#institutes finest lovers

[hyperfixatinglove]

God I'm so soft for Jesse today just imagining cuddling him & absently brushing his buzzcut hair..

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.   

And Steve Harrington was old, old money. 

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured. 

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you. 

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more. 

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask. 

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.  

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each. 

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them. 

In cash, of course. 

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring. 

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands. 

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave. 

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him. 

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.  

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends. 

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before. 

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week. 

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes. 

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.  

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift. 

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away. 

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had. 

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington. 

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth. 

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink. 

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming. 

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget. 

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter. 

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves. 

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you. 

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner. 

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring. 

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression. 

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug. 

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices. 

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach. 

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard. 

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling. 

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.” 

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier. 

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them. 

You’d seen it all.  

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight. 

It didn’t. 

You sat down. 

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months. 

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. 

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak. 

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here. 

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public. 

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand. 

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon. 

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over. 

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring. 

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job. 

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass. 

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control. 

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice. 

“No, thank you,” you murmured. 

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either. 

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy. 

Monaco. France. Spain. 

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want. 

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this. 

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised. 

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering. 

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go. 

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.” 

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it. 

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned. 

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone. 

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington. 

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners. 

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand. 

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used. 

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone. 

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia. 

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday. 

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country. 

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see. 

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich. 

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water. 

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco. 

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.  

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you. 

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green. 

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed. 

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb. 

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t. 

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled. 

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming. 

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had. 

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to. 

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.  

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it. 

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing. 

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again. 

You got in the cart. 

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake. 

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered. 

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really. 

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead. 

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk. 

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say. 

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up. 

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in. 

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin. 

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit. 

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected. 

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered. 

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

 Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock. 

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento. 

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too. 

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like. 

Pointless. 

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk. 

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer. 

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.” 

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington. 

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth. 

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to. 

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat. 

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good. 

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other. 

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began. 

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand. 

A Macallan, no ice. 

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner. 

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings. 

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes. 

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve. 

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o’clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt. 

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed. 

Home time. Maybe. 

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to. 

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding. 

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready. 

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit. 

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf. 

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse. 

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book. 

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway. 

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first. 

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak. 

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion. 

“Drink?” Steve asked. 

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you. 

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid. 

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet. 

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with. 

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his. 

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp. 

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold. 

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you. 

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss. 

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet. 

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge  of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter. 

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed. 

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip. 

It was obscene. 

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked. 

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken. 

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more. 

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight? 

You. 

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights. 

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed. 

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers. 

A silent, ‘give them to me.’ 

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you. 

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?” 

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.  

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch. 

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted. 

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful. 

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry. 

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out. 

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.  

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out. 

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered. 

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard. 

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you. 

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear. 

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down. 

PART TWO

[dailyanarchistposts]

A New Declaration of Independence, by Emma Goldman

When, in the course of human development, existing institutions prove inadequate to the needs of man, when they serve merely to enslave, rob, and oppress mankind, the people have the eternal right to rebel against, and overthrow, these institutions.

The mere fact that these forces — inimical to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness — are legalized by statute laws, sanctified by divine rights, and enforced by political power, in no way justifies their continued existence.

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all human beings, irrespective of race, color, or sex, are born with the equal right to share at the table of life; that to secure this right, there must be established among men economic, social, and political freedom; we hold further that government exists but to maintain special privilege and property rights; that it coerces man into submission and therefore robs him of dignity, self-respect, and life.

The history of the American kings of capital and authority is the history of repeated crimes, injustice, oppression, outrage, and abuse, all aiming at the suppression of individual liberties and the exploitation of the people. A vast country, rich enough to supply all her children with all possible comforts, and insure well-being to all, is in the hands of a few, while the nameless millions are at the mercy of ruthless wealth gatherers, unscrupulous lawmakers, and corrupt politicians. Sturdy sons of America are forced to tramp the country in a fruitless search for bread, and many of her daughters are driven into the street, while thousands of tender children are daily sacrificed on the altar of Mammon. The reign of these kings is holding mankind in slavery, perpetuating poverty and disease, maintaining crime and corruption; it is fettering the spirit of liberty, throttling the voice of justice, and degrading and oppressing humanity. It is engaged in continual war and slaughter, devastating the country and destroying the best and finest qualities of man; it nurtures superstition and ignorance, sows prejudice and strife, and turns the human family into a camp of Ishmaelites.

We, therefore, the liberty-loving men and women, realizing the great injustice and brutality of this state of affairs, earnestly and boldly do hereby declare, That each and every individual is and ought to be free to own himself and to enjoy the full fruit of his labor; that man is absolved from all allegiance to the kings of authority and capital; that he has, by the very fact of his being, free access to the land and all means of production, and entire liberty of disposing of the fruits of his efforts; that each and every individual has the unquestionable and unabridgable right of free and voluntary association with other equally sovereign individuals for economic, political, social, and all other purposes, and that to achieve this end man must emancipate himself from the sacredness of property, the respect for man-made law, the fear of the Church, the cowardice of public opinion, the stupid arrogance of national, racial, religious, and sex superiority, and from the narrow puritanical conception of human life. And for the support of this Declaration, and with a firm reliance on the harmonious blending of man’s social and individual tendencies, the lovers of liberty joyfully consecrate their uncompromising devotion, their energy and intelligence, their solidarity and their lives.

This ‘Declaration’ was written at the request of a certain newspaper, which subsequently refused to publish it, though the article was already in composition.

Title: A New Declaration of Independence Author: Emma Goldman Topics: freedom, introductory Date: 1909 Source: Retrieved on March 15th, 2009 from sunsite.berkeley.edu. [RevoltLib.com]], retrieved on July 4, 2020. Notes: Published in Mother Earth, Vol. IV, no. 5, July 1909.

[ageofsun]

Higuchi: A Thot

I want to talk about Higuchi, because the last time we had an author without a skill, y'all know what we got? Tachihara

First, the briefest of biographies for irl Higuchi Ichiyo:

She was born in 1872 to a family of farmers living in Tokio. She was shy and quiet, and when she studied on a prestigious institute for poetry she developed a sort of inferiority complex, as her family was economically strained and all of her classmates were well off.

After the death of her father, her mother, siblings and her moved to Yoshiwara, a red district in Tokio, where she found the inspiration for her stories, with usually involve the struggles of poor women.

She worked at odd jobs until she found success with her short tale Umoregi (translated as In the Darkness, literal "obscurity"). She fell in love with her writing mentor, but it was unrequited.

