#Cabinet Painting Companies near me

[edpainting1]

Ed painting&remodeling Llc | Bathroom Remodeler | Painting Contractors in Caldwell NJ

We have a well-earned reputation as one of the most notable Painting Contractors in Caldwell NJ. From interior walls to exterior facades, our skilled team utilizes top-quality paints, modern techniques, and attention to detail to deliver flawless results. Whether you're looking to refresh a single room or give your entire property a makeover, we have you covered. Moreover, when it comes to transforming an outdated bathroom, we are your dependable go-to Bathroom Remodeler in Caldwell NJ. Our professionals handle every aspect of the remodel, from design and layout to installation and finishing touches. With us, you can bring your dream bathroom to life. So, if you need our expert assistance, call us today.

[mgppaintingservice]

Transform your kitchen with our expert kitchen cabinet repainting and refinishing services. At MGP Painting, we specialize in affordable kitchen cabinet transformations that eliminate the need for costly replacements. 

Our skilled team will rejuvenate your cabinets, giving your kitchen a fresh, modern look. Trusted by families in Rockland, Bergen, Orange, and Westchester counties, our professional cabinet painting services will make your kitchen shine.

Contact us at 845-290-5284 for a free estimate and let MGP Painting, one of the top cabinet painting companies in Hudson Valley, NY, handle your kitchen transformation.

[camellasstory]

Why Hiring a Cabinet Painting Company Near Me is the Best Decision for an Instant Home Upgrade

Are your kitchen cabinets looking tired and outdated? Do you dream of giving your home an instant upgrade without breaking the bank? Well, look no further! Hiring a cabinet painting company near me could be the best decision you make for transforming your space. With their professional expertise, time-saving process, and high-quality results, these experts can breathe new life into your cabinets in no time. So why wait? Let’s dive into the top reasons why hiring a cabinet painting company near you is the ultimate solution for upgrading your home instantly!

Reasons to hire a Cabinet Painting Company Near Me

When it comes to giving your home an instant upgrade, one area that often gets overlooked is the cabinets. These essential storage spaces can make a big impact on the overall aesthetic of your kitchen or bathroom. If you’re thinking about sprucing up your cabinets, hiring a cabinet painting company near you is the best decision you can make.

Professional expertise and experience

When it comes to giving your cabinets a fresh new look, hiring a professional cabinet painting company near you is the best decision you can make. These experts bring with them years of experience and specialized skills that ensure outstanding results.

Professional expertise is key when it comes to cabinet painting. A reputable company will have trained painters who know the ins and outs of refinishing cabinets. They understand the different types of wood, finishes, and techniques required for each project. With their knowledge and experience, they can provide personalized solutions that cater to your specific needs.

In addition to expertise, hiring a cabinet painting company near you also allows you to benefit from their vast experience in the field. They have worked on numerous projects over time and have encountered various challenges along the way. This means they are well-equipped to handle any issues that may arise during the process, ensuring a smooth and successful transformation for your cabinets.

Time-saving and efficient process

When it comes to giving your kitchen cabinets a fresh new look, hiring a cabinet painting company near you can be the best decision you make. Not only do they bring professional expertise and experience to the table, but their time-saving and efficient process is another major advantage.

One of the biggest challenges of cabinet painting is the amount of time and effort it takes to complete the project. From prepping the surfaces to applying multiple coats of paint, it can be a long and tedious process. However, when you hire a cabinet painting company near you, they have all the tools, equipment, and knowledge needed to streamline this process.

High-quality results with minimal mess or inconvenience

When it comes to upgrading your home, one of the most effective and affordable options is to give your cabinets a fresh new look. While you may consider taking on this project yourself, hiring a professional cabinet painting company near you can provide high-quality results with minimal mess or inconvenience.

One of the key advantages of hiring a cabinet painting company is their ability to deliver exceptional quality work. These professionals have extensive expertise and experience in cabinet refinishing, ensuring that every detail is taken care of. From sanding and priming to applying multiple coats of paint, they know how to achieve a flawless finish that will instantly transform your cabinets.

How to choose the right Cabinet Painting Company Near Me

When it comes to choosing the right cabinet painting company near you, there are a few key factors to consider. Take some time to research and compare different companies in your area. Look for those with positive customer reviews and a proven track record of delivering high-quality results.

Next, check if the cabinet painting company offers free consultations or quotes. This will allow you to discuss your project in detail and get an accurate estimate of costs involved.

It’s also important to inquire about the techniques and materials used by the company. A reputable cabinet painting company will use premium quality paints that are durable and long-lasting.

Furthermore, don’t forget to ask about their level of experience and expertise in handling similar projects. Experienced professionals will have the knowledge and skills necessary to work efficiently while ensuring a flawless finish.

Additionally, find out if they provide any warranties or guarantees on their workmanship. This shows their commitment to customer satisfaction.

Don’t hesitate to ask for references from past clients. Speaking directly with previous customers can give you valuable insights into the reliability and professionalism of the company you are considering.

By carefully considering these factors when choosing a cabinet painting company near you, you can ensure that your project is completed successfully with stunning results!

Conclusion

Hiring a cabinet painting company near me is undoubtedly the best decision for an instant home upgrade. The professional expertise and experience they bring to the table ensure a flawless finish that will transform your cabinets and breathe new life into your space. Not only do these professionals save you time with their efficient process, but they also minimize any mess or inconvenience during the painting project. You can rest assured knowing that your cabinets will be handled with care, and the end result will exceed your expectations.

[ritsblogs]

Transform your kitchen with Painting Kitchen Cabinets LLC, the top-rated cabinet painting company near you. Get a professional and affordable makeover for your cabinets today!

[hawkeyepaintingandyardservice]

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[pattyatparadiso]

Ron's Painting | Painter | Exterior Painting in Red Deer AB

We are your dependable and trustworthy go-to Painter in Red Deer AB, to enhance the aesthetic appeal of your home or business. From consultation to completion, our team works closely with you to ensure that your vision is brought to life. With our attention to detail and use of premium paint products, you can trust us to provide a beautiful and lasting finish. Moreover, we are also renowned for exceptional Exterior Painting in Red Deer AB. Whether you’re looking to refresh your home’s exterior or create a new look for your office, we have the expertise to deliver superior results. With us, you are assured of improving your property’s curb appeal. So, if you need our expert assistance, call us today.

[twentyfourducks]

Con alcuna licenza: Sunday x Reader

Robin invites you to look through some old photo albums, and Sunday decides to revisit an old hobby.

(intended as somewhat of a character study with some fluff)

check it out on ao3?

4213 words

You open your eyes to dappled sunlight illuminating the foot of the bed. There’s no presence to your side to keep you company as you wake up fully, only the fading scent of familiarity. In your half-asleep state, you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness; couldn’t he have stayed a bit longer? 

Once you decide you’re ready to get up, you rise and shuffle to the kitchenette in this wing of the house. The journey from the bedrooms to the main area is a short trip, but you always take your time in the mornings to absorb the beauty of the mansion’s main hall. Light filters in through stained glass windows, projecting vivid images onto the marble flooring. As you proceed, your shadow is the lone subject in the colors painting the tiles in myriad hues.

From staying here many a night, you know that it’s not often that either sibling has the time to cook their own food. However, you still look through the cabinets in hope that there’s something that could be eaten…plus, you don’t really want to bother the main kitchen staff if you’re the only one being served. 

After rummaging through everything available, the only thing that looks somewhat appealing to you is the untouched oak cake in the fridge. You try to slice through it with a knife, but it fights against you; the tough consistency makes you wonder if it’s stale or just meant to be like that…

Once you’ve wrestled a piece off, you take a bite. How does Sunday manage to eat this? You think to yourself between chews. This tastes…like tree bark. 

You’re looking for a trash can to inconspicuously spit the earthy mouthful into when you hear someone approaching. 

