By the time the remnants of your mission are cleaned up and
disposed of, the sun is already peaking its crown over the horizon. You spend
the rest of dawn in a car, returning back to Seoul with a drive that takes the
closer part of three hours—the perks of travelling out of the city to deal with
clients’ requests. The trip is tedious, as per usual, but with Jimin taking
responsibility of the wheel this time around, you don’t have much to complain
Through the entire duration of the ride, Taehyung is very adamant
in keeping everyone’s ears occupied and mind alert by playing music through the
car’s sound system. Needless to say,
there is a minimal effort required on your part to stay awake.
Once in a while, you hear his voice creep up from under the
song before his excited singing overpowers the original artist’s vocals. Jimin can
only look at you through the rear view mirror as you two exchange amused
smiles, because no matter how ridiculously over-the-top Taehyung tries to
sound, he’s still pretty damn good.
You should really write a book about your life. In the meantime, tell us all a story, please?
I AM EXTREMELY STRONG: a story about furniture
the summer that i was about thirteen or fourteen, my mother decided to buy a la-z-boy for my stepdad, skip, for their anniversary. she did this because my mother loves giving presents and my stepdad loves sitting down.
she needed someone to help transport the chair from the furniture store back to our house. my brother was, at the time, at Sports Camp For Young Boys Who Want Girls To Kiss Them, and skip was obviously out of the question, so her only option was me.
me at 13, a self-portrait:
desperately physically unfit
favorite snack was mozzarella cheese. no garnish. just…… balls of mozzarella cheese
in my “i only listen to blink-182 and my favorite color is linkin park after dark nailpolish,” phase
SO OFF WE WENT.
the chair was in a big furniture warehouse, like a schewels or something. my mother, a woman who never goes into a situation without a to-do list and a plan of action, knew immediately what she wanted.
it was a broad recliner, taupe-ish, with a retractable foot rest. it was the everest of chairs. once you sat in this chair, you were never getting up. you would have to be brought your meals. your loved ones would bid you adieu, sadly, waving from the living room. “we’re going on a family vacation,” they would tell you, and you would say, “there is nothing left for me but the warm embrace of this chair, and death.”
“mollyhall, help us move this,” my mother said.
“us?” i asked. “as in, the three of us? we are moving this chair?”
i looked at the Everest Chair. i looked at my mother. i looked at skinny mcdimples. i gestured at my own noodle arms, and at skinny mcdimples’ everything.
“uh,” i said, pointedly.
“we can DO IT,” my mother insisted.
“uh,” repeated skinny mcdimples, this time with urgency.
“LISTEN,” said my mother, drawing herself up to her full height of a whopping 5’5”, her voice dropping about 6 octaves to decibels typically only heard in whalesong.
“WE CAN LIFT THIS FUCKING CHAIR.
THAT’S MY SECRET. I AM ALWAYS FUCKIN’ PUMPED ABOUT FURNITURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
skinny mcdimples and i quickly snapped into action, because nobody wants to fuck with a 5’5” hulk woman with a love of leisure seating. my mother lifted the whole front of the Everest Chair, running high on adrenaline and self-righteous fury, while skinny mcdimples and i struggled desperately with the back half, shooting one another frequent, panicked looks.
by the time we got it out to the car, poor skinny mcdimples and i were sweating bullets, hands slipping all over the suede, sending up desperate pleas to the lord jesus to keep the Everest Chair from crushing our bodies the way it had crushed our spirits.
my mother lifted the Everest Chair with one hand and tossed it into the bed of the truck.
“see?” she asked. “i told you. piece of cake.”
“piece of cake,” skinny mcdimples and i agreed, in between bouts of vomiting from exertion and crying.
i think about skinny mcdimples sometimes. how is he doing? is he still working at the furniture store, or did the trauma of the Everest Chair send him into a downward spiral that led to a career 180? did he realize that if he can lift the Everest Chair, he can lift everything? is he a pro wrestler now? did he marry? does he ever think of me, thirteen, chubby as hell, clinging desperately to the back of the Everest Chair and hissing, “i’m gonna die, we’re all gonna die here,” under my breath?
SKINNY MCDIMPLES, WHAT BECAME OF YOU?
we pulled out of the parking lot. i was too physically exhausted to do anything but curl up in the passenger seat and—
thumpthump. thUMP. THUMP.
“what is that? is something knocking?”
IT’S YOUR OWN
we pulled over.
i bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.
the Everest Chair sat rocking in the truck bed, knocking against the back window every time a breeze rolled by.
