlfriend, and that she was the one I moved in with.”

You breathe out slowly. “Okay…”

“And they want to meet you this weekend. I was going to ask you anyway, I didn’t… I didn’t realize you were gonna break up with me.”

You rub your hands over your face tiredly. He seems ready to defend himself, but you just nod in defeat. “Sure, okay. I do this one-time thing for you, and then you promise to take things slow and not be so possessive. Deal?”

He grins. “Deal.” He waits until you’re almost at the doorway before calling your name out again. Once you turn around expectantly, he gives you a cute smile and puts on a voice. “I love youuu.”

Your mouth hangs open a little, and you want to tell him that it’s inappropriate, that he promised he would take things slow, but you just laugh incredulously, unable to stop the blush and flattered grin from taking over. That boy was too handsome for his own good. “Damn you, Jeon Jungkook.” He waves you out, battering his eyelashes.

You had been avidly working away at your budget since Yoongi had left your apartment mad that day, as if proof of your willingness to improve would cheer him up.

You knew the reason he was so upset with you, and it still struck you with a pang of guilt every time you thought about it.

You had acted like you and Jungkook weren’t a thing, and he had defended you, but then later walked in on the two of you sucking face like teenagers. It would be embarrassing if it weren’t so desperately unfortunate.

In your defense, you didn’t see Jungkook and you as officially dating then, and now you had confirmed it, but still, as you left work, telling Jungkook you were seeing an old high school friend, you felt that you were really walking the line here.

You had decided to go directly to Yoongi’s office to tell him. He hadn’t made any attempt at booking you in for a follow-up, and you doubted he would. The receptionist recognized you, and you only had to wait in the lobby for twenty minutes before he had a gap in his appointments, and she sent you up.

Yoongi looked comically shocked when you delicately rapped on the glass door of his office. His mouth hung open in a perfect ‘o’, his eyebrows went up and his eyes were blown wide. He composed himself by the time you sat down, however, and when he finally addressed you, it was with a low, businessman voice.

“Was my advice not helpful enough the first time?” he drones.

A little disheartened at his disinterest, you shake your head emphatically. “That’s not it, I just…” you trail off and root around in your purse, pulling out the freshly printed budget you had drawn up, slapping it down on his desk with a flourish. “I did what you asked, and I thought you’d want to see.”

He raises his eyebrows again, but this time in bemusement. The thought that he isn’t that angry at you eases a little pressure in your chest. “You thought I’d want to see? Do you think perhaps that I work in this industry because I just love staring at budgets?”

You purse your lips. “Well, no but- I wanted you to know that I’d taken your advice. That’s all,” you trail off awkwardly, casting your eyes down to his tiepin, unable to hold his gaze for long.

You hear him chuckle from the back of his throat, but he doesn’t crack a smile. “Hand it over, then.”

You shoot up in your seat and push the paper over to his side of the desk. He plucks it off the table reluctantly. After a few moments of dealing with his impassive gaze, you cough impatiently. “Is it any good?”

He presses his lips together and looks up at you from under his delicate eyelashes. “You spend $280 a week on your water bill?”

You frown. “No, that’s the monthly average.”

He rewards your stupidity with a wry grin, and you feel your heart skip a beat. “All of the amounts need to be for a set period, a week, a fortnight, a month. Otherwise you’ll get confused.”

You scratch your head, humming in agreement. “Oh, it definitely was confusing. Alright, I’ll change it. Anything else?”

“One thing,” he announces, tossing the sheet of paper carelessly onto the table, “I’ve never. Heard a budget be called ‘Mean Yoongi’s money table’ before.”

Shocked, you jump up in your seat like you’ve been stung, snatching the page off the table. You see in the top right corner, written in your ungraceful handwriting, the temporary title you had assigned the draft of your budget.

You realize, with dawning horror, that you had handed over the draft instead of the final printout. Dammit, you think to yourself, and I went to all that effort to put a pretty border on the actual budget only to give him the wrong one.

You screw up the paper into a ball and chuck it into his wastepaper basket, laughing nervously. “I’m sorry, sir, that wasn’t the actual budget.”

His eyes twinkle a little when you call him sir, and you hope that it’s enough for him to forgive you. He spins around a little in his chair and shuffles down a bit, resting his interlocked hands on his stomach. “I’ve decided,” he proclaims rather dramatically, “that I’m ready to cash in.”

“Cash…in?” you repeat uncertainly.

He grins at you, tilting his head to the side and letting his eyes wander over you. “Cash in on your generous offer.”

It still takes you a few moments, but when you get what he’s implying, your mouth drops open. You glance around his office. Glass doors and glass windows. “…right now? Right here?”

Suddenly his sly attitude is gone, and he straightens up, staring at you quizzically. “No,” he states like it’s obvious, “I’m taking you to my place.”

TAGLIST (send me a message or an ask to be added, and you’ll get notified every time I post a new EYS chapter).

@xxqueenwxtchxx

@fandomarchive00

@cvbachacbitch

@echimozart

@thisgirlis-shy

@sweetcheeksdna (I don’t know why your tag isn’t coming up, sorry!)

@boononx

@sweetlittleviper

@youngmsfts 

               “WELCOMING APT 5B TENANT, KIM YANI !

INFORMATION

age –  25 pronouns – she/her  occupation –  gs25 night manager moved into treehouse – six months ago

PERSONALITY: ISFP, THE ADVENTURER

positive –

artistic / passionate, obsessive, curious, imaginative, creative - over the years there have been many adjectives used to pinpoint yani’s ferocious obsession with the aesthetic, with knowledge and beauty. from painting to literature, film to sculpting, she’s busied overeager hands with innumerable past times. a bout of interest in sewing left over enthusiastic fingertips tinged in bloodied pinpricks, a season of interest in ceramics caked her nails in clay, a mishap with glassblowing burned her trachea and she lost her voice for a month.  her home is her workspace now, awash in warm colors and soft sketched lines, photographs strung up on the walls to examine with less tired eyes later - she’ll exhaust herself otherwise, staring at her work until a hypercritical eye begins to pick apart every minute detail, every miniscule flaw. her medium of choice in the moment, and for quite some time now has been photography, both digital and film. she works mostly with still images but has embarked on some video components. she has had her art in a few minor installations and featured in gallery shows, but has never had her own exhibit or show. 

charming / the most necessary to her success as both an artist and as a human being is the fact that yani is innately charming. warm, open, and bright she has an energy that is hard to resist. this is half by design, motivated by an obsessive need to be liked, which has prompted her to cultivate a sharp sense of humor and a dry wit to match. playful, hyperbolic, and creative, she can be a blast at parties or when in a group where she is able to play off the jokes and comments of others. however, leave her to her own devices in a one on one setting and she’s much more laid back and easy-going, preferring to let others steer the conversation. she’s got an easy grace and brightness to her disposition even when she falls into the macabre or dark, tinging it with a sense of humor.

negative –

unpredictable /  yani is not the friend you call at two in the morning for help, unless you’re looking to get really trashed and/or are okay with being left on read until a bleary and misspelled “sup?” at 4am. it isn’t intentional. yani is a slave to her emotions, moods and whims taking over each step of her life as she allows circumstance to pull her rough and tumble through the narration of her story. she seems almost a slave to impulse, which she may grandiose-ly chalk up to “leaving things up to fate” but in actuality is an effort to remove agency from her own hands due to a paralyzing fear of making weighty decisions. while she finds herself empathically able to relate to and understand the needs,  fears, and motives of others, she can easily become overwhelmed with this perceived information and find herself retreating without warning, lest she fail them in some way. her presence in life is both unpredictable and routine - she’ll flit in and out like a butterfly, appearing briefly to leave a mark before she retreats away again, always acting as if no time has passed. her personal moods are just as mercurial, vacillating wildly throughout the course of the day, or even across a number of hours. quick to anger and quicker still to apologize, she’s prone to impulse and erratic behavior that can be off-putting to those who prefer someone more stable and grounded. 

fluctuating self esteem / if you’re being kind, you’ll describe yani as sensitive. a bit empathic, too easily swayed by the emotions and feedback of others. she has a distinct lack of guard up against the world, for all her fronting to appear otherwise. the jaded exterior lasts for only a moment before it’s smashed by the reality of a girl with a heart on her sleeve. she wields a biting tongue against this like a lackluster defense mechanism, as if verbally lashing out at others can counteract how easily, how readily she can be hurt by them. while yani would often rather die than verbally express her feelings, fears, concerns, or worries in any real way, they’re very easily apparent even to the untrained eye. it frustrates her, how easily other people can read her ups and downs, of which there are many. she vacillates between an obsessive egotistical pride in herself and a damaging, truly deep set self loathing that eats up her insides. in reality she has no idea what she thinks about herself, if she’s  proud or not, and pulls all of her validation (as meager as it is) from external sources. thus, her self worth is immensely predicated on the actions, thoughts, and expression of those around her, leaving her incredibly vulnerable despite a veneer of a “devil may care” attitude that, in fact, persists long after the ruse is up.

HAUNT

how many ways can yani answer the question? 

is she haunted by her own failures? by choking in the middle of the entrance exams for university, clutching her chest in a violent panic attack in the bathroom and leaving with the test unfinished, summarily ruining her chances for higher education in the country of her birth that year? is she haunted by wasting her teenage years on booze and cigarettes and skateboards? is she haunted by pining after men and women that would never want her the way she wanted them, who relegated her to her childhood past of knobby knees and awkward limbs and dirt smudged cheeks, sunburnt and freckled from the sun that crested over the mountains?  is she haunted by the death of the one man who professed to love her, by the knowledge that she’d settled for him, had never been able to return the love he so generously gave her? is she haunted by the fear that she’d squandered her one chance of love and now it was summarily too late, and he was too far and too permanently gone, and she would now be punished for her ingratitude with years of nothing? is she haunted by her own propensity to run from the inevitable, to escape to distant locations only to realize her problems were still hers whether she be in paris or london or seoul?

it’s hard to say. 

maybe, in the end, yani is haunted by herself.

HISTORY

i. birth is an uneventful affair. she isn’t a planned baby but she isn’t unwelcome either, youngest of three by enough years that her older brothers dote on her in the abstract but aren’t really fans of actually having her around. it’s sort of a theme. her mother hires a nanny and goes back to work immediately - she took time off with the boys and she’s not willing to do it again. her father is as distant as he was with the elder two, unsurprisingly.

yani grows up this way, chasing after affection and attention, calling out for the same things that were doled out to the other two so easily. she wants her brothers to play with her - dolls or tag, she’s not picky, she’ll take what she can get. they play hide and seek but she always hides, and they never seek, just let the little girl coop herself up in the closet for a half an hour, or until she dozes off. eventually she stops asking.

 ii. she grows into the hand she’s been dealt. she wears a tan like a shield, testament to hours spent outside in the sun, relentlessly scrambling over the landscape. they live on the outskirts of a little town on jeju island, and the sun and surf and sand and rocks and mountains are her company. she takes after her brothers, athletic and enthusiastic, seemingly immune to the scraping of her knees and the scabs on her elbows, bruises on her shins.

yani feels the freest on the skateboard she inherits from her brother - or, more specifically, steals from his room when his interest in girls and his worry about entrance exams takes over his free time. in this way she learns two things: she can only rely on herself, and that she must always, always take that which she desires. 

 she spends hours on it, rolling through town to the ultimate displeasure of the ahjummas who sit outside the town hall and gossip. a girl should be more demure, she should be more careful, she’s going to hurt herself or someone else, they say, but yani is past the point of craving approval now. or at least, that’s what she tells herself, disregard is a shield she equips, straps it over a soft heart, hardens herself by hoping for little and expecting even less. when you expect the world to let you down there is a freeness in being proven correct when it doesn’t surprise you by being anything but bleak.

iii. high school treats her well. there are only so many other kids in town, so it’s not like there’s enough trouble for cliques. not when they’ve all known each other from birth. there isn’t much reason to come to the little excuse for a city, unless you’re a tourist or you’ve got a burning passion for the fishing industry, and even then there are better choices in destination. she studies well enough, but yani is prone to distraction. her attention wanders and she spends plenty of time staring out of the window, as opposed to anything else. but she’s clever, and when she does apply herself she catches up just fine.

there’s a certain sadness to a decaying rural town, and the older yani gets the heavier it weighs on her, this realization that there are no opportunities here, that the only chance for a viable future any of them have exists in some ephemeral elsewhere always slightly out of reach. it’s the cycle of poverty in action - the jobs are manual labor or hardly impressive, few remain in the town, the aging population is setting the community up to collapse in on itself, but what is anyone able to do about it? so they drink or they fuck or they whine about it, anything to carry on the way they always have. from this town yani learns denial and resignation, in a bizarre blend that ought not be properly possible.

iv.

whatever chance she had of success in school goes down the drain with truancy and delinquency, with smokes stolen from the corner store and beer she convinces neighborhood oppas to buy for her with their ids. she gets what she wants and she doesn’t look back, morality a luxury she can’t afford and frankly doesn’t try too hard to squeeze in anyway. she loves boys that don’t love her back and she chases a high that never quite seems to satisfy. climbs a little bit higher, goes a little bit further, to fill herself with the seratonin and the adrenaline that seem to evade her. 

when she finds out, in the dead of night, half drunk with her best friend, who has never seen her the way she’s wanted to be seen, that his older brother - her boyfriend, her second choice, because he sees her the way her best friend refuses to look - is dead, in a car crash, her word falls apart. it crumbles. 

v.

yani deals with her tragedies and her uncertainties in the way she has been taught. she denies it even unto herself, buries herself into distractions. it gets harder, immeasurably, when her two best friends leave for the military one after the other. she submits an application, a portfolio. it’s a long shot, but she makes it. she leaves, on a plane, in a search for more ways to bury her heart. 

it’s so easy to find them in a city like paris. in drink and drugs and then maybe even in boys and girls. she finds her redemption in sex and adrenaline and in petty, stupid actions. she is a terror on two slender legs, she is weaponized femininity and a cutting tongue, she is every bit of sharp wit and killer instinct wrapped in a devastatingly pretty package. the last distraction, the most enjoyable and the most wholesome, comes in the form of an old film camera. she buys it with money she’s picked out of the pockets of men who lean to close to her in clubs, men too old to promise her the things they do, who line her pockets and give her gifts in the hope that she’ll be foolish enough now to offer her youth to those leeches, those vampiric men that wait so eagerly and desperately to drain her dry.  it’s another way to put a distance between herself and the world; observer and artist, not integral, not intertwined. she can expose the truth of the world without involving her own truth in it, betrays herself in a thousand tiny ways. 

vi.

it is so terribly easy to get what you want in a city like this. there is always someone willing to give it to you, for a price of course. yani learns to play this game, to divorce herself from her own reality, to compartmentalize. she feels like a hundred different girls. she feels like a line of glasses on a counter, each varying levels of empty. she feels like she could shatter in a moment, or sing beneath a touch, or neither, or both. 

she feels like they can sense it on her, the sins that paint her skin. she rots herself with alcohol, nicotine, prescription pills designed for someone decidedly not her. she wears herself down with long nights, early mornings, insomnia that clings to her, a weight that settles heavy, drags her down. her moods are mercurial, she tears through the people around her like a storm, intent on destruction, pausing for the briefest moments of calm before the winds pick up once more. 

she falls apart this way, bits and pieces at first, and then all at once, like a spaceship reentering orbit too quickly, she is engulfed. 

vii. 

in the end she stays there, in france, for a little longer. longer than she’d intended. money starts to run out, her feeble language skills are put to the test. it’s sheer luck that lands her a job at an art gallery, luck on top of luck that gets her through an accelerated program. in the end, she spends two and a half years in france, eventually returning to her dismal little rural town. returns with a degree from france that means very little besides “you didn’t make it into a korean school” and “you dedicated your life to creative pursuits that will provide you with nothing.”

she returns with her camera, with a few years of gallery experience, with a couple thousand dollars saved and very little in the way of confidence or strength. she has dreams she barely dares to dream, thoughts she can hardly expose herself too. with a portfolio and no direction, no idea what to do with herself, for herself. 

viii. 

by the time she gets back, one of her friends is out of the military at last, the other long gone for seoul. she spends two months in the little town before she can’t handle it anymore. has photographed every inch of the decaying rural landscape, the town left forgotten by progress, by the government, by the future. her collection on the state of the town, deemed a cutting photojournalistic insight to rural korean poverty, becomes a minor sensation and is picked up by a gallery in seoul. it’s the boost she needs to relocate, flees the town that made her, that funded her flight, to head for the city, to lose herself again. 

seoul is much the same as any other city. she wanted it to have answers that it doesn’t. she hates her apartment, a half basement decked out in mold and wrinkled vinyl flooring over the thick pipes of the ondol. she drags herself through the day to day, gets a job and does what she can to keep herself afloat. takes pictures, sells them, does what she can. it’s unfulfilling. she’s frustrated. her friends feel distant and she feels thoroughly disconnected from the world around her, floating as if on the currents of the ocean. 

viv. 

the treehouse offers a chance at a community, the selfsame thing she has done so much to avoid, so earnestly  distanced herself from - lest anyone figure out the great pretending of her life. that she’s not half the person, half the artist she wants to be. she lives a life steeped in imposter’s syndrome and unspoken words, preserving her thoughts in notebooks and photographs, fragments of time and feeling captured without explanation, left for the viewer to infer.

