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[bungalowmakers]

Floor Plan Design

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[levitar1]

[halcaeyon]

San Francisco Medium Garage - mid-sized craftsman attached four-car garage idea

[luielevators]

Only choose a quality bungalow lift for your bungalow A buyer guide

Before choosing a bungalow lift for your dream home, make sure the lift manufacturer you are choosing has a reputation in the market with rich professional expertise. Never settle for less!

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 007 (PT 1)

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [8.9k] based on Netflix's Outer Banks Season 2 Episode 9

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, general obx warnings, discussions of sexuality, mentions of suicide

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ still love me?? not the biggest fan of this chapter but

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

PULLING UP TO THE BUNGALOW ON THE END OF THE STREET AND KILLING THE ENGINE, you and JJ were quick to jump out of the truck, calling out for his cousin, who owned the house in question.

“Ricky! Ricky!” You both shouted, helping Kiara drag Pope’s limp frame out of the backseat. The three of you helped walk Pope to the front door, JJ frantically rattling the handle and slamming his palm against the door before his cousin Ricky appeared — shirtless with a bowl of cereal in his hand.

“Hey, Ricky!” The blonde called through the window. “Look, I know you’re mad at me-”

“Remember the time you stole my ambulance?!” The dark-haired man argued through the glass, face turning red.

“Yeah, I know. I know you’re mad but - please, don’t do that!” JJ begged, watching as Ricky slammed the actual door in his face. 

The rest of you begged and pleaded, voices creating a mess of protests behind the door. JJ was quick to hand his portion of Pope’s weight off to John B, walking towards one of the windows and banging on it.

“He’s a having a reaction, he needs help!” JJ screamed through the glass. Ricky was JJ’s EMT cousin, who also happened to be the cousin who’s ambulance he’d stolen to break John B out of jail, which failed anyway. “He can’t breathe, Ricky!”

Something one of you said must’ve gained some sympathy because it wasn’t long before the front door behind the glass screen was swinging open again. “Who can’t breathe-” Ricky’s word died in his throat as he took in Pope’s swollen face this time.

“Look at him!” You cried — you, Kiara, and John B holding up your friend. “He needs help.”

“...Alright.” The man caved, pushing the screen door open to allow you all in. “Jesus Christ…” You were quick to hand off Pope, rushing into the man’s house.

“Hi, nice to meet you. Sorry.” You quickly threw in Ricky’s direction, making a b-line for the first flat surface you saw and swiping everything to the floor. Your friends were trailing behind you, using their strength to lift Pope onto the now cleared island counter top.

“You know, I wouldn’t come to you if it wasn’t an emergency.” JJ clarified, being the last one inside of the house.

“What’s wrong with him?” The medic asked, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel for a pulse. 

“Wasps.” Sarah and Kie replied in sync.

“Wasps?” Ricky repeated, asking for clarification. You all nodded. “Is he allergic to wasps?”

“We were kind of hoping you could figure that out for us.” You quickly replied, not wanting to be rude but wanting to speed up this procedure.

Ricky sighed, backing up from the table. “Hang tight, I gotta get my kit.”

“Hang tight?” JJ asked incredulously. “Hang tight, Ricky?!”

“It’s in here somewhere!” The older man called, disappearing near the bedrooms before re-emerging with nothing in his hands.

“Where’s your kit?!” You asked frantically — Kiara tending to Pope on the table as JJ and John B kept his legs elevated.

“If I knew I wouldn’t be looking for it-”

“What does it look like?” Sarah asked, the two of you intending to help the man look for his supplies.

“Like a duffel bag…” He offered, vanishing into his garage with his hands atop his head in distress. “Okay, I got it!” He returned after a few seconds — a navy blue med-kit clutched in his hands as he rushed towards the six of you.

He planted the bag on the counter top next to Pope, JJ scooting over to make room. “What do we do now?” The blonde boy asked.

“You don’t do anything because you’re not a paramedic. All you all can do is give me some space.” He said bluntly, the five of you backing up — similar expressions of distress etched on each of your faces. You watched as Ricky unzipped the duffel bag, pulling out a syringe and a small vial. “Here’s the thing,” He started, pushing the needle of the syringe into the vessel. “This a pediatric dose of epinephrine.”

He explained, extracting a precise amount of the medicine before removing the needle from the small glass bottle. 

“Is that gonna be enough?” You questioned, motioning for your teenage, six-foot tall friend laid out on this man’s kitchen island. “He’s not a kid.”

“It is ten times the normal dose.” Ricky informed you, holding the syringe up between his fingers. “So…if it doesn’t stop his heart, it’ll help him.” He shrugged sheepishly. “But I gotta use the whole thing, or else it won’t work. And I’m not goin’ down if he dies.” He said firmly, shooting a pointed look at his cousin.

“...Okay, fine, do it.” JJ urged, pulling at the roots of his hair. 

“Okay.” Ricky said, turning back to face Pope. “Okay....” He reiterated as the rest of you urged him to hurry. He seemed to mentally evaluate where to put the needle before settling on a spot on the boy’s bicep, pushing it in and injecting the dose before slowly pulling it out. “Alright, that’s it…” He said, setting the used needle down carefully.

“...Now what?” Kie asked, eyes flickering back and forth between the paramedic and her friend.

“Now, we wait.” He replied, chewing on his bottom lip. 

You all stood around and no one said anything. Not a word as all eyes remained laser focused on Pope, waiting on something. Any sign of life. The TV played mindlessly in the back, the tribe of you waiting for something to happen. All you needed was a gasp or for his chest to move, hell, you would even accept the simple twitch of one of his fingers.

But ten seconds turned to twenty and then thirty, and still…nothing.

“...You killed him.” Kiara said, staring angrily down at Pope’s swollen features. 

“No…” Ricky drawled out. “I didn’t do shit.”

“What did you do?” You asked angrily, eyes pinched as you searched Pope’s face for any sign of movement or life.

“I did exactly what you asked me to do.” JJ’s older cousin reprimanded. He was right and you all knew it. 

“Pope.” JJ said, grabbing the boy’s shirt and shaking his limp frame on the tabletop. “Pope, c’mon!” His voice raised, shaking the boy harder as you all stood back, distressed. “Come on, bro!”

A second passed and suddenly Pope was breathing in a large gasp of air, his chest rising by inches off the table before he collapsed back down, taking in steady breaths.

You all let out sighs of relief, watching as Ricky almost fell to his knees. Pope began coughing, his frame lurching off the table as he hacked, eventually springing up to sit straight on the table, his face swelling already going down.

“There he is!” JJ cheered, the rest of you laughing or sighing with relief. 

“It’s hot.” Pope wheezed out. “I’m really hot, guys…” He exasperated, the boy sliding off his patterned fleece jacket as he slid off the table, all five of you crowding around to help.

“Take it easy...” You instructed, helping the boy off the table as JJ helped him rid himself of the jacket. 

“I gotta get outside.” Pope breathed, letting his jacket fall to floor and gently pushing you all off of him as he set out for the front door, the five of you trailing behind.

“I owe you.” JJ patted his cousin on the shoulder, Ricky still standing shell shocked at the turn of events.

“It’s hot!” Pope said again, this time sounding much more irritated as he stumbled through Ricky’s front yard like a baby deer learning to walk. 

“Thank you so much.” You commended, looking back at JJ’s cousin before he closed the door. “Are there any side effects we should be concerned about?” You asked as he shut the door further and further.

“He’ll have a rocket up his ass for about half an hour.” He told you. “Then, he’ll be fine.” Was the last thing he said before closing the door, leaving you to turn around and watch your four friends chase Pope through the front yard like an unleashed puppy. 

“WHOOOO!” Pope exclaimed, hands on the steering wheel of your Ford Bronco — driving down an empty road back to Freedman’s church just as the sun set and the street lights came on.

“Pope, you’re driving kind of fast…” Kie piped up from the backseat, in between Sarah and John B. JJ was in the passenger seat while you seemed to get booted to the trunk of your own car.

“Pope…” JJ started. “Last to judge, but I think you should slow down a little-”

“No.” He cut off the blonde. “That would definitely delay our arrival to the cross. We gotta get there.”

“Okay,” You piped up, shoving your face in between Kie and Sarah in the back seat. “As the primary driver and sole owner of this car, I’m saying you need to lighten up on the gas pedal, bud.” You advised from the trunk, wind whipping through your hair. “Why did we let him drive again?” You questioned. “And why is JJ in the passenger seat instead of me?”

“Because I said I’d rip your ears off.” Pope replied in a single breath.

“And because I fixed this piece of shit on wheels-”

“You call my car a piece of shit on wheels one more time and I’ll rip your ears off-” You warned, squinting at the blonde through the rearview mirror.

“Okayyyy,” JB spoke for the first time in minutes, interrupting the small dispute. “Pope, how’re you feeling?”

“Great.” The curly-haired boy smiled, continuing down the road at a constant, life-threatening speed. “I don’t know what JJ’s cousin gave me but I am movin’!” He exclaimed, taking one hand off the steering wheel to make a speeding motion with his free hand.

“We couldn’t tell...” Kiara smiled awkwardly, buckling her seatbelt.

“Okay, well, um, you’re going really fast right now.” John B tried to parent, leaning over the shoulder of Pope’s seat from where he sat directly behind him.

“Yeah, really fast!” Pope laughed, craning his neck to look back as he drove, the car swerving wildly between the two lanes.

“Woah!”

“Pope!”

You all panicked, grabbing whatever you could as the car continued to basically drive itself until Pope refocused his sights in front of him, speeding up the car to miles you didn’t know it had the capability of going. 

“God, is he driving slow…” Pope sighed, attempting to pass the car in front of you all by swerving into the wrong lane, paying no mind to the car coming straight at him. 

“You don’t need to pass-” Kie tried, sitting up straighter in her seat.

“Pope, if you crash my car-” You warned, gripping the edge of the backseat for stability as you slid around in the trunk.

“You don’t need to pass!” Kiara continued as the other car swerved into the grass just as Pope swerved into the correct lane, now in front of the car you were previously behind.

“Man, what an asshole. Am I right?” The boy in the driver’s seat scoffed.

“He was going the speed limit...” You huffed, straightening yourself out.

“We’re not gonna get to the cross if we’re dead, Pope!” JJ exclaimed from the passenger seat, holding onto the safety bar. The tires of your car screeched over the road, your headlights not focusing on one single thing for more than a second.

“We’re not gonna die. It’s our divine right to get that cross.” Pope dismissed, looking back as he spoke, the car swiftly making a sharp left.

“Pope, look at the road!” You screamed, watching helplessly as your car drove into the left lane before nose diving into the woods. Pope tried to make an attempt at turning the car which only made things worse, the side of the car slamming hard into one of the six-inch wide Oak Trees as the airbags deployed and your frame went flying over the side of the trunk, tumbling through the grass. The windshield shattered, leaving glass littered throughout the vehicle as you heard your friends groan in pain, the hiss of whatever was damaged under the hood sounding out in the woods.

You held your ribs in pain, rolling over a sizeable rock on your way down. 

“Y/N!” You could hear your name being called in the distance, the sound of glass crunching, your friends coughing, and one of the car doors closing ringing in your ears. The voice called out for you again just as you’d found the strength to roll over on your stomach and push yourself up onto your knees.

“I’m over here!” You rasped, coughing. 

It wasn’t long before the familiar sound of JJ’s heavy combat boots were heard crunching over branches and leaves, a warm hand finding home on your back as the other slid under your stomach, helping you stand. “Hey, you okay?” The blonde asked, turning your frame to face him as your hands grabbed his forearms.

“Perfectly fine.” You strained, stretching out your back a bit as the boy brushed hair and leaves from your face. “Are you okay?” You asked, your eyes finally zeroing in on him to find a small cut on one of his eyebrows as well as some red-splotching on his cheeks and forehead, most likely from the airbag.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He assured when your own hand reached up to brush your finger against the small cut, one of his hands ceasing yours.

“Is everyone alright?” John B weak voice echoed out into the woods, both you and JJ turning to watch as your friends all climbed out of the vehicle before making your way towards them.

“I think so…” Sarah replied.

“That is the last time you drive, Pope.” JJ reprimanded.

“Look at my truck...” You pouted, examining the destroyed windshield and the odd ways it was bent, not ignoring the steam emitting from the hood.

“One word.” JJ spoke. “Totaled.” He cringed. “Yeah, I don’t think I can fix it this time, princess.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to walk the rest of the way.” Pope ignored the damaged vehicle.

You all shared a look of confusion and bewilderment.

“...Dude-” Sarah tried, watching as Pope tried to walk away, shoulder brushing against JB’s.