Her most celebrated works include Nigorie (translated as In Muddy water, lit. muddy creek), Juusan'ya (trans. The Thirteenth Night, lit. 13th night of the 9th month, a crescent-moon watching festival), and Takekunabe (trans. Growing Up, lit to compare height).

She produced over 25 stories in the period between 1892 and her death of tuberculosis at age 24 in 1896.

We can find clear traces of Higuchi-sensei in bsd Higuchi: her inferiority complex (do I really belong in the Mafia?) and unrequited love (which I consider an interesting twist in the 'senpai please notice me' type of character), and I think we could make the case for a similar backstory (Higuchi-sensei's father entered vassalage -sp?- to a lord the year before the feudal system was banned, then became a goverment official but died drowning in debt; so middle class but plunged in poverty, as good a reason as any for bsd Higuchi to enter the Mafia).

But that's not why I'm here for. I'm here for HER SKILL. What is it? Has it manifested yet but it's a non-combat type of skill so she never uses it? Or is she going to be our window into seeing a skill manifest for the first time (oh god I hope so)?

Higuchi-sensei's works are mostly tragedies: Takekunabe is the story of the last days of a girl before she's old enough to be sold to a brothel; Nigorie is the story of a courtesan stabbed by a former lover; Juusan'ya is about a woman married to an abusive man; Yamiyo (trans. Encounters on a Dark Night, lit. mooonless night) is a couple's failed attempt at revenge. But from what little I could find online, her stories have a "this is just how it is on this bitch of an Earth" quality. Not exactly defeatism but more like status-quoism.

All this leads me to believe, maybe foolishly, that some tragedy will befall bsd Higuchi and her skill will manifest (putting money on something happening to Akutagawa in front of her rn). It will be enough to save Akutagawa/herself/what-have-you, but it will have no effect whatsoever on their relationship: senpai will always be too busy thinking about Dazai to notice her. Status-quoism at its finest.

Now, what will her skill be? Let's search Higuchi-sensei's works for clues.

And damn, this woman liked her Thing as Title: we have Umoregi (obscurity), Nigorie (muddy creek), Juusan'ya (13th of 9th month), Yamiyo (moonless night), Outsugomori (New Year's Eve), Wakaremichi (crossroads), Yamisakura (flowers in dark -or depression), Wakarejimo (spring frost), Samidare (early summer rain)... I could keep going and going.

Considering bsd Higuchi's first fight was against Tanizaki's light snow, I'd love to see her skill being based on a weather title. However, it's unlikely because her most famous novel (which earned her praise from, maybe meaningfully, Mori Ougai) was Takekunabe (to compare heights, so maybe giantification??)

[denimbex1986]

'Magnificent.

Christopher Nolan’s three-hour historical biopic “Oppenheimer” is a gorgeously photographed, brilliantly acted, masterfully edited and thoroughly engrossing epic that instantly takes its place among the finest films of this decade — an old-fashioned yet cutting-edge work that should resonate with film scholars and popcorn-toting mainstream movie lovers for years and decades to come.

At the risk of sounding like Nicole Kidman: This is why we still go to the cinema, to settle into our seats and slip into the darkness when the lights go down, to immerse ourselves in visual and aural storytelling at its finest. From the moment the closing credits begin to roll, we’re already looking forward to the next time we see “Oppenheimer.”

And the next.

Adapted by Nolan from the book “American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer” by Martin Sherwin and Kai Bird, “Oppenheimer” is a sprawling story that hops along the timeline and introduces so many characters I’ll admit I wouldn’t have minded some title cards introducing them as they come and go. Nolan, however, opts to plunge us into events in sometimes chaotic fashion and invites us to hold on for the ride, mirroring the thrilling and yet terrifying and politically charged atmosphere of the world of physics in the early and mid-20th century, when some of the brightest scientific minds in history were making discoveries and advancements that would change the world forever — and possibly end the world as we know it.

With frequent Nolan collaborator Cillian Murphy delivering subtly powerful work as Oppenheimer and an astonishingly deep supporting cast led by Robert Downey Jr., Emily Blunt, Matt Damon and Florence Pugh (with more than a dozen additional huge talents popping in for a scene or two), “Oppenheimer” is a massively ambitious undertaking, with Nolan (“Inception,” “Dunkirk”) further solidifying his standing as one of the dominant filmmakers of his generation.

Writer-director Nolan tells much of the story in the context of the complicated and eventually contentious relationship between Oppenheimer and Lewis Strauss (Downey), the naval officer and politician and self-styled amateur physicist who was in awe of Oppenheimer’s intellect but came to resent him for his hubris and his politics.

When Strauss welcomes Oppenheimer at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey, in 1947 to offer him the directorship of the Institute, Oppenheimer is a world-famous war hero known as the father of the atomic bomb, and Strauss is practically a fanboy. By the 1950s, everything had changed, as we see in two primary framing devices that Nolan returns to again and again: the 1954 Atomic Energy Personnel Security Board hearings to determine whether Oppenheimer would retain his security clearance, which were held in secret in a claustrophobic conference room; and the 1959 Senate floor hearings on President Eisenhower’s appointment of Strauss to Secretary of Commerce, which became something of a public spectacle, as Strauss found himself at peril of becoming the first Cabinet appointee rejected by the Senate in decades. (Nolan and cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema deftly toggle back and forth between vibrant color and stunning black-and-white to depict the different eras.)

“Oppenheimer” marvels at the titular subject’s incredible mind, with Nolan depicting Oppy’s genius through subtle notes such as the plinking of raindrops in a pond, and ferocious tones, as when we see Oppenheimer pinned awake in his bed at night, terrified by his visions. As Oppenheimer becomes a superstar in the world of physics and rubs shoulders with the likes of Albert Einstein (Tom Conti), Ernest Lawrence (Josh Brolin), Niels Bohr (Kenneth Branagh) and Edward Teller (Benny Safdie), he’s borderline reckless in his personal life, whether he’s attending Communist Party USA meetings (his brother was a party member, as were several close friends) or engaging in multiple affairs, most notably his longtime entanglement with the troubled and volatile Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh).

When Oppenheimer marries Katherine “Kitty” Puening (Emily Blunt), his life becomes even more complicated, with Kitty experiencing post-partum depression and becoming an alcoholic. Just because you’re a genius doesn’t mean you’re immune from coming home to a wailing child and a wife who is sitting in the dark with a bottle. In 1942, Manhattan Projector director Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) appoints Oppenheimer to head the secret weapons lab, and they literally build a town in Los Alamos, New Mexico, to house the collection of scientists and support staff and their families. In one of the most impressively staged sequences you’ll ever see, Nolan re-creates the world’s first nuclear explosion at the site known as Trinity in July of 1945. The teeth-rattling power of the explosion, the symphony of orange in the sky, the reactions of a number of key players as they look on in wonder, the expert use of sound (and in some frames, the lack thereof) — it all adds up to a stunning achievement in filmmaking. And in the midst of it all, we see how Oppenheimer is equal parts thrilled and horrified by what has been wrought.