I bought a 2019 Civic Type-R (Comparisons to other vehicles inside) via /r/cars

I bought a 2019 Civic Type-R (Comparisons to other vehicles inside)

New owner of a 2019 Championship White Civic Type R. Cross shopped this car with a Camaro 2SS 1LE, Bullitt Mustang, Scat Pack Challenger Widebody, Focus RS, and Golf R.

  I'm writing this post because I don't think this is a cross-shop that happens very often (hatchbacks and performance coupes/sedans)... at least in my hunting it didn't seem to. Hopefully people googling something like this in the future will come across this post and find some helpful thoughts. My requirements were that the car fit a cello case and have Android Auto/Apple CarPlay. I'm spoiled, manufacturer infotainment systems are universally garbage compared to Android Auto/Apple CarPlay. My budget was $45k.

  I traded in my 2017 Civic Si Sedan, which I loved, because I was looking for the next step in performance. I only tracked the car a total of 14 times over the course of two years, so I definitely consider myself casual in that regard, but if you are on the fence I strongly recommend getting some track days in. It's some of the most fun I've had in my adult life.

  Cars missing from this test: G70, STI. I refuse to support not putting the manual in the top engine spec for a car, sorry G70. The STI doesn't come with Android Auto, but if that's not a requirement for you I don't blame you for picking up one of these bad boys.

  Onto the comparisons and why I chose the CTR. I'll go in reverse order from cars I felt were the worst to best... except the Camaro which is second due to GM fiat.

  Ford Mustang Bullitt

I've never been more disappointed in a car. From the outside this car is GORGEOUS. To me it is the best looking car of everything I tested. Ford designers knocked it out of the park. This immediately falls away the moment you sit down inside of one.

The interior was worse than my Civic. The seats weren't as comfortable, the buttons were harsh, and the fitment of everything seemed off. The digital dash is fantastic, though.

Then you start the car and you can almost forgive the interior quality. The sound this car makes was also the best of any car I tested. Then you go to shift and the years you've spent with a Honda shifter make you realize how spoiled you are. This way this transmission shifted was terrifying, and I wouldn't be surprised if there aren't failures related to it down the road. Having said that, press your foot on the gas and hear the engine climb to redline... you can almost forget the shifter.

The back seats could actually fit a human being in a pinch, good job there, and I was able to fit a cello case inside when folding the rear seats down. That's all the practicality I needed. Ford's version of comfort mode is great, but there is a LOT of road noise that leaks into the car. The freeway was very loud...

There's a running theme here of ecstasy and disappointment. I couldn't get over the disappointments from this fifty thousand dollar car. I expect more from such a size-able expense. For the people who prioritize looks, sound, power I don't know if there's a competitor outside the Challenger. I can see why it's the best selling pony car in America.

Driving Experience: 8/10

Practicality: 3/10

  Challenger Scat Pack Widebody

Oh man... this car is delicious. I feel like if I ended up in this car I'd move to the South and get the giant flags to attach to my car. My brain shut off when I pressed the pedal. I'm not entirely sure this car should be paired with a 6-speed, or maybe the 1st gear should be made longer. Even with the widebody this thing wants to eat your tires for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I can't even imagine the Hellcat Challenger in a manual... wow. It's also an absolute boat, but it's a great boat!

The interior is... not as bad as the Mustang. Still leaves some question marks on the fitment front. The trunk is GARGANTUAN and so are the rear seats. Will your passengers have to wiggle their way into them because there's only 2 doors? Yes, but they are very usable once inside. Where's my manual Charger :< The sheer amount of space you have, and how quiet it is on the freeway gets big ups from me.

Sound system was the best out of anything I tested. Cello fits. Uconnect is great, and has AA/AC. The manual's gear ratios need to be changed, a burnout a day is not getting positive marks from me.

Driving Experience: 7/10

Practicality: 5/10

  Focus RS

This car is more than the sum of its parts. I hadn't even considered it initially due to ride quality concerns until another of my posts had someone recommend it saying it wasn't so bad.

I'm glad I got to drive it, because it's a blast! The ride quality is indeed as harsh as the reviews say, though. I live in Los Angeles, our roads are garbage (I know yours are worse Michigan). I drive clients in my car sometimes, I don't want them bouncing around too much for the drive that's mostly freeway from LAX to SFV. I'm slightly exaggerating here, but it was too much.

The interior here is nicer than the Bullitt. The sound is worse, but better than the Type R. The shifter is better than the Mustang, but maybe that's due to the engine it's paired with? I only spent 20 minutes with the car, I can't go into as much detail as with the other cars. The car feels like a track weapon, at all times. Which is crazy because it's probably slower than a Bullitt around a track, but it certainly doesn't feel like it.

Cello case fit easily, back seats could fit real humans on a road trip. Drift mode. It's a hatchback, there are perks.

Driving Experience: 8/10

Practicality: 5/10

  Golf R

I'm surprised I didn't choose this car when I consider it from just the exterior. It's professional, well put together, and a jack of all trades. Maybe I should have rated it higher somewhere but I don't know where.

The sound is subdued when it needs to be, it's comfortable on the freeway, when you floor it you grin. People can fit in the back just fine, and it checks every box neatly. How very German!

It's missing emotion? Maybe some steering feel? The car felt like it was holding back, or maybe it was the weight. I don't know. I spent almost three hours with this car. I could see myself taking this to work, taking it to the track, and being pleasantly surprised with just how capable it would be every day.

The Golf R checks all the boxes, and is capability personified. If the R wagon was here I'd have said to hell with "emotion" I'm getting the wagon... but this is just practicality on par with the Type R, while lacking some of the driving character. Or maybe if I lived up north and the AWD was super important to me.

Driving Experience: 7/10

Practicality: 7/10

  Camaro 2SS 1LE

My younger self hates me for not buying this car. Driving this car is an absolute pleasure. As I write this I almost feel regret for not buying it in spite of its shortcomings, but the axe fell. I'll write this so future buyers can save themselves from driving this, falling in love, then having to take it out back.

The sound is a tuning fork next to the ears, while maintaining comfortable noise levels on the freeway. The manual is second only to the Honda. The suspension is actually better than expected when in comfort, and the best in track mode. The pillbox you drive in isn't that bad when you have blind spot monitoring... I could not buy the 1SS 1LE version since it doesn't have the option to add this. Feels criminal. Seats are comfortable, and most of all everything is TIGHT.

Fitment of the interior is great, steering feel is precise, and you can break the back end loose on command... that's probably the greatest thing about this car, the control you feel. I can't talk about it too much, the reviewers have said it enough and they're right. To me there is no car that will give you this level of performance for so cheap. Maybe a used Corvette, but I was buying new.

To answer the question you've all been wondering: will it fit a cello in a case? No. I tried. I tried so hard. I twisted, I turned, I did every trick learned from moving couches through doorways I could think of... but I could not get the thing to fit in the car. Who designed this trunk opening? Kill them. I hate them with a burning passion. El Fin.

Decent sound system. Back seats only for small bags and people you hate. Trunk opening designed by Satan.

I can't put it anywhere but 2nd even if the scoring system I derived says it should be lower. Driving it was that good. Maybe the Driving Experience scale should be adjusted to move everything else down a point or two.

Driving Experience: 10/10

Practicality: 2/10 (+1 because you can throw a couple backpacks in the back seat with a carry on in the trunk)

  Civic Type R

When I set out to purchase the car I had ruled out the Type R because I live in SoCal and I refuse to purchase a car above MSRP. Plus, I wanted to move to an AWD or RWD platform.

To start things off, I bought a Type R for MSRP in Southern California... and from said dealer I also bought paint protection film/tinting. Full disclosure because that's not just the car for straight MSRP. These are things I was going to buy anyways and they priced them at regular local prices, which I know because I had PPF and tinting done by a local shop last go around. If you don't want these things shop around, and don't impulse buy this car. It will take a week or two of waiting, but someone will make a deal with you. Or just go out of state and buy one for MSRP. The road trip back should be a blast.

The steering is fantastic... much better than you'd expect out of a car as high seated as the Civic has gotten. You can definitely tell it's the lightest car of this group because it feels the most "chuckable". ((The Camaro isn't as "chuckable" because I reached the limits of my courage turning this thing in the canyons above SCV before it reached the limit of where it will stop turning in))

Shifting is easy and smooth, but maybe that's because it feels nearly identical to the one in the Si I've become accustomed to. It has 4 doors, the opening in the back when you lift the trunk is cavernous.

The ride in comfort mode is the largest difference from track mode (+R) to comfort out of anything I tested. +R to sport I can hardly tell that much of a difference, but when you click down into comfort some withcraft magic happens, the car gets quieter, and the road noise drops. Ride is still more bumpy than I would hope for, though... I think this comes down to how thin the tires are. Strongly considering a drop to 18" wheels with 275/35 or 255/40 tires. I won't be lowering the car because my driveway is a cliff, a common theme in Los Angeles.

It feels much more spacious than the Golf R when you sit inside it, even though the specs say that isn't true. I'm 6'2" and there's so much headroom compared to my civic sedan I had to laugh. The back seats have plenty of leg room, while being much easier to get into than something like the Challenger. Why are there only 4 seats instead of 5? Whatever. The seats are stellar, though overly bolstered if you are a wider dude. I love that when I'm wearing a helmet, the upper portion of the seat from your shoulders leans back to allow for room. With the helmet on I don't have to slouch forward like I did with the seats in my Si.

Sound system is good, but not as good as the Challenger. For spirited driving +R mode steering/suspension is great, but the Camaro and RS felt better. In comfort mode road noise is third to the Golf R and Challenger, suspension is third to the Challenger and Camaro. With the seats folded down it feels like it has more space than the Golf R even though I don't think that's quite the case.

Driving Experience: 8/10

Practicality: 7/10

  Final note: The looks are very polarizing. They must be, because you get a LOT of stares in this car and a LOT of rev bombs from other drivers. If you want attention get a Type R. Downside is, I don't want attention. Maybe more points for the Golf R should you find yourself in the market. This car is a great car, I can see why reviewers love it so damn much. I smile when I think about driving it, and I can throw a bunch of shit in it for road trips or carpool to work without issue. What more could you ask for?... Chevy SS dreams intensify

  TL;DR: Set out to buy an AWD/RWD car that can fit a cello case, has Android Auto/Apple CarPlay, and costs ~$45k or less. Bought a FWD car because, to me, it's the best blend of fun driving and practicality on the market.

A Good Ribbing

A/N: This is a request from @bashfulpinata for the prompt, “Thanks for mentioning that little detail”. I hope this is to your liking, Piñata! Enjoy! Fair warning: this will contain some teasy rib tickles and rib counting. Read if you must, but you may feel them tickles yourself. You’ve been warned.

It was a quiet, yet somewhat dull, Sunday afternoon within the Anderson residence. The steadily ongoing sequence of television shows - mainly consisting of cop comedies that were broadcasted as far back as the 1980s - being the only source of ambiance, as well as the snoring emitting from Sumo, who curled up on his pillow-like bed in the corner of the living room. If that wasn’t enough, there would be the constant chatter between the human and the android.

“I still can’t believe you actually did it, Connor! Did you see the look on Gavin’s face when he tasted the salt you put in his coffee?” Another chortle uproared out in the open as Hank all but fell back into the couch in a fit of jarring laughter, slamming a hand against the armrest to his right.

Almost instantly, his cackling was assimilated by the bout of laughter that resonated from Connor’s voice box. If hearing the sound of his human companion’s own laughter wasn’t the vindication for his sudden display of amusement, the mental photography of the immense abhorrence written on the detective’s face upon registering the unwelcoming bitterness administered from the salt.

“As I explained to you at the precinct, I simply misinterpreted the salt packets for sugar,” Connor managed to explain himself through his giggling, yet they both knew that wasn’t the case. “I will admit, however, that watching Detective Reed’s facial expression contort like that is humorous, nevertheless.”

Hank snorted and just about squawked in between fits of rough laughter. He couldn’t even begin to remember the last time he ever laughed so hard; the side-splitting type of laughter; the laughter that made your sides ache for what felt like hours. “Hahahaha! Hoholy shit! It hurts, it fuckin’ hurts!” He wheezed and coiled an arm over his ribcage instinctively, greedily sucking in copious amounts of air in the midst of recovering from his laugh attack.

The neutral blue illuminating from the android’s LED quickly transitioned into a concerned yellow, his laughter instantly ceasing, amusement morphing to worry as Connor fixed his gaze on the ventilating lieutenant as if scanning for any possible injury had struck him. “H-Hank? Are you hurt?” He asked anxiously.

His laughter finally subsiding, Hank turned back to the android hovering over him out of sheer habit and adjusted himself back into his natural sitting position, rubbing the sliver of mirthful tears out of his eyes. “No, Connor... no. I’m fine, just... my ribs are kinda sore. Nothing serious.”

“Would you like an ice pack from the refrigerator?” The android offered a gentle inquiry through his protective impulse.

“Jesus, Connor...” Hank sighed as he ran a hand over his own face, grabbing onto the android’s wrist and tugging him back onto the couch as he attempted to stand. “I said I’m fine. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to worry about everything I do. I may be old, but I sure as hell ain’t fragile. Besides, the last thing I need is some android nanny hovering over me.” He ended his assuring statement on a teasing note as the yellow LED spiraled back to blue.

“Right. I’m sorry, Hank-”

“Ah! What’d I say about apologizing?”

“I’m so-” The android was immediately cut off with a stern gaze from the older man that told him to shut up. “Nevermind.”

Hank flashed a smug smirk and uttered a light ‘hmph’ in response before turning his attention back to the television, intent on indulging himself further into the currently playing episode. However, much to his own dismay, he was presented with the one thing that plagued every television spectator with annoyance; the one thing that so rudely interrupted television programming everywhere...

“God, I hate these damn commercials!” Hank grumbled, resting his cheek against and closed fist, his elbow perching on the armrest, paying no attention to the images of products that would stir skepticism. He could recall observing merchandise so harebrained, he would sooner buy a $500 bottle of alcohol and not get drunk from it than something so asinine as a $50 washcloth that is claimed to be able to absorb spills and the floor is still messy. Really, who would be idiotic enough to purchase something so useless at a laughably high price?

Surprisingly, this next particular advertisement seemed to have caught his attention. There seemed to be two skeletons, presumably of a male and female human, having a medical conversation, considering the certain terms he blocked out. He could tell from the cerulean hue glowing from the bony beings that this commercial provided information regarding x-rays. 

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t care much for the ad as a whole. 

He shifted his gaze from the screen and to the android sitting to his left and back. He thought about how he grew more human by the day following his deviancy, then how painstaking, and partially frightening, his appearance resembled to be that of a human, save for the flickering blue LED. And with another glimpse at the skeletal figures on the television monitor, a new curiosity had bloomed.

Hank turned back to the younger man sitting beside him, whose gaze was fixated on the television. “Hey, Connor?”

Connor returned his gaze to the older man, the blue LED gently flickering in curiosity. “Yes, Hank?”

“You know, all this talk about my ribs and that commercial got me thinkin’. I know how androids were made to resemble humans and all, and I was wondering something: do androids have skeletons?”

Connor tilted his head to the side and blinked at the odd question, but he naturally rummaged through his database in search for an answer, his LED spinning with a bright yellow before explaining to his human companion, “While we are internally disparate, in terms of organs and biocomponents, every android has an interior framing composed of polycarbonate material. Despite the durability of the matter, they can be broken, much like regular bones, but can be self-repaired within at least 24 hours. The framing is positioned within certain body parts, such as legs, arms, and hands, and can adjust to common movements, similar to a human skeleton. In conclusion, androids do possess skeletons.”

(A/N: Yeeah, my theory may not be ENTIRELY accurate? Sorry.)

”Do they include ribcages?”

“Yes, as do I.”

With that being said, Hank reached towards the android and, with a newfound stroke of curiosity, uncurled his pointer finger and pressed the fingertip into a specific area just below the underarm with a gentle prod. His confirmed his theory when he felt a hard surface underneath the artificial skin; a bone; a polycarbonate bone; a ticklish bone, given the way Connor squeaked and lightly shuffled to his end of the couch, arms enfolding around the area of his artificial ribcage protectively.

After a few seconds of awkward silence between the two, Hank, who was wearing a shit-eating grin with such mischief, leaned forward and snatched at one of the RK800′s wrists, yanking the android close to ensnare him into an inescapable embrace, his back against the older man’s chest.

Connor’s LED flashed yellow in response to the sudden action momentarily before reverting back to the usual blue, craning his neck to take a glance at his captor, but he was only able to see him from the corner of his eye. “Hank?”

Instead of responding to the address, Hank simply latched onto both sides and dug his fingers between the sets of artificial ribs, vibrating his digits to produce electric-like sensations.

Connor’s eyes flew wide open just as his sensors picked up on the aforementioned feelings, making him fall into fits of sputtering giggles as he lightly kicked his legs through some sort of reflex. “Ahahahaha! Nahahahahaa! Hahahaaank!”