“I’m going to get my cross.” He stated.

“Hey,” John B piped up, gripping Pope's arm to stop him. “Just relax for a second.”

“Get off of me.” Pope said, snatching his arm away. 

“No-”

“Move.”

“I am trying to help-”

“I am getting my cross.”

“You just crashed her car.” John B said as Pope managed to finally brush past him, walking aimlessly down the road as John B caught up. John B tried his best to restrain the boy once more, but Pope continued to brush him off, time and time again. “You’re gonna get hit by a car!” John B reprimanded, the sight of a huge semi-truck coming down the road going ignored by Pope, who was hell-bent on getting his family heirloom.

“Get off of me!” Pope yelled.

“Stop!” John B yelled back, Pope’s struggle suddenly ending when the truck passed, his dark-brown eyes stuck on whoever was in the vehicle. His eyes never left the vehicle and when it got far enough away from him and close enough to the rest of you, it only prompted the four of you standing behind to see what he was looking at...

Rafe and Renfield, Limbrey’s body guard, making direct eye contact with the six of you. Rafe was driving, a sick grin on his face as Renfield offered you all a salute. 

The six of you watched as the semi-truck continued down the road, standing by as it got smaller and smaller. But if they were driving back the way you all were coming, then…

“No…” You sighed, face and shoulders falling.

“...We gotta get back to the church!” Pope screamed, all of you looking at him. “Now!” He ordered one last time before he took off running down the road, the rest of you following.

YOU ALL WERE TOO LATE. And the cross was gone. Arriving at the church and seeing the cross no longer splayed out on the wooden floors was the biggest loss of the day. And no one said anything as you all piled into Kiara’s, freshly stolen, SUV — the only operable vehicle left amongst the group with The Twinkie being parked at Ricky’s which was too far at the moment and your car being completely totaled. 

If she got it back in time, he parents wouldn’t even notice it was gone.

“Oh, shit.” She cursed, slowing down as rapid flashing blue lights filled the car. “They found your truck.” She said, looking at you — you, JJ, JB, and Sarah squeezed into the backseat.

You all said nothing, watching as Shoupe approached the vehicle, flashlight in hand. 

“Good Evening, officer.” Kiara greeted, the driver’s side window already being rolled down.

“Sheriff.” Shoupe corrected.

“Sheriff. Yeah...”

“...Speed kills, huh?” John B spoke from the backseat, you nudging him in the ribs as he let out a soft ‘ouch’.

Shoupe just eyed each of you individually before speaking. “I pulled the tags.” He said, dragging out the sentence. “I know whose truck that is.” He said bluntly, eyes landing sharply on you and you cringed and offered a small wave.

“Sheriff…” Pope started from the passenger seat. “I just wanna say that this is all my fault. She had nothing to do with this. I take one-hundred percent responsibility.”

“Nothing to do with it, huh?” Shoupe pondered. “...The car’s in your possession kid. I have no choice but to take you home.”

Your face twisted at that. “...Uh, in case you forgot, I don’t really have one of those, so…”

“You do now.” He replied. “The Carrera’s,” He emphasized, eyes drifting towards Kiara whose attention was grabbed by the mention of her parents. “...Have ever-so generously opened their home to you. DCS went through your file and saw they were listed as your Godparents and they agreed to foster you. Right after they mentioned that their car was gone and the keys were missing. “

Well, that was quick. 

“I’m takin’ you home. The both of you.” He said firmly. “Or I can take you all in for leavin’ the scene of an accident.”

You and Kiara shared a look before silently agreeing with another and turning to Shoupe. “...Okay.” You both said simultaneously.

“Good.” The sheriff nodded. “Plumb?” He directed the female officer to remove you and Kie from the vehicle — the woman opening the driver’s side and back door. Kie exited the vehicle, looking down as she shut the door.

You spared your friends a glance before climbing over JJ’s lap to exit the car, one of the blonde’s hand finding a place on your waist, pausing your movements. Your eyes shot up to his and you held yourself up above him in the cramped space.

He didn’t say anything, just bored his sad, blue eyes into yours. You frowned pitifully and placed a soft hand on his cheek. “I’ll call you. Okay?” You said, tone hushed. He just sighed, eyes racing back and forth before caving in, nodding sadly. You nodded in a silent reply, leaving him with a soft kiss before climbing fully out of the vehicle, closing the door behind you.

“Come on,” Shoupe instructed you and Kie. “Let’s get y’all home.”

ARRIVING OUTSIDE OF THE CARRERA RESIDENCE FELT ODD. Or maybe it was being back on Figure Eight that felt the oddest. Or maybe it was the whole thing.

In the middle of the night, pulling up to Kiara’s home in the back of a squad car as Deputy Plumb parked the SUV in the drive way and Shoupe let you and Kie out of the backseat of his patrol car. You wondered if the rest of your friends made it back to The Twinkie by now — the absence of the SUV leaving them with no other choice but to walk back to JJ’s cousin’s house and get it.

You and Kiara watched in silence as the headlights on her parents vehicle went dead, Plumb exiting the vehicle and walking over to drop the keys into the girl’s palm and walk off, getting into the passenger seat of the squad car.

“Well,” Shoupe exasperated, hands on his utility belt as he moved to stand in front of the two of you. “Y’all gon’ inside, now. ‘S gettin’ late.” He said, nodding his head once. “Stay safe.” Were his parting words as he walked away, shoes scuffling against the concrete and he rounded the squad car, got into the driver’s seat and drove off, leaving you and a nervous Kie alone in her driveway.

The girl stared up at the house, shaking one leg and taking a deep breath. “Look, before we go inside…” She started, eyes on you. “My parents are probably gonna be super intense. I know it’s been a while since you’ve really seen them…so, I’m just warning you.”

You shrugged, glancing at the house before looking back at her. “Can’t be any worse than my previous living situation.”

Kie just scoffed lightheartedly. “Trust me.” She said, shaking her head. “You have no idea…”

Just then, a creaking sound in the distance grabbed both of your attention — heads whipping up to find Mr. and Mrs. Carrera standing in the doorway of the front door, both of their arms crossed over their chests as they stared down the daughter.

“It’s time for you two to come inside.” Her mother said bluntly, offering no other words. You and Kie spared each other one last glance before walking up the length of the driveway, up the small staircase to the front door before stopping in front of her parents.

“It’s nice to see you again, Y/N.” Mr. Carrera greeted from behind his wife to which you nodded awkwardly.

“It’s nice to see you, too.” You replied simply as the man stepped to the side, making room for you and Kie to enter the house. Kie went first, not even a foot into the door before her mother’s voice stopped her.

“Nuh-uh.” She said, holding a palm out but still not looking at Kiara herself. “The keys.” She prompted, curling her hand in on itself. Kiara complied quickly, dropping the ring of metal into her mother’s hand and proceeding to enter the house, you right behind her.

You can’t remember the last time you’d been inside. Even when you lived on Figure Eight, most of your time was spent at home or at Sarah’s. 

“Take a seat.” Her mother directed the both of you, the front door closing as she motioned for the couch in the living just feet away. You and Kiara did as you were told, walking over and taking a seat on the couch — her parents coming over and standing on the other side of the coffee table, right in front of the two of you. “There are two very important discussions to be had here.” Mrs.Carrera started, clapping her hands together. “Starting with you.” She said, pointing at her daughter.

“What you did tonight was…beyond unacceptable.” She began, hands moving wildly and blinking rapidly as she spoke. “Stealing the car?”

“I was bringing it back-” Kiara tried, voice small.

“It doesn’t matter, Kiara!” Her mother exclaimed, scoffing unbelievably and shaking her head. “Here you are, once again, making these stupid decisions against us, your parents, for some boys-”

“They're not some boys, they're my friends. Why can't you understand that-”

“Listen to your mother.” Her father cut in, fishing in his back pocket before pulling out what looked like pamphlet, letting it fall to the table.

Kiara’s eyes went between the paper and her father before picking it up — the words ‘KITTY HAWK’ etched into the front. “...What is this?” She asked, twirling the object in her hands.

“That’s your future, Kiara, if you don’t turn your shit around.” Her father said, pulling his lips into a thin line. 

“You’re joking, right?” She asked, voice wavering. “This is like one of those places where they kidnap kids in the middle of the night. Do you know how many kids die in these places? O-or kill themselves?-”

“No, it’s a program for troubled teens with behavioral problems.” Her mother inserted herself, hands on her hips.

“...So, now I’m a troubled teen?”

“What the hell would you call it?” Her dad asked, face twisting. “You disappear for days, Kiara, and then when you do come back to the house, it’s to steal my truck.”

“...I thought my friends were dead.” Kie spat, the room falling silent. “And you guys just wanted me to go back to school like nothing happened-”

“That’s not what we wanted.”

“-Like everything was fine, nothing about that is fine!”

“Nothing about any of this is fine.”

“I’ll do whatever you want!” Kiara pleaded. “Okay, I’ll pull double shifts or whatever. But I don’t want you guys to think I was wrong to help them. Because I wasn’t. I was doing what I thought was right. And I didn’t mean to do all of that to you guys…And I’m sorry.” She explained, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m sorry for sneaking out and skipping school. It was stupid and I…I’m sorry for going to Charleston. I’m sorry for stealing your truck. I-”

“Baby…” Her mother stopped her rambling, rounding the coffee table to crouch in front of her daughter, taking her hands in her own. “I know. Okay, I know.” She reassured. “We love you so much.” She told the girl before shaking her head. “...But sorry is not gonna cut it anymore.”

Kie’s face fell at her words, eyes drifting towards her father who stood firm in his spot — arms crossed over his chest. “Let me tell you what’s gonna happen.” He started. “No more sneaking out of the house, no more treasure hunts, and no more Pogues. Or you’re going to Kitty Hawk.” He said with finality before his eyes landed on you. “And Y/N, I know you just got here so this may be a lot, but these rules go for you, as well.”

“Yes.” Mrs.Carrera nodded, standing from where she was comforting her daughter to rejoin her husband. “We’ve cleared out a room for you upstairs, you’ll have your own bathroom as well. You’re welcome to work with us at The Wreck but that is completely up to you. Shoupe told us about your car when he got to the scene and if you’re okay with it, we’ll pay for you to get it fixed. Anything you need, you can ask us, don’t be afraid. We only ask that you just respect us, our home, and our rules.”

You understood their rules and expectations but you wondered if that was the only rule that went for you…What if you continuously broke them under their care? Would Kitty Hawk be held over your head, too?

“I completely understand and I appreciate it so much.” You said, trying to offer a polite smile. “Thank you for taking me in and I’ll do my best to help out at The Wreck.” You assured them. “But... I do have my dog, Marley, if you remember her. She’s at John B’s house…along with the rest of my stuff.”

The Carrera’s shared a look, seeming to have a silent conversation before turning back to you and Kie. 

“We’ll take you.”

“FIFTEEN MINUTES. ANY LONGER AND WE’RE COMING TO GET YOU TWO.” Mr.Carrera said from the driver’s seat of his SUV. 

“We got it, Dad.” Kiara sighed, opening her door and getting out, you following shortly after.

The gravel crunched under your sneakers, the porch light being the only source of light in the dark of night. You didn’t wait to make your way up the small staircase and to the front door, it already being unlocked due to John B’s lack in one’s basic sense of security. 

Walking in, you were immediately graced with Marley’s presence — not having seen the animal in hours. You bent down, scratching the top of her head before looking back at Kie. “I don’t have much.” You said. “I shouldn’t be long.” You assured, standing up to your full height and walking into the guest room of The Chateau where you kept most of your belongings — that were mixed in with JJ’s.

“It’s fine.” Kie shrugged, the girl waiting in the living room with her hands in her back pockets. “Even if you do, they’ll just blame me like they do with everything…” You didn’t say anything, just continued gathering your things — throwing them into your heavy-duty backpack and zipping up the bag, throwing it over your shoulder as you walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, picking up Marley’s bowls, toys, and food. “...Can I ask you something?” Kiara said, voice small.

You sat your backpack on the kitchen table, eyeing the Carrera girl as she fiddled with her fingers. “You can ask me anything.” You laughed, a slight look of confusion on your face.

“Do you hate me?” She asked, eyes pinching together like the question brought her physical pain. “‘Cause, you know, I wouldn’t blame you if you did. After what I did…”

“Kie.” You started, pausing in your movements and letting your hands fall to your sides. “I know we haven’t been the best of friends lately, or, friends at all…But I could never hate you.”