"you can sit on it to hold it down,” said my mom. she had a wildness in her eyes.
a sweet, jolly-looking old man in a pickup truck not dissimilar to our own pulled into the parking lot where we were throwing down with the Everest Chair. he leaned out of the driver’s window, his santa eyes sparkling. “do you ladies need help?” he asked. “i have some bungees in the back if you need ‘em.”
there it was!!! our chance for salvation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
my mother’s face darkened. her lips went white. she seemed to expand outward, like the size of her rage with this chair and her tragically useless daughter could not be contained by the human body. her voice sound like the way the sky looks just before it dumps so much water on your house that you have to immediately start bailing water out of the windows with buckets when she said—said, not shouted, because her rage had gone far past shouting:
“WE DON’T NEED ANY FUCKING HELP.”
yes, we did!!!!!!!
we did desperately need help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“wait,” i whispered fruitlessly as Santa Man drove hastily off. my mother turned back to the Everest Chair. she tossed a tarp over it, and stretched a single bungee across its girth.
one bungee cord and a tarp?
ONE BUNGEE CORD?
AND A TARP?
“there,” she said. “piece of cake.”
“look, i don’t want to be the one to bring this up,” i said cautiously as we got back into the truck’s cab, the Everest Chair still thumping merrily. we both ignored it so steadily we made thetell-tale heart guy jealous. knocking? what knocking? HAHA, EVERYTHING IS FINE. AFTER ALL, WE USED ONE BUNGEE CORD. AND A TARP.
“bring what up?” my mother asked.
i swallowed. “um….how are we going to get it inside the house?”
6 HOURS LATER, AT THEIR ANNIVERSARY DINNER:
“i love my new chair!!!!! did you have it delivered?”
“mollyhall and i did it ourselves,” my mother said, taking a cool sip of wine. “it was a piece of cake.”
Laughter erupted from the Pulsian’s throat upon hearing her comrade’s complaint. What began as an innocent bet turned into a never-ending competition between the two women the second they set foot on Gran Pulse. Fang gave herself props – it had done wonders to lighten the atmosphere around the soldier and if she had to be honest to herself, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to show off her skills and perhaps even impress her rival.
With her lance confined into the ground, Fang leisurely took a seat on her brand-new Lightning chair and extended both legs before throwing one over the other. Mobile, adorned with a nice color scheme, relatively quiet, but somewhat stiff. Nothing time couldn’t arrange.
“ What? That it? And I was just startin’ to relax. ” A cocky smile crossed her visage as she turned her gaze towards her friend below, hips shifting to make herself comfortable on her brand-new Lightning chair. “ Ten more and you’re done. Hop, hop! We don’t have all day now. ” Nevermind that the others were busy setting up camp while they were right in the middle of a ruthless competition. While Fang possessed strength, Lightning had speed. Something told her she’d better not skip leg day after this.
A paperback novel splayed out to your side, you peacefully sleep nestled in the grain of the porch. The warmth of the summer too tempting to resist closing your eyes. Dreams of ocean waves and sparkling sand saturate your vision. The seagulls flying overhead, cawing lightly, begin to sound like Soda. Wake up. The waves tickle your feet with their icy fingertips. Wake up! You think there’s something weird about the seagulls, you’re confused as the water reaches for your waist. (Y/N)! The waves strain to your neck, almost engulfing you; you’re hysterical as you try to escape. “(Y/n)!” Your eyes fly open to see Soda standing over you.
“Wake up, (y/n). We’ve got things to do.”
“What?” You jolt upright, breathing heavily, “What happened?” Looking around frantically you see Ponyboy standing at the fence, the red highlights in his hair gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
“Nothing. But if you don’t hurry up we’re going to miss the movie. I’m sure everyone’s already there by now.”
You groggily search around you trying to get your bearings, wiping the little bit of drool off your cheek. “Yeah, okay. Just a sec.” Soda steps off the porch towards the gate, holding it open as they wait for you.
You stretch as you stand, shaking off the dream, “Wanna take the bikes?”
“Pony, can you ride on the handlebars?” He nods at Soda, “Want me to grab ‘em?”
“I got it,” bouncing off the steps you head for the back of the house, a minute later you’re wheeling two shiny red Schwinn bikes out. Soda takes one from you, settling into the seat as Ponyboy adjusts himself on the handlebars. He looks over his shoulder to you, “Ready?”
