#modern kitchens by empire closets

[cabinetmakerqueens]

Home Offices Long Island

At Empire Closets, we feel the design of any home office should reflect your personal style and aesthetic. Whether you are looking to use neutral colors, natural materials, and minimal decor to create a serene and professional look, or brighter colors, bold patterns, and modern finishes can create a more fun and vibrant feel, we have got you covered! When you are creating a dedicated workspace in your home, you want to make sure it’s comfortable, functional, and conducive to productivity. The team at Empire Closets is here to do just that! The complete design and installation process can take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, depending on the complexity of the design and the materials used. For more information on home office design and other services, be sure to contact Empire Closets today.

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: Chapter Four

A Feysand Modern AU

She’s a law student turned confidential informant. He’s a federal prosecutor with one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for his white collar crimes. What could go wrong?

Author's Note: I finally did it! Shoutout to SZA's song "Saturn" for helping me finish this chapter. I'm so excited for where this is going, everyone. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged. No promises on the editing.

Strictly Confidential Masterlist

My Other Feysand AU Fic (Completed)

Chapter Four

Feyre cursed herself for a fool from where she hid, deep in a supply closet on the fifth floor of Tamlin’s environmental empire, Spring Solutions.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. It had taken days for her to convince Tamlin to finally show him around her work. Only after she assured him she wouldn’t leave his side while there had he agreed to let her accompany him to the office on the following Friday morning.

Feyre forced her breaths to remain steady as another person passed by the door, the band of light between the door and the floor guttering with the motion.

“Where the hell is she?�� A muffled, angry voice filtered through the walls around her.

But then the sound of the footsteps, along with the angry voice, receded.

Feyre took a deep breath. It was now or never.

She placed her hand on the cool metal of the door handle and pushed.

Three Days Earlier

The newfound knowledge of Tamlin’s alleged crimes slowly ate away at Feyre over the next several days. She couldn’t focus on her schoolwork. She missed a cold call in class. Her father called twice and she actually managed to ignore him.

When Tamlin returned on the following Monday, Feyre had to force herself to act as if nothing had changed. She let him touch her, kiss her, wax poetic about how much he had missed her.

Before he proceeded directly into his study to get back to work.

Feyre was on pins and needles for the hours he sat at his computer. She waited for the moment he somehow discovered she had accessed his computer and came to demand an explanation.

But he never did.

And so Feyre began to execute the next part of her plan.

When she came home from school on Tuesday, she gushed about how much she was enjoying her environmental law class. Tamlin listened intently, sitting forward on the couch as she paced in front of him, declaring her newfound intentions to pursue a career in environmental law. Lucien, who had been present for Feyre’s little performance, leaned against the kitchen counter behind Tamlin, eyebrows creeping higher and higher as Feyre delivered her monologue.

“That’s great, honey. I’m so glad you love this stuff as much as I do,” Tamlin said, eyes shining with sincerity. Feyre bit back her disgust.

“I really do,” Feyre said. “Which is why I wanted to ask if you would be open to me shadowing you at work. I would love to talk to some of your in-house counsel, just get a feel for what environmental law looks like in the real world.”

Tamlin sat straight up.

“Oh. Really?”

Feyre nodded, ignoring Lucien as he folded his arms at her words, his eyes tracking her every movement.

“Let me think about it,” was all Tamlin said. Feyre didn’t want to risk pressing harder, so she dropped the subject for the night.

But the next day, she resumed her prodding. Asked Tamlin if he had had time to think about it. After receiving a similar response, she waited until Thursday to ask once more.

In the intervals in between, Feyre found herself looking over her shoulder everywhere she went. On the train to and from the law school, during her walks in the park, while she was at the gym. She knew the FBI had to be on her trail, but never once did she catch a glimpse of Special Agents Claret or Lapis. And though she knew there was no possibility that Rhysand was the one observing her, she couldn’t help but wonder what he would think of her life if he was watching. Her quiet, appallingly small life. If he was watching, he would see her utter lack of a social circle, the disgusting amount of hours she spent hunched over her books, snacking on chips from the vending machine and whatever form of caffeine was closest.

It was probably better that Rhysand wasn’t the one watching.

On Thursday, Tamlin at last relented. He offered to meet Feyre at his office the next morning, for an hour before his lunch meeting.

And Feyre had duly accepted.

After her Friday morning class, she took the train back downtown, getting off at a stop about a block away from the enormous high-rise building that housed Spring Solutions. The receptionist, a young woman who looked to be a few years older than Feyre, struck up a conversation with her as they waited for Tamlin to emerge from the elevators that led up to his floor.

“I’m Ianthe,” the receptionist said, long blonde hair cascading over narrow shoulders, her sky-blue dress making her eyes pop. “You must be Feyre.”

Feyre gave Ianthe a nervous grin, shaking her perfectly manicured hand. This woman must spend hours on her makeup every morning. Her skin was absolutely flawless, lower eyelids lined with white, black mascara only further emphasizing those piercing blue eyes.

“Sorry,” Ianthe beamed. “Tamlin’s mentioned you a few times. I feel like I practically know you already.”

Feyre sucked on the inside of her cheek. “Ah.” Tamlin had never mentioned his gorgeous receptionist Ianthe. And yet he had been talking to Ianthe about Feyre so much that Ianthe already felt like she knew her?

Feyre reminded herself that jealousy was not a productive emotion. Especially when her boyfriend was in all likelihood a white collar criminal.

As Ianthe asked her about law school, Feyre wondered whether the receptionist knew about what went on behind the scenes at Spring Solutions. If there was indeed a “behind-the-scenes” to be spoken of.

Feyre answered Ianthe's questions with the shortest answers possible. But after the basic What practice areas are you considering pursuing? What led you to law school? What did you study in undergrad? questions, Ianthe launched into a monologue about how hard she had worked to decorate the atrium of Tamlin’s business.

Which was even more boring than the Administrative Law class Feyre had taken during her second semester of 2L.

To Feyre’s relief, the elevator to the left of Ianthe’s desk emitted a faint but elegant ding, and Tamlin emerged in his usual crisp, dark suit, his blonde hair perfectly arranged. Feyre pasted a smile onto her face, words sour in her mouth. “Hi, babe.”

Game time, Feyre thought. No matter how hard this would be, perhaps finding evidence of Tamlin's illegal activity would give her a stronger reason to break things off with him.

But hadn’t Rhysand said that Tamlin’s illegal activity would make it even more difficult for Feyre to leave him? Even dangerous?

Feyre shook her head, giving Ianthe a wave over her shoulder as Tamlin guided her into the elevator, a possessive hand on her lower back. Feyre turned to face him in the elevator, casually stepping out of his grip and leaning against the mirrored wall.

“How’s your day?” She asked. “Stressful?”

Tamlin stepped closer, one hand caressing her neck. “Much better now that you’re here.”

Feyre tried not to flinch away.

Gods, one second she was letting him pull her into bed and the next she couldn’t stand the feeling of his touch against her skin.

If she was honest with herself, discovering that he really was a criminal mastermind would probably make her life much less confusing.

Unfortunately, Feyre had to put up with Tamlin’s hands all over her as he toured her around the four floors of the high-rise that his company occupied. She met several accountants, a myriad of consultants, a plethora of assistants. Lucien joined them about halfway through the tour. He greeted Feyre as usual, but kept close behind her as they walked. Feyre couldn’t tell if his green eyes were tracking her every move or if she was just being paranoid.

At last, they reached the top floor—where both Tamlin and Lucien had their offices, and where the in-house legal department resided. Tamlin guided her into a large conference room, where several attorneys were gathered on one side of a long table, a lunchtime feast of sandwiches, chips, and coffee spread before them. It looked like a lunch break in all aspects except one: each attorney had a laptop propped in front of him or her, not even speaking to each other.

So this was what Feyre had to look forward to—work above all things. A twenty-minute lunch break to get to know one’s coworkers? Forget about it.

She knew in-house was different than big law, but if anything, big law firms like Hybern & Night were much more notorious for their bill or die mentality. These in-house attorneys were either unprecedented workhorses, or they were working on something important.

Feyre wondered if it was something illicit.

Feyre shook the three attorneys’ hands, smiling as they introduced themselves. Tamlin, Lucien, and Feyre joined them at the table, and Tamlin plated Feyre a ham-and-cheese sandwich, forgetting once again that she much preferred turkey.

But she smiled, ever the gracious and perfect girlfriend, launching into a stream of pre-prepared questions as the attorneys gave her their full attention. About halfway through the discussion, a secretary of some sort stuck her head into the conference room, telling Tamlin that he had an important phone call on line one. Tamlin excused himself, gesturing for Lucien to accompany him. Feyre waved them off, listening intently to one of the male attorneys—Hart—as he explained the benefits of taking “Tax Accounting for Lawyers” in law school. This rivaled Ianthe’s interior design diatribe in terms of how well it piqued Feyre's interest.

Feyre made herself wait two minutes before she excused herself to use the restroom.

As soon as she was clear of the conference room windows, she had to resist the urge to run. There must be cameras all around, and if she looked like she had a purpose, rather than lost on the way to the bathroom, this whole thing would be over before it began.

So, instead of rushing through the halls, she meandered, looking around herself, eyebrows scrunched together. She really should have pursued acting, rather than law.

At last, she passed what looked like an empty office. She shut herself inside, and almost giggled in nervous relief when she saw a phone on the desk. She picked it up, knowing the chances of it connecting to Tamlin’s line were close to zero—but—

She dialed one.

Tamlin’s voice erupted through the speaker the second her finger hit the button:

“What do you mean they’re not ready?” Tamlin growled.

Feyre almost gasped at the anger, the vitriol, in her boyfriend’s voice.

A muffled voice responded, so quietly Feyre almost missed it in her surprise at the harshness of her partner's tone. “They need another week.”

“We don’t have a week.” That was Lucien. Quieter, but just as tense as Tamlin.

“There’s no way they’ll be ready for you in time.”

“I don’t give two shits whether they’re ready. We’ll be there on the established date, and they better be ready to implement the recommendations we have already provided.”

The muffled voice didn’t respond.

“Brannagh?” Lucien’s voice cut through the silence.

“We’ll see you in a week.”

“Good.”

The receiver clicked. Feyre bit her lip.

This didn’t mean anything. It proved nothing.

But if it didn’t matter, why was Tamlin so angry? And what did “we’ll be there mean? He hadn’t mentioned going out of town again. . . Was this a local job?

Feyre bit her lip, carefully hanging up the phone before easing back out into the hallway, replaying the conversation she had just heard in her head. What did it mean? Was it innocuous or incriminating? Was it enough to bring to Rhysand?

Feyre wandered down the hallway, now truly on the lookout for the restroom. She had just spotted the signs when a man emerged from a conference room down the hall and to her left, clad in a much less expensive looking suit than the one Tamlin had worn, earbuds firmly fixed in his ears.

Feyre froze, but it was too late. He had seen her.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” The man demanded, striding purposefully toward Feyre.

Feyre swallowed, giving a little shrug and a sheepish smile before she turned down another hall, hopeful the man would conclude that she was the lost girlfriend of one of the many men who occupied the Spring Solutions Tower. Because that was at least one thing Feyre had learned about her partner’s business: very few women were employed there, and if they were, they were secretaries or Ianthe.

Unfortunately, Feyre heard the thundering of heavy footsteps behind her as she rushed down the hallway. Shit.

Feyre ducked into another hallway and threw open the first door she saw, breathing a sigh of relief when the sight of a dim janitorial closet greeted her, complete with mop bucket, broom, and shelves full of various cleaning products. Feyre slipped inside, standing where the door would hide her from view if opened, trying not to remember the few times she had convinced her older sisters to play hide-and-seek with her when they were kids.

Nesta rarely agreed, but Elain had played with her on several occasions, humoring her years-younger sister out of the goodness of her heart.

Feyre shook her head, clutching the hem of her suit jacket as heavy footsteps thudded by.

“Where the hell is she, Belfort?” A voice—this one different from the man with the earbuds—sounded from somewhere to her left.

“Do I look like I know?” The earbud man's voice responded.

Feyre swallowed, grateful when the footsteps faded away. Were these men unfamiliar with the layout of the building? Perhaps they were new . . . Or perhaps they didn’t usually work here. Because if Feyre were searching for a potential intruder, the broom closet would be the first place she checked.

She slid out into the hall, relief coursing through her at the sight of the empty hallway. She rushed back the way she came, looking over her shoulder as she turned back into the hallway where she had met the in-house attorneys—

Her chest collided with a wall of muscle, sweaty hands wrapping themselves around her upper arms in a grip that was just a little too tight.

Feyre turned to face her captor, catching a glimpse of hard dark eyes and a tight jaw, downturned lips and a forehead creased with anger, before a voice from behind the man had him straightening up and releasing Feyre.

“Is there a reason you’re manhandling my girlfriend, Belfort?”

Feyre stumbled backward, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of Tamlin, followed by Lucien and several members of what appeared to be the security team.

“Your girlfriend, sir?” Belfort asked, glaring at Feyre one last time before he turned to face Tamlin. “But—”

Feyre cut him off, striding toward Tamlin and setting a hand on his shoulder. “I got lost on my way to the bathroom. I think they must have thought I was an intruder or something,” she said with a laugh, leaning into her boyfriend’s side.

“Belfort?”

Feyre stared at Belfort and hoped his desire to avoid a disagreement with his boss would win the day.

Evidently it did, because Belfort held up his hands. “My mistake, sir. Please, return to your lunch.”

Tamlin nodded, turning so quickly that he missed the look Feyre caught on Belfort’s face—

It was a look that said, I’m watching you.

------

Feyre stopped at a coffee shop on her way home from Spring Solutions, even allowing herself the time to sit in a booth at the window to drink it. She pulled out her current read—Foster, by Claire Keegan—but the book sat abandoned on the table in front of her as she stared out the wide windows at the streets of Prythian, mulling over the events of the morning.

Tamlin’s anger during his phone call. The man on the other line—Brannagh’s—response. Belfort stalking her through the shiny bright hallways of Spring Solutions just because she had walked down the wrong hallway.

To a court of law, none of this had any meaning.

