#the loft new capital

[realestatesegypt]

The Loft Plaza Mall New Capital - ذا لوفت بلازا مول العاصمة الإدارية ال...

[911-on-abc]

<3 pt1 i don't have time to write an entire sugardaddy bucktommy fic but the rent for buck's loft has always been his biggest expense, and it's always been on the top end of his range. but a pandemic and medical cost exceeding his usual extensive insurance (bc fuck them for not covering the coma after the lightning strike), and global conflicts and the landlord raising rent and things getting more expensive and late-stage capitalism means that buck will have to move out sooner rather than later. it's just not sustainable anymore to stay in a place that's never felt home and doesn't even have a couch. so ever since he broke up with natalia he's been looking at other rental properties, but LA is the worst, so he hasn't even been able to tour more than two places, even with ravi's help. and then bobby and athena's cruise capsizes and tommy kinard flies them in on a helicopter and buck is in awe at this man and his quiet confidence and self-assurance, a literal calm in a storm. so of course buck tries to spend time with him, make a new friend. and tommy invites him to flying lessons at some private airstrip, and brings him some learning manuals the next time they see each other. takes him to some craft beer place that lets you engrave your bottles. brings lunch from that fancy new place with a waiting list longer than a cvs receipt. they attend some concert together with seats that have the perfect view of the stage. tommy flies them to the grand canyon on a random wednesday because buck mentioned it once. and they get to talking and buck invites him over for a beer, and tommy is impressed by the loft, but where buck would've preened at the compliment before, something about tommy makes him open up. admit that he can barely afford it, that he's actively trying to find another place. and tommy just offers to half of the rent until he finds another place. like it's nothing. and buck really can't accept that, like why would tommy do that? "it's a nice place and you don't seem to be happy about having to leave and i can help you. it's a temporary solution." and they argue about it and buck finally relents and tells him he'll pay him back. tommy waves him off. so buck starts cooking dinner for him. comes over after tommy had a tiring shift and does the laundry and cleans the kitchen. organises the pantry. repots some plants on the balcony. until tommy takes him aside and tells him he doesn't need to make himself useful, he enjoys his company even if they're just sitting in silence watching tv. so buck asks him why. why is he being so nice to him. "because i like you. and life hasn't been the kindest to you, and i have the means to make it a little better. so please let me?" and buck asks how, like how does he even have the means, surely air support doesn't pay that much better? and turns out it doesn't, but in combination with his army pension and some hefty inheritance from his grandparents, he likes to spend his money on people and things who matter. who make the world a better, brighter place.

ANON I LOVE YOU OHMYGODDDD I was totally NOT expecting anyone to write anything for me when I made that post tasrtudyifuoinwa;clskgblna;wnbiwapb THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[queerweewoo]

CRACK (TO THE HEAD) WITH A CAPITAL 'C'

(AKA The Written at 4am Buddie Crack-ish Fic Starring: Thirsty Song Lyrics, National Treasure Christopher Diaz, and Way Too Many Feels For Its Own Damn Good)

.

It's Friday morning, two minutes to zero-ten hundred-hours, according to Eddie's Timex Indiglo watch which is never even a half-second out, when he unlocks the door to Buck's place to drop Christopher off for his overnight stay—Chris refuses to call them sleepovers anymore because age thirteen is apparently The Number of The Beast—before Eddie will have to bail pretty sharpish to kick-off his twenty-four shift that begins at eleven.

On entering the apartment, they're met by the sound of raucous, upbeat music.

Eddie scans the loft for his friend and has to do a seriously comical double take when he catches sight of Buck, who has one hand spread palm-down on his the couch cushions, and the other behind his back as he performs shirtless one-armed wonder press-ups (with perfect fucking form, as always) to the punky beat of The Offspring's Pretty Fly For A White Guy that's currently blasting from Buck's bluetooth speaker—riiiiiight as the Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha! part of the song hits and the whole scene has Eddie's brain record-scratching and stopping him dead in his army issue steelies.

Dead, fucking dead, ¡Santa María, salva mi alma!

His jaw instantly drops through the floor and into the apartment below without his permission as if there are lead weights attached to his teeth, his mouth now fully hanging open and catching all the damn flies in a completely horrifying display of blatant, lust-filled shock.

Buck is breathtaking at the best of times, but right here, right now, he is heart-stoppingly unfuckingreal.

READ MORE BELOW OR HERE ON AO3

Eddie's bestie (best friend-shaped, Eddie! Eddie thinks, Buck is best friend-shaped!) is carelessly grunting like some sort of sex-machine that's been built to Eddie's exact specifications, and each grunt is louder than the last with each new, hard push upwards of Buck's swollen-thick torso, glistening sweat beading on his—well, on his absolutely fucking everything, Jesus fucking Christ on a bike, and Eddie's washing machine brain is at once stuck on an eternal spin-cycle and may well break down any second now and have him collapsing like a shabby old rag doll dressed in Eddie's Henley and Eddie's ripped jeans and falling to his now-violently shaking knees if he doesn't grab the fuck onto something, STAT.

He's about to shamefully steady himself with a hand to his son's shoulder when Christopher starts yipping like a madman then joining in with the song lyrics by positively shouting out the chorus.

“Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha!” he screams in a deliberate and absurd soprano, and Eddie's mind is screaming in Shut-Down, having first upgraded to an aneurysm, or at least a stroke, and he has to slap a hand over his kid's mouth, pronto, because he doesn't know what the fuck else he possibly could do at this point in the fantasy-laiden world that is currently unfolding before his probably now bloodshot eyes; nothing else he can think of to stop himself from ending up in a drooling heap that will become known as The Reduction Formally Known As Eddie Diaz's Gay Panic when he melts onto Evan Buckley's kitchen linoleum at possibly one minute to ten on a Friday afternoon in June in the year of our Lord 2024.

Eddie just barely manages to squeak out a truly pathetic, “Nope! Nuh-huh! No!” before that particular Cartoon Network-esque slapstick disaster becomes an unfathomable and inescapable reality.

Christopher obviously protests his outrage with a muffled but still impressively indignant, “Daaaad! I'm thirteen YEARS old, not thirteen MONTHS old!” just as Buck spots them both and smiles his big, adorable smile, immediately abandoning his exercises to turn the music off (oh, thank the Heavens!) and jumping up to stride over towards Christopher and Eddie to meet them where they're standing around like kitchen gremlins by the central island in Buck's kitchenette.

Sopping wet, wide-spread sweat patches are darkening the majority of Buck's once-light grey jersey short-shorts (holy crap, they are short and are leaving nothing to the imagination), those unfairly long legs of his slick and shimmering with dewy-fresh perspiration, just like the rest of his devastatingly gorgeous half-naked body, and Eddie wouldn't be joking if he regaled this moment to somebody at a later date (as if he ever would) by telling them that his entire life flashed before his eyes—because it absolutely balls to the wall no fucking shit just did.

He blinks approximately seven-hundred and thirty-three times in the less-than-four seconds it takes for Buck to reach them.

Christopher is flailing under Eddie's death-grip like a traumatised kidnap victim, while Eddie is continuing to freak the fuck out in Narnia like the crazed Closet Case that he is.

Edmundo Diaz—First Responder; Lapsed Roman Catholic—finds himself praying for a natural disaster, or an act of God, or, or, or, just... Something! Anything!

¡Por favor, Dios, por favor!

Resolute to the fact he has absolutely one-hundred percent secured his place in the very lowest circle of Hell, Eddie plasters a surely maniacal pearly-white grin onto his stupid and definitely reddening face, and says, “Howdy!” far too loudly in his thickest Texan accent for some unknown fucking reason—which is far, far louder and far, far thicker than any he ever sported while actually growing up in Texas—because he's clearly gone bat-shit fucking insane. Then he's breaking out into even more of a full-body sweat than Buck who has been working out for what is probably around the half-hour mark or more, by this point, because Sweaty Adonis Buckaroo is now right fucking there right in fucking front of Eddie so fucking close almost close enough to reach out and touch—

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!

And isn't this just aces?

Eddie thinks, Fuck fucking push-ups, fuck The Fucking Offspring, and fuck fucking Eddie's fucking life so fucking hard, godfuckingdammit.

Eddie is so Bucked.

Buck's smile is turning inquisitive (and somehow even more adorable) at Eddie's clear display of Buck-induced brain damage, before his baby-blues are twinkling with something... Mischievous? Cunning?

And then he's answering Eddie's dumb as shit greeting with, “Aloha, cowboy,” his brows snaking up his forehead, tongue lolling out of his mouth to rest on that sinfully pouty-pink bottom lip in a way that is the complete fucking opposite of innocent, leaving Eddie wondering if it's possible to die twice in the space of—well, ever.

(He knows all too well that it is, but he's been Bucked, remember, so how about giving his brain a break, hmm? THANK YOU SO MUCH).

Then Eddie wonders: Is this the ghost of Buck 1.0 that's come to say:

Hi, babygirl, I'm here to Buck you up good, real good, so you better hold on real tight because you're goin' downtown faster than a whore's panties, you slutty little—*GUNSHOTS*

About to possibly kick the bucket for the third time in as many minutes, Eddie realises he doesn't really know what Hawaii could possibly have to do with the Wild West (Aloha Cowboy?) but that he honestly couldn't give any amount of fucks, flying or otherwise, because unless his head has been cruelly hoodwinked with a massive serving of Wishful Thinking, he is also realising that...

That...