“Oppenheimer” is a great war movie without a single scene of war. It is neither a hagiography nor an indictment of Oppenheimer, as it celebrates his genius and his achievements, while never shying away from his vulnerabilities and failings. This is a film deserving of double-digit Oscar nominations, from best picture to best director to a number of technical categories to the performances of Murphy, Blunt, Downey, Damon and Pugh. It is the best movie of the year so far and one of the best films of the 21st century.'

[twoset-updates]

[080523 hongkongfestorch ig post]

🎻🎻

TwoSet Violin Returns!

After HKFO’s phenomenal collaboration with the internet sensation in 2017, we join hands again with the world’s finest comedic music ensemble in this much-awaited sequel. In a world where music performances are strictly regulated by institutional conventions, “TwoSet Violin X HKFO: We’ll be Bach” tells a tale of how heroic artists lead an epic fight against the world to stay true to their hearts.

With over 7.5 million followers across social media and over one billion views online, TwoSet Violin is one of the most sought-after music-comedy groups in the world. “We’ll be Bach” brings back not only Bach, but a smile across your face, whether you are a music lover or otherwise.

Tickets available from 11 May 2023 (10:00am) onwards at all URBTIX outlets.

VIP Ticket benefits - Access to Exclusive Meet & Greet Session with Brett & Eddy: Q&A Session Tour posters signed by Brett & Eddy - Exclusive VIP laminate - Prime seats on the day of the show, 11 June 2023

VIP Meet & Greet Session 10 June 2023 (4:30 – 6:30pm) Hong Kong Festival Orchestra 33 Marble Road, North Point, Hong Kong

**********

雙琴俠強勢歸來！

繼 2017年的合作演出後，香港節樂將再次與譽滿全球的喜劇音樂組合 —— 雙琴俠攜手打造一部備受期待的續章。在表演藝術處處受到制度和教條嚴格限制的世界裏，「雙琴俠‧節樂：琴勢回歸」述說一部英雄演奏家如何忠於內心、與世界抗爭的史詩。

雙琴俠是世界上最受歡迎的喜劇音樂組合之一，在社交媒體上擁有超過750萬粉絲，在線瀏覽量已超過10億 點擊。「琴勢回歸」誓必大放笑彈，無論你是否音樂愛好者，也會讓你嘆為觀止！6月11日，笑聲襲地球​​！

門票由 2023 年 5 月 11 日（10:00am）起於城市電腦售票網公開發售。

VIP 套票優惠包括： - 與楊博堯（Brett Yang）和陳韋丞（Eddy Chen）的獨家見面會 問答環節 簽名海報 - 獨家貴賓紀念卡 - 重點座位安排（2023年6月11日）

VIP 獨家見面會 2023年6月10日（4:30 - 6:30pm） 香港節慶管弦樂團 馬寶道33號，北角，香港

[lordshotelsresorts]

West Bengal, a state in eastern India, is a treasure trove of cultural richness, historical significance, and natural beauty. From the bustling city of Kolkata to the serene landscapes of the Himalayas, West Bengal offers a diverse array of experiences for travelers. Whether you're a history enthusiast, a nature lover, or a foodie, West Bengal has something for everyone. If you're planning a trip to this vibrant state, here are some Place to Visit in West Bengal that will make your journey truly memorable. This guide is brought to you by Kankidham Lords Inn Kanki, your ideal stay for exploring the beauty of West Bengal.

1. Kolkata: The Cultural Capital

No trip to West Bengal is complete without a visit to Kolkata, the state’s capital and cultural heart. Known as the “City of Joy,” Kolkata is a vibrant metropolis that seamlessly blends the old and the new. Start your exploration at the iconic Victoria Memorial, a stunning white marble building that stands as a testament to the British Raj. Next, visit the Indian Museum, one of the oldest and largest museums in the country, where you can explore a vast collection of artifacts and art. For a taste of the local culture, take a walk through the bustling streets of College Street, home to the famous book market and the historic Coffee House. Don’t miss out on trying Kolkata’s delectable street food, including puchkas (pani puri), kathi rolls, and mishti (sweets) like rasgulla and sandesh.

2. Darjeeling: The Queen of the Hills

If you’re seeking a tranquil retreat in the lap of nature, Darjeeling is the perfect destination. Known as the “Queen of the Hills,” this charming hill station offers breathtaking views of the snow-capped Kanchenjunga, the third-highest mountain in the world. Take a ride on the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway, also known as the “Toy Train,” a UNESCO World Heritage Site that offers a picturesque journey through the mountains. Visit the famous Tiger Hill at sunrise for a spectacular view of the Kanchenjunga bathed in golden light. Explore the lush tea gardens, where you can learn about the process of tea production and sample some of the finest Darjeeling tea. The Peace Pagoda and the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute are also worth a visit, offering insights into the region’s spiritual and adventurous spirit.

3. Sundarbans: The Mangrove Paradise

For wildlife enthusiasts, the Sundarbans is a must-visit destination. Home to the largest mangrove forest in the world, the Sundarbans is a UNESCO World Heritage Site known for its unique ecosystem and rich biodiversity. The Sundarbans National Park is famous for being the habitat of the Royal Bengal Tiger, as well as other wildlife like crocodiles, spotted deer, and various species of birds. Take a boat safari through the intricate network of rivers and creeks to explore this fascinating wilderness. The tranquility of the mangroves, combined with the thrill of spotting wildlife, makes a visit to the Sundarbans an unforgettable experience.

4. Shantiniketan: The Land of Art and Culture

Shantiniketan, founded by the Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore, is a serene town that serves as a hub for art, culture, and education. Located about 160 kilometers from Kolkata, Shantiniketan is home to Visva-Bharati University, a unique institution that emphasizes learning in harmony with nature. The town is dotted with beautiful buildings, gardens, and art installations that reflect Tagore’s vision of holistic education. Visit the Uttarayan complex, where Tagore lived and worked, and explore the Rabindra Bhavan museum, which houses a collection of his manuscripts, letters, and personal belongings. Shantiniketan is also famous for its vibrant festivals, including Poush Mela and Basanta Utsav, where you can experience traditional music, dance, and crafts.