Hank chuckled at the android’s giggly protests, simply curling his fingertips into the gaps of the synthetic ribcage. “Well, whaddya know? You do have ribs, and they’re ticklish!” He hummed to himself as he went on, thinking of a particular game that used to drive Cole up the wall. He wondered if it would work on the ticklish android in his grasp as well. “Hey, Connor... how many ribs do ya have, you think?”

“T-Twehehenty-fohour!” Connor squeaked at the occasional prod here and there. “Twehelve on each sihihide!”

“You sure about that? Maybe I should count ‘em for you~” Hank didn’t even spare the poor android even a second to utter a single protest, and he pressed his thumb into the lowest rib on the right side of his ribcage, kneading and circling the tip against the artificial bone. “One...” He began to slowly count aloud, remaining there for at least three seconds before he would move on to the next one. “Two... three...”

Connor squealed and lurched in the lieutenant’s arms like a small trapped caught in a trap, feebly attempting to pry himself out by pushing his own arms away from each other, but that was stopped by the older man’s tight grip. He could feel a tint of blue painted across his cheeks, having been caused by the teasing croon in Hank’s voice as he counted to tease the poor boy out of his artificial skin.

“Hahahank, pleeheheheease!” He tried to whine through his frantic cries of laughter. “I said I have twehehenty-fohohour rihihiiibs!”

“I’m still gonna check, anyway,” Hank paused his enumeration to answer the android’s plea for an instant before he immediately pressed on, “Now hold still. Twenty-four- Wait, what number was I on? Shit, I think I lost count. Guess we’ll just have to start all over again~”

Connor froze in his place, quickly realizing his mistake, and he initiated another string of pleas with a nervous, wobbly grin. “N-No, wait! Hank, pleheheheeease! Nohohohoo!” He cried out desperately, only to descend into another series of giggles with an occasional squeak as he restarted from the lowest rib.

“One... two... three... four... five... six...” Hank punctuated each number he tallied with a pinch to each rib, the prototype’s laughter becoming albeit louder the higher he went. “Seven... eight... nine... ten... eleven... twelve! Yep, twelve ribs on this side!” He emphasized his announcement with a squeeze to the inflicted side, snickering at the emitted squeak. “But what about the other side, huh? You got twelve of ‘em there, too?”

“Y-Yehes! I assure you, I- Eeek!” Connor was cut off on the spot just as Hank’s hand did so much as make contact with the left side of the artificial ribcage.

“One... two... three...” Hank nipped at each and every sensitive plastic bone with his pointer finger and his thumb as he continued this little game, grinning at the giggly pleads and squeals being composed from his android son. “Aaand twelve! Twenty-four in all! Guess you’re right after all!” He squeezed the left set after he finished, just as he did for the other side.

Connor lowered his shoulders and fell limp against the older man’s chest with soft giggles rising from his own, simply allowing him to hold him in his warm embrace. “I-I did say that, Hank...”

Hank smiled and lightly pinched at one of the prototype’s blue-tinged cheeks, keeping him in his arms for the next minute before took a glance at the side concealed by the plain tee. “And now that I know about all this, I’m actually feeling kinda hungry...” He purred, a devious smirk playing across his lips.

Connor’s eyes went agape just as his auditory processors picked up on the jest, identifying the lighthearted roguishness dripping in his tone. “H-Hank, I realize your intentions, and I advise you against this. If you are famished, you can find a proper source of nourishment in the kitchen- Aahh!” His attempt to dissuade the intent was deterred with a startled squeal as he was lightly pushed onto the couch and on his back, his father figure kneeling over his legs to prevent any venture to escape.

“Aw, c’mon, Connor! I haven’t had any ribs in a while!” Hank grumbled in a satirical manner as he slowly upheaved the fabric of the android’s casual tee by the hem and bunched it over his chest, exposing his entire abdomen. “I forgot what they taste like~”

“Hahank, please don’t do thihis! S-Surely there must be an alternatIIIIVE!” Once again, Connor’s attempt to reason with him came to a crashing halt as Hank swooped down and buried his face into the left set of ribs, gently nibbling at the artificial bones instantaneously. “AHAHAHAHAAA!”

“Mmmmm, that sure is tasty!” Hank murmured against the sensitive skin, causing the younger man to snort and jolt. “They’re so warm, ticklish, and they taste like giggles! Sounds like a pretty good snack to me!”

Connor shrieked mirthfully, startling Sumo out of his slumber in the process before settling back into his lazy doze. The android drummed his feet against the cushions and flailed his arms around as Hank continued to ‘devour’ at the sensitive artificial bones of his ribcage, switching between gently nibbling with his teeth and his lips at random moments, leaving him unable to calculate what the older man would do next until it was inflicted. The soft brushes of his beard and theatrical growls and eating noises seemed to add onto the sensations coursing through his sensors.

“HAHAHAHAAANK!” Connor wailed through his howls of laughter as he clenched his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to ease the feelings, wincing at the occasional quick raspberry administered to the horribly sensitive skin. “MEHEHEHERCY! DAHAHAAD, PLEHEHEASE! I-I CAHAHAN’T!”

As his last attempt to beg for mercy came forth, a hand ruffled the disheveled locks and the weight was lifted from his legs, allowing him to curl in on himself. The prototype sluggishly draped an arm over his eyes as if trying to hide himself as the blue tint slowly vanished from his goofily grinning face, simply lying in his current position and waiting for his leftover giggles to fade away. He pried his arm away from his face to look over at Hank, who returned the gaze with a wry, affectionate grin of his own that told him that he would surely take advantage of in the future.

“Thanks for mentioning that little detail. Now I know one more ticklish spot.”

Interlude (Lesbian AU Sashea) - Wordsmithmaybe

!!! TRIGGER WARNING for ED, mention of substance abuse, and suicidal thoughts !!! 

6K+ words 

I literally wanted to finish this and post it since September, but life got in the way.

Writing from personal experience. Please don’t read if you know it can trigger you. 

Sorry for any spelling mistakes…

I just mainly wrote this for my own mental health and to find some sort of relief..

Enjoy and happy New Year <3 

Sasha wakes up the same way she went to bed.

Distraught. Anxious. Weirdly angry. Tired.

Angry.

She realises her anger isn’t caused by the fact that she fell asleep at 6AM. It’s not caused by the pending headache making its way from the back of her neck to her temple, nor by the constant pressing feeling inside her chest.

Her anger is caused by the sound of steps upstairs.

It is almost like someone is…dancing in the roof room, which would explain the distant yet prominent music beat penetrating her ears. Slowly and painfully carving a path to her brain, driving her insane.

She sighs.

And when she sighs, she almost starts crying.

She knows how stupid this whole thing is. She’s about to sob out loud, because she’s been woken up by some silly noises.

But that’s just the superficial reason behind the tears, the fake justification of her sudden urge to break down.

Sasha is aware.

She is aware that she doesn’t truly give a fuck about the sounds, although it would have been nice to get more than 5 hours of sleep.

There is a phenomenon that happens to everyone.

Or perhaps it just happened to her.

It’s the build up of everything that ever goes wrong, gradually yet constantly.

It’s the build up of her stay in rehab for 2 months, the build up of her discharge. It’s the build up of losing friends, losing her job, being forced to move in with her grandmother in the middle of nowhere for the sake of her mental health. It’s the build up of her almost death.

Sasha hadn’t cried over any of these things.

She hadn’t cried when she regained consciousness at the hospital only to find herself hooked to a billion machine after her third overdose on pills. Pills that were meant to make her thinner. More beautiful.

She hadn’t cried when she was forced to eat three times a day during rehab. She hadn’t even cried as she watched her body put on weight, and slowly change into something she’d always hated, always run away from.

But somehow, this stupid beat, this dumb sound upstairs is the breaking point?

No.

She doesn’t cry.

She throws her blanket away, and exits her room, absorbing her threatening tears right back in.

She hasn’t been outside this room ever since she arrived a few days ago. She didn’t want to face anyone or anything.

But she still makes her way up the old wooden steps.

When she finally opens the door, she’s ready to fight whoever caused her to wake up so early.

The first person she sees is her grandmother, dressed in her work out attire. Sasha always found it fascinating that an 85 years old woman still has the power and will to exercice.

But this time she isn’t going to compliment her grandma on her energy or athletic  figure.

This time she’s pissed at her.

The grandmother is doing some weird hula hoops moves to an overplayed Spanish song that Sasha has heard a billion times.

“Can you stop this please? I’m trying to get some sleep!” Sasha quickly yells over the music.

Suddenly the song is stopped, her grandma looks at her, and Sasha realises that there is another person in the small room.

A person that she hasn’t seen in the midst of her tantrum.

The stranger stands there in her shorts and sports bra.

It almost feels like time has stopped as Sasha’s gaze travels across the room, examining the dark skinned woman.

She notices her curvy figure, the way her bottom protrudes, and breasts stick out. She notices the length of her legs, their shine, the intimidating symmetry of her sweat-highlighted face, and the playfulness of her violet coloured pixie hair.

In the friction of a second that it takes Sasha to scan her from head to toe, she feels uncomfortable, insecure, nervous.

As the stranger smiles at her, unprecedentedly so, Sasha gets a sense of something else: bewilderment mixed with a tint of lust.

“It’s 11AM, I thought you were up by now. I’m sorry my dear.” Her grandmother apologises.

Sasha finally shifts her eyes back to the grandma.

Seeing the anxious look on her face, she regrets bursting into the room.

“It’s fine,” she quickly says before exiting.

She runs downstairs as fast as she can, goes into her room, and closes the door.

She doesn’t know what happened, but she is sure it shouldn’t make her heart beat this fast.

As she sits on the bed, she catches her reflection on the wall mirror. She observes her baggy sweatpants and shirt. She eyes her bald head; a look she impulsively decided on, the day she left rehab. She runs her fingers across her pale face, feeling the dryness, feeling the lines that are starting to appears.

This is almost 30 years old.

How can this be almost 30?

Since childhood, Sasha Seinsberg was told that she would have the brightest future.

And she did.

She changed her name to Sasha Velour, and that was the beginning of the end.

She made headlines at the age of 21 with her work. She painted, created digital art, and even performed sometimes. She was a queer superstar, and she took over the world. She had millions of fans, and she made millions of dollars. But the empire barely lasted 5 years. Then, came the downfall.

Maybe it was her parents sudden death in a plane crash, or maybe it was the strain of abusive relationships she had gotten herself into.

Something clicked.

she became a different person.

She suddenly felt the need to be in control of her life. She wanted perfection. And she started with herself. She made the choice of becoming the ultimate art that she always dreamed of making.

So she starved herself.

It became a fatal addiction, followed by other addictions: drugs, alcohol, sex.

And the result? More self loathing, more yearning for control.

She wasn’t just stuck in an empty circle. She was stuck in a throbber that wouldn’t stop spinning. Her old self ceased to exist, and surely the media noticed. They turned against her.

People she cherished left her, because they couldn’t handle the self destructive behaviour.

And the fans? They eventually lost interest.

Her grandmother finally forced her into rehab.

But now seeing her face, the face she’s been avoiding, she can’t help but wonder if it’s worth it.

It all feels so pointless. Everything feels pointless.

She lays in bed, and she falls asleep.

She doesn’t dream about anything anymore. It’s just black and peaceful, so she sleeps. She does nothing but sleep all day.

She only wakes up when her grandmother brings her dinner.

Her grandmother stays in the room, watching her eat. It’s this unspoken contract. The old lady gets to take care of her, and Sasha, well, she gets to exist.

“I’m sorry about earlier, sugar.” Her grandmother’s sweet Russian accent rips through the unbearable silence in the room. It interrupts the awkward sound of chewing.

They don’t usually talk much during ‘food’ sessions, so Sasha is surprised.

“We usually work out in the living room,” she adds.

Sasha doesn’t know why she asks. Scratch that. She knows exactly why she asks. 

She asks, because she is reminded with the stranger she almost met upstairs. She is reminded with her perfect glowing skin, and somewhat soothing smile. The smile that she only saw for half a second.

So she asks.

“Who was that woman with you?”

Sasha can swear that her grandmother pauses. She pauses for a moment, and looks at her in a way that she isn’t able to decipher. A look that makes her feel exposed, naked, vulnerable.

“Oh, that’s Shea, my personal trainer. Such a lovely woman.” Her grandmother replies.

Of course it’s the personal trainer. Sasha feels stupid for asking.

They don’t say much after that.

The grandmother leaves the room, and Sasha just goes back to bed. But this time she doesn’t fall asleep straight away.

She keeps thinking about the name Shea.

She even googles what it means.

That night, she has her first dream in years.

She’s kneeling on a stage covered in rose petals and fake blood. She’s naked. It’s a human rendition of one of her most popular paintings. She stands up, and the stage is no longer there. Instead, she is in an empty vast field. It’s daytime. The field is greener than anything she’s ever seen. It’s almost glowing.

She turns around, and that’s when she sees her.

Shea.

Standing right behind her, smiling exactly like she smiled in the roof room.

She seems to be naked just like Sasha.

But Sasha can’t shift her gaze from Shea’s face. She can’t look up or down. She just stares at her face. She is lost in her dark eyes.

Then, she wakes up.

It wasn’t a sad dream or a scary dream.

But Sasha somehow feels overwhelmed.

She cries. 

She cries for the first time in a long time over everything at once.

She weeps for hours on her bed to the point where her cheeks burn from the tears, and she can’t control her sniffling.

She sobs until her eyes can’t make any more tears.

So she gets up, puts on a jacket and a pair of boots, and goes on a walk in the early cold October morning.

As she walks on the semi frozen road path amusing herself with the sound of chirping birds just now waking up to the world, feeling the crispy refreshing air go through her lungs, she realises how much she missed this.

She missed casual moments of silence. She missed this feeling of freedom, of not having to meet any expectations or cater to any needs.

This is the same ground she walked as a kid, a happy go getter child who didn’t care much about anything except enjoying every moment. This small town just outside the city of Chicago is where all her dreams were made. It’s where she became who she is.

Sasha had forgotten all of that until now.

She knows that she still has to go through so much. She knows that this new journey is just beginning. But somehow in that moment outside, she feels at peace. She feel liberated.

She is free.

Walking back home, she thinks about the dream. She wonders why it made her so emotional. She tries to remember details.

Like how Shea’s eyes were so rich and deep, how looking into them was like getting lost in an alternative universe. How her smile was so gentle yet intense at the same time.

When Sasha returns to the house, she forces herself to stop thinking about Shea, the stranger she only met once, because she realises how creepy that makes her.

But her new decision doesn’t last long.

The moment she walks into the living room, her eyes land on the same familiar face.

Shea is there, just sitting on the couch. She is texting away on her phone. When she feels Sasha’s presence, she looks up.

Sasha is frozen.

“Sorry, I’m just waiting for Vera,” Shea clarifies, referring to the grandmother.

“It’s fine,” Sasha reassures.

“You’re Sasha, right?” Shea questions, the same smile wearing her features again.

Sasha just nods. She doesn’t know how this woman knows her name. Maybe her grandmother mentioned her somehow after yesterday’s event.

She expects Shea to say something else. She looks like she’s about to speak as her mouth opens and closes, but she doesn’t utter a word.

Vera comes down stairs dressed for a hike.

“Good morning, Alexandra. I’m happy to see you up so early!” The grandmother smiles. She’s the only one who still calls Sasha by her birth name from time to time.

She forces a smile.

“I see that you’ve met Shea.” Her grandmother beams.

“Yes, I have.” Sasha confirms awkwardly.

“How rude of me, I didn’t even introduce myself.” Shea quickly jumps in an apologetic tone.

“You don’t need to,” Sasha assures.

She isn’t too certain why these words came out of her mouth, but the second she says them, she excuses herself and goes upstairs.

Sasha is intrigued.

She wants to know more about Shea. She wants to ask her about the purple hair, and the small arm tattoo that she hasn’t been brave enough to read. She wants to ask her why she lives in this small town when she seems like she belongs in a big city.

She wants to ask her if she knows that she looks like art.

Art.

Sasha hasn’t thought about the word art in so long.

She hasn’t been able to remember the last time she held a painting brush, the last time she sketched something. She hasn’t even been able to recall how art made her feel. It all just became emptiness upon emptiness.

And it has scared her.

But Shea.

Shea’s face. Her body. Everything about her reminded Sasha briefly of why she loved art so much.

She loved art, because she was fascinated by the human experience. Maybe that’s why every artistic piece she’s ever brought to the world was centred around a person, or a bunch of people.

During a very short moment of an endless time, Sasha is relieved.

She’s relieved because she realises that she can still see art in people.

She saw it in Shea.

Perhaps, that’s why she wakes up just as early the next morning.

She wants to see the art again. She wants to feel it this time.

But Shea doesn’t show up that morning, or the next morning, or the morning after that.

Sasha isn’t brave enough to ask her grandmother why there are no work out sessions anymore.

The grandmother doesn’t even bring it up at all. And at one point, Sasha starts to wonder if it was all an illusion.

The lines between reality and fantasy have been blurred for her since she went to rehab. The trauma of everything she’s been through has truly altered her perception of reality.

Eventually, the fascination slowly fades away.

Weeks pass by.

Sasha is back to her withdrawn state. She doesn’t care much. She just embraces the numbness. Her grandmother makes sure she eats, showers, and changes clothes. But Sasha doesn’t even have the will to fight through any of these dull activities. She just does them only to go back to her bed.