Buck is seriously flirting with him right now?!

He ponders briefly over how hard he actually hit his head when he'd banged it into the doorframe of his truck, maybe five minutes earlier when grabbing Christopher's crutches from the backseat just after they'd arrived.

Eddie then notices Christopher's teenage Smirky McSmirkerson features in his periphery (Chris had managed to prize Eddie's numb hand from his face a moment ago) and also the way his son's own head is snapping between his now fully-loco father and his Buck, and Eddie thinks of tennis matches, and flying pigs, and how stiflingly hot it seems to have become in the loft in the last thirty or so seconds.

Then Buck is licking at those lovely lips of his, turning to Christopher and saying, “What do you say we go out on a breakfast date on Sunday morning, after your Dad has slept a bunch, huh Christopher?”

Only, when he says the word 'date', Eddie doesn't think he's imagining the way Buck's eyes flicker pointedly in Eddie's exact direction.

“Because I'm off the whole weekend,” he continues, “so the three of us could drive the jeep out of town and I could buy you both giant syrupy waffles with maple bacon and Horchata milkshakes from Fosselman's and then... And then we can go visit the the Greek Theatre, and then maybe Griffith Observatory later on in the evening, when the stars come out, and we'll hold hands,”—again, his eyes bore longingly into Eddie's for a split-second that feels like a lived lifetime—“all three of us, like we used to when you were tiny, Chris, you remember that? And it'll be the best day that we've ever, ever had together, I absolutely know it.”

Buck is looking at Eddie again, only Buck isn't looking away this time and Eddie is almost positive that his eyes are screaming: Yes, Eds! Yes, I want you, too, man! So let's do this!

“Ew, no way,” Christopher instantaneously complains—before he's quickly backtracking and amending his statement with, “To the hand-holding, I mean. The rest sounds pretty good, though, Buck. What do you think, Dad?” and he even manages to sound marginally appreciative at the tail end—appreciative for a sharp, snarky teenager, that is.

Christopher then fully turns to Eddie (Eddie who's body is now sans soul) and says, “Can we really have waffles and milkshakes for breakfast Dad? Can we? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don't be a major Joy Assassin and say 'It's not a proper meal if there's no vitamins involved, Mijo', because it'll be a Sunday, and it sounds so awesome, like the rest of the day does, too, actually. And you love Buck, Dad, so maybe just you and him can be sappy Sallys and hold hands and be all gross together, and I'll secretly snap your picture when you're mooning at Buck with heart-eyes, like you always do, and Buck will give you heart-eyes back, like he always does, too, except this time you can both do it while you're actually looking at each other, and then I'll send the photo to Aunt Maddie and Uncle Chim who can maybe finally convince you two to move in together and get married like I've been trying to get them to for years, now!”

Eddie doesn't know where the hell the kid got the breath from for all those truths.

Because that's what that was; Eddie's truth, all of it.

But was it really Buck's truth, too?

Like they're rehearsing in a play based on their lives, Buck, on cue, lets out a really happy-sounding gasp that quickly morphs into a happy-sounding laugh, and Eddie bottle-rockets right out of the fucking apartment and off into the fucking stratosphere.

He is very much back in the room, though, when Christopher takes his hand to gracelessly slam-join it with Buck's, which is calloused like his own due to the life-saving work they proudly tackle together day-to-day—always together, every day they can be, always, partners in everything they do—and Buck's hand is big, and warm, too, and all kinds of wonderful, and then Eddie is not only thinking about all the skin and the hot and the sweaty and the gorgeous, but also about how Buck has saved Eddie's life, so many times, now, and saved him in so many different ways from practically the first week he and Chris spent in LA after leaving El Paso, has saved him in every way possible, actually, every which way under the sun and the moon and the stars, even the ones they can't see from Griffith Observatory. And even though Buck has just murdered Eddie twice already this morning in the silly-short space of time he and Christopher have been here, with his push-up grunts and sexy-swagger and his 'Aloha, Cowboy' (whatever the fuck that even means) and, most of all, above everything else, Buck's Over Nine-Thousand level of Adorability, Buck's boundless generosity and kindness, Buck's inherently thoughtful nature, and Buck's twelve-sizes-too-big heart, he is saving Eddie again with the way he's letting Eddie Eddie love, love, love him.

And the fact that he is taking care of Eddie's son today, tonight, is absolutely everything to Eddie. Buck is Christopher's Buck, Christopher's hero, and he's Eddie's hero, as well, and Eddie wants to claim him as Eddie's Buck, too, because Buck thinks Christopher is awesome and always genuinely looks forward to looking after him, to loving him all of the time, just like Eddie loves Chris, and like Eddie loves Buck because Buck cares about Christopher just as much as Eddie does, and Eddie knows—he knows without a shadow of a doubt—that Buck's love for the boy they're raising together is a type of love that no other person, bar Shannon, has had for him, for them, before or ever will again.

There is nobody else like Buck in the universe.

Nobody cares or loves like Evan Buckley, or more than Evan Buckley, and being on the receiving end of that love is worth more than solid gold, or oxygen, or even spicy pepperoni pizza and a cold one after pulling a gruelling shift as a Firefighter on the never-sleeping streets of Los Angeles, CA.

And then just like that, Eddie is able to put a timely yet abrupt stop to any and all of his panic (gay or otherwise) because there isn't a shred of anxiety left inside of him, now, not about this, at least, because he knows he's got nothing whatsoever to be scared of with Buck.

So addressing his son (their son, really) Eddie nods his head emphatically and tells his boy, “Yeah, Chris, that does sound awesome; Waffles and milkshakes and all of it,” and then squeezes the hand in his, Buck's hand, and leans over Buck's kitchen counter and says easily, “I love you, Buck—I mean, I'd love to, Buck! Shit—”

“Swearbox!” Christopher chides smugly.

Eddie pulls a face at his slip-up and at his son, then clears his throat and continues a little sheepishly with, “But, um,” before looking up to remind himself of that adoring that look Buck is giving him, and then saying more decisively,“ But yeah, that other thing, too, actually, because yeah, yes, you know I love you, Buck... At least, I hope you know it,” and then he huffs a little laugh as he adamantly says, “I love you, Evan Buckley,” and thinks 'In for a penny' and strains his neck to reach across and kiss Buck shyly on the cheek.

Only his aim is a little off and he ends up planting a kinda sloppy one right on the corner of Buck's slightly parted lips, but it turns out he's glad about it and is even sort of proud that he misjudged the angle and got to feel Buck's unabashed smile against his own upturned lips, because he's wanted to do that ever since he first laid eyes on the man standing in front of him who is radiating the sun's rays out of his very core, as if he actually owns them and the sun only has them on a loner for sunny days.

Buck is smiling like he's just won the World Series—which is funny because Eddie has just won the Being Gay With a Capital 'G' award, and that means they are both Imaginary Winning Title holders, now.

Except no, fuck that, because Eddie's win isn't imaginary at all, it is very much a beautiful and viscerally Real win, actually.

Real with a capital R, muchas gracias.

Apparently, all Buck has to say about all of this right now is, “Okay, alright, you get your fine ass to work now, Eddie Spaghetti, and Christopher and I will see you on the flipside for sleep and cuddles and, and, and a Real with a capital R adventure on Sunday,” and Eddie is looking at the universe sideways for the first time in the entirety of his non-believing life. “Oh and by the way, honey—and I am so calling you honey from now on, also by the way, just so you know—I absolutely one-hundred percent, honey,” he pauses for second and and winces a bit, “Christopher I will also be adding to the Swearbox for this one... Love the shit outta you too, Edmundo Diaz.”

Christopher just claps and laughs and laughs and claps and then shouts, “My two Dads love each other, universe, did you hear that?!”

Somehow managing to smile even bigger than he was a moment ago, Buck then lightly grabs the now half wolf-whistling, half dry-retching thirteen-year-old matchmaking genius who goes by Christopher Diaz, in a loose headlock and starts scrubbing gentle knuckles through his curls, before literally kicking the happiest man on the whole damn planet out of his apartment with a ridiculously big and adorably bare foot.

“Go! You'll be late! We'll see you tomorrow, honey.”

Eddie (said happiest man on the whole damn planet) waits until Buck's door has closed behind him and then till the elevator door has slid open and shut again before fist-pumping the air like the dorky First Place In The Game of Life winner that he is, smiling what is likely his biggest smile since his darling Christopher came into this world.

Then he pulls out his tongue at nobody at all and thinks, Fuck you, first place is first place; dork or not.

As he leaves Buck's building, he also thinks, I'll have to crack my head on random shit more often, joking with himself and chuckling like a prize idiot as he crosses the side road towards his truck.

Then he's immediately cursing himself out with every swear words he knows, in both English and Spanish, for somehow allowing himself to be pulled into Buck's nonsensical woo-woo Cosmic Universe bullshit.

Vida, vida, vida.

Although...

Maybe—just maybe—he could forgive the slip, just this one time, just this once, when he recognises his chuckle as the being the very same, gloriously happy-sounding laughter that Eddie had unbelievably managed to pull from the chest of the best man he's ever known (who also happens to be the hottest man in the whole frickin universe; cosmic or otherwise).

It's the man Eddie has loved for years who—apparently, amazingly—loves Eddie right back.

Evan 'Buck' Buckley.

Christopher's Buck. Eddie's Buck.