But that feeling in the pit of Feyre’s stomach, the flash of fear she had felt when Belfort had caught her, the small bruises already forming on her biceps from his grip. . .

Feyre’s instincts told her something was wrong, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she discovered exactly why.

She took a sip of her coffee, sighing through her nose, resolving to give herself ten minutes to collect her thoughts before she walked the rest of the way home to resume studying.

But any chance to calm herself flew out the window when a man slid into the booth across from her.

Feyre jumped a mile high before she registered the hazel eyes, the classically beautiful features, and the scarred hands.

“Agent Lapis,” she breathed.

The SA held up a hand, his lips pursed. “Please, call me Azriel.”

Feyre glanced around her, as if she hoped to catch a glance of Cassian—or Rhysand—hovering somewhere nearby. But the rest of the cafe was occupied by innocuous coffee drinkers and several students with books and laptops spread across the tables in front of them.

“Azriel,” Feyre said, forcing herself to take another drink from her coffee.

“I’m here for your answer,” he said, eyes scanning the room even as he spoke to her.

When Feyre didn’t respond, his gaze snapped to hers. Whatever he saw there put a frown on his face.

“Are you alright?”

Feyre shifted in her seat, and couldn’t resist the reflexive look she gave the bruises on her biceps.

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his hand tightening on the mug of coffee on the table between them. “What happened,” he breathed, his voice soft, but so lethal it sent goosebumps erupting over the back of Feyre’s neck.

“I got into Spring Solutions today,” Feyre started, but Azriel was already shaking his head.

“We know. What happened inside?” He asked, giving her upper left arm a pointed glance.

Feyre quickly and succinctly relayed the events of her time in Spring Solutions to Azriel, whose stoic expression didn’t waver as he listened.

“None of it means anything,” Feyre finished, running her hands through her hair. “But—I can’t explain it. Something just felt . . . wrong.”

Azriel shook his head. “It might not seem important or groundbreaking to you now, Feyre. But Rome wasn’t built in a day. Any detail learned now could always be useful later. And while none of what you told me today is enough for an indictment. . . It certainly could be if we learned more information.”

Feyre nodded, staying quiet. It was clear Azriel had more to say.

“You did a good thing, today, getting inside Spring Solutions. But if you agree to work with us, we’ll have to establish some ground rules. For your safety, and the good of the investigation.”

“My safety?”

Azriel nodded. “Rhys almost marched into that high-rise after you as soon as we sent him word you had gone there to meet Tamlin.”

Feyre blinked. “Rhys—Rhys knows I got inside?”

Azriel lifted a brow. “He’s the one leading this investigation. We keep him apprised of all notable updates.”

“Ah,” Feyre said, ignoring the cascade of confusing emotions that had unfurled inside her chest and stomach as soon as Azriel had said the words Rhys almost marched in after you.

“But the protocols will come later. What I came here to ask you today was whether you had decided.”

Feyre didn’t ask for further explanation. She knew what the SA meant.

She also knew her answer.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes meeting Azriel’s. “I’ll do it.”

-----

Author's Note: More Rhys is coming, I swear :)

Taglist:

@rhysiedarling @shedoessoshedoes @popjunkie42 @adreamof-spring @that-little-red-head @witch-and-her-witcher @cinnamonmelody @azrielover @1islessthan3books @jenahid @toporecall @martzja @marinated-fish @muaddib-iswriting @queenofdivas

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What an elegant home. It’s an 1874 Second Empire Victorian in Mt. Washington, Pennsylvania. It has 4bd   3.5ba and is listed for $2,999,900M.

Situated on a hill, it has a stunning view of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Notice the patina on the front door. 

Beautiful entrance hall. Look at the inlaid in the floor.

What a pretty sitting room. Look at the Bishop’s Sleeve drapery treatment and the ceiling medallion.

What a fancy library/study. 

So much gold, even in the dining room. 

The kitchen was tastefully redone in hi-end cabinetry, plus a beautiful backsplash and quartz countertops.

Beautiful TV room opens to a porch- I love that screen in the corner. 

Look at the lovely porch it opens to. 

The 2nd level hallway. Look at the curtains in the linen closet doors.

Very modern bedroom redo has a mirrored wall. 

Renovated modern bath. 

This room looks like a serious student’s room.

And the hall/closet to the bath has another desk area built in.

New modern shower room. 

This looks like a fancy daughter’s room. 

A family room at the back of the home opens to the garden.

What formal gardens.

Plus a beautiful pool. 

Pergola by the pool.

Beautiful fountain. 

And, a gate that makes it look like a secret garden. 

The neighborhood is just across the river from Pittsburgh. 

https://www.redfin.com/PA/Pittsburgh/223-Grandview-Ave-15211/home/74653625

[the-12i-times-jerome-reporting]

Living the High Life: Jerome and Asha's Sky-High Abode in the Steinway Tower

A New York City Story of Luxury and Grandeur

6th October 2032, In the heart of Manhattan, amidst the towering skyscrapers and bustling city life, stands a beacon of architectural marvel – the Steinway Tower. This slender giant, piercing the clouds at a dizzying height, is home to Jerome and Asha, a couple who have chosen to reside in one of the most unique and luxurious apartments in the world. Their three-story abode, nestled within this iconic building, is a testament to their discerning taste and appreciation for the extraordinary.

Jerome, a renowned Founder, CEO, Marketing guru and Asha, a celebrated Founder, CFO, and author, have always sought the exceptional. Their home, a reflection of their shared passion for elegance and sophistication, is a masterpiece of modern design and architectural ingenuity. Perched high above the city streets, their apartment offers breathtaking panoramic views of New York City's iconic skyline, a constant reminder of the vibrant energy that pulsates below.

The Steinway Tower, a symphony of glass and steel, is a marvel of engineering, its slender silhouette a testament to the innovative spirit of its creators. Its facade, a shimmering tapestry of reflective glass, captures the ever-changing moods of the city, mirroring the vibrant hues of sunrise and the twinkling lights of the cityscape at night.

Jerome and Asha's apartment, a haven of tranquility amidst the urban bustle, is a sanctuary of refined elegance. Its interiors, a harmonious blend of contemporary aesthetics and timeless charm, are a testament to their impeccable taste. The living spaces, bathed in natural light that streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, offer unparalleled views of the city's iconic landmarks, from the majestic Empire State Building to the verdant expanse of Central Park.

The apartment's three levels, each a distinct realm of luxury, are connected by a graceful spiral staircase, a sculptural masterpiece that adds a touch of artistic flair to the home. The lower level, a haven of entertainment and relaxation, features a state-of-the-art home theater, a fully equipped gym, and a cozy library, where Jerome and Asha can unwind with a good book or engage in lively discussions.

The middle level, the heart of the home, is dedicated to culinary delights and social gatherings. The gourmet kitchen, a chef's dream, is equipped with top-of-the-line appliances and a spacious island, perfect for preparing culinary masterpieces. The adjacent dining area, with its elegant table and comfortable seating, is ideal for hosting intimate dinners or lively gatherings with friends and family.

The upper level, a private sanctuary, is reserved for the couple's personal quarters. The master suite, a haven of tranquility, features a plush king-size bed, a walk-in closet, and a spa-like bathroom, complete with a soaking tub and a rain shower. The adjoining balcony, a private oasis amidst the urban landscape, offers breathtaking views of the city, a perfect spot to enjoy a morning coffee or an evening cocktail.

Jerome and Asha's apartment in the Steinway Tower is more than just a home; it's a symbol of their success, their aspirations, and their appreciation for the finer things in life. It's a place where they can unwind, entertain, and create lasting memories, all while enjoying the unparalleled luxury and breathtaking views that only this iconic building can offer.

Jerome Weiding is a visionary entrepreneur and investor, renowned for his keen eye for emerging trends and his unwavering commitment to innovation. With a diverse portfolio of successful ventures, Jerome has established himself as a leader in the fields of A.I. marketing automation, content marketing and direct/digital marketing. Recently he has dropped all of those hats and only wears the entrepreneur start up hatHis passion for excellence and his dedication to creating impactful solutions have earned him widespread recognition and respect in the business world.

To learn more about Jerome Weiding and his latest ventures, visit www.the-12i-news.co This sarticle first published by 12i LLC Pty Ltd. On 6th October 2024.

[villacostadeglidei]

Luxury Villas in Italy with Swimming Pool

Introduction

Italy, a country renowned for its rich history, artistic heritage, and breathtaking landscapes, offers an unparalleled travel experience. Among its many treasures, the allure of luxury villas stands out, particularly those with swimming pools that offer a perfect blend of comfort, elegance, and exclusivity. One such gem is Villa Costa Degli Dei, a luxury villa that promises an extraordinary retreat in one of the most beautiful regions of Italy. This blog will explore the magic of staying in Luxury Villas in Italy with Swimming Pool, with a special focus on Villa Costa Degli Dei, delving into its exquisite features, the surrounding region, and the unparalleled experience it offers.

The Charm of Italian Luxury Villas

A Rich History of Opulence

Italy’s tradition of luxury living dates back to the Roman Empire, where opulent villas were built for the elite. These sprawling estates were designed to provide maximum comfort and privacy, with extensive gardens, fountains, and private pools. This tradition has evolved, with modern luxury villas maintaining the grandeur of the past while incorporating contemporary amenities.

Architectural Marvels

Italian luxury villas are architectural masterpieces, often featuring designs that blend classical and modern elements. From Renaissance-inspired facades to minimalist interiors, these villas reflect the rich cultural heritage of Italy. High ceilings, intricate frescoes, and expansive terraces are common features, providing a sense of space and grandeur.

Exquisite Interiors

The interiors of Italian luxury villas are a testament to refined taste and attention to detail. Sumptuous furnishings, antique décor, and state-of-the-art appliances create an ambiance of sophistication and comfort. Many villas also feature unique artworks, from classical paintings to contemporary sculptures, adding a touch of elegance and exclusivity.

The Allure of Private Pools

A defining feature of Luxury Villas in Italy with Swimming Pool. These pools are not just a place to cool off but a central element of the villa experience. Infinity pools with panoramic views of the countryside or the sea, heated pools for year-round enjoyment, and beautifully landscaped pool areas with loungers and shaded spots create a private oasis for relaxation and leisure.

Villa Costa Degli Dei: An Overview

Location and Setting

Villa Costa Degli Dei is located in the picturesque region of Calabria, in the south of Italy. This area, known for its stunning coastline and crystal-clear waters, provides the perfect backdrop for a luxury retreat. The villa is perched on a hill, offering breathtaking views of the Tyrrhenian Sea and the surrounding countryside. The serene setting, combined with the proximity to charming towns and historical sites, makes it an ideal destination for those seeking both relaxation and adventure.

Architectural Splendor

Villa Costa Degli Dei is a stunning example of modern architecture harmoniously blending with its natural surroundings. The villa features clean lines, large glass windows, and expansive terraces that offer uninterrupted views of the sea and the lush landscape. The use of natural materials like stone and wood adds warmth and texture, creating a welcoming and luxurious atmosphere.

Luxurious Interiors

The interiors of Villa Costa Degli Dei are a blend of elegance and comfort. The spacious living areas are tastefully decorated with high-end furnishings, creating an inviting space for relaxation and entertainment. The villa features several bedrooms, each with en-suite bathrooms, ensuring privacy and comfort for all guests. The master suite is particularly luxurious, with a private terrace overlooking the sea, a walk-in closet, and a spa-like bathroom.

State-of-the-Art Amenities

Villa Costa Degli Dei is equipped with the latest amenities to ensure a comfortable and enjoyable stay. The modern kitchen is fully equipped with high-end appliances, perfect for preparing gourmet meals. The villa also features a home theater, a fitness room, and a private wine cellar, offering a range of options for entertainment and relaxation.

The Private Pool

The centerpiece of Villa Costa Degli Dei is its stunning infinity pool. The pool is designed to blend seamlessly with the horizon, creating the illusion of merging with the sea. Surrounded by a spacious sun deck with loungers and shaded areas, the pool area is perfect for soaking up the sun, enjoying a refreshing swim, or simply taking in the breathtaking views. The pool is also heated, allowing guests to enjoy it year-round.

The Surrounding Region

Calabria: A Hidden Gem

Calabria is often referred to as Italy’s hidden gem. This region, located at the toe of the Italian boot, is known for its rugged coastline, pristine beaches, and charming villages. Unlike the more touristy regions of Italy, Calabria offers a more authentic and tranquil experience, making it the perfect destination for those looking to escape the crowds and immerse themselves in the beauty and culture of southern Italy.

Tropea: The Jewel of Calabria

Just a short drive from Villa Costa Degli Dei is the charming town of Tropea. Known as the jewel of Calabria, Tropea is famous for its stunning beaches, historical architecture, and vibrant atmosphere. The town’s cliffside location offers breathtaking views of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and its narrow streets are lined with cafes, restaurants, and boutiques. Visitors can explore the historic center, visit the beautiful Santa Maria dell’Isola church, and relax on the pristine beaches.

Culinary Delights

Calabria is a paradise for food lovers. The region is known for its delicious and diverse cuisine, which includes fresh seafood, locally grown vegetables, and traditional dishes like ‘nduja (a spicy spreadable sausage) and fileja (a type of handmade pasta). Guests at Villa Costa Degli Dei can enjoy gourmet meals prepared by a private chef, featuring the finest local ingredients and traditional recipes.

Outdoor Activities

The natural beauty of Calabria offers numerous opportunities for outdoor activities. From hiking in the Aspromonte National Park to exploring the region’s many caves and grottoes, there is no shortage of adventures to be had. Water sports like snorkeling, diving, and sailing are also popular, thanks to the clear waters and abundant marine life. Guests at Villa Costa Degli Dei can easily access these activities, ensuring a perfect balance of relaxation and adventure during their stay.

The Unparalleled Experience

Privacy and Exclusivity

One of the most appealing aspects of staying in a luxury villa like Villa Costa Degli Dei is the privacy and exclusivity it offers. Unlike hotels or resorts, where guests share facilities and common areas, a villa provides a private retreat where guests can relax and unwind in complete privacy. This exclusivity extends to the pool, gardens, and all other amenities, ensuring a truly personalized and intimate experience.