“I thought I heard someone in here!” chimes a pleasant voice. “And, well, I figured it couldn’t be my brother…”

With your back to Robin, you force yourself to swallow the awfulness. “Good morning,” you say as you fill up a glass of water.

Robin clasps her hands together. “What’s that you have there?” she asks, but then falters as her eyes see what’s on the counter. “Oh no,” she hurries over to snatch the plate away. “Don’t—I wouldn’t recommend eating that. It’s a very…acquired…taste.”

“It may be a bit too late for that,” you say, grimacing as you try to drown the remaining taste in your mouth.

“I’m sorry you had to taste that…” She places the oak cake back in the fridge, and slightly obscures it behind a bottle of SoulGlad. “I’ll phone the chef so they can send something better up. Is there anything in particular you want?”

“It’s okay. I think I’ve lost my appetite anyway.”

“Are you sure?...I’ll ask them to bring something anyway.” She pulls out her phone and walks away. A moment later you hear her speaking indistinctly around the corner. 

In a matter of minutes, a platter of tantalizing breakfast food is set in front of you, and you’re thankful for Robin’s hospitality (and thankful for not having to force yourself to consume any more of the oak cake roll.) 

You eat and then go into the parlor to relax. When you enter, Robin is there flipping through pages of a book. A bag of sunflower seeds and a pile of books rest near her on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” you ask, and she perks up at the sound of your voice.

“I was just looking through some old photos.” She pats the open cushion next to her. “Care to join me? There’s photos of my brother when he’s young,” she says, adding the last part in a singsong voice. 

Not wanting to turn down the prospect of seeing an adorable Sunday in his youth, you take her offer up, sinking into the plush cushion as you sit down. 

“We used to scrapbook together in our youth,” Robin sighs as she lays out the pile of books. You notice that in the crevices and along the spines, there’s an accumulation of dust. “At some point, when our careers began to develop, we slowly moved away from it…but there’s a part of me that wishes that it was a hobby we still continued. Maybe…maybe I’m just too nostalgic.” She shrugs before leaning back against the couch and returning to the book she was looking at. “Feel free to choose any one you want.” 

You choose one bound in dark red leather with a pattern of music notes painted on the front, and open it to a page with a light blue ribbon sticking out. The ribbon unfurls to reveal “First Place” in a gold-lettered cursive font. Affixed to the page with musical stickers are photos of a young, well-dressed Robin who couldn’t be any older than ten. In the background are the tall red curtains of the Penacony Grand Theater. 

Turning the page, the center photo has teenage Robin and Sunday standing in the Theater’s grand hall.. You can’t help but giggle at Sunday’s outfit: a white dress shirt with a red bow tie and suspenders attached to his pants. His silver hair just barely reaches his shoulders, and a glowing smile is on his face. The rest of the photos on the page are Robin standing with various other performers.

The next page is populated only with Sunday, who looks to be the same age as in the previous photo. He’s dressed in formal concert attire, and the largest photo on the page is him in an auditorium playing the violin. 

You turn to Robin. “Sunday used to play the violin?” you ask. 

“Hmm?” She looks up, and eyes what page you’re on. “Yes, he was great at it. As we grew up, we were encouraged into music. The violin was his favorite instrument.” She wistfully sighs as she studies the photos. “I wish he still played.”

“When did he stop?”

Robin pauses and does a quick count on her fingers. “It has to be..maybe three or four years ago? He kind of…tapered off as he began to take over Oak Family duties. I wish I remembered more clearly, because that was also around the time I began to take my career seriously…”

There’s a silence as she stares off into the distance. Then, she turns to you and asks, “Do you mind if I look at that album after you?”

You nod, and she returns her attention to the photos she was looking at. 

Turning the page again, there’s a certificate that takes up the bulk of the area. “Best Performer Award,” it says in print. In these photos, Sunday beams as he holds the certificate and a trophy, a proud warmth in his eyes. 

Mixed into the following pages are the siblings playing a variety of instruments; you see images of Sunday on the piano, tuning a cello, playing the flute. He gets taller, and his hair grows longer. Some of the photos are taken in what looks to be a music room with instruments in the background, others are in performance halls. One of the photos has Robin and Sunday singing in a choir in what looks to be a grand tribute to Xipe; the entire ensemble dons long robes in a deep purple hue.

As you leaf through, you note that Sunday shows up less and less in the photos. The last page is a group photo of smiling people, with Robin front and center in a beautiful dress, an updo, and a trophy in her hands; you recognize a logo in the background to be one of a famous award show hosted by the IPC every few Amber Eras. Within the group is Sunday as you know him to look today.

When you close the book and set it between you and Robin, she looks up. “If you liked looking at those photos, you might like the ones in this book.” She picks an album up from the table and hands it to you. “Careful, this one hasn’t been organized yet.”

You can tell from the unworn leather and the crisp pages that this book is the newest out of all the others. Still, it has a faint layer of dust that looks to be recently brushed off. When you open it, inside are newspaper clippings and concert programs disorderly strewn throughout the pages in no particular order. Everything in it has one thing in common: it’s all related to Sunday. 

Robin’s eyes linger on the pages of the book. “When we each began to take our own path, and we began to spend less time together, I still longed for the carefree days of our youth when we could indulge in being creative…The thought of scrapbooking probably hasn’t crossed my brother’s mind in ages…but that won’t stop me from collecting thing for the next time we get a good opportunity.”

The first item you pick up is the booklet for an orchestra performance that, according to the date on the front, took place five system years ago. Penacony Symphonic Orchestra, reads the flourishing text at the top, followed by the subtext Spring Concert. You turn the page to the list of performing members, and recognize one of the names at the top credited as the orchestra’s concertmaster. 

Indeed, in a photo of the orchestra on the next page, you see Sunday sitting closest to the conductor along the stage’s edge. 

A page of newspaper from four years ago is under the previous page, with the headline stating in bold that the conductor of the Penacony Philharmonic Orchestra had to take a leave of absence due to health issues, and that concertmaster Sunday will be replacing him for the time being. 

The corner of a photo peeks out from the middle of the papers, and you pull it out. It’s a picture of Sunday taken from the audience as he conducts the orchestra, arms outstretched in a gesture for what must be a grand part of the song. You can’t see Sunday’s face, but from his posture, it looks like he was made for the role. 

Another photo is stuck behind that one, and so you peel the two apart. This one seems to be from a different concert. It shows Sunday from the side with a focused expression. His left hand is behind his back, and his right hand seems to be in the downbeat of the meter, judging by the position of the baton. 

You didn’t notice Robin leaning over to view the pictures as well until she speaks. “I wish I had been able to go to more of his concerts,” she says. “During this time, I was touring, and to go to those two concerts I had to take a rushed trip here and then rush right back to the star system I was performing in.”

“Why did he quit?” you ask.

“He was trying to balance his orchestral role with his role in the Family.” She rests a hand on her necklace with furrowed eyebrows. “Shortly before he was made Oak Family Head, he…decided to focus solely on that role.”

Judging from the pensive look on Robin’s face, you decide to lay off of the topic of Sunday not being in the orchestra anymore. “And he doesn’t play as a hobby anymore, either?”

“Not that I know of. But also…I’m not home as often anymore, so it’s possible he could pick up the occasional instrument.” She shakes her head. “Every time I’ve asked why he stopped, he emphasizes the importance of his role in the Oak Family. I personally doubt that's the entire reason, however…maybe if you asked, he’d be willing to open up more to you?”

___

Time goes by faster than you expect it to while you’re looking through the photo books. At some point, Robin left for singing practice, and your eyelids began to get heavier and heavier…

Sunday returns to you asleep on the couch with an open book on your lap and other books splayed out around you. Curiosity piqued, he quietly inches closer to eye what it is that you’re reading. The ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth when he sees the photos on the page. Robin must have been saving these throughout the years. 