5. Kalimpong: The Scenic Retreat

Nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas, Kalimpong is a quaint hill station that offers a peaceful escape from the hustle and bustle of city life. The town is known for its scenic beauty, pleasant climate, and rich cultural heritage. Visit the Zang Dhok Palri Phodang Monastery, a significant religious site that offers panoramic views of the surrounding hills. The town is also famous for its nurseries, which grow a variety of exotic flowers, including orchids and cacti. Take a stroll through the local markets to shop for traditional handicrafts, Tibetan jewelry, and homemade pickles. Kalimpong’s serene environment and charming atmosphere make it an ideal destination for relaxation and rejuvenation.

6. Murshidabad: The Historical Gem

For history buffs, Murshidabad is a treasure trove of historical landmarks and architectural marvels. Located on the banks of the Bhagirathi River, Murshidabad was once the capital of Bengal and is home to several monuments that reflect its rich past. Visit the Hazarduari Palace, a grand structure with a thousand doors, which now serves as a museum housing a vast collection of artifacts, including weapons, paintings, and manuscripts. The Katra Mosque, built in the 18th century, is another architectural gem worth exploring. Murshidabad’s historical significance, combined with its scenic beauty, makes it a fascinating destination for those interested in India’s heritage.

Conclusion

West Bengal is a state that offers a diverse range of experiences, from the cultural vibrancy of Kolkata to the serene beauty of the Himalayas. Whether you’re exploring the tea gardens of Darjeeling, the mangrove forests of the Sundarbans, or the artistic haven of Shantiniketan, each destination promises a unique and memorable experience. As you plan your trip to West Bengal, Kankidham Lords Inn Kanki welcomes you to enjoy comfortable and luxurious accommodations that will serve as the perfect base for your adventures. Discover the charm of West Bengal and create memories that will last a lifetime.

[tatsamjewels]

Unveil the Beauty of Personalized Diamond Jewelry in Surat

Surat, known as the "Diamond City of India," is a treasure trove for diamond lovers. With its rich history of diamond cutting and jewelry crafting, the city offers some of the finest diamond jewelry shops and has become a hub for those seeking exclusive and personalized diamond pieces. Whether you're looking for a timeless diamond necklace for women, elegant diamond rings for women, or the perfect diamond engagement ring, Surat is the ideal place to create something unique that reflects your personal style.

The Rise of Personalized Diamond Jewelry in Surat

One of the most remarkable trends in Surat’s jewelry market is the demand for customized diamond jewelry. Unlike off-the-shelf options, personalized jewelry allows customers to be a part of the design process. Whether you're creating a custom engagement ring, a unique necklace, or a special anniversary piece, customization ensures that the final product is truly one of a kind.

By working closely with skilled artisans in Surat, you can select the diamond cut, setting, metal type, and design details to craft jewelry that holds deep personal meaning. Whether it's a diamond necklace for women with intricate detailing or diamond rings for women with custom engravings, Surat’s craftsmen are adept at bringing your vision to life.

Why Choose a Certified Diamond Jewelry Shop in Surat

When purchasing diamond jewelry, quality and authenticity are essential. This is where the importance of a certified diamond jewelry shop in Surat comes into play. Certification ensures that the diamonds are ethically sourced and meet strict quality standards. Reputable jewelry shops in Surat offer certified diamonds from renowned organizations like GIA (Gemological Institute of America), which verifies the cut, clarity, carat weight, and color of each diamond.

Choosing a certified shop gives you confidence that you are investing in a genuine, high-quality diamond that will retain its value over time. This is particularly important for significant purchases like diamond engagement rings, where both emotional and financial investment are substantial.

Crafting the Perfect Diamond Engagement Ring

The engagement ring is one of the most cherished pieces of jewelry, symbolizing a lifelong commitment. Surat offers an exceptional selection of diamond engagement rings, allowing couples to design their dream ring from scratch. Whether you envision a classic solitaire or a more contemporary design, Surat’s diamond jewelry shops provide endless options for customization.

You can choose every element, from the shape of the diamond to the band material and even add personal touches such as engravings or side stones. With the help of expert designers, your engagement ring will not only be visually stunning but will also reflect the unique love story you and your partner share.

Timeless Diamond Rings for Women

Diamonds have long been associated with elegance, grace, and sophistication. Surat’s jewelers offer a variety of diamond rings for women, ranging from minimalistic, everyday styles to bold, statement pieces. Whether you're celebrating a milestone or simply want to treat yourself, a custom-made diamond ring is a perfect way to showcase your personality and style.

The ability to personalize your diamond ring means that you can select the size, shape, and setting of the diamond to suit your preferences. This flexibility allows you to create a ring that feels personal and meaningful, making it a treasured keepsake for years to come.

Elevate Your Look with a Diamond Necklace for Women

A diamond necklace for women is an essential piece of jewelry that adds a touch of luxury to any outfit. Surat’s jewelry shops offer a wide range of necklace designs, from simple and elegant pendants to elaborate statement pieces. For those seeking something more exclusive, customized diamond jewelry is the perfect way to create a necklace that reflects your unique style.

From choosing the perfect diamond to deciding on the metal and design details, customizing a diamond necklace in Surat is a seamless process. The result is a stunning piece of jewelry that can be worn for any occasion, whether it’s a formal event or a casual night out.

The Art of Customization

The beauty of customized diamond jewelry lies in its ability to tell a personal story. Whether it's a gift for a loved one or a treat for yourself, customization allows you to create a piece that’s truly yours. Surat’s diamond jewelry shops specialize in offering bespoke services, where every detail is meticulously crafted according to your preferences.

From engagement rings to necklaces, customization ensures that your jewelry is one-of-a-kind, making it a reflection of your style, personality, and the moments that matter most to you.

Conclusion

Surat stands as a beacon for those seeking personalized and customized diamond jewelry. With a wide selection of diamond engagement rings, diamond rings for women, and diamond necklaces for women, the city’s certified diamond jewelry shops provide the assurance of quality, authenticity, and craftsmanship. Whether you're crafting a unique engagement ring or creating a custom necklace, Surat’s artisans are dedicated to helping you unveil the beauty of diamonds in a way that’s uniquely yours.

[bfitgroup]

Top 5 Colleges in Uttarakhand for Engineering

Uttarakhand, the Land of Gods, is not only a haven for nature lovers but also a thriving hub for higher education. Known for its serene environment & rich cultural heritage, the state offers a unique & inspiring setting for aspiring engineers.

With a growing number of reputable engineering colleges, Uttarakhand has emerged as a preferred destination for students seeking quality education & promising career prospects. Thus in this blog post, we’ll delve into the top 5 engineering colleges in Uttarakhand, considering factors such as academic excellence, infrastructure & overall student experience.

So without further ado, let us begin!

BFIT Group of Institutions, Dehradun

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Established in the year 2002, BFIT Group of Institutions is a private & arguably the best engineering college in Dehradun. The institute holds accreditation from the AICTE and is recognized by both the UGC & AICTE.