Personalized Services

Staying at Villa Costa Degli Dei also means enjoying personalized services tailored to individual preferences. From a private chef preparing gourmet meals to a concierge arranging excursions and activities, every detail is taken care of to ensure a seamless and enjoyable stay. Guests can request services like in-villa spa treatments, private yoga sessions, and personalized tours, creating a bespoke experience that caters to their every need.

A Home Away from Home

A luxury villa offers the comfort and convenience of a home away from home. Guests can enjoy spacious living areas, a fully equipped kitchen, and all the amenities needed for a comfortable stay. This home-like environment, combined with the luxury and services of a five-star hotel, provides the best of both worlds, allowing guests to relax and enjoy their vacation at their own pace.

Immersive Cultural Experience

Staying in a luxury villa in Italy offers an immersive cultural experience. Guests can explore the local area, interact with the community, and experience the authentic Italian way of life. Whether it’s visiting local markets, dining at family-run trattorias, or participating in traditional festivals, there are countless opportunities to connect with the rich culture and heritage of the region.

Conclusion

A stay at Villa Costa Degli Dei offers a unique and unforgettable experience, combining the luxury and comfort of a private villa with the natural beauty and cultural richness of Calabria. From the exquisite interiors and state-of-the-art amenities to the stunning infinity pool and personalized services, every aspect of the villa is designed to provide the ultimate in luxury and relaxation. Whether you’re seeking a romantic getaway, a family vacation, or a luxurious retreat with friends, Villa Costa Degli Dei promises an unparalleled experience that will leave you with memories to cherish for a lifetime.

In summary, Luxury Villas in Italy with Swimming Pool, especially those like Villa Costa Degli Dei, provide an extraordinary way to experience the beauty, culture, and luxury of this remarkable country. The combination of stunning architecture, opulent interiors, private pools, and personalized services creates a perfect retreat for discerning travelers. For those looking to escape the ordinary and indulge in the extraordinary, a stay at Villa Costa Degli Dei is an experience not to be missed.

[hakesbros]

Communities

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[luimagines]

Hi! I have a request, but first i wanna say your writing is absolutely amazing! The length + amount of time you put into these prompts is insanely good. Now! Onto the request, how would the boys react to a reader from a more modern era? Maybe a more modernized hyrule or our current point in time?

Masterlist

Thank you so much for the compliment! I'm happy to see the response even if this blog is still relatively new.

I hope I do your prompt justice.

I probably could have done a headcanon list but I was hit with inspiration.

I also might have given Reader some backstory.

Scenario below the cut! It’s long, take caution.

It was a cool night, but you didn't mind. Your bed was warm, the WiFi was fast and even if it was three AM on a school night, you managed to keep yourself giggling with cat videos and blursed memes until the words and colors merged.

A night well spent.

But it led to questionable decisions.

Even if the shredded cheese in the fridge was beginning to seem a more and more enticing snack, your body was tempted to succumb to slumber.

Until a large purple light encompassed the entirety of your window.

Something was in your backyard.

Aliens. Your tired brain supplies and you sprint to the glass and push away the curtains. Is this it? Is this where I'm kidnapped and never seen or heard from again?

You pull out your phone and open up the camera.

"Pics or it didn't happen." You remind yourself and snap a few before showing your face.

What you see isn't what you're expecting. Instead of a flying saucer in the sky beaming down a laser or a weird pear shaped space craft on top of the grass, there's a single panel of glowing light, swirling with black accents that creeps in a circular motion.

"Cheese and crackers...." You gasp and begin to blatantly stare at it with no regard to whether something may be coming out of it.

You wait and nothing happens.

You wait some more and nothing happens.

You spend an hour watching this portal that has appeared out of nowhere, waiting for something to happen, willing for something to happen. But you get nothing.

The unknown stares right back at you, unblinking and unchanged.

Go through it. A voice tells you. What if there's something on the other side?

"I'm going to die." You gulp and take a deep breath.

Who else gets a chance like this? The voice talks again. This could be a grand step towards a more modern society. A whole new world could be on the other side, waiting, reaching out, calling to humanity!

You think you a see a shadow move behind the portal and out of sight but it’s gone before you can even process it.

"Should I call the police?" You step away from the window, ignoring the thoughts, the voice- you're too tired to know if it's your own any more. What's the plan? How does one go about something like this?

Where’s your sense of adventure? Pack a bag and go! What if it goes away?

That last thought seems to get through to your tired brain and for a reason beyond your understanding, it latches onto it.

Now you’re excited.

You run to the closet and take out your old backpack. It used to be for school but it was fancier since it was the only one you could get. The bag had a replaceable water bag with a plastic straw connected through the back of it and the straps have just worn down enough to where they’re actually comfortable. It doubled as a hiking backpack and came with its own insulated lunch box that clasped on the back of it.

It’ll finally serve its purpose.

You quickly roll up your favorite blanket and strap it in tightly beneath the lunch box. You’re quick to take out two extra outfits and pack them as well as change out of your pajamas.

Ok. What would you need? You don’t know where you’d be going so this has to a catch all kind of deal.

You pack away your swiss army knife first for good measure. A solar powered charger for your phone and an extra pair of socks follow suit even after you’ve picked out the extra clothes.

You take out the water bag and run to fill it all the way to max capacity as you think of any other necessities.

You’d need food. You have a small jar of peanut butter and granola bars that can fit in the lunch box. You can bring your extra water bottle and put in the side pockets of the backpack, and maybe bring some of those powered flavor packets your brother loves so much. You think he has lemonade and some green tea ones.

Those would be great. He won’t mind, hopefully.

You let the bag overfill momentarily before running back to shove it in your bag. with the lid screwed tight.

Next you run to the kitchen, grabbing the first things that you thought of already and begin to look around for more.

You grab an unopened pack of beef jerky, a bag of veggie sticks and a half eaten bag of dried mangos.

During your search you grab the water bottle and fill that too.

You return to your room with your bounty and begin to carefully put everything in the box. With some more deliberation, you run back to the kitchen and make yourself a quick sandwich, eat it, make another one and pack that as well.

You look out side the window and the portal is still there.

The sun is beginning to rise now so you’re trying to go as fast as you can, unless you want to neighbors to think something is going on.

Even if it is.

You’re about to leave but in a stroke of brilliance, you run to pack sunscreen and bug spray as well. You see a small first aid pack that was bought recently for when you would take your family vacation but you reason that it might one of the most important things you’d have if you got hurt.

Into the bag it goes.

You grab your hoodie before you leave the door, wrap it around your waist and pocket your phone, your headphones and your wallet.

You feel immediately under packed when you step outside and see the portal up close.

It’s weirdly triangle shaped, you think and step closer.

You reach your hand out and try to touch it. It feels as if you put your hand through a humidifier but it’s not wet. It’s misty and cold but not necessarily unpleasant.

An idea hits you right before you take your first step through.

You pull up one of the earlier photo’s you took and send it to your friend’s group chat. It showed up in my backyard. I decided to make a bad late night decision and I’m going through. If you never hear from me again, I want you all to fight over my electronics. Winner takes all. Godspeed.

And you step through.

You had first assumed that it would merely take you tot he other side but very quickly realize that you have to walk through it.

The first part still had a little light but with time, it got darker. So dark that you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face.

You kept walking.

As fast as the light disappeared, it came back and you stepped into the light of an open field, right in front of one, two, three, four, nine males that had appeared to be traveling towards you or rather, towards the portal.

The portal disappears in the process.

“Oh so we didn’t have to go through it! We had to gain another member!” One of them yells. “Would have been nice to know before we packed everything up!”

“Ho boy, where am I?” You ask and tighten your grip on your backpack. Why didn’t I bring a weapon?

They all had long tunics and swords on their backs. Old fashioned leather boots and hand bracers were the norm in this group and you realized very quickly that your jeans and t-shirt had wildly missed the memo.

“Dang, I didn’t think I’d walk into a LARP group. Sorry about that.” You sheepishly smile. “I had no idea where the portal was going to take me. But if you would be so kind-”

“Wait, what’s LARP?” One of them speaks up. He was a dirty blond and somewhere in the middle of the group height wise. He wore a white cape like thing with blue designs on the back but you didn’t recognize the symbol.

“Live Action Role Play?” You tilt your head. “It’s why you’re all dressed like that? Right?”

“This is just our clothes.” What appears to be the youngest bounces up to you. “What are you wearing?”

“First I could grab in my closet.” You admit and look down on it. It’s one of your comfiest shirts and best looking pants. You’re a little proud of yourself for finding those in the dark.

“Weird.”

“We’re heroes. We’re all named Link.” Cape guy speaks up again. “Is it safe to assume that you’re in the same boat?”

“Heroes?” Your eyebrows furrow together. “I’m not a hero and my name’s not Link.”

You’re quick to tell them your name and you watch as the confusion covers their faces. “My brother’s name is Link though if that helps anything.”

“Oh we needed him!” The youngest groans and it instantly irks you.

“What would you need with a five year old?” You deadpan and cross your arms. 

The information stuns the group.

“The portal showed up in the middle of the night and I’m the one that went through it. I’m pretty sure I was the only awake to even see it. Are you telling me that it was for my little brother?” You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little pissed. “My baby brother was supposed to go through it? He was asleep! He’s five. What kind of logic is that?!”

“Well...” The biggest and oldest of them runs a hand over his face. You think he has some cool tattoos and sick scar going across his eye but he looks about as angry as you feel, so you don’t say anything. “It appears the gods truly do not care for the hero’s maturity, only his existence.”

“Ok...What’s with all this hero talk?” You bite back. “What did... Where am I?”

“Hyrule.” The second with cool face tattoos speaks up. He’s got a large fur pelt around his shoulders and you have to tighten your grip against your backpack again to keep from reaching out to touch it.

Even so you feel yourself deadpan even more. “Hyrule? Like the ancient empire? The one that collapsed more than two thousand years ago? That Hyrule?”

You’re inclined to not believe them and write all of them off as crazy... but you also walked through a portal. And your grandma did say that magic existed in the strangest forms.

They all share looks of concern and some begin to murmur quietly amongst themselves but you’re too far gone to even notice.

“Did I time travel?” The idea hits you like a bus and you feel your eyes widen as you stare beyond the group. You quickly take our your phone and unlock it.

No signal.

“Is that a type of Sheikah slate?” Someone asks you.

“I don’t know what that is.” You reply automatically. “Wait, hold on, what year is it?”

“Why don’t you tell us what year you’re from and we can start from there?” The darkest brunette of the group speaks up.

“202x PC” You say robotically, not really processing the world around you anymore.

“That’s...” The blond with a long blue scarf speaks up with a slight hiss. “...Beyond any of our timelines. You see, we all come from different worlds and eras of Hyrule’s history.”

“I don’t think you’re the farthest down anymore, Wild.”

“This would then make them my successor, right?”

“It would make their brother your successor.” Someone amends. “I think they just jumped in his place.”

“Leave my brother alone.” You snap back into the present, pocketing your [hone again. “Ok, you know what, screw it. I don’t know what you’d want my brother for but I’m here now. I’d gladly take his place if it means he gets to stay home!”

“Hey.” A boy with pink hair stalks up to you looking a little more serious than you’d like.

“Nice hair dude, way to defy the gender norms.” You smirk a little before genuinely grinning, hoping to quell the tension. “What product do you use? It looks like Artic Fox but not every place sells their brand.”

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about but what happened to Ganon in your world? How have you been handling it?” He snaps and places his hands on his hips.

“Ganon? Like my old principle? That’s a name I haven’t heard in forever.” You’re confused again. “Last I heard he joined the police force only to be reassigned out of state. I don’t know what’s happening with him. Kinda hope he gets fired though. He’s not a bad guy but he’s not someone you’d want in that kind of position of power, you know.”

“Police force?”

You blinked and look them all over. They look very medieval. “Oh... You don’t have that...”

You begin to think about your history lessons and what they might be familiar with if they’re telling the truth about being from Hyrule.

“Ya’ll got knights?”

Many, almost all of them nod, a few with face of despair already on them before you finish speaking.

“It’s kind of like that. Mixed with a towns guard position... kinda. They enforce laws... at least they’re supposed to but the whole system is flawed and racist and really needs to be dismantled for the abuse of power that they have-”

“Abuse? Of power?” You have their attention again.

“It’s stupid and it won’t really make any sense if I try to explain because I doubt you have anything similar but it’s basically a group of people given the right to treat the public in anyway they like for their own benefit because they have no one telling them that they can’t.” You groan and slowly begin to feel your lack of sleep catch up to you. 

You slowly reach to behind you and sit down on the dirt, looking at all of them. “Mr. Dragmire wasn’t like...Demise or anything but he was a huge jerk. No one liked him. He liked me though. I remember that. I was the envy of the whole school because I somehow got on his good side while everyone else wants to strangle him. I think he was transferred for some misdemeanor or something like that... like he might have been throwing hands with someone he wasn’t supposed to. I never heard all the details. I didn’t really care for it when it happened either. I’m pretty sure he lost that fight though. The dude looked like a blast of wind could have knocked him over let alone someone’s knuckle sandwich.”

“I would love to hear more about this.” The youngest sits next to you with a large grin on his face. His eyes are bright and his body language reminds you of your cousin Zelda. You instantly think they’d get along like a house on fire. “What are your monsters like?”

“Monsters?” You tilt your head. “Be a little more specific bud, it depends on where you’re from.”

“You have that many?!”

“It depends on if you believe they’re real or not.”

“Speaking of monsters, can you fight?” The shortest walks up to you. You like that his tunic is stitched up with multiple colors and designs. It gives it personality, you think. “Do you have a weapon you’re more comfortable with?”

The question throws you off your rhythm and you don’t fight your wince. “What would happen if I say that I do not, in fact, have any sort of weapon on me?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.” Pink guy speaks up again. “That pack is huge, there has to be something in there.”

“It’s food, water and extra clothes my guy.” You lean back against said backpack since it won’t let you lay down with it still on. “Not a lot of space for anything else. I’m pretty good at hand to hand combat though. Karate’s a good way to fight out stress.” 