You’re already mounted, “Let’s hit it.”
Dirt flies as your tires gain traction, spraying pebbles everywhere. The wind blows coolly in your face, the light of the day slowly fading in front of you. The rays blinding as they slip through gaps in the leaves.
The boys are already waiting outside the theater as Soda said with the exception of Darry, to your disappointment. You and Soda skid to a halt, letting Ponyboy jump off before setting your bikes near the entrance.
Two-Bit’s already drunk, shouting obscenities before you ever take your seats. Dally and Steve gladly join in, making dirty comments at the girls in the front rows. You dip into the last seat beside Ponyboy, the remaining aisle seat left empty.
The curtain pulls away to reveal the huge screen, the viewers shushing one another as the movie reel flips on.
Ponyboy leans into you, whispering, “Your boyfriend’s here.”
Confused, you open your mouth to question him, but a hand sliding across the back of your chair silences you. You turn to see Darry taking up the aisle seat, arm leisurely spread behind your chair and legs kicked out in front of him.
“Hey,” his smells like heaven so close to you, “sorry I’m late.”
You can only manage a tight nod, rendered speechless and body stiffening.
“What’s the matter, (y/n)?” Ponyboy nudges you, smirking.
Shut your mouth, you threaten through the slits of your eyes.
“Just don’t miss the movie.”
“What?” Your whisper a harsh bullet in the air.
“You know,” he puckers his lips making kissy faces. His painful grunt begins the movie.
You’re unable to really focus on what’s happening on screen with Darry so close to you. He smells so damn good and the heat off his arm makes the goosebumps on your neck surface. The hour and a half seems to disappear; you’re surprised when the lights come back on.
The gang shuffles out, Two-Bit slightly more sober. You stand outside the theater discussing plans.
“Want a ride home, Soda?” Darry’s tight black shirt making his muscles pop and you blush.
“Nah, the rest of us are heading over to a party. Buck’s throwing it at his place, right Dal?”
Dally’s lighting a cigarette, “He says he’s getting a couple kegs.”
“My kindof party,” Two-Bit’s words still somewhat slurred.
“How much more drunk can you get, Two-Bit?”
“Kid,” Two-Bit addresses Ponyboy’s dig, “you ain’t seen nothin’.”
“Whatever, man,” Ponyboy rolls his eyes. “Johnny, you coming with us?”
Dally wraps his arm around Johnny’s neck, “No way, he’s coming with us.” Johnny gasps his goodbyes as Dally drags him off.
Steve slaps Ponyboy on the back, “See ya’, doofuses!”
“A three syllable word, I’m impressed.” Steve shots him a death glare, but struts away with the group.
Ponyboy turns back to you, rubbing his side, “Why did you have to punch me like that, by the way?”
“You deserved it,” you replied simply.
As the two of you take to your bikes he whines, “Why? Because you’re in love with Darry?”
You give a panicked look at the fading group, “Hush!”
Ponyboy grins slyly, “(Y/n) and Darry sittin’ in a tree.”
“Shut up!” You scream over you shoulder, taking off down the road.
“No!” You pedal furiously away, Ponyboy struggling in the distance to catch up, as the sun fades to dusk behind you.
Author’s Note: Reader Request for Sam x reader where reader loves to take pictures with her camera and Sam takes hers. As a photographer I really liked writing this! It’s very fluffy and good feels. Kind of short but I think it fits the story! Let me know what you think! Warnings: light language beccasnowflake (winner of Trivia Tuesday) chose tomorrow’s request! It’s a Dean x reader. The brothers bring her back from the dead but don’t know they pulled her from heaven! Up tomorrow hopefully!
The view from the backseat of the Impala was breathtaking. I watched as Sam leaned back in the passenger seat leisurely, one arm hanging out the window. Gusts of warm air tugged at his shaggy hair and made it blow around his face. I love moments like these, the quiet and hot afternoons driving from one hunt to the next. This short lived peace was sacred when you lived a life of constant running and fighting. Even Dean recognized the value of the stillness, restraining himself from playing another song, for now. It was like everyone silently agreed to revel in what time we had. Sam’s eyes fell shut and his lips curved in a content smile, the sun from outside making his skin look warm and inviting. He looked so happy and carefree.