———–

It’s her 30th birthday, but Sasha doesn’t remember on her own.

She opens her eyes to the sound of her grandmother entering into the room excitedly, singing the Russian version of the birthday song, carrying a chocolate muffin with one lit candle on top.

Sasha gets up, and sits against the headboard.

She knows what she’s supposed to feel.

She’s supposed to feel happy, grateful for her grandma.

But she is unable to create these emotions inside her chest.

She still smiles though.

She still pretends to enjoy Vera’s singing, and her desperate attempt to have a ‘normal’ granddaughter.

How sad it must be for her grandmother, Sasha knows.

Losing her only son, his wife, and then having to rescue her sole granddaughter from the grip of death.

A well deserved third death in the family perhaps would have saved them both the agony of having to go through this day.

But Sasha is alive, and she can’t escape her birthday.

She blows her breath at the candle, and takes a bite of of the buttery muffin.

She remembers the billions of times she spitted out muffin bites, forced herself to run half an hour on the treadmill just so she could be worthy of the vacant number of calories.

None of these things matter anymore.

Not because she’s healed from her sickness.

Not because she’s able to make better healthier decisions for her body.

They don’t matter, because they won’t make a difference.

The calories- lack of, aren’t going to take away the void she feels so deep inside.

The muffin is just that. A muffin.

Her body is just that. A body.

She doesn’t love it. But she doesn’t hate it either.

She’s indifferent to it, just like she’s indifferent to so many things nowadays.

Most things in fact.

Her grandmother forces- talks her into going to lunch out with her. She gifts her a beautiful pastel pink mini dress, white heels, and a blonde straight bob wig.

She puts red lipstick and mascara on her face.

Sasha doesn’t protest. She doesn’t say anything even when she realises that the dress might be a bit too short and ‘girly’ for her liking.

She doesn’t stop her grandmother from placing the fake hair on her bald head.

They walk downstairs, into the living room. Sasha doesn’t notice that her grandmother has stopped walking behind her, but when she hears the loud unanimous 'surprise!’, it hits her.

She slowly turns around, facing a small crowd of 7 or 8 people varying in age. She doesn’t know any of them. They are probably friends of Vera, or maybe they’re neighbours.

They are all cheering and smiling and uttering happy birthday as her grandmother just stands next to them, not participating.

If Sasha’s heart could break one more time, it would be over how sad her 30th birthday is. But she doesn’t feel anything as she continues to scan their faces.

One face suddenly stands out.

It’s her.

It has to be her.

Her hair is different. It’s long, and black and curly. Maybe it’s a wig. It looks like a wig.

Sasha observes.

Time slows down again as she locks eyes with her.

Those dark brown eyes.

And that smile.

God, the smile.

In that moment, Sasha feels the sense of relief again.  

She isn’t too sure whether she is relieved to see a somewhat familiar face or because it’s HER face.

Sasha doesn’t say anything for the next half an hour as they sing her more birthday songs, cut the cake, and eat it.

Eventually, they all forget it’s her birthday, and spread across the living room doing their own thing, and chatting with each other.

She catches her grandmother smiling apologetically at her.

Or maybe she’s just smiling.

Maybe the apologetic subtext is something Sasha imagines, because of how shitty this attempt at a party is.

Either way, she just sits on the corner of the couch, awkwardly feeling the fabric of the dress against her thighs.

“Hi,” someone says.

Before she looks up, Sasha is well aware who it is.

Shea sits next to her. Sasha stares at her  cautiously, but with a sense of awe she hasn’t experience before.

“I honestly didn’t know what to bring you, so I just got you this sweater that I knitted myself.”

Sasha is surprised. No one has got her a present, except her grandmother. Granted, they don’t know her, and are probably just doing Vera a favour. But Shea doesn’t know her either yet she hands her a brown paper bag with a bright red sweater folded inside.

“Thank you,” She says, taking the sweater out of the bag and opening it.

“I think this colour will look really good on you.” Shea smiles.

Sasha doesn’t like knitted sweater. She doesn’t like bright red either. But she doesn’t say anything. She simply smiles back.

Then, she notices the small embroidery on the upper left side.

“Why this rose?” She asks in subtle shock and confusion, instantly going back in time to her dream.

“It’s a reference to your painting,” Shea casually replies, “Death Petals.”

Sasha almost drops the sweater as she raises her eyebrows at Shea.

“You’re familiar with my art?” She questions.

“Who isn’t!” Shea responds with enough enthusiasm to make Sasha uncomfortable.

Maybe she notices.

“Shit- Sorry, I didn’t mean to creep you out.” Shea apologises.

“It’s fine,” she says, “it’s just that I don’t make art anymore, and I don’t like talking about my previous pieces.”

I don’t make art anymore  

This is the first time that Sasha confesses something like that, not only to herself, but to a stranger. And she doesn’t know how she did it.

Does she never want to make art again? Can she even make art again? So many questions overwhelm Sasha in the moment.

“I can take off the rose thingy if you want me to,” Shea suggests. She sounds regretful.

Sasha hates this. She hates being the wounded kitty that everyone tries so hard not to hurt. And even the people who try to treat her like a regular person end up stepping back once they realise how fucked up she is.

Perhaps that’s what Shea is doing now.

Sasha might not be good at art anymore, but she’s definitely still good at reading people.

She senses Shea’s body language shifts from carefree and comfortable to distant and nervous.

“You don’t have to,” Sasha smiles as a poor attempt to fix this. She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to fix or why she wants it fixed.

Shea smiles back, but it’s a very awkward smile.

Then, she says something about how she has to go to work.  “I’ll see you around. Take care, and happy birthday.”

When Sasha goes back to her room later on, she tries the sweater, and to her disbelief, bright red does look good on her.

Her grandmother walks into the room, and gives her a small note.

“It was left in the brown paper bag,” she explains.

Sasha takes the note and reads it.

Call me or text whenever

Shea has left her a phone number. When Sasha looks up, her grandmother is grinning.

“What?” Sasha questions, too defensively.

“Nothing,” Vera says before walking away.

A big part of Sasha is too numb to even care about Shea’s number. But a smaller part is curious.

What if she texted her?

She spends the night wondering about the possibilities, then losing interest every single time.

Shea knows about her art, which also means she probably knows about her breakdowns and failures.

Maybe she left her the number, because she felt bad for her.

Maybe she just wanted to get into the mind of someone like Sasha.

So Sasha doesn’t text.

More weeks fly by like minutes.

Sasha does nothing special.

She tries to leave her room more often only to trick her grandmother into thinking she’s getting better, and it somehow works. But Sasha isn’t getting any better. She doesn’t know how getting better even feels. But she doesn’t care.

She spends most of her time thinking.

She thinks about her childhood, and that one girl she was in love with in the sixth grade. She wonders what she’s doing as she vaguely tries to remember the plain details of her face, the colour of her hair, and the smell of it. She thinks about her parents. She thinks about the day she got the news.

She wasn’t always a perfect daughter. Sometimes, she ignored her dad’s seemingly stupid questions about her art, and she was annoyed by her mother’s constant calls to check up on what she had for dinner or lunch. But other times, she was good to them. She brought them to shows, and she spent most of her money on making sure they were living comfortably.

When they passed away, she didn’t pat herself on the shoulder for buying them a house or a car. Instead, she collapsed in the middle of the hotel room before being woken up by her manager. She spent hours crying her eyes out, because she didn’t respond to the last text her mother had sent. She had read it, groaned in annoyance, and gone straight to her gallery opening.

It didn’t matter what the text said. In fact, she blocked that memory so hard that she can’t even remember it now.

But despite the partial amnesia, the scarring feeling is forever within her. That, she can never get rid of.

When she isn’t thinking about past traumas and childhood days, she thinks about the age of the building she passes by whenever she goes to the grocery store. She thinks about the trees that her grandmother has in her backyard, and she wonders why she keeps planting more when she isn’t going to be around long enough to see them taller and wider. And then she thinks about why the thought of the inevitable death of Vera doesn’t make her sad. She thinks about the constant emptiness that never goes away.

She thinks about therapists, and the concept of happiness. She ends up realising that maybe being happy is just a myth. Maybe it’s better to feel numb and empty than to be sad and miserable. Maybe the universe has healed her by taking her ability to feel away.

The piece of paper that Shea has left for her remains on the wooden nightstand in her room. Every morning, she sees it when she wakes up, and every night she contemplates throwing it away.

On the afternoon of December the 13th, Sasha goes on another walk to the local grocery shop. She buys a bag of pasta, a can of organic tomato sauce, and a bunch of vegetables that she liked the colour of. Then, she goes up the street to a local coffee shop, and buys her black coffee.

Even though it’s freezing cold, she still prefers sitting on the bench outside. She sips on her coffee, glad that the warmth of the liquid is slipping through her skin, bringing her gloveless hands to a normal temperature.

“You wore my sweater.”

Sasha looks up.

“It looks nice on you.”

As Shea sits next to her on the bench, Sasha isn’t surprised to see her again. It all feels like a deja vu. Maybe that’s why the universe made her randomly pick the red sweater to wear on this day. It all makes sense.

“It keeps me warm,” Sasha says, referring to the sweater.

“I like your beanie too,” Shea adds, with a smile.

Sasha feels the oh so familiar sense of relief that she’s felt every time she’s seen that smile.

But she doesn’t say anything.

She just stares at Shea.

She notices the return of the violet pixie hair cut. It probably never went anywhere anyway. Shea is wearing an orange leather jacket, black jeans, and knee high boots. The most colourful boots Sasha has ever seen. They are filled with illustrations of random things like planets, and vegetables and body parts.

“Your boots,"Sasha finally speaks up, "they’re amazing.”

Shea grins, “I would’ve let you borrow them if you called me or texted.”

Again, Sasha doesn’t feel shocked by Shea’s words. Everything that comes out of her mouth feels natural.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Sasha admits.

“That’s fine. I just really wanted to take you out,” Shea casually confesses, locking eyes with Sasha, who, for the first time since they started talking, is taken by surprised.

“Why?” She asks, but Shea doesn’t answer. She just smiles.

They sit silently for a few minutes, staring at each other.

For the first time since they met, Sasha wonders how it would feel like to go on a date with Shea, to kiss her.

To fuck her.

Her heart didn’t skip a beat. She didn’t feel so utterly flustered.

She just wondered.

She had never felt comfortable flirting with people or asking them out, even during her most accomplished and successful days. Usually, women would come up to her, and break the ice.

But the difference here is that she is too numb to even get nervous.

So she says it.

“Why don’t we go back to your place?”

Shea’s eyes widen in surprise. Sasha doesn’t even question her choice of words, but she tries to read Shea’s expression. She tries to understand if she’s glad Sasha was straight forward or shocked and turned off.

Shea doesn’t grin or smile, but the look in her eyes makes it very clear to Sasha that she is curious just as much as her.

“My car is parked right around the corner.” Shea simply states as the sexual tension begins to build up between them, and Sasha feels it.

She suddenly forgets about her problems, and focuses on the goal for the day: Shea.

And she likes it. She likes this almost normal feeling of excitement. She doesn’t care if it’s just temporary relief from the black hole inside her chest, and she doesn’t think about the future.

The car ride is silent.

But then Sasha speaks up.

“So why did you stop working out with my grandma?”

“Oh, she just needed a break, because her hips were hurting her.” Shea informs.

Sasha worries for a second.

“It’s fine though, don’t worry.” She’s reassures.

She grabs a vaper from the backseat, keeping her eyes on the road. She takes a hi, and blows the “smoke” out. Sasha just watches. She eyes her mouth, and kiss her in the moment.

“Wanna try?” Shea offers, glancing at Sasha quickly before shifting her gaze back to the road.

“I would, but I don’t want to end up in rehab again.” Sasha says with a straight face.

“Oh I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- It’s actually just essential oils. Nothing harmful.” Shea explains.

Sasha just smiles, “Thank, it’s fine.”

Shea turns on the radio as a attempt to perhaps get rid of the weird awkwardness.

Higher by Rihanna comes on.

“I’m obsessed with this song. Shit.” Shea grins as she enjoys the music.

Sasha just watches her. She’s never heard this song before. It’s an alright song. She doesn’t mind it. But she’s more interested in the way Shea is feeling herself to the lyrics and the tone of the song.

She’s more interested in watching her vape and move her head so rhythmically, as though feeling every word that Rihanna utters so deep in her soul.

She feels the song so much that she starts singing along. With a lot of passion.

A kind of passion that made Sasha ask her if she were a singer.

“God no,” Shea smiles.

Sasha quickly realises that while Shea probably knows way too much about her, she doesn’t enjoy the same privilege.

“Tell me about you,” Sasha questions as the road trip seems longer.

Shea chuckles.

“I’m not that interesting.” She shrugs.

“Anyone who wears these boots in day light is interesting enough to me.” Sasha insists.

“Ha. Well, I live in Chicago, and that’s where we’re going now. I promise I’m not kidnapping you.” Shea winks.

The notion of being kidnapped hadn’t crossed Sasha’s mind. After all she’s the one who suggested going to her place. But now that Shea brought it up, she realises that she wouldn’t even mind being kidnapped by her.

“Are you a full time personal trainer?” Sasha questions.

“You can say that.” Shea replies.  

“Are you always not talkative?” Sasha shoots back.

“I like fashion. I design clothes, shoes, and so on. In my free time.” Shea confesses.

“You made these boots.” Sasha states, like what she said is the most known fact of the century.

“Found a plain knee hight Black boots at a dump, and queered them up.” Shea  laughs.

Hearing her laughter, Sasha forgets to breathe for a second.

They don’t say much after that, because they arrive to Shea’s place.

They park outside a somewhat old yet renovated building.

Shea leads, and Sasha follows.

Her apartment is what Sasha expected.

Art pieces and paintings covering the walls. Books on queer feminist theory hugging the floor. And of course, a corner for her fashion inventions.

“I’m sorry I haven’t cleaned up the mess in a while.” Shea shyly apologises as she takes off her coat, revealing a silk olive green tank top, her nipple outlines visible through the thin fabric. No bra. Sasha stares before looking away.

“I like messes. They give me energy.” She quickly says.  

Shea just giggles, “why am I not surprised?”

She heads to the open kitchen, “Wanna drink anything?”

Sasha just stares at her.

“Non alcoholic.” Shea adds.

“I’m good, thanks.”

She shrugs before chugging down a glass of what seems like cranberry juice.

She’s back in the living room.

“Do you wanna, like, sit down or something?” She stares at Sasha.

But Sasha doesn’t sit down.

Instead, she walks up to her, and slowly, yet fast enough, plants a kiss on her lips.

Shea smiles when Sasha pulls away.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” She smirks.

Sasha just shakes her head.

Shea holds her hand and leads her into the bedroom.

It’s another big beautiful mess that Sasha embraces.

They sit on the bed, and begin to kiss again, this time with more passion as their hand wrap around each other’s bodies.

Sasha feels the thrill that she hasn’t felt in so long. She’s suddenly so thirsty, so hungry for more. She wants it all, and she wants it now.

She pulls away only to remove the sweater and throws it away.

Shea smirks as she takes off her top, revealing her perky breasts and excited nipples.

Sasha pushes her down on the bed. Face to face, she whispers, “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you in your tight shorts and sport bra.”

Shea bites her bottom lip, “Show me how much you’ve wanted me.”

Sasha’s eyes widen as her hands move down Shea’s torso to unzip her jeans.

Shea lifts her legs, making it easy for Sasha to remove the last remaining piece of clothing, her lace panties.

When Shea is fully naked, Sasha sits back and take in the view. Shea runs her fingers through her hair revealing her unshaven armpit that matches her unshaven pussy.

“I hope you don’t mind the hair,” Shea whispers.

Sasha doesn’t answer. Instead, she kisses her lips again, hungrily biting on them. Then she moves to her neck, and sucks on it, tasting the vanilla scented body wash that Shea must have used. She bites on her hard nipples, feeling herself get even more wet the more Shea moans.

She leaves a trail of kisses on her belly, waist, inner thighs.

Shea’s moans get louder.

“Please,” She whispers as Sasha’s breath tickle her swollen clit.

Sasha stares at her pussy.

She wants to feel this way always. She wants to feel this alive. Everyday. She wants to be responsible for someone else’s pleasure.

When she tastes her for the first time, she doesn’t stop until Shea is screaming in pleasure, holding on to Sasha’s bald head, pushing her deeper in.

And just when she’s about to cum, Sasha sticks a finger in, intensifying her orgasm.

Shea is left shaken as she rides the end of her orgasm, eyes closed, the widest smile plastered on her face.

Sasha lays next to her, just watching, observing, registering all the details in her brain.

She finally opens her eyes and grins, “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

“Made your dreams come true.” Sasha smirks.

“Let’s see if you’re going to be cocky for long.”

Shea is about to reach over for Sasha’s bra when she suddenly sits up.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to.” Sasha quickly stops her.

“I want to.” Shea clarifies, she’s confused.

Sasha sighs. Of course this was going to happen.

“I have to go.” She jumps out of bed and puts on her sweater, beanie, and shoes.

“You don’t have to leave, we can hang out.” Shea suggests as she puts on a white robe.

“No, I really need to go.” Sasha protests.

“Okay then, let me drive you back.” Shea says.