And when he's climbing into his truck and inexplicably clocks his head on the doorframe again, for the second time today (seriously, what the actual fuck is going on here?), Eddie looks around suspiciously and surreptitiously before taking a minute to peer hesitantly up at the sky-blue sky and its cotton-candy clouds and the hot, hot sun with its borrowed rays, out into the universe, or to God, or who—or what—ever is or isn't out there, before finding himself about to mutter a few choice incredulous words from under his breath.

He takes a gulp of air, and says, “Yeah, okay, muchas gracias, oh cosmic powers that be, yada yada et cetera et cetera, if you do in fact exist, not that I really think you do,” whispering the statement and feeling like a first class clown, “But, just in case?” Eddie swallows the lump in his throat and soldiers on. “Just in case, here it is: Yes, I obviously wholeheartedly appreciate whatever it was you might or might not have done for me back there, like, I really, honestly, seriously, do, but just—will you just please do me a solid and...” Eddie can't believe he's thinking this, let alone saying (albeit whispering) it for realsies, “...don't let Buck or Christopher or Hen or Karen or Chim or Maddie or Bobby or Athena or Ravi or, hell, any other fucker on the planet know that I actually said any of this phooey out loud, alright? Not ever. Or Santa Mierda, I will seriously come for you like a rabid Nordic Goat Herder on a mixture of bath salts and crack cocaine and crazy because I would never, ever be able to live this shit down if it got out. ¿Entiendes?”

Completely fucking done with that, Eddie starts up the engine and pulls out of his parking space outside of Buck's building, while annoyingly hoping that the universe understands at least a smidgen of Spanish, and begins the first day of the rest of his life, mumble-humming a not entirely unenthusiastic tune...

“Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha!”

.

(this had barely one skim-over edit so please be kind!)

[whiskey-bumblebee]

Thank you for the other blurb, bestie 😌 I'm back because I'm insufferable and love your writing lmao 😂 another dream gift would be an array of paint and spray paint to do my paintings along with somewhere to do them. OR a huge truck with all the extra bells and whistles. (I don't care what kind of truck it is, I just really want one 😭) thanks in advance 😄

welcome back bestie! pleasure to have you 😌 please enjoy! I went for the painting option for as little as I know about instruments, I know even less about cars lol

oops! I added a whole subplot. and renovation politics commentary

divider courtesy of @tommyytalks (and isn’t it pretty!)

You're somewhat surprised to see Hotch's laptop open to a real estate website, looking at places in Fredericksburg. His house was so close to the Bureau, and easy driving distance from D.C. if he needed to go to the capital for any reason. Plus, his house was great! It was spacious, private, and as secure as a fortress (although it was lacking a moat...). You couldn't imagine him living anywhere else. More selfishly, you had hoped that he would talk to you about moving, since you had been living with him for a few months, letting the lease on your old apartment lapse.

Not wanting to seem like you'd been snooping, you don't bring it up with him, until you're at a brunch with him and some of your friends and their partners. Someone brings up the topic of investing, and you learn that one of your friends has bought a cabin in upstate New York, with the intention of renovating it and reselling it. From the pictures, you can tell it's a beautiful heritage building, and your friend points out all of the places where the ceiling is sagging, or the carpets show signs of water damage. She promises that she'll stay true to the character of the home, adding modern amenities to make the place more liveable, but otherwise focusing on returning it to its former glory.

You glance over at Hotch, and he nods, setting down his coffee.

"I've been looking at a place in Fredericksburg, it's an old loft that needs some TLC," He adds, and your friends nod. "I'd never want to leave our current place, but it could be nice to have something set up for retirement like Dave has."

Several months later, your friend has become far too attached to the property in New York to give it up. After weeks of picking out doorknobs which would be accurate for the 19th century home, ensuring the windows provided good insulation against the cold, and seeing the house blossom into something which looked much more like a home, they'd been considering the possibility of moving in.

"You could always set it up as a house museum," You comment. "They're popular in Rome, you could contact the state and ask if they'd be able to provide any funding for recovering the family's artefacts and things."

Meanwhile, you and Aaron had been doing up the loft. He asked you about which colours you thought would suit the space, whether you should leave the brick exposed or plaster the walls instead. You uncovered some beautiful wooden beams when working on the insulation in the ceiling, and decided to incorporate them into the loft's design scheme.

You're feeling sad about the prospect of renting the place out instead of living in it yourself, and when you think about how wealthy Aaron is already, the idea of charging another family to live in this home just doesn't sit well with you.

Your work picks up suddenly, with some external audit taking place, forcing you to work longer hours. You have less time for the loft, and Aaron reminds you that he's happy to pick up the slack. After all, he'd renovated his own home and found that whole process rather relaxing.

Then, weeks later, Aaron decides to treat you to a shopping trip in Fredericksburg, where there are many more options than near Quantico. Bags populate the car, mostly lingerie, some new tech you'd been needing, a couple of gourmet snacks.

He takes a turn you don't recognize as part of the route home, but you don't question it. Maybe he'd been listening to the traffic report on the radio and decided to take a different route. Before long, he's parking in front of an unimpressive building, and you give him the side eye.

"C'mon," He says, undoing his seat belt and taking the keys out of the ignition.

When you walk into the space, you realize that he's just taken you to the back side of the loft, which you didn't recognize since you'd always come in through the front.

"Oh, you finished it?" You try to muster your enthusiasm.

He nods, reaching for your hand as he leads you through it. There are some minimal furnishings; canvases, paint, lamps and lighting fixtures. A chair here or there. You look at the skylight and feel a twist in your chest. What a beautiful building.

"What do you think?" Aaron asks, his eyes gleaming.

"It's beautiful, are you renting it out to an artist?" You pick up a brush, turning it over in your fingers, glancing over the shelves stocked with turpentine, mineral oil, paints, argan oil for deep-conditioning the brushes.

He ignores your question, shrugging. Maybe he can feel your resistance, you think. Maybe he doesn't want to say any details in case I get upset.

He leads you back outside, and you notice that there's a small lot out the back you hadn't seen before. A metal shelf holds a number of bottles of spray paint in varying shades. Aaron tosses you a can, and you barely catch it, confused.

"Want to start making it your own?"

You cock your head at him. "My own?"

He presses the keys into your hands. "I'm sorry for lying to you. It's not a retirement property. I'm not going to rent it out."

"It's..."

"Your new studio," He grinned. "With an outdoor space for spray painting so you don't have to wear a respirator if you don't want to."

"Hotch," You whisper. "It's perfect."

"Not to sound cocky," He pauses. "But, I know. You designed it."

It finally clicks in your head, him acquiescing to each of your suggestions for which colours the walls should be, what kinds of lighting each part of the open-plan space needed...

You grin. "You're sneaky."

He wraps his arm around your shoulders. "When I need to be."

[stlivingla]

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[annyataylorjoy]

THIRTY-THREE years on the planet and ten since Tatiana's been in the modeling industry, but last week was the first time she'd entertained the idea that maybe, this career wasn't for her. What was she doing, anyways, managing nepo-baby talent, whose parents were wealthy enough to buy them a shiny new modeling contract with Flash, but never quite enough social capital to get them on the runways, like they wanted? All they did was complain and squack in her year about how they'd overslept and missed their casting for catalog, because god forbid they appeared on a Forever 21 billboard and not on January's issue of Vogue. " Cassie — Ali Strickoff did Forever 21, and Cora-Lee Ang — or wait, did she do Urban Outfitters— " It didn't matter. To Cassie, it was Chanel Resort or bust, and was she working for them or for her? Tati had to bite her neither, I fucking work for Flash Model Management and I can fire your bulimic little double-zero ass whenever I want, and placated with her usual noncommittal hums of agreement as she shuffled over to the 28th St, dreading the mess that waited for her in the Upper East Side. No doubt Cassie had let the lettuce and midnight Chinese takeout containers rot in her fridge, and it'd be up to Tati to clean it out. All while Cassie ranted, and she'd be left wondering how it was that an 18-year-old brat could live in a two-bedroom loft in the UES while she was left to rot in her little Murray Hill studio, amongst all the midtown trash. It was all a tragedy, really. She used to share a place with her ex, Caio, and together, their measly NYC salaries managed to pay for a sweet little one-bedroom in the Village — it did stink of sewage, and she'd find the occasional rat crawling through her trash, but she loved the place to pieces. There was so much energy and creativity and art, but she knew it was only a matter of time. They'd been on the rocks for ages; Caio had wanted a family, and Tati had, for the fifth time, regained her motivation to work, and make something out of those little seventeen-year-old brats. It took a weekend away in Paris for her to come back to a half-empty apartment and a goodbye note, and then another whole week to realize that he was serious about leaving her. That was three years ago, and she wondered now, if she'd taken up the offer to go back with him to Sao Paolo, she'd have a sweet little child now. She'd have a husband. She'd be a mother. The thought was enough to put a chill down her spine. Tati always considered herself a bohemian, what with her low-rise archival Gucci jeans and outlet Margiela tops. If she became pregnant, god forbid, goodbye everything she'd ever owned. Her secondhand Bellini couch would no doubt be replaced by some Ikea monstrosity, and her teakwood shelves would be strewn with flashy FisherPrice blocks and Made in China plastic crap. She'd seen too many women, even the coolest it-girls succumb to the monstrosity of motherhood, laughing away wet baby burps on their cashmere and milk-stained CDG tops. Dear god, the more Tati thought about it, the more she felt sick. The R shook with the shuffles of locals and tourists alike, the smells of Santal 33 wafting in with the tourists munching on street kebabs. It smelled like diapers and shit, mixed in with morning breath spittle, and she bolted up from her seat, clutching her purse as she pushed past, tumbling out of the train and over the first trash can she sees and vomits her lunch of Sweetgreen and espresso, burnt rubber and piss covering whatever disgusting odor emanated from her. She breathed out, standing up as she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her coat, trying not to look at the tourists eyeing her like an alien with three heads and plopped down on the bench, pawing through her purse for the TicTacs she knew she kept for emergencies.