She simply scoffed, running her fingers through her hair. “You say that now…”

“Because it’s true. We’ll always be friends, even if-”

“That.” She spat, laughing, but you could tell there was no real humor there. “That is my problem. And I don’t know how you can’t see it.” She said, shaking her head as her sad eyes met yours. “Can you not see how much…pain being your friend is causing me? And I know it’s not your fault, I know that-”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, mildly offended. “Being my friend is causing you pain?” You asked her, eyes wide in disbelief. “Kie, you kissed my boyfriend while you were with Pope. And you expect me to act like nothing happened? What about Pope? Have you even apologized to him?” You reprimanded.

“You-”

 “I got kidnapped and drugged and all of sudden you have, what, some kind of epiphany about our friendship? Because up until then you were treating me like shit.”

“That’s not why I-”

“Then explain it to me-”

“I can’t!” She yelled, cheeks taking on a shade of red. “...Okay? I’m trying, I have been trying but I can’t. It’s like the words don’t match up or…or nothing checks out. None of it makes any sense.” She rambled, pulling her fingers as she paced on the spot. “It’s so much more complicated than you think and I feel like I should tell you but I could be ruining everything-”

“Just try.” You sighed, shoulders falling. “It’s just us here. We have a little over ten minutes before your parents come marching in. I won’t say a word.” You told her. “I promise, I’ll let you speak and I’ll listen. I just want to understand. I want to understand where our friendship went wrong.” You pleaded. “I miss you, Kie. But somewhere in this mess of what our lives have become, you and I fell apart and I can’t figure out why…”

“...I saw you.” She struggled out, failing to maintain eye contact as she spoke. “During John B’s memorial, I saw JJ kiss you.” She said. “And…I felt this, this pang of jealousy. And at first, I thought it was because things weren’t going great with Pope. But at some point, I realized it wasn’t that. So, I jumped to the next reasonable conclusion — that I liked JJ.” She sighed. “Seeing the way he looked at you, I thought maybe I wanted him to look at me like that. Y’know, maybe I had feelings for him and was just realizing it. That’s why I kissed him in Charleston.” She explained sadly, eyes finally meeting yours.

“It was a shitty thing, I know.” She scolded herself, hands waving wildly. “Kissing him to figure out my feelings while you two had something going on wasn’t cool, I know that. I hate myself for it. Because it was pointless.” She swallowed. “...I didn’t…feel anything. I kissed him and I felt nothing. And it didn’t hurt my feelings when he pushed me away and told me he didn’t see me that way. And I was so angry at myself but confused, too…” She said, almost like she was working out her thoughts as they left her lips. “Because if I didn’t like JJ, then why couldn’t I stomach the sight of you two together?” 

You listened as she spoke and you were glad you were finally getting her side, truly. But the direction this was going…

“...And then, seeing you in Barry’s trailer. That’s when everything fell into place.” She said, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. “Seeing you like that made my entire world stop. I wanted to be the one to scoop you up and hold you and tell you everything would be okay. And my heart shattered when I realized that I couldn’t, not in the way I wanted to.” She confessed, taking one weary step in your direction. “I know it’s a weird way to come to a conclusion like that, but…I think that’s when I realized I wasn’t in love with Pope or JJ.” She said, shaking her head. “...I’m in love with you. I don’t know when it happened or how or…why…” She confessed, voice wavering.

“And I’m sorry.” She cried, wiping her eyes. “For being such a bitch and ruining our friendship over something so stupid. Because I know that it’s too late and even if it wasn’t, even if you weren’t with JJ — you and me would never be anything. And the thought kills me every time.” You didn’t know what to say, standing completely still and listening to her talk. Although, you weren’t sure if you were listening. 

Your longest best friend was standing less than a foot in front of you, telling you how she was in love with you. 

“So, if you hate me, I understand, okay?” She cried harder, pressing her hands into her eyes.

“I don’t hate you.” You finally spoke, voice flat and small as you made no move to comfort her. You didn’t know how. Would a hug make it worse? Would the touch of your hands on her skin make things better or worse? “Kie, I-” You stuttered to find a response. “I don’t know what to say…or do. Do you want a hug or…?”

There was no right way to go about this, you realized. You’d caused each other so much pain over the last few weeks — knowingly or unknowingly, justified or unjustified, it was all the same.

The brown-haired girl just shook her head, wiping her eyes clean. When she made eye contact with you, her eyes were red and slightly puffy as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, please, don’t.” She requested, voice breaking. “It’s my fault.”

Your face fell at her words, taking a single step in the girl’s direction. “Don’t say that.” You said softly. “You did some shitty things, for sure.” You laughed lightheartedly. “But…you can’t control how you feel. You can’t dictate who you love…”

You words only made her face twist further in sadness. “...I never wanted to hurt you.” She sighed sadly, eyes filling with tears once again. You simply gave her a tight-lipped smile of pity, gently taking one of her hands in your own.

“Neither did I.” You assured, your own voice wavering when the loud honking of a horn came from outside — the both of you jumping at the loud noise.

“Guess our time’s up…” Kiara spoke, avoiding your eyes once more as she let her hand fall from yours as she turned towards the door. You nodded to yourself, taking a breath and grabbing your bag from the table and securing it before throwing it over your shoulder once more, whistling for Marley who met you swiftly at the command.

Kiara opened the door, the Golden Retriever bolting out of the house and to the SUV, wagging her tail as she waited for you to open the door. You walked out of the door silently as Kie held it open, letting it close behind herself as you both walked back to the car, shoes crunching once more as you swiftly turned to face your friend, stopping her in her tracks.

“I…” You stuttered. You didn’t know what you wanted to say or planned to say. But you felt like you should say something. But no words would come out. 

Kie just offered you a sad smile, patting your shoulder. “It’s okay.” She said to you. “I’m happy for you. Honestly, I am.” She spoke, voice low seeing as you standing right next to the vehicle with her parents inside. “You’ve been through so much and you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with someone who makes you happy. And JJ is that person, not me. I can see it your eyes and his — you’re meant for each other. And one day, I’ll be fine with that.” She said, not waiting for you to speak as she went around the other side of the car, getting in.

You stood in silent contemplation for a few moments before snapping back to reality — opening your door for Marley to jump in as you threw your bag to the floor and jumped in, shutting the door as Mr.Carrera drove off, the radio playing lowly.

When did your life become such a mess?

IT WAS THE NEXT MORNING AND YOU WERE LISTENING TO MUSIC AS YOU STRAIGHTENED OUT YOUR BED SHEETS. You’ll admit, it was nice to have your own room again and have some normality as a teenage girl. 

Some…

You and Kie hadn’t said more than two words to each other since last night — those two words being ‘good morning’ as you awkwardly passed each other on the way out of your rooms and downstairs to join the Carreras for breakfast. 

The meal was awkward but mildly comforting. It was nice to feel part of a family again, even if deep down something was telling you this picture-perfect act wouldn’t last long. 

You heard Mr. and Mrs.Carrera loud and clear — break their rules and it’s Camp for Cuckoos. 

After breakfast, you’d freshened up and started to put your room together. Mrs.Carrera had generously gone and bought you a bed set, some new clothes, and even some small decorations to make the place feel less empty. She even went as far as to buy Marley, who was sunbathing in the middle of your floor, a new, much less worn and tattered, bed that was sitting in the corner of your newly furnished space.

Even if it was only temporary, you figured you could get used to this. It was still in the early hours of the morning as you played interior decorator — your music pausing on your bluetooth speaker as a call came through.

Picking up the device, a smile spread on your face from ear to ear as you answered. “Hi, Blondie.”

“Good mornin’ to you, princess.” JJ’s voice broke through the other end. “You sound wide awake. That’s a first.” He said, the sound of wind whipping by coming from his end.

“And you don’t sound like you’re home.” You pointed out skeptically.

“I’m never home.”

‘Y’know what I mean…” You pressed, sitting on your bed and rubbing your hand over the soft blanket. 

“I’m with Bree, right now and we, uh, may need a little assistance, if you will.” He told you, voice sounding nervous even through the device.

“...What’s wrong now?” You asked.

“Well, uh, Rafe’s got the cross and Pope latched onto the back of his truck and went God knows where and Rose has Sarah and she’s taking her to some loading dock.” JJ explained quickly, hearing both boys curse as John B took a sharp turn, you assumed. “So, the two of us can’t really do this by ourselves but John B here is determined.”

You bit your lip in contemplation — breaking the rules on day one?

...Seemed pretty on brand.

“I’ll be there soon.” You assured before hanging up the phone. You stood in thought for a few moments, opening the Find My app on your phone to see how far your two friends were, trying to mentally decipher whether you could get away with just sneaking out or if you’d have to sneak out and sneak your car keys which were sitting on the counter downstairs…where Kie’s parents were.

A quick request from your location to JJ’s told you that without your car, the estimated distance would jump from a forty-five minute drive to a three-hour walk. You sighed and peeked out of your window. To your surprise, the Carrera’s SUV was gone, leaving only your freshly fixed Ford in the drive way, looking cleaner than ever.

A small smile of relief spread on your face as you quickly exited your room, skipping down the steps and heading for the kitchen only to find Mike and Anna downstairs — Mr. Carrera testing new recipes to add to the menu down at The Wreck while Mrs. Carrera cleaned up the dishes he left behind.

Both of the adults turned to you at the sound of your feet skidding to a stop. 

“Good morning, again, Y/N.” Mrs. Anna smiled at you, dropping dishes into the sink. “Are we in your way? Did you need something?”

Your mouth gaped like a fish until you settled on a smile. “No, just…came down for a snack.” You lied, both of them sending you a polite smile in return as they returned to paying you no mind. Eyeing the arrangement of small chip bags conveniently placed next to the dish that held all the keys, you padded across the kitchen, noisily grabbing one of the bags to mask the jingling of the keys before shoving the metal in your pocket and heading upstairs.

Your face twisted as you ascended the staircase — if the Carrera’s were downstairs, where was their car?

Allowing your intuition to guide you, you skipped the door to your room to stand in front of Kie. A twist of the knob and a push of the door told you that the brown-haired girl who wasn’t occupying her room was responsible for the missing vehicle outside. You wondered where she went before remembering you had her location as well.

Closing her door softly, you pulled your phone out once more to see that she was driving in the middle of the woods. How long had she been gone and where was she going? Pinching your fingers to zoom out, you could see she was closer to Pope than any of you, that realization answering your question.

With the turn of events this morning was taking, you wouldn’t be in this nice house much longer before you and Kie were being shipped off to Kitty Hawk.

Entering your room, you closed the door gently and threw the bag of chips on your bed. Trotting over to the window, you lifted the glass and screen — the familiar North Carolina breeze hitting you as you did. You looked back at the bedroom door one last time, feeling bad for having to ruin something good. But these were your friends. Your family. Helping them wasn’t a question.

Tiptoeing onto the roof and closing the window, you quietly made your way down to the driveway — getting into the driver’s seat and quickly driving off.

“WHAT IS THAT?” You could hear John B’s hushed voice as you got closer to the sound you were emitting. “Dude! Turn that off! Why are you ringing?” He reprimanded his blonde friend as you approached the two of them from behind from where they were hiding behind a family of crates and boxes.

“It’s Y/N, I don’t know why she’s pinging me-”

“Hi.” you said quietly, standing in between your two best friends as they jumped at the sound of your voice. You tapped the button on your phone to stop JJ’s from making noise.

“Jesus!” JJ whisper-yelled, both boys sighing as they looked at you.

“You should find a better way to announce yourself when we’re on important missions.” John B told you, steading himself.

“Well, having your location doesn’t really help when your in a junky ass shipyard.” You sassed, shooting a grimace at the boy which he returned in full.

“We said the pinging was for emergencies only.” JJ told you, putting his phone on silent and shooting you a playful glare.

“It was!” You said, hushed. “I couldn’t find you and I had to hop the fence. What is this? A private dock?.”

“Guys,” John B grabbed your attention. “I think that’s their ship.” He said, pointing at the large boat the dock members were anchoring.

“Wait,” JJ started. “The Coastal Venture…” He thought to himself. “Dude, I know that ship. My dad did legs on her last summer, it’s a total tramp steamer. I worked on her in port…”

“There’s the cross.” You added, referring to the wooden crate being lifted with a pullet system — what look like Rafe with two unknown men standing and watching as they pulled it up.

“God, I hate that guy…” John B whispered as he eyed Rafe from afar. You couldn’t agree more. “There she is.” He piped up, eyes drifting to the side — Rose and Wheezie walking behind Sarah, who was being escorted roughly towards the ship. “Guys, we gotta come up with a plan.” John B urged to the two of you.