Sasha looks at her, she can see the disappointment. So she looks away, embarrassed.

“I’ll just take a cab.”

And she takes the cab. And she goes home. And she thinks about not eating.

It finally hits her.

She doesn’t recognise her body anymore.  

Her stomach isn’t as flat, and her thighs aren’t as thin. She even has some fat on her arms.

She can’t identify with herself anymore.

She has a panic attack. She can’t breathe, she can’t even scream. She wants to cry, but she’s unable to. She just stands in the middle of her room, gasping for air.

Then she finally breaks down, and cries.

She locks the door. She doesn’t want dinner.

She screams at her grandmother. She threatens to do something bad to herself if her grandmother doesn’t leave the door.

She hates herself. She’s aware that she’s being nasty, unreasonable, and immature.

But she can’t help it.

She forces herself into bed, and hopes to sleep for a month so she can wake up “skinny” again.

She doesn’t eat anything for two days. She doesn’t leave her bed for two days.

The third day, she hears the door being unlocked. Her eyes open as she waits for a hospital staff to come get her. Because clearly she’s unfit. Clearly she’s going back to rehab.

But there is no hospital staff.

It’s just Shea.

She slowly walks up to the bed  

Sasha is embarrassed. She wants the ground to swallow her.

She’s about to ask her to leave as Shea sits next to her.

But when she caresses her face, Sasha melts.

They remain silent for a while until Shea speaks up.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t want to go back to rehab.” Sasha quickly blurts outs, burying her face in her palm as she sits up.

“You have to eat.” Shea reminds.

“I can’t.” Sasha protests, still not daring to lock eyes with Shea.

“You can, and you will. If you don’t eat, you’re going back into treatment.” Shea explains. She sounds stern.

Sasha reveals her face again, “You think I don’t know that?” She is defensive.

“You will die.” Shea announces, “If you don’t eat.”

“Maybe I should die.” Sasha gets up and walks towards the window. She stands there, watching the sun sets.

“Grow the fuck up.” Shea shouts.

Sasha is shocked. She turns around quickly, facing.

“You font understand, and you never will.” She says calmly, fighting the tears in her eyes.

Shea rolls her eyes, and let’s out out a disappointed sad laughter.

She seems upset.

“I’ve had bulimia.” She confesses, “For most of my life actually.”

Sasha was not prepared to hear that. She’s about to apologise when Shea speak again.

“I grew the fuck up, and learned how to deal with it. You know why?” Shea asks, but quickly answers, “Because I want to be alive. I want to be in this world.”

Hearing her words, suddenly everything that she’s bottled inside comes out.

It comes out in the form of tears.

She doesn’t even know if she wants to live, but she knows that she needs to feel Shea’s lips again.

So she sits on the bed next to her, and just leans in.

The kiss is burning slow, calming yet exhilarating at the same time.  

Shea doesn’t take permission as she slowly slides her hand inside Sasha’s sweatpants. Sasha doesn’t stop her, because this time her bodily desires are too strong to tame.

She doesn’t move her mouth from Shea’s mouth as she fingers her.

That’s when she discovers her talented fingers.

Sasha’s tears haven’t even dried out on her cheeks as she rides her orgasm refusing to stop tongue battling with Shea.

She throws herself at Shea, wrapping her arms around her neck.

In effect her post bliss, she looks into Shea’s dark eyes, and realises something.

She realises that even if she’s lost and uncertain about the world, she will still take a chance only to have this moment again. And again. And again.

———

Mr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602

Theater previews: “Prometheus/Redux” at Touchstone, “Wizard of Oz” at Civic Theatre. A lawyer discusses co-op and condo renovations: Where to start in the planning process? - by C. Jaye Berger. Inside Orange County’s renovation of Witte Hall: AC, nongender bathrooms, more lounges. Home Renovation Projects with the Best and Worst Return on Investment. A bathroom remodel can make a huge impact on your homes comfort level, not to mention its resale value. As you research bathroom ideas and browse photos, make sure to save any bathrooms that catch your eye, then figure out some of the common features that seem to recur throughout.

I partnered with Home Depot on a DIY small bathroom remodel. This bath renovation included how to install a shower surround with tile, installing a toilet, new vanity and lighting. The shower tile … Lowe’s bathroom installation services can have you enjoying your upgrades in no time. We’ll match you with qualified independent professionals in toilet installation , shower installation , shower door installation and more. A house truly becomes your own not when you sign the deed, but after you customize it to your unique lifestyle. Our home improvement tips help you rock those upcoming remodeling and yard projects. Check out examples of real-life successes (and flops!), plus clever hacks and ideas from the experts. Houzz is the new way to design your home. Browse 18 million interior design photos, home decor, decorating ideas and home professionals online. Find DIY bathroom project ideas for remodeling and installing cabinets, countertops, vanities, bath tile and more with before and after and how-to photos from DIYNetwork.com. Wayfair offers thousands of design ideas for every room in every style. Get inspired with bathroomideas and photos for your home refresh or remodel. Skip to Main Content Small Bathroom Makeover Ideas. Paint the bathroom. The power of paint is amazing! The old paint was a yellowish white which made the bathroom feel drab and boring. I perked it up with a fresh coat of paint in 1 hour!! More details on the paint color and tips and tricks to painting quickly here. Replace old baseboards. Or just repaint them. Small Bathroom ideas Small Bathroom ideas - Modern Bathroom Remodel - Sustainablebc.org. Add scented candles to make the ambiance more tranquil and soothing. Place some red towels to create a mood for passion filled nights. Whatever, you might do in the bathroom, let the space be a reflection of your mind. 23 Stylish Bathroom Design Ideas. Shop a similar look: ornate mirror, $327, wayfair.com A tall cubby takes up almost no floor space but multiplies storage in a snap, especially in the absence of a vanity or medicine cabinet. Put out your prettiest products, but remember makeup, nail polish and perfume should stay far away from the humidity. If your bathroom is a small space in your home where you don’t spend much time, it’s time to think about alternatives. Whether you’re going for a full renovation or just a refresh; making your bathroom design brighter, cleaner and more attractive will make you feel happier to use it every day. Bathroom Bathroom Accessories Bathroom Cabinets & Vanities Bathroom Remodeling Bathtub Liners & Refinishing Ideas to Save Money during Your Bathroom Remodel Experts agree that bathroom remodeling, even in larger markets such as Chicago, doesn’t have to cost thousands of dollars or weeks of intensive labor. All-Inclusive Bathroom Remodeling. Since our founding in 2000, One Week Bath has strived to deliver quality, innovation, and exceptional customer experience. Planning and designing a bathroom is a complex process, and too many contractors fall short at one stage or another. Small Bathroom Remodel Ideas - Have you ever visiting your grandpa old house?Have you ever listen to their story about their old house looks like? One common model of their old house design were small bathroom, it’s just 5-8 feet in average. Bathroom remodeling guide: Dos and don'ts … This website lets you keep a digital ideas file of inspiring images you find on the Internet, say for tile styles, favorite fixtures, and clever … Bathroom Remodel Ideas (Ultimate Guide) Welcome to our page dedicated to bathroom remodel ideas. Nowadays, remodeling the kitchen and the bathrooms are two of the best ways to add money to a home’s resale value. Bathroom Renovation Ideas our Contractors Brought to Life. Getting bathroom renovations done isn’t like impulse purchases at the cash register. They require some research. There are so many questions you should be asking yoursel 25 Useful Small Bathroom Remodel Ideas A Classic Touch. The image given displays a clear classic remodel bathroom idea with… Cute Courtly Water Closet. The given image displays a bathroom remodel idea with a clear steam room. Ultramodern Sauna Styles. The given image is a contemporary Remodel … BATHROOM RENOVATION IDEAS - The best technology items like the Apple Watch or apple iphone 6, the Tesla S sportscar or a Bang as well as Olufsen BeoVision TELEVISION all have something alike: the most recent in ingenious, contemporary layout. They certainly spent their fair share on this bathroom remodel, but according to our bathroom renovations cost estimator, the average cost to remodel a bathroom is $7,920. Arched ceilings are a great way to add the idea of extra square footage to any small bathroom. Re-Bath’s installation technicians handle every aspect of your remodel—from removal to installation—in just a few days, saving you time and stress. Long-Term Warranties With our long-term warranties, you can be confident in your satisfaction, care and maintenance of your bathroom. Bath Planet’s Beautiful Bathrooms on a Budget If you’re thinking about getting started with a quick and easy home remodeling project this summer but aren’t sure where to start, consider the bathroom.

Before you start thinking about design ideas, colours, and choosing shower heads and tiles, you need to sit down and work out exactly what you want to achieve with your bathroom renovation. Reviews on Bathroom Remodel in Redmond, WA - Luxury Bath of Seattle, Remont Construction, NW Quality Construction, AG Design and Build, Your Prime Contractor, Interactive Remodeling, Handy Andy the Handyman, LLC, Eagle Remodel, Creative Kitchens &… Bathroom interior design ideas have evolved considerably thorough the years. Nowadays, bathrooms are no longer simple tiled showers or baths but more urbane living spaces. For instance, floors and walls are generally made of tiles for functionality, hygiene, ornamentation, and resistance to water. Cheap bathroom renovation ideas. Depending on how much love your bathroom needs, pick one or more of the below ideas for a cheap bathroom renovation or weekend makeover. These ideas are great for people who are already happy with the general layout of their bathroom, and are looking for an aesthetic update. Offers personalized kitchen and bath remodeling. Top quality kitchen cabinets, bathroom vanities, premium lighting, plumbing. Serving Utica, Woodhaven, Clarkston and vicinity. It’s your very own personal space where you can do whatever you want with it, thanks to it being away from the rest of the home. Furthermore, it’s one of those areas your imagination can run wild in. We have put together a guide on master bathroom remodeling ideas to help you create that magical space you deserve. Big Impressions in Small Spaces Bathroom Redo or refresh? Sometimes you’re looking for a new sink. Other times, some woven baskets do the trick. Whatever your needs, our bathroom department carries furniture and accessories that cover them all. For homeowner in Toronto looking to have bathroom renovations, Kitchen and Bath is the clear choice. We remodel bathrooms of all sizes and to suit many different styles throughout the GTA. Make your dream bathroom a reality.

Vanities are getting bigger and bigger every year, and for good reason — bathroom storage is in constant demand. Because of this, think about ways that you can add more to your space. A lot of successful bathroom ideas feature an oversized or double vanity, while wall-mounted cabinets and medicine cabinets are helpful too. If space is at a minimum, recessed or built-in designs can help save precious elbow room while adding enough spots to stash your toiletries. Whether it’s a tiny powder room or a shower stall with barely enough room to scrub, a small bathroom can make mornings even worse than they already are. But you don’t need to move, you just need … Bathroom Ideas Welcome to Bathroom Ideas, a one-stop resource for everything bathroom-related. Whether you’re searching for inspiration and design tips for your bathroom or looking for some expert advice, you’ll find it all here.

Find inspiration for a beautiful bathroom, improve your bathroom functionality and save water and money with our new bath fixtures. A new vanity with coordinating mirror and modern faucet will go a long way toward improving the style of your bathroom. Add storage cabinets, light fixtures and bathroom accessories to make it complete. Whether it’s a tiny powder room or a shower stall with barely enough room to scrub, a small bathroom can make mornings even worse than they already are. But you don’t need to move, you just need … Is it time for a new bathroom? If the answer is yes and you need design ideas, don’t miss these photos of fabulous bathrooms from contemporary master baths to traditional powder rooms.

Mr Build Co Mr Build Co

Bathroom Builders Bathroom Builders Near Me Bathroom Renovation Builders Bathroom Ideas Builders Elite Bathroom Builders Best Bathroom Builders Bathroom Contractors Bathroom Contractors Near Me Bathroom Contractors In My Area Bathroom Renovations Under $10000 Bathroom Remodelers Bathroom Remodelers Near Me Bathroom Remodels On A Budget Bathroom Remodelers In My Area Bathroom Remodels Under 5000