In addition to this, the college is affiliated to both Uttarakhand Technical University & HNB Garhwal Central University and offers engineering programs in a variety of exciting fields, including Electronics & Communication, Civil, Electrical & Mechanical Engineering.

At BFIT Group of institutions, your studies are centered around innovation with access to the latest technology & a strong focus on hands-on experience. With a mission to prepare you for a successful engineering career, the college goes beyond just academics & empowers you as a future leader.

Address: Chakrata Road, Suddhowala, Dehradun, Uttarakhand, 248007

Doon University, Dehradun

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Doon University is a prestigious engineering college in Dehradun that serves as a focus of intellectual inquiry. It offers a diverse range of classic engineering specialties as well as modern academic subjects. The institution promotes intellectual progress by emphasizing innovation & interdisciplinary learning.

Doon University’s dedication to quality & continual progress distinguishes it as one of the finest engineering institutes in Dehradun. The collaborative research possibilities & engaging student life provide the way for a successful academic path.

Address: Mothorowala Road, Doon University Campus, Kedarpur, Dehradun, Uttarakhand 248001

Amrapali University, Haldwani

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Amrapali University (AU) is a prominent higher education institution located in Haldwani, Uttarakhand. The University is setting new standards in modern education by providing career-oriented, all-encompassing education through a diverse range of programs spanning disciplines & streams.

Regarded as one of the top colleges for Engineering, AU is dedicated to preparing engineering students to be globally responsible engineers & citizens. Their curricula are meant to align with the SDGs, industry trends & NEPs. Plus, their dynamic experiential teaching-learning approach, which disseminates engineering information & skills through a flexible academic paradigm, fosters imagination & innovation, enabling students to solve social & industrial concerns.

Address: Kaladhungi Road, Shiksha Nagar, Haldwani, Uttarakhand 263139

Quantum University, Roorkee

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Quantum University, located in Roorkee, is another standout institution among Uttarakhand’s top colleges for Engineering. Renowned for its modern infrastructure & practical approach to education, Quantum offers a diverse range of engineering programs.

The university prioritizes hands-on learning through internships, externships & real-world projects. This emphasis on practical application bridges the gap between theoretical knowledge & industry requirements. Quantum’s programs in computer science, electronics & communication engineering are particularly noteworthy, making it a popular choice for aspiring engineers.

Address: Roorkee – Dehradun Highway, Mandawar, Roorkee, Uttarakhand 247167

Click on the link for more information -

[hyperfixatinglove]

Justice gathering all books from Emma about herbs and salves and such to help Jesse with his chronic shoulder pain from carrying & using the gauntlet all day every day and making notes on ingredients he can gather from his travels. Having separate notes for Justice's own pain in ankles & knees & ingredients around Calico so they don't make extra work for Jesse...

[silverexecutivecabx]

Chauffeur Services for Melbourne's Art Galleries

When it comes to exploring Melbourne's vibrant art scene, there's no better way to do it than with the convenience and luxury of professional chauffeur services. Melbourne is home to some of Australia's finest art galleries, each offering a unique experience of visual creativity. With a chauffeur at your service, you can relax and fully immerse yourself in the artistic wonders the city has to offer.

Why Choose Chauffeur Services for Art Gallery Visits?

Comfort and Convenience: Navigating through Melbourne's bustling streets can be daunting, especially when you're on a tight schedule. A chauffeur service eliminates the stress of driving, parking, and traffic, allowing you to focus on your visit. Whether you're heading to the National Gallery of Victoria or a smaller, boutique gallery, your chauffeur ensures a smooth journey.

Time Efficiency: Melbourne's art galleries are spread across different parts of the city. With a knowledgeable chauffeur, you can maximize your time by visiting multiple galleries in one day. Your chauffeur knows the best routes and can help you avoid traffic, ensuring that your day is spent enjoying art rather than being stuck on the road.

Experience the Best of Melbourne's Art Scene

National Gallery of Victoria (NGV): As Australia's oldest and most visited art museum, NGV offers an extensive collection of both international and Australian art. With a chauffeur, you can arrive in style and start your cultural journey in this iconic institution without worrying about the hassle of finding parking.

Heide Museum of Modern Art: Located just outside the city, Heide is a must-visit for contemporary art lovers. The museum is surrounded by beautiful gardens and sculptures, making it an ideal spot for a relaxing day out. Your chauffeur cars can take you directly to Heide, allowing you to enjoy the scenic drive and arrive refreshed.

ACMI (Australian Centre for the Moving Image): Situated in Federation Square, ACMI is a dynamic gallery dedicated to the moving image in all its forms. Whether you're interested in film, digital culture, or video games, ACMI offers a unique experience. A chauffeur service ensures that you arrive on time for any screenings or events.

The Ian Potter Museum of Art: Located at the University of Melbourne, this museum is known for its diverse collection, ranging from classical antiquities to contemporary art. A chauffeur-driven transfer will get you there efficiently, leaving you with ample time to explore the exhibitions.

Enhancing Your Gallery Tour with Chauffeur Services

Private Airport Transfer: If you're flying into Melbourne specifically for an art-filled getaway, consider booking a private airport transfer. Your chauffeur can pick you up directly from the airport and take you to your hotel or the first gallery on your itinerary. This seamless experience sets the tone for a luxurious trip.

Custom Itineraries: Melbourne's art scene is vast, and with the help of a chauffeur service, you can create a custom itinerary that covers your must-see galleries. Your chauffeur can offer suggestions based on your interests, ensuring you don't miss out on hidden gems.

Luxury Vehicles: Traveling between galleries in a comfortable and stylish vehicle enhances the overall experience. Whether you prefer a classic sedan, a spacious SUV, or a sleek limousine, chauffeur services offer a range of luxury cars to suit your preferences.

Conclusion

Melbourne's art galleries are a treasure trove of creativity, and exploring them with the help of a professional chauffeur adds a layer of comfort and sophistication to your visit. From seamless airport transfers to personalized gallery tours, chauffeur services provide an unparalleled level of convenience. So, the next time you're planning a cultural excursion in Melbourne, consider booking a chauffeur to make your art gallery experience truly exceptional.

[intelligentblog123]

The 10 Best Chicken Restaurants in India

India is a country with a rich and diverse culinary heritage, and chicken dishes hold a special place in the hearts of food lovers across the nation. From spicy tandoori chicken to flavorful biryanis and crispy fried chicken, India offers a variety of mouth-watering chicken dishes that cater to all palates. Here, we present a list of the 10 best chicken restaurants in India that are must-visits for anyone looking to savor the finest chicken dishes the country has to offer.