“I know.” JJ said. “We’re working on it.” He continued as your eyes scanned the ship, thinking of possibilities.

“Hey,” You cut in. “If we can get over that barge, we can go over. We’ll have to get in the water, though.” 

“Then we’re gonna be sitting ducks-”

“Howdy.” Kie’s voice startled the trio of you, her and Pope’s footsteps coming to a stop as they appeared behind you three.

“Whoa!” JJ exclaimed, whipping around before realizing it was just his two friends. “I was about to stab your eyes out…How’d you guys even find us?”

“Geo-located your phone.” She said simply. You made brief eye contact with the girl before you both looked away, the action not going unnoticed by your observant boyfriend but he seemed to settle on saying nothing.

“Yo, Pope. You okay?” John B asked, a hand on the boy’s shoulder as you all looked at him — covered in dried mud and dirt and specks of blood. “What happened?”

“Rafe, round three.” Pope whispered, voice raspy.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Again?” JJ said angrily.

“This was a tie.” Pope told the blonde, calming his boiling rage. “Is that the cross?” He asked, eyes on the wooden crate across the shipyard. He sounded so focused and determined.

“Yeah…” You answered, sighing. “And they’re holding Sarah hostage.”

“We gotta get on that boat.” Kie worried, hand on her forehead.

“First, we gotta get past the Goon Squad.” JJ pointed out a crowd of workers and guards that would surely kick you all out.

“We gotta move.” John B urged, the four of you walking forward before he looked back and saw that Pope was going the opposite direction. “Pope, what’re you doing?”

“I have an idea.” He held out a cautious palm. “Just trust me.”

“No-”

“Trust me and go.” Pope called, walking away. “I’ll meet up with you guys.” He said before disappearing. But something was screaming at you to follow him, to not leave him alone. So, in the middle of your running, you quickly turned and headed the opposite way.

“Hey!” JJ called, eyeing you wildly. “Where are you goin’?” 

“To help Pope.” You told him, never faltering in your steps. “He’s not thinking straight and it doesn’t feel right to leave him alone. Just go, okay? We’ll meet up with you guys.” You urged him before turning away and following Pope’s trail.

You arrived to the boy just in time to find him unscrewing the tops to a family of propane tanks. “Pope.” You whispered, creeping up to him to avoid being seen. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Creating a distraction.” He told you bluntly, stepping away once at least three of the tanks were hissing — the gas being released as he stood back, pulling a gun from his pocket. 

“Jesus-!” Your eyes went wide, immediately stepping forward and grabbing the weapon from his hands. “I’m not going to ask questions about how or why…” You said, referring to the gun as you pushed him back with a firm hand on his chest. “But, Pope, you’re already caked in dirt and shit.” You pointed out. “...But, you are the brains of this shit so if you think causing an explosion will help us get on that boat, then fine. But you’re not getting whiplash after fighting.”

Turning away from the boy, you cocked the gun back — aiming it directly at the tanks.

“Y/N-”

“It’s fine, Pope.” You breathed, glancing back at him quickly. “We’re gonna get your cross.” You assured before refocusing your sights and pulling the trigger, barely having time to register your actions before you were blown back by the explosion, you and Pope landing on your backs as smoke filled your airways.

“Oh, shit…” You coughed, pushing yourself up as you heard a marching band of feet coming your way. “Pope, c’mon, we gotta go.” You urged, helping the boy up as you both ran from the scene and to your friends.

You both fell to a stop in front of the three of them, breathing heavily as you dropped the gun to the ground.

“What did you do?” JJ asked, worried, crouching down in front of you and brushing hair out of your face.

You just coughed before laughing and tapping the brim of his hat. “We were playing with guns.” You smiled, one last cough leaving your lungs as the blonde rolled his eyes and helped you up, fighting the smile growing on his face.

“You’re a dork.” He scoffed, placing a small kiss on your lips.

“Pope, what was that?” John B asked, helping up his friend. 

Pope just ignored his question, pointing to The Coastal Venture. “Look. That’s container’s going on the ship. We can get in that way.” He told the five of you — John B wasting no time in charging for where Pope had pointed, the rest of you following.

Pope leaped into the back of the shipping container without hesitation, JJ being the first to speak up. “Hold up,” He urged, looking up at the curly-haired boy in the container. “Did you think this through?”

Pope didn’t even seem to think before answering, tone blunt and short. “Yes. This is the plan.”

“That’s a trap right there. You see that right?” JJ asked, pointing to the other shipping boxes. “We can’t get out once we get in-” The blonde panicked, John B stepping forward and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” He started, looking JJ in his eyes. “You guys don’t have to come, alright?” He offered, briefly glancing at you and Kie as well. 

“Right.” Pope agreed, nodding his head at the three of you. “This is our fight.” He told you all — referring to himself and John B.

You, Kiara, and JJ shared a weary glance before JJ tossed his hands out and tilted his head, eyes on yours. “P4L?”

You glanced nervously inside the dark, tight space, cringing — were you claustrophobic? Because that’s what it felt like. Looking back at JJ, a groan rose from your throat. “P4L…” You exhausted, turning and sticking your hand up for Pope to help you up into the container — followed shortly by JJ, then Kie, then John B.

“Guess it’s better than boarding school…” Kie pondered, pulling her lips into a thin line.

The five of you bolted to the back of the container, crouching hiding behind the contents of the space. You and your friends watched, holding your breath, as a man came by and swiftly inspected the container with a flashlight before seemingly deciding nothing was amiss.

“Okay, she’s good to go. Lock her up.” He patted his hand against the metal.

Your breath shuddered as the men sealed the space shut, leaving you all with dim light and humid oxygen. Metal clanked and engines revved as you felt the container begin to sway — you were being lifted onto the ship. It was such an odd feeling, so much so it made your stomach turn in the oddest of ways — JJ taking notice and intertwining your fingers with his.

You shot the blonde an appreciative smile before looking straight ahead to calm yourself. 

The five of you groaned as your heads and backs hit the walls of the container as it touched down, letting out breaths of relief.

There was no telling how this was going to play out or end, for that matter.

But hey, P4L, right?

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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[hometoursandotherstuff]

Welcome to Villa De La Creme. (No, you don't need no damned landscaping. Less maintenance.) Don't know when it was built b/c other countries don't usually say, but it's in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, Canada, has 8bds, 7ba, asking $5.8M and that includes the golf cart. They describe the architectural style as a "bungalow." A $5.8M bungalow. Interesting.

The marble floors are imported Marmara marble and the chandeliers are imported crystal from Vienna.

To the left off the entrance hall is a large living room with high ceilings and wainscoting.

Then double doors open to the dining room. I don't like the wainscoting- it's kind of Craftsman style and this is a European style home.

The kitchen's very large and very white. The double doors open to the formal dining room.

There's a brick feature wall, but the description says there're rare blue Calcutta marble counters and I don't see any blue.

Back in one of the wide hallways, we're about to enter the primary bedroom.

It's gigantic. Seriously, you'd need a riding floor cleaner like they have in stores, to keep these floors.

Doors open to this small "terrace."

Very large bath. Look at that- a park bench in the shower.

This bedroom is nice, with the round window.

It has a nice en-suite.

I like the en-suite for this bedroom- it has a blue sink cabinet. At least it's a little different.

The home office switched to floor tile.

Large home gym with glass walls.

Interesting. The stairs to the basement have a gate. Maybe for young children or dogs.

Nice guest 1/2 bath.

I didn't know it had an elevator.

Huge empty basement.

Basement suite. Fancy sink vanity down here.

Looks like there are a few bedrooms down here.

It's not isolated, but if you don't like close neighbors, like the house hunters on HGTV, this is a good property for you.

And, you're right across the road from the water.

[bullet-prooflove]

Logistics: Eric Blackburn x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @4everademigod @totalstitchlover19 @doglover-24 @bravo4iscool

Prequel to:

Scars - Eric loves every single part of you.

Three Months (NSFW) - Eric returns home from Afganastan.

In the weeks that follow the building collapse, it becomes clear that you’re looking at a lengthy recovery and rehabilitation period. The military covers that thankfully but it’s the logistics you’re concerned over because you’re still struggling to perform a lot of the basic tasks that would have been no problem for you in the past. That’s what happens when you have a traumatic brain injury, things get knocked about, thrown off kilter.

“It’ll come back in time.” You’re told as you fumble with the stress ball in your hand and Eric can see the concern and frustration on your features.

You haven’t even begun to consider navigating your release from the hospital. Eric though he’s already five steps ahead, working out the logistics, planning ahead.

You live in an apartment building with an elevator that barely works at the best of times, it’s not feasible considering your current mobility. His place is the best option for your recovery. He lives in a bungalow in a quiet neighbourhood with a small garden, he keeps in decent shape because he’s always the one hosting cookouts.

It’s unlikely the military will let him take leave so abruptly without a good explanation and your relationship isn’t public knowledge because it fucks with the chain of command. There’s only one thing he can do and he does it without telling you because he knows you would do everything in your power to stop him.

The morning after he finds out you’re being released he turns up at General Auster’s office and informs him he’s in violation of the fraternization policy, that he’s been seeing another officer in his chain of command.

The expression on the other man’s features is one of disbelief because if there is anyone you can count on to do the right thing it’s Blackburn. There are questions, lots of them and Eric answers them accordingly, with his chin up and his head held high.

“Why now?” Auster asks him. “This has gone on for a year already without being detected, what drove you to come here and tell me this now?”

“She needs support when she leaves the hospital.” He informs his superior officer. “Someone to be around for the first couple of weeks and I knew you wouldn’t approve a leave request so this is the next best option.”

“Ah so it’s the suspension you want.” Auster says with understanding, his pen tapping lightly against the desk. “You’re taking a hell of a risk Eric, I think I can convince them on the thirty days, but you’re risking separation of your contract, confinement. Is she really worth all that?”

For a moment he’s taken back to the building collapse, to those thirty minutes Bravo team spent trying to dig you out, the ones where he didn’t know if you were alive or dead. Those were the worst eighteen hundred seconds of his life. Everything else that came afterwards he could handle but that section of time he was a wreck.

“I wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t.” He remarks dryly and Auster must see the sincerity in his features.

“Alright then.” Auster says finally. “I’ll get back to you by the end of the day regarding the decision.”

It’s as he’s on the way back to the hospital that evening that he gets the call. A two month suspension with a reduction of pay for three months after and a reprimand in his jacket. It’s the best he could have hoped for. Now he can focus on what’s important, helping you get back on your feet.

You lose your shit when he tells you and he expected no less because your biggest concern throughout the duration of this relationship is making sure that he’s protected, that he’s not compromised by you.

“What were you thinking?” You snap from your hospital bed as he begins to pack up your things for you. “Everything you’ve worked so hard for…”

He sighs as he comes to sit on the edge of your bed, his fingertips chasing away the hair that falls over your features.

“I was thinking about you.” He says softly as he looks into your eyes. “I was thinking about how you’re going through something very big and very scary and that I don’t want you to face it all alone.”

“Eric…” You begin but he cuts you off by placing your palm over his heart.

“All of that other shit it doesn’t matter.” He tells you, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. “All that does is that I’m still yours and you’re still mine. It really is as simple as that.”

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[moonlitraven]

Tasteless Engine (2)

Suddenly, the puppet’s eyes flutter open and the doll stares at you.

Flabbergasted, you jump back and stop touching them. The porcelain puppet slowly, weakly sits up with numb arms. All you can do is stare at the living doll with wide eyes, while the mass elevates itself until it stands up before you.

“Who are you…?” the porcelain puppet asks with a low, groggy voice. Definitely a boy.

“I could return you the question! My name is […] and I’m a toy maker.” You reply.

“Good. I have been looking for you.” Says the puppet casually, as if he was not crying on your floor a few minutes ago. He starts walking in your bungalow with his chin raised high, as if he was the owner of this land. His torn clothes barely cover himself, and his joints and articulations creak with every move he makes and you decide to go after him.

“Wait! So, you know me, but what’s your name and how are you… Living?! Aren’t you a puppet?” You ask while walking behind him, in pure confusion.

“That’s none of your business. As for my name, I don’t have one.” Replies the doll boy. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing a book with his hand.

“Just a theater piece. It’s La Comedia Del Arte. You never heard of it?” You reply, taking the book and handing it to him. The nameless puppet takes the book and examinate it carefully.

“Well, just call me Scaramouche then.” He says after reading a few pages.

“Scara?

-Scaramouche” He objects, refusing the nickname. He puts back the book on the self.