A pang of nostalgia hits him as memories return to him. There's no other responsibilities pressing at the moment, so it wouldn’t hurt to bring his violin out briefly…plus, he knows you’ll be interested in hearing him play after seeing the photos.

He makes his way to his bedroom and eases the door shut in hopes no sound would leak out to disturb you. He goes for his closet, and searches the back shelf for his violin case…when his fingers find the handle, he frees it from the darkness. 

The first thing Sunday does is clean the dust off of the dark case. Then he sets it on his desk and undoes the silvery latches; the lid releases, and he opens it. 

Inside the case, resting in a bed of velvet, lies a remarkable piece of work: a hand-carved, beautifully varnished, multiple amber eras old violin that was gifted to Sunday in his youth. His eyes linger on the details, as he’s always been enamored with its beauty. 

He strips his gloves from his hands and plucks at the taut strings in sequence. A discordant chain of notes play; the violin is evidently out of tune from disuse. The corner of his mouth twitches downward. Old habits arise as he seeks to correct this injustice.

As he tunes, he hums the specific frequency he wants the string to sound like. The pitches have been etched into his mind from a young age when he was taught by his instructor to use oneself as the reference. Each tone is separated by a fifth; he’s able to capture them perfectly as he turns the fine tuning pegs.

When he’s done, the pizzicato notes are satisfying to the ear. 

Sunday takes the bow from the case and tightens the tension of the bow hair. He recalls the last time he played, and he remembers how meticulously he cleaned and polished it before leaving it on the shelf to wait for him to take it up again. The body of the instrument still retains its shine.

He checks his container of rosin: lucky for him, it’s not dried out. In long, slow strokes, he runs it across the bow hair with a firm but gentle touch. He’s thorough when he cleans off the excess with a piece of cloth.

After the violin has been restored to its former glory, he brings the violin to his neck in a playing position, touches the bow to the string, and plays a slow, drawn out note as the bow runs along the string. A shiver runs up his spine as he absorbs the sonorous timbre, and he eases into a melodic sequence of notes. 

You’re witness to most of this; at some point, you were awoken by the faint sounds coming from Sunday’s room and crept down the hall only to be hindered by a closed door. In a painstakingly slow manner so as not to get his attention, you opened the door only a sliver, enough for you to peer into the room. 

You watch as he sways with the rhythm he plays. The tune itself is simple and gentle in nature, one you’ve never heard before. His movements are entrancing, and you’re enamored, so much to the point that you forget to make yourself scarce when he’s finished…

When he plays the ending note, his eyes catch yours through the ajar door. 

“Like what you see?” he asks with a smug smile. “You can come in now. Or would you prefer to continue watching from a distance?”

There’s a coy guilt all over your face as you push the door open fully and walk in. “How long did you know I was there?”

“Only the whole time.” He lowers his violin and sets it down on his desk before pressing you a chaste kiss. “Did you have a nice rest?”

“I did. I…” You laugh nervously, bashful at the fact that he definitely saw you looking at his old photos. “I didn’t hear you come back. How was your day?”

“Rather tedious. The bulk of it was overseeing the creation of The Reverie’s budget for the next fiscal year. But…I’m here now. I noticed you were looking at old albums; shall I assume Robin was the one who brought those out?”

“Yes,” you nod. “You were cute as a kid.”

“Ah…really? You think so?” He angles his face away from you to hide the blush forming from your compliment.

“Very photogenic.” You rest a hand on his jawline and guide his face back towards you. His wings flutter in response, but he doesn’t shy away from your touch. “I’m jealous, actually.”

“You know as well as I that there’s no need for you to be jealous.” 

You brush your hand against his neck before you pull back, lest you get carried away. “I was hoping you would play me a song.” 

“What is it you would like to hear?”

“Anything you play would be lovely.”

You sit down on his bed and wait in hushed anticipation as Sunday readies his violin once more. He closes his eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Is he visualizing the music? Is there an internalized metronome he’s counting along to? Maybe he’s—

Interrupting your thoughts, and with his eyes still shut, he starts into a slow melody. His fingers glide across the strings while his other hand draws the bow to weave the notes of a flowing song. Your mind wanders to how mesmerizing he must have looked under stage lights. 

The music swells like the crest of a wave, and it sounds like his tempo has quickened to be more spirited. Already, you’re impressed by how he hasn’t faltered at all while playing. How many more songs must he have memorized? He continues to evoke a sort of vividness through his motions and navigates complex sequences with fluidity. 

His song tapers down, creating a sense of finality that mirrors the beginning of the piece. In the last cadence, he opens his eyes to witness the last prolonged note softly washing over you. He savors the sound before letting it fall into silence. 

Sunday looks to you in anticipation, and to his surprise, whispers of doubt swirl in his mind: Did he make a mistake he wasn’t aware of? Was he in dire need of practice? Or maybe…you didn’t like it. It’s been ages since he’s played for an audience; maybe his skills have deteriorated since then. 

It’s a bit funny, he thinks wryly. I doubt I've been this nervous to know how I did since my first ever playing test. 

The tension leaves his body in reaction to your rapid applause and bright smile. “Sunday! That was amazing!”

He’s awash with relief that you seemed to be satisfied with the song he played. He turns away to set his violin down, but can’t help the feeling of pride blooming inside him as he puts his gloves back on and joins you on the bed. 

You grin at him. “I expected you to be pretty good, but you love exceeding expectations, don’t you?” 

“I admit it’s not…that bad for a long time without practice,” Sunday says, taking your hand in his. “Definitely not my best.”

“If that’s not your best, I wish I could have seen you at your peak.” You lean back onto the bed, and he follows, the mattress shifting with the change in weight distribution. Studying the ceiling, you voice your thoughts by asking “Why did you stop playing?”

“I had to devote myself wholly to my role in The Family,” is the answer he responds with.   

Your eyes drift over to glance at him. “You couldn’t find a way to balance both?”

He sighs. “When I was given my role as the Bronze Melodia, it…was tiring, to say the least. Listening to the confessions of people is more draining than it sounds, especially when…” 

Sunday trails off, lost in thought. You squeeze his hand to bring him back, and he exhales a shaky breath.

“...Right. I…would be completely drained upon returning home from Dewlight Pavillion, and it was difficult to even muster the strength to practice. And then…I became the head of the Oak Family. I had to relinquish my roles in the orchestra, both as a player and conductor. I can’t say I don’t miss it,” he says, longing in the undertones of his voice. “But those roles have since been filled with deserving people.” 

There’s a moment of introspective quiet before Sunday looks to you. “Have you had dinner yet?” 

You shake your head no. 

He rises from the bed and towards the door. “Then I shall inform the kitchen to prepare a meal for us. I don’t think Robin will be joining us tonight…”

As he retreats down the hall, you remain on the bed, pondering his words. Knowing Sunday and his relationship with the Oak Family, you can’t help thinking about the possibility that there may have been a more persuasive force behind his departure from the musical scene…

You stand up and neaten his bed to the way it was, your mind stuck on the things left unsaid.

___

You open your eyes to a dark room. The bad dream you were just having vanishes before you could even recall it, leaving only a pounding heart in its wake. Your eyes flit around the room as you remember where you are. The pale luminosity of the night streams in through sheer curtains onto the foot of the bed. There’s a warm presence to your side — your lover — who is fast asleep, unaware of your racing mind. 

Exhaling, you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand and squint at the bright screen. System time is three something in the morning. You set it down and roll over, trying desperately to return to your slumber, but to no avail; all of your tiredness has quickly dissipated. 

In the dimness of the room, you gaze at Sunday in his tranquil beauty, and watch his chest gently rise and fall. His silver hair captures the moonlight in the way it shines and disperses it into locks strewn about his pillow. Slightly parted lips give way to faint somniloquies that you wish you could understand. 