“Your bag’s not magic?”

“Why the hell would it be magic? ...Are you trying to tell me magic actually exists?” You raise an eyebrow as your eyes begin to close against your will. “I know my grandma said it does but I thought she meant like fairies and shadow demons.. and bigfoot. Can’t forget him, he’s the real MVP... You know...Children’s bedtime stories and stuff like that, it’s not real. But like magic magic? Magic items and the like? Find me Tinkerbell and I’ll show you Neverland, that’s what I say.”

“Are you serious?”

“Second star to the right, straight on till morning.” You respond.

There’s a moment of silence as the group in front of you processes your words. It’s hard to tell their reaction since you’re not looking at them but you no longer have the energy to do anything else.

“Are you falling asleep right now?” It’s the one they called Wild.

“I...” You try to open your eyes. They don’t budge. “I haven’t slept in nearly 20 hours... I think. I might have past 24 hours a while ago actually. Portal showed up at like four in the morning... I had to get up at six and I didn’t sleep at all before then.”

More silence.

“Great another one.” Someone scoffs.

You snort.

“Why did we pack up camp again?”

“No one kill me.” You say right before you lose consciousness. “Please and thank you.”

“They’re doomed.”

“Have some faith Vet. They stepped in for their little brother. That has to mean something?”

“They’re in for a rude awakening, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

[1234-angelika]

New York, New York

an: Hey y'all! I'm back and I'm so excited. This is the sixth installment of the Happily Ever After series for Aaron. As always, hope y'all enjoy!

words: 1.2 k

warnings: implied smut

summary:"Be careful who you make memories with. Those things can last a lifetime." -Ugo Eze

masterpost|taglist|have an idea

You and Aaron had gone away together before but only a few hours from home, never out of state, which you were okay with.

And then, out of the blue, Aaron surprised you with a three-day trip to New York. He didn’t even tell you what you were doing, so you were left to guess about your packing. It was fall, but winter was rapidly approaching so, you packed the nicest warm clothes you had. You left your packing to the last minutes so, all you were waiting on now was Aaron to pick you up for the flight. You were taking a red-eye.

A knock on the door signalled Aaron was here. You grabbed your bag and hurried down the stairs to open the door. You greeted Aaron with a kiss on the cheek, and as a response, he gave you a kiss and pulled you into a quick hug. Then he grabbed your suitcase and headed to the waiting cab. With the bags secured n the car, the two of you were on the way to the airport.

There was minimal foot traffic in the airport, which made check-in a breeze, security was just as easy. You didn’t have to wait too long for your flight to be called, and since it was a red-eye, it was almost empty. The flight itself was smooth sailing, with no turbulence or screaming babies. The two of you checked in to the hotel in the early hours of the morning, and after a quick shower, the two of you fooled around for a bit before falling asleep.

Aaron gently shook you awake and, you lifted your head off the pillow, taking a minute to look around. The clothes the two of you left scattered were now neatly folded and stacked on the chaise by the window. The luggage was organized neatly beside the chaise lounge. He stood beside the bed, messy bedhead, pyjama pants hanging low on his hips and a sleepy smile directed at you.

“So Aaron, what’s the plan for today?”

“Well, we’re gonna grab some food from downstairs before our first stop,” he said and then held up two sightseeing passes with a grin.

The pair of you got ready for the day faster than usual. It was busy from the get-go. First, you boarded the sightseeing bus and rode it all over, stopping in times square for an hour—doing all the touristy things you didn’t usually—and then, you were back on the bus to the landmark cruise. After the cruise, you and Aaron did a little research before stopping for lunch at a cute Mexican restaurant. Following lunch, you went on a Central Park bike tour and then visited the Met Breuer. Afterwards, you spent a couple hours at the American Museum of Natural History. Then the two of you made a pit-stop at the hotel. Aaron took a few minutes to call Jack and talk to him a while, and then you freshened up and got a little dressed up before heading out for dinner; tapas and wine on the Upper West Side. You and Aaron stayed out well into the night, spending the time without any of your usual responsibilities.

The following day started almost exactly the same. A little bit of fooling around before breakfast at the hotel. Instead of the sightseeing bus, you were using the transit system. The first stop on the itinerary was the Empire State Building, and then you visited High Line park. Those stops were how you spent the morning, exploring and taking it all in at a semi-leisurely pace. Lunch was at a trendy vegan place in Chelsea before you guys took a visit to the Top of the Rock Observatory. The last stop of the day was a visit to the famous Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), which you absolutely loved. After that, you and Aaron headed to the hotel to freshen up a little before dinner.

“So what’s the plan for dinner Aaron?” You asked while looking through your suitcase.

“It’s a surprise.” He said with a smile before heading into the bathroom.

“Can I at least get a hint?” You asked, voice a bit louder than usual so he would hear you.

“Dress nice.” He called out.

You continued rifling through your suitcase before pulling out a garment bag containing the fanciest dress you had packed. Hanging it on the ajar closet door, you took your heels out from your suitcase before heading to the bathroom to get ready. You did your hair and makeup carefully, doing your best not to mess it up. You slipped into your dress-up couldn’t quite reach the zipper.

“Aaron, can you come here?” You called out to him.

You heard Aaron walk over to the bathroom, and his footsteps stopped at the door. A sharp intake of breath, and then, he was right behind you. You fought the urge to shudder at his touch as he delicately tugged the zipper up your dress. He finished by placing a soft butterfly kiss on your exposed shoulder before shuffling back into the other room. You sighed with happiness and then spent a bit longer getting ready. First, a few jewelry pieces that you favoured, and then you stepped into your heels, and you were off.

You arrived at The Grand Salon at the Baccarat Hotel for dinner and were so glad that you had dressed up the way you did. It was a lovely, romantic evening with Aaron that ended exceptionally well for both parties.

Day three was bittersweet. It was the last day of your New York whirlwind vacation. It started out the same as the previous two days, but you had to re-pack and check out before exploring. The first stop was the Statue of Liberty & Ellis Island. After that, you two went to visit the 9/11 Memorial and Museum, taking a bit to pay your respects. It was highly educational and made you even more thankful for the veterans and those currently serving.

Lunch was easy, a quick visit to the Whole Foods kitchen, and then you guys took a walk around Battery Park. Following that was the Brooklyn Bridge walking tour. Your last dinner together in New York was a romantic French meal, and then, it was time to head to the airport to go home.

While you were waiting for your flight to be called, the two of you were sitting and relaxing after a busy day, with no shortage of souvenirs for Aaron to give Jack. You turned to face Aaron and gave him a soft kiss.

“Thank you for planning such an amazing trip,” you said gently with a smile on your face, “I loved every minute.”

“I’m glad Y/N. I really enjoyed spending this time with you.” He said back, just as softly and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek before leaning his head on your shoulder.

taglist: @multixfandomwriter @myescapefromthislife @gspenc @honeyofthegods @sparklykeylime @romanogersendgame

[cabinetmakerqueens]

Best Custom Closet Designer Queens

Once the design is finalized, the professional will then create a detailed plan that includes a layout of the space, a list of materials and hardware, and a visual representation of the finished product. Custom closets can be made from a wide range of materials, including wood, metal, and laminate. The choice of material will depend on the overall style of the room and the client's budget

[neonponders]

*sigh* catch me projecting on a Saturday.

I read this post ( @lazybakerart you wizard - ALSO IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?????? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹) and am now thinking about a sugardaddy!Billy with an ace!Steve. (*emphasis on grey ace*)

* Please nobody attack me for writing about leather fashion. I’m vegetarian and it’s fiction. Live a little. *

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve just kind of stared at the box on the restaurant table. It wasn’t a ring box, but it was velvet. Goodness knew how many of these he’d seen in his life.

Steve knew wealth. He knew money, and all of the material variations therein.

He’d gotten pedicures with his mother before his father declared such a thing unfit for a boy coming into puberty. If you look like a man, act like a man. As if men didn’t have feet, or something.

Then he went to the salon. That wasn’t so easy to take away. Ventures with her son seemed to be the only things keeping Mrs. Harrington from being connected to her husband’s hip, so Mr. Harrington let them both have this one. Steve, fresh out of graduation, being given a hairdresser’s chair to accomplish summer-fresh highlights.

Mrs. Harrington was also the type of woman to enjoy shoes. Everyone has a thing. For some, they had bags. Others, jewelry. Vintage furniture. Designer wallpaper. Mrs. Harrington enjoyed shoes. It was where Steve learned to carry a woman’s bags, but he didn’t stay outside of the store. He learned how to clean suede, the difference between a 130 So Kate and an ordinary heel. What fetish meant in terms of fashion. He can convert heels sizes in millimeters to inches faster than a cashier calculating change.

Tommy and Carol had joked about Steve’s father having a different kind of fetish. Nothing to do with fashion, and everything to do with sex. Steve had foolishly let them into his mother’s bedroom and they were having a field day with a shoe closet that cost more than both of their houses combined. Still smelling of Nancy and pool chlorine, Steve as good as ended that friendship right there.

Because they didn’t get it.

Mr. Harrington certainly didn’t get it. Could never have such a sexual inclination because he didn’t understand pampering or indulgent interests.

He understood favors. Material apologies.

Mrs. Harrington had a collection of pearls and diamonds that she never wore.

Steve knew she liked opals and pink, pink rubies, because Steve liked opals too. Because he used his father’s money to buy ruby studs his mother actually wore. Because he gets her oldest, broken bracelet with green amber fixed, and she wears it until it breaks again. And then she presented Steve with a thin, gold chain to go around his ankle. With a gleaming, green amber stone flanked by two opals.

The green goes with our eyes, she said. Someone special will see the green in all that brown. It’s why we look good in reds.

Steve was still looking at the box on the table.

“It’s not going to catch fire, the longer you glare at it.”

His dark hazel, creek water eyes slanted up to the man sitting opposite him.

Billy Hargrove.

Stubborn to a fault. Gorgeous as Lucifer with wings freshly burnt off. And just as dangerous.

“I thought I said no more gifts.”

“And I ignored you. Open it.”

Steve went about it like ripping off a bandaid. He sighed at the window beside their booth, wrenching the thing open to see -

Diamonds.

He shut it with a loud clap and set it on Billy’s placemat. “No, thanks.”

The man’s features froze in tolerant stoicism, but he eased the box inside his suit jacket pocket. “You’re a hard one to shop for.”

Steve’s eyes widened dramatically over his wine glass of water. Not because he was sober - he’d willingly pay for an overpriced red, himself, if the handsome asshole weren’t trying to wave his wallet everywhere. “You can stop trying to buy your way into my pants any time you want.”

“If that’s all I wanted, I would’ve stopped three months ago.”

Three months ago,

When Billy breezed into Steve’s life as easily as he had senior year of high school. The two of them certainly deserved some kind of award for having a bizarre history.

Within a handful of months, Billy had arrived upon a turbulent time in Steve’s life, and then left nearly as quickly. Billy witnessed Steve and Nancy’s break-up, Steve’s fall from Hawkins High grace, and even beat his face a little bit. Because that’s what teenage men with bad emotional processing and even worse communication skills do.

Now, almost ten years later, Billy had some kind of empire behind him and Steve, well, didn’t. He had no idea what Billy’s job consisted of, but he got little hints. Mostly the negative space from Billy’s lack of discussing his job told Steve a whole lot.

Steve, who worked two jobs and occasional gigs wherever he was needed. During one such time, while Steve managed the cables and sound boards for Robin’s band, Billy Hargrove sauntered up to him with just as much charm mixed with hauteur as he’d ever displayed.

It wasn’t like meeting an old friend, because they had never been more than acquaintances, and roughly ten years was enough time for a personality to evolve ten different ways.

Steve couldn’t say how much he and Billy had evolved, really, but there was a point in there somewhere.

Maybe it lived in the, “I never expected to see you in a dyke club, pretty boy,” since it was all the coming out either of them needed.

Or the wanton kisses and fervent hands underneath the neon rainbow on the venue’s wall.

Maybe the point sat in the things Billy wanted, and what Steve was reticent to provide. Because Billy was a king who knew what he liked, and seemed particularly talented at walking into Steve’s personal crises like an anniversary.

Steve craved.

But he didn’t know what he craved. What he yearned for. He knew Billy’s kisses made his brain go molten and fuzzy. He knew Billy’s smell brought him just as much comfort, excitement, and anxiety. He knew finally being outside of sex-crazed high school had deflated something in him. The expectations to perform. He knew losing Robin’s stupid game of You Rule / You Suck gave him a secret gift of relief.

But he still craved. He wanted touch but he wanted to be alone. He wanted companionship but he didn’t want sex. But he did enjoy sex, except he didn’t want the expectation of it.

Well.

That was it, wasn’t it?

Billy Hargrove, who could have anyone he wanted plastered to his stupid, unbuttoned chest, had sought out Steve. Steve, king of mixed signals, Harrington. It was only a matter of time before he got his face beaten again. For wasting Billy’s time. For refusing Billy’s advances even though Steve clearly enjoyed Billy’s lips on his neck, and Billy’s hand on his inner thigh. For wanting Billy’s company and flirtation without the rules that finished in the bedroom.

So Steve refused the gifts. The material favors he could’ve sold for a better apartment. Fucked his way to owning a house that his mom would feel comfortable visiting. Be an unfeeling toy who could pay for his mother’s shoes and his own pedicures.

“Steve?”

He turned away from the window and the city’s electric constellations. “Hm?”

“Where’d you go?”

The back of Steve’s throat ached. He looked down at their appetizer plates and decided, “I think I’m going home.” After a second of them both hearing it out loud, Steve said with more conviction, “I need to be home right now. I’m sorry. Thanks for dinner.”

He almost reached for his wallet to pay for his half of the artichoke dip, but reconsidered. He took his old prom tuxedo jacket off on the way to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before he pressed his face into the old fibers.

It would be easier if Steve didn’t know money. If wealth were a foreign pillow he had never slept on; could be spoiled into never giving it up again.