“This bungalow is pathetic, but it is not the reason of my visit. I saw the sign near your house saying that you are a toy maker. It kills me to say it but I need your help.” After saying that, Scaramouche takes off the clothe that was hiding his bust. At the place where should be his heart if he was human is a huge hole, the porcelain is fissured and painting is damaged all around the hole and even slightly melted. You stare at it in awe for a few minutes. Never, in your life, you saw a human-puppet with a hole in the chest. Look then up at him in his eyes, which are a bit damaged too.

“… What happened to you?” You ask, shocked.

“None of your business too.” Answers the puppet with a dark face.

Promptly, you put him on your table and observes his features with a lot of caution.

“I never saw a doll this damaged. I’m not sure I’ll be able to fix all of that.

-What about my heart?

-You had a heart?

-Yes. But in an access of rage, I pulled it out of my chest, that’s how the hole… You know…”

You look at him, you can’t help but feel bad for him. Sure, he is not human at all, but it is almost like it, is it not? And mostly, he had a heart. You don’t know how it is possible, but you stopped asking yourself question when a living puppet started to cry before you.

“Sadly, I can do nothing for a heart-broken puppet, asides from repairing the damage, I can’t give you a heart.” You tell him softly, looking at him in the eyes.

“Then I’ll find someone who can.

-No one can. Scaramouche, a heart isn’t a clock! It is not mechanical, you can not buy it, or repair it with a hammer, nails and tools. I can’t do anything for this heart, nor no one can.

-You’re worthless! I should have known it when I crossed your door! I’m leaving, now.” The enraged doll jumps off the table and heads toward the living room.

“If you go outside, you’ll be even more broken!” You protest. “I can fix you! And maybe your heart will grow back! I bet you’re not that stupid…”

After you said that, Scaramouche looks down, lost in thought. Leaving the bungalow would be counterproductive, and after all, maybe those promises you tell him are true. In this case, it is not in his interest to leave. He turns to you.

“Alright, you win, human.

-I have a name.

-Don’t get me started or it’s you who’ll end up broken.

-So you’re staying here?

-Unfortunately.” The puppet rolls his eyes.

[panashdesigns]

Stunning G+1 Bungalow Elevation Design with Spacious Parking Space.

[seancekitsch]

Could I request Soulmates AU with Vox?

au where in every lifetime you’ll recognize your soulmate, if not by seeing them but by their voice.

You stare down at the invitation from Carmilla with disdain, a summoning for politicking that has never concerned you. As an Overlord, you reign over derelict bungalows and hippies, a weak little commune of devotees nestled in the border between Cannibal Town and Doomsday District with you as their makeshift messiah for guidance. You’re realistically weak in your own little hedonistic, fanatical bubble. No need for her to drag you all the way to her side of the city for some meeting you didn’t even belong at to discuss matters that did not concern you.

So what if the exterminators are getting bolder? You and your group go underground and have a love-in. You don’t antagonize anyone or try to strike deals. You spend all year preparing. You never need to use your supplies. You always manage to attract new devotees. Safety in numbers. You do not belong here.

The van pulls into the alley, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Thank you, Moonbeam,” you call out as you push open the door hastily, your trusted driver nodding in salute.

The building is clean, a stark white and black so different from the surroundings you’re used to.

You board the elevator in silence with the invitation crumpled in your hand, swaying to a song stuck in your head, beads and charms made by devotees jangling as you move. The bright lights make you miss the dim haze of your little village, the neverending summer of love and the end of the world all in one.

The doors open with a swoosh, way too smooth and automated directly into a meeting room, where everyone is already sat; every seat taken except for one at the far end of the room.

It occurs to you in the moment that there’s no chance of slinking out here without all of the adornment you wear alerting anyone, without glaringly drawing attention to yourself. You are stuck here, for whatever Carmilla needs.

You shimmy behind the row of chairs, everyone lost in their own conversation until your boot scrapes the leg of the open chair.

“So who invited Cult Leader Barbie?” a voice cuts through the noise, and usually you’d let it go. Usually you’d just laugh and wink and move on.

But that voice. That voice you’d recognize anywhere. Except, you’ve never heard it before, have you? You look up to see the TV headed demon staring at you, as if waiting for some kind of remark or quip to barb back at him, but none comes. You sit slackjaw and silent, as if he’d slit your throat in your seat. You can’t even hear the others in the meeting, your sole focus on that voice. It’s everything, it’s nothing, you don’t know him. But you do, don’t you? You know that voice you recognize it from somewhere. Certainly not your radios, but somewhere.

“And what do you think about this matter, Y/N?” Zestial addresses you, and you take your eyes elsewhere finally, and unfortunately you have no idea what matter he means.

But you’re not here for anything other than obligation anyway.

“I think nothin’s my problem unless you’re lookin’ to add some more peace and love to my little corner,” you sneer, “In which case, that ain’t a problem.”

You smile as you lean back, hoping that they’ll all just start arguing and you can either leave or have some entertainment. And that almost happens, save for one particular demon, the only one you want to actually hear. The man with the TV head smirks as he stares at you, something knowing in his glance. You decide immediately that you don’t like that, despite an almost need to listen to him speak again.

You’re the first one to the elevator when the meeting ends, practically leaping out of your seat in a flurry of fringe and jangling jewelry and color to rush back to comfort.

Only a hand stops the elevator from closing all the way.

“Leaving so soon?” That voice, that fucking voice.

“I fear the outside world is too strange for my kind, you most of all,” you retort, treading on the side of ambiguity.

“Or maybe I put you on edge, Mother Superior,” and he smirks again, “I saw how you looked at me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the elevator all too slow, and maybe that’s his doing. Damn technology.

“Do I know you…?” you ask, a joke hanging on every syllable. If he can play with you, you can play back.

“It’s me! You’re you! Don’t you? My little bohemian?” he shakes his head as he searches your scowl, as if he is mistaken.

And it’s then that you get a good look at him. Really look at him. Really hear him. And how could you forget? You’ve heard his voice a million times, you’ve heard him preach and rant, heard him whisper to you as the dawn rises, heard him cry, moan, scream. Even with a tv for a face, how could you forget his? It’s all so simple now, and you almost want to kiss Carmilla for making you come here.

You break out into a laugh, and slap your forehead.

“Silly me! Where has the time gone? I’d never forget you, Daddy-o!” you exclaim, and he smiles for real this time. His hands find your shoulders immediately, and then he wraps you in an embrace. You could weep it feels so good. More like home than any legions of devotees could make you feel. More at home than any camp or ranch or bunker.

“Can I come home with you?” he asks, and you nod as you lean further into his chest, into your destiny.

[levitar1]

[mcfiddlestan]

Staying the Night Prompts

❝ i don’t have nightmares when you’re there. ❞ (Loki/Bucky)

“We should probably get some rest.”

Bucky managed a lazy grin and an equally lazy nod at Steve’s words, but made no effort to rise from the long sofa in Stark’s penthouse lounge. The tower wasn’t exactly home, but it was the place everyone came to recuperate and get a warm meal, especially after returning from a mission. Bucky and Steve had only come back a few hours ago from their latest mission, providing some not necessarily needed support for Shuri and the Wakandans. Who knew stopping human traffickers could cause so many body aches. A slight shift on the seat to sit up and he knew there was definitely a bruised rib somewhere. 

“I’ll head back in a bit.” He said with a soft groan, falling back against the cushions.

“Aren’t you tired?” Steve questioned from beside him. When he frowned the cut above his eyebrow stung and he tapped a finger to it a few times, pulling his hand back to look at it. Not bleeding anymore. 

Bucky nodded even as he verbally answered, “Yeah, exhausted. I just wanna finish my beer.” He gave the bottle a little shake. “It’s nice to be back within four solid walls though.” And to sit in front of a fire he didn’t have to start or worry about putting out, he thought, as he stared at the flames in the hearth before them.

“Sure is. No rough blankets on the ground tonight. Well,” Steve sighed after a moment. He reached out and clapped a hand to Bucky’s shoulder. “Thanks for covering me out there. You saved my ass.” Bucky lifted bright blue eyes to his, narrowed an eye. “Again,” Steve conceded with that boyish smirk.

Bucky chuckled, nodded, and wished Steve a good night as he brought the Budweiser bottle to his lips. Steve slowly rose with a groan and walked directly into the waiting elevator.

It still amazed Bucky that Stark willingly allowed this ragtag group of vigilantes, spies, a former winter soldier, and others to freely come and go from his tower, using it as a makeshift Avengers Hotel. The billionaire himself kept a small apartment among the smaller bungalows at the place he’d once used as a homebase for his company, but, for the most part, Stark slept in a room off his lab, never too far away from his work — if he slept at all. But everyone left that to Bruce and Rhodey to deal with.

Finishing off his beer, Bucky pushed himself to his feet, careful not to strain any more muscles than he already had, and after rinsing it out, deposited the bottle into the recycle bin. Judging by its nearly full capacity, the tower’s rooms must’ve been equally full tonight. Too wiped to think about who might be milling around in the morning, Bucky headed for the elevator, stifling a yawn. He watched the numbers slowly descend to his floor — the same as Steve’s, but on the other opposite side of the building — contemplating how long he might let himself sleep before he got started on his report the next day.

He was planning it all out as he walked to his door, absently pulling out the key, and unlocking the door. The moment he stepped inside he sensed something was different than when he left it. The apartment assigned to him was larger than the one he kept in Brooklyn, but it was just as sparsely decorated. In his line of business, it wasn’t exactly ideal to plant roots or get attached to anything. The room here and now was lit only by the pale blue moonlight streaming through the tall, wide windows displaying the city and off in the distance, the Brooklyn Bridge.

Bucky wondered if he should’ve just gone home as he scanned the room and moved silently to the bedroom door. It was less than a half hour by subway. Pulling his gun from its strap, safety off, Bucky listened for any sounds even as his eyes scanned the area before pushing the door open and aiming the gun at his bed. 

Seeing the hint of pale fingers rising in a surrender gesture in the shadows of one corner, Bucky locked and re-holstered the gun with an exasperated noise. 

“What the fuck, Loki?”

Dressed in his usual casual outfit of a green tunic and black pants, Loki emerged from the corner and crossed his arms. “I was only awaiting your return. I didn’t realize you’d come in guns a-blazing like — what do they call them? Cowboys?”

Bucky scoffed and began to remove his gear, dumping it on the dark tufted chair beside his dresser. “What are you doing here? How’d you even get in?”

It was Loki’s turn to scoff. “Hello? I’m a god, remember? I can go anywhere I please. Your human locks are like Odin’s fatherly approval to me: nonexistent.”

Bucky jerked his head back. “Well, that got dark fast,” he muttered, finally dropping the last of his weapons. He gripped his shirt, tugging it free from his pants, then reached for his belt. “Is there something you need? ‘Cause I just got back from—”

“A mission in Wakanda, I know,” Loki finished, his voice lowered. “How is Shuri? I’ve missed…talking shop with her. Her technology is impressive. Even to an As—well, a former Asgardian.”

Bucky kicked off his second boot and stopped, watching Loki with more focused eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Loki raised his head, lifting a brow. “Must something be wrong? Are we not friends? Can’t I simply wish to welcome you—“

“Lokes.”

Loki took a long beat before he smirked, chuckling a little, and lowered to the foot of the bed. “Nothing’s wrong. Honestly. I was just…eager to say hello. Thought you might want to talk. Maybe shake off the mission. You must be hurt. I can hear you trying not to groan with every movement.”

Bucky went still then, realizing Loki was right, he moaned a little as he let out the breath he’d been holding. He was really feeling the aches now. As if his body knew the bed was so close. “I’m fine, Loki. It’s just taking a little longer for me to heal, that’s all. But, really, I’m just looking forward to collapsing into bed.” He moved to the dresser behind him to grab a pair of sweatpants and a fresh shirt from the drawers. 

“Oh, well, don’t let me get in your way.” Loki crossed one leg over the other, seemingly planting himself in that spot.

Bucky, with his back turned to Loki, grinned a little to himself, unbuttoning his pants and kicking them aside once they dropped. “We said we were gonna stop,” he said as he slipped on the sweatpants.

The silence was blaring behind him. To give Loki whatever time he needed, Bucky stripped off his shirt and slipped a clean one over his head, and piled his soiled clothes in the corner along with his socks.

“I know what we said,” came the reply finally. 

Tying the drawstring on his pants, Bucky turned to face Loki. He noted how Loki wouldn’t meet his eyes, turning his face away, toward the windows. The moon shone brighter at this angle, lighting up the part of Bucky’s room open to the windows. And Bucky could see Loki’s face now, that it was paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks a little hollower than usual. 