Mr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602

Mr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602

Mr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602

Mr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602 body,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 font-family: "Lato", sans-serif .w3-bar,h1,button font-family: "Montserrat", sans-serif .fa-anchor,.fa-coffee font-size:200px /* W3.CSS 4.07 December 2017 by Jan Egil and Borge Refsnes */ htmlbox-sizing:border-box*,*:before,*:afterbox-sizing:inherit /* Extract from normalize.css by Nicolas Gallagher and Jonathan Neal git.io/normalize */ html-ms-text-size-adjust:100%;-webkit-text-size-adjust:100%bodymargin:0 article,aside,details,figcaption,figure,footer,header,main,menu,nav,section,summarydisplay:block audio,canvas,progress,videodisplay:inline-blockprogressvertical-align:baseline audio:not([controls])display:none;height:0[hidden],templatedisplay:none abackground-color:transparent;-webkit-text-decoration-skip:objects a:active,a:hoveroutline-width:0abbrMr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602border-bottom:none;text-decoration:underline;text-decoration:underline dotted dfnfont-style:italicmarkbackground:#ff0;color:#000 smallfont-size:80%sub,supfont-size:75%;line-height:0;position:relative;vertical-align:baseline subbottom:-0.25emsuptop:-0.5emfiguremargin:1em 40pximgborder-style:nonesvg:not(:root)overflow:hidden code,kbd,pre,sampfont-family:monospace,monospace;font-size:1emhrbox-sizing:content-box;height:0;overflow:visible button,input,select,textareafont:inherit;margin:0optgroupfont-weight:bold button,inputoverflow:visiblebutton,selecttext-transform:none button,html [type=button],[type=reset],[type=submit]-webkit-appearance:button button::-moz-focus-inner, [type=button]::-moz-focus-inner, [type=reset]::-moz-focus-inner, [type=submit]::-moz-focus-innerborder-style:none;padding:0 button:-moz-focusring, [type=button]:-moz-focusring, [type=reset]:-moz-focusring, [type=submit]:-moz-focusringoutline:1px dotted ButtonText fieldsetborder:1px solid #c0c0c0;margin:0 2px;padding:.35em .625em .75em legendcolor:inherit;display:table;max-width:100%;padding:0;white-space:normaltextareaoverflow:auto [type=checkbox],[type=radio]padding:0 [type=number]::-webkit-inner-spin-button,[type=number]::-webkit-outer-spin-buttonheight:auto [type=search]-webkit-appearance:textfield;outline-offset:-2px [type=search]::-webkit-search-cancel-button,[type=search]::-webkit-search-decoration-webkit-appearance:none ::-webkit-input-placeholdercolor:inherit;opacity:0.54 ::-webkit-file-upload-button-webkit-appearance:button;font:inherit /* End extract */ html,bodyfont-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:15px;line-height:1.5htmloverflow-x:hidden h1font-size:36pxh2font-size:30pxh3font-size:24pxh4font-size:20pxh5font-size:18pxh6font-size:16px.w3-seriffont-family:serif h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6font-family:"Segoe UI",Arial,sans-serif;font-weight:400;margin:10px 0.w3-wideletter-spacing:4px hrborder:0;border-top:1px solid #eee;margin:20px 0 .w3-imagemax-width:100%;height:autoimgvertical-align:middleacolor:inherit .w3-table,.w3-table-allborder-collapse:collapse;border-spacing:0;width:100%;display:table.w3-table-allborder:1px solid #ccc .w3-bordered tr,.w3-table-all trborder-bottom:1px solid #ddd.w3-striped tbody tr:nth-child(even)background-color:#f1f1f1 .w3-table-all tr:nth-child(odd)background-color:#fff.w3-table-all tr:nth-child(even)background-color:#f1f1f1 .w3-hoverable tbody tr:hover,.w3-ul.w3-hoverable li:hoverbackground-color:#ccc.w3-centered tr th,.w3-centered tr tdtext-align:center .w3-table td,.w3-table th,.w3-table-all td,.w3-table-all thpadding:8px 8px;display:table-cell;text-align:left;vertical-align:top .w3-table th:first-child,.w3-table td:first-child,.w3-table-all th:first-child,.w3-table-all td:first-childpadding-left:16px .w3-btn,.w3-buttonborder:none;display:inline-block;outline:0;padding:8px 16px;vertical-align:middle;overflow:hidden;text-decoration:none;color:inherit;background-color:inherit;text-align:center;cursor:pointer;white-space:nowrap .w3-btn:hoverbox-shadow:0 8px 16px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.2),0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.19) .w3-btn,.w3-button-webkit-touch-callout:none;-webkit-user-select:none;-khtml-user-select:none;-moz-user-select:none;-ms-user-select:none;user-select:none .w3-disabled,.w3-btn:disabled,.w3-button:disabledcursor:not-allowed;opacity:0.3.w3-disabled *,:disabled *pointer-events:none .w3-btn.w3-disabled:hover,.w3-btn:disabled:hoverbox-shadow:none .w3-badge,.w3-tagbackground-color:#000;color:#fff;display:inline-block;padding-left:8px;padding-right:8px;text-align:center.w3-badgeborder-radius:50% .w3-ullist-style-type:none;padding:0;margin:0.w3-ul lipadding:8px 16px;border-bottom:1px solid #ddd.w3-ul li:last-childborder-bottom:none .w3-tooltip,.w3-display-containerposition:relative.w3-tooltip .w3-textdisplay:none.w3-tooltip:hover .w3-textdisplay:inline-block .w3-ripple:activeopacity:0.5.w3-rippletransition:opacity 0s .w3-inputpadding:8px;display:block;border:none;border-bottom:1px solid #ccc;width:100% .w3-selectpadding:9px 0;width:100%;border:none;border-bottom:1px solid #ccc .w3-dropdown-click,.w3-dropdown-hoverposition:relative;display:inline-block;cursor:pointer .w3-dropdown-hover:hover .w3-dropdown-contentdisplay:block;z-index:1 .w3-dropdown-hover:first-child,.w3-dropdown-click:hoverbackground-color:#ccc;color:#000 .w3-dropdown-hover:hover > .w3-button:first-child,.w3-dropdown-click:hover > .w3-button:first-childbackground-color:#ccc;color:#000 .w3-dropdown-contentcursor:auto;color:#000;background-color:#fff;display:none;position:absolute;min-width:160px;margin:0;padding:0 .w3-check,.w3-radiowidth:24px;height:24px;position:relative;top:6px .w3-sidebarheight:100%;width:200px;background-color:#fff;position:fixed!important;z-index:1;overflow:auto .w3-bar-block .w3-dropdown-hover,.w3-bar-block .w3-dropdown-clickwidth:100% .w3-bar-block .w3-dropdown-hover .w3-dropdown-content,.w3-bar-block .w3-dropdown-click .w3-dropdown-contentmin-width:100% .w3-bar-block .w3-dropdown-hover .w3-button,.w3-bar-block .w3-dropdown-click .w3-buttonwidth:100%;text-align:left;padding:8px 16px .w3-main,#maintransition:margin-left .4s .w3-modalz-index:3;display:none;padding-top:100px;position:fixed;left:0;top:0;width:100%;height:100%;overflow:auto;background-color:rgb(0,0,0);background-color:rgba(0,0,0,0.4) .w3-modal-contentmargin:auto;background-color:#fff;position:relative;padding:0;outline:0;width:600px .w3-barwidth:100%;overflow:hidden.w3-center .w3-bardisplay:inline-block;width:auto .w3-bar .w3-bar-itempadding:8px 16px;float:left;width:auto;border:none;outline:none;display:block .w3-bar .w3-dropdown-hover,.w3-bar .w3-dropdown-clickposition:static;float:left .w3-bar .w3-buttonwhite-space:normal .w3-bar-block .w3-bar-itemwidth:100%;display:block;padding:8px 16px;text-align:left;border:none;outline:none;white-space:normal;float:none .w3-bar-block.w3-center .w3-bar-itemtext-align:center.w3-blockdisplay:block;width:100% .w3-responsivedisplay:block;overflow-x:auto .w3-container:after,.w3-container:before,.w3-panel:after,.w3-panel:before,.w3-row:after,.w3-row:before,.w3-row-padding:after,.w3-row-padding:before, .w3-cell-row:before,.w3-cell-row:after,.w3-clear:after,.w3-clear:before,.w3-bar:before,.w3-bar:aftercontent:"";display:table;clear:both .w3-col,.w3-half,.w3-third,.w3-twothird,.w3-threequarter,.w3-quarterfloat:left;width:100% .w3-col.s1width:8.33333%.w3-col.s2width:16.66666%.w3-col.s3width:24.99999%.w3-col.s4width:33.33333% .w3-col.s5width:41.66666%.w3-col.s6width:49.99999%.w3-col.s7width:58.33333%.w3-col.s8width:66.66666% .w3-col.s9width:74.99999%.w3-col.s10width:83.33333%.w3-col.s11width:91.66666%.w3-col.s12width:99.99999% @media (min-width:601px).w3-col.m1width:8.33333%.w3-col.m2width:16.66666%.w3-col.m3,.w3-quarterwidth:24.99999%.w3-col.m4,.w3-thirdwidth:33.33333% .w3-col.m5width:41.66666%.w3-col.m6,.w3-halfwidth:49.99999%.w3-col.m7width:58.33333%.w3-col.m8,.w3-twothirdwidth:66.66666% .w3-col.m9,.w3-threequarterwidth:74.99999%.w3-col.m10width:83.33333%.w3-col.m11width:91.66666%.w3-col.m12width:99.99999% @media (min-width:993px).w3-col.l1width:8.33333%.w3-col.l2width:16.66666%.w3-col.l3width:24.99999%.w3-col.l4width:33.33333% .w3-col.l5width:41.66666%.w3-col.l6width:49.99999%.w3-col.l7width:58.33333%.w3-col.l8width:66.66666% .w3-col.l9width:74.99999%.w3-col.l10width:83.33333%.w3-col.l11width:91.66666%.w3-col.l12width:99.99999% .w3-contentmax-width:100%;margin:auto.w3-restoverflow:hidden .w3-cell-rowdisplay:table;width:100%.w3-celldisplay:table-cell .w3-cell-topvertical-align:top.w3-cell-middlevertical-align:middle.w3-cell-bottomvertical-align:bottom .w3-hidedisplay:none!important.w3-show-block,.w3-showdisplay:block!important.w3-show-inline-blockdisplay:inline-block!important @media (max-width:600px).w3-modal-contentmargin:0 10px;width:auto!important.w3-modalpadding-top:30px .w3-dropdown-hover.w3-mobile .w3-dropdown-content,.w3-dropdown-click.w3-mobile .w3-dropdown-contentposition:relative .w3-hide-smalldisplay:none!important.w3-mobiledisplay:block;width:100%!important.w3-bar-item.w3-mobile,.w3-dropdown-hover.w3-mobile,.w3-dropdown-click.w3-mobiletext-align:center .w3-dropdown-hover.w3-mobile,.w3-dropdown-hover.w3-mobile .w3-btn,.w3-dropdown-hover.w3-mobile .w3-button,.w3-dropdown-click.w3-mobile,.w3-dropdown-click.w3-mobile .w3-btn,.w3-dropdown-click.w3-mobile .w3-buttonwidth:100% @media (max-width:768px).w3-modal-contentwidth:500px.w3-modalpadding-top:50px @media (min-width:993px).w3-modal-contentwidth:900px.w3-hide-largedisplay:none!important.w3-sidebar.w3-collapsedisplay:block!important @media (max-width:992px) and (min-width:601px).w3-hide-mediumdisplay:none!important @media (max-width:992px).w3-sidebar.w3-collapsedisplay:none.w3-mainmargin-left:0!important;margin-right:0!important .w3-top,.w3-bottomposition:fixed;width:100%;z-index:1.w3-toptop:0.w3-bottombottom:0 .w3-overlayposition:fixed;display:none;width:100%;height:100%;top:0;left:0;right:0;bottom:0;background-color:rgba(0,0,0,0.5);z-index:2 .w3-display-topleftposition:absolute;left:0;top:0.w3-display-toprightposition:absolute;right:0;top:0 .w3-display-bottomleftposition:absolute;left:0;bottom:0.w3-display-bottomrightposition:absolute;right:0;bottom:0 .w3-display-middleposition:absolute;top:50%;left:50%;transform:translate(-50%,-50%);-ms-transform:translate(-50%,-50%) .w3-display-leftposition:absolute;top:50%;left:0%;transform:translate(0%,-50%);-ms-transform:translate(-0%,-50%) .w3-display-rightposition:absolute;top:50%;right:0%;transform:translate(0%,-50%);-ms-transform:translate(0%,-50%) .w3-display-topmiddleposition:absolute;left:50%;top:0;transform:translate(-50%,0%);-ms-transform:translate(-50%,0%) .w3-display-bottommiddleposition:absolute;left:50%;bottom:0;transform:translate(-50%,0%);-ms-transform:translate(-50%,0%) .w3-display-container:hover .w3-display-hoverdisplay:block.w3-display-container:hover span.w3-display-hoverdisplay:inline-block.w3-display-hoverdisplay:none .w3-display-positionposition:absolute .w3-circleborder-radius:50% .w3-round-smallborder-radius:2px.w3-round,.w3-round-mediumborder-radius:4px.w3-round-largeborder-radius:8px.w3-round-xlargeborder-radius:16px.w3-round-xxlargeborder-radius:32px .w3-row-padding,.w3-row-padding>.w3-half,.w3-row-padding>.w3-third,.w3-row-padding>.w3-twothird,.w3-row-padding>.w3-threequarter,.w3-row-padding>.w3-quarter,.w3-row-padding>.w3-colpadding:0 8px .w3-container,.w3-panelpadding:0.01em 16px.w3-panelmargin-top:16px;margin-bottom:16px .w3-code,.w3-codespanfont-family:Consolas,"courier new";font-size:16px .w3-codewidth:auto;background-color:#fff;padding:8px 12px;border-left:4px solid #4CAF50;word-wrap:break-word .w3-codespancolor:crimson;background-color:#f1f1f1;padding-left:4px;padding-right:4px;font-size:110% .w3-card,.w3-card-2box-shadow:0 2px 5px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.16),0 2px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.12) .w3-card-4,.w3-hover-shadow:hoverbox-shadow:0 4px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.2),0 4px 20px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.19) .w3-spinanimation:w3-spin 2s infinite linear@keyframes w3-spin0%transform:rotate(0deg)100%transform:rotate(359deg) .w3-animate-fadinganimation:fading 10s infinite@keyframes fading0%opacity:050%opacity:1100%opacity:0 .w3-animate-opacityanimation:opac 0.8s@keyframes opacfromopacity:0 toopacity:1 .w3-animate-topposition:relative;animation:animatetop 0.4s@keyframes animatetopfromtop:-300px;opacity:0 totop:0;opacity:1 .w3-animate-leftposition:relative;animation:animateleft 0.4s@keyframes animateleftfromleft:-300px;opacity:0 toleft:0;opacity:1 .w3-animate-rightposition:relative;animation:animateright 0.4s@keyframes animaterightfromright:-300px;opacity:0 toright:0;opacity:1 .w3-animate-bottomposition:relative;animation:animatebottom 0.4s@keyframes animatebottomfrombottom:-300px;opacity:0 tobottom:0;opacity:1 .w3-animate-zoom animation:animatezoom 0.6s@keyframes animatezoomfromtransform:scale(0) totransform:scale(1) .w3-animate-inputtransition:width 0.4s ease-in-out.w3-animate-input:focuswidth:100%!important .w3-opacity,.w3-hover-opacity:hoveropacity:0.60.w3-opacity-off,.w3-hover-opacity-off:hoveropacity:1 .w3-opacity-maxopacity:0.25.w3-opacity-minopacity:0.75 .w3-greyscale-max,.w3-grayscale-max,.w3-hover-greyscale:hover,.w3-hover-grayscale:hoverfilter:grayscale(100%) .w3-greyscale,.w3-grayscalefilter:grayscale(75%).w3-greyscale-min,.w3-grayscale-minfilter:grayscale(50%) .w3-sepiafilter:sepia(75%).w3-sepia-max,.w3-hover-sepia:hoverfilter:sepia(100%).w3-sepia-minfilter:sepia(50%) .w3-tinyfont-size:10px!important.w3-smallfont-size:12px!important.w3-mediumfont-size:15px!important.w3-largefont-size:18px!important .w3-xlargefont-size:24px!important.w3-xxlargefont-size:36px!important.w3-xxxlargefont-size:48px!important.w3-jumbofont-size:64px!important .w3-left-aligntext-align:left!important.w3-right-aligntext-align:right!important.w3-justifytext-align:justify!important.w3-centertext-align:center!important .w3-border-0border:0!important.w3-borderborder:1px solid #ccc!important .w3-border-topborder-top:1px solid #ccc!important.w3-border-bottomborder-bottom:1px solid #ccc!important .w3-border-leftborder-left:1px solid #ccc!important.w3-border-rightborder-right:1px solid #ccc!important .w3-topbarborder-top:6px solid #ccc!important.w3-bottombarborder-bottom:6px solid #ccc!important .w3-leftbarborder-left:6px solid #ccc!important.w3-rightbarborder-right:6px solid #ccc!important .w3-section,.w3-codemargin-top:16px!important;margin-bottom:16px!important .w3-marginmargin:16px!important.w3-margin-topmargin-top:16px!important.w3-margin-bottommargin-bottom:16px!important .w3-margin-leftmargin-left:16px!important.w3-margin-rightmargin-right:16px!important .w3-padding-smallpadding:4px 8px!important.w3-paddingpadding:8px 16px!important.w3-padding-largepadding:12px 24px!important .w3-padding-16padding-top:16px!important;padding-bottom:16px!important.w3-padding-24padding-top:24px!important;padding-bottom:24px!important .w3-padding-32padding-top:32px!important;padding-bottom:32px!important.w3-padding-48padding-top:48px!important;padding-bottom:48px!important .w3-padding-64padding-top:64px!important;padding-bottom:64px!important .w3-leftfloat:left!important.w3-rightfloat:right!important .w3-button:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#ccc!important .w3-transparent,.w3-hover-none:hoverbackground-color:transparent!important .w3-hover-none:hoverbox-shadow:none!important /* Colors */ .w3-amber,.w3-hover-amber:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#ffc107!important .w3-aqua,.w3-hover-aqua:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#00ffff!important .w3-blue,.w3-hover-blue:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#2196F3!important .w3-light-blue,.w3-hover-light-blue:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#87CEEB!important .w3-brown,.w3-hover-brown:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#795548!important .w3-cyan,.w3-hover-cyan:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#00bcd4!important .w3-blue-grey,.w3-hover-blue-grey:hover,.w3-blue-gray,.w3-hover-blue-gray:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#607d8b!important .w3-green,.w3-hover-green:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#4CAF50!important .w3-light-green,.w3-hover-light-green:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#8bc34a!important .w3-indigo,.w3-hover-indigo:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#3f51b5!important .w3-khaki,.w3-hover-khaki:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#f0e68c!important .w3-lime,.w3-hover-lime:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#cddc39!important .w3-orange,.w3-hover-orange:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#ff9800!important .w3-deep-orange,.w3-hover-deep-orange:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#ff5722!important .w3-pink,.w3-hover-pink:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#e91e63!important .w3-purple,.w3-hover-purple:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#9c27b0!important .w3-deep-purple,.w3-hover-deep-purple:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#673ab7!important .w3-red,.w3-hover-red:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#f44336!important .w3-sand,.w3-hover-sand:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#fdf5e6!important .w3-teal,.w3-hover-teal:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#009688!important .w3-yellow,.w3-hover-yellow:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#ffeb3b!important .w3-white,.w3-hover-white:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#fff!important .w3-black,.w3-hover-black:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#000!important .w3-grey,.w3-hover-grey:hover,.w3-gray,.w3-hover-gray:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#9e9e9e!important .w3-light-grey,.w3-hover-light-grey:hover,.w3-light-gray,.w3-hover-light-gray:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#f1f1f1!important .w3-dark-grey,.w3-hover-dark-grey:hover,.w3-dark-gray,.w3-hover-dark-gray:hovercolor:#fff!important;background-color:#616161!important .w3-pale-red,.w3-hover-pale-red:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#ffdddd!important .w3-pale-green,.w3-hover-pale-green:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#ddffdd!important .w3-pale-yellow,.w3-hover-pale-yellow:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#ffffcc!important .w3-pale-blue,.w3-hover-pale-blue:hovercolor:#000!important;background-color:#ddffff!important .w3-text-amber,.w3-hover-text-amber:hovercolor:#ffc107!important .w3-text-aqua,.w3-hover-text-aqua:hovercolor:#00ffff!important .w3-text-blue,.w3-hover-text-blue:hovercolor:#2196F3!important .w3-text-light-blue,.w3-hover-text-light-blue:hovercolor:#87CEEB!important .w3-text-brown,.w3-hover-text-brown:hovercolor:#795548!important .w3-text-cyan,.w3-hover-text-cyan:hovercolor:#00bcd4!important .w3-text-blue-grey,.w3-hover-text-blue-grey:hover,.w3-text-blue-gray,.w3-hover-text-blue-gray:hovercolor:#607d8b!important .w3-text-green,.w3-hover-text-green:hovercolor:#4CAF50!important .w3-text-light-green,.w3-hover-text-light-green:hovercolor:#8bc34a!important .w3-text-indigo,.w3-hover-text-indigo:hovercolor:#3f51b5!important .w3-text-khaki,.w3-hover-text-khaki:hovercolor:#b4aa50!important .w3-text-lime,.w3-hover-text-lime:hovercolor:#cddc39!important .w3-text-orange,.w3-hover-text-orange:hovercolor:#ff9800!important .w3-text-deep-orange,.w3-hover-text-deep-orange:hovercolor:#ff5722!important .w3-text-pink,.w3-hover-text-pink:hovercolor:#e91e63!important .w3-text-purple,.w3-hover-text-purple:hovercolor:#9c27b0!important .w3-text-deep-purple,.w3-hover-text-deep-purple:hovercolor:#673ab7!important .w3-text-red,.w3-hover-text-red:hovercolor:#f44336!important .w3-text-sand,.w3-hover-text-sand:hovercolor:#fdf5e6!important .w3-text-teal,.w3-hover-text-teal:hovercolor:#009688!important .w3-text-yellow,.w3-hover-text-yellow:hovercolor:#d2be0e!important .w3-text-white,.w3-hover-text-white:hovercolor:#fff!important .w3-text-black,.w3-hover-text-black:hovercolor:#000!important .w3-text-grey,.w3-hover-text-grey:hover,.w3-text-gray,.w3-hover-text-gray:hovercolor:#757575!important .w3-text-light-grey,.w3-hover-text-light-grey:hover,.w3-text-light-gray,.w3-hover-text-light-gray:hovercolor:#f1f1f1!important .w3-text-dark-grey,.w3-hover-text-dark-grey:hover,.w3-text-dark-gray,.w3-hover-text-dark-gray:hovercolor:#3a3a3a!important .w3-border-amber,.w3-hover-border-amber:hoverborder-color:#ffc107!important .w3-border-aqua,.w3-hover-border-aqua:hoverborder-color:#00ffff!important .w3-border-blue,.w3-hover-border-blue:hoverborder-color:#2196F3!important .w3-border-light-blue,.w3-hover-border-light-blue:hoverborder-color:#87CEEB!important .w3-border-brown,.w3-hover-border-brown:hoverborder-color:#795548!important .w3-border-cyan,.w3-hover-border-cyan:hoverborder-color:#00bcd4!important .w3-border-blue-grey,.w3-hover-border-blue-grey:hover,.w3-border-blue-gray,.w3-hover-border-blue-gray:hoverborder-color:#607d8b!important .w3-border-green,.w3-hover-border-green:hoverborder-color:#4CAF50!important .w3-border-light-green,.w3-hover-border-light-green:hoverborder-color:#8bc34a!important .w3-border-indigo,.w3-hover-border-indigo:hoverborder-color:#3f51b5!important .w3-border-khaki,.w3-hover-border-khaki:hoverborder-color:#f0e68c!important .w3-border-lime,.w3-hover-border-lime:hoverborder-color:#cddc39!important .w3-border-orange,.w3-hover-border-orange:hoverborder-color:#ff9800!important .w3-border-deep-orange,.w3-hover-border-deep-orange:hoverborder-color:#ff5722!important .w3-border-pink,.w3-hover-border-pink:hoverborder-color:#e91e63!important .w3-border-purple,.w3-hover-border-purple:hoverborder-color:#9c27b0!important .w3-border-deep-purple,.w3-hover-border-deep-purple:hoverborder-color:#673ab7!important .w3-border-red,.w3-hover-border-red:hoverborder-color:#f44336!important .w3-border-sand,.w3-hover-border-sand:hoverborder-color:#fdf5e6!important .w3-border-teal,.w3-hover-border-teal:hoverborder-color:#009688!important .w3-border-yellow,.w3-hover-border-yellow:hoverborder-color:#ffeb3b!important .w3-border-white,.w3-hover-border-white:hoverborder-color:#fff!important .w3-border-black,.w3-hover-border-black:hoverborder-color:#000!important .w3-border-grey,.w3-hover-border-grey:hover,.w3-border-gray,.w3-hover-border-gray:hoverborder-color:#9e9e9e!important .w3-border-light-grey,.w3-hover-border-light-grey:hover,.w3-border-light-gray,.w3-hover-border-light-gray:hoverborder-color:#f1f1f1!important .w3-border-dark-grey,.w3-hover-border-dark-grey:hover,.w3-border-dark-gray,.w3-hover-border-dark-gray:hoverborder-color:#616161!important .w3-border-pale-red,.w3-hover-border-pale-red:hoverborder-color:#ffe7e7!important.w3-border-pale-green,.w3-hover-border-pale-green:hoverborder-color:#e7ffe7!important .w3-border-pale-yellow,.w3-hover-border-pale-yellow:hoverborder-color:#ffffcc!important.w3-border-pale-blue,.w3-hover-border-pale-blue:hoverborder-color:#e7ffff!important /* latin-ext */ @font-face font-family: 'Lato'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Lato Regular'), local('Lato-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/lato/v14/UyBMtLsHKBKXelqf4x7VRQ.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0100-024F, U+0259, U+1E00-1EFF, U+20A0-20AB, U+20AD-20CF, U+2C60-2C7F, U+A720-A7FF; /* latin */ @font-face font-family: 'Lato'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Lato Regular'), local('Lato-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/lato/v14/1YwB1sO8YE1Lyjf12WNiUA.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0000-00FF, U+0131, U+0152-0153, U+02BB-02BC, U+02C6, U+02DA, U+02DC, U+2000-206F, U+2074, U+20AC, U+2122, U+2212, U+2215; /* cyrillic-ext */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/rBHvpRWBkgyW99dXT88n7yEAvth_LlrfE80CYdSH47w.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0460-052F, U+1C80-1C88, U+20B4, U+2DE0-2DFF, U+A640-A69F, U+FE2E-FE2F; /* cyrillic */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/NX1NravqaXESu9fFv7KuqiEAvth_LlrfE80CYdSH47w.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0400-045F, U+0490-0491, U+04B0-04B1, U+2116; /* vietnamese */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/SKK6Nusyv8QPNMtI4j9J2yEAvth_LlrfE80CYdSH47w.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0102-0103, U+0110-0111, U+1EA0-1EF9, U+20AB; /* latin-ext */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/gFXtEMCp1m_YzxsBpKl68iEAvth_LlrfE80CYdSH47w.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0100-024F, U+0259, U+1E00-1EFF, U+20A0-20AB, U+20AD-20CF, U+2C60-2C7F, U+A720-A7FF; /* latin */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/zhcz-_WihjSQC0oHJ9TCYPk_vArhqVIZ0nv9q090hN8.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0000-00FF, U+0131, U+0152-0153, U+02BB-02BC, U+02C6, U+02DA, U+02DC, U+2000-206F, U+2074, U+20AC, U+2122, U+2212, U+2215; /* cyrillic-ext */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/rBHvpRWBkgyW99dXT88n7yEAvth_LlrfE80CYdSH47w.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0460-052F, U+1C80-1C88, U+20B4, U+2DE0-2DFF, U+A640-A69F, U+FE2E-FE2F; /* cyrillic */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/NX1NravqaXESu9fFv7KuqiEAvth_LlrfE80CYdSH47w.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0400-045F, U+0490-0491, U+04B0-04B1, U+2116; /* vietnamese */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/SKK6Nusyv8QPNMtI4j9J2yEAvth_LlrfE80CYdSH47w.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0102-0103, U+0110-0111, U+1EA0-1EF9, U+20AB; /* latin-ext */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/gFXtEMCp1m_YzxsBpKl68iEAvth_LlrfE80CYdSH47w.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0100-024F, U+0259, U+1E00-1EFF, U+20A0-20AB, U+20AD-20CF, U+2C60-2C7F, U+A720-A7FF; /* latin */ @font-face font-family: 'Montserrat'; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; src: local('Montserrat Regular'), local('Montserrat-Regular'), url(https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/montserrat/v12/zhcz-_WihjSQC0oHJ9TCYPk_vArhqVIZ0nv9q090hN8.woff2) format('woff2'); unicode-range: U+0000-00FF, U+0131, U+0152-0153, U+02BB-02BC, U+02C6, U+02DA, U+02DC, U+2000-206F, U+2074, U+20AC, U+2122, U+2212, U+2215;