I felt my hand reaching for the camera in my duffel bag as we sped along the highway. I didn’t get to take pictures very often and usually we were doing things I wouldn’t want to remember anyway. There’s no point in a photo album full of dead monsters, not when they were all engraved in my mind. My fingers caressed the smooth buttons of my nikon. This little black box was my pride and joy, my escape. I loved immortalizing the memories that made me smile, like this one. I lifted the camera to my eye and framed it carefully. The light was just perfect on Sam’s face, his hair tousled in the wind. I could have counted his every eyelash in that lighting. It was perfect. I waited till just the right moment and pressed the button down, a little click shattering the quiet. The moving image in front of me was now frozen in a timeless snapshot that I could tuck into my jean pocket. I could carry it close to my heart when we were knee deep in blood and sorrow. My action hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Sam’s smile grew. He recognized the noise.
“Seriously? You’re taking my picture now?” He didn’t bother opening his eyes or moving. Dean’s hands tensed on the wheel.
“Don’t even think about taking mine. Your boyfriend over there may not care, but I do.” For some reason, Dean absolutely hated his picture being taken. Sam chuckled and punched his brothers arm.
“Come on Dean, she’s just messing around.” I pretended to turn the camera towards the drivers seat and felt the Impala swerve a little.
“Don’t you dare! Y/N, I will throw that damn thing out the window.”
I sat at the bay window of our bedroom, leaning my shoulders out to get a clearer shot of the trees below. Their new blossoms were glistening in the morning light. Sam had insisted that for our 1 year anniversary of dating we stay in a bed and breakfast. Dean wasn’t terribly fond of the idea of us all being split up, but it was a nice little retreat from hunting. The cool air tugged gently at edge of the plaid men’s shirt I wore. It pleased me that it was the nearest thing when I woke up. It still smelled like spice and warm leather, or how I imagined him smelling. It was the smell of polished saddles and fall weather.
“Coffee?” I jumped slightly at the voice from the doorway. There he stood, a cup of coffee in each hand. I wasn’t sure if it was the smell of caffeine or his sculpted body that made my heart skip.
“Oh thanks, could you leave it on the table there?” I gave him a grateful smile and went back to photographing the view outside. I was so focused that I didn’t notice him drawing near till his hand was in my hair, curling the strands near the nape of my neck around his rough fingers.
“You’re always taking pictures. Could I take yours?” The question struck me as odd and I turned to face him. Sitting up on the window my face was closer to his level than normal, although still short in comparison. His expression was completely sincere and his hazel eyes sparkled with love. I got so lost in them that I almost forgot that he was awaiting an answer. I flushed and fiddled with the camera in my lap.
“Oh I don’t know, I don’t like being photographed… And you know how I am about trusting people with my camera.” He smiled and gently ran a long finger down the side of my cheek.
“Stop being shy, and besides you trust these hands with your body, I think your camera will be safe.” I shuttered at the depth of his voice. Without a word I handed the camera to him, flipping a few setting to their proper place. He placed it around his neck and examined it for a moment before lifting his head to examine me. I looked down but he tilted my chin back up with his hand.
“Stay looking at me.” His voice was gentle but non-negotiable. I complied, searching his eyes for some reprieve from the embarrassment I felt. But he gave me none. He slowly began to methodically unbutton the top buttons of the oversized shirt i wore. My skin was turning all shades of red but he paid little mind. Once he was satisfied with that he adjusted my posture on the window seat. A hand ran through my hair and he leaned to my ear, “You look so beautiful.” Before I could look away he sternly reminded my to keep my eyes on his own. Then he stepped back and began taking photos. He took quite a few before I heard him grumble in dissatisfaction. “Something’s missing.” He stared at me pensively for a moment, almost as if I were more art than humanbeing. It was then that he seemed to realized something and gave a sly smile. “You know, I can see right through that shirt in this lighting…” I gasped and blushed, averting my eyes slightly. While the blood was still in my cheeks he snapped photos furiously. He glowed with pride upon examining them. “Somehow i captured the essence of you. There is something about how you look when I tease you, that’s what makes this photo stunning.” He didn’t even bother to show me the photo, and instead kissed my lips with abrupt passion. “But why would I even bother looking at these when I have the real thing right here, in MY bedroom.”
That night Sam and I laid in bed, just watching the stars outside our window. Neither of us was used to something more comfortable than a motel mattress. His arm was around me so that I fit next to him perfectly, my head nestled against his chest. It was like out bodies were made to fit together in every way.
“Sam?” I turned so that I was on my stomach facing the man at my side. His eyes were closed, lips softly smiling. He mumbled a “mhm?” that made his chest rumble. I crawled up a little higher on the bed so that I was closer to his face. “Do you think it’s selfish to wish we could do this every day?” He wrinkled his eyebrows and blew an amused breath out of his nose. A strong arm pulled me against his body.