Sensing his appointment with sleep was about to be delayed, Bucky crossed over to sit beside Loki on the bed. “So what’d you get up to while I was gone?” he asked casually.

“Not much,” Loki answered with a shrug, still looking out the window. “Worked on some spells, conjured up some new tinctures. Avoided Thor.”

Bucky laughed quietly, the bed shaking with the movement. “He was here?”

“Only for a few hours, Hail Frigga,” Loki said with a dry laugh that grew more genuine when Bucky chuckled too. 

“Loki,” Bucky murmured after their laughter died down.

Loki’s smile faded, and he lowered his eyes. “Please,” he all but whispered. 

Bucky grinned lopsidedly, but bit his lip. “You said no more.”

“I know. I lied.”

Bucky snickered and dropped his head on Loki’s shoulder. He was just so tired. “You told me not to let you anymore,” he whispered.

Loki turned his head, nuzzling his cheek against Bucky’s nose. “You shouldn’t listen to me. I’m an idiot.”

“Lokes,” he snorted. Bucky slipped his hand into Loki’s, felt his cold skin cool against his warm palm. “You’re not an idiot. And I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t listen to you.”

Loki nudged him with his elbow. Bucky only groaned softly and closed his heavy eyes, comfortable enough in Loki’s presence to let his guard down. 

“I’m barely hanging on here, babe. You should probably go back to your room.”

Loki turned his body toward Bucky’s, clutching his hand tightly between his own in his lap. “I don’t want to. Just one more night, James. Please? I know what I’m asking…”

“Do you?” Bucky sat up and released Loki’s hand, so he could balance himself.

For the first time that night, Loki met Bucky’s gaze. Even through his tiredness and the pale moonlight, Bucky could see Loki was equally as exhausted as he. He hasn’t slept, he realized with a spark of concern. Hard as he tried, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from worrying about Loki.

“Look, Loki—”

He held up a hand to cut Bucky off. “No, I know. I know I don’t make this any easier for you.” He uncrossed his legs and turned away from Bucky. “I don’t mean to be selfish, you know. I don’t mean to hurt you. It’s just that…”

Bucky waited for the answer, but none came. “What?” he urged, nudging Loki’s arm with his fingers.

Loki inhaled deeply and turned his eyes to Bucky’s again, and with a quiver to his voice, he said, “I don’t have nightmares when you’re there.”

Bucky swallowed thickly. “Oh.” The revelation was one thing. They’d initially bonded over their shared experiences with torture and brainwashing. Few, if any, of the others could relate. But the tears clinging to Loki’s long black lashes was quite another. Bucky hadn’t seen Loki so vulnerable before. He wasn’t at all sure what to do, but to scratch at his head with the metal fingers, searching for the right words. “Um…”

Loki shifted and Bucky saw the moment he shut down and that cool mask slid into place. His dark emerald green eyes cleared instantly, his lips, already thin, thinned even further. “Forget it. Forget I said anything. Forget this ever happened. I’ll go.”

“No!” Bucky shouted the word, grasping for Loki’s arm as he rose and tugging so hard, the sleeve of his tunic ripping cut into the silence between them. “Shit!” Bucky shot up to his feet, but only stammered out an apology and held out the torn piece of his tunic to Loki.

Loki took it and clenched his jaw. “James, I’m getting rather mixed signals from you.” In one long sweep of his hand, Loki’s tunic was repaired and the ripped piece disappeared. “You won’t allow me to have a restful night’s sleep in your bed, yet you seem eager to quite literally rip my clothes off.”

Bucky slapped the non-metal palm to his face. “I swear, I didn’t mean to do that. And I was going to tell you that it’s fine, you can stay here. I just got a little thrown off by the tears in your eyes.” He started to turn away, but decided he had more to say. “And you know what? Speaking of mixed signals, what kind are you sending to me exactly? I mean, you know very well how I feel about you and you continuously torture me by coming to my room and begging to sleep — just sleep! — in my bed, beside me, all long legs and silky hair, and I’m doing my damndest to be a gentleman and be understanding because we are friends, but it’s fucking killing me when I wake up and there you are, just causally wrapped around my—“

It took Bucky’s brain a good five seconds to compute that his epic rant had been cut short by Loki, and that he was now currently being lovingly and tenderly kissed by the longtime object of his affection. As Loki’s lips pressed against his, Bucky slowly sank into the kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen it and pull Loki’s body against his.

Needing the air to breathe, and realizing what he was doing, Bucky took one giant step back. 

“What is happening right now?”

Loki swiped a finger across his bottom lip. “Well, something that was a long time coming, I think. Don’t you?”

Bucky relaxed, glared. “Don’t be a dick.” Loki cocked a brow, this time in confusion, and Bucky scoffed. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. You’re practically BFFs with Stark and he’s the sassiest bitch in this place. So I know you’re learning some shit.” He looked up and caught the smile lighting up Loki’s face. “What does this mean?”

Loki’s expression turned thoughtful as he closed the distance between them and ran his hands up Bucky’s chest to wrap around his neck underneath the dark brown strands of his hair. “I think what it means, darling, is that your love is no longer unrequited.”

Bucky gawked at Loki. “Really?” he asked, his voice soft. Loki nodded and leaned in to kiss him again. But just as their lips touched Bucky sprang back. “Is this just because of the nightmares?”

Loki laughed, throwing his head back. “No. Well, not entirely.” He breathed out a sigh, as if a weight had been lifted from him, and kept his hands at Bucky’s chest. “I suppose it took me a little while to realize how stupid I would be to keep denying what I was feeling.”

Their eyes met and Bucky felt his stomach flip at the expression in Loki’s gaze. “But why—?”

“I’m not very good at this, James. Physically, it’s not difficult to navigate. But everything else that goes with it…” Loki turned his face again and nearly stepped away from Bucky. But Bucky was there, keeping a tight grip on him. “I ruined whatever it was between Fandral and I, and I—I ruined him. He can barely stand the sight of me now. I don’t want that to happen with you.”

“It won’t.” Loki skeptically angled his head and Bucky grinned. “I’m not great at this either, okay? Back in my day, I couldn’t do this. Not without major consequences. And I never really knew anyone I was willing to risk it with. Until you.”

“How romantic of you,” Loki murmured with his signature facetiousness.

“Shut up, Mischief. I’m saying, we don’t have to sneak around anymore, right? We also don’t have to rush into anything neither of us isn’t ready for. So…” He ran a finger down the side of Loki’s face. “How ‘bout we just see where it goes, okay, doll?”

Loki fluttered his lashes, swooning. “I do love it when you call me that.”

This time, Bucky let the kiss happen, wrapping both of his arms around Loki and holding him tight. He laughed against Loki’s mouth when the nimble god leapt up and wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist.

“Um, off to bed then?”

“Hm, I thought you were tired?”

Bucky let out a low growl, near purr, at Loki’s fingers carding through his hair. “I might’ve gotten a second wind.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry that took a minute. I had the idea as soon as you sent the ask, I just wasn't able to get it down until last night (Wednesday) and I didn't get to read what I wrote at three o'clock in the morning and edit until tonight (Thursday). Felt kinda nice to write some WinterFrost again!

LMK if y'all want me to post this on AO3. Then I might have at least one fic posted this year, lol.

xoxo

[luielevators]

5 Important Tips To Choose A Bungalow Elevator

Many building owners, bungalow owners, property dealers, and builders face this problem. The market is flooded with lift manufacturers, but how to choose a reliable bungalow elevator? What are the parameters, you should consider when choosing an elevator for your dream bungalow? How to recognize a quality lift? These and many other important questions will be answered in this business-centric blog.

Let’s straightaway shift our focus to the 5 important tips to choose a bungalow elevator.  

This is a misconception that an expensive luxurious lift is quality-driven. Simply because a lift is expensive doesn’t mean that it has quality. That’s why we thought of writing this blog for our readers, especially building owners, bungalow owners, property dealers, and builders                        

5 important tips to choose a bungalow elevator      

Consider the reputation of the manufacturer

Quality parameters

Customization flexibility

Location, specification, and your bungalow

Service & maintenance      

Consider the reputation of the manufacturer  

Before you make up your mind to buy a luxurious lift for your bungalow, choose a few reputed lift manufacturers. Examine their history in the market. How customers perceive them as a lift designer and supplier.

Quality parameters  

As you know, the lift is designed for vertical movement between floors in a multistory building. Reputed lift manufacturers adhere to a wide range of quality parameters to ensure the safety of passengers. Every life is precious. Even school-going kids use lifts. As a result, the quality of the bungalow lift is paramount.          

Customization flexibility

Don’t expect this facility from an ordinary manufacturer. Only a reputed and experienced manufacturer of lifts has the competency to offer customization flexibility to their customers. For example, you want to change the interior of the cabin as the current one doesn’t suit your requirement. Every individual has a design in his mind, he/ she wants that to be visible in the lift. That's why the customization facility assumes significance. Don’t expect that from ordinary lift manufacturers.                

Location, specification, and your bungalow      

When choosing an elevator for your dream bungalow or flat, consider the layout of the building, the space where the lift is intended to be installed. Discuss these specifications with the bungalow lift manufacturer in Ahmedabad, India. This will ensure that the lift you have chosen fits perfectly in the building layout. If there is a scarcity of space, choose the compact lift designed for small spaces.  

Service and maintenance    

This is again an important feature of a quality-driven lift by a leading lift manufacturer. A quality-driven lift requires less maintenance in comparison to an ordinary lift. As a result, you don’t have to bother about its maintenance.

Low maintenance means, you don’t have to earmark a certain fund for annual maintenance. Also, that hassle of calling a technician or service engineer wouldn’t cross your mind. Sounds exciting! That’s the hallmark of a quality lift purchased from a reputed lift manufacturer.  

Conclusion    

We are hoping this blog will act as a guide for you when you choose a bungalow lift. Never compromise the quality of the lift. The 5 Important Tips To Choose A Bungalow Elevator has highlighted the ill effects of an ordinary lift as well as the benefit of a quality-driven lift.  

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Vigilante Shit

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: Topper Thornton x female!reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Very vague mentions of domestic violence that didn't actually happen, having sex for money (slightly dubious consent bc of that at one point)

Summary: You're hired to investigate a rich pretty boy and team up with his wife to nail him for his crimes.

A/N: Enjoy this Taylor Swift-inspired fic, this is what I imagined happening all throughout the song so I wrote about it! Hope you like it!!!

Masterlist

The taxi pulls up in front of a small bungalow and you hand a wad of cash to the driver, thanking him as you get out of the car. You try the front door and it swings open, left unlocked just like the client had said it would be. It’s fully furnished inside, with a simple, neutral color scheme that complements the beach visible out of the windows that line the back of the house. There’s a small, cozy living room off to one side and an eat-in kitchen on the other. Down the hall are two bedrooms and a bathroom. You drop your backpack in the bigger room and then circle back to the kitchen with just your laptop. 

There’s an iPhone on the kitchen table, three generations old, next to a charging cord wrapped in a neat circle. You plug it into your laptop and retrieve the iCloud backup you had prepared last week, dragging it over to the ‘New iPhone’ file.

As everything downloads, you run through the mental copy of the file you received last month. It was too dangerous to bring it along with you, so you had committed it to memory and burned the physical copy before you left. Your waitressing job at the Kildare Island Country Club was starting tomorrow, and you were to report there at 2 pm, between the brunch and dinner rushes, for training. The client and her husband had reservations at 7, and she assured you that they would be seated in your section. From there, a few simple steps will position you to carry out the rest of the job, tie any loose ends into a neat bow, and get the hell out. The phone dings when the download is complete, so you add a simple passcode and change the name of the phone to ‘Y/N’s Phone,’ wrapping up the final details before heading to bed.

The next morning, you make a cup of coffee and settle in at the kitchen table to answer some emails from potential future clients before you have to leave for work. In the bedroom you slept in, the closet is fully stocked with a carefully-curated wardrobe. Everything is second-hand and leans towards casual with small details that will elevate the outfits from simple to elegant, like cardigans with pearl buttons and soft, satin camisoles. You put on a short black tennis skirt and a white sleeveless polo cropped just enough to show a small strip of skin and accessorize with a thin gold chain around your neck. It’s enough to spark interest without being over the top, and natural eye makeup paired with a shimmery, peach-colored lip gloss compliments the look perfectly.

At the Country Club, you meet with the Restaurant Manager, Darcy, who gives you a tour around the grounds and then walks you through what a typical shift will look like. You meet the rest of the staff and Darcy leaves you with Karen to train. She’s been waitressing at the club for twenty years and lets you follow her around as the dinner crowd starts to trickle in. 