You’re lost in how idyllic he looks…until long eyelashes flutter and reveal golden eyes under drowsy hoods. Your body quickly stiffens with the hope you haven’t accidentally woken him up. He stirs beneath the sheets, and looks at you with tired eyes. 

Softly, he asks “Dear, why are you up?”

“I…had a dream that woke me up,” you whisper in reply. “Go back to sleep.”

Without saying anything else, he reaches out and pulls you into an embrace. You melt into his chest, warmed by the comfortable heat he radiates. 

“Was it a bad dream?” he softly inquires.

You nuzzle closer to him. “It was gone as soon as it came.”

Sunday holds you tighter under the blanket. 

After what could have been moments or minutes elapse, you look up to him. He’s still awake. 

“...I’ll miss you tomorrow morning,” you say. “What time do you have to be up?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. 

“What time?”

“...Five.”

You wearily groan into his chest. “Oh, Sunday…you work too hard.”

His hand traces languid shapes into your back. “That’s why I have to savor as much time as I can with you.”

In his arms, you reflect on the day, fatigue slowly beginning to weigh down your thoughts. You recall glimpses of Sunday playing his violin, and his effortless grace. The first melody you watched him play, the one you watched through the door, swims through your head. 

A question pulls at your mind, and you choose to ask before you forget. “Hmm…Sunday?”

“Yes?”

“What was the first song you played earlier?”

He takes a breath. “It…was a song I remember from my youth. When I first started playing music, it was one of the first things I transcribed…from memory. Because I never wanted to forget.” 

“It’s a beautiful song.”

You can’t see, but a smile forms on Sunday’s face. “It…was a song our mother would sing to me and Robin.”

“Could I hear you hum it to me?”

He begins to hum the melody, and the dulcet tune coupled with the faint vibrations of his chest begin to lull you into a peaceful sleep. You try fighting it off, just to hear his voice a little longer…only to end up closing your eyes in the end.

Once your breathing is even, Sunday admires your sleeping form. Before he closes his eyes to return to sleep himself, Sunday whispers three words into your ear that evanesce into the air; three words he’ll be sure to repeat to you again once you’re awake.

___

"Con alcuna licenza" is a musical direction that refers to expressive and rhythmic freedom, allowing the conductor to speed up or slow down the tempo of a piece at their discretion.

[slifarianhawk]

Chapter 43: what belongs where

When we arrived at Jake and Reina's home, Jake got out and opened my door. He was a quiet kid. He had barely said a word the entire ride to his place, only saying Hunk should run to the store for some food. Albert offered to drive him and pay for the food. Hunk agreed.

Jake held the door while I got out of the car. He held himself with a prideful stance. Walking me up to the door I could tell was difficult for him. He knew I was his biological mom... I bet that threw him for a loop.

"Please come in. We didn't have much, but it's where me, ma, and teach called home," Jake said, unlocking the door and letting us in from the rain.

"Thank you, Jake," I said, looking upon the house.

It was indeed small but very cozy. The entranceway opened up to a living room that was connected to the kitchen and dining room. It was more open than I remembered it being in ninety-two. Yet the nostalgic smell of roses, lavender, and sage stayed the same.

"Not what you were expecting? Thought your contributions would go further, hmm?" Jake asked, pulling down a couple of white ceramic mugs.

"No, it's just more open than I remembered, and the paint looks fresher too. Did you and Hunk remodel for Reina?"  I asked, noticing Jake put a kettle on the worn-down electric coil stove.

"Whoa! You can tell, huh? Yeah, teach, and I did it just after Mom got diagnosed with cancer. We thought more open space would be better for her in case she fell we could see her. Shortly after, Ma got with a, and we were a small family." Jake said, turning on the burner, "Unfortunately Ma wasn't big on there being coffee in the house, but we do have plenty of tea. What's your poison?"

I gently chuckle, "Jasmine, if you have it, and the whole no coffee thing was something her mom tried to drill into us. She was a bit of a health nut."

"Jasmine is mom's favorite. She had a special blend made for her at the local tea shop. Jasmine and Rose Hips, the tea is one reason the house smells the way it does." Jake said as the kettle began to whistle, "Sugar or cream?"

"Some sugar would be lovely." I smiled as he grabbed a tray with some chipped and worn china on it.

"Please go make yourself comfortable on the sofa. I'd feel like a total dick if I made a pregnant woman stand for tea that wouldn't be done for several minutes."  He said with a smirk on his face.

Gods did he look just like his father with that shit-eating grin on his face, "And you got my tongue that's for damn sure. I used to get heavy doses of bar soap to the mouth when I was your age."

We both laughed at that as I sat down. The living room was small with a china cabinet against the far wall and a nineteen-inch box TV in front of a blackout-curtained window. The carpets weren't the prettiest color, and they were pretty badly matted. I was curious about how the money I was giving Reina was being spent, but I figured I'd ask later.

That was when I noticed it out of the corner of my eye. There was a piano. Sure, it looked rough, but I knew Reina had a soft spot for it. I waddled my butt over to the piano and sat on the bench.

"Oh, that old thing caught your eye, huh? Mom gave piano lessons to supplement our income. Unfortunately, after a while of being a midwife in a near-constant war zone business dies. The money you sent us mainly covered bills and my school's tuition." Jake said, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry kid. I would have sent more if I could. Sigh, with Umbrella breathing down my neck I'm surprised you both didn't get found sooner. Fucking Sergei, fucking Spencer, they both deserve to be where they are rotting now." I said as he brought me my mug of tea.

"So let me get something straight, you gave me up so a pharmaceutical company couldn't take custody of me? Sure I know what they did but why didn't you keep me?" Jake asked taking a sip of his tea.

"The same reason why I didn't keep your sister. I didn't trust Ozwell E. Spencer.  He offered to take you both into his care since me and your father were under his watch. I just knew deep in my heart something bad would have happened to you both. I already lost Alistar to Umbrella. She died getting intel for me... she didn't follow my orders. I was supposed to die that day. I had to do what every parent dreads. I had to bury one of my children." I said holding back tears.

"So I had a sister. I bet she was a badass. Tell me, you are pregnant now. What has changed other than it being sixteen years later?" Jake said a bit of a sad expression on his face.

"The people who were after me and your father are dead. Mainly by his hand. Sigh, we were Umbrella scientists and I was one of Umbrella's experiments. Sadly between October ninety-eight and February two thousand three, I was Umbrella's prisoner and test subject. I'm in all senses of the word kid, a monster." I stopped, pulled my contacts case out of my purse, and took out my contacts.

"Jesus Christ! Your eyes!" Jake said stumbling back a bit not dropping or spilling his tea.

"They did this to me and your father to some extent, he wasn't downright experimented on like a lab rat but an Umbrella experiment all the same." I sighed taking a sip of the now slightly cooled Jasmine tea, "I just couldn't let my little ones be raised in such a hell. I left your sister with a lovely Russian couple... I wasn't careful enough though... my bastard uncle... your great uncle... he was a top figure in Umbrella. I went to him not knowing he had become Spencer's right-hand dog.  When I escaped he had tracked down the couple I gave Alistar to. They died in a fire caused by an umbrella facility catching a blaze. It was ordered by Spencer."

"That's why you kept your distance from mom then. You were trying to keep us safe." Jake said with a melancholy tone.

"Yes, you belonged here with someone who was able to love you and not be on the run all the time. Even during my and your father's stable period, we couldn't avoid being tracked by Umbrella. Che, even on date nights we were surrounded by Spencer's goons. Always watching us. The only day I felt free from it slightly was my and your father's wedding day." I shook my head sipping the tea.

"That had to of sucked but you said the bastards that did this to you are dead. Why did you wait to come find me then?" Jake said setting his saucer down and folding his hands together.

"Because Spencer's ambition is still alive in your father..." I took a long sip finishing off the tea and shook my head, "I am going to stop him no matter the costs. I just am here to ask a favor... I know it's selfish but if something were to happen to me I'd like for you to watch over your siblings. I don't think your aunt and uncle on my side would be able to care for them given they both hate your father."