[solarianvulpine]

Did you know that, in the late 70's, there was a violent rally held by angry rock fans in which they blew up disco records to "kill the disco movement" in response to it's place in both gay liberation and afro/latino empowerment plus their belief that it was destroying rock and roll?

Discotheque originated in french nightclubs in the twenties, thirties, and fourties. However, it was the mid seventies that brought about a strong American take on the genre. Disco was growing in the underground club, bar, and punk scene. Featuring rhythmic drums and african influenced beats, it was rapidly gaining popularity in the dance scene and massively outselling rock and roll. Rockers felt that switching up musically to sell better was synonymous with selling out. Plus why would they bother? They said that disco was a mindless fad compared to their superior lyrical work and sound.

For a few years the conflict of genre built tensions. Producers wanted more and more disco funk. Bringing about an age of gay liberation and putting black and brown artists in the spotlight, featuring openly queer black artists like Sylvester and Martha wash. Rock was being called on much less. It all came to a head in July of 1979.

"Disco Demolition Night" took place at Chicago's Comiskey Park between baseball games on July 12, 1979. It was organized by radio host and dj Steve Dahl. Calling for the death of disco, the end of the "musical disease." Dahl claims it was nothing but a harmless stunt; continuously denying its racist and homophobic nature.

The day after the event Dahl hosted his usual morning broadcast. He began by reading the headlines reporting the previous night's events, mocking the coverage, saying, "I think for the most part everything was wonderful. Some maniac cohos got wild, went down on the field. which you shouldn't have done. Bad little cohos"*

To my understanding Steve Dahl never renounced his feelings towards disco nor has he shown any remorse for his actions. Seeing as he still sells merchandise featuring the event on his website. Including hats and tshirts commemorating the night of 7-12-79.

Rolling Stone Critic Dave Marsh attended the event and wrote at the time, "Your most paranoid fantasy about where the ethnic cleansing of the rock radio could ultimately lead... white males 18 to 34 are the most likely to see disco as the product of homosexuals, black and latins, and therefore they're the most likely to respond to appeals to wipe out such threats to their security."

Fans rushed the field brandishing tshirts and banners stating "Disco Sucks." A notable phrase used in connection to the movement to kill disco. Still heard in passing to this day. The phrase may seem harmless today noting that we use "sucks" so casually. It is worth noting that at the time it was new slang; directly and intentionally homophobic. It is often forgotten exactly what we're accusing the subject of sucking.

The effects of Demolition Night swiftly radiated out into the media production circuit. Sending Disco back underground to the safe havens of queer clubs and bars, like the loft and stonewall, as well as the subterranean punk spaces of their origin.

Today it's commonly believed that disco's popularity did die in 1979. Producers, studios, and clubs started rebranding the genre as "dance" music. Even pioneers of disco became disillusioned with the genre noting that media producers had oversaturated disco sound, wringing out any cultural significance it had at the start. Making way for hip-hop, pop, and punk.

However, dancing to the selections of DJs had integrated into culture in major urban centers. As an activity it wasn't going anywhere. With the inability to capitalize on it the culture discovered a new lease of life, free of the labeling and profiteering. Disco may have been dead, but its influence was alive and well.

To learn more:

A more extensive account of the culture and history can be found in this book "Love Saves the Day" by Tim Lawrence.

I also recommend this playlist curated by the Woody Guthrie memorial museum in Tulsa, Oklahoma during their exhibit of the same name earlier this summer. Exploring the history and sound of disco.

TL;DR - Disco was major to gay and poc empowerment. Then a bunch of people rioted and blew up disco records at a baseball game leading to the decline of Disco's popularity in mainstream media.

*Coho - noun; a person or thing that shows the existence or direction of a trend - (another definition is a kind of salmon but i have the feeling that would be inaccurate as funny as it may be)

[nothingunrealistic]

New York City has been the backdrop for many TV series over the years, from “Law & Order” to “Sex and the City” to “Succession.” But the Showtime series “Billions,” which ends on Sunday after seven seasons, may have been the New Yorkiest of them all. It’s clear from the opening credits, which feature an eagle-eye’s view of Lower Manhattan — but no actors — that New York City is not merely a location but the star. The showrunners, Brian Koppelman and David Levien, planned it that way. “The city plays a central role on the show,” said Mr. Levien. “We always felt like being here and knowing the city was like our secret weapon.” Mr. Koppelman and Mr. Levien were both born on Long Island but eventually moved to New York City. (“Nothing makes you more desperate to be in Manhattan than growing up on Long Island,” Mr. Koppelman said.) The two first worked together on the screenplay for the 1997 film “Rounders,” set in the underground poker scene in New York, and they went on to collaborate on “Knockaround Guys,” “Runaway Jury,” “Solitary Man” and “Ocean’s Thirteen.” But “Billions” was their love letter to New York City. New York has been integral to the plot, which follows the endless battle between hedge fund billionaires (Bobby “Axe” Axelrod, played by Damian Lewis, and in later seasons, Mike Prince, played by Corey Stoll) and the U.S. attorney, Chuck Rhoades Jr. (played by Paul Giamatti).

The characters have visited hundreds of locations in the city, from the Thurgood Marshall United States Court House on Centre Street in Lower Manhattan to Morningside Castle in Morningside Heights and the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. Scenes have been filmed at MetLife Stadium in the Meadowlands, Barclays Center in Brooklyn, and Yonkers Raceway. “There was almost nowhere that we couldn’t shoot, that we wanted to,” Mr. Levien said. The neighborhoods where the “Billions” characters live also serve as shorthand for their personalities. Chuck’s father, Chuck Rhoades Sr., is an old school, blue-blood businessman, so naturally he lives on the wealthiest stretch of Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, not far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Chuck Jr., whose positions as the U.S. attorney for the Southern District of New York (and New York attorney general) involve prosecuting financial crimes, lives in a Brooklyn brownstone (the exterior shots are of 49 Eighth Avenue, in Park Slope). “Chuck Sr. would not experiment with another neighborhood just because he could, financially,” said Mr. Koppelman. “He’s not going to go try a loft in TriBeCa.” And it makes sense that Chuck Jr. lives on an understated (but gorgeous) block outside Manhattan: “Chuck would have been a little bit rebellious to his dad’s ways,” Mr. Koppelman said. Brooklyn? “Senior thinks it’s like the frontier, basically.” Axe, the character played by Damian Lewis, is the CEO of Axe Capital, a multibillion-dollar hedge fund. His Manhattan home is an airy, light-filled penthouse, high above the city. “It’s this incredible glass box built on top of this building downtown in TriBeCa,” said Mr. Levien. “Because, you know, he is somebody that would go try some neighborhood, live where he wants, open himself up to new experiences.” The location was an actual apartment where the show filmed for a couple of years — and it impressed even the showrunners. “If you’re a New Yorker, it’s fascinating to walk through what a $60 million apartment is,” Mr. Koppelman said.

As die-hard denizens of New York City, the characters on “Billions” eat at all the best and most famous restaurants. There are scenes set inside upscale white-tablecloth rooms at expensive eateries like Keens Steakhouse, Babbo, Craft, Ai Fiori, Wolfgang’s Steakhouse, Michael’s, The Pool and Marea. But the characters also visit more humble spots: Wo Hop, Gray’s Papaya, Joe’s Pizza, Old Town Bar, Costello’s Claddagh Inn. There are new favorites (Una Pizza Napoletana) as well as New York classics, like Peter Luger’s, Cibao, Second Avenue Deli and Barney Greengrass. Mr. Koppelman said that for New Yorkers, food information is a valuable currency. “Finding the best bao is as important as finding the best four-star flambé or something,” he laughed. “The show was absolutely trying to show you the real thing over and over again each time. Where’s the best hot dog, where’s the best burger?” New York City chefs — including Daniel Boulud, David Chang, Kwame Onwuachi, Tom Colicchio, Alex Guarnaschelli — have made cameo appearances in “Billions,” weaving the show intricately into the food scene. (The show featured so many restaurants that someone wrote a book detailing the locations.) “Because we’re New Yorkers and we care about New York, we care about these restaurants, we care about these people, we want to find a way to showcase what they love about their place and what they do,” said Mr. Koppelman. (And at some restaurants, it’s not just the food that the characters are into: In the first episode of Season 4, Chuck Jr. and the police commissioner visit Sparks Steakhouse and re-enact the 1985 murder of Paul Castellano, the reputed boss of the Gambino crime family — a hit that an F.B.I. investigator said was arranged by John Gotti.) In addition to celebrated places, the show features the occasional lesser-known gem — like Chartwell, “the world’s Only Winston Churchill bookstore.” When he needs some quick cash, Chuck Jr. sells his collection of Winston Churchill books. Being featured on a television show can be a boost for business and for a shop owner’s self-esteem. “Most places that we got feedback from that were featured in the show were extremely happy to be associated and to be recognized sort of like nationally and internationally,” said Mr. Levien.