Like a true mother with a sixth sense, Steve withdrew a package from his mailbox when he returned to his apartment building. Mrs. Harrington’s versions of care packages were fashion magazines, a subscription to The New Yorker, polaroids of her latest closet pieces, and Steve’s favorite candy.

He loved it all. He didn’t need laminated recipes, bags of rice, or resupplied hair products. He went up to his bedroom, stripped down to nothing, and fell into bed with the hefty parcel. Fruity hard candies fell out like confetti, and he stuck a green apple square inside his cheek while he looked through her baggie of polaroids.

Peach suede 130s. Steve felt a warm tickle in his belly at that. She only wore 130s if she was pissed at his father. A woman in 130s walked with the force of a storm, mostly because the damn things were nearly intolerable to wear without a platform.

Another pair of diamond earrings. One of these days, people were going to realize how boring clear rocks were.

Dark, amethyst Miu Mius with the heel and toe encrusted with pearls. Steve’s dad must’ve really pissed her off to warrant that apology.

The magazine subscription had piled up, so he had three New Yorkers to read, but he opened the tome of Vogue first. His mother dog-earred her favorite articles, scent samples, and spreads. She often favored the androgynous and male fragrances. Steve liked that a whole lot. He wasn’t sure if she did that for him because he liked them, or if he liked them because she did that.

He held the magazine to his face as he went to the kitchen, smelling the first fragrance sample while he reached for his cache of boxed cake mix. It was a funfetti kind of night. He rattled the package of sprinkles in his hand while reading about some summer collection where the runway happened in a Greek ampitheatre. Sounded fun. Sounded like a great vacation. Beach, wine, and then modern art fusing with ancient architecture.

Steve didn’t excel in chemistry, but he knew a different kind of magic.

Which didn’t actually include baking. The cake emerged a little dark, but he cut off the burnt top, iced it to glorious, sugar perfection, and took a slice to bed with him. He turned the parcel upside-down for the last of the candy to come out so he could throw the envelope away -

Two bottles of nail polish landed heavily on the bed. Steve lifted the darker bottle to see a purple so ebony he thought it was black until he opened it to see the paint up close.

Purple and peach. To match his mother’s shoes.

Not many people understood his parents’ methods of producing or avoiding affection. But Steve did. He shook up the poison violet and painted his toenails in between forkfuls of cake.

He didn’t hear from Billy the next day.

Or the next.

As bad as Steve felt, he couldn’t say he minded. Nor would he be surprised if Billy never called him again. The idea brought a lonely peace during the commute to work, reading his magazines on the train before keeping them safe in a folder that he stuffed inside his backpack. Even if Steve’s chest felt like a cold balloon, with its latex worn thin and tired, he had his little things to keep him warm.

Then a knock on his apartment door.

Steve answered it with a cheek full of cake, interrupted from making his grocery list of actual nutritional value - 

Billy had never visited before. Steve stared at him long enough for him to ask, “Are you going to let me in?”

Steve glanced at the box under his arm and turned into his apartment with a sigh. Billy closed the door behind him as he remarked, “You don’t know what’s in it yet.”

There wasn’t exactly anywhere for Steve to theatrically storm off to. His kitchen was also his living room, and a half-wall partitioned the bedroom off to the side. His apartment was one long rectangle, and Steve remained stuck in the middle of it.

“Billy, I don’t know what you want from me that you think you can get from expensive things.”

“I don’t recall asking for anything in return,” he drawled while removing his coat.

“Don’t take that off,” Steve retorted.

“I’m taking it off.”

“This isn’t going to be a long visit.”

“Would you at least open the damn thing first?” Billy presented the box on the flat of his hand like a waiter’s tray.

Steve knew a shoe box when he saw one. He swatted the lid off the box before he even meant to. He was so tired of this game. Of these rules. He doesn’t want to see some snotty designer sneaker that isn’t to his taste. Some item the rules would dictate he accept without complaint. Or some chunky, foamy plastic, glorified tennis shoe that is over hyped . . .

He sees the red first.

It’s not a sneaker.

Hot Chick heels. 100mm. Black suede on top, red bottom. The leather around the heel scallop-cut like minimalist flower petals.

Steve’s breath has stopped in his chest. The pad of his thumb moved across the soft, matte leather before he stops himself. He tries to look stern when he dares to peek up at Billy, but those water-turquoise eyes are steady on him, absorbing his every reaction.

“These don’t exist in suede.”

Because they didn’t. Hot Chicks came in patent leather only.

“They do now.”

“Louboutin sizes down.”

“Then we’ll have them stretched.”

Steve is losing. Billy knows he’s losing. Billy - he -

“How - ?” Steve begins but stops. He closed his eyes and swallowed, only to flinch a little when Billy grasped his chin, holding him in place as he leaned in to lick the corner of his mouth free of icing.

“Will you try them on for me?”

Steve feels a mixture of defeat mixed in with petulance and vulnerable glee as he warily takes the box to his humble couch. Billy looked at his bed, and then to the kitchen on the other side of the apartment. He strolled into it and lifted the knife for a slice.

Steve, meanwhile, took his time. He opened the paper from where it had floated back over the shoes. He lifted the box to inhale the leather. He took one shoe out just to...see it. Look at it. Read the number stamped on the red arch.

Steve had to remove his socks, revealing his lacquered toes as Billy sat next to him with a plate. He eased the coffee table out of the way, giving Steve room to wiggle his foot into the severe 100mm heel.

They were hardly glamorous under his old, cut-off sweats.

But.

He’d never actually seen his feet in heels before. Never bothered to try to find his size.

Billy handed him the other shoe, and stood up with a ready hand. Steve wiggled into it and accepted his hold as he stood up.

How do you walk in those? he’d once asked his mother.

Trust the heel, my love, she’d answered, strolling around her bedroom in her 130s. If you’ve paid enough for it, it better hold up your entire form, and your dating baggage.

Steve had laughed, but listened to her every word. Move like a wheel barrow. You pivot on your toes, like the wheel, and rest on the heels.

“I’ve got you,” Billy purred when Steve teetered. Just a little.

“Why did you get me these?” Steve had to ask while he began to ease his arm off of Billy’s shoulders.

“Might’ve had a look inside your mail,” he admitted shamelessly. “I thought you might’ve ordered something and I could finally see what you liked. Instead, it’s the one thing I’ve seen you accept.”

“You’re a creep,” Steve declared, but he couldn’t look away from his feet as he strolled around the coffee table.

Billy laughed and sat down to his cake. “This is good.”

“It’s from a box.”

“It’s still good.”

Things . . . changed, after that. Billy came over just to come over. And he pestered Steve with endless questions.

“Do you like these?” he asked with his nose against the magazine pages.

Steve towered over him in his heels, but he’d wash dishes in whatever he wanted, thanks very much. And leather needed to be worn, as his mother taught him. Plastic is trash. If it comes from a living creature, it lives on a creature.

Steve snorted beside him. “My mom crimps those pages.”

“But do you like them?”

“They’re fun in magazines, but perfumes were never really my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“Right now? You, elbows deep in here.”

Billy perked right out of the magazine only to lock onto the sink. “Because you’re having trouble reaching it now?”

Steve meant to have a witty come-back, but he got caught up in his own giggles. “Yeah.”

Then,

“Can I stay the night?”

Something must have flashed across his face, because Billy added, “Not for sex. I’ve taken the hint, all right?”

Steve slowly unfolded his socks where he sat on the foot of the bed. “Why do you want to?”

Billy wiped his hands on the dish towel and padded across the room to sit beside him. “Because I want to taste you before I sleep. And I wanna taste you when I wake up. I want your snark in my ears all the time - ”

“All the time?” Steve repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah, all the time. I can’t believe it either.”

Billy’s features were warm, unbelievably warm as he watched Steve laugh. “Of course I want to have sex with you. But I miss you when... I miss you all the time. It’s embarrassing.”

Steve rolled his eyes onto him, to which Billy defended, “I have things to do.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the big man in town,” Steve babied, pushing his chest so he toppled backward.

“I am, actually,” he crooned, his hands finding Steve’s legs easily when he straddled him. “I’d work better with you on my desk.”

“My hairy legs and scraped up heels?” Steve threatened breathily, holding Billy’s cheek and jaw in one hand while he leaned over him so all Billy could see was Steve.

“All of it,” he exhaled, and pulled Steve’s head the last inch for a kiss.

Billy’s next gift was a pair of slippers. Plush, soft, and perfect after an afternoon in 100s.

Then he gave Steve a massage. Steve could accept those with ease. The balls of his feet hurt and even blushed a faint indigo from being so unused to heels. The warm attention of Billy’s hands on the arches of his feet, heels, and ankles; as well as the cold tennis balls he stored in Steve’s freezer to roll along his feet.

By then, he’d seen Steve’s anklet. So the next shoe box Steve opened were dark green suede, as poisonously dark as his mother’s violet heels. The toe was bare, but the heel was encrusted with opals. The milky stones flashed green and orange as Steve walked in the 120mm heel.

“How do they feel?”

Steve, with far more mastery over heels now, pivoted on his toes and planted one on the couch in between Billy’s thighs. His warm hand cradled Steve’s ankle immediately.

“What if I shaved for these?”

“Then I’d never take my hands off you.”

“So nothing would change,” Steve giggled, teasing gone as he landed on Billy’s lap. The man underneath him hummed his mirth into Steve’s mouth, his other hand burying in Steve’s hair while he let Steve control the kiss, explore his mouth.

“I thought they’d go with your eyes,” he said when the kiss petered off and Steve kissed his nose. Billy touched the pad of his thumb high on Steve’s cheek. “There’s a little bit of green there.”

Steve let Billy fuck him in those shoes.

Because he finally craved all the way, beyond fear of rules. Beyond the existence of toys. He craved Billy deeper than skin, and Billy gave it to him.

And when Billy got him a pair of 130s . . . blood red and spiked with tiny, crimson points, he let Steve fuck him.

[mansillateam]

Madison Square Park Tower

45 E 22nd St, Apt: 40A, New York NY

$6,750,000

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A welcoming entryway adorned with a convenient coat closet flows into a massive open-concept living room, dining room, and kitchen with northern and eastern exposure and commanding city views. The windowed galley-style kitchen is equipped with custom Molteni countertops, sleek Bleu de Savoie marble countertops and backsplashes, an eat-in peninsula, and a suite of high-end fully-integrated appliances from Miele and Sub-Zero. A chic wet bar with a built-in wine fridge and a utility sink serves the living and dining space.

The primary bedroom possesses a walk-through closet, incredible Lower Manhattan views, and a windowed en-suite bathroom with Vermont Danby marble surfaces, double sinks, Waterworks fixtures, a step-in shower, and an elegant soaking tub. The second bedroom has a large reach-in closet and easy access to a second full bathroom, while the third bedroom has a windowed en-suite, a private closet, and northern exposure.

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Visit www.mansillateam.com

Listing: @NathanPFrank

Visit NestSeekers.com, WebID: 1822158

[kkysolo]

Stuck On You / Chpt. 2

Prologue / Chapter One

Pairing: Ben Solo|Kylo Ren/Reader (female) Setting: Modern AU - Cyberpunk, dystopia, gangs, best friends to lovers.  Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, language, emotional reactions, classism, poverty, war, co-dependent relationships (eventual fluff, smut, romance).

A/N: Yeah, I know I said I wasn’t gonna post this story on tumblr anymore because of the anxiety posting on here causes me, but here we are in our clown shoes posting anyway. There is a major language warning for this chapter. Listen, I grew up in a pretty small town in Ireland where many of us were from poorer households and swearing as punctuation just seemed to be how we all spoke growing up. So that’s been a huge inspiration for how our characters in this story speak, though their circumstances are far more dire. Also, a very dialogue heavy chapter. Also, I tend to write in second-person omniscient, which is why you’ll see a lot of head-hopping.

Fic Summary: 

The year is 2084.

Despite its advances, society has collapsed on itself. The world is crooked, damaged, dying. Rezoned into new territories, separating the elite from the unworthy. Civilization is crumbling at your very feet, and in the midst of it all, your best friend, Ben Solo, has been missing for three years. You desperately cling to what’s left of him, hoping that he’ll come home, praying that things will fall back into place.

And then he does. And they don’t. Because life is different when you’re a scoundrel in the midst of a class war.

Available under the cut, and here on AO3

You wake with a start, inhaling sharply as your eyes adjust to the morning light. It cracks through a crooked break in the rotting window shutters, the black paint has long since flaked away to expose it’s decaying wood. You yawn, nuzzling into your pillow. You relish in the quiet of mornings like these - a brief sliver of serenity, of tranquility, amidst a raging war. There’s no patrols this morning, no roar of ion engines, no gunshots, no screaming. No sound, no peep at all from the hell you’ve come to live in. Just the quiet rumble of resistance vehicles, the soothing hum of conversing pedestrians. You stretch, elongating your limbs as you turn away from the window, groggily humming as you do. 

And then, you see him. And then, you scream. 

The pitch of your glass-shattering screech startles him awake, and he jumps out of his sleeping position - his head resting heavily against his fist, his elbow supporting his upper body weight on the arm of one of the only two chairs you own. You scuttle backward frantically, your back hitting the wall - you couldn’t afford a headboard even if you saved. Your bed doesn’t even have a frame. 

“Woah,” he grunts. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

You blink. You can feel it, the panic. You know it’s coming, and you try in vain to calm your heart as it begins to race, pounding against your flesh. You can hear it in your ears, can hear the blood draining from your face. Your breathing starts to catch in your throat as your chest tightens, and you think, for a moment, that you might vomit all over your knees. 

“You look like you’re going to puke,” he comments, rising from his seat. He steps closer to you, but you flinch, and your breathing only accelerates. “It’s alright, it’s just me, it’s Ben,” his tone drops to a soothing murmur as he continues his approach. “It’s just me, sunshine.” 

It’s the nickname that does it, that throws you over the edge. Sobs erupt from your chest with a force, causing you to cough and choke as tears start to spurt, cascading down your cheeks and streaming past your lips. The bed dips as he appears beside you, pulling you to him, right into his chest - and the feeling, how it feels to finally have you like this again, right in front of him, your skin beneath his fingertips, your hair tickling the plains of his cheeks. The moment, this indulgent little fragment of repose, it doesn’t last. You thrash against him, shoving him away with every ounce of strength you can muster first thing in the morning. 