1. Karim's, Delhi

Karim's is an iconic restaurant located in the heart of Old Delhi, known for its rich history and traditional Mughlai cuisine. Established in 1913, Karim's has been serving its patrons with delectable dishes that have stood the test of time. The restaurant's chicken dishes, especially the chicken burra, chicken jahangiri, and chicken stew, are a must-try. The tender, juicy meat marinated in aromatic spices and slow-cooked to perfection makes Karim's a top destination for chicken lovers.

2. Al Baik, Lucknow and other locations

Al Baik is a restaurant that has quickly gained popularity for its high-quality, flavorful chicken dishes. Started in 2009 by Syed Bilal Ahmed , Al Baik has created a niche for itself by offering consistently delicious fried chicken, chicken nuggets, and spicy chicken sandwiches. The restaurant is known for its commitment to quality, ensuring that every dish served meets the highest standards. Al Baik’s unique blend of spices and crispy chicken have made it a favorite among Mumbai’s foodies.

3. Barbeque Nation, Various Locations

Barbeque Nation is a well-known chain that has become synonymous with buffet-style dining in India. With outlets across the country, Barbeque Nation offers an impressive selection of grilled and barbecued chicken dishes. The live grill concept allows diners to cook marinated chicken skewers at their table, ensuring that each bite is hot, juicy, and full of flavor. Some of the standout chicken dishes include the chicken tikka, chicken wings, and the smoky peri-peri chicken. Barbeque Nation’s interactive dining experience, combined with its diverse menu, makes it a top choice for chicken enthusiasts.

4. Khan Chacha, Delhi

Khan Chacha is another legendary eatery in Delhi, famous for its mouth-watering kebabs and rolls. Established in the 1970s, Khan Chacha has become a go-to spot for anyone craving delicious, succulent chicken dishes. The chicken tikka roll, chicken seekh kebab, and the chicken malai tikka are among the most popular items on the menu. The restaurant's reputation for serving consistently high-quality food in a casual setting has made it a beloved institution in Delhi.

5. Paradise, Hyderabad

No list of the best chicken restaurants in India would be complete without mentioning Paradise in Hyderabad. Famous for its biryani, Paradise has been serving its customers with flavorful dishes since 1953. The chicken biryani at Paradise is a must-try, with its perfectly cooked rice and tender, spicy chicken pieces. The restaurant’s rich history, combined with its consistent quality, has earned it a loyal following among locals and tourists alike. In addition to biryani, Paradise also offers a range of delicious chicken curries and kebabs that are sure to satisfy any craving.

6. Chicken Inn, Kolkata

Located in the bustling New Market area of Kolkata, Chicken Inn has been serving delectable chicken dishes since the 1970s. Known for its Indo-Chinese cuisine, Chicken Inn offers a wide range of chicken dishes that are both flavorful and satisfying. The chicken Manchurian, chili chicken, and chicken fried rice are among the most popular items on the menu. The restaurant’s old-world charm, combined with its delicious food, makes Chicken Inn a must-visit for anyone in Kolkata.

7. Punjabi By Nature, Various Locations

Punjabi By Nature is a popular chain of restaurants that offers a modern take on traditional Punjabi cuisine. With outlets in several cities, including Delhi, Mumbai, and Bengaluru, Punjabi By Nature is known for its rich, flavorful dishes. The chicken tandoori, butter chicken, and chicken malai tikka are standout dishes that showcase the restaurant’s commitment to quality and authenticity. The large portions and vibrant atmosphere make Punjabi By Nature a great place to enjoy a hearty chicken meal with friends and family.

8. Nagarjuna, Bengaluru

Nagarjuna in Bengaluru is a beloved restaurant for those who enjoy spicy Andhra cuisine. The restaurant’s chicken dishes are known for their bold flavors and generous use of spices. The Andhra-style chicken biryani, chicken fry, and chicken curry are must-try dishes for anyone visiting Nagarjuna. The restaurant’s commitment to using fresh, high-quality ingredients ensures that every dish is bursting with flavor. Nagarjuna’s popularity and consistent quality have made it a favorite among Bengaluru’s food lovers.

9. Rahmania, Kolkata

Rahmania is a well-known restaurant in Kolkata that specializes in Mughlai and Awadhi cuisine. Established in the 1980s, Rahmania has built a reputation for serving delicious, authentic chicken dishes that are rich in flavor and steeped in tradition. The chicken chaap, chicken rezala, and chicken biryani are among the most popular dishes at Rahmania. The restaurant’s old-world charm, combined with its mouth-watering food, makes it a must-visit for anyone looking to experience the best of Kolkata’s culinary scene.

10. Arsalan, Kolkata

Arsalan is another iconic restaurant in Kolkata, famous for its biryani and Mughlai dishes. Established in 2002, Arsalan has quickly become a favorite among locals and visitors alike. The chicken biryani at Arsalan is a must-try, with its fragrant rice, tender chicken, and perfectly balanced spices. In addition to biryani, Arsalan also offers a range of delicious chicken kebabs and curries that are sure to satisfy any palate. The restaurant’s commitment to quality and consistency has earned it a loyal following, making it one of the best places to enjoy chicken in Kolkata.

Conclusion

India is home to some of the best chicken restaurants in the world, offering a diverse range of flavors and cooking styles that cater to every taste. Whether you’re in the mood for traditional Mughlai dishes, spicy Andhra cuisine, or modern Punjabi fare, the restaurants on this list are sure to deliver an unforgettable dining experience. Al Baik in Mumbai, with its commitment to quality and flavor, stands out as a top choice for anyone looking to indulge in delicious chicken dishes. So, the next time you’re in one of these cities, be sure to visit these top chicken restaurants and savor the best that India has to offer.

[theleosports]

Top sports court maker in India

Our mission at LeoSports is to be the finest indoor game court maker in India, providing excellent services to meet the various needs of sports lovers. Our skilled team guarantees that every court we construct satisfies the most exacting requirements of quality and longevity, be it for badminton, basketball, or any other indoor activity. Our industry-respected brand is established by our dedication to quality, which allows us to create and build courts that not only improve playing conditions but also withstand the test of time.

LeoSports is widely recognized as the best football court maker in India. We guarantee that every aspect is painstakingly planned and carried out because we are aware of the unique needs of a football court, including the kind of turf to be used, the dimensions, and the means of drainage. Our courts offer the best possible playing surface to improve performance and lower the chance of injury. We provide football courts that motivate players and improve the game, whether they are for clubs, schools, or apartment buildings. 

LeoSports is a top outdoor games court maker in India in addition to our proficiency with football courts. We have all-inclusive solutions for a variety of outdoor activities, from basketball and volleyball to tennis and more. Our courts are made to be weatherproof, giving sportsmen a reliable and secure training and competition space. Our outdoor courts are built to the greatest standards, offering durability and performance, thanks to the use of the best materials and construction methods.