Watching movies set in New York when they were younger inspired both of the showrunners. The Coney Island scenes in “Warriors” and the dinner scene in “The Godfather,” they said, were especially memorable. “The walking in the back door at the Copa in ‘Goodfellas’ is an all-time classic,” Mr. Levien said. Mr. Koppelman was in awe of the Sal’s Pizza scenes in “Do the Right Thing.” “I’ll never forget the extra cheese argument in that movie. It reveals so much about character,” he said. “It’s a very important thing in my cinematic journey as a young person wanting to do this — we thought over and over and over and over and over again about Sal’s Pizza.” There was only one downside of filming in New York, Mr. Levien said: “Sirens and car horns. Ruining takes. When these actors are locked in concentrating on some serious emotional monologue or moment — and you know, it’s like, ‘Hold for the police helicopter. Hold for the fire truck.’” For their next show, Mr. Levien and Mr. Koppelman may head to Florida. “We’re certainly really animated by the idea of making a show set in Miami,” Mr. Koppelman said. Still, Mr. Levien said filming in New York was “such a privilege.” Mr. Koppelman put it this way: “I do think, as is often the case for a Long Island-born New Yorker, who has been a New Yorker for 35 years, Billy Joel put it best: I’ve loved these days.”

[spaceorphan18]

Was Kurtcedes not replaced by Blaine coming along and taking up all Kurt’s time in season 2? As she didn’t like being the third wheel in The Substitute? I suppose they could have had Kurtcedes together in New York but I guess by then Kurt was Rachel’s side kick. And Mercedes is a lovely character, there wouldn’t be half as much drama going on in the loft in 4/5 as there was with Kurtcheltana.

Also regarding bi Blaine. Personally I don’t like the idea. Why? Well he’d have just been another Sam or Artie figure - dating all the girls in Glee club to provide various stories. Please not another Brittany boyfriend to piss off Santana. Maybe Blaine would have been nice with Tina, in 4/5, purely because he did love her platonically.

But I think it would have changed the Klaine relationships if Blaine had a history of previous girlfriends, maybe even previous boyfriends. The idea of them being each other’s first love, first time, first everything (and last!) and their love and devotion pretty much to no one else, just lifts their whole story. Maybe I’m just being old fashioned.

But I’m more drawn to the bi Sam idea, and the Blam option, if I had to choose a midgame for Blaine.

This has been sitting in my drafts for over a year now, lol...

****

Re: Mercedes -

No, I'd argue that since Kurt was becoming way more popular (I believe he was the most popular character from the show) the writers wanted to capitalize on that bumping him up to a lead character. And thus, it'd be better for the writers to make him share time with the actual main character Rachel.

This is why Season 3 Hummelberry was shoved so hard down our throats. Blaine was a part of Kurt's story, and while there are a lot of reasons as to why Blaine faded into the background more during season 3 (mainly Darren's schedule) by season 3, they wanted to make Hummelberry a feature, and not have Klaine (or Kurt's individual story) such a main thing.

Essentially - Kurt's individual arc stops at season 2, because he becomes an accessory in Rachel's story (really, the way Blaine was an accessory to his story in season 2.)

Mercedes and Kurtcedes becomes a relic of the original landscape of the show, unfortunately. They never wanted to Mercedes to a higher tier, hence why she became a B and later C-list character. (To which I lament.)

****

Meanwhile, Bi Blaine!

I remember there was a time when people worried that if Blaine was made bi that'd mean, for some strange reason, that it'd cheapen the Klaine "gay" experience or something weird. :P (I'm definitely not saying that's what you're insinuating - just thinking out loud.)

While I personally don't see the character as bi - I'm always up for more bisexual representation. And I agree there were was a myriad of ways they could have achieved that -- Artie would have been an interesting choice. Jesse St. James another.

I wouldn't have minded if Blaine had experiences before Kurt, either, tbh. And I assumed he had at least made out with people (both boys and girls) before Kurt. I personally don't feal that more or less experience with other people has any affect on one's current relationship. However - people are free to enjoy any aspects of the story how they choose to - and that's fine by me. :)

<3

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - What Waits 'Round the Corner

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Main character: Lucien Flavius Rating: T for violence Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort Summary: There's a reason Lucien only made it to Falkreath before deciding he really needed some hired muscle. Lucien Flavius is from the eponymous mod by Joseph Russell.

26 Sun's Height, 4E 201. Helgen, Falkreath Hold, Province of Skyrim, the Cyrodiilic Empire.

Dear Mother,

I have made it to Skyrim! You were right, the quality of the roads took a dramatic turn for the worse as soon as we were through the Pale Pass. I got out of the cart and walked a bit just to get a reprieve from the jolting. I am resting in a small town called Helgen, just on the other side of the Pale Pass. The town has rough fieldstone walls - not a right-angle to be found - and sits on a crossroads: one road goes East over another mountain pass, and the North and Western roads go down the shoulders of the mountain to a village called Riverwood and the hold capital of Falkreath, respectively.

The mountain is something to behold! I’ve included a sketch in this letter. I can see why it is called “The Throat of the World!” We climbed and climbed coming out of Bruma up to the pass, but I don’t think the mountain top ever became appreciably closer. There seems to be a blizzard up at the peak at the moment, so I guess I would not know. If the rest of the landscape in Skyrim is this dramatic, I think I’m going to be using up all my parchment on sketches!

The letter you wrote certainly helped in this leg of the journey. I was able to convince a Legion quartermaster on her way to Skyrim with supplies to let me ride with her, and the chap in charge of the gate said that his father served under you as a Cornicen in the Great War. Maybe you remember him, Atticus Quinilum. Anyways, the quartermaster’s name is Ranne Straight-furrow. I met some Nords in Bruma but my goodness do they grow them tall up here in Skyrim! She’s got to be a head taller than any of the Colovian-born soldiers.

I’m staying at the inn here, (and really it is just the largest house in town with a handful of extra beds in the loft), run by a nice Nord named Vilod. I won’t be staying long - Helgen is really too small and remote to use as a base of operations, and the Legion makes it more of a target for the insurgents.

I am planning on setting out for Falkreath in the morning; it will be a push to make it down the mountain in one day’s travel, but the road appears well-maintained. I will purchase supplies and send for my surveying equipment. It looks like a good place to set up a base of operations, as it has an inn, and the guards here tell me there is a plethora of Dwemer and Nordic ruins in the mountains. By the time you receive this I should be in Falkreath, so please send any letters there. Even if I move on, Skyrim’s towns are connected enough that I should be able to receive them. Give my love to Father.

Your loving son,

Lucien

“Here lad, I grabbed you some supper. Courtesy of the Legion.”

Lucien looked up from his letter. Ranne towered above him, setting a trencher of bread on the table before taking her own seat. Lucien moved his parchment out of the way of any crumbs and examined the meal. It was simple but hearty fare: some sort of salted fish on coarse brown bread, and a good portion of vegetable pottage to go with it. It was a far cry from the fine foods Lucien had been brought up with in the Imperial City, but after a day of trudging through a snowy mountain pass, his mouth watered just looking at the meal.

“Thank you very much, Ranne.”

Ranne was already tucking into her supper, dipping the trencher bread into the pottage and taking large bites. She grunted in acknowledgement and made a gesture with her mead tankard that Lucien decided to interpret as ‘You’re welcome.’

The experience of eating quickly with no utensils was new to Lucien, and he was nowhere near as efficient as Ranne. She was mopping up the last of the meat juices and pottage with the crust of her bread while Lucien was still working on his first bit of fish.

“Where are you planning to go next, Lucien?” she asked, taking a swig of mead.

“I’m going to Falkreath,” Lucien replied, trying and failing to keep an errant chunk of fish on his trencher. “That seems a decently large enough…settlement… to base my initial expedition out of, without being too expensive or far away from the border.”

Ranne nodded. “There’s a scheduled patrol that will go through Falkreath in two days’ time. I’m sure Captain Hadria will let you follow along so they can escort you down the mountain.”

“Oh, I will be leaving in the morning,” said Lucien. “I have too much to do and to set up, and I want to be able to establish myself and send for the rest of my supplies before the pass closes for winter.”

Ranne stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I think you should wait. The roads aren’t safe for a lone traveler.”

Lucien looked up from chasing a legume of indeterminate cultivar with a bit of bread-crust. “Oh, nonsense. It can’t be more than four leagues away, all downhill. I should be able to deal with a mudcrab or two! I’ve got a dagger.”

“It’s the two-legged animals you have to worry about here in Falkreath. We don’t have any large wolf packs, but they’re not the only ones waiting for a good kill.” She stood. “I can’t make you wait, though, if you’re determined.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine. After all, it’s an Imperial road and those are safe for travelers.”

“That is certainly the Legion’s opinion,” Ranne sighed. “Be careful Lucien. Keep your eyes open. And… maybe write home before you set off.”

“Actually, I just finished a letter to my mother,” Lucien said. “Would you be willing to take it back to the Jerall View Inn? The innkeeper said he had a courier who makes regular trips to the Imperial City.”

“I’d be happy to, lad.” Ranne downed the last of her mead in one swig before gathering her tankard and now-empty bowl. “I’ve got a knapsack for correspondence on the wagon, just put anything you want sent in there before you leave. I’m heading for the barracks.”

“Good night, Ranne. And thank you again for the lift over the pass.”