“What the fuck, Ben?” You wail, kicking him away and scooting to the opposite side of the bed. “W-what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to wake up,” he says - and calmly, too. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You look at him incredulously, frantically wiping the tears from your face. Your shock is replaced by a glower. 

“Where have you been,” you grit out, enunciating each word with as much venom as you can. “For the past three fucking years?” 

Ben pauses, eyes falling to the floor. 

“Smuggling,” he mumbles, almost too low for you to hear. 

“Smuggling,” you repeat the word indignantly. “You left us. You left the Resistance, your family, me, to go and fucking smuggle?” 

“It’s not that simpl-” 

You cut him off. You don’t care if it’s not that simple. Everything is that simple. 

“Well what the fuck are you smuggling?” “Just weapons at first, but now with the whole alcohol thing-” “Jesus, Ben, how the fuck did you end up in this mess?” “The Knights of Ren-” “The Kni- the fucking bounty hunters? The fucking gang? Are you fucking for real?” “They fucking found me on the outer rim on that mission with a top tier warrant on my head!” “And?”

“Wh-” Ben looks at you incredulously, mouth half hanging open. “What the fuck do you mean ‘and’? They cut me a deal, I work for them, they don’t hand me over to the Empire.” 

“Work for them? What, you’re hunting bounties, now? Picking us off?”

Ben shifts backward in surprise, a hand running through his raven hair. It’s longer now, than it used to be. 

“No, Jesus. The deal was that I bring in their credits. I smuggle whatever they want me to, I do whatever they want me to - they keep me away from the Empire, and they leave the Resistance alone.”  “Sounds like a sweet fucking deal, bet you’re living the life of luxury,” you fold your arms across your chest, sniffling quietly. 

“Well, I made them enough fucking credits,” he makes a gesture of exasperation with his hands. “But I don’t get a cut. Them leaving you alone is payment enough, as far as they’re concerned. They lose a lot of fucking money not picking up your bounties,” he pauses for a moment, his eyes that had settled on the ground now snap up to meet yours. “Do you know you’ve got a second tier warrant on you?”

You ignore him. Of course you know. 

“I can’t believe that’s what you were doing, that that’s where you were.”  “I was staying alive,”  “We needed you.” “And what fucking use would I have been to anyone dead?” He roars, and you jump only slightly. “What fucking use am I to you if I’m dead?”  “You were as good as, you dick.”  “I always knew I was coming back,” he tries to settle his temper. “I couldn’t have left you forever.” “You left for long enough, didn’t you, though? Because we didn’t know you were coming back.”  “I couldn’t-” “You could have fucking called!” You shriek. “I texted your stupid fucking phone every fucking time I thought of you, which was all the damn time.”  “I know,” he murmurs. “I got them. Your voicemail, too.” 

You can’t help the whimper that escapes you. It feels somewhat like your whole life has just shattered around you.

“I fucking hate you,” you sob. “I absolutely fucking hate you.” 

“No,” Ben murmurs, and he reaches for you again. You swat at him. “You don’t, sunshine. You know you don’t.”

“I do,” you cry. But Ben shakes his head again, and you don’t even see, don’t even notice that he’s crying, that he’s been crying. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he whispers. “Please,” and he tries again - arms winding around your waist as he pulls you to him, sliding you onto his lap. You don’t resist this time. Your head lolls against his chest as you cry, and cry and cry and cry until it feels like your throat is coated in splinters. And he holds you like that, while your hands clutch at his shirt, bunching it in your fists, and he rocks you gently. Humming softly as his own tears drip down onto your scalp. Humming a song - that song. Your song. 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“She can’t see me,” Ben toys with his coffee cup. He sits, hunched over at your kitchen table - if you can call a decaying wooden crate with two chairs as much. “She can’t know.”

“You’re not gonna tell your own mother that you’re alive?”  You’re standing at the counter, watching him from a safe distance. Your anger, your fury has simmered, but hasn’t dissipated. “What the fuck has happened to you?”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he grits, grinding his teeth. You’ve always hated when he does that. The noise of it would wake you during the night when you’d both shared a closet-sized bedroom some years ago. You’d shared a damp mattress, too. Mold ridden and lumpy and cold. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“Then why did you?”

Ben rolls his eyes. 

“What fucking good is it explaining anything to you? You don’t listen.”  “I’ve been listening.”

“Well, you’re not fucking hearing me, then,” he mumbles, focusing his attention on your feet instead of your face. He’s irritated, irate with himself for thinking this would be easy - that you’d leap into his arms without a second thought. Because really, you’ve always been this way. Stubborn, unyielding. The two things he’s always so deeply admired about you are now serving only to undermine his feeble plan. 

“Even if you did want to tell her, she’s leaving on a mission today.” “And dad?” “Going with her,” you sip at your own coffee. It tastes of used filters. “You know Han doesn’t let her go alone.” 

Ben nods solemnly, twirling his cup in his hands. 

“I came for you,” he murmurs. “That’s why I’m here.”  “For me?” 

“I needed to see you,” his voice drops an octave, and it trembles only slightly as he speaks. “And I can keep you safe.” 

You scoff. The concept of safety has been long lost on you. For years now, you’ve endured, survived - but you’ve lost sleep, jumping awake at the sound of an ion engine. You’ve lost blood, lost hair, lost half your sanity simply trying to stay alive. 

“There’s no safety, not here, not anywhere.”

“I can keep you safe,” he springs up from his seat, knocking his empty cup over as he does. “But you need to trust me.” 

“What about your parents? Your friends?” 

He’s inches from you now, biting at his lip in that way that he does, the way that makes them red raw and swollen. He’s determined, adamant that this will work - that you’ll hear him, that you’ll come with him. He needs to know that the past three years haven’t been in vain, that they haven’t been for nothing, that his work, his fucking slavery meant something. 

“My parents don’t need my help, you know that as well as I do,” he murmurs, his voice dropping deeper. “They’re untouchable. You aren’t.” 

“None of us are.”

“You’re my priority,” he insists, and the power he holds with his stance, his figure that looms over you alone almost convinces you of it - that you are. 

“Didn’t feel like that when you fucking disappeared,” you grumble, not stepping back when he moves closer. “And I don’t see how you’re going to be able to protect me. Ben Solo the smuggler, what hold do you have on the Empire?” 

He cocks an eyebrow, his honey eyes twinkling as a soft smirk forms on his lips - and all you can think of is trouble, because that smirk, those eyes - they’ve never led to anything good. 

“Ben Solo? Nothing,” he shrugs. “Kylo Ren, though? Everything.” 

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Christmas at the Museum

Summary: Ahkmenrah discovers the traditions of Christmas, and Y/N gets him a special gift.

A/N: This is SO disgustingly fluffy that it may actually kill you. I made five incoherent noises of cute as I wrote it, so be warned. 

A/N II: I’m still working on requests ☺️ The muse bit, and I just HAD to get this one written. 

“We can’t put the Christmas tree in your display.”

“Behind the wall—no one will see.”

“People walk all through your display during the day. They are going to notice a Christmas tree.”

“But I want one just for us! I do not wish to share the big one in the lounge.”

“You sound like a—"

“Call me a brat and you will face my wrath, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ahkmenrah’s frustration, knowing damned well he was all bark and no bite now that he didn’t have an empire at his fingertips to command.

“We have the tree at my place, too. That tree’s just for us.”

Ahkmenrah looked at you for a long moment before sighing, “I suppose you are right.”

“I am known to be on occasion. Besides, don’t you want to know what magical Christmas tradition I have planned for us this evening?”

Ahk’s posture straightened and for a moment, you were reminded he was once a king—still, technically, a king.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice barely able to contain the awe despite its authoritative lilt.

“Gingerbread houses!”

Ahkmenrah turned, his golden cape flashing as he ran to the notebook he kept in a secret compartment under his sarcophagus. He flipped through the pages and jogged back, practically shoving the notebook under your nose.

“Yes,” you giggled as you lowered the notebook and looked over his notes and illustrations on Christmas Tradition #52. “That’s the one.”

“This one looks most complex,” Ahk said as he pressed his lips together and reexamined his notes.

“Don’t you trust me? Haven’t we pulled off at least some version of every tradition you’ve researched so far?”

Ahkmenrah looked up again and narrowed his eyes, mentally tallying the results of each of your efforts.

“Tradition 15 did not go so well,” Ahk said quietly, his mouth turning down as he remembered the attempt to form a group of Christmas carolers. After rehearsing for a few hours, you hit the streets only to be heckled as Atilla belted out “Silent Night” in a very broken version of English and in a very gruff voice that startled most of the passersby.

“But what about Tradition—” you trailed off and grabbed Ahkmenrah’s notebook, quickly flipping back a few pages—“Tradition 23. A kiss under the mistletoe?”

Ahk looked up with a wicked grin, his eyes clouding with desire as he pulled the notebook out of your hands and tossed it on the floor. He grabbed your waist and pulled you directly against him, not a breath between you.

“I think that was my favorite,” he growled before kissing you with the same intensity as the night you tried Tradition 23. The mistletoe kiss had led to such a raucous bout of lovemaking that no less than five of the exhibits walked by the storage closet and yelled for you to keep it down.

You probably should have waited to explain mistletoe at your apartment.

And now, you were once again minutes deep into a kiss with Ahk, his hands roaming your body and yours mirroring him, grasping his ass with one hand while the fingers on your other pressed into the back of his head—

“Hey!” Larry interrupted. “What is it with you two? Mistletoe again?”

You and Ahk broke apart, hazy and not quite remembering that you were standing in the middle of his exhibit.

You cleared your throat, swiped at your mouth, and smoothed back your hair.

“Right. Gingerbread. Kitchen. Thanks, Lar. Off we go,” you said as you grabbed Ahk’s wrist and yanked him forward.

The kitchen was perhaps the most festive of all the rooms in the museum, the daytime staff wondering at first if they’d been the butt of a practical joke but instead of tearing down the gaudy decorations, they succumbed to the Christmas spirit and added even more of their own.  

Christmas lights of all shapes and sizes were winking around the steel countertops as the museum’s night-time occupants spread out to gather up their icing and their candy decorations. The gingerbread houses ranged from the extra-large to the traditional to the tiny—you were sure to include something for everyone.

As much as you wanted to sit with Ahk and make a house together, you ended up acting in the role of a teacher as you walked around to help everyone avert a crisis. You sighed and sent a longing look in Ahkmenrah’s direction as you fished out one of Jeb’s cowboy friends who was nearly drowning in a vat of icing.

Ahk was meticulously lining his perfectly constructed gingerbread house with gumdrops alternating in a green, white, and red pattern. His tongue was poking out and his brow was furrowed, but what caught your attention was the streak of white icing on his jaw, just under the corner of his mouth.

You smiled and made your way over to him, letting out a sigh of exasperation as you sat down for the first time that evening. He glanced at you and flashed a quick grin before returning to lining his rooftop.

“You’ve got a bit of icing,” you said, leaning into him and pressing your lips to the sticky mess, “right here.”

A red gumdrop fell from Ahk’s fingertips as you nibbled along his jaw.

“The mistletoe incident was quite enough of that, thank you very much,” Lewis said as he leaned over to pluck some M&Ms out of a dish.

“Quite right, Y/N. We’re all happy Ahk has a somebody but try to reign in the open displays of affection,” Clark added, surveying his crooked house before deciding that licorice might make it look a little less haphazard.  

“Americans. Brits. You are all so squeamish when it comes to exhibiting fondness,” Ahkmenrah muttered as he cocked a critical eye at his gingerbread house.  

“Probably because they’re all so old.”

Ahkmenrah gave you a pointed look.

“They are old? What does that make me?”

“You know what I mean!” you laughed. “Ancient Egyptians were more socially ahead of the times than the oh-so-enlightened ‘modern’ civilizations that cultivated my society.”

“Quite right,” Ahk said as he turned to you, clutched your chin with sticky fingers, and kissed you.

Lewis and Clark sighed in defeat as Ahk returned to his gingerbread house, carefully shaking iridescent sprinkles over the roof of his house to make it look like fresh-fallen snow.

“I think they’re both just jealous of your perfect gingerbread house,” you said, shooting them a wink as Ahkmenrah beamed with pride.

* * * * *  

Before you knew it, the hushed anticipation of Christmas Eve had fallen over the occupants of the museum. You had all agreed that everyone would “sleep” until midnight, and at 12:01 am, you would wake up as if it were Christmas morning, which technically, it really was.

Many of the museum’s occupants, including Ahkmenrah, had bunked together in the lounge with the Christmas tree, making Larry’s job of playing Santa Clause rather difficult. It didn’t help that Nicky wanted to open his presents at the museum, too, so while Larry was struggling to very quietly place presents under the tree, you snuck off to Ahk’s exhibit to work on your surprise.

You were reluctant to leave his present alone for long, but after checking on it for the tenth time, it was 11:55 pm and you had to get back before you were missed.

Nicky was already “waking up” everyone in the lounge by the time you got back. Ahkmenrah gave you a curious glance, but his attention was diverted by the pile of presents under the tree. It truly did look like a magical scene, especially to see the displays dressed up in varying degrees of Christmas outfits.

Ahkmenrah and you were dressed in matching pairs of dark green pajamas patterned with tiny reindeer. However, someone had thought he needed to look more Christmassy and had adorned his curly hair with a bobbling headband that had a pair of red and green ornaments attached to the top.

You smiled to yourself as you watched the bobbles moving while Ahk helped Nicky locate all his gifts, the two of them laughing over the fact that Santa Clause had managed to find his way to the museum so early in the night.

As soon as you were able, you pulled Ahkmenrah away from the chaos and up to his exhibit.

“What is this about, Y/N? I have not yet even given you—I mean you have not yet opened your present from Santa.”

“Only Nicky believes in Santa, Ahk. Well, Atilla and Jeb probably do, too. Anyway, I did a thing—just trust me.”

You stopped right outside of the opening to Ahkmenrah’s exhibit and asked, “Close your eyes?”