Seven o’clock grows nearer and your nerves melt into confidence. The adrenaline starts to kick in and you get a burst of energy, which Karen takes full advantage of. She has you do most of the work while she supervises, interjecting here and there to answer a question you don’t know the answer to or to give you slight corrections. You’re so caught up in the whirlwind of the dinner rush that you don’t realize the client has arrived until Karen leads you up to a couple in their late 20s, looking glamorous in designer clothes and seated by the windows that overlook the ocean. To be fair, though, you hadn’t even spoken to the client on the phone and didn’t even know her real name, she went by ‘SC’ in her emails. All you had was a general description; strawberry-blonde hair and big brown eyes, and the woman in front of you fit that description perfectly. Her husband also matched his description, with slicked-back blonde hair and dark blue eyes that sparkle with interest as he takes you in.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Thornton,” Karen greets them. “This is Y/N, she’s my trainee. 

“So lovely to meet you,” you say, flashing a shy smile at the husband. His gaze drops down your body and then back up to your face, and he smiles back. 

“The pleasure is all ours, Y/N,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll take great care of us.”

The woman flips her long, shiny hair over one shoulder and holds a manicured hand out to you, interrupting his husband’s thinly-veiled flirting. 

“I’m Sarah,” she drawls, “It’s nice to meet you.” You take her hand and shake it gently. She squeezes your hand three times in quick succession, too light to be noticeable to anyone but you, and relief floods your body at this confirmation. Sarah is SC. 

“Are you staying in the old Routledge place?” Mr. Thornton asks.

“How did you know?” You ask in response, furrowing your brows in faux confusion. 

“My husband owns most of the rental properties on this island,” Sarah interjects, “so when someone new shows up, it’s not hard to figure out where they’re living.”

“So when you’re ready to move on from that hovel, just let me know and I’ll set you up with something nicer. A girl like you deserves a home as pretty as she is.” Mr. Thornton reaches into his pocket and hands over a business card as he speaks. You tuck it into the side of your bra without a second glance, catching his eye and biting your lip as you feel your cheeks heat up. There’s something dark behind the smirk he gives you; like he’s a predator and you're his prey. 

“Thank you,” you respond, infusing your voice with the innocent earnestness that you had perfected over the years. “Right now it’s all I can afford. I had to leave a bit of a shitty situation back home so…” You shrug as you trail off, leaving it up to him to fill in the blanks.  

“That’s enough of an introduction,” Karen interrupts, taking a step closer to the table and pulling out her notepad. “Could I get the two of you a bottle of wine to start?” With that, the conversation is derailed but the groundwork has been laid, so you feel good about it. 

For the rest of the night, you give their table extra attention. Karen had told you after your initial conversation that they are some of the most important members of the club so she isn’t suspicious, and actually encourages you to flirt with him a little bit. (“He likes to feel important and wanted,” she said. “The wife will pretend to be upset about it, but between you and me, I don’t think there’s much love there.”)

He pays with a credit card and leaves a hefty tip, so when you find an envelope resting on the chair he had been sitting in, you don’t expect it to be filled with hundred-dollar bills. There’s a note scrawled on the inside of the flap: I meant what I said. Call me if you need anything. He wrote a phone number underneath, and you don’t have to check the business card to know that this isn’t a business number. Before anyone has the chance to notice it, you shove it in the waistband of your skirt and adjust your apron so it’s hidden from view, and finish flipping the table. It’s not your first rodeo, so you know that you’ve really sold it, but no other job has gone this well this quickly. Karen’s right, this guy really does crave attention. 

The rest of your shift passes in a blur and by the time you make it back to the house, you’re exhausted. You collapse on the bed and pull out the business card. It’s sleek and sexy, with TOPPER THORNTON in all capital letters at the top in a sans-serif, wide-spaced font. Sure enough, the number on the bottom is different from the number on the inside of the envelope, so you toss the card to the side and put the envelope number into your phone. Before you start getting ready for bed, you shoot him a quick text. 

Hey, it’s Y/N from the country club. Thanks for your note, I really appreciate it. Guess I’ll have to take you up on your offer to look at some other places ;)

His response is instant. 

Don’t thank me yet, we’re only just getting started

You roll your eyes and decide to leave him on read for a few minutes while you take your makeup off and do your skincare routine. 

I work tomorrow and Saturday, but Sunday I’m free!

I’ll pick you up at 6

This is clearly a man who has never been told no in his life, but you can work with that. With phase two of your plan already underway, you don’t feel bad about tossing your phone to the side and falling asleep without responding.

Part of you is shocked that he doesn’t show up to the club while you’re working over the next two days, but then again, he’s probably smart enough to know to keep his distance from you in public. People who run successful real estate dynasties usually aren’t stupid no matter how rich they were growing up. He hasn’t texted or called, either. But the asshole is true to his word, and punctual, you’ll give him that, because he pulls up in a dark blue G-Wagen at five fifty-five on the dot. The windows are rolled down and he slides his Ray-Ban aviators down his nose to stare at you as he puts the car in park.

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks, peering over the tops of his sunglasses. You get up from your spot on the front steps and slide into the passenger seat, adjusting your jean shorts so they don’t ride up. After buckling in, you look up and see that his gaze is stuck on the exposed skin of your thighs.

“So, where are we going?” You ask, getting his attention without calling him out. After all, if this is going to work out, you need him to be distracted. 

“I thought I’d show you a place a little further down the beach,” he says, clearing his throat. “It’s still on this side of the island, but it’s closer to the boardwalk and within walking distance of the club,” he answers. You nod and sit quietly for the rest of the short drive, observing him out of the corner of your eye. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the windowsill, tapping along to some invisible rhythm. The slight breeze blows his hair around, and when he pulls up in front of a small but cute beach bungalow with blue siding and white shutters, it’s wild and messy. He runs a hand through the front to tame it as he gets out of the car. You start to open the passenger door but suddenly it swings open and he’s standing there, holding a hand out to help you down. 

“Thanks,” you say as you brush past him, keeping his hand in yours for just a few seconds longer than necessary. You turn towards the house and pause in front of it to take it in. “This is really cute!” 

“Thought you’d like it,” he says with a smirk. “Now c’mon, you gotta see the inside. The last tenants moved out three months ago so I’ve gotten a few things updated in the meantime - Floors, countertops…” He rattles off a few more things as he leads you inside, unlocking the front door with one of several keys on a keychain he dug out of his pocket. None of them are labeled, but you make a mental note that the one for this house is small and silver with a circular hole through which the chain is looped. 

The door swings open and he holds it for you, letting you take in the small entryway. 

“The kitchen and living room are just down the hall,” he tells you, pointing to where a short hallway extends from the entrance. “Bedrooms are upstairs, and there’s one bedroom up there, the other is off of the kitchen, next to the garage.” He sneaks around you and grabs your hand to lead you down the hallway. There’s a large, open room with tall windows along the back of the house. The living room has a large gray sectional and two matching armchairs set up around a fireplace, with a large TV mounted above it. On the other side is the kitchen. It’s bigger than the one you have now, all white with marble counters. An island separates the two spaces, with three stools set up on the living room side. Off of the kitchen, there’s a half wall that gives the dining room a little bit of privacy even though it’s still technically part of the larger space. 

The dining table is set for two, and there’s a covered pan in the middle. You turn to Topper, eyes filled with questions, and he chuckles as he leads you toward it. 

“I thought you’d be hungry, y’know, since I’m stealing you over dinnertime,” his grin is cheeky as he speaks.

“That is so sweet, thank you,” you gush. He pulls your chair out for you and loads up your plate before he sits across from you. 

“So, Y/N, tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell, to be honest.” You shrug as you start eating. He’s quiet as you eat, giving you the space to continue. “I’m from Massachusetts,” lie, “I went to school for history education but ended up dropping out halfway through when I met this older guy,” another lie. “He kind of swept me off my feet so I ran away with him. We were in the city, New York, that is, and things were good.”

“But?”

“But…. he liked things his way, and even though I was fine with playing my part in the beginning, it was hard to keep it up long-term. And he would get angry.” You pause there, letting all of the things you haven’t said wash over him. His face is soft and it’s so uncharacteristic that it looks awkward on him.

“So that’s why you moved to Kildare? To get away?” You bite your lip and nod, lowering your head to look at the table as if you’re ashamed. 

“Hey,” his voice is quiet and gentle, and he reaches across the table to tip your chin up so you’re looking at him again. “It’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me. I’m just glad you were able to get out of there.”

“Thanks.” He pulls his hand away and pushes away from the table, coming around to stand next to you instead. His hands find your chin again, tilting your head up towards him. As he leans down, you let your chin tip back even further, inviting his advance. 

“What about your wife?” You whisper, forcing your face into a worried expression. He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb to soothe you. 

“She won’t leave me. She likes my money too much.” From his tone, you get that he’s sort of joking, but the sentiment rubs you the wrong way and at that moment, you fully understand why she had come to you. But you keep any trace of dislike from your face as he captures your lips with his. He’s greedy, opening his mouth against yours right away. The angle is a bit odd since he’s towering above you and you have to lean your head really far back in order to make it work, but he uses that to his advantage, leaning some of his weight on you as if to make a point that if he wanted to, he could force you to do anything. You run through a mental list of attractive celebrities to take yourself out of your body as you kiss him back.

When his hand grazes your boob, you pull back and hug your knees to your chest, putting a physical barrier between the two of you, playing up the helpless victim card. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, “It’s just, I haven’t… Not since him. Do you mind if we leave it there, just for today? I promise I’ll be more ready next time.”

“Of course,” Topper says, reaching out to smooth a hand down your hair. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m okay with taking it slow.” You knew he wasn’t, that he was the kind of guy who would take what he thought he deserved, but he was probably turned on by the whole scared and innocent thing. Willing to play the long game and savor dismantling your defenses until you melted for him like butter.

He drops you off with one final kiss, short and searing, and you disappear into the house and immediately draw a hot bath. While you wait for the tub to fill up, you shoot an email to your client, Sarah.

To: SC@hotmail.com

From: revengeseekers@protonmail.com

Subject: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

Hey SC,

It feels kinda weird to call you that now that we’ve actually met in person, but I’ll keep it up for privacy’s sake. You were right - he fell right into the ‘broken and innocent’ trap that I laid for him. I plan to give a little more next time and really make him feel like he’s fixing me; the bigger his ego gets, the likelihood of my success skyrockets. Thanks for sending over those additional leads! I’ve been able to make a few possible connections but will hold off on the details until I can gather enough evidence to prove them. Plausible deniability will get you far in life, darling. 

Anyways, keep pushing his buttons at home. We want him distracted in as many ways as possible, and if you’re holding him at arms’ length, he’ll be more likely to come running straight to me. 

RS

After a long, hot soak, you return to your computer and find a response already waiting in your inbox.

To: revengeseekers@protonmail.com 

From: SC@hotmail.com

RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

RS,

It is sort of weird being secret pen pals now that we’ve officially met, but I appreciate your discretion and dedication to the job. I knew it would be easy to get my husband to pursue you, but I didn’t think it would happen this quickly! I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s been cheating on me since high school. I’m sure you probably think I’m an idiot for marrying him, but I was young and I thought (stupidly) that he would mature as he got older. That’s the power of first love, I guess. 

Thanks for the update!

SC

You smile to yourself at her response, if you weren’t working for her (and starting a pre-planned affair with her husband), you could see yourself being friends with the woman. 

***

After another few days of shifts at the country club and keeping a just-flirty-enough text chain going with Topper, he shows up while you’re working on purpose, for the first time. Sarah’s not with him this time; instead, he’s with a group of similar-looking guys, all wearing khaki shorts and pastel-colored polos. They must have just finished golfing because they take a caddy to the bar with them and buy him a shot before they settle in at a table in your section.

Over the course of your very short tenure as a country club waitress, you’ve learned a lot. Most of it came from Karen, who loved to gossip and seemed to know everything about everyone on the island, but rich people tended to think that the staff wasn’t real people, so they were surprisingly loose-lipped about a lot of things. 

You learn that the Routledge house, where you’re staying, belongs to a John B Routledge who has made quite a name for himself as a travel vlogger on YouTube. He rents his childhood home to tourists and people needing somewhere to stay for a few months while he’s out traveling the world. You also learn, courtesy of Karen, that John B is Sarah Thornton’s ex. Apparently, she broke up with Topper and dated John B during a tumultuous and confusing time that you don’t fully understand. There was some drama with her family and she ended up breaking up with him and taking Topper back. This is valuable information that you can use to get Topper even more invested in you. He still has a deep-seated hatred for the man that stole his girlfriend in high school, and you have no doubt that part of your charm, to Topper, is the fact that you’re living in John B’s house. 