Ranne waved off his thanks with another grunt and left the mess hall. Lucien turned his attention back to finishing his meal. After returning his bowl to Vilod, he threw his map case over his shoulder and climbed the sturdy but steep ladder to the loft.

There were several beds separated by hung hides and a few cots and bedrolls in a corner for more thrifty travelers. By the dim light of a few scattered candles, Lucien could see that several men were dealing out hands of cards and two of the beds were already occupied. The men looked up when he entered but turned back to their game immediately. The air hung heavy with the smell of soot from the hearth below and hay from the thatch above, along with the sour-sweet smell of yeast from the brewing vats.

Picking his way carefully through the beds, Lucien made his way to the alcove he had been given upon his arrival. His carry-pole was where he left it, along with the old Legion-issue loculus his mother had given him to use on the expedition. Lucien shed his doublet and opened the worn flap of the leather satchel. Briefly, he caught the strong scent of old leather and the hyssop balm his mother favored to soothe the aches and pains she had collected from her military career. An intense wave of homesickness washed over Lucien, his breath catching in his chest. Lucien was glad his back was to the rest of the room as he struggled to compose himself – he was being ridiculous; his adventure had only just started and here he was missing his mother like a child!

The tightness in his chest eased as the smell of home and family faded. While the furca was new and custom-fit to his proportions, the satchel was the same one his mother had carried during her service to the Emperor, and it was comforting to know that he was carrying a memory of her, and of home. After slipping off his boots, Lucien carefully packed his doublet, breeches, and cloak away in the manner she had taught him, and then placed the entire kit under the bed. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he settled into the rough homespun and furs, hearing her voice echo in his head: Always keep everything you possibly can in your pack, Lucien. You never know when you’re going to have to make a hasty exit. He rolled over, turning away from the candlelight from the other side of the loft. The furs were rough, and the worn tick mattress allowed musty hay to poke through the fabric, scratching any exposed skin. Lucien wondered whether he would ever get comfortable moments before the long climb and warm meal took their toll and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

[colormepurplex2]

WIP Tag Game

rules: post 3 snippets from published work, and 3 from your wips Thanks @star-my for the tag! I'm looking at you @downbad4yoongi @mrsparkjimin18 @btsgotjams27 and whoever else wants to play! No pressure, just for fun! (If you don't have 3 fics or 3 wips that's ok! Just post whatever!)

Published:

On Wings of Mist & Memories

The golden pin falls from your limp fingers, landing with a soft thud on the ground between your feet. It’s hard to tell whether it’s sweat or tears coating your face. You swipe the back of a trembling hand over your eyes.

“W-why haven’t you...why haven’t you sought out a Psion before th-this?” Your voice warbles, and you have to swallow hard a few times to keep from losing the food you just ate.

It all feels too raw, far too real. You’ve never experienced something so visceral when reading an object. Your body aches. Your cheek burns, even though there is no cut there. There’s a fiery line that feels branded across your stomach. It’s like everything from that day is imprinting itself upon your body with phantom pains.

“Psions are rare. It’s not like I could have requested one from the capital. You’re part of a coveted kind, precious and protected. Had it not been for—“ he pauses, not needing to remind you how you came to be in this encampment. “The important part is you’re here now, and you’ve seen the truth.” Your bleary eyes slide up from where they were gazing at the pin on the ground to land on him. He tugs the bottom of his shirt out from where it’s tucked into the tops of his breeches and then pushes it up to expose his stomach. A long, puckered scar slashes his otherwise pristine skin. “His lightning strike nearly killed me. All because I found out the truth.”

Lights, Camera, Action

Jungkook waves a hand dismissively. “We’ve been friends nearly our whole lives, I’ve seen him far worse than he was tonight. He’s just a bit stressed about work and this new relationship he’s in with one of our other friends. They’re great together but sometimes Jimin gets in his head about dating a childhood friend, worried about messing up the friendship and all that.”

Namjoon hums in understanding. “That can be pretty tricky. New relationships can be like that, even if you’ve known the person for a long time beforehand.” There is a slight nervousness in the way Namjoon speaks, leading Jungkook to take his words with a dual purpose.

“Yeah, tricky,” he agrees, slowly, watching the way Namjoon fumbles to get the door to the upstairs loft open. It’s cute and puts Jungkook at ease, his worry over catching feelings diminishing by the minute. Feelings don’t seem so bad when he really thinks about it. It’s actually pretty nice.

“Hi!” Your smiling face is the first thing Jungkook sees when he steps through the door into your living room. He doesn’t have time to form a thought in response before you fling your arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “Is it weird to say I’ve missed you even though you were here less than twenty-four hours ago?” you ask, your words muffled against his neck.

His arms band tightly around you, soaking up the warmth from your barely covered body. The smooth silk of your tiny nightgown feels good under his hands. Jungkook pinches the fabric just above your ass, rubbing it between his fingers. “Not weird at all,” he finally responds, planting a kiss on your temple.

“Would you like a drink or anything?” Namjoon asks from the kitchen where he’s grabbing a bottle of water for himself.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, running his nose along your jaw and nipping your bottom lip gently. “I’m thirsty, but not for a drink,” his words are for Namjoon but his eyes are focused on you. Finally, he looks over his shoulder at the other man. “Any idea what can help sate my need?”

You watch as Namjoon rolls back his shoulders, chest puffing out slightly. His eyes become calculated and his lips purse before he nods. “I think I might have what you need. But, you have to promise to be on your best behavior. Only good boys get what they want.” Jungkook’s posture stiffens against you momentarily. Then, like he’s been doused in warm water, he relaxes and pulls you closer. Keeping his eyes trained on Namjoon, he leans in and finds your lips with his. It’s an all-consuming kiss, lanced with fire and ice alike. You hear Namjoon chuckle darkly. “And bad boys get punished.”

Till Death Do Us Part

You’d never given much thought to the meaning behind the adage ‘time heals all wounds’, but you think you understand it a bit more now. With time, feelings of sadness and hurt fade. They go away, you eventually move on and feel lighter. It can be both literal and figurative, you suppose.

It’s been a few months now and your body is healed. Healed, but not quite like it used to be. The scars under your shirt are a constant reminder. They’re a road map of smooth ripples and abraded grooves. At first, you hated them, thought they were ugly. Though, as the weeks have drifted by, you’ve grown to love them. Not for the reminder of where they came from, but because they remind you of him. Yoongi. His own scars are not so dissimilar to the ones you now have. It’s weird to feel a sense of gratitude toward the other one. The one who gave you these scars. But, without him, you wouldn’t be where you are now.

The one place you’re finding it hard to decide if that adage holds true is in the figurative way. Are you over the emotional pain? Not yet. It might be too soon to tell, in any case. One day at a time, another adage you’ve tucked away into your now swelling arsenal of trying to heal.

A feather-light kiss presses to your bare shoulder. That helps, too. That always helps.

“You okay?” The voice is a husky, sleep-ladened grumble. “It’s two in the morning, you should be sleeping.”

“Just needed some air,” you respond in kind, turning to look up at him. Standing before you on the balcony of your bedroom, the moonlight catching in his black hair, reflects in his warm eyes. A salty ocean breeze ruffles the strands across his forehead, revealing the scar cut through his eyebrow. It’s hard not to track your eyes over the expanse of his bare chest, your eyes lingering on the scars you put there. They are three little puckered circles, slightly angrier looking than all the others. Though, maybe that’s just your own guilt coloring them. It’s hard to shoot a man, even harder to shoot one you love. But, that’s what you did—what you had to do.

WIPs:

Smoke & Mirrors

ERROR 875 USER 4GU57D NOT FOUND

“Dammit. Where the fuck are you, Yoongi?” Jungkook shoves the computer mouse away in frustration, the blinking error mocking him on the screen. Yanking the power cord from the wall, he severs the modem’s connection. He only uses this computer every few weeks, logging into the program Yoongi set up years ago for him and Jungkook to use. Yoongi told him if things ever went to shit, he could use this program to contact him, regardless of where he was and what he was doing. It was provided with a promise always to try to be there for his little brother. A promise that Yoongi seems to be shirking on now.

It’s been close to eleven months since his brother disappeared. Almost a year of Jungkook trying to contact Yoongi. There are too many unknown factors. No one knows where Yoongi and his wife escaped to or if the two of them are even still alive. Jungkook is trying not to dwell on that possibility. He has enough on his plate in the wake of Yoongi’s absence and Namjoon’s death. He glances at his watch. Speaking of, he’s running late for his date with MiSun.

He knows that date is a loose term, but it seems fitting considering. MiSun works in the kitchen of The Hitman’s estate. She’s been on staff for a few years now, and Jungkook has always found himself smitten with her. He dreams about her smile and the twinkle in her eyes when he slips into the kitchen to dig around for snacks. They laugh together as the head cook, Haewon, shoos him out of the kitchen with a flurry of flapping dish towels and curses.

She’s pretty and gives him a much-needed distraction after coming back from an assignment. The first time he lost himself to her was after a particularly nasty stint in Mexico. He came home spitting fire and seething, intent on drowning himself in a bottle of whiskey. But his father had locked up the liquor cabinet, and Jungkook didn’t want to bother with breaking it open and incurring his father’s wrath. So, he went in search of the wine he knew Haewon kept in the kitchen for cooking. He didn’t care if it didn’t taste great. He just needed to take the edge off.