"You said I have an aunt on my father's side why not ask her?" Jake asked finishing his tea.

"Because she sent a merc to kill me and my top guy," I growled clenching my fist at the thought of Alex getting a hold of my children.

"Damn so bad blood there, just let me think about it. That's a tall ask. I don't have much money or space." Jake said.

"If push comes to shove money is no object to me anymore I have a hunting lodge open and running at max capacity not to mention federal grants from the U.N. to keep up my anti-bioterrorism organization. Anything should happen to me they will not only fund you but keep you and your siblings safe." I sigh finishing my tea off as well.

"That's a hell of an offer but I'll have to still think I am a soldier of fortune now. I have to keep myself alive for a bit." He said taking our cups and setting them on the stained coffee table.

"I understand, and this is only if the worst outcome happens and I'm not around. Which isn't the most likely outcome." I sigh hesitantly scratching the back of my neck.

"I will keep my mind open so long as you pay a visit when you can. Teach and I have been quite lonely since Ma passed. It would be nice to have some company once in a while." Jake said putting a hand on my shoulder.

"It's a promise then. It finally seems as if things are where they belong." I heard Albert pull up and I smiled, "We will depart after dinner but before your father and teacher come in take this."

I handed Jake a card with a black and cyan blue wolf emblem on the back.

"What's this?" Jake asked taking the card from my hand and tucking it into his sleeve.

"A crossbow with a golden bolt is what that is. Should you ever need assistance, if your team fails you and H.U.N.K. isn't around. Destroy this, the tracker activates when destroyed. My personal guard dog will come get you, his code name is Cryo Wolf. I don't discuss mine and his terms but I will say that this is for a wipe-the-slate-clean kind of saving. Not only will wolf rescue but also set up with new anything if necessary. I only have so many of these cards. I just want you to have one in case shit hits the fan." I said sternly, "nod if you understand."

Jake nodded as we heard footsteps up the path.

"I wish had these when I was watching over your sister. Maybe then she'd be here still." I sighed as Hunk opened the door.

"I got food for chicken porridge." He said Albert walking in as well.

"Then I'll get started on dinner." I smiled as the three gentlemen walked into the living and started having a chat about Jake's life.

No matter what happens I must save my family. Hell will freeze over before I fail.

Hey everyone slifarianhawk here and sorry for the wait. I needed to do some serious recovering from the illnesses I'm dealing with and just like Tabitha I broke my damn foot. I'll be posting more regularly again just not as often as before. That is because I'm starting up a second book. It's still in my drafts and I'm going to take some time releasing it so arch angel will still have priority. The new story will be for genshin impact and I do hope if you are a fan of my writing you'll give it a chance. My name is Silfarianhawk and I'm not so far away

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch 14a

ARC image by Eury Escodero | image by @superherocaps

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Emory tries to figure out where she is.

Length: 2,793

Tags (please don’t hesitate to ask!): @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @starksbf @themaradaniels @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

“Optimistically? 40 points,” Tony says, working at his tie with one hand. He keeps his body angled in a way that Pepper can’t see what he’s doing, because he doesn’t want her to fret about the brewing argument here, and if she sees him struggle with the tie, she’ll get up to help.

Stane’s eyebrows go up. “At minimum.”  

What follows is a completely reasonable argument on Stane’s part about what’s feasible as a company. Tony remains steadfast, even as he notes Obie’s eyes drifting down to his chest multiple times. Obie clearly knows. If Tony weren’t so worried about Emory, if she were waiting for him at the house and he knew she was safe, he would be making notes about the number of times he has already thought about her so he could make her laugh tonight. She’d be particularly amused about the way he feels almost objectified, how the fact of what he’s carrying on his chest is a weight between himself and Obie, a hidden aspect of the conversation. He wants to ask her if that’s what having breasts like hers is like, wants her to slap him, wants to make it up to her. He just wants.

Chapter Fourteen: [weather redacted in report of unexplained incident in Afghanistan]

It is very clear to Emory that she is under intense observation. Her room is smaller than a typical dorm room, and something about it feels wrong, like it’s being re-used as a hospital room instead of designed for that purpose. The lack of a window is particularly strange, and she gets up to look around, grabbing her IV pole to roll it around with her. The bag attached to her tubing is empty, and she is tempted to pull the whole thing out, but that would likely draw attention. It is strange to her that she’s been dressed in scrubs instead of a hospital gown, though-- another indication that something is not quite normal.

When Emory approaches the door, she sees that the metal box above it has shining new screws drilled into chipped, ancient paint. The box has a steady red light which blinks green seconds before the door opens to admit ‘Nurse Kate.’

Emory tells her she needs to use the bathroom, and remarks on the lack of a call button. The agent/nurse says something noncommittal about the call button and leads her to a different door (with another metal box, this one near the knob) requiring a card scan to open. The hallway beyond is under construction and dead-ends with a few tall file cabinets blocking the path. 

The bathroom itself is multi-stall, and her guardian waits by the sinks. When Emory goes to flush the toilet, it makes a terrible sucking noise and doesn't fill back up. The sink itself is set to a trickle.

It’s almost like they’re afraid of what I could do with the water! Emory tells herself. Someone’s clearly got a wild imagination. After seeing just how much air she needs to gather to do anything of consequence, it is laughable to think that she could manage to get enough water from an office bathroom to accomplish anything more than getting her blonde guard soaking wet.

Nurse Kate lets Emory precede her into the room, and Emory angles her path back to the bed carefully, her mind racing. At the last second, she turns to face the agent and backs up so she is leaning against the only viable exit. The woman stops and stands casually, legs apart, hands at her hips. If movies and TV are accurate about agent-types having gun holsters at their center back, Emory is certain this woman has one.

“Under whose authority are you holding me here?” she asks, wishing she had pockets to sink her hands into to hide how much they shake. Tony’s voice in her head tells her that obvious distress might be to her advantage, if they’re worried about what she might be capable of.

“Well,” the agent pretending to be a nurse says, tipping her head sideways and smiling with what is almost but not quite a sweet expression, “Primarily, we’re just trying to make sure you’re medically sound. Beyond that, there could be some security concerns.”

“For me? Or for the population at large?” Emory asks, surprised. It doesn’t seem to read as surprise to her guard, though.

“See, that? That’s just telling on yourself,” Nurse Kate points out.

“Or I’m bluffing.” Emory shrugs, sliding the IV pole in front of her like a shield.

“Well, the difference between the two is the authority under which you’re being held.”

“And that meeting I requested?”

“Are you blocking the door in hopes of advancing that timeline?”

Emory looks behind her as if she hadn’t realized where she was standing. “Are we playing that game where we keep asking a question until the person who doesn’t loses?”

The agent/nurse does an exaggerated shrugging maneuver and silently starts toward Emory. Emory steps aside just enough for the door to open, looking up at the light. Just as she thought it might, the light turns green before the woman touches the door. It hadn’t turned green until the other woman had approached. That probably means there’s a second person watching everything that’s going on, hitting a button to let her fake nurse back out. The other option is that her badge also unlocks this door within a certain proximity, which might be useful.

The woman opens the door, and Emory throws a hand out to stop it. Immediately, Nurse Kate spins into a clearly combative stance, a hand flying out to hold onto the door underneath Emory’s own grip.

“Can I have a book or something to do?” Emory asks in a friendly voice, as if that was the purpose of stopping the door. She now has confirmation that the woman standing opposite her is a special agent of some kind, one prepared to fight her if necessary.

With a decisive head shake, the woman walks through the open space, yanking the door out of Emory’s hand. She doesn’t even seem upset, despite the possible display of ego in not wanting to ‘lose’ the verbal spar.

“What, you think I’ll get bored and play with some sort of magical superpower?” Emory says aloud, laughing.