Mr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602

Theater previews: “Prometheus/Redux” at Touchstone, “Wizard of Oz” at Civic Theatre. A lawyer discusses co-op and condo renovations: Where to start in the planning process? - by C. Jaye Berger. Inside Orange County's renovation of Witte Hall: AC, nongender bathrooms, more lounges. Home Renovation Projects with the Best and Worst Return on Investment.A bathroom remodel can make a huge impact on your homes comfort level, not to mention its resale value. As you research bathroom ideas and browse photos, make sure to save any bathrooms that catch your eye, then figure out some of the common features that seem to recur throughout.

I partnered with Home Depot on a DIY small bathroom remodel. This bath renovation included how to install a shower surround with tile, installing a toilet, new vanity and lighting. The shower tile ...Lowe's bathroom installation services can have you enjoying your upgrades in no time. We'll match you with qualified independent professionals in toilet installation , shower installation , shower door installation and more.A house truly becomes your own not when you sign the deed, but after you customize it to your unique lifestyle. Our home improvement tips help you rock those upcoming remodeling and yard projects. Check out examples of real-life successes (and flops!), plus clever hacks and ideas from the experts.Houzz is the new way to design your home. Browse 18 million interior design photos, home decor, decorating ideas and home professionals online.Find DIY bathroom project ideas for remodeling and installing cabinets, countertops, vanities, bath tile and more with before and after and how-to photos from DIYNetwork.com.Wayfair offers thousands of design ideas for every room in every style. Get inspired with bathroomideas and photos for your home refresh or remodel. Skip to Main ContentSmall Bathroom Makeover Ideas. Paint the bathroom. The power of paint is amazing! The old paint was a yellowish white which made the bathroom feel drab and boring. I perked it up with a fresh coat of paint in 1 hour!! More details on the paint color and tips and tricks to painting quickly here. Replace old baseboards. Or just repaint them.Small Bathroom ideas Small Bathroom ideas - Modern Bathroom Remodel - Sustainablebc.org. Add scented candles to make the ambiance more tranquil and soothing. Place some red towels to create a mood for passion filled nights. Whatever, you might do in the bathroom, let the space be a reflection of your mind.23 Stylish Bathroom Design Ideas. Shop a similar look: ornate mirror, $327, wayfair.com A tall cubby takes up almost no floor space but multiplies storage in a snap, especially in the absence of a vanity or medicine cabinet. Put out your prettiest products, but remember makeup, nail polish and perfume should stay far away from the humidity.If your bathroom is a small space in your home where you don't spend much time, it's time to think about alternatives. Whether you're going for a full renovation or just a refresh; making your bathroom design brighter, cleaner and more attractive will make you feel happier to use it every day.Bathroom Bathroom Accessories Bathroom Cabinets & Vanities Bathroom Remodeling Bathtub Liners & Refinishing Ideas to Save Money during Your Bathroom Remodel Experts agree that bathroom remodeling, even in larger markets such as Chicago, doesn't have to cost thousands of dollars or weeks of intensive labor.All-Inclusive Bathroom Remodeling. Since our founding in 2000, One Week Bath has strived to deliver quality, innovation, and exceptional customer experience. Planning and designing a bathroom is a complex process, and too many contractors fall short at one stage or another.Small Bathroom Remodel Ideas - Have you ever visiting your grandpa old house?Have you ever listen to their story about their old house looks like? One common model of their old house design were small bathroom, it's just 5-8 feet in average.Bathroom remodeling guide: Dos and don'ts ... This website lets you keep a digital ideas file of inspiring images you find on the Internet, say for tile styles, favorite fixtures, and clever ...Bathroom Remodel Ideas (Ultimate Guide) Welcome to our page dedicated to bathroom remodel ideas. Nowadays, remodeling the kitchen and the bathrooms are two of the best ways to add money to a home's resale value.Bathroom Renovation Ideas our Contractors Brought to Life. Getting bathroom renovations done isn't like impulse purchases at the cash register. They require some research. There are so many questions you should be asking yoursel25 Useful Small Bathroom Remodel Ideas A Classic Touch. The image given displays a clear classic remodel bathroom idea with... Cute Courtly Water Closet. The given image displays a bathroom remodel idea with a clear steam room. Ultramodern Sauna Styles. The given image is a contemporary Remodel ...BATHROOM RENOVATION IDEAS - The best technology items like the Apple Watch or apple iphone 6, the Tesla S sportscar or a Bang as well as Olufsen BeoVision TELEVISION all have something alike: the most recent in ingenious, contemporary layout.They certainly spent their fair share on this bathroom remodel, but according to our bathroom renovations cost estimator, the average cost to remodel a bathroom is $7,920. Arched ceilings are a great way to add the idea of extra square footage to any small bathroom.Re-Bath's installation technicians handle every aspect of your remodel—from removal to installation—in just a few days, saving you time and stress. Long-Term Warranties With our long-term warranties, you can be confident in your satisfaction, care and maintenance of your bathroom.Bath Planet's Beautiful Bathrooms on a Budget If you're thinking about getting started with a quick and easy home remodeling project this summer but aren't sure where to start, consider the bathroom.

Before you start thinking about design ideas, colours, and choosing shower heads and tiles, you need to sit down and work out exactly what you want to achieve with your bathroom renovation.Reviews on Bathroom Remodel in Redmond, WA - Luxury Bath of Seattle, Remont Construction, NW Quality Construction, AG Design and Build, Your Prime Contractor, Interactive Remodeling, Handy Andy the Handyman, LLC, Eagle Remodel, Creative Kitchens &…Bathroom interior design ideas have evolved considerably thorough the years. Nowadays, bathrooms are no longer simple tiled showers or baths but more urbane living spaces. For instance, floors and walls are generally made of tiles for functionality, hygiene, ornamentation, and resistance to water.Cheap bathroom renovation ideas. Depending on how much love your bathroom needs, pick one or more of the below ideas for a cheap bathroom renovation or weekend makeover. These ideas are great for people who are already happy with the general layout of their bathroom, and are looking for an aesthetic update.Offers personalized kitchen and bath remodeling. Top quality kitchen cabinets, bathroom vanities, premium lighting, plumbing. Serving Utica, Woodhaven, Clarkston and vicinity.It's your very own personal space where you can do whatever you want with it, thanks to it being away from the rest of the home. Furthermore, it's one of those areas your imagination can run wild in. We have put together a guide on master bathroom remodeling ideas to help you create that magical space you deserve. Big Impressions in Small SpacesBathroom Redo or refresh? Sometimes you're looking for a new sink. Other times, some woven baskets do the trick. Whatever your needs, our bathroom department carries furniture and accessories that cover them all.For homeowner in Toronto looking to have bathroom renovations, Kitchen and Bath is the clear choice. We remodel bathrooms of all sizes and to suit many different styles throughout the GTA. Make your dream bathroom a reality.

Vanities are getting bigger and bigger every year, and for good reason — bathroom storage is in constant demand. Because of this, think about ways that you can add more to your space. A lot of successful bathroom ideas feature an oversized or double vanity, while wall-mounted cabinets and medicine cabinets are helpful too. If space is at a minimum, recessed or built-in designs can help save precious elbow room while adding enough spots to stash your toiletries. Whether it's a tiny powder room or a shower stall with barely enough room to scrub, a small bathroom can make mornings even worse than they already are. But you don't need to move, you just need ... Bathroom Ideas Welcome to Bathroom Ideas, a one-stop resource for everything bathroom-related. Whether you're searching for inspiration and design tips for your bathroom or looking for some expert advice, you'll find it all here.

Find inspiration for a beautiful bathroom, improve your bathroom functionality and save water and money with our new bath fixtures. A new vanity with coordinating mirror and modern faucet will go a long way toward improving the style of your bathroom. Add storage cabinets, light fixtures and bathroom accessories to make it complete. Whether it's a tiny powder room or a shower stall with barely enough room to scrub, a small bathroom can make mornings even worse than they already are. But you don't need to move, you just need ... Is it time for a new bathroom? If the answer is yes and you need design ideas, don't miss these photos of fabulous bathrooms from contemporary master baths to traditional powder rooms.

Mr Build Co Mr Build Co

Bathroom Builders Bathroom Builders Near Me Bathroom Renovation Builders Bathroom Ideas Builders Elite Bathroom Builders Best Bathroom Builders Bathroom Contractors Bathroom Contractors Near Me Bathroom Contractors In My Area Bathroom Renovations Under $10000 Bathroom Remodelers Bathroom Remodelers Near Me Bathroom Remodels On A Budget Bathroom Remodelers In My Area Bathroom Remodels Under 5000

Mr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602

via Mr Build Co Bathroom Contractors Orange County CA 92602 Local Contractors Blueprint

Your Client Stopped Getting Good Results. Now What?

You enter your home, look up, and see it: a misshapen yellow oval with a bullseye of blistered paint. Great. A water stain. Could be a leak in the roof. Or a busted pipe. You stare into the paint bubble. It stares back.

Then again, is it really such a big deal? There’s no drip, after all, and the spot’s not that big. Maybe it won’t get worse. Yeah, you tell yourself, let’s go with that.

A month later that bullseye is no longer bubbled paint. It’s a hole. In your ceiling. What was once the specter of water is now made real by the flood in your living room. So much for those lovely wood floors.

That water stain happens to all personal trainers. (No, not literally. Ever heard of a metaphor?) You notice it during your client’s reassessments. You tally the numbers — weight, body fat, mobility — and the results aren’t there. You try to convince yourself, and the client, that these things take time.

“The body has to adapt to exercise.” “Weight loss isn’t linear.” “Results don’t happen overnight.”

But deep down you’re thinking, “Crap, that’s not good.” Whether you’re a veteran trainer or a beginner, you’re not alone. This is never an easy situation. But learning to handle it well can be the difference between getting results for your client, or not.

That’s why I created this five-step plan. In nearly 10 years as a trainer, I’ve found these strategies to be the most effective for taking a client from a down month (or two or three down months) to positive progress.

But before we get into it, I’m going to ask you to make a commitment — a promise to take immediate action the moment you spot that stain. The longer you wait, the more damage can be done, until eventually you need a new living room. (Or, in this case, a new client.)

That means you can’t be afraid to highlight poor results. Luckily, with the approach outlined here, you can do so from a place of guidance, and establish a plan that doesn’t just patch the leak but fixes it for good.