Sailing with LeoSports is a decision based on excellence, dependability, and quality. Our mission is to create environments that players love. We are the top indoor game court and football court maker in India. We are your first choice for all sports infrastructure needs, whether you need an outdoor games court or an indoor court made in India. Experience the difference that comes from working with the best by putting your trust in us to carefully and precisely realize your vision.

Leading cricket court maker in India, LeoSports is well-known for its skill in building top-notch sports facilities that cater to athletes' and sports fans' needs. LeoSports has a thorough understanding of cricket and creates cricket courts that are optimized for performance, ensuring that every match is performed on international standards. LeoSports provides accurate and dependable professional cricket courts for events as well as practice grounds for nearby teams. 

As a leading cricket court maker, LeoSports takes pride in using the finest materials and advanced construction techniques to create courts that are durable and sustainable. The company's team of experienced professionals ensures that every aspect of the court, from the pitch to the outfield, is crafted to perfection. This commitment to quality has made LeoSports the go-to choice for sports institutions, schools, and private clients across the country.

LeoSports is an expert indoor game court builder in India that serves a range of indoor sports in addition to cricket. The organization is an expert in creating adaptable indoor courts that satisfy the unique needs of many sports, including table tennis, badminton, and basketball. These courts are perfect for both time and competitive usage since they are designed to offer the right mix of comfort, safety, and playability.

LeoSports is a skilled indoor game court maker that is aware of the particular difficulties associated with constructing indoor courts, including floor requirements and limited space. The company's creative solutions guarantee that every court is tailored to optimize the available area and offer an excellent playing experience. LeoSports offers the know-how to realize your vision, whether it's to construct an indoor multi-sport complex or a court just for a particular sport.

[seomusiciansmobile]

Finest Piano Courses

Music has been used to enrich our lives with a sense of freedom, joy, and affection. Learning any form of musical instrument brings satisfaction to one’s soul. Our institutes have been teaching piano to piano lovers and the number of both learners and teachers is increasing every day. Piano gained massive popularity around the world.   It added a variety of flavors to the local music and acted as a bridge. Amidst its growing popularity, benefits associated with it also started to surface before human civilizations - piano lessons san jose ca.

Our music school, personal instructors, and studios have to cover hire, utilities and different operational bills. Additionally, administrative studio staff plays a vital function in managing schedules, handling inquiries, and coordinating varied aspects of the music education program. Our instructors teach thousands of scholars how to play the piano daily and know a thing or two about determining when a student is ready. Many children are drawn to the piano from a younger age. It’s easy to play, and enjoyable to explore, and depending on whether you have a piano vs a keyboard, it can make a lot of different sounds - piano lessons san jose.

It is an online platform that connects Piano professionals from everywhere in the world, who are keen to show and prepare students within the comfort of their properties. All you should do is go to the website and signal as much as start looking for a teacher of your choice who might help you understand and play piano like an expert. It is a simple choice and the best half is it is all online so that you wouldn't have to fret about taking your Piano with you or trying to find the best studio. Go be part of right now and end up a piano teacher simply. To find a private piano trainer, learn their tutoring cv to search out out extra information about their course providing.

Playing piano involves boosting mental abilities as it involves a complex interaction between hands, fingers, toes, and eyes to identify the keys to be tapped and the amount of effort to be applied in the desired sequence to create a harmonious note. This in turn increases the memory and cognitive power of an individual. Playing piano has also been evidently linked to increased reading and understanding capability. People experience increased speed in performing accurate calculations and better logical reasoning. For more information, please visit our site https://www.musiciansmobile.com/

[dheeraj1orion]

Experience the Malibu Town of Charms: Your Dream Property Destination in Gurgaon

Gurgaon, also known as Gurugram, has grown itself to become one of the leading Indian markets for real estate within the shortest period of time. With its well-built infrastructure, rising business centers, and brilliantly designed residential spaces, no wonder it holds a special place in the minds of the people who wish to live here in their dream home. Of all the swanky localities in Gurgaon, Malibu Town happens to be the best residential hub. Whether you are an investor in property or looking out for a new home for your family, Malibu Town offers you just the right blend of luxury, convenience, and tranquility.

The Charisma of Malibu Town

Malibu Town Builder Floor is a fully planned and brilliantly saturated residential township located in Sector 47, Gurgaon. Actually, this posh locality forms a part of the larger Sohna Road area itself, which fast has emerged to be a hub of high-end residential and commercial developments. The project at Malibu Town sprawls across a huge green area, providing an oasis amidst the hustle and bustle of city life in Gurgaon.

Prime Location and Connectivity

Perhaps the biggest advantage in Malibu Town is its location. Located on Sohna Road, it assures good road connectivity to major parts of Gurgaon and Delhi NCR. It is far away from the hustle and bustle of city life but has an excellent connectivity, thus making it an ideal choice for frequent travelers; the Indira Gandhi International Airport is at just a drive of few minutes. The township also has very good connectivity to business districts like Cyber City, Udyog Vihar, and Golf Course Road, making commutation absolutely hassle-free for working professionals. Public transport is equally at hand with a host of bus stands and metro stations lying around. Huda City Centre Metro Station is the main junction of Delhi Metro, hardly a few kilometres away. It allows easy access to Delhi and other parts of Gurgaon.

Luxurious Living Spaces

Malibu Town spells luxury living. The township has a range of residential options Independent House, Villas, and spacious Apartments to suit different tastes and budgets of the modern homebuyer. Architecture and design of the homes reflect a perfect blend of contemporary aesthetics and functional living spaces.

Independent Houses and Villas

If anybody wants to have a nice privacy and space, Malibu Town has delicately designed independent houses and villas. Properties are surrounded by greenery all around, offering the residents serenity and tranquility. The villas range comes in with state-of-the-art amenities, having private gardens and spacious interiors to make them perfect for families that look to live an upscale lifestyle.

Apartments

Malibu Town Builder Floor also encompasses a few high-rise and low-rise apartment complexes. The apartments are built to provide the utmost comfort and convenience, through incorporating facilities such as modular kitchens, elegant bathrooms, and large balconies. Many of these apartment complexes come fitted with added facilities that include swimming pools, gyms, club houses, and landscaped gardens, enhancing the quality of life for its residents.

The amenities are world class

The facilities in Malibu Town are world-class to make life convenient for every member of the family. There are well-maintained parks, jogging tracks, and playgrounds in the township that ensure a healthy and active life for its residents.