She has learned more about her situation, though most of the information is functionally useless. The room is for her, she’s sure, with a new security system on one door, though the badge scanner on the other seems like it’s been there for a while. If she had to guess, Emory would say she’s in a dis-used wing of a governmental building, as evidenced by the creative blockade at the end of the hallway. Her room feels like it was originally maybe some kind of small lobby with a reception desk, one that agents or employees would have to pass through to reach offices beyond the badge scan.

Emory climbs back into her bed and starts fiddling with the velcro of her former restraints. It seems like whoever has ordered her confinement is both concerned and creative. However, if she’s right and they’re hoping she’ll display her abilities in frustration or boredom, they’ve checked their logical sense at the door.

She just spent how long stuck in a cave with practically nothing to do? And how exactly did she get out of there? Oh, right. She escaped.

Is that what they want her to try to do now? Emory’s not discounting that option, but what she really wants are answers. It’s been about an hour since she woke up. She decides not to try anything or complain until the next morning at the very least, which gives her a chance to observe the room overnight.

The problem is that to pass the time, Emory absolutely cannot think about Tony, not if she wants to thwart Nurse Kate and whoever is employing her. She’ll have to distract herself, which she has practice doing. Emory pulls the blanket over her head as usual, and then laughs. She’d only started practicing her singing like this because she’d both wanted to hide and wanted to feel less self-conscious, but now it’s a habit, one that probably looks suspicious. It’s not the best thing for a singer to do, but by now, it’s comforting, and she definitely needs that right now. Somewhere out there in the world, she knows that Tony’s arm hurts, and she’s not there to joke about the large number of pain relief options he has access to now. It feels so strange to think that if she pulled the blanket back down, he wouldn’t be there. 

The familiar tingle of energy build-up sheaths her arms, and Emory sighs. She’s going to have to push away these thoughts, but Tony’s been a part of her daily life for so long that it’s like a part of her is missing.

That thought brings back the memories she’d tried to bury out of necessity.

Yinsen.

Just like that, her power dissipates, as if a switch has been thrown.

Emory pulls the blanket down off of her face so she can breathe freely. The weight of grief and guilt pull her into the fetal position on the bed, though she’s careful not to dislodge the IV. She hopes that his soul is at peace along with his family. His confession that they’d been dead the whole time was another truth that Emory had shoved aside the day of their escape, and now seems like exactly the right time to wallow in how horrible that feels.

Maybe her misery will work out to be an advantage anyway, if AgentNurse Kate is watching through her hidden surveillance cameras. She might worry about Emory’s grief and whether it’s dangerous. If Emory could have her way, no one would feel at ease tonight, not when someone so kind, intelligent, and morally just has just been taken from the world.

There had been an officious man standing beside Pepper. That’s the thing Tony focuses on-- not the uproar of press questions, not Stane’s horrified laughter as he shuffles Tony away from the podium, not the near-constant sound of camera shutters clicking as they leave the room. The three of them, Tony, Obie, and Pepper, take the private elevator on the way up to Tony’s office, and despite the fact that his arm has started to ache again, Tony can’t stop himself from laughing.

“What could possibly be funny?” Obie asks. Fury emanates from every pore, every letter of every word.

“I’m destined to be stuck in confined spaces in groups of three, it seems.”

“Tony--” Pepper’s concerned voice breaks off when he reaches out and squeezes her hand briefly. Obie’s huff of frustration sets Tony’s own temper off, in a way that his hurried, desperate reassurals to the press hadn’t.

“What, that’s too far? Comfort? What a shock. You’ve never been great at that, as I recall,” he snaps, seeing the words hit and feeling a perverse sort of glee in seeing their impact. They’re true but unfair. Obie had stepped in and kept the company afloat while Tony himself had made bad choices with miraculous outcomes, over and over again, until he’d pulled himself together enough to head Stark Industries himself. There hadn’t been much time for comfort, and his younger self probably wouldn’t have appreciated it anyway.

“Tony!” Pepper gasps. “You’re-- you’re shaken up. Not yourself.”

The elevator door opens and Tony doesn’t want to look at the room beyond, because the thing he wants --the person he wants to see-- won’t be there. Stane pushes past to stalk into the room, leans down to rest both hands on the desk for a second before spinning around to point directly at him.

“You need to take some time before you put yourself out there again. That was--” he pauses, rubs a hand over his face, and the person that emerges is the exact same jovial, glad-handing executive that had tried to smooth everything over minutes before. “I’m, I’m glad you’re okay. Okay, Tony? I’m glad. But decisions this big after an event like that--”

Tony propels himself out of the elevator fueled primarily by outrage. “After seeing the kind of people who have access to our weapons and moving decisively to stop it? Is that the event you’re referring to?” 

He walks right up to Obie, and it’s only because his arm hurts like hell that he doesn’t reach up and do the thing that Stane always loves to do, adjust Tony’s collar, pat the fabric paternally, like he actually ever gave a fuck. How long has this man used his jolly attitude to cover his contempt? Would Tony have ever realized it without spending time with Yinsen and learning to recognize the practice?

“So, what? That’s it?” Stane asks, holding his hands out and letting them drop with a sound as they strike his leg. “You against the world? There’s no need to do that, Tony, and I gotta tell you, trying to go it alone will just make it easier for people to ignore you. I may be many things to many people, and I’m not good at all of them, I’ll admit it. One thing I am good at? PR. But you brought this down on my head with no warning, and it’s going to take a hell of a lot of goodwill to fix that.” He puffs out a breath and shakes his head, chuckling, once again returning to his True North when dealing with Tony, exasperated amusement. “What’s your over/under on the stock drop for tomorrow, do you think?”

Tony looks over his shoulder to see that Pepper’s settled herself down at the chair beside his desk. She’s got a notebook out on the desk beside her, and there are a few lines written on it, but her hands are in her lap. She is a picture of studied calm. He’s pretty sure she’s taking notes as surreptitiously as possible; it’s exactly what he needs from her, at exactly the moment he needs it. Tony throws her a little smile of gratitude, feeling a tiny sting of guilt when her reaction to seeing such an expression from him is surprise.

That makes him think of Emory too.

“Optimistically? 40 points,” Tony says, working at his tie with one hand. He keeps his body angled in a way that Pepper can’t see what he’s doing, because he doesn’t want her to fret about the brewing argument here, and if she sees him struggle with the tie, she’ll get up to help.

Stane’s eyebrows go up. “At minimum.”  

What follows is a completely reasonable argument on Stane’s part about what’s feasible as a company. Tony remains steadfast, even as he notes Obie’s eyes drifting down to his chest multiple times. Obie clearly knows. If Tony weren’t so worried about Emory, if she were waiting for him at the house and he knew she was safe, he would be making notes about the number of times he has already thought about her so he could make her laugh tonight. She’d be particularly amused about the way he feels almost objectified, how the fact of what he’s carrying on his chest is a weight between himself and Obie, a hidden aspect of the conversation. He wants to ask her if that’s what having breasts like hers is like, wants her to slap him, wants to make it up to her. He just wants.

“I think we should take another look into ARC reactor technology,” Tony interrupts. Obie’s lips turn downward, and he flicks a sheepish glance at Tony’s face like he knows he’s been caught before shaking his head.

“Nah, come on, that was a publicity stunt! We built that thing to shut the hippies up!”

What follows is another conversation full of pushback, but he knows Stane’s just stalling. Finally, they both stop arguing and just level suspicious looks at each other for a full fifteen seconds.

Tony just knows that if he looked over at Pepper, she’d be the very picture of anxiety. He decides to put her out of her misery. “Could you have a lousier poker face? Just tell me, who told you? Rhodey? Or Pepper?”

“Told him what?” Pepper interjects. Tony turns to look at her and she’s wide-eyed, her brows furrowed.

“Rhodey didn’t tell-- You’re kidding, right?” he demands, shocked.