He gave a lopsided grin and complied. You took his hand and led him into the exhibit.

“Open.”

You watched, a smile on your face, as Ahkmenrah’s eyes reflected the white lights of a little Christmas tree all decorated in golds and silvers to match the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls of his display.

Underneath the tree was a single, mid-sized present, wrapped in golden paper. However, the present couldn’t remain quiet and a tiny, warbling “mew” emitted from the box beneath the tree.

“Damnit,” you said under your breath, but Ahkmenrah’s mouth had already dropped open as he shot you a glance.

“Y/N,” he whispered, rushing to the tree and dropping to his knees as he reached for the box with shaky hands.

He pulled back, looking to you for permission, and you quickly nodded, biting your bottom lip to stifle your grin.

“MEW!” came the box, this time much more insistent.

Ahkmenrah’s head whipped back in the direction of the golden present, the bobbles on his headband almost rotating in a circle from the ferocity of his movement.

He scooted a little closer to the box before gently lifting the lid. You took a few steps forward, your hand over your mouth as you watched.

Ahkmenrah leaned over and just as he lined himself up parallel to the opening, a tiny, grey, furry head poked up over the edge of the box and looked up, taking in his new owner.

Ahk greeted the little kitten in ancient Egyptian, speaking softly before he offered the little guy his hand to sniff. The kitten reached out, his dark nose touching Ahkmenrah’s proffered hand.

“Mew,” he once again stated.  

Ahk made a strangled noise in his throat before turning to look at you again.

“It’s a little boy, and yes, he’s yours—I thought you might like an heir,” you said chuckling as you kneeled next to Ahk and looked into the box.

“He’s mine?”

“All yours. I’ve worked it out with Rebecca and the museum is excited to have a ‘museum cat.’ Apparently, it’s all the rage now. Aaand you know I’m here during the day at work, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on him until you wake up. We want to keep him in this area, though, until he gets big enough to roam on his own.”

“Oh, Y/N. How did you know?”

“I listen, Ahk. To everything you say. I tried my best to find a kitten that looked like yours.”

“He does,” Ahkmenrah said, his eyes a little misty as he watched his new kitten climb out of the box.

“What are you going to name him?”

“That will require some thought,” Ahk said as he shifted his position and the kitten crawled onto his lap, mewing intermittently.

You smiled and watched him pet the little ball of grey, his eyes 4,000 years away. You hung back and watched the pair bond, smiling softly and thinking about how nice it would be for Ahk to have something of his own.

“You’re in love,” you said, smirking.

Ahkmenrah looked up and held your gaze, his eyes serious.

“I am,” he said with a finality that made you straighten up, and you knew he wasn’t talking about his Christmas present.

You swallowed, your tongue too heavy to form words.

“Thank you. I’ll never forget this Christmas,” Ahkmenrah said. 

“You mean the past 25 days of Christmas?”

Ahk chuckled, “Have they not been magical?”

“Every day—well, night—with you is magical.”

“I would kiss you but Azizi is so comfortable.”

“Azizi? That was fast.”

“It means something akin to your word for ‘precious.’ And nothing is more precious to me than you, Y/N, so it is only fitting that what you have given me holds the same status.”

“You’re too good for this world, Ahkmenrah. How did I get so lucky?”

“Well, 4,000 years ago, my brother stabbed me in the heart—”

“Too dark for Christmas, my love,” you said laughing softly and moving to sit next to Ahkmenrah, your body snuggled next to his as you reached over to stroke the softly purring Azizi.

[honeylikewords]

b , d , t with Santi please

Yes! Absolutely!

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?):

I actually made a whole big, long, goofy post (with screencaps and citations!) about why I think the film actually frames Santi as a paternal figure who cares about children and longs to be a father himself, so, yes! I do fully believe that Santi does want to be a father and have kids!

I’m a little biased, but I do really think that part of Santi craves and is missing in his life is a sense of purpose and belonging in a group; he tries to fill the gap a family would hold in his life by reuniting his old teammates, only to realize that what he’s looking for can’t be supplied by these men and their jobs, the old life they used to live.

I imagine Santi is, whether secretly or not-so-subtly, rather jealous of Frankie for having a wife and kid. He has dark, unkind moments when he thinks to himself that, of the two of them, he, himself, deserves to be the one married, deserves to be holding his own little one in his arms, and doesn’t understand why Frankie gets to enjoy that where he doesn’t. Santi is quick to shake these thoughts off, though, fully aware that such a thing is ridiculous to think; the world is wide enough for both men to be married and become fathers in their own times, and that his loneliness need not manifest itself as bitter jealousy over his friend’s happiness. 

Of course, that jealousy was at its worst when he was still single and living alone in Colombia, wracked with frustration over his job and the course of his life, the stress of feeling like he’d failed in all his endeavors and was growing too old to find a new meaning, a new course. 

Once he moved back to the U.S., though, and fell in love with his current beloved, the anxiety over his potential for starting a family began to ebb. He’d found someone who truly loved him, who wanted him around, and who shared his hopes for the future: a love to last all their lives and a family of their own.

Still, I think Santi is sometimes plagued with worries about his past, and whether it will affect the prosperity of his future; what if there are stragglers of the Lorea empire hunting him down? What if his PTSD influences him so drastically that he’s a bad father? What if his shot knees mean he can’t bend down and pick up his child as they run to him? 

He airs these anxieties to his lover over time, and each time, she takes him in her arms and reassures him that he will be a good, loving, gentle father. She’s seen him with other children. She’s seen him at his best. She’s seen him at his worst. And he remains steadfast, kind, and stable, even when rash fears and haywire anxieties grip him. She knows he’ll be the best father a child could ask for, and will always be improving upon himself, working to be even better.

Over time, and after many repeated conversations about it, and constant reassurance that it’ll be alright, Santi starts to believe that it’s possible; someday, he’ll be a father, and, if he’s lucky, it will be with the woman he’s lucky enough to currently call his girlfriend.

And while they may not be planning on having one any time soon, Santi still finds himself wandering through the baby clothes section when out at the local Target, and can’t help but imagine a tiny little person with his sweetheart’s eyes and his curls wearing the adorable little “crabby in the morning” t-shirt (with, of course, the printed illustration of a crab) he sees hanging on the rack.

He may just sneak it into the cart to buy and save for a hopeful later date.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?):

Santi is often very laid-back about dates, but in his own way; he likes to always be the one paying (it’s never worth it for his beloved to try and haggle with him to split the bill or let her pay; he is insistent that he cover it, always), and while he’s fine with the occasional visit to a dive bar to see live music or get some beers, he’s grown away from finding activities like that fun and has shifted into some pretty “tame” date ideas being the ones that excite him most.

He gets thrilled at the idea of going to the museum (if he’s told there’s a geology exhibit on, he’ll be there in a heartbeat) for an evening, or taking a visit to the theatre to see a show, though he’s not going to sit for a musical. He prefers standard plays, not musical theatre. 

He likes going to the movies well enough, but he’s not really into action films or war movies, surprising as that may be; show him a good, like, period drama set in the 60′s to 80′s and he’s all over it. He loves business dramas and the occasional gangster movie, but he likes them to be more low-key and thrilling, with the tension building slowly and the threats being subdued, waiting for the moment to strike.

He’s also a sucker for comedies from the 80′s, and has a particular affinity for This Is Spinal Tap. 

Oftentimes, he likes to stay home and cook dinner with or for his sweetheart, taking care to make a new dish that will excite, or one he knows is a special treat for her. He loves to make rich, chocolate and fruit-based desserts, too; one of his favorites is a dark chocolate mousse with pomegranate seeds sprinkled on top. He loves feeding it to her bite by bite and watching her smile at the flavors and at his sweet gesture, and when she’s full, he’ll lean in for a delicate, chocolate-tinged kiss.

Santi is also very, very fond of using his hands to touch and to hold her, so he’s not opposed to spending the evening in and giving her a massage as part of the date, or cuddling on the couch and working her shoulders while they catch up on shows he’s been unable to watch while at work. He likes The Office, but sometimes it’s just too easy to watch, you know?, so he’s gotten interested in more witty or fast-paced shows like The West Wing, Arrested Development, and, a surprise favorite from across the pond, Detectorists. 

Nothing makes him happier than having his girl lay her head against his chest as they rest on the couch, comfortable in one another’s arms, and feeling her drift off to sleep on him. He loves knowing that she trusts him that much, and feels that safe with him. Plus, if she’s asleep, he can put on his secret indulgence show: America’s Next Top Model. 

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?):

Santi has tons of interesting stories about the work he did while on his tours around the world, but he actually gets more excited to talk about history; stuff he wasn’t present for but has read about, researched, taken a personal interest in. He loves tactical history and watches an embarrassing number of historical documentaries, so if he gets asked anything to do with that, he’ll be chattering for hours.

He also likes having conversations with his girlfriend about music, particularly band history or about how he doesn’t like a lot of modern music (and then she immediately pelts him with comments about him being a “crotchety old man” and shakes a fist, croaking in her best old man voice a surly “darn you kids and your hippity-hoppity musics!”, which Santi rolls his eyes at), but he also loves to hear her opinions about music. Especially if she has wildly different tastes from himself; he loves walking in and hearing her listening to one of those medieval covers of a popular song, or coming into the kitchen to find her working on something with a theremin album blaring in the background. 

They also talk a lot about political issues; it just seems to come up often, and they’re both very passionate about trying to do what’s best for their communities and for their countries. They tend to have very similar stances about their beliefs, but can come to disagreements about how to put those selfsame beliefs into practice and policy. Thankfully, they’re both very willing to listen to one another, especially Santi, who genuinely takes pleasure in watching his beloved talk energetically about what she feels is just and right.

It’s also common for them to relay various stories from their day jobs, particularly if they or a coworker did something embarrassing. Santi got a job as a school counselor back in the U.S., so he loves to tell his beloved all about the teacher’s lounge drama.

“And so Gillian-- you know, the semester-long sub they got to fill in for Becky, who had to go on maternity leave?-- yeah, her, so SHE gets caught stealing bottles of glue from the supply closet and it’s not even for, like, huffing the fumes; she’s some kind of scrapbooking maniac, apparently? That’s not even the weirdest part--”

Honestly, though? They love to talk to each other about anything. 

Santi considers his partner his best friend (followed closely by Frankie, but, ya know, the missus takes precedence) and he wouldn’t have gotten into a relationship with her if he didn’t like talking to her, or didn’t find their conversations stimulating. She makes him laugh, challenges his thoughts, introduces him to things he’d never have found on his own, and just... is pleasant to be around.

And, sometimes, at the end of the day, that’s all you need: someone who is pleasant to be around, and it doesn’t have to matter what you’re talking about, so long as you’re together. 

Santi knows he’s lucky enough to have just that in her.

Thanks for asking about Santi; I just adore him!

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[ncityofangels]

Shoot Out (Mafia!AU Jooheon x fem!Reader pt.2)

a/n - Sorry this took me so damn long to write, we all know I’m shit at updating properly. Anyway, I don’t really have much to say on this one. Hope y’all enjoy. <3

Part 1 <---

Summary - You meet Jooheon on a whim during a traumatic accident in your life. You don’t know what he does for a living, but you know he’s well off. As things progress you start to doubt where all the money comes from. One night you walk in on him handling mob business and get pulled into a life of crime and treachery. Things are good for a while, you being the Bonnie to his Clyde, but soon you start to question how far would you go for the one you love?

Word Count - 1.8k

Genre - some fluff, mostly angst towards the later chapters, maybe a sprinkle of smut who knows ;)

Warnings - definitely some “vulgar” language.

The pain woke you up. The sharp sting of a wound you barely recalled receiving. You assumed someone had given you painkillers to allow the little bit of rest you had actually gotten. You awoke to a bizarre and unfamiliar landscape. A four poster bed with ivory satin sheets enveloped your body. “What the hell?” you whispered. The last thing you remembered was walking home after work down a dim avenue on your way to your apartment complex. The homeless person. An image of a battered old man asking for money flashed through your brain. That’s when you really felt the stitches holding the gash in your side from continuing to gush blood. “Damn that hurts like a bitch” you whispered to yourself again. You still couldn’t tell where exactly you were, but it was nice enough to have a fully decorated guest room, so it most definitely couldn’t be a hospital. “Stab wounds tend to do that”. You heard a voice from the corner of the room, and realized there was someone standing in the doorway. A tall man with chestnut brown hair, a broad figure and a serious expression joined you in the room, shutting the door behind him. “Who the hell are you? Where am I?” You panic, immediately jumping to the worst possible scenario you could muster. That of course being that you were sold into sex trafficking and were only ‘saved’ so you could service men. This undoubtedly was not the case but you wouldn’t figure that out until later. You could tell your sudden outburst surprised him. “Well….um….I’m Shownu. This is my boss’ house. We found you bleeding on the street...uh….we have a kind of on-site doctor here and this was closer than the hospital so…” the tall man, apparently named Shownu responded. You were still suspicious about the whole situation but you decided to drop it for now, the pain in your side once again returning. You lifted your thin shirt to reveal the large bandage taped to the side of your torso. While you observed your wound, Shownu kept talking. “I was told to tell you that since you’re a guest here you’re invited to dinner tonight. There’s a dress in the closet for you to wear, and the table is set at 6. After that, if you desire, transportation will be arranged to take you back to your apartment.” he finished, proud of himself for properly delivering the message to me. You went to tell him that dinner wouldn’t be necessary and that you wished to go home as soon as possible; however, you didn’t get a chance to reply, as the boy had already escaped the room. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice” you thought to yourself. You gently rose from the bed, making sure you didn’t irritate your laceration, making your way towards the towering wardrobe that was placed in your room. You open the wardrobe to reveal an emerald green lace cocktail dress and white stiletto heels. “You have GOT to be kidding me.” I said to myself. “They do know I literally just got stabbed, right?” I sighed. Obviously this wasn’t something I was going to be able to get out of. I began to carefully undress out of my ‘shady mansion surgeon’-issued clothes and slip into the small piece of fabric provided to me. “This is weird as fuck, but what the hell”.