“Of course not.” His eyes fluttered open slowly, still misty with tiredness. The affection in his gaze was enough to make me blush. “I wish we could too." It was one of those sad but sweet moments that makes your heart heavy with love. Before I could stop myself, small tears were welling in the corners of my eyes. When Sam saw them he was suddenly wide awake.
"Baby, what’s wrong?” He sat up in the bed, nearly encasing me in his warmth. Two hands slid up and down my sides comfortingly.
“Oh it’s nothing.” I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand. It didn’t take long for a salty sheen to collect on my cheeks and fingers. “I just wish this could last forever, you know?” Sam’s lower lip pushed out slightly as he looked down at me. I could see that he was thinking, his jaw flexing gently. Suddenly his eyes brightened and he smiled wide. He looked eccentric with inspiration.
“It can.” A quick kiss was pressed to my lips before he leapt from the bed and rummaged around in our bags. I gigged at his antics and tried to protest, my face still damp. After a moment of searching, Sam appeared behind my back and one arm pulled me to himself. In the darkness I couldn’t quite make out where he ended and I began. I was relying solely upon the sense of his warmth. In one smooth movement, he climbed onto the bed and dragged me into his lap. I could imagine the way he was grinning as he gripped me tightly.
“Sam, what are you doing?” My voice squeaked as his head nestled against mine. He paused, and there was a stillness filled only by the sound of trees outside rustling. My ears listened for an explanation but none came. Even his breathing was put on hold. Then I heard it, that familiar clicking noise followed by a blinding flash. I yelped and hid my face against Sam, laughter spilling from both of our lips. We fell back into the bed together. He pulled the camera up to our faces to examine our handiwork.
I don’t know what I expected, but the end result was actually quite beautiful. Don’t get me wrong, the lighting was horrid and the framing was all off, but it’s my favorite picture of us. Sam is just smiling, one eyebrow bent slightly from trying to figure out the camera controls in the dark. I’m all curled up against him, shiny tears still glistening on my cheeks. The beginning of a grin is on my lips, and my face is in the initial stages of diving for cover after I heard the clicking noise. There’s something about the way I’m clutching his shirt that tells volumes about how uncertain I was, yet that in him I felt safe. His strong arm around me proves that that safety is true. That photograph never leaves my person while we’re hunting. To someone else it might look like some amateur mistake, but to me, that picture tells the story of us.
There were times when Kyle really hated winter, mostly because it’s fuckin’ cold outside. And he had to travel a bit to bother his new favorite chew toys. In fact, he was pretty sure Phil was expecting him, even though he’d stopped in the base’s rec room to warm up a bit and wait. It was nice to have a leisurely seat on the couch, eyes closed as he hummed the melody to one of his favorite songs to rehearse.
They had a break and were walking back to the studio. KSH was walking at his own leisurely pace to his seat. The director shouted “professor hurry up” and he was a bit taken aback and quickly ran back to his seat but it turns out the director was calling another professor and not him. He looks mildly embarrassed so cute his face.
When walking out of the studio for break, some fans shouted oppa and he turned back cooly to say hi. Awwww…
Photos of his pouty look when listening to instructions.
Halfway filming he asked for some coke as well. Come here I buy you coke!!
I hope this little ficlet contributes to make this day a special day ;)
Klaine AU Meeting
Blaine is terribly nervous.
He shouldn’t be : after all, the hard part is behind him, he got into the damn school, didn’t he?
And yet. And yet he’s standing outside of the lecture hall, clutching the strap of his bag like a lifeline, feeling his fingers shake slightly as he ponders the merit of ditching his very first college class.
Blaine knows that he has nothing to be afraid of, per se : here, he’s among people who (should) understand him, (should) share the same passions, (should) welcome him with open arms – ok the last one was maybe a bit too strong a wish, but a man can dream.
It’s just nerves, he rationalizes as he shakes his head and straightens his shoulders, it will pass. Just get in there, Anderson, get in there, take a sit, focus and it will be alright.
Patting himself on the virtual back, Blaine pulls open the door and throws a cautionary look around him. The hall looks beautiful, all dark wood and velvet drapes framing the window filtering the sunlight, and there are only 21 seats taken – he’s not late yet, all is good, he just needs …
He just needs to stop staring and remember how to breath.