“You were with us the whole time! Harry was driving, I was in the back--”

“Hold on, Harry?” Tony interrupts, bewildered.

Pepper’s face turns bright red. “It’s-- y-ou were gone, Tony. He, the nickname, it, it felt like a farce, neither of us could--”

Tony waves a hand to cut her off. “All right, okay, got it.” Her extreme embarrassment and stuttering response tells Tony that the moment he’d seen on the tarmac might have been something private and meaningful to Happy and Pepper. He sets that world-tilting notion aside for the moment.

Stane rests a heavy hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Show me.”

“All right,” he agrees, releasing the velcro on his sling.

“Tony, what--?” Pepper gets up and comes over, taking the sling before it falls to the floor.

He unbuttons his shirt with the two of them staring at him in amazement. It’s not hard to feel a little bit like Superman when he pulls the two sides open so they can see the reactor more clearly.

“Oh, my God,” Pepper whispers. “Is that… stuck? In your chest?”

He looks from her to Obie. At first, the man’s intrigued, but then his expression shifts. Tony recognizes the look, because it’s the same one Stane has always worn when Tony brought him a schematic, an improvement, an innovation.

Somewhere in the man’s head, a voice is saying, How do we monetize this?

He’d spent years enjoying the process of earning that look in Stane’s eyes, but today it’s concerning.

Next chapter, Tony starts making threats and gathering information to find Emory, and she makes the acquaintance of a man named Nick Fury.

[casspurrjoybell-26]

Made of Steele - Chapter 33 - Part 1

*Warning: Adult Content*

Jamie

It's been over a week since Kit 'was discharged from the hospital, and since then, he's been staying with me.

"Hey Jamie, where's your spices?" I hear him ask from the other room, as I put the paintbrush down.

I stare at the canvas in front of me and start to get nervous, after working on this piece for what felt like half my life, was finally completed and ready to be shown to the eyes of the world or my world.

"Jamie?"

I hear a knock and then from the corner of my eye, I see the door slowly open.

"D-Don't come in."

I quickly stand up and look around for a way to hide the painting.

I hear him laugh by the doorway, not opening the door any further.

"Babe, I know you're being so secretive with your new piece but I can't find the spices," he said, making me sigh as I looked back at the canvas nervously.

Despite it being ready, I was still nervous about showing Kit, after-all, it's not every day I paint someone I care about and then show them just how much with one picture.

"Coming... just, don't come in."

I take a deep breath, as I walk over to the doorway and open it slightly.

Kit was grinning that handsome yet content smile I had grown so used to for the past week, making me feel lighter and less anxious than I was a few moments ago.

"What was it, spices?" I ask, going to walk past him.

Kit reaches out and wraps his arms around me, his hands going around my waist and his lips finding their way to my neck as I feel the gentle touch of his lips touch my skin.

"I love that smell," he mumbles into my skin, making me scoff as I wrap my arms around him too.

"Of paint?" I asked dryly, making him laugh.

"You might think I'm crazy but until now I have never gotten more turned on from smelling paint," he said, through sweet kisses on my neck before pulling back.

"You've ruined me."

My stomach tightened and I hated how shy I felt when he said nice, dorky things to me.

I always didn't know what to say so I said nothing and just looked at him.

"Come on, you need to get showered and dressed, our family will be here soon," he said, before leaning in to kiss me on the lips.

I swallowed hard and nodded my head and then followed him into the kitchen, where plates of food covered with tinfoil were laid out on the dining table that had been decorated in Christmas colors.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I mumble, finding the spices that he wanted in the top cabinet above near the stove.

He gave me a look that read no but... and then smiled.

"It's our first Christmas together and I know my family is a little... much but I want them to get on."

'Get on' couldn't be harder when it came to his family or most importantly, his 'mother'.

It's been a month since Kitt got stabbed and the first time I met his family wasn't exactly a 'joyous' occasion, if anything, she called me a billionaire baby brat and accused me of 'stealing her son'.

After a screaming match between Kit and his mom, which I found exhausting, she had finally accepted Kit's decision and chose to move to America and to live with me.

With no longer handling his late dad's company and enough money to live comfortably, Kit didn't want to go back 'home' not when he said I was the home he wanted.

Kit had ended his 'marriage contract' with Jessica Whipley's dad and company partner, despite losing millions from parting ways with an important investor, I know that it was a baggage of weight off his shoulders and mind.

His brother, Alexander had taken over as CEO of his dad's company, who I had only met a handful of times whilst Kit was in the hospital and at first I thought he was immature until he spoke to me alone in the hallway whilst grabbing a coffee.

He had asked if I loved his brother, to which I said... Yes and with both of us staring at each other for an intimidating minute, he laughed out loud and then took the coffee from my hands and then welcomed me to 'the family' before walking away, with my coffee in hand.

Everything was coming together, in a week Kit would be moving in with me temporarily and after what felt like too long, I was happy with how things were.

It felt almost surreal, how happy I was.

Since the moment I met Kit, I had started to draw him, sometimes without realizing it, I would be drawing a random woman from across the street but then suddenly I'd draw his eyes.

For three years he has been on my mind, constantly there, like a torturous piece of gum on my shoe, wherever I went he would be there with me.

That painting in my art studio is something I started all those years ago and haven't dared to finish, until now.

I was going to give it as a Christmas present, along with something else, something more... life-altering than a picture.

I was going to ask Kit, not to marry me but to move in with me permanently, knowing that he had already been looking for apartments in the city, after not wanting to be a burden to me whilst I worked.

"Jamie?" I hear Kit behind the bathroom door, as I turn off the shower and then wrap a towel around my waist.

The door opens and there stands Kit, with his hair styled and in different clothes, clothes that made me look twice as long at him than I usually would.

"What's wrong?" I ask, pulling my eyes away from his lips, which began to form a smile.

"I just wanted to see if you're ready."

He leaned against the doorway, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, slowly.

His eyes made me nervous but they also made me incredibly self-aware because there was nothing more I wanted to do than to peel those clothes off his skin.

"This isn't good," I hear him mumble under his breath, as I shift to look at him.

I noticed what he meant before he said anything else as he shifted the erection between his legs, whilst he gave me that look I couldn't resist as he smirked at me, with playful eyes.

"Our families are almost here and I don't think I'll be able to control myself for this long," he said seriously, as I swallowed the dryness in my throat.

I knew exactly what he was saying, without saying a word, I stepped forward, dropped my towel and watched as his eyes slowly went down my torso until they stopped at my own need for him.

"Jamie..."

"Shh, you talk too much," I interrupt him and then pull him into me as I roughly press my lips against his.

Kit groans out helplessly against my lips, making me smile into the kiss as I push my mouth into his mouth to taste him, a sweet tint of red wine on his tongue as he presses his tongue into my mouth.

"Fuck... seriously, Jamie."

He pressed his erection against me, as he pulled back and rested his head on my shoulder.

"My cock is going to snap in half if you keep kissing me," he said breathlessly, as I bit my bottom lip.

Knowing that I had minutes to get ready before our families arrived, it didn't stop me from grabbing hold of his belt and forcing it off his waist and then unbuttoning his pants to push them down impatiently.

There was no time but the present and although I never said, at this moment, I wanted him too much to care about the time, so I took what I wanted in my hands and ignored the rest.

"Jamie..." he groaned out as I looked up at him, my lips wrapping around the tip of his length.

"Fuck..." he groaned, as his feverish hands landed on either side of my cheeks.

I swallowed Kit further down my throat and watched as he became undone from my tongue, his whole body shaking in pleasure or pain.

At that moment I didn't care which one, I just wanted him to feel what I felt for him, come heaven or hell, I wanted to bring him to new heights with my mouth.

I was close and so was Kit and with only twenty minutes until everyone got here, I swallowed Kit as far as I could before I felt him flinch and try to pull away from me but it was too late.