Step 1: Ask Open-Ended Questions

Start by saying something like this: “You haven’t been getting the results you want, so let’s figure out why.” Then ask your client some open-ended questions to evaluate the past month.

I use questions from the PTA Global “Kaizen-6” tool, along with a few of my own:

* What results have you noticed?

* On a scale of 1 to 10, how satisfied are you with the results?

* Why? * What could be better?

* What have been your biggest obstacles in the past month?

* How do you feel your nutrition/exercise/recovery has been in the past month?

* What goal is most important for you to accomplish over the next month?

* What guidance or help do you need from me over the next month?

Once a month (or every four sessions, depending how often you train together), revisit these questions, asking them again in the same way, and recording the answers.

The longer you do this, the more you can refine your approach. Eventually, you may not need to run through the full gamut of questions, narrowing your focus to build on what you’ve learned. But try to stick with this script for at least three months so you collect an adequate data sample.

Encourage your client to give honest answers, even if it’s not what you want to hear.

Search for patterns. Typically, the problem is rooted in any of four main culprits:

Nutrition (water, food quality, hunger control)

Exercise (both during and outside training sessions)

Recovery (sleep, overtraining)

Life (stress, work, family obligations, support system)

Does your client keep coming back to nutrition? (“After a long day, I usually end up getting takeout”; “I’m keeping up with workouts, but I’m not cooking much.”) If so, focus there.

READ ALSO: “Five Ways to Help Your Clients Lose Weight”

If nutrition is on point and the client complains of stress and low energy, look at life factors.

Now, don’t just run down the questions, ticking each one off as you go — that’s about as useful as handing your client a questionnaire and a pen. Instead, listen carefully and pose follow-ups when appropriate.

Help your client open up by keeping three points in mind:

Follow up with questions, not statements: Tell a client their diet sucks and it won’t stick. But ask leading questions, and you’re not telling them anything — you’re helping them figure it out on their own. If Fred is struggling with diet, you might follow up with, “What do you feel you’ve done well with your nutrition, and what could you improve?” or “Which foods make you feel the best and worst after eating?” You know you’re getting this right if Fred is talking more than you.

Lead with numbers: Numbers don’t lie — but they don’t tell the whole story either. Stick to what you know based on the numbers, and don’t make assumptions. Always ask. Just be sure to couch your questions in the data: “Mary, according to the diet log, you’ve had fast food eight times this week. Why do you think that is?” By doing that, you make the conversation as objective and emotionless as possible. Because numbers don’t judge either.

Take responsibility: If Jackie isn’t keeping up on her food journal, consider: Have you made it clear to her why tracking food intake is useful? Have you set clear expectations? Have you laid out all the available tools (digital vs. journal vs. pictures) and helped find the best one for her? Remind Jackie that it’s your job to make the game plan work for her (because it is), and ask what you can do to help.

As you continue through this process, it’s important to celebrate small wins — an improvement in form, a streak of completed workouts, an increase in your client’s bench. It will aid motivation, even while you hunt down the problem.

READ ALSO: “The Number-One Skill Your Clients Need to Succeed”

Step 2: Find the Why

Okay, so you’ve identified the culprit(s). Good work! But don’t stop there. What comes next is crucial, and it’s where most trainers get tripped up.

That’s because we tend to underestimate how many questions it takes to get to the root cause of a problem.

Maybe you’ve figured out that your client isn’t getting enough sleep. But that’s a bit like figuring out there’s a hole in your ceiling. Yes, it’s a cause of the problem, but it’s not the root cause.

You can’t prescribe extra z’s and assume it’ll work. That’s patching the ceiling. You need to find the source of the leak.

Engineers and business managers use a technique called the 5 Whys, designed to explore the origins of a problem. The idea is to drill down until you get to the root cause. To do this, you may have to ask “why” as many as five times.

For example:

“I sleep five hours.” Why? 

“I go to bed late.” Why?

“I catch up on email at night and lose track of time.”

The goal is to interrogate every problem until you’ve found the root of it. From there, you can come up with strategies to address it — setting a timer, or checking emails in the morning instead of at night.

It could be a matter of challenging his comfort zone: He doesn’t eat vegetables because he grew up on pizza rolls. (Give him your recipe for cauliflower pizza.) And sometimes the fix is even simpler: The client doesn’t drink water because she doesn’t have a water bottle. (I’ll let you figure that one out.)

The deeper you dig, the more likely you are to help a client discover how his or her life influences a behavior, and the less likely you are to fall back on simply telling someone to do something.

Step 3: Identify the Change with the Biggest Impact

You or your client may have the impulse to fix everything all at once. But that’s not realistic.

When it comes to establishing a healthy routine, research shows that the key to success is to implement one change at a time. And even then, a habit can take 10 weeks to form. Take on too much too fast, and you’ll flame out. But focus on just one thing, and it’s more likely to become a habit.

So which change do you start with? Let’s return to that roof. Imagine you have three leaks, all different sizes. If each one takes the same effort to fix, where do you start? With the biggest one, of course! If water is gushing through one hole and slowly dripping through another, a clear hierarchy emerges.

But how do you know which change will have the biggest impact on your client’s results? That’s where your expertise comes in.

Let’s say I have a client — call him Pete — who’s sleeping five hours a night, eating an extra dessert a week, and regularly blowing off a cardio session. Assuming Pete wants to lose weight, the easy targets are the dessert and the missed cardio. Those late-night sweets are full of empty calories, and skipping cardio means you’re not burning as many calories as you could.

Still, the benefits you’d get from saving (or burning) a few hundred calories a week pale in comparison to the widespread benefits of proper sleep. Hormone balance, recovery, appetite regulation, stress reduction, energy boost — with that kind of wind at his back, Pete may start seeing some real results. He may even find it easier to resist dessert or tackle cardio. So given these choices, I’d focus on sleep.

Remember to engage your client in this process. Walk him through your logic, and ask for his input so he can continue to own it.

READ ALSO: “The Fitness Pro’s Guide to Better Sleep”

Step 4: Set a Specific Plan

Now that you’ve identified the change your client needs to make, it’s time to come up with a plan to implement it. Your plan needs three things:

A clear goal

Repetition

Regular check-ins

Pete’s plan might look something like this:

Goal: Sleep at least seven hours a night, six nights a week.

Repetition: Every morning, he’ll mark his calendar with a smiley face or a frown, depending on the duration and quality of sleep.

Check-in: He’ll send you the results each week, and you’ll follow up at the next session.

By the way, I’m a huge fan of putting the client in charge of check-ins. My favorite technique is the calendar example above. A shared Google calendar can work, but the client can also set an alarm on his phone, create calendar invites, or send emails or texts. The point is for the client to reach out to you, rather than the other way around. It creates more ownership on the client’s part, and saves you a ton of time.

READ ALSO: “A Better Way to Help Clients Follow Your Weight-Loss Plan”

Step 5: Keep Your Client Pumped

Change is hard. You’ve lived one way for years, and suddenly you’re crushing yourself with workouts, replacing ice cream with broccoli, and trying not to get sucked into a vortex of hopelessness and self-doubt. Ugh.

Seeing results is what gets most clients through this. So imagine how tough it is when those results don’t arrive. That’s when your client needs you most.

Remind her of the reasons she gave you when you started, of why she wanted to change in the first place. Remind her of the confidence she wanted to build, or the quality of life she sought to achieve, or the example she hoped to set for her kids.

And highlight all the progress she’s made so far, all the positive changes in strength, endurance, or form. Show her how far she’s come, and how much farther she can go.

Take it month by month. Encourage him to focus on the plan for the next 30 days. Then high-five him at the next reassessment, motivate him again, and ask for 30 more.

Great things happen when you keep your client on the right track.

    The post Your Client Stopped Getting Good Results. Now What? appeared first on The PTDC.

Your Client Stopped Getting Good Results. Now What? published first on https://onezeroonesarms.tumblr.com/

Your Client Stopped Getting Good Results. Now What?

You enter your home, look up, and see it: a misshapen yellow oval with a bullseye of blistered paint. Great. A water stain. Could be a leak in the roof. Or a busted pipe. You stare into the paint bubble. It stares back.

Then again, is it really such a big deal? There’s no drip, after all, and the spot’s not that big. Maybe it won’t get worse. Yeah, you tell yourself, let’s go with that.

A month later that bullseye is no longer bubbled paint. It’s a hole. In your ceiling. What was once the specter of water is now made real by the flood in your living room. So much for those lovely wood floors.

That water stain happens to all personal trainers. (No, not literally. Ever heard of a metaphor?) You notice it during your client’s reassessments. You tally the numbers — weight, body fat, mobility — and the results aren’t there. You try to convince yourself, and the client, that these things take time.

“The body has to adapt to exercise.” “Weight loss isn’t linear.” “Results don’t happen overnight.”

But deep down you’re thinking, “Crap, that’s not good.” Whether you’re a veteran trainer or a beginner, you’re not alone. This is never an easy situation. But learning to handle it well can be the difference between getting results for your client, or not.

That’s why I created this five-step plan. In nearly 10 years as a trainer, I’ve found these strategies to be the most effective for taking a client from a down month (or two or three down months) to positive progress.

But before we get into it, I’m going to ask you to make a commitment — a promise to take immediate action the moment you spot that stain. The longer you wait, the more damage can be done, until eventually you need a new living room. (Or, in this case, a new client.)

That means you can’t be afraid to highlight poor results. Luckily, with the approach outlined here, you can do so from a place of guidance, and establish a plan that doesn’t just patch the leak but fixes it for good.

Step 1: Ask Open-Ended Questions

Start by saying something like this: “You haven’t been getting the results you want, so let’s figure out why.” Then ask your client some open-ended questions to evaluate the past month.

I use questions from the PTA Global “Kaizen-6” tool, along with a few of my own:

* What results have you noticed?

* On a scale of 1 to 10, how satisfied are you with the results?

* Why? * What could be better?

* What have been your biggest obstacles in the past month?

* How do you feel your nutrition/exercise/recovery has been in the past month?

* What goal is most important for you to accomplish over the next month?

* What guidance or help do you need from me over the next month?

Once a month (or every four sessions, depending how often you train together), revisit these questions, asking them again in the same way, and recording the answers.

The longer you do this, the more you can refine your approach. Eventually, you may not need to run through the full gamut of questions, narrowing your focus to build on what you’ve learned. But try to stick with this script for at least three months so you collect an adequate data sample.

Encourage your client to give honest answers, even if it’s not what you want to hear.

Search for patterns. Typically, the problem is rooted in any of four main culprits:

Nutrition (water, food quality, hunger control)

Exercise (both during and outside training sessions)

Recovery (sleep, overtraining)

Life (stress, work, family obligations, support system)

Does your client keep coming back to nutrition? (“After a long day, I usually end up getting takeout”; “I’m keeping up with workouts, but I’m not cooking much.”) If so, focus there.

READ ALSO: “Five Ways to Help Your Clients Lose Weight”

If nutrition is on point and the client complains of stress and low energy, look at life factors.

Now, don’t just run down the questions, ticking each one off as you go — that’s about as useful as handing your client a questionnaire and a pen. Instead, listen carefully and pose follow-ups when appropriate.

Help your client open up by keeping three points in mind:

Follow up with questions, not statements: Tell a client their diet sucks and it won’t stick. But ask leading questions, and you’re not telling them anything — you’re helping them figure it out on their own. If Fred is struggling with diet, you might follow up with, “What do you feel you’ve done well with your nutrition, and what could you improve?” or “Which foods make you feel the best and worst after eating?” You know you’re getting this right if Fred is talking more than you.

Lead with numbers: Numbers don’t lie — but they don’t tell the whole story either. Stick to what you know based on the numbers, and don’t make assumptions. Always ask. Just be sure to couch your questions in the data: “Mary, according to the diet log, you’ve had fast food eight times this week. Why do you think that is?” By doing that, you make the conversation as objective and emotionless as possible. Because numbers don’t judge either.

Take responsibility: If Jackie isn’t keeping up on her food journal, consider: Have you made it clear to her why tracking food intake is useful? Have you set clear expectations? Have you laid out all the available tools (digital vs. journal vs. pictures) and helped find the best one for her? Remind Jackie that it’s your job to make the game plan work for her (because it is), and ask what you can do to help.

As you continue through this process, it’s important to celebrate small wins — an improvement in form, a streak of completed workouts, an increase in your client’s bench. It will aid motivation, even while you hunt down the problem.

READ ALSO: “The Number-One Skill Your Clients Need to Succeed”

Step 2: Find the Why

Okay, so you’ve identified the culprit(s). Good work! But don’t stop there. What comes next is crucial, and it’s where most trainers get tripped up.

That’s because we tend to underestimate how many questions it takes to get to the root cause of a problem.

Maybe you’ve figured out that your client isn’t getting enough sleep. But that’s a bit like figuring out there’s a hole in your ceiling. Yes, it’s a cause of the problem, but it’s not the root cause.

You can’t prescribe extra z’s and assume it’ll work. That’s patching the ceiling. You need to find the source of the leak.

Engineers and business managers use a technique called the 5 Whys, designed to explore the origins of a problem. The idea is to drill down until you get to the root cause. To do this, you may have to ask “why” as many as five times.

For example:

“I sleep five hours.” Why? 

“I go to bed late.” Why?

“I catch up on email at night and lose track of time.”

The goal is to interrogate every problem until you’ve found the root of it. From there, you can come up with strategies to address it — setting a timer, or checking emails in the morning instead of at night.

It could be a matter of challenging his comfort zone: He doesn’t eat vegetables because he grew up on pizza rolls. (Give him your recipe for cauliflower pizza.) And sometimes the fix is even simpler: The client doesn’t drink water because she doesn’t have a water bottle. (I’ll let you figure that one out.)

The deeper you dig, the more likely you are to help a client discover how his or her life influences a behavior, and the less likely you are to fall back on simply telling someone to do something.

Step 3: Identify the Change with the Biggest Impact

You or your client may have the impulse to fix everything all at once. But that’s not realistic.

When it comes to establishing a healthy routine, research shows that the key to success is to implement one change at a time. And even then, a habit can take 10 weeks to form. Take on too much too fast, and you’ll flame out. But focus on just one thing, and it’s more likely to become a habit.

So which change do you start with? Let’s return to that roof. Imagine you have three leaks, all different sizes. If each one takes the same effort to fix, where do you start? With the biggest one, of course! If water is gushing through one hole and slowly dripping through another, a clear hierarchy emerges.

But how do you know which change will have the biggest impact on your client’s results? That’s where your expertise comes in.

Let’s say I have a client — call him Pete — who’s sleeping five hours a night, eating an extra dessert a week, and regularly blowing off a cardio session. Assuming Pete wants to lose weight, the easy targets are the dessert and the missed cardio. Those late-night sweets are full of empty calories, and skipping cardio means you’re not burning as many calories as you could.

Still, the benefits you’d get from saving (or burning) a few hundred calories a week pale in comparison to the widespread benefits of proper sleep. Hormone balance, recovery, appetite regulation, stress reduction, energy boost — with that kind of wind at his back, Pete may start seeing some real results. He may even find it easier to resist dessert or tackle cardio. So given these choices, I’d focus on sleep.

Remember to engage your client in this process. Walk him through your logic, and ask for his input so he can continue to own it.

READ ALSO: “The Fitness Pro’s Guide to Better Sleep”

Step 4: Set a Specific Plan

Now that you’ve identified the change your client needs to make, it’s time to come up with a plan to implement it. Your plan needs three things:

A clear goal

Repetition

Regular check-ins

Pete’s plan might look something like this:

Goal: Sleep at least seven hours a night, six nights a week.

Repetition: Every morning, he’ll mark his calendar with a smiley face or a frown, depending on the duration and quality of sleep.

Check-in: He’ll send you the results each week, and you’ll follow up at the next session.

By the way, I’m a huge fan of putting the client in charge of check-ins. My favorite technique is the calendar example above. A shared Google calendar can work, but the client can also set an alarm on his phone, create calendar invites, or send emails or texts. The point is for the client to reach out to you, rather than the other way around. It creates more ownership on the client’s part, and saves you a ton of time.

READ ALSO: “A Better Way to Help Clients Follow Your Weight-Loss Plan”

Step 5: Keep Your Client Pumped

Change is hard. You’ve lived one way for years, and suddenly you’re crushing yourself with workouts, replacing ice cream with broccoli, and trying not to get sucked into a vortex of hopelessness and self-doubt. Ugh.

Seeing results is what gets most clients through this. So imagine how tough it is when those results don’t arrive. That’s when your client needs you most.

Remind her of the reasons she gave you when you started, of why she wanted to change in the first place. Remind her of the confidence she wanted to build, or the quality of life she sought to achieve, or the example she hoped to set for her kids.

And highlight all the progress she’s made so far, all the positive changes in strength, endurance, or form. Show her how far she’s come, and how much farther she can go.

Take it month by month. Encourage him to focus on the plan for the next 30 days. Then high-five him at the next reassessment, motivate him again, and ask for 30 more.

Great things happen when you keep your client on the right track.

    The post Your Client Stopped Getting Good Results. Now What? appeared first on The PTDC.

Your Client Stopped Getting Good Results. Now What? published first on https://medium.com/@MyDietArea