Recreational Facilities

For the recreation enthusiast, Malibu Town has recreational facilities to his heart's content. Ideally, with courts for tennis and basketball, indoor games facilities make this an excellent place for sports lovers to practice their favorite sports. After that comes community centers and the clubhouses where residents socialize and attend a myriad of activities and events.  

 Educational Institutions

Malibu Town hosts some of the finest educational hubs in Gurgaon. There are a number of famed schools and colleges in the surroundings of Malibu Town that provide quality education to children without necessarily traveling long distances for the same. Schools like GD Goenka Public School, Ryan International School, and DAV Public School are at close distances, thus facilitating easy pickup and drop-offs.

Healthcare Facilities

One of the main considerations in selecting a residential location is access to quality healthcare. Malibu Town is well-served with quite a reasonable number of known hospitals and clinics that ensure that residents receive high-quality medical services. Some of these hospitals in the vicinity include Medanta – The Medicity, Artemis Hospital, and Park Hospital among many others offering various kinds of healthcare services.

Shopping and Entertainment

Shopping and entertainment facilities are never in short supply in Malibu Town. The shopping malls, supermarkets, and other shopping outlets meet every requirement, from basic needs to luxurious products. Some of the most famous shopping destinations include Omaxe Celebration Mall, Good Earth City Centre, and Raheja Mall.

Dinner out can be catered to with a wide variety of restaurants and cafes offering such a wide-ranging menu of food types to suit any taste within Malibu Town. Casual dining with the family or fine dining will be amply catered for with many options to decide on.

Investment Potential

One such investment destination is Malibu Town, which furnishes prime location, luxurious living spaces, and world-class amenities. The real estate market of Gurgaon has grown in leaps and bounds for the last few years, and Malibu Town with its plethora of premium offerings definitely stands out as one of the great options for lucrative investments. The property of Malibu Town has shown an appreciable increase in its values, making it extremely preferable to investors who eye long-term gains.

Conclusion

Located in Gurgaon, Malibu Town is a perfect blend of luxury, convenience, and serenity; hence, it is one of the most ideal places if someone is looking to buy property. Perfectly located with brilliant connectivity, luxurious spaces, and world-class amenities, Malibu Town is the essence of lifestyle that combines comfort and sophistication. Be it for investing in real estate or the new home for your family, Malibu Town would definitely be a place to consider. Experience the unique charm of Malibu Town and make it your new address in Gurgaon.

[lookategypttrips]

Indulge in Opulence with Egypt Luxury Tours

Egypt, a land of ancient wonders and timeless beauty, offers an unparalleled travel experience for those seeking a blend of history, culture, and luxury. Egypt luxury tours provide an exquisite journey through the country's most iconic sites while ensuring the utmost comfort and sophistication. These tours are meticulously designed to cater to discerning travelers who desire the finest in accommodations, service, and unique experiences.

Why Choose Egypt Luxury Tours?

Opting for Egypt luxury tours is the perfect way to explore the majestic landscapes and historical treasures of Egypt in style. Here are some compelling reasons to choose these tours:

Exclusive Accommodations: Luxury tours offer stays in the finest hotels and resorts, providing exceptional comfort and amenities. From boutique hotels in Cairo to lavish resorts along the Nile, you'll experience the best in Egyptian hospitality.

Personalized Service: With Egypt luxury tours, you’ll enjoy personalized service tailored to your preferences. Private guides, chauffeurs, and concierge services ensure a seamless and stress-free travel experience.

Gourmet Dining: Savor the flavors of Egypt with gourmet dining experiences included in your tour. Enjoy meals at top-tier restaurants, private dinners in stunning locations, and cooking classes with renowned chefs.

Exclusive Experiences: Luxury tours often include exclusive experiences that are not available to the general public. From private tours of historical sites to VIP access at museums, these unique experiences provide an intimate and enriching journey.

Top Highlights of Egypt Luxury Tours

Egypt is home to a wealth of historical and cultural treasures, and luxury tours ensure you experience them in the most exclusive way. Here are some highlights you can expect on Egypt luxury tours:

Private Tours of the Pyramids of Giza: Experience the awe-inspiring Pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx with a private tour guide. Enjoy exclusive access and avoid the crowds as you explore these ancient wonders.

Luxury Nile River Cruise: Sail along the Nile River in a luxurious cruise ship or private dahabiya. Enjoy elegant cabins, fine dining, and personalized excursions to historical sites such as Luxor and Aswan.

Stays at Five-Star Hotels: Relax in the comfort of five-star hotels such as the Four Seasons, Ritz-Carlton, or Oberoi. These hotels offer stunning views, exceptional service, and world-class amenities.

Private Visits to Museums: Gain VIP access to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, the Nubian Museum in Aswan, and other cultural institutions. Private tours allow you to explore the exhibits at your own pace with expert commentary.

Exclusive Cultural Experiences: Participate in unique cultural experiences such as private performances of traditional music and dance, visits to local artisans’ workshops, and personalized shopping tours in Cairo’s upscale boutiques.

Customizing Your Egypt Luxury Tour

One of the greatest advantages of Egypt luxury tours is the ability to customize your itinerary to suit your preferences. Here are some ways to personalize your luxury tour:

Historical Focus: For history enthusiasts, consider a tour that includes in-depth visits to lesser-known archaeological sites, private lectures by Egyptologists, and special access to restricted areas.

Culinary Adventures: If you’re a food lover, opt for a tour that highlights Egypt’s culinary scene. Enjoy private cooking classes, gourmet dinners, and wine tastings with sommeliers.

Adventure and Leisure: Combine cultural exploration with adventure by adding activities such as hot air balloon rides over Luxor, desert safaris, or private scuba diving excursions in the Red Sea.

Wellness and Relaxation: For a more leisurely experience, include time for relaxation at luxury spas, wellness retreats, and beach resorts. Indulge in spa treatments, yoga sessions, and serene beach days.

Tips for an Unforgettable Egypt Luxury Tour

To make the most of your Egypt luxury tour, consider the following tips:

Plan Ahead: Book your tour well in advance, especially during peak travel seasons. Early planning ensures you secure the best accommodations and exclusive experiences.

Pack Appropriately: Egypt’s climate can vary, so pack lightweight and breathable clothing for the heat, and bring warmer layers for cooler evenings. Don’t forget essentials like sunscreen, a hat, and comfortable walking shoes.

Stay Hydrated: Carry water with you and stay hydrated, especially when exploring outdoor sites. Bottled water is widely available and often provided by your tour operator.

Engage with Your Guide: Take advantage of your private guide’s knowledge. Ask questions and learn as much as you can about Egypt’s history, culture, and contemporary life.

Capture the Moments: Bring a camera to document your journey. Egypt’s landscapes, architecture, and cultural activities provide countless photo opportunities.