"S-Shit, f-fuck... Jamie, Oh God..." he moaned out huskily as I almost choked whilst slowly removing his length from my throat.

My throat was burning and he tasted bitter but seeing the look on his face made every second of what I just did worth it as his clouded eyes filled with awe made me almost want to do it all over again.

"Sorry."

I bit back a laugh as I stood back up and then walked over to the sink to wash my face with water, before looking back to smirk at him.

"I couldn't control myself."

He groaned out lowly as he fixed his trousers.

"You have less patience than I do."

[onehunnit]

Cinema Studies Minor Gets Super Into Analyzing K-Pop Videos 2.1

Disclaimer: I'm still a student, no where near an expert, I will be wrong in some technical aspects. Also my interpretations are my opinion which means you may disagree and that's okay. Awesome even! Just be normal about it fr. This is also very out of order bc that's how my brain works. Also I am but a baby loretiny, which means my interpretations are shaky at best compared to what's been established. But the lore is confusing anyway so....

The World EP.FIN: Trailer Analysis pt 1: Sections

Why Not Film?

K-Pop's Obsession with Wong Kar-Wai

Ateez and Metropolis

Why Not Film?

I mean like filming on film stock. Because there is a film grain/noise... (overlay? mask? idk man i'm not an editor I forgot my terms) texture to parts of the video that I think is supposed to evoke the idea of a security camera (I would have LOVED some high-angle shots to drive this home but oh well) BUT could also just be representing that it's old/in the past because it is also in black and white.

the texture is especially evident on San's face. I think they just put a noise filter over this part, which creates grain that you'd find on old film

So why not just film on film stock? It's expensive and cumbersome my guy. they filmed this between schedules like.... digital editing and stuff is just so much easier.

Which leads me to the next section:

K-Pop's Obsession with Wong Kar-Wai

STEP PRINTING!!!! 8/10FPS!!!!! STREAKS!!!! WE! LOVE! IT!

I fucking love this effect which WKW first did by filming (on stock) at 8 frames per second (fps) and then repeating the same frame 3 times to create that streakiness. Filming at a low frame rate then playing it at a higher one (usually 24 fps, which I'm guessing is also what they used for this trailer, 24-32(ish) fps is the cinematic standard) creates fast motion. This process is called step-printing.

The subject(s) would stay still/ move very slowly while filming to give the effect that everything is moving fast around them while they're normal speed. Super cool, gives sense that time is passing around them and/or isolation from others, which is what I think is intended here since HJ and the teezers are isolated from society as they're trying to fight against the government. sweet sweet storytelling through style. OBSESSED!

Here is an example from Chungking Express:

But also: K-Pop in general is OBSESSED with WKW's style. I will make a list of MVs that rep that eventually, but off the top my head, Mamamoo's mv for wind flower is inspired by Fallen Angels. The color grading, cinematography, the scene references etc.

Ateez and Metropolis

Now for something completely different: Before I get into it I really want to emphasize how fucking instrumental cinema was in globalization, because when cinema first became an industry it TRAVELED like TRAVELED. and resulted in a mix of styles since the fucking like 1920s. AMAZING

Okay so speaking of 1920s, let's get into IT! German Expressionism was a film movement that was born out of post-WW1 Germany and society's need to express (ha) the horrors of war they went through and since hyperinflation fucked up the economy so much, film companies were like "spend whatever" and blew budget on super elaborate film sets and facilities.

Expressionism is focused on the physical and really emphasizing features and such. It's hyperbolic as show in the screen shot from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari:

The subject's face is deepened by the make-up and lighting and shows their state of mind, a mindless corpse being controlled by another power (think Master/Puppet, but we don't have time to rly get into post WW1 Ger's anxieties)

It's also hyperbolic, as I said, which sometimes takes form in the sets. Specifically the establishing shots. These would traditionally be miniatures or painted, as they are easy and you can see how they're similar:

1- Metropolis & 2- The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

Notice anything? The lines maybe? Perspective? Symmetry? These are all qualities seen in German Expressionism which I will get into in a momement but first. Let me explain why I use Metropolis as an example. In short, they already referenced it in Guerrilla:

click to get the whole picture! Guerrilla MV and the film poster for Metropolis, the book cover is similar.

See the lines and perspective? The establishing shot at the beginning is the same, let's compare it to Metropolis again:

THE WORLD: EP.FIN Trailer & Metropolis

German expressionism is alive and well in film style and I'm so in love with how the director utilizes it.

Next, we're going to talk about structure and lines, along with style and how it helps the narrative.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[greentechremo]

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[electrofinish]

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[bdpainterspa]

BD Painting and Remodeling

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8951 Turton Dr, Philadelphia, PA 19115

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Description:

BD Painting & Remodeling, led by Antônio Carlos, is a company dedicated to transforming spaces in and around Philadelphia. With a team of five experienced professionals, we have been in business for over 13 years, offering painting and remodeling services that prioritize customer satisfaction. Our mission is to deliver exceptional results and ensure that each project is completed to the highest quality.

GMB Link:

[jamesvince9898]

Transform Your Home with Expert Painters in Bergen County, NJ

Introduction:

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[ashpmltd]

What Are the Best Ways to Reduce the Cost of a Kitchen Renovation Near Me?

About

The kitchen is often considered the heart of the home. It's a space where families gather, meals are prepared, and memories are made. Over time, however, even the most functional kitchens can become outdated or inefficient. If you're considering a kitchen renovation, you might be wondering where to start and how much it will cost. Here’s everything you need to know when searching for kitchen renovations near me and planning the perfect remodel.

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A well-designed kitchen not only enhances the beauty of your home but also boosts its value. When searching for kitchen renovation near me, you’ll want to find professionals who can turn your vision into reality. Whether you’re looking for a modern, minimalist design or a cozy, traditional layout, experienced kitchen renovators can help bring your dream kitchen to life.

A renovation allows you to upgrade your appliances, improve your kitchen's layout, and increase energy efficiency. Additionally, you can choose eco-friendly materials and make the most of your available space by installing more storage options. By opting for kitchen renovations near me, you ensure that the contractors are familiar with local trends and building codes, ensuring a smooth process.

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One of the most frequently asked questions is, “What is the cost of kitchen renovation?” The answer varies based on several factors, such as the scope of the project, materials used, and the location.

Small-scale renovation: If you’re looking for minor changes like new countertops, painting, or adding new light fixtures, you can expect to spend anywhere from $10,000 to $15,000.

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To get an accurate estimate, it’s essential to contact kitchen renovators near me for a detailed quote. They will assess your space, discuss your needs, and provide a clear breakdown of the costs involved. Be sure to ask about any potential hidden costs, such as plumbing or electrical upgrades, which could affect the overall budget.

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Additionally, make sure the renovators are licensed and insured to protect yourself from any potential liabilities. Ask for references from past clients to gauge their experience with the renovator and ensure the project was completed on time and within budget.

Many kitchen renovation near me services offer consultations, allowing you to discuss your ideas, preferences, and budget. These professionals will offer suggestions on how to maximize your space, select the right materials, and stay within your financial plan.

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Hiring kitchen renovators near me ensures that you’re working with professionals who understand the local market. They’ll be familiar with the availability of materials, pricing, and regional design trends, allowing you to get the best possible results within your budget.

One cost-saving tip is to reuse existing kitchen elements where possible. For instance, if your cabinets are still in good condition, you can repaint or refinish them instead of replacing them entirely. Also, consider mixing high-end and budget-friendly materials to create a stylish kitchen without breaking the bank.

Conclusion

In conclusion, embarking on a kitchen renovation is an exciting journey that can completely transform your home. By choosing local kitchen renovations near me and understanding the cost of kitchen renovation, you can create a space that is both functional and aesthetically pleasing. With the right renovators and a clear plan in place, you’ll enjoy a stunning new kitchen that fits your lifestyle and budget.