Before you head over to their table, you duck into the bathroom to reapply your lip gloss and pull your top down a bit, showing an additional inch or so of cleavage. Sure enough, he can’t keep his eyes off of your chest as you make small talk with the rest of the group and take their drink orders. Two of the men, Rafe and Kelce, have been his best friends since childhood. The fourth guy, who introduced himself as PJ, is a mystery, but he fits seamlessly into their boys-club dynamic, flirting with you while simultaneously making fun of the rest of the guys for doing the same thing. 

Topper is actually the tamest of the group, probably because he has something to hide, but when you drop off their food, he hits you with a wink and a quiet “thanks, babe.” He pays for the whole group, and you notice a note scribbled on the back of the customer’s copy of the receipt. I’ll pick you up after your shift. You tuck the note into your bra and let him catch you smiling to yourself as you start to clean off the table.

Sure enough, his Mercedes is parked out front when you leave a few hours later. He’s leaning against it, scrolling through his phone, but he stops abruptly when he notices you standing a few feet away from him.

“Good shift?” he asks, raising one eyebrow at you.

“Eh, it was alright,” you joke with a shrug. “Some weirdo left me a note, though.”

“You gotta be careful when talking to strangers, Y/N.” He takes a step forward and grabs your hand, tugging you closer to him. “They might get the wrong idea.” He whispers his second sentence against the corner of your mouth, pressing a hard kiss there to really drive his point home. Within seconds, though, he’s gone. When you turn around, he’s holding the passenger door open for you with a little smirk on his lips. 

“C’mon, I’ve got something to show you,” he says. With a shy smile on your face, you climb inside and let him shut the door behind you. He’s quiet during the drive, again, but this time, his free hand is wrapped around your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. It’s another short drive, and he pulls into a palm-tree-lined driveway. A large, beachfront mansion slowly comes into view as he makes his way down the driveway. He parks right out front, between a large fountain and the stairs up to the front door, and leaves the keys on the seat. 

“What do you think?” He asks you as he helps you out of the car with one hand and gestures to the house with the other. 

“It’s gorgeous,” you breathe. “Is it one of your rental properties?” You play dumb, like it hadn’t even occurred to you that he’d bring you to his house. 

“Nope, this one’s mine. And Sarah’s away for the weekend…” He trails off with a shit-eating grin and holds the door open for you. As he shows you around the first floor, you oooh and ahhh in all the right places, all wide-eyed innocence and fuck me eyes. The tour ends in the kitchen, where he pops a bottle of Dom Perignon and pours you each a glass. You accept it gratefully and take a long sip, letting the cold bubbles dance on your tongue for a moment before you swallow. Both of you lean against the counter as you sip, chatting about some of the small details of the house that he was the proudest of. 

The champagne is just a pretense, something to make it seem like you weren’t just here to hook up. But when the glasses are empty, that changes. Topper reaches across your chest to take the empty glass from your hand. Instead of pulling it back towards him, he just leans forward further to set it on the counter on your other side and then side-steps so he’s standing in front of you with his arms caging you between him and the counter. 

“This okay?” He mutters as he leans in, stopping just as his lips brush against yours. You nod and look up at him through your eyelashes, lifting your lips in a shy smile. That’s all the permission he needs and his lips are pressed against yours within seconds. His hips press into yours, pushing your back into the edge of the counter, so you wriggle a bit to give him the hint to knock it off. Instead, he hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you up onto the countertop. This causes your skirt to bunch up a bit and Topper takes advantage of the newly-exposed skin. To his credit, he doesn’t push your limits, seeming content to stick to exposed skin only. But you know he won’t stay patient for long if the hardness against your thigh is any indication.

You hear the tell-tale sign of a lawn mower starting up somewhere outside and freeze, clutching onto Topper’s shoulders as if staying still will somehow make you invisible. 

“Can we go somewhere more… private?” You ask, shooting a nervous glance at the large window above the sink to your right. 

“Absolutely,” he says, taking a quick nip at your bottom lip. Instead of stepping back to let you off the counter, he just hoists you up into his arms. You cling on for dear life as he takes you up the grand staircase in the entryway. He opens the first door on the left and doesn’t even bother turning the lights on before he sets you down and his lips are on yours again. His back is facing the door and you take advantage of that, pushing forward until he’s pressed flat against it. You swallow his grunt of surprise and then trail your lips down his neck as you drop to your knees in front of him.

***

The next time, you invite Topper to your place and let him return the favor. Then, he takes you to two more of his rental properties where you do everything but penetrative sex before Sarah leaves town and he finally brings you back to his house again. 

This time, you let him go all the way. It’s not bad, but it could definitely be better. You keep him occupied for a while, and when he’s facedown on the bed recovering, you offer to go make him a cup of coffee. 

“That would be great, thanks babe,” he groans, voice slightly muffled by the pillow underneath him. You throw on his abandoned button-down and pad down the stairs to start the coffee maker. That gives you just a few minutes of unsupervised time in his house, so you sneak down the hall to his study. The door’s unlocked, but when you try the desk drawers, they won’t budge. There are keyholes at the top of each drawer, and from your inspection, it looks like the same key would open them all. His computer’s asleep, and it’s password-protected, which doesn’t surprise you. For good measure, you run your hands alongside the bottom of the wood just in case there’s anything hidden there, but no such luck. The coffee maker beeps and interrupts your search, but you’re content with the intel you’ve gathered. As you pour two mugs of coffee, you start to devise a plan. A quick detour to the bathroom on your way back upstairs proves fruitful, you find a bottle of Trazodone prescribed to Sarah, and crush up three pills, stirring them into Topper’s coffee. 

He’s out like a light forty-five minutes later, but you wait another hour just to make sure. Then, you sneak back downstairs with your backpack. A USB drive with password-cracking software downloaded goes straight into the computer, and while the program runs, you manage to pick the locks on three of the five drawers. 

Four hours later, you slip back upstairs with two USB drives full of information, and photos of the most incriminating documents saved on your burner phone. Everything is zipped into the hidden pocket inside the lining of your backpack and you curl up next to Topper to sleep as if nothing has happened.

The next morning, you wake up before he does and decide to give him a little wake-up surprise. It serves its purpose and distracts him long enough for you to make your exit, smuggling the evidence out with you, leaving him none the wiser. 

You get into work and take a moment to let out the tension you had been holding in all night. Slumping against the wall in the staff break room, you pull out your phone and type out another message to Sarah.

To: SC@hotmail.com

From: revengeseekers@protonmail.com

RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

I GOT IT!!!!!! Evidence is in hand. I know the hearing’s not for another two weeks, so I can hold onto it until then if you want me to. Also, sorry, I stole a few of your Trazodones. Hopefully getting the evidence makes up for that, haha. 

RS

By the time your day shift is over, she’s responded, so you take a second to answer her before you head home for the night. 

To: revengeseekers@protonmail.com 

From: SC@hotmail.com

RE: RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! I knew you could do it! I’ll stop by in the morning on my way to the courthouse, if that’s okay?

SC

To: SC@hotmail.com

From: revengeseekers@protonmail.com

RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

Works for me! I’m just glad I was able to get it in time. 

RS

The next two weeks pass by in a blur of work and secret meetups with Topper, who suspects absolutely nothing. You’re still his shiny new toy, dressed up like a present for him to unwrap. The only time he mentions the impending divorce hearing is late one night when he shows up at your place unannounced. His kisses taste like whiskey and the smell of cigarette smoke lingers on his jacket. You lead him to the bedroom right away, knowing that he’s looking for a way to get out some of his drunken frustrations, and sure enough, his lips loosen as he’s pounding you into the mattress with one hand pressed against your stomach to hold you in place.

“I can’t fuckin believe she’s taking me to court,” he growls into your neck. “Bitch is trying to take half my shit. Thinks she can get our prenup annulled, ha! My lawyers will fuckin ruin her.”

You coo sweet nothings into his ear and brush his hair back from his forehead, which seems to calm him down a bit. Other than that one night, though, he’s been pretty much silent on the whole situation.

The morning of the hearing is here in no time, and headlights shine through your windows as Sarah pulls into your driveway. She’s behind the wheel of Topper’s Mercedes and her hair is pulled back into a low bun with a black and white silk head scarf wrapped around it. Topper’s signature aviators cover half of her face, and somehow she makes it look elegant. A black kitten heel is the first thing you see as she steps out of the car, followed by a tight-fitting yet modest black dress. 

“Hey girl,” she says as she approaches the front door that you’re holding open for her. 

“Hi! You look incredible,” you tell her. “Topper’s gonna lose his shit.” She giggles and lets you lead her into the kitchen. 

“That’s the plan.” She notices the manila envelope sitting on the kitchen counter and runs her fingers along its edge. “Is this it?” 

“Yep, it’s all there.”

“Perfect.” The grin on her face is positively wicked as she picks it up and slides it into her oversized leather bag. “Are you going to the courthouse?”

‘I’m gonna try and sneak into the back row right before it starts. That way, he won’t notice me, at least not until after it’s too late.”

“Well, then I’ll see you there!” Sarah sounds genuinely excited about that prospect, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand. “Seriously, Y/N, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.” You squeeze her hand back. 

“Feels kind of weird for you to thank me when you literally paid me to sleep with your husband.” You chuckle. “ But you’re welcome. And good luck today!” With one final, soft smile, she’s out the door and on her way. 

You change into your own revenge dress; it shows off more skin than Sarah’s, which seems fitting for playing the part of the mistress who betrayed him. Black platform sandals and your own pair of oversized sunglasses complete the look, and you manage to make it into the courtroom just as the judge is swearing everyone in. 

The proceedings are tedious at first; it’s mostly just both lawyers establishing the facts of the case, but when Sarah is called up to the stand to make her statement, things take a dramatic turn. 

“I’m Sarah Thornton, and I have new evidence to submit,” she says as she reaches into her bag and hands the envelope over to the judge. He flips through the papers quickly, then calls the lawyers back into his chambers to go over this new information. 

“What the fuck?” Topper yells, lunging forwards as Sarah passes his seat. His lawyer is fast, though, and holds Topper back, whispering a stern warning. She just flashes a sweet smile and heads back to her seat, sitting with her head held high, a calm statue in the face of his messy outrage. 

It’s nearly an hour before the judge and lawyers reemerge and things move quickly after that. The judge nullifies the prenup, stating that Topper violated one of its clauses and therefore it is no longer valid. His face is burning with rage but he bites his tongue because his lawyer’s got a death grip on his arm. Sarah is awarded the house and all material possessions, with Topper retaining only a small fraction of the cash assets they shared as a couple. It doesn’t really matter, though, because then two cops burst through the doors and make a beeline for a seething Topper.

“Topper Thornton, you are under arrest for insider trading and money laundering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…” the officer on the right recites as his partner puts Topper in cuffs. The man is wild-eyed, turning his head back and forth between Sarah and his lawyer, trying to put the pieces together. 

As the police are leading him out of the courtroom, his eyes lock onto yours and his eyes blaze with fury.

“You fucking bitch!” he spits at you, poison dripping from his lips. 

“Bye, Topper,” you say, voice light and airy as you waggle your fingers at him in a little wave. You hear him grunting and struggling to break free, but the cops have a good grip on him so he’s not able to escape. Once he’s been escorted off the premises, the judge smacks his gavel against his podium.

“Case dismissed!” He says, and the hearing is officially over. Sarah rushes over to you, squealing, and loops her arm through yours. The two of you walk down the steps, out of the courthouse, and onto the street, into a better and brighter future.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is a very odd home in Chicago, Illinois. It’s called a “Jumbo Bungalow,” and the interior is huge. Plus some interesting remodeling choices were made. $400K.

It has a very large remodeled living room with some built-in niches.

Not sure what this is, but it’s a pass-thru to the kitchen. 

The kitchen is very large and there appears to be a door missing from one of the cabinets, plus a broken handle. 

Next is the main bd. There are 4 bds. in the home. 

And, this is a massive bath. (There are 3 baths.) Notice the brass railings. Step right up. 

Next, is a home office with a full-size fridge. 

Technically, they’re not supposed to classify this a bd. if it doesn’t have a closet.

Large bd. in the finished attic.

Another fancy bath, this time with a black toilet on a raised platform. Maybe they elevated it so they could look out the window?

There’s a large finished basement with an interesting floor.

A trophy room in the utility area.

Plus, a weird, but bright, exercise room. 

The small yard is taken up by a deck surrounding an above ground pool 

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6540-N-Talman-Ave-Chicago-IL-60645/3562830_zpid/