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Jooheon POV

“I delivered the message, sir.” Shownu said, plopping himself down in one of Jooheon’s office chairs. The superior responded with a nod of his head, nothing more. “If I may ask boss, why exactly are we involving ourselves in this?” Shownu continued. Jooheon paused the ledgers he was working on and glanced up at his employee. “What kind of mob boss would I be if I just let an innocent bystander bleed out inside the boundaries of my empire?” Jooheon joked. In all seriousness, he knew well that she could become a liability. If word got out that there had been a murder within feet of one of his tenants shops, many friends to his ‘business’ could pull out of transactions for fear of their inventory being compromised. Murder was second nature in his line of work, but any news of a non-mafia related crime spike could jeopardize future negotiations. “Speaking of the events of last night, did you take care of the man that caused this?” Jooheon asked. Shownu raised his head, responding “I think it’s safe to say he won’t be a problem anymore”. Jooheon looked satisfied. “Good. Now I want you to do one more thing for me”.

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Y/N POV

Once you were dressed, you finally liberated yourself from the confines of your room. Shownu never told you where to go for dinner so you turned down multiple hallways and ventured down a bunch of stairwells before finally coming to what you thought may be the right place. As you explored, you noticed the beautiful rustic yet modern designs in the house. From the wooden beams extending from the floor to the ceiling, to the cozy furniture included in every room. The design of the house definitely made it feel a lot more like a home, despite the size. Once in the dining room, you sit down in one of the many chairs at the table. The food was surprisingly already served and ready to eat; however, your host had yet to arrive. “Nice of you to invite a guest to dinner and not show up” you whispered to yourself, a little irritated that you got dragged to dinner with this guy and he had the nerve to be late. “Sorry about that, I had some…..business to take care of.” A man, assumedly the host of this dinner and the owner of the house, walked towards the table from a room you had yet to see. Shit, he probably heard you make that comment. He had sleek black hair and an intimidating face, but something about him was attractive. He was wearing a black suit with a green undershirt, coincidentally matching your dress. Everything about him was contradictory. His face was serious, but in some ways very soft. Like his true demeanor was hidden behind a daunting facade. You wished you could stop analyzing every little thing about him but it’s like he had a gravitational pull. “I’m Jooheon” the man said, taking his seat at the head of the table. “I’m…” You went to respond to him but he cut you off. “I know who you are”. You guessed he’s not the most well-mannered person you’ve ever met. “How exactly do you know who I am?” you implored. “We got your purse back” He responded, stuffing his mouth with whatever food was on his plate. Alright then, not a big talker either. You slowly started to eat your food, sensing that you weren’t going to get much out of him right now. At least the alfredo you were eating tasted pretty good. As all food should when it comes from the kitchen of as grand a house as this one. “How’s the wound?” Jooheon asked, restarting whatever ‘conversation’ we had initiated before; however, you were done playing games, you wanted answers. “What made you think you could just bring me to your house and patch me up instead of taking me to the hospital? I’ve never met you before” you stated. Your question was abrupt but he maintained his composure, unshaken by your urgency. “I’m sorry the accommodations I made for you aren’t suitable enough. I remind you that I could have let you die on the street without as much as a lift of a finger, so I would appreciate a little thanks in that regard” He threw back. You were shocked. How was this man already so good at throwing things back in your face. You finished what little was left on your plate and effectively dodged the response you received from your host. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. If it’s not too much to ask I’d like to be taken home now.” You quickly responded. Luckily, he had finished his dinner too and was noticeably irritated with your presence. “I think that can be arranged.” He replied. “Wait by the front door. I’ll call for an escort. I hope next time we can meet on better terms, Y/N” With that final statement, he retreated back to the hallway he originally entered from. “Hopefully I won’t get so lucky” you whispered to yourself, making your way to the entrance to the estate.

Once in the car, you thought of the events of the past 24 hours. First you were mutilated by some random homeless man. That was fun. Then you were taken to this random rich man’s house to get operated on by a currently unknown surgeon. After that you had dinner with this random rich man in his luxurious home. Now you’re finally on your way home. Honestly, this was the most adventure you’d gotten in years, but you just wanted to crawl into your own bed, in your own clothes and go back to your normal life. You arrived at your apartment pretty quickly, thus making you think that you weren’t too far away to begin with. You made a mental observation of that fact and tucked it away in some filing cabinet in your brain. Once you came to a complete stop, you hopped out of the expensive car, thanked the driver and walked up to your door. You already sensed that something was off, but you didn’t realize until you let your eyes drift around the entrance to your house. The first thing you noticed as your eyes moved upward was the brand new, state-of-the-art electronic door lock that was now installed on your door. But that wasn’t all. Security Cameras. All around your complex. Your landlord was cheap as hell so you knew he didn’t buy them. “What the hell is all of this?” you whispered softly, wondering how all these gadgets found their way to your doorstep. The last thing that caught your eye was the bouquet of white roses placed on your ‘Welcome Home’ doormat. You slowly leaned down to pick up the arrangement, carefully not to jerk too much as to bother your bandage. You noticed a familiar label attached to the wrapping around the flowers. They were from one of your favorite floral shops nearby, Lily’s. As you examined the bouquet you noticed a white card dangling from one of the roses. “Let’s see who these are from” you said, delicately opening the card to reveal a short message. “Rest up. We’ll be seeing each other very soon. -J”.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

What are your headcannons for the kids from the four main All the Wrong Questions series?

oh geez there are so many 

Lemony Snicket

Listen every character in the Snicketverse is autistic but Lemony? HIGH.KEY. This boy cannot stand sensory overload and also stims with verbal recitation. 

After several months in Stain’d-by-the-Sea, the Associates got used to him just showing up and taking food. He eventually stopped asking, and then eventually stopped using the door. Moxie has, more than once, come downstairs to find him sitting on her counter eating cereal. 

Beatrice snuck into town once to see how he was doing, saw him and Moxie trying to jump off the roof of the diner with a tablecloth parachute and Jake dragging them back and screaming, and she just turned right the fuck around and reported to their friends, “yeah he’s fine.” 

Kit made him promise not to tell Jacques that she was almost in jail. 

MODERN AU: Gets into twitter and tumblr fights with obvious trolls. Tried to call CPS on Theodora just to see what would happen. Can recite any “Unraveled” YouTube video on command. Has an extensive knowledge of Pokemon. 

Moxie Mallahan

listen this girl is a lesbian in denial and she wrote Ellington Feint a note that said “get out of my town” because she didn’t know what else to do

She always kinda knew that her Mother was never coming back for her, but she didn’t admit it aloud until after Lemony left. 

Moxie: I can eat ten marshmallows at once. Kellar: You are a hazard to yourself. Lemony: And a coward. Do twenty 

Moxie knows how to pick every kind of lock, and how to break into every window. She takes her journalism very seriously and will get the truth even if she has to flip the world off as she does it. 

MODERN AU: Blogger. Once spent a week straight putting together a project and then passed out for forty-eight hours. Still carries a typewriter with her everywhere. Had to physically stop Lemony from eating a tide pod. 

Ellington Feint 

Had literally no idea Lemony had a crush on her because she’s just that gay. 

Actually popped up around town inbetween books constantly, mainly to chill with Cleo, Jake, the Bellerophons, and even Ornette. They just all neglected to mention this to Lemony. 

She doesn’t remember anything about her mother. All she knows is what her father told her; that her mother used to make music boxes, loved coffee, and died in a fire. 

Goes through a huge rebel/outlaw phase after escaping with Kit, because she’s completely lost and has no idea what to do or who to trust; her own father never gave a shit about her, as she now knows, so how could anyone care? Eventually she made her way back to Stain’d-by-the-Sea, where Moxie found her crying in the attic of Black Cat Coffee and awkwardly invited her to live in the lighthouse. 

MODERN AU: Has been on the run from CPS for so fucking long. Quotes Gilmore Girls almost daily and will argue your ear off about why Rory/Paris should’ve been endgame. Once ate a tide pod. Cries while watching the Addams Family. 

Kellar Haines 

Even after the Train Incident, he basically lives with Moxie. He just can’t trust his Mom anymore, and while he claims otherwise, they didn’t really have a good relationship before then, either. Lizzie stays with him. 

His special interest is in codemaking. He would’ve been really valuable to VFD if he’d gotten recruited. As is, Moxie kicks the ass of anyone who tries to kidnap him, so he’s fine. 

He’s also super good at crafting, and can make really cool art projects whenever he has the time. Lizzie used to give him art supplies whenever she could, and still hangs his drawings on the lighthouse fridge. 

He just gets so tired of his friends’ shit. He’d be a Mom Friend if he made any effort to stop them but as is he just kinda watches crap go down. 

MODERN AU: Constantly goes to the movie theater just to chill. Addicted to YouTube. Is the only one of the squad not freaked out by the Watership Down movie. Asks existential questions at random to scare the squad and then immediately says “yeet” in a deadpan voice and throws Squeak across the room. 

Pip and Squeak Bellerophon 

They took over the taxi for their Dad when he fell ill. He died a few months later, and they kept claiming he was alive, in fear that they would get separated by whoever was in charge of their case. The only person they told is Jake, because he eventually followed them home to ask their Dad why the fuck he didn’t feed them and found that they were living alone, and Cleo, because Jake can’t keep secrets from her. 

Pip and Squeak used to fight a lot, though they never intended any real harm. They slowly stopped after they started living alone, and Pip started kinda taking charge of keeping him and Squeak safe. 

They used to be very tight with Qwerty, because they were constantly at the library. He suspected their situation, but never confirmed it and was alright just making sure the kids were okay. Squeak would sometimes climb on the bookshelves and knock them over, but thankfully Qwerty thought this was funny. 

Squeak likes to “adopt” stray animals he finds in the backyard. Whenever he walks in going “gUESS WHO OUR NEW SIBLING IS,” Pip has to guess whether he’s going to bring in an injured baby bunny he can nurse back to health, or a squirrrel he just caught who is still struggling and about to destroy half the house. 

MODERN AU: Pip has a Nintendo Switch that Squeak can only play Animal Crossing on. Squeak keeps posting photos on Instagram of him and Pip driving illegally but everyone thinks they’re edits. Squeak once very seriously told Pip that he would have to marry Jake so they could keep getting free food from him (before they found out he was dating Cleo). Have slept in library closets before and will again. 

Cleo Knight 

Identifies as Demi-bi. She and Jake met as preteens, when she wandered off and got lost, and went into the diner to use the phone and call Zada and Zora. Afterwards, she kept sneaking out to visit him. 

Was much closer to Zada and Zora than her parents. She used to hang out in the kitchen with them, laying on the counter and practicing calculations or studying advanced chemistry while they cooked. 

Also very very autistic. Can only eat certain things, because she has huge texture problems. Only Zada, Zora and Jake have ever gone out of their way to accommodate her without complaint. 

Is incredibly reckless and never thinks anything through. While everyone knows she can take care of herself, it’s still nerve-wracking to see her run out the window, leaving only a note saying she’ll be back in three hours after trying to find a chemical, and coming back covered in blood that’s not her own. 

MODERN AU: Was a Guardians of Ga’Hoole kid. Would exist on a diet of cheetos, cereal and sprite if not for her boyfriend. Once, Ornette helped her break out of the house to go to the movie theater to watch Lego Batman. Super into Stranger Things. 

Jake Hix 

Literally is the only reason the Associates are still alive. He gives them food and makes sure they don’t kill themselves doing some stupid reckless stuff. 

Surprisingly, though, Cleo has had to physically stop him from fistfighting S Theodora Markson, who keeps forgetting to feed her fucking apprentice

Jake: As soon as I hit 18 I’m adopting you. Pip and Squeak, not even glancing over: Lit. 

Has been in love with Cleo since they met. Since their relationship is technically “secret”, Hungry pretends not to notice, despite how increasingly obvious it gets. She knows she should technically discourage this, but he’s just. so in love. When he’s not working, he spends his time in him and Cleo’s garden. 

MODERN AU: Has threatened to put parental locks on Lemony and Moxie’s phones multiple times. Keeps quoting The Princess Bride at Cleo, to the annoyance of the other Associates around them. Actually super into Doctor Who. Also keeps beating everyone’s ass in Mario Kart. 

Ornette Lost 

Has never once understood what was going on, but honestly she just rolls with it. “Guess we’re doing this now? Okay.” 

Keeps bringing stray cats into her Uncles’ house and adopting them. She has twelve now. There is no stopping her. 

Super close with Cleo and Jake. Mainly because she doesn’t mind third-wheeling, and will just fold origami when she gets bored, but also because she’s pretty good at dropping life advice and also is shockingly hilarious. 

Lemony: Ornette. Why did the toaster blow up. Ornette: Hm?Lemony: Toaster. Blew up. Ornette: Oh. Yeah I blew it up Lemony: why Ornette:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

MODERN AU: Very into anime, especially Fullmetal Alchemist. Lives on ice cream. Has OPINIONS on the Disney Reboots. She got expelled from school because she graffitied GAY RIGHTS on the side of the building, and then a couple of middle fingers. 

Lizzie Haines 

INCREDIBLY protective of Kellar. She had more part in raising him than their mother; she was reluctant to leave him for her apprenticeship, but he convinced her he’d be fine. 

Sharon was a huge perfectionist in regards to Lizzie’s talents and studies, so Lizzie always felt very distant from her. When she left for her apprenticeship, she ended up bonding with Sally Murphy, to the point where Lizzie saw her as more of a parent figure. 

Lizzie noticed suspicious activity going on around town, and started investigating, even though Sally didn’t think anything was wrong. Lizzie had a conspiracy board and everything. She was kidnapped just as she was piecing everything together. 

It took her quite a few months to break out, but once she did, she immediately went hardcore and figured out how best to knock people out and keep them away from her. She had a lot of trauma that emerged after the Train Incident, but Kellar got very good at figuring out how to calm her down. 

MODERN AU: Hangs Christmas lights around her room and glowing stars on her ceiling. Knows more about Sonic the Hedgehog lore than the other Associates could ever understand. Huge Marvel/Star Wars fan. She has memorized all of Chicago, Hairspray, Black Panther, The Empire Strikes Back and Mamma Mia.