MiSun had been in the kitchen late, cleaning up after a dinner that required far more dishes than any meal had a right to. Jungkook barreled into the kitchen, nearly causing MiSun to climb into the sink with terror. She had screamed, thrashing so hard with her arms elbow-deep in the sudsy basin that she’d soaked herself to the waist. Jungkook can remember how her black bra stood out so starkly under her drenched, white blouse. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop himself from getting lost in something far sweeter than any wine that might be in the cabinet.

In Memory of Him

The cemetery typically closes at sundown, but Taehyung has access as the gardener. When he and Yejun took over Taehyung’s parents' floral shop, they expanded the business to include landscaping for local businesses and establishments. The cemetery is one such establishment they took on. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking the small pedestrian gate that must have been locked up not too long ago, judging by the sun barely having dipped below the horizon.

“Moojin left about ten minutes before you pulled up,” Taehyung explains casually, confirming the thought you just had. “It’ll just be us so we can take as much time as we need.”

Maybe you should feel bad that Taehyung gives you preferential treatment and access to the cemetery after hours, but it’s hard to care about that when other, darker, feelings have you clutched so tightly. The walk to the columbarium is relatively short, being one of the newer buildings erected within the grounds, just some twenty years ago or so.

“The trees are doing well, even in the winter,” you note, nodding toward the row of young pines along the fenceline. It was one of the last projects Yejun worked on with Taehyung before he became ill.

“He’d be able to tell you all the properties of the tree that make it sustainable during this time of the year,” Taehyung responds, his voice carrying notes of sadness. Yejun doesn’t come up much in conversation between the two of you, most things not needing to be said, merely understood without a spoken word. So, it’s surprising and endearing to actually hear Taehyung talk about him, especially now.

You smile, knowing he’s right. “With enough scientific jargon to make you go cross-eyed trying to keep up, too.”

That earns you a soft laugh from Taehyung. “And he wouldn’t even realize it until you’re so lost you can’t even pretend to have understood.”

“I miss that,” you whisper with a sigh, your warm breath misting lightly in the cold.

Taehyung slips his arm through yours, hooking his elbow around the crook of your arm. “Me, too.”

Knuckle Deep

The door opens, revealing the man inside seated at the small conference table. The fluorescent lighting overhead must be faulty because it’s definitely making this man seem far more attractive than anyone has a right to be. His black hair shines like silk, dark eyes like endless pools of rich chocolate, and his body…well, even from where you’re standing across the room you can tell it’s nice just by the way his clothes fit.

This is definitely a man who knows luxury brands, so it’s fitting he would choose to come into your boutique. His suit is a dark gray with deep red pinstripes, the forward lapels the same deep red. He’s wearing a black turtleneck underneath his jacket, the double buttons in the front undone but you take note of the LV logo embossed on them.

He stands as you enter the room, his hands clasped in front of him. “Thank you for meeting with me,” he states, bowing at the waist. His voice is smooth and sweet like honey.

You bow in return, “Yes, of course. Thank you for choosing my shop,” you glance down at the appointment paper on top of your sketch pad, “Park Jimin. I was told you have an emergency request, how can I help?” You gesture with your free hand to the table for him to resume his seat, the door swinging shut as you move into the room. “Would you like a bottle of water or a seltzer?” you ask, nodding toward the well-stocked minifridge off to one side.

“No, thank you, I’m fine.”

You smile politely, taking a seat across from him and setting your things on the table.

“My name is—”

“I know who you are,” he interrupts you with a smirk. He casually places his hands on the oak tabletop, your eyes are drawn to the multiple rings adorning his slender fingers, rings that you recognize. “As you can see, I’ve been a collector of yours for quite some time. You produce exquisite work.”

His praise makes up for the rudeness of interrupting you. You don’t mind a little ego-stroking, in fact, you thrive off of it. “They look good on you,” you remark, a pleasant smile spreading across your face. He’s wearing some of the most expensive pieces you’ve ever made. The double-banded rhodium ring encrusted with chips of moonstone and onyx is one of your favorites. It sits prettily just below the second joint of his index finger, right next to the thick band of roped silver adorning his middle one. You tear your eyes away from his hands, away from the rounded knuckles that hold your work so well. “What is it that you’re looking to add to your collection?” you ask, flipping open your sketchbook and pulling a pencil from the pouch.

Smoke & Mirrors and In Memory of Him are both relatively new but Knuckle Deep is going on 2 yrs sitting in my WIPs...oops 😭

[dankusner]

Aaron Spelling’s South Dallas street-cred

Far too often, rich Hollywood types make too much of their so-called tough, humble beginnings.

Worse, they'll lay claim to street-cred they never earned.

Like Robert Van "Vanilla Ice" Winkle, who famously lied that he'd been raised tough on the streets of Miami when he really grew up in white-bread Carrollton, Texas.

So I was curious when reading the obit for Aaron Spelling — the television mogul, who used to say he grew up poor in a very tough section of Dallas.

He told The Dallas Morning News in an old interview that he took his third wife, Candy, on a tour of his old neighborhood shortly after they were married in 1968.

His family lived at 1905 Browder Street, where he was born in 1923.

"I took her to where I used to live. And she finally believed all the horror stories I told her," Spelling said.

"The thing I remember most about Browder Street is my mother and a humpbacked whore named Bessie. She lived next door to me."

Spelling lived in an area just south of downtown Dallas called "The Cedars" which is being redeveloped as we speak.

It's where the new Dallas Police Station is — a convenient location as The Cedars is still considered by some to be a crime-infested hell hole.

But it's now seeing a resurgence in night life and redevelopment as Poor David's Pub, The Southside Lofts and Gilley’s have all opened their doors there within the last five years.

My favorite bar Lee Harvey's is in an old house in The Cedars, about three blocks from where Spelling's house used to be.

The Spelling residence at 1905 Browder was torn down in the 1960s to make way for a super-shady, cinderblock low-rent hotel that's still there the last time I checked.

While the Cedars is coming back, there are still tons of homeless people in that area as several shelters are located there.

So even today, the scenery in The Cedars is more than most suburbanites can stomach.

For those who are obsessed with Dallas history, here's a little primer on Spellings old neighborhood.

Around the turn of the century, The Cedars was largely a residential area which was populated mostly by working class Jewish families.

There were some really nice elaborate Victorian houses in The Cedars — a few of them are still standing.

But most of the homes in the Cedars were small, two-bedroom homes like the one Spelling grew up in.

By the 1920s, many of the families who had the means fled The Cedars because it becoming an industrial area.

Dallas didn't have strong zoning laws back then.

So warehouses began crowding their way into the neighborhood.

Lots of the homes were torn down to make way for bottling factories, metal shops and the like.

And because the place became a less than desirable place to raise a family, it became a great place to do crime.

In the early 1930s, The Cedars went into a crime statistic free-fall.

For example, in 1933, a street a few blocks north of the Spelling residence was the best place in Dallas to score heroin.

Dallas police conducted numerous heroin raids on Powhattan Street back then.

They even investigated a capital murder on the corner of Powhattan and Akard in the mid-1930s.

I believe a game warden, or some other low-level law enforcement official, was shot and killed during a holdup at a corner shop.

Spelling would have been a school age kid then.

So while in kneepants, the young Spelling likely dodged needles and bullets on his way to elementary school over on Corinth Street.

So Spelling wasn't just positioning himself when he claimed the tough neighborhood pedigree.

Take that Robert Van Winkle.

[richmond-1]

Richmond: A City of History, Diversity, and Growth

Richmond, the capital of Virginia, is a city with a rich history that blends seamlessly with its growing modernity. Founded in 1737 by English settlers, it played a pivotal role during the American Revolution and the Civil War. Today, Richmond is known for its historical significance, vibrant cultural scene, and an evolving urban landscape that attracts both tourists and new residents.

Historical Significance

Richmond's past is one of the city's most defining features. As the capital of the Confederacy during the Civil War, the city houses some of the most important landmarks from this period. The American Civil War Museum, the White House of the Confederacy, and Monument Avenue are some of the notable sites that draw history buffs from around the country. St. John’s Church, where Patrick Henry delivered his famous “Give me liberty, or give me death” speech, stands as a symbol of the city's involvement in the American Revolution.

Beyond these iconic historical markers, Richmond is also home to a number of antebellum houses and heritage museums that showcase the city's colonial past and its importance during the industrial boom of the early 20th century.

A Hub of Art and Culture

While history might be the backbone of Richmond, art and culture are its lifeblood. The Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (VMFA) boasts an expansive collection of works from around the globe, including one of the largest collections of Fabergé eggs outside of Russia. The city also has a burgeoning street art scene, best showcased in the annual RVA Street Art Festival, which turns public spaces into vibrant canvases.

Additionally, Richmond hosts numerous cultural festivals, including the Richmond Folk Festival, which celebrates diverse musical traditions and the community's multiculturalism.

Natural Beauty and Outdoor Activities

Richmond’s location along the James River provides residents and visitors with abundant opportunities for outdoor recreation. The James River Park System offers trails for hiking, biking, and kayaking right in the heart of the city. Belle Isle and Brown’s Island are popular spots for locals to relax, take in scenic views, or attend one of the city’s many outdoor events.

Economic Growth and Innovation

In recent years, Richmond has seen a surge in economic development. With a growing tech industry, a thriving startup scene, and a booming food and craft beer culture, the city is attracting young professionals and entrepreneurs. Neighborhoods such as Scott’s Addition are undergoing revitalization, transforming into hotspots for breweries, restaurants, and loft-style living.

In summary, Richmond is a city where history, culture, nature, and innovation intersect, creating a dynamic urban environment that continues to evolve while celebrating its storied past.

[sk658358]

Unlocking the Hidden Potential of Underutilized Urban Spaces

In the ever-evolving urban landscape, it’s easy to overlook the untapped opportunities hidden within underutilized spaces. These pockets of forgotten or neglected land—whether they are abandoned warehouses, vacant lots, or old commercial buildings—hold immense potential for real estate investors and visionary homeowners alike. The challenge, and opportunity, lies in recognizing the value in these areas and transforming them into vibrant residential or commercial spaces.

As a real estate agent with a passion for uncovering hidden gems, I’lann Reality has seen first-hand how strategic investments in underutilized urban spaces can reap significant rewards. Let’s dive into why these spaces are worth exploring and how they can be revitalized to create value.

What Are Underutilized Urban Spaces?

Underutilized spaces are often areas that were once bustling hubs but have since fallen into disuse. These may include:

Old warehouses that are no longer operational.

Vacant lots that remain unbuilt in otherwise thriving neighborhoods.

Parking lots in prime urban areas that can be repurposed for higher-value uses.

Empty or neglected commercial buildings that have the potential for mixed-use development.

These areas are often overlooked because they seem unremarkable or are in disrepair. However, with the right vision and investment, they can be transformed into something remarkable.

Why Invest in Underutilized Spaces?

Affordable Entry Point One of the biggest advantages of investing in these spaces is the lower cost of entry compared to already developed properties in prime areas. This means you can acquire land or buildings at a fraction of the cost and invest the remaining budget into development, ensuring a high return on investment.

High Potential for Growth Cities are always expanding, and what may seem like an unappealing area today could be the next urban hotspot. By purchasing underutilized spaces, you can capitalize on future development and infrastructure projects that increase the value of the surrounding area. Many cities also offer tax incentives or grants to encourage the redevelopment of these areas.

Creative Freedom Since these spaces are often in need of complete transformation, you have the freedom to get creative with your vision. Whether it’s turning an old industrial building into trendy loft apartments or transforming a parking lot into a green community space, the possibilities are endless.

How to Unlock Potential: Steps to Redevelopment

Identify Key Areas The first step in unlocking the potential of underutilized urban spaces is identifying where the greatest opportunities lie. I’lann Reality can help you scout these spaces by analyzing local zoning laws, city planning developments, and emerging neighborhoods.

Understanding Zoning and Regulations Some of these spaces might be restricted by zoning laws that limit what can be built or repurposed. However, local governments are often willing to revise zoning restrictions to encourage development. I’lann Reality has experience navigating these regulatory waters to help you make the most of your investment.

Partner with the Right Developers The transformation of underutilized spaces often requires partnerships with architects, developers, and city planners. I’ll help you connect with professionals who share your vision and bring your project to life.

Maximize Sustainability Another important aspect of redeveloping urban spaces is integrating sustainable practices. By utilizing green building materials, renewable energy sources, and eco-friendly designs, you can attract environmentally conscious buyers or tenants and potentially benefit from additional incentives.

Success Stories of Urban Space Redevelopment

Many cities around the world have seen great success in revitalizing underutilized areas:

The Meatpacking District in New York City transformed from an industrial hub to a vibrant residential and commercial hotspot.

Kreuzberg in Berlin was once an overlooked neighborhood and is now one of the most sought-after areas for young professionals and creatives.

The High Line in Manhattan, an abandoned railway, was repurposed into a world-famous elevated park, spurring real estate growth in the surrounding area.

These success stories show the power of visionary thinking and strategic investment in underutilized spaces.

[fixizws]

Garage Conversion vs. Loft Conversion: Maximizing Your Home's Potential

When it comes to maximizing the potential of your home, two popular options stand out: garage conversion and loft conversion. Both are excellent ways to add valuable living space to your property without the need for an extension, making them ideal for homeowners looking to optimize their existing space. But which one is right for you? Let’s explore the benefits, costs, and considerations for each.

Garage Conversion: Transforming Your Unused Space

A garage conversion involves repurposing your existing garage into a functional living area. This option is particularly attractive if your garage is underutilized or merely a storage space for items you rarely use.

Benefits:

Cost-Effective: Garage conversions are generally more affordable than loft conversions because they don’t involve structural changes like adding new floors or raising the roof.

Quick to Complete: The construction time for a garage conversion is typically shorter, allowing you to enjoy your new space sooner.

Versatile Space: A garage can be transformed into a variety of rooms, such as a home office, guest bedroom, gym, or even a small studio apartment.

Increased Home Value: A well-executed garage conversion can add significant value to your home, making it an attractive investment.

Considerations:

Planning Permission: While most garage conversions fall under permitted development rights, some may require planning permission, especially if you’re altering the building’s exterior.

Loss of Parking: Converting your garage may reduce off-street parking, which could be a drawback if you rely on your garage for vehicle storage.

Loft Conversion: Elevating Your Living Space

A loft conversion involves transforming your attic or loft space into a usable room. This option is ideal for homes with ample roof space that is currently going to waste.

Benefits:

Maximize Vertical Space: Loft conversions make use of the often-overlooked vertical space in your home, adding a new level without expanding the footprint of your property.

Potential for Scenic Views: Depending on your home’s location, a loft conversion can offer scenic views that other rooms in your house may not have.

Variety of Options: From dormer and hip-to-gable conversions to Mansard lofts, there are various styles to suit your home’s architecture and your personal needs.

Increased Property Value: Like garage conversions, loft conversions can significantly boost your home’s market value, making it a sound investment.

Considerations:

Cost: Loft conversions tend to be more expensive than garage conversions due to the structural changes required, such as adding windows, insulation, and sometimes even stairs.

Planning Permission: While many loft conversions don’t require planning permission, larger projects or those that alter the roof structure may need approval from your local planning authority.

Headroom: The height of your loft space is a crucial factor; insufficient headroom may limit the type of conversion you can undertake or require raising the roof, which can be costly.

Making the Right Choice

Deciding between a garage conversion and a loft conversion depends on several factors, including your budget, the layout of your home, and your specific needs. If you’re looking for a cost-effective and quick way to add living space, a garage conversion might be the ideal choice. On the other hand, if you want to capitalize on unused vertical space and are willing to invest more, a loft conversion could be the perfect solution.

In either case, both options offer a fantastic way to enhance your home’s functionality and value, providing you with the additional space you need without the hassle of moving.

[laveekestatesgurgaon]

Luxury Living at M3M Skylofts, Sector 71, Gurugram

If you're searching for a modern and luxurious living space in Gurugram, M3M Skylofts in Sector 71 is the perfect choice. Offering a unique blend of style, comfort, and convenience, M3M Skylofts stands out as one of the most sought-after properties in the area. Whether you're looking for a new home or a lucrative investment opportunity, this property has it all.

Prime Location

M3M Skylofts is located in the heart of Gurugram, in Sector 71. This prime location provides easy access to all the major hubs in the city. You'll be just minutes away from the bustling Sohna Road, Golf Course Extension Road, and NH-8. This makes commuting a breeze, whether you're heading to work or exploring the city's many attractions.

Luxurious Design

The design of M3M Skylofts is truly exceptional. The development features spacious double-height units with beautiful interiors that are both stylish and functional. Large windows ensure that every unit is filled with natural light, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere. The loft-style layout adds a touch of modern elegance, making your home stand out from the rest.

World-Class Amenities

M3M Skylofts offers a wide range of world-class amenities that cater to all your needs. Whether you want to relax, stay active, or socialize, you'll find everything you need right at your doorstep. The property features a well-equipped fitness center, a stunning swimming pool, and beautifully landscaped gardens where you can unwind after a long day. There’s also a dedicated kids' play area, so the little ones will have plenty of space to play and have fun.

For those who love to entertain, M3M Skylofts provides a state-of-the-art clubhouse, complete with a lounge, dining area, and party hall. You can host gatherings, celebrations, or simply enjoy quality time with your friends and family in this beautiful setting.

Convenient Shopping and Dining

Living at M3M Skylofts means you'll never have to go far to meet your shopping and dining needs. The development is part of a larger complex that includes high-end retail spaces and fine dining options. From boutique stores to gourmet restaurants, you'll find everything you need just a few steps away from your home.

Secure and Peaceful Living

M3M Skylofts is designed with your safety and peace of mind in mind. The property is equipped with top-of-the-line security systems, including 24/7 surveillance and a dedicated security team. You can rest easy knowing that your home is safe and secure. Additionally, the gated community offers a peaceful and serene environment, allowing you to escape the hustle and bustle of city life without sacrificing convenience.

Investment Opportunity

M3M Skylofts is not only a great place to live but also a smart investment. Gurugram's real estate market is booming, and properties in Sector 71 are in high demand. Investing in M3M Skylofts gives you the opportunity to capitalize on this growth. With its prime location, luxurious design, and top-notch amenities, the property is sure to appreciate in value over time.

Why Wait? Experience the Best of Gurugram Living Today!

M3M Skylofts in Sector 71, Gurugram, offers everything you need for a comfortable, luxurious lifestyle. Don’t miss out on the chance to be part of this incredible community. Whether you’re looking to buy a home or make a wise investment, M3M Skylofts is the perfect choice.

Ready to take the next step? Visit our website or chat with us directly on WhatsApp .

Don't miss this opportunity to live in one of Gurugram's most prestigious developments. Make M3M Skylofts your new home today!